#its not angsty yet but trust me
Text
So @trilobitepunch had this GORGEOUS art for a crossover between Rottmnt and Star Wars (if you haven't seen it, then what are you reading this for?! Go check it out!). Being two nerds, we got to chatting, and here is a little piece of the results.
RISE OF THE TENNAGE MUTANT NINJA JEDI (working title)
1. Mikey and Leo
Someone was crying, yet everywhere he turned dark walls rose to block his path. Otherworldly shrieks and howls ricochet, pounding a cruel spike ever deeper into his brain until he could not move, see, or speak. Hot iron coated his tounge as the cry came again, as he blindly threw out an arm, reaching and groping in the dark for a faint spark of...
"Leo! Hey. Hey, Leo!"
The smell of paint and moss replaced the fetid oder of sewage and blood, dragging his mind from the mangled remains of its dream into the irritatingly soothing bounds of predawn reality.
"G'way Mikey," he groaned, burying his face in the sleeve of his sleep shirt.
"Nope! Today's the day baby!" His little brother cheered, sunny voice barely contained to a serviceable whisper as his fingers moved to tickle the back of Leo's vulnerable neck. "Get up lazy shell!
"Aren't you the one always after me to get more sleep?" Leo grumbled as he cringed, one baleful eye slitting open to glare at Mikey. Not that his ire seemed to matter to the younger terrapin as he bounced around their shared room, collecting their clothes and belts as well as a handful of Leo's preferred ration bars.
"Aren't you the one always ignoring me? Besides, it didn't look like you were having a particularly good time anyway."
Warm brown eyes peaked over one green shoulder as Leo slowly worked himself upright, softness in the words that followed wrapping carefully around his frayed nerves.
"Same one as usual?"
Leo nodded, keeping his head down as he accepted his shirt and pants.
"Still don't remember what it was about?"
He nodded again.
"Wanna talk about it anyway?"
"There's not much to say Mikey," he sighed, tugging at the hem of his shirt until it sat properly over his shell. "I'll be fine. I always am, right?"
"Yeah... but you know, if you ever do..."
"You'll be the first in line Dr. Feelings," Leo teased, playfully knocking his knuckles against his baby brother plastron before gently pushing him back so he could stand and fasten his pants. "Now what did you do with my jacket?"
"What did you do with dad's holocron?"
"What makes you think I have it?"
"Because I went to steal it before I woke you up and it was gone."
"Gasp! My own brother, a thief! Where could I have gone so wrong!" Leo warbled, hands flying to his face in a poignant display of heartbreak and shock.
The snort Mikey gave in reply, coupled with an eye roll he did not even attempt to hide suggested Leo's performance had once again gone unappreciated.
"Come on Lee, we're wasting time! Cough up the holocron, or no jacket!"
"Ugh. My talents are clearly wasted here," Leo mumbled, petulantly drawing out the moment by fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.
"Leo..."
"Fine, fine. Behold Mr. Grumpy shell."
Leo reached out, deft fingers brushing the joint between Mikey's neck and carapace, a place that never failed to make his sensitive brother squirm and giggle like youngling. By the time Mikey looked again, the holocron sat innocently in Leo's palm, it's serene blue-white glow softly lighting the shadows of their little room.
"How do you do that?!" Mikey gaped, begrudgingly pulling Leo's coat and mask from beneath his bed when Leo simply smirked in reply.
"That, dearest Angelo, oh wise jedi master, is for me to know and you to figure out."
"Show off," Mikey huffed, plucking the cube from Leo's palm. "Finished getting dressed and meet me outside. We have training to do!"
#rottmnt#star wars#angst fairy writes#its not angsty yet but trust me#it's coming#rottmnt leo#rottmnt mikey#jedi turtles
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey do you have any kotlc fic recs? any ship is okay, and even if it’s incomplete I’m still cool with reading it, I just wanted to see if you have any favorite fics or anything because I trust your taste (preferably on ao3)
if im being 100% honest i dont. rlly read kotlc fic anymore? also i havent logged onto my ao3 acc in months so i dont have anything bookmarked 😔
that being said i just did a quick search for some faves of mine!! and if you like them also check out the authors other fics bc those are gold too, im just choosing my personal favorites <3
-descend into darkness and all along my heart was leading me home by uni_seahorse_572 (both are soo incredible ive read them multiple times)
-Kiss Me Like It's Not Allowed by a_lonely_tatertot
(always has me ugly crying but its okay i swear im normal.)
-Our Finite Eternity by spellboundfire!! (looove this one <3 kam that i actually like? its rare but this is it)
-I've lost it all (I'm just a silhouette) by Tobi_Continued (ruewen angst is always 11/10 but this one especially) also the scars along our skin (Paint our beauty like gold)!!
-Personal Hell by theunmappedstar (neverseen!keefe is smth so personal to me okay?? the emotions <//3)
-To Love Unafraid (With An Ugly, Poisonous Heart) and Perfect by sweetmothiricannotwrite (i think i’ve recced these before actually but yeah they’re so good)
-i've got to tell you how i love you by handpulledsilver (a 2 part series and its absolutely beautiful <3) also by ink: say this awful thing did not break me <3
-I'll be Your Real Tough Cookie, With the Whiskey Breath and Liquid Glass, Drowning Fire, Shattered Water by Enbies_Committing_Felonies (some of my favorite ships and written SO well)
-better off as lovers (and not the other way around) by tamsencen (tbh this is probably the fic that sold me on qualden <3)
-Blinking In The Starlight and wings on your feet and copper in your lungs by sunlight-and-storms (both of these are such a good read i love them, definitely check them out!!)
-Moments That Last Years and As Simple As That (of orbits, suns, and angel wings) (for angst and prose that makes you cry at any given moment </3)
#i think like. all of these ppl have tumblr too. unsure whether or not to tag them though so ajsdksl#anyways ty for asking me anon im glad you trust my taste <33#i think all of these are incredibly angsty and for that im sorry i cant help my preferences#OH MY GOD HOW DID I FORGET quil's wing au!! i have yet to read it (i will though. one day.) but its an absolutely iconic fic so!#i got a message 📜#kotlc#fanfiction
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
jujutsu kaisen recs
main masterlist
pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs, luv you and thank you in advance❤️
WHY ARE ALL OF THEM SO FUCKING GOOD????????! pls tRUST me
gojo
gojo eating you out
gojo x dacryphilia
gojo loves fat pussy
sending gojo an accidental nude so he sends you a whole video
car sex with gojo
gojo being goofy in an elevator full of people - he´s big on PDA
gojo tried to give himself a haircut and now wants to go bald - this is fuNNY ksksks, I love the banter
trying to break up with yandere!gojo - yep, we´re talkin about lovesick toxic obsessed type of gojo, break up????? you know better than to tell him that sooo since you´re acting dUMB he has to fucc so sense into you bc clearly you forgot who tf ur talking to - LDKJSDFJDJFHLSHFLSHDF but he´s not rough bc he luvss you a lot
gojo is the pussy fairy - fwb, he´s your sneaky link when henessy makes you act up. he got a mf tongue piercing bYEE
insecure bully!gojo - angst, lil fluff, he´s a bully but he´s in love with that, but it´s not enough. part 2
the horniest - smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap
phone calls - slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it
cherished moments - clanleader!gojo, hubby!gojo who is a softy for his wife, #simp
family moments - fluff, slice of life, this is so wholesomeee, bf!gojo meeting your parents for the first time, i love it
someone older - smut, rich dilf!gojo, big age gap, big dicc too, talks big shit as well, "what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and fuck his dad" I MEAN- skdfhksdf
best of the best - smut, fwb! satoru, big sHIT talker omg, he lit asks you to be his gf wHILE he´s making you cum,,,,,best bf ever tho
love struck - fluffy, ex-fuckboy!satoru, he´s experiencing love for the first time :((((( IT´S SO CUTEEEEEEEEEE
love dumb - fluff, blurb, you make him lose his composure, can´t even focus bc you´re over there existing, someone should make a longer version of this! so good
too much - ANGSTTTYYYY, fluff too, reader and gojo are in a situationship kinda thing where they live together and love each other but nothing has been said yet, they get into an argument bc gojo has a big mouth and says a lot of hurtful things, they´re both just so exhausted
i know you still think about the times we had - angst, fluff, rich bf!gojo, his father makes you break up with him, it´s so angsty omg, they get into this HUGE argument bc gojo´s dad is a controlling mf
sanctuary - fluff, lowkey angst, weak!reader, bully!gojo, nah he´s just in love but doesn´t know how to say it
the road to falling in love - fluff, strangers to lovers, it´s a collection o moments where keeps falling harder for you, I LOVE ITTTTT, sdkfjhskdjf it´s kinda slow burn but not boring at all
loving you - fluffy af, "you’re the apple of his eyes; the love of his life. the only one who matters" ME N WHO???? pls this made my want to cry my heart out
yuji finds out gojo has a family - fluff, lowkey angst, hubby!gojo, dad!gojo, so,,, this made me cry, i love yuji sm he deserves the world :( this is part two and it also made me crY MY MF EYES OUT :))))))))
i´ll meet you forever in this memory - fluff, college au, married life au, it´s so good, he lit has this big ass plan to make you fall for him, and i mean big, like planned way ahead lmao, 10 years later he´s still asking you to go out with him,,,,even if you´re already married sdlfkjkdfhlsdjh so so cute
can´t stop drinking - ANGST, death, blood, dad!gojo, husband!gojo, mentions of wanting to die, a curse kills you and your son allegedly but in reality the elders had lied to him all these years, part 2 made me fucking cry, PLEASEEE I NEED PART 3
hype man - crack, fluff, supportive bf!gojo, he´s such an amazing bf :(, “damn, my girl ran you over with a bus, reversed, then got out and shot you twice in the foot? what did you do?? sounds like a you issue.” LMAOOOOO this is so cute and funny at the same time, i love it, such a gojo thing to say
flicker of flame - fluff, nervous soon to be dad!gojo, pregnant!reader, he´s going to be the best dad ever
nanami
when you break up and make up - nanami divorce au, angst
dorm room escapades - smut, dad´s bestfriend!nanami, age gap, GAWWDD DAMNNNN, daddy kink, this is some good stuff
you ask him to fuck you like a whore - its a short one but me likey
nanami drabbles - pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3
nanami is strong af - short blurb, smut, sdflksjd this got me giggling and shii
fifteen minutes - “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor
protective - headcanon, hubby!kento, i love thissss
swear it´s just right for you - smut, fluff, hubby!nanami, I´m weaaaak, he´s so husband material
stressed after work - boyfriend! kento, a cute lil drabble bc he loves your mere presence
labour of love - fluff, vanilla smut, lowkey angst if you´ve been keeping up with the manga/anime, loving hubby!kento, SO DOMESTIC, love making, :(
losing his mind - smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new
his protégé - fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)
my future is with you - fluff, unexpected angst, this is SICKKKKKKK, the last senteces is fucking sickening, and NOT in a good way, so fucking wrong for that, I litteraly wanna dIE
tie my tie, marry me - fluff, slice of life, "the moment nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side" please just do yourself a favor and READ THIS
putting you in your place - smut, reader is gojo´s brat little sister, mean!nanami, BRAT TAMER!NANAMI, HEAVY degradation, “Maybe this was your fucking goal all along. To have me ruin you on my cock and fuck the attitude out of you.” CALL 911
edging - smut, pwp, fluff, this,,,,this is one the BEST nanami smuts out there, i just know the description of the whole thing is 100% accurate, the details, the way this is written, the visuaLSsss ldskjfhjsalfh go read it pls
married man - fluff, work au, HE IS A PROUD HUSBAND OK, the man was just waiting for somebody to say sOMETHING sljsdhfl now he can´t stop bragging about his perfect wife
toji
toji x size kink
toji x pussy spanking ´till you´re squirting - the title says it all,,, he´s MEAN
toji doing push ups with you on his back - you´re basically a rag doll,,,bc wdym he puts you in a fULL NELSON??
toji gets embarrased - the man WHIMPERED bc the riding was gewdd so reader kinda teases him for it, how dare she right? so now he has to make her pAY bc he aint no bitch
silk sheets n sticky cum - toji can´t control himself when he sees you in a nightgown so he uses you as a cum dump,,, in a very romantic way flsjdflkssldfjlsdfh, breeding kink
toji x overstimulation - fINALLY he got what he deserved, reader got him WHIMPERING, body shaking eyes rolling to the back of his head and everythangggg, I'm here for it.
take it lil princess - toji got me fucked up, straight up size kink like FRRRR he wants to break, bend and basically snap you in half (i´ll let him tbh), daddy kink, he got a big dicc as aLWAYS, the degRADING DIRTY TALKKK???? yes. he talks and talks and tALKS. there´s a lot going on yall
mine - toji mixed with monster!porn,,, nothing else to say- HE´S A WEREWOLfff, mean asf, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, it´s nasty
jealous daddy - slice of life, dilf!toji, megumi is a baby, toji and megumi create a plan to keep you away from megumi´s kindergarden teacher lmaooo, its so cute
nyphomaniac - smut, nypho!reader, dom!toji, THERE´S A WHOLE LOTTA STUFF GOING ON HEREE, just read it omg
family man - fluff, soft dad!toji, baby megumi, husband!toji, he´s a softie for his son and his wife ;(
unprecedented reveal - smut, fluff, mma!toji, journalist!reader, lowkey angst, "photo leaks of toji going down on you in public is suddenly exposed for everyone to know about the infamous fighters girlfriend" wELL dssdfh that´ll do it
will always be yours - smut, fluff, so basically toji only does rough sex, doggy style being his fav, but when it comes to you he prefers the loving-face to face-intense eye contanct type of sex (more like love making) bc being with you makes him feel ten different emotions at once :) DÑFLJSLDFJ
unspoken memories - fluff, lowkey angst, dad!toji, baby!megumi, married life, my heart is so full after reading this, it´s so domestic, so adorable, such a happy read
make a mess on his face - smut, toji is a messy pussy eater, that´s it, that´s the tweet
geto
gimme, gimme more - rich!geto x stripper!reader, lots of plot and build up, he is misteriousssss and fucking filthy and so cuTE??????? wtf, the wating game is real, he knows how to play his cards very well, LAWDD HAVE MERCY i would have folded too
gripping the headboard with one hand - smut, “what a slut.” hELP
protective hubby - teacher!suguru, pregnant wife oc, it´s cutee
focus - suggestive, flirty!geto, tutor!geto, “you’re doing so good for me… keep going.” I HATE ITTTTTTTT, i would fold like a mf lawn chair bitch OOF
dress shopping - very suggestive, WHY IS HE SO SMOOTH WITH IT ALL THE TIME??? got me blushing and sweating and shit
phoque - crack, teacher!suguru, twin girls dad!suguru, he accidentally curses in front of his daughters and now he´s gotta make up some bullshit story to save his ass, SLFHSLDKJHSLDH this is funny
choso
picture perfect - smut, photographer choso, he´s lowkey a perv, jacks off to oc´s pictures
suckig souls - smut, succubus oc, somnophilia, sub! choso, lil dacryphilia, love love love love it
meanie - smut, mean!choso, “Why you actin’ like some dick-starved whore? I fucked you good this morning" THE WAY I SCREAMEDDDDDDDD “Is that what you needed, princess? Some good dick?" STOOOOOOOOOPPPP
your pleasure - smut, squirting, choso discovers the magic of eating pussy :))))) aND he´s a fucking natural too like ???? gTFO
it´s too much - smut, dom!reader, inexperienced!choso and sub!chose fics are like crack to me, i´m obsessed, this is so detailed, he is eager to please sdlfjls and wants to try it all at once
fingers in his hair - smut, chose loves having his hair pulled when he´s eating pussy,,,,,,,CALL A MF AMBULANCE a bitch just died
cherry blossoms - smut, virgin!choso, phone sex, it´s his first orgasm yall, not yuji talking about a "sloppy toppy" LSJFHLSJDFHLFDH he´s so outta pocket
sukuna
itadori
vivid fantasies - smut, sukuna wants to bone you and he makes it yuji’s problem sakfhkshfksfd poor yuji
poly / multiple versions
gojo and geto are rich besties and they coax you into a poly relationship - smut
you slap their ass - reaction. gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami, choso, toji, megumi, itadori, yuta
too much for them to handle - toji and gojo version. it´s a LOT going here as well. gojo is a whole swiTCH. toji is a bully in the sheets so you know he´s all abou that degrading teasing dirty talk, we love it
slut him out - gojo, geto, nanami and toji version. y'know what,,,idek what to say about thi- IT´S NASTY FILTHY JUST PORN, reader is a whOre (not my words), read at your own risk bc i was SHOOk
how jjk men like it - smut, the gojo and toji one,,, i HATe it hereee
bimbo bunny - smut, choso, toji and nanami version, the vISUALs I GOT FROM THE NANAMI ONE LAWDDDD
birthday boy - smut, birthday sex, dacryphilia, i just KNOWWWW this is geto
#jjk smut#jjk gojo#jjk x reader#jjk angst#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#yandere gojo#toji smut#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jjk toji#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jjk nanami#geto suguru#geto x reader#jjk geto#geto smut#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#sukuna#sukuna x reader#megumi fushiguro#yuji itadori
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
"It takes HOW LONG?" Black Hair is an Art (pt.2)
(This is part two of the hair lessons, focusing on writing/narratives. If you want to know how the styles LOOK, refer to part 1 and its addendum)
Now that you know what our hair actually looks like, we’re going to discuss incorporating that into your writing (original fic, fanfic, webcomics, anything with a narrative). You don’t HAVE to give us a dissertation on "how you studied 'The Black People’s Hair'" in your story. That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I’m just asking you to CONSIDER the effort and existence of it. The same way you put effort into discussing nonblack hair textures? Should be the sort of tenderness and care you put into discussing ours. It does not stand to reason that I have read thousands of stories describing "the silky, black/blonde tresses/waves that fell down their pale back as their lover ran their fingers through them", but Black readers have nothing of the sort to compare to without seeking our own authors out. Our hair deserves some loving and adoration too!
This is a very long post describing hairstyles and how they can correspond to your character's design and decisions, so I'll put a read more here. The sections are organized into 'Twist Out', 'Afros', 'Locs', 'Braids', 'Black Men', and 'Straight Hair' if you Ctrl F. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take your time to read all of this at some point though, as I put a lot of resources and explanation into this. I'm trusting you!
The History
As I discussed in the last lesson, our hair is incredibly important to us, and part of that includes the vulnerability and trust that comes along with access to it. This is due to a long history of oppression. There’s a racist history of making Black women hide our hair, as if it would ‘tempt white men’ away, regardless of it were due to actual attraction or the (more likely) rape of Black women. There’s a racist history of touching our hair, as though we are animals or zoo exhibits. We aren’t just going to let anyone touch our heads, so DON'T write that, unless you are doing so to show that it is a microaggression towards your character. Even now, cultural appropriation is rampant. If I were to wear cornrows with hoops, it'd be seen as 'ghetto' or 'gang-like'. Meanwhile, it is a fashion statement for white women. When Miles G Morales showed up in Across the Spiderverse, animators specifically chose cornrows for him, but many people mistakenly took it to me that he was 'rougher and tougher' than the original Miles. This was a racist perception! Hearing the Fade get hyped up in the news as the 'Travis Kelce', when Black men and especially NFL players have been wearing it for DECADES to crickets... it hurts lmao. Point is, you can describe and respect Black hair without being racist about it. Okay? Okay.
Vulnerability
YOUR CHARACTERS NEED TO BE CLOSE BEFORE ALLOWING THEM TO TOUCH THEIR HAIR!!!
It needs to be someone they TRUST wholeheartedly. Again, do NOT let a stranger touch their hair unless it’s meant to be an uncomfortable situation!
Consider CONSENT! Consent is ALWAYS beautiful! Have your other characters (Black or not) ASK to touch your Black characters’ hair! And not in the ‘Oh can I touch it?’ way. But if they’re really close friends or dating, have them ask to help do their braids, or wash their hair, or even just to stroke their hair and face! Or if your Black character is injured with a head wound, and they have to tend to them, have them ask! The asking shows a level of care and respect for your Black character and their body! At any point the consent may be revoked, and that needs to be respected! If they let them tend their head wound, but then smack their hand away after, that’s not ‘rude’- they’re allowed to do that, especially to signify that they aren’t at that level of trust yet. That's still angsty!
One great example of love from a Black character is doing their partner’s hair, or allowing their partner to do their hair. The ‘Hair-washing’ fic is a common thing in fanfiction; we all understand how that shows the depth of the trust in the relationship between the characters. How would you write about that trust with a Black character, if you don’t know what goes into taking care of their hair? If you don’t even know what their hair looks or feels like? The lack of awareness will show, and what should be a beautiful, deep moment will fall flat for Black readers. I wrote one once for my character with locs, and it honestly made me tear up because I realized that I’d never seen one, at least not in the majority white spaces that the fandoms I was in were.
Think about it- how often have you read a hair-washing fic with a Black character? Was it accurate? Would you know if it was accurate? Have you spoken to or heard anyone Black in your fandom space talk about it? Do you know anyone Black in your fandom space to ask? It’s things like this that we have to consider!
If you have a character that is nonblack in a relationship with your Black character, that honestly reveals even more trust because there’s a long history (again) behind that NOT happening! In life, we can’t go to the same places. I can’t go to a white hair salon or barbershop. They won’t know what to do! People are allowed to go through hair school without learning how to work with different, thicker textures. It’s not right nor fair, but it’s a part of the casual, systemic racism in our lives.
My feelings on what Lestat symbolizes aside, the scene where he plays with Louis’ curls in AMC's IWTV was an intelligent way to show that closeness, and how a nonblack character would affectionately play with a Black character’s hair! How he works with the curl in his fingers, rather than trying to pet Louis or run his fingers through- it was an intelligent move on Sam and Jacob’s part as actors to understand that THAT’S how that would go down!
If you have a character that wants to show a violation of your Black characters’ space, touching/harming our hair is cruelty on a very personal level that will generate an extreme reaction.
Think About Your Character!
When thinking about your Black character’s hairstyle, you need to think about your character themselves! What do they do every day? What are their hobbies? Are they Type A, Type B personality? Do they have a lot of time? Are they always in a rush? Are they noncommittal? Are they self-conscious? Artsy? Serious? Are they in a time period where the means to care for their hair are limited?
People make jokes and comments about how Black women don’t like getting our hair wet and dismiss our concerns. But it’s not out of ‘silliness’ or vanity. What you consider ‘just hair’ may have taken days of planning in advance and HOURS of our time! We put a lot of thought and effort into our hair, and it will easily shatter the illusion for your Black readers if you describe our hair poorly or create an unlikely scenario with it. It’s not a joke!
Some Terms:
Protective styles- a style that allows our hair to ‘rest’ with minimal manipulation
‘Tender-headed’- some people’s scalps are more sensitive to the tightness of styles, so it’ll hurt a little bit more and require some more gentleness (Regardless it’s still going to hurt for a bit after a fresh style)
Bonnets- a silk/satin cap of varying lengths that we wear at night to protect our hair and keep the moisture in
Loc Sock- same idea, but for locs
Durag- keeps short haircuts protected; can even help create the wave pattern that many Black men enjoy
Scarf- same idea as the bonnets, except scarfs can be used specifically for straight hairstyles to wrap them up to keep it straight and neat
(It'll seem real legit if you include your Black characters wearing their headcoverings at night! I remember laughing while reading Twilight because I knew that if Edward snuck into my room at night, he'd see me in my scarf or bonnet lmao.)
General Hair Care:
While I don’t completely agree with some of the advertising in this first one (it’s the internet. Can’t go nowhere without someone trying to hawk something) it’s cool in general to explain how our hair looks the way it does.
If you have Black children OCs, it’s important to consider that their parents have to do their hair, and how that will be its own experience! (It can be very stressful for Black children to get their hair done, as it takes a long time and can be physically uncomfortable. There are plenty of stories of burnt ears and tugged tangles and not very nice old women. Children are children! Keep in mind how they may behave while getting the style of your choice.
Moisturizing to keep healthy
Twist Outs
Cute twist out styles
Twist outs are a style that takes overnight to hold, or maybe even a few days! The cool thing is that the twists themselves can be the style! So the tighter you want their curls to be, the longer they’ll wear the twists in. If you want to describe your character with tighter curls, there needs to be a section of time where their hair remains in the twists! If your character has an event, and they want twists… this needs to be done in advance. Your character will NOT untwist them the day of, unless they want weak, limp curls (or you want the scene to compose of them having weak curls).
How long they'll last depends on the activity of your character! If all they do is work a desk job, or they don’t sweat very much, the twists can last some time! But if they sweat, or wear hats or caps, it’s not going to last long. Maybe a week.
Pros: Very versatile! If you have a character that loves trying new looks and enjoy being spontaneous, twist outs are for them! Easy! If your Black character is younger, or haven’t done their hair before, this is a great way for them to start working with their hair! Doesn’t take long (to do)! If your character is in a rush, and they do their twists, they can go just about anywhere. If they’re not self-conscious, this will be just fine.
Cons: It cannot get wet again, or the style will puff up back into your natural texture. It does not last long enough to say “oh my character went on a two year long fantasy adventure with this style.” If you want your character to have a twist out the whole time, they’re going to have to take time to do it. It would be cool if you incorporate a scene where they’re working on their hair, maybe in the background while everyone’s discussing plans or something. Just a reminder that their hair isn’t just staying magically twisted (unless they have the magic to do that).
Afros
Afro Style Guide, Style Guide for Men (works for any gender though)
Wash & Gos are just that- wash it (or really, condition it, you don’t have to shampoo it every time) dry with a t-shirt (to prevent breakage), put some oil and a light crème on it, fluff it up and you’re good to go! Maybe an hour at max and can be done while getting dressed in the morning!
Pros: Easy! If they’re doing a full, combed out afro, it’s not as simple, it will take more time. And at night it has to be plaited so that it maintains its length, otherwise it will tangle. But other than that, that’s still not all that hard. They can show off their curls! Black characters can and should have pride in their hair. It’s beautiful. This is the opportunity that you as an author can describe the pure texture of their hair, how it shines in the light, how the coils look, how soft it is! Romanticize Black hair the same way you do anyone else’s!
Cons: None really! Afros are wonderful! Just make sure that your character has a way to keep their hair from getting tangled. Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean there’s no maintenance! A pick, a bonnet, oil and water go a long way!
Locs
Five stages of locs
A person who does locs is a loctician.
Can be palm-rolled or interlocked/crocheted
I cannot emphasize enough that you do not want just anyone doing their locs! They can really mess up someone’s hair if they don’t know what they’re doing. I say that to say, for your character, if they don’t trust the person doing their hair… they should. They should not be walking into anyone’s place to get their hair locked; they’d do research first.
The time it takes locs to ‘bud’ (that is, to actually form the loc) depends on the texture of their hair. But it can take up to 3 months to even a year for them to actually ‘loc up’. So if your character just got locs, they’re not going to look neat. They’re going to be frizzy.
As long as they’re washing their hair, keeping it moisturized, and not using wax products (DO NOT HAVE ANY BLACK CHARACTER USE WAX PRODUCTS IT IS BAD FOR BLACK HAIR) it’ll last forever! Locs are incredibly strong, especially the thicker they get! It is recommended that locs are retwisted every six weeks, but if your character has freeform locs, doesn’t have the money or time right now, or they just aren’t that pressed, they can grow indefinitely.
Something cute to write in your stories: sometimes locs do just… fall out. Not the whole thing! But the same way thin hair gets everywhere… sometimes the ends of thin locs just… fall off! You’ll find little buds on the ground. This happens especially in the budding stage.
Pros: Very low daily maintenance! At most they’ll need a bonnet or loc sock, and oil/water mix to spritz and massage in. Strong style that can hold any look- buns, curls, etc. They can be dyed, though it will take a long time to do so. I say that to say, if you want your character to have bright green locs, go for it!!
Cons: Low daily, but HIGH wash day maintenance! So if your character has a fancy date or something to go on, they should not be getting their hair retwisted the same day, or at least not so close to. It’s going to be shiny, oily, and tight, which can cause discomfort. Give them the day to let the hair settle!
Locs are PERMANENT!! This isn’t a bad thing, as much as it is a ‘KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING BEFORE YOU DO IT’ thing. Technically they can be combed out, but that would take a very long time and very precise effort, and most people aren’t going through all that. They’re just going to cut them off and start fresh. If you have a character that would balk at such a choice, locs aren’t for them. If you have a character that’s picky and choosy, that likes versatility, that can’t make up their mind, do NOT give them locs unless they’re making the conscious choice to commit. (Again, this is subjective! Maybe they have locs because their mother died and it reminds them of her! Okay! That works!) If you have a character that’s vain, or at least doesn’t like looking awkward… unless they’re going to style up the awkward stage, they’re not going to want locs. (Awkward stage: the first two stages get considered awkward because the locs look messy. This is because they’re turning from curls to locs!)
Braids
Styles
How long braids can take depend on the style. Box braids can take 10-12 hours to do! Microbraids? You HAVE to have multiple people or you'll be there for damn near a day (and that's assuming you have a masterful braider!)
How long they last depend on your character! If they're like me as a kid, I didn't care how I looked, so my mom got me cheap braids and let me run free for two summer months. So if your Black character is a carefree child! Go for it. But if they're a teen or adult (or are very concerned about how they look) a month to six weeks is about how long braids can stay in before your new growth shows. A character that is usually trimmed and proper having loads of new growth over their braids may symbolize that they don’t have it all together anymore.
Pros: Protective style! Great way to let your character have minimal daily maintenance; oil and water and something to cover it. SOME braided styles allow for high activity and even rain without changing. It depends on the hair that’s been braided in, as well as the style. Incredibly versatile! They can have multi-colored braids, long braids, short braids, beads, trinkets… if your character is creative and bubbly and likes to experiment, the sky is the limit! That can symbolize their artistic expression, just by describing what they look like! So long as they have the time, they can have any look and style they want. No need to commit too long.
If your character is capable of doing their own braids (and locs, btw), they’re amazing. Like… that’s mad respect for them. If you describe your character being able to do their own braids, they’ve got amazing arm strength, patience, and skill. That skilled dexterity can be revealed as a trait of theirs through that alone.
Cons: They take a LONG TIME. Your character is not going anywhere. If they’re getting braids… they’re not going anywhere. If you write your character doing anything fancy the day of, depending on the type of braids, Black readers are not going to believe you. Even if it did get finished, it would be very tight. I currently have a poll going on, and so far, a good majority of the 10+ answers are braids! It cost MONEY. It is NOT CHEAP to get braids done! If your character is poor as a church mouse, they will be doing those braids with their friend in front of youtube. Because it can be in the hundreds of dollars. (Don’t get me started on hair culture right now; BACK IN MY DAY IT COST-)
Hairstyles on Black Men
I want to specifically give space and applause to these hairstyles on Black men, because we REALLY don’t give Black men enough credit for all the creativity they show with their hair! And again, with The Killmonger being the choice style in all these damn vidya games despite almost no Black man I know choosing it as a look… PLEASE LOOK! WE HAVE OPTIONS! Try describing how gorgeous these looks can be on your Black men characters! It would be very nice.
Straight Hair
Well, I was going to explain, but ol ‘Guest Writer’ here pretty much lays it all out! So just go ahead and read this article lol.
Just to re-emphasize, straight hair is NOT something that just grows out of our head that way! It takes effort! So if you have a character that doesn’t feel like maintaining straight hair, they shouldn’t have it! If your character has natural hair and lives in a rainy or humid city, they’re going to be fighting that weather to keep it straight- make sure that’s consistent with their personality!
My best friend used to wash and flatiron her hair every day. Like, laser focused on looking that good, Type A shit (she’s a top money banker now, so I guess it worked out). If you have a character like that, it’s fine! If they’re lazy any other time of the day, they’re not suddenly going to be waking up at 5am to flat iron their hair. It’s not consistent.
Conclusion
That’s pretty much what I have! I’m not the guru on all things Black hair, and I obviously cannot encompass every potential scenario you may have for your characters. Really, my intention here is to get you to think about how our hair reflects our character and personalities, and how when you write and/or draw a Black character, you have that ability! And when you’re able to incorporate that naturally, it makes your Black readers feel seen, like you actually cared about that character enough to give them just as much description as your nonblack characters. You don’t have to be a master at it! Just… occasionally the little things that we can go ‘oh, yeah!’ at would be nice. An equivalent effort would be nice.
Remember, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Everything I Wanted II.
LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)
Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.
Word count: 8.9k
Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read
Relationships: Lestappen x Reader
Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader
Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader
Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.
I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.
Find me on Twitter!
-
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
-
You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.
Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.
During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.
Nobody noticed anything.
One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.
“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.
Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.
“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”
“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”
You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.
“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”
You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.
“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”
You took his advice to your heart.
You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.
The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.
That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.
When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.
“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.
“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.
Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.
“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.
“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.
“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”
You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.
And yet-
Somehow-
You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.
“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.
You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.
As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.
He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.
“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.
He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.
Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.
“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.
Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.
That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.
It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.
But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.
You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.
“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.
“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.
“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”
You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.
“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”
“No, uh, I haven’t.”
Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.
“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.
There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.
“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.
As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.
“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”
“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.
“What are your plans for this competition?”
“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.
The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.
“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.
“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.
“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.
“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”
The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.
On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.
“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”
“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.
“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.
“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.
“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”
You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.
“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.
“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.
You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.
It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.
“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.
The rivalry never died down though.
Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.
“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”
“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”
“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”
“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.
The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.
That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.
The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.
In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.
You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and got into your left eye.
You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.
“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.
“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.
“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.
“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.
“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”
You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.
“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.
You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.
“How does it feel?”
“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.
“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”
“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.
“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.
“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.
“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.
“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.
“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.
“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.
“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.
“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”
You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.
“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”
You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.
“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.
As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.
“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”
Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.
Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.
“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.
“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”
Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.
“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.
You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.
Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.
After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.
Thank you. Twice. - Lioness
The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.
After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.
Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.
You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.
Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.
The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.
“Y/N? What happened?”
“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.
“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.
“It’s mom”
“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.
Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.
In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.
You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.
Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.
“What happened?”
“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”
You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.
You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.
When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.
Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her.
Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.
You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.
The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.
In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.
You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.
“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”
“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”
“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.
“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”
The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.
“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.
“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.
“Damn, thanks.”
“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”
You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.
“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”
As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.
“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.
You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.
You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.
Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.
Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.
“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”
“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”
You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.
The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.
You had to honor your mom in some way.
That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.
You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.
After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.
Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.
Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.
While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.
You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.
“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”
Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.
Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around.
“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.
“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.
Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.
“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.
“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”
“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.
“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.
“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.
“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.
After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.
My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.
She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders.
But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.
All the love, Y/N
Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.
You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.
With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.
You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.
You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.
Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.
“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.
“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.
You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.
“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.
“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.
“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”
“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”
“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“No trying. Do it.”
After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.
As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.
The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.
Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-
“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”
“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”
You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.
Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.
“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.
“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.
As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.
When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.
“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.
“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.
“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.
“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”
“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”
“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”
“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”
You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-
“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”
“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.
You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.
After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.
You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.
“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.
“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”
You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.
“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”
You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.
“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.
“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.
That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.
When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.
You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.
“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.
TAG LIST: @be-your-coffee-pot @supremebaddietrash @mellowarcadefun @cmleitora @kyuupidwrites @80sloverry @newlifeforus @soulaires @hrrorflm @redwolfxx @icarus-nex @jenniferrvsesi @bborra @leilanixx @hc-dutch @withyoutilltheendodthismess @is-just-a @freetimemachinequeen @saturnchase @butterfly-lover @eddiesbitch83 @elliott-calls @nb26fort @wcnorris @vellicora @mac-daddy-210 @hiraethrhapsody @losore-prone @gills-lounge @enrapturedbythemoon @formula1mount @mightiestheroes @cherry-piee @chezmardybum @whodis-26 @mortallyblueninja @f1mockingjay @dance-the-painting
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fic#formula 1#formula one#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#lestappen#lestappen x reader#Spotify
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
older part 3
think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders
synopsis: your friends say you're delusional for thinking you have a chance with jungkook, your parents' friends' son, but you just can't seem to let him go.
alternatively, you break jungkook's heart and jungkook enlists in the army to get over you--- but he can't just fuck off from your life forever; your lives are infinitely intertwined
word count: 21k
pairing: older!jk x afab reader
genre: age gap au (seven years), childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes, there is a mention of jungkook shooting someone lol, non explicit smut, mentions of sex
OLDER MASTERLIST
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3
When it comes to you, Jungkook’s window of tolerance extends towards the sun and the stars, to Jupiter and Saturn, if you will. For you, he’ll willingly undertake deeds he won’t even entertain for anyone else.
Anything for you. Whenever and wherever.
He will, in fact, swoop in and rescue you from a 2AM party (like the Prince Charming he is), even if it means disrupting his beauty sleep because as much as likes your friends, he doesn’t trust them to take you home safely, especially when alcohol is involved. Scratch that, he doesn’t really trust anybody to take you home besides himself. Even with work the next day, the appeal of sleep drowns when you’re drunkenly texting him from some frat mansion at who knows where.
Approximately 10% of his biweekly earnings are devoted to you, his princess. He would never utter these sentiments aloud, yet he embraces them willingly, indulging in gestures of affection reserved solely for you.
He’s not afraid to wipe your tears, stick his fingers into your nose, or to touch any bodily fluid (given that it comes from you), because it’s you and his being simply isn’t capable of conjuring feelings of disgust when it’s you.
He sees you and he loves you, but a man can only take so much.
“What?” you ask quietly, breathless, like the wind’s been knocked from your lungs.
Jungkook exhales deeply, straightening his posture as he runs his hands across his face. “Y/N. Get out of my apartment. I’m serious.”
You think that this is the first time in the history of the world Jungkook has straight up told you to leave.
“Why?”
“Why?” Jungkook repeats, “What do you mean, why? You ignored me for four months straight. Thanks for spending the night, but you need to leave.”
Jungkook, just a man though he may be, is simply incapable to resist when you show up at his doorstep in the dead of the night- and even if he welcomes you into his home for the last time, he simply isn’t able to welcome you back into his heart. How could he willingly allow you to reclaim his heart’s residence after he’s worked so hard to expel you from its throne?
Your blatant disregard for his presence spoke volumes; you didn’t care for him nor did you respect him. Jungkook isn’t going to fold simply because he finds you beautiful and perfect and amazing and everything he’s ever wanted.
“So that’s all I am to you? A quick fuck?”
All the empathy he harbors disperses from his being like a passing breeze, ephemeral and elusive. Evidently, you’ve crossed the line.
Jungkook blinks at you, his expression unreadable, while you inwardly recoil, immediately regretting your words. Jungkook won’t even entertain the notion. He knows you know how much you mean to him, and quite frankly, he’s appalled that you’re blatantly weaponizing something as pure as his love.
“Y/N, I’m not going to see my family in a year, and you came to my place and made it all about yourself. You need to go,” Jungkook’s voice is firm and low, and he looks right at you, disappointment reflected in his pupils.
“I didn’t mean to make it about myself. I just wanted to see you,” You try so desperately hard to rationalize, but he’s right; you weren’t thinking about him, you were thinking about yourself.
“And by doing that, you made it about yourself-” Jungkook rubs his face with his palms, “Y/N. I don’t want to fight. Just go home.”
He hears a gentle sniffle escape you, and it elicits a heavy sigh from Jungkook. It's like a tug at his heartstrings, but he’s already beyond frustrated, and at this point, he wants to be alone.
“Jungkook, I-I love you,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. If I’m better by the time you come back, will you give me a chance?”
As you raise your head, tears cascading down your cheeks, Jungkook's heart clenches at the sight. Jungkook hates seeing you cry, and it makes his heart physically ache, but there will be no appeal to his emotions.
“Y/N- I mean- did you think I was gonna wait forever? You can’t treat a man like that and expect them to wait around forever.”
“But we had sex,” you counter, “The way you fucked me- I know you still love me- so please. I’ll be better. I’ll be better for you. Please,” you beg.
Jungkook exhales softly, leaning into the support of the wall behind him. He remains stoic, neither affirming nor refuting your observation. He offers no gesture of consolation, no attempt to dry your tears.
“Go home.”
If he doesn't want you there, then you’ll leave. Clumsily, you stand up from the bed, picking your clothes up from the ground before haphazardly slipping into them, leaving yourself vulnerable under Jungkook’s gaze.
He doesn’t walk you out.
You open the door and slam it closed before he can let another word out.
-
Jungkook has always been a constant presence in your life, like the warmth of the sun on a chilly morning.
He’s very aware of the image you have of him in your cute little head, and he does everything he can to fulfill that image for you. He’s well aware of your little prince charming fantasies revolving around him, and truly, truly does everything to be your Prince Charming.
He’ll indulge you, always- to the extent where Mingyu and Taehyung constantly throw the term “sugar daddy” around- and of course Jungkook will roll his eyes, but he won’t deny it.
Jungkook has dropped thousands on you. He’s a single man in his 20’s with way too much money, anyways. So what was he supposed to do? Let all his money sit in his 401K to ensure that he’s financially secure for retirement (🙄) or buy you an unnecessarily expensive designer dress and observe how your face lights up?
Obviously, he’ll choose the latter.
Simultaneously, that doesn’t mean you don’t make him feel the same way. This is so corny, but you’re kind of like the rainbow after a storm, bringing color back to his otherworldly, gloomy world.
Jungkook’s not perfect. Despite what you think, he’s far from perfect.
About half a year ago, he thought he hit rock bottom. And when he hit rock bottom, all he needed was you to remedy his mood.
There was an issue at work where he was accused of leaking confidential information to a competitor. The accusations were baseless, but the damage to his reputation was significant. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him. He faced scrutiny from his colleagues and doubt from his superiors.
After an excruciating meeting with the company lawyers, he drove back to his mom’s place- his mood as dark as the night enveloping his luxury car. All he wanted was his mommy. He was a 25 year old grown ass man, but all he wanted was his mommy.
As he bursts through the front doors, the familiar scent of his mother's cooking greets his nostrils, wrapping him in a sense of comfort and the feeling of home. He heads towards the kitchen, until he walks into something…
You yelp, rubbing your hand over your forehead.
“Oh shit,” Jungkook mumbles, “My bad, baby. Didn’t see you” Jungkook says apologetically, placing his hands on your shoulders to stabilize you. His eyes glaze over your frame, and he smiles.
You’re in boyshorts and a tank top. Typically of you to treat his parents’ place like it was your own; you’re family anyways.
Jungkook whizzes past you, setting his work backpack on the kitchen counter. You follow him back into the kitchen, attending to the steak being grilled on the stovetop. You whirl around to face him, a mischievous smile spreading across your lips.
“You look… handsome,” you finally say.
Jungkook stares incredulously at you before he bursts into a smile at your anticss. “Oh really? You like me in business formal?”
You clasp your palms behind your back and shift your weight between your ankles. “Maybe?” you sheepishly respond, in your typical girlish nature.
Jungkook bites back a laugh, looking at you smugly. “Where’s mom?”
You shrug, “She’s probably with her second boyfriend,” you teasingly muse, lips pouted out before you turn around to perceive his reaction.
Jungkook scoffs at you amusedly before standing up to walk towards you. You smile sheepishly at him, not backing down when he practically towers over you. He pinches your cheek affectionately. “You’re cute, baby,” he jokes, and it makes your heart clench- not in a good way- because he means you’re cute… like a literal infant baby or a puppy, not a woman.
“Did my mom call you over?” he asks, rummaging through the fridge.
You nod, “Mm-hmm. She said she had to go run some errands so she wanted me to make you dinner,” you motion towards the steak sizzling in its pan. “Rare, just how you like it! Ta-da!”
He gazes at you with an affectionate smile. “Thanks. Did you drive here or do I need to drop you off?”
You make a pssh sound with your lips, dismissing the notion with a wave, “I’ve been driving for like two years,” you state matter-a-factly, throwing up a gyaru sign because why not, “I can drive home just fine.”
“Alright, yea,” Jungkook acquiesces, putting his hands up, “You’re all grown up- I get it, I get it.”
“Good,” you respond, plating his steak before handing it to him, “But Jungkook, why are you back home? You usually don’t come home on work nights.”
Jungkook settles at the dining table, before he looks at you and sighs. You tilt your head, very cognizant of his body language. You’re in love with him, of course you can read all his nonverbal cues.
“Just some shit at work,” he explains, “Has me stressed out of my mind.”
You pout, approaching him before you wrap and arm around his shoulder. The moment feels oddly intimate- like he’s returned to his two-story, middle-class home to his wife cooking up a home-made dinner, her touch everything he needs to bring him down from a stressful day at work. He swears he can even hear the kids crying from upstairs.
“Wanna talk about it?” you beckon with your sweet voice.
“Just been accused of some shit,” he mumbles, “Some illegal shit,” he adds, and you rest your head on his shoulder, making him freeze slightly and his chest tighten.
“Don’t worry,” you sweetly comfort, “The truth will always be revealed, and you’ll be cleared eventually. And besides, you’re young, rich, and hot. As long as you know who you are, you don’t need to worry about others.”
Jungkook’s brows furrow slightly before he relaxes his expression. What a juvenile, yet straightforward outlook on life. So simple, yet so… brilliant?
Jungkook knows that you’re more than capable of understanding the complex intricacies of the professional world, but he finds solace in its simplicity as a counterbalance to his excruciating overthinking.
He sighs blissfully, turning towards you. “Give me a hug, baby. I need a hug.”
You nod sweetly and wrap your arms around him. “Of course. Call me any time if you want a hug.”
-
You coming on to him the night before enlistment was his last opportunity to indulge in you, and he’s only just a man- a weak, weak man, so it’s simply in his nature to succumb to your allure.
Jungkook is now bald, devoid of any hair. Gone with his hair is his sense of confidence. Staring at his reflection, he runs a hand over his bald head, his mood becoming despondent.
One hour ago, you slammed his front door, scurrying down the stairs with tears cascading down your cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t like seeing you cry; he hates seeing you cry- but it’s time to let go and live.
The most daunting aspect of dating with an age-gap is the maturity discrepancy. Like two ships sailing different seas, Jungkook has sailed through weathered storms while your sail catches the wind of youthful possibility.
This discrepancy manifests through communication styles, lifestyle choices, and most importantly, love languages.
You would never, ever do anything to hurt him purposely- but you did.
Nonetheless, what was Jungkook supposed to expect? Undeniably, he loves you with everything in him but was he supposed to expect you to handle things with the maturity of someone his age?
He should’ve known, and for that, he feels dumb.
Feels dumb and like an idiot because you used to cartwheel in his room trying to get his attention. Feels dumb because when you were 11, he was already 18– like, what the fuck is that age gap?
What was he supposed to expect? You lost both of your parents at the same time when you were 20 years old. You’re traumatized, you’re young, and he kinda feels like he took advantage of your juvenile feelings for him- but no, a love like his is pure, and he wants nothing but the best for you, which is why he’s going to let go.
The wind from a slightly ajar window brushes, spreading the hair around the floor and suddenly glitter comes to mind.
Glitter. Sparkles. Fairy Dust.
When you were a senior in high school, Jungkook bought you a prom dress. Your bum ass boyfriend (or situationship- he doesn’t know. He wants to burn the memory of all men who you’ve been with before him) didn’t even want to go to prom with you, and Jungkook, as the great “mom’s friend’s son” he was, offered to buy you a dress- no budget.
-
Jungkook dropped by your place to drop off some sticky rice, as instructed by his mother; he was a good and obedient son. He knew your parents were at Zumba, so he sent you a quick text in advance. You always responded to his texts immediately, promptly, instantly, right away, and without delay.
You can only imagine Jungkook’s apprehension when it’s been thirty minutes and you still haven’t come to the door.
Normally, Jungkook would have been annoyed to wait this long for you, but he’s actually concerned– because what if you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere? Okay, maybe he shouldn’t go to such extremes, but you were undeniably a gorgeous girl, recently 18, and he knew that so many men had their eyes on you.
Not him, though. He was a gentleman.
Jungkook swings open the door of his car, swiftly walking towards your front door. On cue, the outer door swings open, and you’re standing apprehensively, struggling to unlock the screen door because the fucking lock always gets jammed. The lock just won’t budge and after a good second of trying, you bang your fist against the door, yelling a very non-intimidating “Fuck!”
Jungkook smiles, “Twist the door knob, then try the lock,” he gently instructs. You oblige, and the screen door swings open.
“I’ll come back tomorrow to fix that,” he adds before walking towards your kitchen to place the sticky rice into the fridge.
“Thanks,” you mumble, taking a seat at the dining table.
Jungkook glances back at you from the fridge, “Why’d you cry?”
The question is asked with a subtle casualty, and that makes you want to actually go curl into a ditch and die.
To Jungkook, it was painfully obvious. He’s known you since forever and has all your mannerisms ingrained into his mind like a tattoo. Usually, when you wake up, you’re quite lethargic, stumbling around with your eyes half cracked open- but right now, you’re cognizant as ever.
Furthermore, when you cry, your eyes usually swell up- more so than the average person. After you cry, it’s like your eyes turned into little, red, puffy balls with slits for seeing. And Jungkook had eyes, superb vision, actually, and he could clearly see that your eyes were in fact, swollen.
“t’s nothing,” you mumble, “It’s stupid.”
Jungkook purses his lips, contemplating whether he should push further. Your big mouth keeps going before he can get a word out.
“Well, if I tell you, promise not to judge me?” you ask, sticking out your pinky finger.
Jungkook locks the promise in. “Never,” he breathes.
“Well… it’s just… you know…”
Jungkook raises a brow.
“I just… I hate my boobs.”
Jungkook blinks at you, and you blink at him.
“You said you weren’t going to judge me!”
Jungkook is absolutely flabbergasted. “I just- wait-” he pauses, putting his hands up, “What’s wrong with your boobs? They look normal to me.”
Your features contort into petulance, and you pout. Immediately, you rise, wiping the dust off your shorts before you divulge into the full story. Jungkook can only sit there and listen.
“Okay, listen. Let me start from the beginning,” you start, pacing around, “So I ordered two prom dresses,” you explain, making a peace sign with your hands.
“And they looked so good on the models, but they look horrible on me! Because my boobs are so small and my body looks imbalanced! So I cried about it. I just wanted to feel pretty…. Do you think my parents will be mad at me if I get my tits done?”
Jungkook blinks at you. At the time, he hadn’t a clue of how to respond, but oh how he grew to love your boobs. In fact, he currently wishes that they were swinging in his face.
“Y/N, don’t get a boob job,” is the first thing he says.
What else could he say? He couldn’t tell you that he thinks your body is perfect, or that you’d look stunning in any dress you wear- he did not want to creep you out. “Lemme see you try the dresses,” he offers, “You’re probably in your head- it can’t be that bad.”
“I’m 18,” you counter, “It’s completely legal for me to get a boob job. I don’t even want D’s! I think I would be okay with B’s. In fact, all I need to do is sell a couple feet pictures and I’d have enough to finance my boob job-”
“Y/N. Just try on the dress.”
“Fine,” you huff, puffing up the stairs.
A few moments later, you reappear, and Jungkook almost chokes on his own saliva. The dress you're wearing captures his attention entirely. Its fabric shimmers under the kitchen light, a juxtaposition against the bland interior, cascading in gentle folds as it hugs your curves delicately. With each step, the skirt sways gently, whispering secrets of a night yet to unfold.
Gorgeous. Stunning. Most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he recalls the pang of guilt that washed over him, because you’re seven years younger, and it feels wrong, incongruous.
Fortunately for him, Jungkook is great at hiding his emotions, so even a slightly suspicious clearing of the throat does nothing to phase you.
You pause, blinking at him, and he blinks back at you.
“I told you it was bad!-”
“Wait, no. Stop. It’s not bad…” Jungkook offers.
You blink at each other again.
“Oh, you fucking liar!” you scoff.
“What?” Jungkook retorts, features morphing into confusion, “Why would I lie? I always just say whatever I want to say.“
You groan, plopping onto the dining room table with your arms crossed. “You don’t know anything about prom dresses,” you mutter.
This marked the first time Jungkook perceived you as a woman. He spent a year suppressing it all because of the guilt, but it became inevitable. It bubbled up and exploded; he couldn’t contain it anymore.
“Well…” he started, every so carefully pulling his wallet from his pocket, using two fingers to take out his credit card, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you another one? One more suitable for… flatter chests?”
You gasped like you’d never breathed air before, jumping to your feet, “Really? Would you really do that?!”
Jungkook shrugged casually, did everything to mask his thunderous heartbeat banging in his chest, “Yea, why not? I have money.”
At that, you squealed, jumping on both feet before you absolutely enveloped him in a hug.
Still staring at his reflection, Jungkook returns to Earth. You’re so childish and dumb, but he can’t help that he’s deeply enamored with you, and because of that, he’s going to go to the military and pretend like he never existed in the first place.
-
In the first few weeks at the military, Jungkook finds the distance more excruciating than he had when you ignored him. He enlisted in the first place to get his mind off you, to learn to live without you, but you’re the only person on his mind.
It certainly doesn’t help that he’s carrying a locket bearing your image, but he can’t bring himself to throw it out. He doesn’t even know why he has it in the first place, or why he had it custom made; he feels obsessive but whenever Jungkook’s on his last lap, his last pushup, or his last pullup, you’re the thought to propel him forward.
The military barracks are cold, dusty, and lonely. Sometimes, he can’t sleep, and on those restless nights, he finds himself reaching for the locket. Staring at the image of you smiling back at him, it’s like a tangible reminder of something he can’t quite explain.
He holds the locket in his hand, tracing the edges with its fingertips. He remembers your touch, your warmth, the way your hand fits perfectly in his.
True loser behavior.
You ignored him for fucking months, didn’t care how he was doing, or if he were laying dead in a ditch, yet he still loves you, still clings onto you. If he didn’t enlist, he probably would’ve ran back to you the moment you showed up at his place.
If anything, you’re not the type of girl who should be in a locket. You’re immature, childish, and rude, but he holds the locket close to his heart, because quite frankly, he hears how the men in the military speak about women, and he would never ever subject you to that.
Some guys hang up cute pictures and polaroids of their girlfriends on the bunks, which would almost immediately be thrown into the trash because of the insane comments from the (obviously single) guys.
Jungkook deems running as the most arduous drill in boot camp.
Jungkook can do three or five miles easily, but twelve miles with gear on? Absolutely not. What makes it worse is when the other guys try to make small talk- wasn’t running excruciating enough?
Even on the eighth mile, Jungkook clutches the locket tightly in his grasp. The sensation burning in his abs is borderline excruciating, and he opens the locket to glimpse at your image
James, the absolute deviant of the 8th squad, approaches Jungkook from the rear. “Who’s that, Jeon?” James asks.
Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut; this is the last thing he wanted. He says nothing, slightly accelerating in speed.
As James draws nearer, his tone dripping with mockery, Jungkook's muscles tense with apprehension.
"Come on, Jeon, spill it," James prods, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Who's the lucky lady in the locket?"
Jungkook's jaw clenches, his grip on the locket tightening. He knows the implications of revealing your identity in this environment, where vulnerability is exploited and secrets are ammunition.
"Just keep running," Jungkook retorts, his voice strained with suppressed frustration. Running 12 miles with 50 pounds of gear was already hell, why was he trying to pick a fight?
But James persists, matching Jungkook's stride with unsettling ease. "Oh, come on, Jeon, don't be shy," he taunts, edging closer. "Is she the reason you're always off in your own world during training?"
A surge of anger pulses through Jungkook's veins, his resolve fraying under James's relentless scrutiny. He fights to keep his emotions in check, knowing that any sign of weakness could be exploited.
With a steely gaze, Jungkook halts abruptly, turning to face James with a glare. "Back off, James," he warns, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, before he returns to his usual stride.
James's grin widens, sensing Jungkook's vulnerability. "Someone’s sensitive,” James teases, “Scared your girl’s with the mailman right now?”
Jungkook’s features harden, and he continues onto the ninth mile. His feet ache, and the mud is starting to seep into his socks. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by Wooseok, who comes to his defense.
Wooseok bumps shoulder with James from behind. “Chill, James. He’s got her in a locket. Better not mess with that.”
-
Jungkook hates to admit it, but James got to his head.
Jungkook knows he’s the one who let you go, and that there’s no winning in this situation, but he’s selfish and the thought of you with another man makes him physically ill. Had it been any other girl, he would immediately lose interest the moment he discovered she was messing around with others- but the thought of you with someone else physically hurts.
He doesn’t have much access to his phone, and there’s nothing to take his mind off it.
There’s that taboo story about men in the military getting cheated on. It's a tale as old as time.
The fear of infidelity hangs over these soldiers constantly- but you’re not even his girlfriend.
So if you were to move on, there wouldn’t be a thing wrong with that.
Isn’t that what he wanted? For you to find happiness with someone your own age? Someone you would love, not just be infatuated with.
But fuck, why does it makes his heart swell? The thought of another man seeing you, feeling you, and touching you the way he has, the way he should be, makes him ill.
-
You know you said you were going to change, and you’re really, really trying. It’s been one month since your last encounter with Jungkook and you think things are taking an upward trajectory.
For one, you’ve started your internship with the local bank, and you’re making a lot of money (to your standards), definitely not a lot to someone like Jungkook, but it’s good enough for you. Since summer hit, you’ve retaken some of the classes you failed, and your GPA has now returned to the 3.0 range.
However, that doesn’t mean that your obsession with Jungkook has dwindled in the slightest. You’re childish in a sense, and you’re kind of taking advantage of your relationship with his parents to see what he’s up to at all times.
You’re snooping over Jungkook’s mother’s shoulder like the nosy girl you are, and you scandalously gasp at Jungkook’s text.
“Haha yea, Y/N looks pretty” is probably the most disingenuous thing he’s ever said about you.
Like sure, whatever, he’s calling you pretty but he’s only saying it because his mom asked him whether he thinks you’re pretty in the first place.
Your eyes continue skimming down the phone and you see something that makes your jaw drop to your ass
Jungkook’s mother shuts her phone off and squeals. “Oh Y/N! I can’t wait for Jungkookie to get married! I want grandbabies already, she pouts.
It’s like a punch to the gut. The thought of another girl walking down the aisle to marry Jungkook makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you so jealous you can’t fathom it. It's a visceral reaction, a knot tightening in your stomach as jealousy courses through your veins, clouding your thoughts and stirring emotions you never knew existed.
Every detail of the imagined scene plays out in your mind like a cruel movie reel, tormenting you with the painful reality of what could be.
With a forced smile, you manage to utter, "That's great, Mrs. Jeon. I'm sure Jungkook will make a wonderful husband one day."
-
Jungkook’s friends, in fact, do not hate you.
Actually, they’re quite nice and understanding of the situation at hand. Maybe it’s the fact that you shoved meat down their throats before explaining how you actually felt, or because you were somewhat valid in your decision to not acknowledge Jungkook’s existence for four months.
“He’s probably not mad at you,” Mingyu reasons, toying with the hem of his beanie before shoving a piece of beef into his mouth, “I don’t think he has the capacity to be angry at-”
Taehyung furrows his brows and Mingyu continues his sentiment, “at Y/N,” Mingyu clarifies, “He’d never be mad at Y/N.”
You sigh, using your chopsticks to flip some meat over, “He kicked me out of his apartment,” you express.
“No,” Taehyung contests, “You chose to move out, didn’t you?”
You chew on your lip apprehensively, suddenly finding the need to rake your fingers through your hair, “Yea, but I spent the night before he enlisted and he kicked me out in the morning.”
Taehyung pauses, exchanging glances with Mingyu. “By spend the night, you mean…?”
“Yes, I mean,” you confirm, “I just don’t want him to hate me. I know I fucked up, but I would never do anything to hurt him on purpose. I mean- not to use it as an excuse- but my parents’ suddenly died in a fucking car accident? Am I supposed to be normal after that? I didn’t mean to hurt him, I just couldn’t at the time, and I’m not sure if I can, at all.”
Mingyu purses his lips, “I just think he- you know- was super heartbroken. Y/N, Jungkook really loves you, and by love I mean that you’re probably the only girl he will ever love. He probably just needed time to process everything too,” he says gently, reaching out to give your hand a brotherly squeeze.
“You made him cry,” Taehyung asserts, and you pause.
“Seriously?”
Taehyung’s lips form into a straight line and he shrugs, “You made him cry. Showed up at my place in the middle of the night drunk and in tears over you.”
At that, you sink into the leather seat. Cry? You’ve known Jungkook since you were born and you’ve never seen him cry before.
You bang your head against the table- a little too hard- and you yelp in pain , clutching your forehead. Mingyu immediately whisks closer to you, gently removing your hand and scrutinizing the mark on your forehead.
You’re suddenly reminded of something Soobin said to you a couple weeks ago. Something about Jungkook’s friends are just as brotherly as Jungkook, always going the extra mile to take care of you, and suddenly you feel bad.
You groan, “Guys I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for things to get so messy. I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this- but I really care about Jungkook, I really do.”
Taehyung’s grumpy face finally relaxes, “We know you do, Y/N. No one is mad at you- trust me. But you have to make up your mind: do you want him or not? You can’t be wishy washy about this- Jungkook’s a lot older than you. He can’t waste his whole life waiting on you-”
“I want him,” you immediately declare, “I want him, and I’m ready to give everything to show that I love him.”
Mingyu smiles at you, “Well tell him that, not us.”
Your cheeks turn slightly pink. “Yea. I might.”
The rest of the night continues with ease. Mingyu and Taehyung ask you about school, give you professional advice for the future, and at the end of the night you reach over the table to give your card to the waitress, but Taehyung physically holds you back, and Mingyu gives his card to the waiter.
You’re truly so loved.
-
Things change and people change.
The first time Jungkook gets leave from the military is for the memorial service for your parents.
You’ve put the memorial service off for about a year. As their only daughter and remaining heir of your parents, the decision of when and where to hold the memorial service rested solely with you.
Yet, you just couldn’t bring yourself to go through with it, especially with Jungkook in the military.
Like the blossoming of spring, a year has passed, and at 21, you've graduated college, content yet eager for new beginnings.
When Jungkook's mother called you, brimming with excitement, inviting you to join in picking him up from the enlistment site, you couldn't find it in your heart to decline. Even when Jungkook kicked you from his apartment, you and he both knew that you couldn’t just fuck off from his life entirely.
Since birth, Jungkook has always been there. His parents, who are practically your aunt and uncle, have nurtured and cared for you since forever. You've shared in every significant milestone of his life, from graduations and birthdays, and when he gets married, you know you’ll be there, even if it tears you apart.
Your lives would be forever intertwined.
Had you changed since that night at his apartment? Kinda? Not really.
You've moved out from the mansion shared with friends to your own space. With a “lucrative” five-figure job, late-night parties and raves are a thing of the past. You’re all for early morning runs and late night reading.
With the anticipation of seeing Jungkook for the first time since that day, you find yourself more fixated on your outfit than you’ve ever been in your life. More so than prom, more so than Coachella, and more so than graduation.
Jungkook has only ever seen you in hoodies and sweats, a crop top and ripped jeans, or the occasional mini bodycon dress- you don’t think he’s ever seen you in business casual. You wear a chic satin blouse with jeans and closed toed heels.
Jungkook’s parents don’t really like to drive, so of course, you’re driving Jungkook’s Mercedes, (he so carefully left in the care of his parents), to the enlistment sight, which you’re sure he’ll be absolutely thrilled to see. He never let you drive his car out of the parking lot.
As you slide into the driver’s seat of the car, a wave of anxiety washes over you. This is the first time you would see him in an entire year- the longest you’ve been apart. What would he look like? Does he still have feelings for you? Is he still upset with you? Has he completely forgotten about you?
With a soft click, the engine hums to life, and you follow the GPS through the streets towards the enlistment sight. Jungkook’s parents sit in the back, occasionally passing you trail mix and bananas.
You pull up to the enlistment sight, waiting anxiously with your arms crossed amongst the crowds of people.
Jungkook emerges from the crowd in his military uniform, and your heart swells with pride and sorrow. He looks so handsome. He looks bigger, stronger, more rugged. You’ve seen celebrities and models in person before and they could never compare. You step to the side as he greets his parents, and when he turns his head, he locks eyes with you.
It’s like the world stops revolving.
It’s been a year since you’ve seen him and he never ever fails to make you feel this way. He’s made you feel this way since you were 15 and the feeling never dissipated, only amplified.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you swallow.
Jungkook doesn’t look at you in any type of way. His eyes scan over you and he sends you a genuine smile. “Hey Y/N,” he offers, opening his arms for a hug. You hug him from the side, reciprocating his polite smile. “Hi Jungkook. You look nice.”
“You look pretty,” he offers before turning towards his parents and casually taking the keys from your hand.
“Should we go now?”
Jungkook drives all the way home, with you in the passenger seat. You don’t say much. You find yourself simply listening as Jungkook shares with his parents what life in the military is like.
It was expected from everyone that Jungkook would do well in the army. When he was 15 years old, a personal trainer told him that he’d bulk up in muscle from just lifting a spoon.
After reaching home, Jungkook’s parents suggest you show him around your new place, and neither of you really have a choice but to oblige.
The moment Jungkook’s parents are dropped off at his place, an awkward silence absolutely encapsulates the inside of that Mercedes. You don’t say anything; you just lean your head on the window, looking outside the city where you and Jungkook have been for your entire life.
Jungkook says nothing either, tapping his fingers against the drivers’ wheel.
Finally, he speaks up. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation.”
“It’s fine,” you mumble in response, “You’re busy.”
“Yea.”
More silence overwhelms the car.
“So what did you do with your parents’ house?” he asks, flickering his eyes towards you. You push yourself further against the seat.
“AirBnb,” is all you can conjure.
Your parents were loaded and left you with a plethora of assets. The house, for one, is your second stream of income. You locked off yours and your parents’ room, and cleaned up the rest of the house for it to be rented out.
“Smart,” he offers.
“Thanks.”
He hums in response, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Instinctively, his hands reach towards the radio, turning the Bluetooth on, which of course is already connected to your phone.
Everytime by Ariana Grande blares through the radio, making you temporarily freeze.
I get weak and fall like a teenager
Why, oh, why does God keep bringing me back to you?
I get drunk, pretend that I’m over it
Self-destruct, show up like an idiot
Why, oh, why does God keep bringing me back to you?
I go back to you, back to you, back to you
Back to you, back to you, back to you
I go back to you, back to you, back to you, every time
You’ve had enough. You turn the radio off and roll the window down, your head peeking through from the outside while you let the wind blow against your face.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything either, just continues following the GPS to your apartment.
-
After what seems like forever, he eventually reaches the security gate. "4832," you mention, prompting him to enter the number and which opens the security gate.
“It’s good you live in a gated community,” he comments, “it’s safer that way.”
“Yea,” you agree, not really sure what else
You and Jungkook take the elevator to your place, and you punch the code in before letting Jungkook in.
Jungkook thinks your place is so you. It smells sweet, like vanilla. There’s a white, fluffy couch in front of the TV with stacks of Rilakkuma plushies. Your kitchen is clean, well organized; he sees a heart shaped bowl in the middle of the dining room table. Framed photos adorn the shelves: some of you with your parents, your friends, and one with him and his family from Jungkook’s college graduation.
You rub your palms on your jeans. “So, what do you think?”
“Nice,” he responds, “I’m proud of you.”
You purse your lips and nod. “Thanks… I have a room prepared for you– but is there anything you want to do tonight? Mingyu and Tae can come over, if you’d like.”
Jungkook toys with his lower lip before he tilts his head. It slightly bothers him that his friends have been over at yours, and that you mention it so casually- but of course, he doesn’t mention it.
“No, it’s cool,” he responds, “You look tired. You had to drive a while to get me,” he offers.
“No, no,” you shake your head, “It’s fine. Not a big deal…. You look strong.”
Jungkook smiles, “Yea. Military drills and stuff,” he rests a hand on the kitchen counter and leans against it.
His eyes flicker towards you, looking you up and down. You gulp.
“I missed you,” you finally say, “... and I bought you something.”
Jungkook raises a brow, watching you daintily step into your room to pull out a small black box. You hand it to him, and he delicately opens it. A golden chain.
“I don’t know,” you murmur, “I see lots of military guys wearing chains and I thought you’d like one too,” you offer, shifting your weight between your ankles.
“Thanks,” Jungkook says, “Probably the first time you’ve ever gotten me a gift,” he jokes, to which you playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll wear it when I get back to camp.”
You nod, rising on your tippy toes a bit. “And I’m sorry. For last time… y’know.”
Jungkook's expression crumbles. He licks his lips, “It’s okay. I should have been more understanding. You were going through a lot,” he whispers.
You nod. “I know. But I should have communicated more so I’m sorry. Just so you know, I’m still…”
What should you say? I’m still in love with you? I still think about you every day? I’m nothing without you?
Jungkook’s features soften, and you bite your lip.
"I'm still... here," you murmur, the words carrying the weight of your emotions as you struggle to articulate the depth of your feelings.
Jungkook's expression softens, a gentle understanding dawning in his eyes as he nods in acknowledgment. “I’ll always be here too,” is all he says.
Again, silence overwhelms the room.
“Right… well, my head hurts a little so I’m going to lie down for a bit. Wake me up if you need anything.”
Jungkook tilts his head, approaching you before he presses the back of his palm against your forehead. “You’re burning up,” he murmurs, and you swat his hand away.
“It’s fine. Just nervous about tomorrow,” you murmur.
“I’ll call Yeonjun.”
-
You didn’t expect him to offer to take care of you, cater to your every whim. You really didn’t.
However, straight-up leaving a moment later most definitely caught you off guard. Deep down, you had hoped for a gesture of consideration, like offering to pick up medicine from Walgreens or Walmart, or something.
In that instant, memories flood back of how he cared for you after your parents died. He was so attentive, so sweet. He home cooked you breakfast, meal prepped lunch, and ordered you take out in the evening. You were so out of it, too weak to even function and Jungkook catered to everything you needed.
It’s almost ironic that he zoomed from your apartment the moment he discovered you were ill. You shrug. There's no need to dwell on it or feel upset. It was odd that his parents suggested he spend the night with you. He should be with his parents anyways.
Even though you prepared a room for him, Jungkook goes back to his parents that night, and Yeonjun to yours.
Yeonjun is one of your best friends in the entire world, really, so you’re sorry that you’re treating him like this.
“Yeonjun, if we’re both single at 30, wanna get married?” You plead from the couch, your head resting on the arm and your feet dangling above the backseat.
Yeonjun graces you with the most disgusted look you’ve ever seen in your life. Yet, he still drapes a blanket over your frame, placing a wet cloth on your forehead. He doesn’t even entertain the notion.
“Maybe go back to Sunghoon. He’d seem desperate enough to give you another chance,” Yeonjun murmurs, resting on the opposing side of the couch with his arms crossed.
You pout, before bursting into laughter. You roll from the couch and land on the floor with a thud. Yeonjun joins you, sitting criss-cross applesauce across from you. He wipes a stray hair from your cheek, a cup of Buldak seemingly materializing in his hands. Seriously. Where’d he get that from?
“Y/N, that man does not want you,” Yeonjun states matter-a-factly, his demeanor solemn, a juxtaposition to the goofy red sauce stained around his lips.
And you can’t believe it, but you actually find it in you to giggle at that. Teetering back and forth from where you’re sitting, you sputter out a clumsy “Seems like I’m getting deja vu. How many times in your life have you told me that?”
“Millions,” Yeonjun shrugs, stuffing his face with ramen.
“But you were wrong,” you muse, “I did have a chance with him. He said he was in love with me.”
“Yea,” Yeonjun agrees, before tilting his head, “but you fumbled.”
“I fumbled,” you concur.
“You traumatized that man. He does not want your musty ass,” Yeonjun teases, flicking your forehead with his vacant hand.
“He does not want my musty ass,” you concur once again, a teasing smile spreading across your lips, before bursting into a fit of giggles.
Observing you, Yeonjun cracks a smile. “I’m glad you’re not being a crybaby about it anymore,” he comments, “FIrst loves are first loves,” he shrugs, “They say your second love is actually your true first love because they make you realize you weren’t actually in love with your first love.”
“Maybe,” you add, staring up at the ceiling fan swirling in circles and circles and circles- and it makes you dizzy. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Who would that even be?,” you ponder aloud, “Sunghoon is cute, but he doesn’t like me anymore.”
“Well, you can ask them, because I invited them over,” Yeonjun adds, suddenly locking eyes with you. You take a moment to process what he just said.
“What?-”
On cue, the doorbell rings, and Yeonjuns stands up, waltzing to get the door like he’s the owner of the damn apartment.
You scramble to your feet as Yeonjun swings open the door with a swish.
Heeseung and Sunghoon flood in, a teddy bear in Heeseung’s hands and a pot in Sunghoon’s.
Heeseung looks you up and down, sticking the teddy bear in your face. “Heard you were sick,” he says plainly, soliciting you to just blink at him.
Sunghoon scoffs from the side, “Yea Heeseung, just go add it to the stack of a hundred plushies she already has,” motioning towards your living room that indeed has a stack of Sanrio and Rilakkuma plushies in the corner.
You snort, snatching the teddy bear from his grimy little fingers. “Thanks… asshole.”
Sunghoon rummages through the fridge, placing his little pot in and taking a box of apple juice out. “I brought you dumpling soup. Just put it on the stove when you’re ready,” he instructs.
Heeseung joins Yeonjun in the living room, letting out a low whistle. “You have a pretty nice place, Y/N. Don’t miss living with us at all?”
You huff, stomping over towards Heeseung before pointing your finger in his face. “You slept with someone in my room!” you accuse, “No, I do not miss living with you!”
Heeseung puts his hands up, “Hey, I already apologized! That was in the past. I’m a born-again virgin now,” he continues.
You blink, exchanging a glance with Yeonjun before returning your gaze to Heeseung. The words leave you speechless, leaving you with nothing to say in response.
Nonetheless, you bend down to give him a hug, maneuvering to lie down on his thigh while you stare at the ceiling. “I have a fever guys,” you mumble, “Can’t have our entire university here bothering me and shit,” you joke, swatting their air like the boys are a bunch of pesky flies.
“Please,” Heeseung teases, “You’ll start crying the moment we leave.”
“Maybe,” slips from your mouth, and you run your hands over your face.
“What happened with Jungkook?” Sunghoon adds, a cup of Buldak ramen somehow also materializing in his hands. These boys are really raiding your ramen stash.
“Y/N fumbled,” Yeonjun answers for you, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.
Heeseung puts a hand on your forehead. “Holy shit Y/N! You really are burning up… are fevers contagious?”
“How gentlemanly of you,” you murmur.
“Wait, let me feel,” Sunghoon intervenes, pressing one hand against your forehead and the other against his. He gauges it for a moment. At that moment, you do recall that Sunghoon’s dad is a doctor, and he might have some magical prognosis for the situation at hand.
“Yea, you have a fever,” Sunghoon confirms.
You and Heeseung roll your eyes in unison.
“But what happened with Jungkook?” Sunghoon questions, settling back into his spot on the floor.
“I fumbled,” you respond, using Yeonjun’s words exactly. “But it’s fine. It’s whatever. I have a memorial service to worry about tomorrow,” you mutter.
At that, a solemn silence washes over the room. It doesn’t make you feel any type of way. You wouldn’t know what to say to a girl who lost both of her parents either.
“You also fumbled Sunghoon,” Heeseung jokes, immediately easing the atmosphere and eliciting an Oh c’mon from Sunghoon and laughter from you and Yeonjun.
Genuinely, you found that funny.
You feel complete and content.
-
Throughout the night, the three boys took turns tending to you, diligently replacing the ice pack on your forehead. It was crucial for your fever to break, knowing that the following day was your parents’ memorial service (the reason why Jungkook is even back in town). Yeonjun, Heeseung, and Sunghoon ran home to change into proper attire, promising you that they’d get back to you as soon as possible.
Drifting in, adorned in a long black skirt and a matching blouse, a black ribbon delicately tied into your hair in a half-up, half-down style, you arrive at the memorial service site several hours ahead of schedule- to grant yourself the necessary time for mental preparation and to ensure the arrangements have been made.
Sitting alone in the parking lot, the floodgates of your own emotions explode, and you drown in your own feelings. Since Jungkook's enlistment, you've buried yourself in work- barely finding time to arrange everything for the upcoming service.
You realize you haven’t even taken a moment to process how you truly feel about everything.
You’re only 21 years old. This fucking sucks.
You ache for the warmth of your parents' embrace, desperately missing the solace only your mother could provide. In moments like these, you find yourself longing for her gentle hug, her soothing words, and her infinite love.
You feel tears well in your waterline, and you immediately wipe them with your sleeve.
You had to be strong for your parents.
They never liked seeing you cry, always told you to be strong.
With a deep inhale, you swing open the door and stride into the memorial service center, ready to attend to the necessary preparations.
The moment you step into the building, your eyes lock onto Jungkook.
Adorned in a somber black suit with his hands tucked into his pockets, he paces anxiously, his presence immediately drawing your attention.
This isn’t the time; it really isn’t, but he’s perfect. He’s so handsome, even without his hair, even when he doesn’t talk to you, even when you don’t see him.
When he senses your presence, he immediately turns towards you.
“Y/N.”
“Jungkook. Thanks for being here,” you say, pulling him in for another side hug.
“Yea, of course,” he mumbles, “You feeling better?”
You nod, “Yea ‘m good. My fever broke… did the guy say anything?” ou inquire, swiftly diverting the conversation.
Jungkook appears slightly taken aback, but he responds, "Yeah. Good. They have everything set up. They just need the portrait of Auntie and Uncle."
Dangling your keys in front of him, you continue, "They're in the trunk. Can you get them? I have to- I have to use the restroom." Jungkook studies your face for a moment before nodding in understanding. "Yeah, totally."
"Thanks," you mumble before darting into the restroom.
Obviously, you’re on the verge of tears and he could palpably feel and see that. Once inside the stall, the floodgates burst open. The despondency of everything absolutely devours you and you feel so pitiful, so sad that you’re in this situation, and that your parents are gone– forever.
Your parents are gone. You think Jungkook is gone. You have nobody. You’re alone. The family that you grew up with… it would never be the same.
After a moment of letting your emotions flow, you take a deep breath and wipe your eyes. You had anticipated this moment, knowing that you would inevitably end up crying like a little baby, so you had opted for a bare face today.
You leave the restroom, hanging your head, and when you look up, you lock eyes with Jungkook.
With furrowed brows, his eyes sweep over your puffy ones, noticing the glossy scleras and the tears welling up once again. Staring at him, you feel pathetic, and you let out a quiet sob before burying your face into your hands.
And suddenly, you feel him.
Like the comfort of the gentle breeze on a Spring day, Jungkook envelops you with his strong arms, and suddenly everything’s okay. He holds you and it’s reminiscent of all the times he’s cared for you, doted on you, and expressed his love for you. He soothingly runs his hand up and down your back, pressing you against the wall and away from the eyes of bystanders.
You remain still, sniffling and drying your eyes, overwhelmed before pulling away. Jungkook runs a hand over your hair, eyes glazing over your face. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to.
The way he looks at you is enough. It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.
The beauty of your relationship with Jungkook is that in itself. It would be alright. Everything would be alright so long as he’s there- even just as a friend.
To love someone is to love from afar. To love someone is to love without reciprocation. You love Jungkook and he loves you. Some people are so filled with hatred and resentment- the ability to even love after all you’ve been through is astounding in itself.
Your love for Jungkook is a powerful thing. It would carry you far, and to simply possess the ability to love is far more significant than being in a relationship with him.
“Y/N!” On cue, Yeonjun makes his appearance in the lobby, tilting his head when he sees you and Jungkook standing closely together by the hallway.
Jungkook motions towards Yeonjun, and you nod, not before you stand on your tiptoes to give him another hug– not a side hug, but a real hug. “Thank you,” you whisper against his neck before you skip towards Yeonjun and your other friends.
-
The memorial service begins and ends with reverence.
Surrounded by your family and friends, you begin to feel overwhelmed by your sense of community.
The service room is reminiscent of that of a church. You sit on the front row, Yeonjun on one side and Yunjin on the other. Both of them are holding each of your hands as you listen to your maternal aunt tell stories of your parents from their youth.
Through her words, you get a glimpse of your parents in their youth– just two kids stupid in love, youthful, lively, and brimming with aspirations. It gives you peace that they were able to live their dreams out before they died- one of those dreams being seeing you graduate high school. It’s a shame they weren’t present at your college graduation.
After listening to your aunt, your grandma, and Jungkook’s mom. Jungkook is next. You didn’t know he’d be talking, but his mom let you know that he had something prepared.
He saunters towards the front from the second row, hands in his pockets, before he clears his throat, taking a piece of paper from his pocket, coughing against his closed fist before he speaks up.
“Auntie ___ and Uncle ___ were the most selfless people I know. When my mother couldn't join me for Mother's Day lunch at school, Auntie __ stepped in. As I learned to ride a bike, it was Uncle ___ who stayed outside with me for hours, patiently assisting me as I struggled to find my balance,” he starts, meeting your eyes before looking back into the general audience.
“Auntie and Uncle were filled with so much love and trust. They embraced a more liberal parenting style, trusting in the inherent kindness of the world to play a role in shaping their daughter's character.”
It’s funny, because as he’s speaking about you, he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “They exposed her to life's various facets, both its joys and challenges, instilling in her a deep understanding of the world's complexities. And their approach paid off. They leave behind a daughter, one of the most compassionate and beautiful souls who embodies traits of independence, strength, and intelligence.”
Your heart clenches, and you raise your lashes, hanging onto his every word. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.
“To honor their legacy, let’s approach the world with less caution and more trust. Embrace the goodness of the world and live happily, just like Auntie ___ and Uncle ___ did. Thank you.”
Jungkook still doesn’t meet your eyes as he returns to his seat, but yours follows his all the way to his seat.
-
Right after the memorial service, Jungkook catches you off guard. He strides over, giving you a hug– a full hug– before whispering in your ear, the baritone of his voice causing goosebumps to erect on your skin. “I have to go now, but stay safe. I’ll see you when I get back.”
You look up at him, nodding. “Yea. See you.”
He doesn’t say anything else, walking towards his parents and taking the keys to his own car before he leaves. All your friends watch Jungkook just as intently, but nobody says anything. You don’t talk about Jungkook much with your friends anymore. There’s not really a reason to.
And just like that, you don’t see Jungkook for another six months.
-
The next time you see Jungkook is when he comes home from the military.
This time, you aren’t able to join his parents to pick him up, and it’s not because you’re avoiding him, but because you have an important meeting at work– a meeting that you just can’t wiggle your way out of.
Apparently, the higher ups are announcing something– something so important that apparently they need the entire company present…. And why couldn’t have this just been an email?
As the hours tick by, you sit in your cubicle, completing an analysis of consumer behavior for a client. Work isn’t particularly exciting nor is it a bore. You currently work in consulting, specializing in data analysis to help clients make decisions for their businesses.
At 4PM, an hour before everybody goes home, the higher ups gather everyone into the auditorium.
You sit next to Mary, one of the colleagues on your team, about 50 years old, who taps you on the shoulder and whispers. “My oh my, if they wanted to kill us all, this would be the perfect time to drop a bomb,” she jokes, which makes you smile.
That was a cute comment. You place your hand over hers. “Well, at least we’d go out together, right? HR won’t have to spend any more on those team building exercises,” you joke with a gag, prompting Mary to roll her eyes.
The tension in the room is palpable as the CEO takes the stage and clears their throat, prompting everyone’s attention.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I'm pleased to announce that after months of negotiations, we have finalized a merger agreement with HYBE Korea," the CEO declares, gesturing towards the screen where the company logo appears.
“This means that some of the departments will be relocating to HYBE," the CEO announces, his voice projecting as he gestures towards the screen displaying the company's new logo. "HYBE is investing in a new building equipped with state-of-the-art facilities, providing us with an exciting opportunity to expand our operations."
You pause, and that’s when the realization sinks in.
Jungkook works for HYBE.
"In celebration of this milestone, we will be hosting a party next month to commemorate the merger. More details will be sent through email.” the CEO continues, his words met with a ripple of applause and relieved smiles from the crowd. "It will be an opportunity for us to come together as a unified team and celebrate the bright future that lies ahead."
Mary’s saying something to you but you’re not even processing it, trying to understand the implications of the merger.
There’s no way you’d be working with Jungkook– imagine the odds of that. But, what if?
He gets back today and everything feels surreal.
-
After you get back to your car, Jungkook’s mother calls you, excitedly urging you to drive over to her place to celebrate Jungkook’s return from the military. You tell her that of course you’ll be there before you start driving down the oh so familiar streets to Jungkook’s child home.
Upon pulling up, you see a familiar face.
Rolling down the window, you call out his name, “Tae!!”
Taehyung, who is in the midst of walking towards the front door, whips his head towards your voice. “Y/N, hey!”
He waits for you to park, you clumsily grabbing onto your purse so you can meet him at the front.
“I missed you,” you say.
“I missed you too. Text me more,” he responds before scanning you up and down, “You look… fancy,” Taehyung comments to which you sigh playfully.
“You know, I chose to waste my life away as a corporate slave,” you muse, giving him a hug.
“Just like your boyfriend,” Taehyung jokes, making an obvious reference to Jungkook.
“Oh shut up,” you sigh, swatting his bicep, allowing him to open the door for you.
The moment you walk in, Jungkook’s mother squeals like she’s never seen you in her life. “Omo, omo, omo! Y/N is here everyone!” she announces excitedly, scurrying over to you, immediately latching onto your bicep to pull you towards the crowd, “Y/N is here! Y/N is here!”
Jungkook is standing by the dining table, surrounded by his aunts, uncles, and cousins. He lifts his head to meet eyes with you, offering you a gentle smile. The way he looks at you, smiles at you– it’s just, it makes your heart swell.
Every time you see him, it’s like time slows down.
You can imagine waking up this smile every morning, rolling over to find his handsome face gazing softly at you to-
Wait. Have you lost your mind?
And at that moment, you’re tackled to the ground by Jungkook’s six year old cousin, Jacob. If Jungkook is no longer in love with you, the only solace you have is the affection of his six year old cousin.
He grabs your face with both palms, causing your lips to pucker as he pouts at you. “Why didn’t you say hi to me?”
You gently grab his face and ruffle hush air. “Sowwy, Jacob. You’re too little I didn’t see you,” you reason to which Jacob, for some reason, becomes angry at.
He rolls over onto the ground, just to get up and stomp away. “I am not little!” he declares, stomping up the stairs. You can hear the door slam and you exchange bewildered glances with Jacob’s mother, who shakes her head.
“He's just going through a bit of a phase," she reassures you with a smile, before turning to follow Jacob upstairs. You lock eyes with Jungkook, who gives you a subtle smile.
The Jeon family is filled with drama queens.
Jungkook closes the distance between you. “Hey.”
You feel your heart skip a beat.
He’s as handsome as ever. Just like he’s always been.
“Hey, welcome back,” you sheepishly express, standing on your tiptoes to give him a hug.
He hugs you– like, really hugs you. Both of his strong arms snake around your waist, holding you against him securely. It leaves you weak in the knees. It’s a little too intimate for a casual, welcome back hug, but you haven’t a problem with it.
He pulls back, and all you can do is stare at him. You’re mesmerized. Again, he always makes you feel like this. This feeling will never dissipate.
“Did you just get back from work?”
You come back to Earth, pulled from your entrancement.
“Yea, I did…” You scan him up and down. He’s wearing something casual– a black T-shirt and black shorts, but his physique still looks perfect and he still looks perfect. Without thinking, you speak, “Did you happen to hear about the- no, nevermind.”
Jungkook tilts his head with a slightly teasing expression, “No, say it,” he urges
“The merger.”
“Merger?”
You say it in unison, and you bite a smile back.
Jungkook’s mom automatically intervenes, “Omo! Omo!” she exclaims, “A merger? What merger?”
“Y/N’s company and my company are merging,” Jungkook simply answers, looking at you to raise his brows.
“Omo!” she exclaims again, almost theatrically falling to her knees, “Does this mean that you two will be working together?” she asks, motioning towards you and Jungkook, to which you sheepishly shake your head.
“Probably not,” you dismiss, “I don’t even know if my department is relocating to the new facility.”
“Oh, I hope you do!” Jungkook’s mother pouts, “That would be absolutely perfect! It would be great if he could watch over you at work,” she reasons, before addressing the entire family, “Y/N is very pretty and gets hits on a lot,” she explains, making you squeeze your features in embarrassment.
All of Jungkook’s older family members murmur in agreement– and you appreciate the hype, you really do, but it’s embarrassing, especially in front of the entire family. You place a hand on Jungkook’s mother’s shoulder. “Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to use the restroom,” you whisper, to which she gives you two big thumbs ups.
On your way to the restroom, you stop in your tracks. None other than Yeonjun, the ANTAGONIST, steps out, swatting the air like he’d just taken a nasty shit.
You blink at him and he blinks at you.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” you deadpan.
Yeonjun shrugs, “Jungkook’s aunt invited me. She thinks I’m a cutie pie.”
“Okay,” you roll your eyes, walking past him to inconspicuously drag him with you into the restroom.
You throw him onto the toilet seat, looking into the mirror to touch up your makeup.
“Y/N, this looks suspicious,” Yeonjun deadpans, watching you reapply your lip gloss and comb through your eyebrows.
At that, you drop your hand from your face. “Oh shit, that’s true,” you gasp, a hand coming over your mouth.
For the past– like– two years, Jungkook’s family has been under the impression that you and Yeonjun are dating. That notion couldn’t be farther from the truth.
You inhale sharply, turning towards Yeonjun, “You leave first and then I’ll follow.”
Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Sure thing, Y/N. Just pray that nobody’s waiting outside," he says with a mocking smile before slipping out of the restroom.
And of course, Jungkook’s mother was right outside the door. She shrieks.
-
Every single one of Jungkook’s aunts and uncles met you when you were just an itty-bitty baby.
Occasionally, you keep in touch with the aunts and uncles– not nearly as much as you do with Jungkook’s parents, but goodness, are you thankful for your connections to the Jeon family because you find out that Jungkook’s uncle won the lottery.
The literal lottery– and he bought a yacht, a yacht that he suggests to all the “kids” (a bunch of 20-something year olds, pushing 30) to go on a little cruise in celebration of Jungkook’s return.
You really wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t rush home to get your bikini and sunscreen, and of course, you dragged Yeonjun along with you.
The yacht, even under the night sky, is the fanciest, most luxurious thing you've ever laid eyes on. Its lights twinkle like stars, casting a gentle glow on the water. It's like a dream come true, a magical oasis on the dark sea.
This is so cute, so summer.
With your towel laid against the deck, you’re lying on the deck like you’re suntanning, which isn’t possible because it’s the moon’s light that shines down on you, but at least it makes you feel like a magical moon fairy.
“Get the angles right!” you bark to which Yeonjun rolls his eyes to the back of his head and groans.
With your forearm resting against the deck, you hold your body up sideways, all your assets on display. With your knees touching, your hip touches the deck, and your other arm goes up in the air, and you’re waving it around like a little mermaid.
In a sense, you’re posing to get a cute Instagram pic– but also because you know Jungkook might be watching from the upper deck. He’s probably drinking with his friends, not even batting a lash nor caring about you, but you like to delude yourself into thinking that he could be checking you out from a distance.
“Y/N, I took like 300,” he deadpans, dismissing your complaints with a wave, “Take some for me now,” he instructs, standing up to hand you his phone, “I’m cuter than you so they better look better than yours.”
“Yea, yea. Whatever,” you muse, going along with the bit, holding up your phone to get all the good angles for your forever bestie.
-
Mingyu, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook sit on the upper deck, staring at the night sky with bottles of Soju in their hands. Like you and Yeonjun, they’re in their swim trunks, though no one is entirely certain they want to go for a swim in the chilly water.
Unbeknownst to you, the four men have a clear view of you from the upper deck.
The flash of the phone camera flickers comically, occasionally lighting up the mens’ faces as they all try to avoid looking at you– out of chivalry, of course.
Taehyung is particularly amusing, maintaining his expression of stoicism as he stares directly into the moon, taking an occasional sip of Soju.
At that moment, Jungkook knows that he chose the right friends because he himself can’t seem to rip his eyes from you. You’re beautiful; that is absolute, without a doubt– but something has changed– maybe it’s the angle that the cool breeze hits his face or the alcohol making him feel soothingly warm on the inside.
Jungkook sees it in your mannerisms, the way you poise yourself, the way you walk, the way you talk. You were gorgeous before, and he was insane about you before, but damn– you’ve become such a woman.
He knows what it is, but he’d be a dick to patronize you for it, to act like he’s proud of you for becoming more confident. Undoubtedly, you’ve developed a more profound sense of confidence and it makes Jungkook swell with pride because he remembers how you’ve agonized over your body, complaining about your boobs, your weight, your waist, when in reality everything was and is perfect.
You’re as beautiful as a Victoria’s Secret model, as ethereal as the goddess of beauty, and Jungkook’s just happy to see that you’ve embraced it.
You yourself would agree with the sentiment; it wasn’t until your 20’s that you grasped how utterly gorgeous you are, and how to embrace your beauty, make yourself look good and like you, not just like every other girl on Instagram.
Jimin clears his throat, “So.. now that you’re back, are you and Y/N going to…”
Jungkook lifts his head and looks at Jimin. He shakes his head. It’s firm and absolute. “No, it’s better for us to be friends.”
Mingyu raises a brow, “You can’t take your eyes off her.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he rationalizes, “People can like each other and still be incompatible.”
“Incompatible?” Taehyung repeats, a twinge of confrontation in his voice, “If I had a girl like Y/N in my life I’d propose immediately.”
Jungkook stares into the moon, “I need a cigarette-”
“Okay, what is wrong with you?” Jimin challenges, rising to his feet, “Y/N is right there,” Jimin whisper-yells, motioning towards the lower deck, “You clearly still feel something for her, so do something about it. I mean- how would you feel if someone– not me… I don’t know. How would you feel if Mingyu hit on her right now? And they started dating?’
“Why me?-”
“That would be inappropriate,” Jungkook retorts, “Y/N can date whoever she wants, just not you guys.”
“Then what about Yeonjun?” Taehyung intervenes calmly, “Yeonjun’s a good kid. She brings him to all your family events. They’re cute together, huh?” Taehyung motions towards the lower deck, where you and Yeonjun are laying on your sides facing each other, animatedly discussing something probably stupid, like penguins.
He notices the skinship, how your hand is casually thrown around Yeonjun’s waist, and how you occasionally swat at his shoulder whenever he says something a little too egregious.
No, it doesn’t bother Jungkook.
Jungkook actually likes that you have male friends, that you can maintain friendships with the opposite gender without it having to mean more.
It means that he can trust you, and that he can trust your friends to take care of you.
But what trust is at stake here? It��s not like you’re his girlfriend nor should he worry about who’s taking care of you or not taking care of you. Furthermore, it really isn’t his place to feel betrayed, like you cheated on him, by the prospect of you actually forming a relationship with Yeonjun–.
“See? You look hurt as fuck,” Taehyung affirms.
“I’m not hurt-”
“Get your shit together, and get your girl. Y/N’s not perfect, but she could be perfect for you,” Taehyung shrugs at his corny play of words, earning a playful shoulder nudge from Mingyu.
“Aye, that was a good one.”
On cue, he hears two inconspicuous splashes into the ocean, your squeals echoing across the atmosphere.
“Tag, you’re it!”
“Bitch! You just kicked my balls!”
“I said tag, you’re it!”
But wait, isn’t it a little too dark to be swimming this late?
-
When it comes to you it’s like Jungkook’s protective instinct never dies.
Descending the stairs to the lower deck, he watches Yeonjun as he climbs onto the deck. “Y/N, you need to stop kicking my nuts! Holy shit!”
“I said sorry!” you retort, “I didn’t know!”
Yeonjun grumbles something indistinctive before picking a towel up to roughly dry his hair, disappearing into the restroom.
“Y/N, it isn’t safe to swim alone at night,” Jungkook mumbles. He takes a seat on the lower deck, his feet submerged under the water. The water is icy cold, and he can’t conceive how you’re not shivering. He’s not being patronizing. He’s simply worried for your safety.
You swim towards him, hands latching around his ankles to stabilize yourself beneath the water.
It’s the casual skinship between you two. The way his hand lingered on your shoulder when he told you his uncle bought a yacht. It’s the way he can casually wipe food from your mouth with his bare hands without batting a lash. It’s the way your fingers trail up his legs so you can place your forearms against his thighs, resting your head on them.
“Then… why don’t you come join me..?”
Jungkook really doesn’t want to. The water is cold, the weather is cold, and he’s very much comfortable on the warm yacht.
….
Jungkook submerges himself under the water, coming up before flicking his head back to rid the water from his eyes.
“It’s cold as fuck, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters, body temperature still adjusting to the chilly water.
He freezes when your fingertips brush against his. abs— perhaps accidentally, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him feel any less electrified.
“That’s why it’s good to have more than one person in here,” you rationalize, “More body heat.”
You’re treading against the water, and not doing a great job at it- your head bobs with the motion of the waves, and you find yourself sputtering the water out of your mouth as you speak.
Jungkook wipes his face haphazardly with his left hand before he reaches out to stabilize you, holding onto your bicep.
It makes your heart skip a beat. So big and strong. You can smell the shampoo on his wet hair, and it makes you dizzy because not only does he always look good, he always smells good.
Your eyes trail from his bicep to his shoulder, neck, and finally, to his eyes. He’s already looking at you, the warmth of his gaze making you feel so secure and safe.
You know he wants you. There’s no way he can look at you like this and not want you.
It hasn’t even been a day since he’s returned from the military and he looks at you the same way he looked at you from the night before he left: with love.
Your eyes flicker down to his lips, his pretty lips. He’s so pretty. You close the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck to stabilize you further, and you draw your lips to his-
Until he turns his head.
Still, his hands grab your waist, holding you close to him against the water, but he looks into the ocean, 90 degrees from you, refusing to look at you or meet your eyes.
“It’s cold, we should get out. I don’t want to get sick,” he suggests.
“Yea, okay,” you sheepishly agree, allowing him to hoist you onto the lower deck before following in your stead.
He throws you a vacant towel, “You alright?”
Catching it with a single hand, you use it to pat yourself dry, composing yourself before you stare at him.
“I’m fine.”
-
That night, Jungkook’s mother suggests you spend the night at her house, or that Jungkook drive you home given how late it is.
Instead, you sneak out of the house and drive home, far too embarrassed to be around Jungkook let alone look him in the eye.
That was so humiliating. You think about how you behaved while you were staying with him after your parents’ death. You exposed yourself to him in the shower and begged him to join you. What the hell were you even thinking? Should you just drive your car off this cliff?
When you pull into your apartment complex’s parking lot, you keep banging your head against the steering wheel in hopes that maybe you’d wake up and realize that tonight was just an embarrassing dream.
Well, unfortunately it wasn’t a dream, because later that night Jungkook shows up at your door with your wallet in his hand. You answer the door in a loose T-shirt, boyshorts, and a Snorlax plush headband on your head with a gray face mask.
“My mom told me to give this back to you.”
You take the wallet, “Thanks.”
You stand there for a moment, staring at him.
He looks at you, pursing his lips before he places a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’ll always care about you, alright?”
You nod, fidgeting with the charm of your necklace, “I know.”
“Good. I’ll be going, then,” Jungkook announces.
“Alright, drive safely,” you respond.
With a brief nod, Jungkook moves to shut the door and depart, and for some reason you just can’t bear to see him go so your hands instinctively reach for him, latching around his wrist.
Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you, and you almost yank your hand from him immediately.
“It’s nothing,” you express, biting your lip.
“Alright then, I’ll see you.”
“Good night.”
The moment he leaves, you scold yourself for being so emboldened. Weren’t you embarrassed enough? You open your fridge, pouring yourself a glass of champagne, before you pace around your apartment, your champagne swishing in your glass while you find yourself in deep contemplation.
Jungkook’s back.
Everything you’ve ever wanted is back, in front of you.
You hurt him, and apparently you made him cry, well- that was all in the past, anyways.
It doesn’t matter because you love him. You really do. You love him with your entire soul, heart, and being, and you know your feelings are reciprocated, so if there’s even a chance that he’s willing to give it another shot, you’ve got to do something about it.
Instinctively, you grab your laptop and place it on the dining table, stretching your fingers out to write the longest text message you’ve probably sent in your life.
Once your pinky finger presses the Enter key, you slam your laptop shut, pacing around your apartment until you hear a ding from your phone.
You nearly screech, running to your bathroom to wash off the face mask, putting some moisturizer on, combing through your eyebrows, and applying your lip gloss before-
Ding Dong
You open the door, looking up at Jungkook with big eyes while he looks down at you. He runs his hand through his hair before holding your face with his palms, studying you, his eyes urgently scanning your features for any hint of insincerity.
“You mean it?”
“Yes,” you say resolutely, struggling against his firm grasp, your lips slightly puckering.
“Prove it then,” he demands.
He lets go of your face and welcomes himself into your humble abode.
Taking a seat on your couch, he crosses his arms, watching you intently as if waiting for you to break out into a soliloquy.
You don’t know what to say, and you’re far too embarrassed to admit your transgressions aloud, until a light bulb appears over your head.
“My diary,” you suggest, “I’ll let you read… parts of my diary, but you have to prove it first.”
You expect him to ask you how, or to ask you what he’s supposed to be proving, but he doesn’t.
“Okay. C’mere,” he says with a tilt of his head. All you can do is shift your weight between ankles, before shyly approaching him.
“Sit,” he gently instructs.
You nod, about to seat yourself on the area beside him before he grabs your wrist and twirls you around so that you’re straddling him. Your hands find themselves on your shoulders, and Jungkook wraps his around your back.
“Y/N, I..” he starts, his gently brown orbs studying your features, “I know what you think of me,” he sighs as if just relinquished from holding the weight of the world, “and I promise you that I’m not that man,” he continues, scrutinizing your every nonverbal response.
“I’m selfish, I’m immature,” he starts, brushing your bangs from your face, “but never with you,” he finishes. “I always showed you the best parts of me, always wanted you to see me as someone you can rely on,” he expresses, gently cradling your face, “but I don’t think you realize how much I depend on you, how much I need you too.”
Your features scrunch, studying his features, digesting his words. He reaches in his pocket for something, before pulling out a heart shaped locket. He uses his other arm to delicately grasp your hand, placing the locket in your hand.
“Look at it,” he instructs, and you follow, your fingertips clumsily opening the locket. Your heart swells. The heart shaped locket bears an image of you.
“Being in the military wasn’t easy for me,” he continues, “but I had you with me. Had my favorite girl with me. You gave me strength.”
“When you left that morning, I regretted what I said to you. I thought I was too harsh, and that I’d lost you forever. That was one of the worst feelings in my life– but to me, I felt that you were the one who turned me down. I thought that you were just infatuated with me, that you wouldn’t care about me if you’d see how immature and selfish I really am. But I love you so much that I was okay with that. I’m okay with anything as long as it’s you,” he finally finishes.
You don’t know what to say. Your eyes flicker towards the locket, “You could’ve chosen a better picture,” you mumble, to which Jungkook amusedly scoffs.
“That’s all you have to say?” he muses.
Your cheeks turn strawberry pink, and you climb off his lap, running to your room to grab your diary. You return, skipping through the pages, before you land on the one you want to show him.
You jut it towards him, “Here.”
Jungkook’s eyes glaze over the page, and he starts reading it aloud, mocking your voice, “I graduate college today-”
You literally throw yourself on him to shut him up, “Do not.”
A cheeky smile dances across his face as his eyes scan over the page. After a moment, he looks up and pouts, “Awe, baby,” he coos.
Your face scrunches cutely.
“Come gimme a hug,” he sweetly beckons, to which you sheepishly jump into his lap again, his arms snaking around your waist while he soothingly runs his hands up and down your back.
“I’ll always be here for you, whether we’re together or not,” he whispers against your skin, “You mean everything to me.”
“I know,” you self-consciously respond.
"There's nothing you can do to be 'worthy' of me. I love you for you. You can be the world's richest person or the world's poorest person and there's nothing that would change for me, seriously. All you need to do is continue loving yourself, and that's good enough for me."
"Even if I turned into a worm? You'd still love me?" you ask, your voice coming out as a slight whimper.
Jungkook smiles. Obviously not, but of course, he'll indulge you. "Of course," he says, his voice like honey, "I'd carry you around in my pocket."
"Thanks," you sheepishly murmur, “There are just things I’m worried about, but I trust you with everything.”
He hums in agreement, “We’ll work it out.”
“Okay,” you concede, “I love you,” you confess, “I love you forever.”
“I love you forever too.”
The moment feels so intimate. Your chests are heart to heart, beating in unison as you relish the sensation of having him in your arms, having him back.
-
Dating Jungkook officially means you get to indulge in all of your innermost desires, the little things you never thought you’d see into fruition– because the reality is that you’ve seen Jungkook in every way. He’s been to your house thousands of times, and you’ve slept over at his hundreds of times, but having him in a different way fills you with an indescribable sense of excitement and joy.
He’s taken you shopping thousands of times, but this time is different. Jungkook is affectionately, overwhelmingly so. He’ll keep his fingers intertwined with yours even when your palms become drenched with sweat. As stated before, he doesn’t care about any distinct bodily fluid if it’s yours.
He’ll hold you from behind while you browse through clothes, give you the occasional peck when you’re in line– it seems like he’s enjoying this domestic intimacy as much as you are. The poor guy has been in the military for a whole year.
“That one’s cute,” he comments, motioning towards a white sundress hanging on the rack, just beside the crop top you’re currently looking at. He keeps your body close to him, his arms so casually thrown around you from behind. His fingers play with your hair, twirling it around his index, and every so often, he presses kisses to your cheek, neck, and skillfully cradles your face, forcing your jaw towards him for a sweet kiss.
“Should I try it on?” you ask with a cute tilt of your head.
“I like it,” he offers, “I rarely see you in dresses. You always look so pretty.”
His sentiment makes you blush– you’re already aware that when he’s around, you’ve only really been in casual clothes: crop tops, sweatpants, and flared leggings. You want to show him a new side of you.
“We could go to the beach together,” you offer.
Jungkook hums in agreement, “Of course, baby,” he agrees, “You looked really pretty in that matching skirt and crop top thing you wore last time.”
“Which one?”
“The one you broke my heart in,” he teases.
You amusedly scoff, twirling around to grab his face and press a kiss on his lips. He acts annoyed, doesn’t return the kiss, just stares down at you, but still chases your lips when you pull away.
If the skinship is this pervasive in public, you can’t imagine how he would behave behind closed doors.
Jungkook got back yesterday, and you think that he’s really taking his fill of you after being deprived from you for so long.
Yesterday was Friday, and today is Saturday… meaning that neither of you have nothing to do.
Nothing to do but look at cute princess dresses at the mall, cuddle, and watch Jujutsu Kaisen, obviously.
Even while doing something as mundane as watching anime from the floor, you sit in between his legs, back pressed up against his chest, and his arms around your waist, fingers playing and pinching with the chub of your tummy.
He can’t keep his hands off you.
The sounds of Gojo and Toji’s fight are drowned by the pounding of your cardiac palpitations. Jungkook’s large hands are splayed against the front of your body, his hands trailing up and around your stomach and back, rubbing your skin, and sinking his fingertips into your chub.
You gasp softly when you feel him unclasp your bra.
He pulls his arms around you even more securely, tugging you onto his lap before he buries his face into the crook of your neck, “You’re so soft,” he murmurs, and his hands return to your stomach– and you think they’re going to trail up. Perhaps he’ll grab a handful of titty or rub a nipple until he doesn’t-
His hands trail to your legs, rubbing his palms up and down each calf lovingly before he laces his fingers through your toes, and gently pushes you off his lap…?
He rises to his feet. “I’m hungry, want me to make some ramen for you?”
“Uh yea, sure,” you smile.
You and Jungkook have done it before: twice. Once at the beach villa and the second before he enlisted.
Every time was magical, electrifying, the best you’ve ever had. He led you through each and every step with expertise and he was so soft, so sweet, and it felt so fucking good.
Admittedly, your past, insecure, and inquisitive self did some snooping around and you are aware of Jungkook’s body count: 13. You were the 13th, and quite honestly, it didn’t make you feel the greatest; you despise the thought of Jungkook with another woman, but you suppose that there is something nice about having an experienced man.
It’s not like you weren’t inexperienced either.
Your body count was– like– 6.
It’s not like any of the men before Jungkook actually made you come. It felt good, you guess, but having sex with someone you’re in love with is indescribable.
You want to do it with him, but there’s something that makes you feel subconscious about making the first move, especially when it comes to something as intimate and forth putting as sex.
You don’t find yourself seductive enough to do so, and you already have societal norms against you.
Women are the gatekeepers of sex. Men are the ones who want to unlock the gate. Blah Blah Blah.
Well, you want to have sex too because you’re unbelievably in love and aroused by this man.
So, would you be making the first move? You’ve changed a lot since the emboldened 19 year old you once were.
In conclusion, no. You will absolutely not be making the first move. You will just have to suck it up.
-
That Saturday night, Jungkook stays over at your place.
Nothing happens, of course, but that doesn’t mean that Jungkook doesn’t spoon you like a prison inmate incarcerated in his little Jungkook cell. He snores softly against the crook of your neck.
Living alone isn’t easy, especially as a 21 year old (subjectively hot) girl. You double lock your doors. You have a baseball bat with nails hidden in the depths of your closet. While Jungkook was in the army, you had Yeonjun, Soobin, and Beomgyu on speed dial just in case anything were to happen.
It was stressful, and it gave you crippling anxiety at times.
But Jungkook is your Prince Charming in every way, from the way he makes you feel, to the way he dotes on you, and to the way he protects you. Jungkook’s got big strong military muscles, and you know that he’d never let anything happen to you.
Since forever, he’s always casually swept you towards the inside of the sidewalk, stepped in front of you when a stranger approached, and of course you aren’t aware of this, but the reason those creepy frat boys started leaving you alone was because of him.
The sun rises, its sweet rays as warm as the feeling intensifying your chest. Jungkook’s arms are still draped on your sides, and you turn over so you can get a real good glimpse at his sleeping face.
So handsome. Jungkook is sleeping calmly, soft snores leaving his mouth, and it brings you so much joy to see him at peace.
You run a thumb over his brow, pressing a soft kiss to the area in between his eyebrows. Slowly, his eyes open, and he’s staring at you with lidded eyes, and you can’t fathom how handsome you think he is.
“G’morning baby,” he says in a soft voice, the grogginess of his morning voice making you gulp.
“Hi,” you sweetly respond, “Sorry for waking you. You can go back to sleep. It’s Sunday,” you say folding the comforter away from you to sneak out of bed.
Jungkook protests with a hum, “I want you to stay with me,” he mumbles.
“You don’t want breakfast?”
“Can’t sleep without you,” he responds, his chest rising slightly, which makes you pout.
“Alright.”
Peace. Serenity. Serendipity. Everything you’ve ever wanted. You’re so in love.
-
Later that day, you get an email from the company, which is surprising since it’s Sunday, but essentially, the email states that your department will be transferring to the new HYBE facility. You flip your phone to show Jungkook the screen, who is sitting across the table stuffing his face with noodles with a Snorlax headband in his hair.
On cue, Jungkook’s phone dings, and he pulls out his phone.
“Oh shit,” he says aloud, “Same.”
You’re a bit taken aback, “Are you serious?” you ask, scrambling to your feet before racing around the dining room to glimpse at Jungkook’s phone.
Dear Jungkook,
We're pleased to inform you that your department facilities are relocating to a new, improved location. This move is part of our ongoing commitment to efficiency and employee satisfaction…
You exchange glances with him, blinking at him momentarily before you speak.
“You’re going to get sick of me if you have to see me everyday,” you deadpan, prompting him to theatrically roll his eyes.
“You do analytics, I do software development. We’re not even going to be on the same floor,” he declares matter-a-factly, “You’ll probably be with… the marketing girls or something.”
“Oh really?” you muse, raising your brows, “You don’t want to see me at work? You’d rather be with those ‘marketing girls’?”
Jungkook purses his lips, staring at you unimpressed, before a smile spreads across his lips.
“If I see you at work,” he whispers, fingertips dancing along your thigh before his palms grasp the backs of your thighs, pulling you towards him, “I won’t be able to focus. I’d be too distracted keeping my eyes on the pretty girl from the Analytics department.”
You blush slightly, “Oh- oh, shut up.”
“What? It’s the truth. Either you or I have to quit, and it won’t be me. I have seniority over you.”
You know he’s joking, but the notion makes you scowl. You step out of his grasp, “That’s not funny,” you mutter, crossing your arms.
He shrugs, “I could really turn into the sugar daddy you’ve always dreamed about.”
“Don’t undermine me because I don’t have as much experience as you do,” you direct, to which Jungkook theatrically drops his jaw, rising to his feet.
You look him right in the eye, maintaining your glare as he starts to tower over you. “Oh c’mon baby, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” he comforts.
You shake your head, rolling your eyes, “Asshole,” you spit, stomping away from him, to which Jungkook follows.
“Seriously? I was joking!” he reasons, following you to your room. You walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind you and locking it before he can trail in your stead. At that, Jungkook scoffs, not believing that you were taking it this seriously.
He knocks on the door. “Y/N,” he calls, dragging out your name.
You don’t say anything, and he squeezes his eyes in defeat when he hears the sound of the shower starting, opting to slip into your bed whilst waiting for you to return. He sighs, running his hands over his face.
To be honest, Jungkook is a little triggered. He hates the whole silent treatment thing more than anything else. Last year, you ignored him for four months straight and it nearly killed him on the inside.
Minutes later, you emerge from the shower, one towel wrapped around your body and the other wrapped around your hair. You cross your arms, staring at him. The towel wrapped around your frame is loose, threatening to fall beneath the nipple.
Jungkook sighs, standing up and sauntering over. Your eyes are glossy, not from the water from the shower, and the tip of your nose is a cute shade of pink. Your features are twisted up into petulance, your lips displaying a subtle pout.
Seeing you in distress pains him too.
His gentle and careful fingers pull the towel above your breast. He knows you feel vulnerable and he doesn’t want you to inadvertently expose yourself and contribute to that vulnerability, his left hand rubbing your nape up and down gently. “What’s wrong, baby? Hm?” he inquires sweetly, bending over to draw your lips in for a honeyed kiss.
“I just–” you start, unable to meet his eyes as you crane your head the other way. Jungkook gently cradles your jaw, directing your focus back to him. Looking into his eyes, you choke up. “I just– I know you weren’t being serious, but I just feel belittled, like is my work so unserious that one day I’ll just end up being a trad wife or stay at home mom?”
Jungkook feels awful. He was already aware that you had some sort of inferiority complex when it came to him, and knowing that he fed into it makes him regret everything he’s ever said.
Jungkook opens and closes his mouth immediately, looking for the right words. He places both palms on your shoulders, “Shit. I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean it that way at all,” he expresses, “I was just– I was just being a dick,” he says, pulling you in for a hug. “I don’t think of you that way at all,” he continues, “I mean– look at you. You’re 21 and you’re rich, you’ve got a good job. You’re up there with all these old people,” he jokes, eliciting a sweet giggle from your lips.
“I only said it because I love you and I like the thought of taking care of you,” he says, to which you squirm.
You squirm in place, looking the other way, “So are you mad at me? For ignoring you?” you sweetly beckon, and Jungkook draws your lips for another sweet kiss.
“No, baby. I’m thankful you said something, though,” he offers, continually rubbing your nape up and down.
“I can take care of you too,” you declare, “Remember? We’re equals now,” you express, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.
That night, Jungkook helps you change into your clothes, dries your hair, and rubs your skincare into your face. So delicate. So sweet
There’s something so wonderful about having someone you can confide in, communicate with, and love. Jungkook never judges you; all you have to do is explain how you feel and he’ll indulge you completely.
-
That doesn’t mean however, that Jungkook can’t be selfish, immature, or childish.
The night he confessed to you, he told you that he could be all those things, and to be honest, you’ve never really seen it directed towards you.
When he was a teenager, you saw him get mad at his parents when he was caught smoking for the first time. You were a kid, but you thought that was pretty childish.
Beyond that, Jungkook has always been chill, more laid back, and normal.
Not tonight, though.
“That was childish,” you deadpan from the passenger seat of his car.
Jungkook reaches over to place his palm on your thigh, to which you swat it away and lean as far as you can into the window.
Jungkook scoffs, “You’re calling me childish? Out of all people, you’re calling me childish?”
You cross your arms. “I am,” you respond, your voice firm and resolute.
You both were on your way back from the company party celebrating the merger. The company went all out, hosting the party at a luxury hotel, illuminating the hotel’s grand ballroom with twinkling chandeliers and neon signs displaying the company’s name.
You arrive as a pair, nothing too conspicuous for the sake of professionalism. You’re wearing a long sleeved dress, with Jungkook in a casual black button up and gray slacks.
You quickly separated to meet with your respective departments, and when you happened to pass by Jungkook’s department, he went out of his way to greet your coworkers, introducing himself to your department like he’s never seen you before in his life.
The other men in Jungkook’s department are quite put together. They seem like the type of people Jungkook would work with: young, objectively attractive, tech-nerds. You greet all of them with the same enthusiasm Jungkook greeted your department, knowing that they may be potential wedding guests.
At the moment, you aren’t quite able to recall their names but he works with six other guys. They didn’t really leave a lasting impression; they were kind, sweet, and polite, nothing out of the ordinary.
Notably, it was Mary– your kind, sweet, amazing 50-year old coworker and work bestie, who brought her son to the party. That was not something you were expecting, mostly because Mary always teased you about becoming her son-in-law, and you always entertained the notion, not expecting that you’d meet the man in person.
Mary’s son is in his early 30’s, and he is… nice.
He’s nice, he really is. He’s an intelligent, hard-working man. He takes care of his sweet mother, and for that, he is admirable, but you think there was some miscommunication there, because he is definitely under the impression that you are interested in him in some way, shape, or form, and you feel horrible about it, because you don’t think Mary knows you were playing around.
Mary's son leaned in with a charming smile. "So, what do you like to do outside of work?" he inquires, his gaze lingering on you with a subtle hint of interest.
You hesitate for a moment, "Oh, you know, the usual. I enjoy reading and hiking when I have the time," you reply cautiously.
Mary's son nods, his smile widening slightly. "Sounds like we have some common interests. Maybe we could do something together sometime.”
Your heart sinks at the implication of his words, but before you can respond, your big, hot, sexy boyfriend intervenes. Jungkook had his eye on you the entire night– nothing too conspicuous, but he made sure you were always within his field of peripheral vision.
Jungkook steps in, a champagne glass in hand. He playfully nudges Mary’s son and you squeeze your eyes shut, dreading what’s yet to come.
“Must be quite the occasion for you to be hitting on your mom’s coworkers,” he cuts in making you run your hands over your face, “Let me put you on to something else,” he continues, “I mean, you’re a handsome guy, and I know that there’s someone else more suitable for you than a 21 year old, alright bud?” he continues, throwing a casual arm around Mary’s son as he leads him elsewhere.
Okay, it wasn’t that bad.
But it was embarrassing.
Jungkook seemed polite, but his language was more than passive aggressive, and anyone who caught heed to the conversation tangibly felt it.
“I was literally being nice!” Jungkook rationalizes, his fingers tapping against the driver’s wheel, prompting you to huff in frustration.
“You should have let me handle it,” you respond, “I was going to turn him down. Next time, don’t do all that, alright?”
“You were not going to handle it,” he retorts, “You were mumbling– baby, you were blushing– definitely entertaining it,” he adds.
You shake your head, “That was my coworker’s son! If it was any other guy I would’ve told him to fuck off, but I had to be polite.”
“Yea, well, and if it was any other guy, I would’ve beaten the shit out of him so what’s your point?”
“Oh my gosh,” you express, face palming.
“C’mon baby, he was being totally predatory for hitting on his mom’s coworker,” Jungkook argues, “I didn’t even say anything that bad. Had a nice conversation with the guy.”
“It was childish, Jungkook,” you counter, “The fly on the wall could sense your passive aggression.”
“I’m such a big bad wolf for saving my girlfriend from a situation she was uncomfortable in. Aww,” he mocks a pout, dragging his pointer finger across his face to mimic a tear.
At that, you can’t help but scoff out laughter. “You’re so stupid,” you muse.
-
That situation was merely the tip of the iceberg.
You weren’t that angry; Mary’s son was out of line and it’s not like Jungkook said anything too egregious, but it’s the next day that Jungkook really shows you how immature you can be.
The following Monday is yours and Jungkook’s first day of work.
Jungkook is so in love, loves seeing you in a new light. It’s like there’s hearts in your eyes when you “coincidentally” run into each other in the second story printing room, finding the way you work when you’re in professional mode so sexy.
It’s like he has hearts in his eyes while he leans against the company’s wall, hands in his pockets while his eyes follow you from across the office, loving the way you simply walk around with a stack of paper in your hands.
That is, until the CEO of the fucking company starts hitting on you. That’s when his smile drops, and he removes his hands from the pockets. He instinctively steps forward to intervene yet again, until he remembers that this is actually work and that he can get both of you fired by doing anything too crazy.
“Quit your job,” Jungkook instructs the moment you get back to his place, causing you to almost drop your work bag onto the floor.
Maybe you didn’t hear him properly, “What’d you say?” you ask, taking off your shoes and joining him in the kitchen.
“Quit your job. I’ll help you find another one,” Jungkook suggests, rummaging through the fridge, as if it isn’t the most ridiculous idea you’ve heard in your life.
“I’m sorry babe. Can you repeat that one more time?”
“Quit your job, Y/N,” Jungkook finishes, slamming the fridge a little too hard. He’s clearly miffed. He’s doing that thing where he tongues the inside of his cheek. His eyebrows are in an angry V, and his chest is heaving up and down— and honestly, the fact that he’s angry calms you a little bit.
He’s just speaking from emotion, and now you need to be the voice of reason.
You force a smile, sneaking around to hug him from behind, resting your cheek against his mid-back.
“And why do you say that, honey? Hm?”
He swivels around, placing his palms on your shoulders. “Y/N, this isn’t funny. The CEO was being creepy as fuck. Turn in your resignation tomorrow, and I’ll start looking for another one. I’ll pay your bills until we can find you another job,” he states.
“C’mon babe,” you start, “the CEO was not being creepy. I’m the youngest at the company. He was just being nice.”
At that, Jungkook’s features scrunch in confusion, detecting any hint of sarcasm on your face. “You really think that?”
“I do.”
Jungkook sighs, “Y/N, rate yourself on a scale from 1-10, on societal standards of beauty. 10 being– like Anok Yai. Where do you stand? Be honest?”
The question is absurd, but you entertain it, putting your fingers on your chin while you genuinely contemplate the assertion.
“Maybe a 6?-”
“Okay, well, you’re an 11, and every guy feels that way. You don’t know how pretty you are and that’s my fault. I should tell you more, but baby– that’s how pretty you are. The CEO was hitting on you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, so quit your job.”
You stand there, processing his words, and while the sentiment is somewhat touching, you can’t lie and say that you aren’t the least bit upset, especially because you had this conversation about your work a few days ago.
“No,” is all you say.
“No?” Jungkook challenges.
“No,” you confirm, “I’m not going to quit my job. The CEO hasn’t done anything,” you reason, gesturing with your hands, “If he gets out of line, we can consider reporting him, but I’m not going to quit my job.”
“Okay, fair,” Jungkook says putting his hands up, and you smile, thinking that this conversation is over until he continues.
“But why would you wait for something bad to happen? Isn’t that totally absurd? I don’t want to wait for it to happen. Let’s play it safe.”
You sigh, “I see what you’re saying, I really do. But I don’t think anything is going to happen. I think you’re overreacting…”
Jungkook pauses, tonguing the inside of his cheek before a sly smile dances across his lips. “Overreacting, huh?”
“Um, yea,” you confirm, “Why would I quit my job? I’d lose all my connections. I mean– this is the only real employment I’ve had. Besides internships, I’d have nothing to put on my resume.”
Jungkook nods, understanding.
What he really wants to say is “Babe, just quit your job and I’ll make all the money. You’ll never have to work a day in your life and then we’ll retire early and travel the world together with our kids and-”
But that’s totally patronizing, but hey, he can’t help himself if he feels that way.
“So what do we do, babe? The CEO is in a position of power. I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of,” Jungkook expresses, his eye twitching.
What he really wants to say is “I literally saw the CEO’s dick getting hard while he talked to you and if I could, I’d shoot his entire office up-”
But of course, he would never utter the sentiment aloud.
“If it gets to that, we could report him for sexual harassment,” you ponder.
Jungkook nods in agreement, but you and he both understand the implications of reporting your CEO for something like that. Women always get the short end of the stick. People would probably accuse you of lying, the CEO would leverage his resources to legally ruin you, and you both could lose your job security.
Jungkook doesn’t want to even let it get to that point, and he’s trying his best to respect your autonomy, but it bothers him, it really does.
He inhales deeply, finding peace in the way your fingertips dance under his skirt, caressing his abs before you pull him in for a hug. “Nothing is going to happen, baby,” you comfort, “Everything will be alright, I promise.”
-
Indeed, everything is not alright, because the CEO repeatedly calls you into his office for some inconspicuous reasons, and you’re suddenly starting to understand where Jungkook is coming from.
Your only solace is that Jungkook is around the corner. Today, he’s wearing a suit and tie, his wire-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He looks exceptionally sexy today, his long legs accentuated by his suit and his hair swept back to show his sexy forehead.
You put your phone down, looking up right when the elevator doors open to reveal a handsome, suit-clad Jungkook.
“Hello Mr. Jeon,” you express, a smile dancing on your lips when you bow to him and saunter into the elevator.
“Hello Ms. L/N,” Jungkook responds matter-a-factly, pushing up his glasses on his nose, “Strange running you into here.”
You bite back a giggle, “Yea, that is indeed strange. How is work for you, sir?”
“Oh work’s alright. The team is-”
And just like that your lips are on his, and he’s devouring you completely. Your legs wrap around his waist as he hoists you up, pressing you against the elevator doors as he sloppily and messily kisses you. Tongue in your mouth, teeth clashing, his groin grinds against the area between your thighs, inducing you to moan into his mouth while Jungkook continues licking into you and–
Ding! The elevator dings and you and Jungkook instantly scramble apart, resulting in you running to the other side of the elevator, smoothing out your skirt while you catch your breath. You cough, hand coming at ease in front of you while you stare at the floor. Jungkook behaves similarly, pushing up his glasses while he clears his throat and straightens his tie.
A second later, the elevator doors open, and more office workers pool in. You and Jungkook greet them politely, feigning innocence and ignorance.
The next day, something similar transpires.
You’re wearing a long, red skirt, a white blouse, and you have a white ribbon in your hair. You love work because it grants you opportunities to put together cute, modest outfits, and apparently, Jungkook likes it too, because you always catch him looking.
He checks you out quite noticeably, his eyes shamelessly scanning up and down your frame as he bites his lips. Your cheeks flush, and you take a moment before you sheepishly step into the elevator.
“H-hello, Mr. Jeon,” you greet.
“Hi Ms. Y/N. How are negotiations with your new client going?” he asks, adjusting his tie.
“They’re going great, sir-”
And like that, he closes the distance, cradling your jaw before leaning in for a kiss. His hands salaciously trail down to your behind, giving it a light squeeze, causing you to gasp in his mouth. He takes that as an opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, causing you to moan as your tongues rub against each other and-
Ding!
Once again, you scramble apart, separating towards each end of the elevator, recomposing yourselves while more people pool in.
Not a soul would know what really transpires in the elevator everyday at 3:00 PM.
-
Unless there were cameras in the elevator.
Which there were.
Which is crazy because of course there are cameras in the elevator, and quite honestly, you and Jungkook were probably aware of that in the back of your minds, but who cares? Making out with him everyday in the elevator at 3:00 PM is hot and it’s what gets you through the work day (until 3 PM)
You and Jungkook get Cc'd the same email from HR.
Dear Employees,
I hope this email finds you well. We need to discuss an incident observed via security cameras in the elevator involving two employees engaging in intimate behavior. This is a violation of company policies on workplace conduct. Please attend a meeting with HR to address this matter.
Oh shit.
You and Jungkook wait outside the conference room to talk to the HR. You blink at each other, and honestly you want to burst into giggles, but the conference room is made of glass and you aren’t really sure who’s watching.
The HR Manager, a tall lanky man, steps from the office and invites you in.
The meeting isn’t awkward at all— in fact, it’s more straight to the point. Essentially, the HR manager says something along the lines of “You’re free to date in the office, but no PDA. We don’t encourage dating because we want our employees to focus on work. I know you guys are amongst the youngest in the office, so if you want to do–erm— that, then you can go somewhere else during lunch.”
Both you and Jungkook profusely apologize, promise it won’t happen again, and then are off on your ways.
Funnily enough, the CEO stopped approaching you and calling you to his office so yea, neither of you quit your jobs, and Jungkook was overreacting, a little bit.
-
Now, the real question remains.
How do your friends feel about your relationship with Jungkook?
They want to see you happy, always, so that aspect brings them joy, but it’s important to address how things change.
Before, Jungkook was the unattainable, hotter, older man that all your friends told you to get a grip over because there was just no way he’d ever reciprocate your feelings. But now, things are different.
If Jungkook is your boyfriend, that means he’s your equal… so if your friends are your equal, does that mean Jungkook is equal to your friends? It’s just the transitive property of equality. If a = b, and b = c, then a =c.
But that’s weird.
You know you shouldn’t be making a big deal of it, but your friends are like little piggies and Jungkook is the wolf. There’s no way all of you could hang out at the same time without it being weird, because every time Jungkook has interacted with your friends in the past, it’s always been in a big brotherly way, not a friend way.
On top of that, Jungkook has never officially met Heeseung or Sunghoon, and he is very much aware that Sunghoon was interested (and potentially still could be) in you, which is probably why you all are sitting around the sushi table in awkward silence.
Soobin is hyperfocused on his the wrapper of his chopsticks, Beomgyu is repeatedly dipping his chopsticks into the Miso soup to lick at, Yunjin already excused herself to the restroom, and Heeseung is just staring at Jungkook in awe, which is understandable, because your boyfriend looks exceptionally handsome today.
Yeonjun is probably the only one who can carry the conversation, mostly because he’s the most closely acquainted with Jungkook and his family.
You elbow Yeonjun softly and he clears his throat, “So, um– Jungkook. Does your family still think Y/N and I are together? Or have you already told them that you’re dating?”
Soobin finally says something, “Wait, why would Jungkook’s family think that you and Y/N are dating?”
“Just because I brought him to a couple family events, and they got the wrong idea,” you respond, delicately tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“We haven’t let them know yet,” Jungkook answers, stretching out his upper body, “I don’t think that conversation will go over smoothly because of the… age difference.”
Yeonjun nods, understanding, “Yea, and your little cousin might be upset about it too,” he adds.
“Oh yea,” Jungkook smiles, addressing the table, “My little cousin is six years old and he’s got the biggest crush on Y/N. He probably won’t talk to me for a year once he finds out,” Jungkook says with a light laugh.
Oh my gosh. This is so awkward. You inwardly cringe, but leave it to Beomgyu to ease the atmosphere.
“It’s alright,” Beomgyu adds, “If you didn’t want her, Y/N would have just waited for your cousin to grow up cause at least the cousin likes her-”
You reach over the table to swat at his bicep.
At that moment, the side dishes arrive: perilla leaves, radish kimchi, steamed egg, pickled cucumbers, and spicy bean sprouts.
Thank goodness the food is here, you think, even if it’s just side dishes. Yunjin returns from the restroom, seemingly renewed as she takes the space between you and Yeonjun, and she starts talking.
“You know, Jungkook,” she starts, “Y/N really loves you. I, for one, am happy that you’re together. She’s been non-stop talking about you since high school. She showed up at my house crying when she heard you were bringing your girlfriend to Thanksgiving-”
You nudge Yunjin, a nonverbal cue to tell her to shut up.
Jungkook awkwardly laughs, “Yea, I know Y/N had a crush on me when she was younger but I didn’t realize until a couple years ago… Anyways, Y/N’s not the same person she was when she was a high schooler. I fell in love with her after she turned 19, of course.”
“But isn’t that still a problem?” Sunghoon challenges, and your face almost drops.
You know where this is going.
“You knew her since she was a little kid, so isn’t it kinda weird for you to date her?” he asks. The question is innocent, and it’s a valid question, but you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of Jungkook’s answer.
“Some would say that,” Jungkook responds, “But our relationship isn’t about who she was. It doesn’t matter to me that she had a crush on me when she was younger, it’s about who she is now, and I love her as she is,” he finishes with a smile.
Sunghoon nods, “That makes sense,” he shrugs. At that moment, you use your chopsticks to pick up the perilla leaves, which are, of course, stuck together. Sunghoon casually reaches out with his chopsticks, separating the leaves and plopping one into his mouth.
You freeze, and you do what you should, placing the perilla leaf over Jungkook’s bowl of rice, and he almost immediately uses his spoon to swallow the perilla leave along with a spoonful of rice.
No one seems to notice, and the conversation continues.
“So what’s it like working with your girlfriend?” Heeseung asks casually, and the conversation continues, taking an upward trajectory, the atmosphere finally settling down.
-
“He still likes you, Y/N,” Jungkook says matter-a-factly, hanging up his coat in his closet while you take off your shoes by the front door.
You tilt your head, genuinely confused, “Who?”
“Sunghoon.”
You shake your head, dismissing the notion, “No, that was in the past. I heard he has a girlfriend now.”
You join Jungkook in his bedroom and he’s staring at you incredulously. “Are you serious?” Jungkook asks, causing you to scoff, “Of course I am!” you retaliate, “He’s over me. I turned him down straight up; I didn’t even entertain his feelings for me. I told him I was in love with you, remember?”
Jungkook's expression softens, and he takes a seat on his bed, “I know baby, but I’m just saying that he still likes you. Remember what I said?-”
“About me being an 11?” you question, amused, “Yea, nobody thinks that except for you,” you confirm with a nod, taking a seat on his lap when he opens his arms for you.
Jungkook shakes his head, “I’m not saying it’s anything bad, and I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but I just want you to know that he still likes you. He even tried to give you an indirect kiss,” he says, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.
You raise a brow at him, giggling at the tickling sensation of his lips ghosting across the sensitive areas of your neck, “An indirect kiss?”
“Yes,” Jungkook confirms, “An indirect kiss– the perilla leaf?”
You shake your head. You immediately recall a stupid conversation Jungkook had with his friends. “They peel off one perilla leaf, next thing you know, they’re holding hands, and fall in love, and they end up getting married!” is what he said, causing his friends to roll their eyes.
You place a chaste kiss on his lips, “You’re stupid,” you giggle.
He looks at you knowingly. Jungkook isn’t per se, worried about you and Sunghoon. He knows Sunghoon’s a respectful enough kid to not make a move, and he trusts you with his entire heart, soul, and being. He just wants you to know that Sunghoon most likely still harbors something for you.
Of course he would. Like Jungkook said, you’re an 11.
-
The delicacy of his feelings for you seeps into everything he does, especially when you’re sick.
Nestled with your head cradled in the curve of his arm, he gently massages your temples with his right hand, ensuring the damp cloth on your forehead remains refreshingly cool, soothing your feverish brow.
You're drifting into slumber, your eyes half-closed as you softly shift against his embrace. With him around, with his fingers assuaging the ache in your temples, you finally feel safe enough, protected enough to lose yourself in your own vulnerability and drift into dreamland.
Later that day, you wake up with Jungkook right by your side. His eyes are on the TV and when he hears your soft mumbles, he welcomes you back to Earth.
“Kiss me please,” comes out in a soft whimper. You’re barely coherent and you’re asking for a kiss? That’s the cutest fucking thing on the history of the Earth, and Jungkook’s heart clenches. You’re so sweet, so precious, and he’ll gladly oblige.
He pulls you onto him so you’re lying directly onto him, your boobs pressed against his chest and your stomach pressed against his.
He kisses you sweetly, indulging you completely while your tongues intertwine, and he sighs into your mouth blissfully.
At that moment, you hear the sound of a thud hitting the floor. You and Jungkook whip your heads towards the sound– it’s his parents.
“J-Jeon Jungkook! What do you think you’re doing?!” his mother shrieks.
-
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenarios#bts scenarios#jungkook fluff#jungkook texts#jungkook imagines#jungkook x reader#jk fanfic#bts fanfic
738 notes
·
View notes
Text
Three's a Crowd - ghost x reader
summary: you’re the latest addition to the 141. price and gaz have each other, ghost and soap vice versa. you start to realise that you’ll never be able to gain the attention of your comrades - let alone your lieutenant - the way you so desperately crave.
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
cw: angst, typical cod violence, character death, mw3 spoilers
word count: 2,318
A/N: feeling angsty so have this :D (FURTHER PROOFREADING IS NEEDED !!! but im eepy and impatient its 2am)
also i genuinely can't live without music, so i always end up adding a song that kinda reminds me of my fic. its not something that needs to be listened to - simply any song i find that kinda suits the vibe of the story and also just sharing some good music for others to enjoy !! idk, just something i enjoy doing (im rambling)
Being the latest addition to the TaskForce 141's ensemble had its downfalls.
While you were immensely grateful for the opportunity to have been recruited by John Price himself, there was still the lingering discomfort of trying to fit in with a new group.
It was childish really. Such a minuscule concern whilst in the midst of fighting a war.
It had been several months since you were enlisted, yet your relationship amongst the four members seemed to lag in comparison to the camaraderie they each shared between one another. Years of companionship amidst the terrors of combat had strengthened the bindings of their connections, forcing them to rely on one another when faced with life and death. It was something that you had yet to experience with them.
You know that these things take time - especially given that fact that it was so common to lose comrades in this field of work. Everyone was terrified of getting attached.
Over the coming days, the five of you had been preparing for an upcoming mission. It was crucial that everything panned out perfectly. Price wasn't leaving any room for fault, not when the safety of thousands were at stake. thousands of civilian lives. Men, women and children.
While Price and Gaz - with the assistance of Farah - had set out to Urzikstan to lead an infiltration on a Konni base they believed Makarov was operating at, you were assigned to Verdansk with Soap and Ghost.
The task; stop Konni from destroying the Gora dam.
The three of you were currently grouped at the meeting point, scoping the area before setting off to defuse the bombs scattered across the site. With the little numbers you had, you were going to have to rely on stealth. You hated stealth.
Stealth required trust. Trust in your comrades to complete their designated tasks without fault, trust in your comrades to stay alert.
You had none.
You were determined to change that succeeding this mission.
"Be advised, Konni personnel are grouping near multiple locations below you." Laswell's voice snaps you from your thoughts, her voice ringing through the comms.
Ghost and Soap look up at where you were perched. You were their sniper for this mission. They were relying on you to keep them covered and you were not going to let them down.
You raise your hand in the air, giving them a thumbs up to alert you were ready and in position. The two men send a curt nod in return before setting off to track down and defuse the explosives.
With Laswell over-watching the operation, and you giving the duo support from a higher vantage point, the low numbers were of little concern. The four of you knew that you would be able to carry out the mission smoothly. Besides,
Failure wasn't an option.
You watch as Ghost silently takes out several guards, advancing his way through the facility as he tries to locate the bombs.
"Bagged 'em" Laswell confirms another kill for Ghost.
“Two guards, on your three by the barrels” you alert Ghost, watching as he stealthily approaches the guards. “I’m lined up, I can get them in one”.
They’re on the ground before Ghost can even blink.
You grin as you peer through the scope of your sniper. This was going to be cake.
“Good to see you in one piece, Johnny” Ghost huffs, splayed on the floor of the heli alongside you and Soap.
“Haven’t felt better, LT.”
It was a scramble trying to meet with Nikolai and board the aircraft, lifting off amidst the enemy's gunfire. You ensured there were no men left standing by the time you all were long out of sight.
Price would be pleased.
“Yeah, I’m okay too. Thanks for asking” you huff out in annoyance, watching as Ghost lends Soap a hand, lifting him to his feet with a small grunt.
You get up by yourself, a simple side glance sent your way from Ghost before both the men turn to Nikolai. At least Soap had the decency to return a relieved smile.
“Mission accomplished, Bravo. You three took down an army and saved lives tonight” Laswell congratulates through the comms, her usual monotonous voice doing little to praise the successful operation that the three of you had completed. “Makarov will not take this well.”
“He’s a big boy,” you respond with an amused grin. “He can handle it.”
“Don’t underestimate the rage of the Russian’s” Nikolai chuckles back in response, looking back at you momentarily to ensure all three of you weren’t seriously injured.
“Speakin’ from experience, Nikolai?” You smirk back, walking over towards the front of the heli where both Ghost and Soap stand, your sniper left discarded on the metal floor of the military carrier.
“Firsthand” Nikolai simply snorts back.
The rest of the ride back is silent, Ghost and Soap sat beside each other, a singular empty seat distancing their proximity. You? You sit across from them, alone on the empty bench.
You don’t mean to let your guard down. You were simply exhausted and finally allowing yourself to stare aimlessly into space as the adrenaline in your system slowly drained from your veins.
“Don’t.”
The harsh voice has you crashing back to reality, eyes focusing in place to meet dark hazel ones, narrowed and directed at you. You hadn’t realised you were staring at Ghost while you silently decompressed. It was a rude startle from your meaningless thoughts.
“Sorry, I zoned out. My eyes were just comfortable” you respond awkwardly, adjusting your seating position and clearing your throat. “Didn’t realise I was staring”
Ghost simply glares back at you, his usual cold and emotionless stare making your hands clammy and stomach flutter. You quickly avert your gaze, turning your head away to stare at the metal tread plate flooring, instead focusing on the loud hum of the aircraft you were all seated in.
It suddenly grew too hot, too cramped in the helicopter. It was claustrophobic - suffocating almost.
You’re the first to scramble off the heli, exhaling in relief when you’re no longer boxed into the hunk of metal you had just spent the last hour travelling in. With your sniper draped loosely over your shoulder, you make your way inside the small safe house nestled on the outskirts of Verdansk. You don’t bother to wait for Soap and Ghost.
It’s late at night. Your body is near spent. Your only goal in mind was getting the heavy military gear off your body to finally allow yourself the comfort you crave.
It’s a small shack, only the bare minimum provided. An old, tattered couch and rickety square dining table with four chairs on each side, each varying in design and wood finishes. They evidently didn’t come as a set. There is a small room off to the side, various camping cots packed and stacked against the furthest wall, at our disposal for when we choose to retire for the night.
Ghost, Soap and Nikolai soon enter after you, Nikolai retreating into the small room to set up the cots and get some much needed rest.
You keep to yourself while Soap settles on the small couch, Ghost taking a seat at the dining table to clean and check over his equipment.
You hastily peel the stiff fabric from your body, vest and outerwear folded on the floor in the corner of the living room, your sniper. Resting atop of them. Your aching body can finally breathe now that the extra layers were finally discarded
“Ye did good today” Soap finally speaks up after a beat of tense silence. You turn to him in slight surprise, not expecting him to initiate any sort of conversation with you. “We’d have been fucked without ye” he continues, Scottish accent thick as ever.
You can’t help the small smile that creeps on to your face.
“You guys did the dirty work. I simply scoped the area from above” you assure modestly, not wanting to come across arrogant.
“Aye. Saved our asses several times. We owe you.”
Ghost simply scoffs quietly, standing to move outside where there would be less chatter. He was tired and didn’t want to indulge.
Your smile is wiped from your lips, replaced by a slight frown at Ghost’s exit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the Scot.
“He’s a crabbit old man. Pay him no mind” Soap assures you, voice low and seemingly unaffected by the Lieutenant’s departure. “The lad’s not one for meaningless blether.”
You nod, evidently disappointed
Soap observes you silently, taking in your defeated expression, a low hum of acknowledgment absentmindedly leaving his tight lips.
"Ye like the Lieutenant" he voices aloud. There was no room for argument in his statement.
Your head darts to Soap in stunned horror, mouth parted in shock. You're unable to respond, Soap speaking up before you're able to form your words.
"Keen een."
You immediately shut your mouth. There was no point in arguing. He knew.
Soap chuckles, a bitter and amused sound that leaves you feeling uneasy.
"Foolhardy choice"
You watch as Soap leaves to the makeshift bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone with your thoughts and anxieties. You don't get much sleep that night.
Returning to the 141 base was a relief in itself.
Touching down on British soil allowed you to finally relax. You were finally familiar with your surroundings once again.
You sigh happily upon entering your private quarters, throwing your bag carelessly to the ground. A shower was in order. You waste no time in stripping down bare to prepare yourself for the best shower of your life.
When you emerge from the shower, hair still damp and leaving small patches of dampness along the fabric of your fresh shirt you immediately make your way to the rec room. Some caffeine was in order if you were going to set your sleep schedule back to its usual.
You inhale sharply when you see Ghost sat alone, immediately on edge.
He turns his attention to you momentarily before wordlessly resuming back to the reports in his hands.
Message received.
You quietly walk over to the coffee machine, pulling out a mug as you put the kettle on.
You keep your eyes trained on anything but Ghost, not wanting to anger him again. You can't help but lose yourself in your thoughts once again as you wait for the water to finish boiling.
It wasn't anything more than a physical attraction that you had towards the aloof man. You didn't know the slightest thing about him. You did know however, that he was loyal. Just from your observations alone - it was obvious just how passionate he was about the 141. He would lay his life down without a second thought to ensure a mission was successful, to ensure his teammates were safe.
All of his teammates, save for you.
He was a machine during training, a monster on the field. Rippling muscle and deadly speed, accuracy that rivals even Captain Price himself.
So many times you've caught yourself staring, admiring from the peripherals of your vision with your lip caught between your teeth. You felt like a lovesick teen in high school. It was absolutely infuriating.
"It won't make itself"
You jolt in alarm, head whipping towards the voice. Ghost simply stares at you, eyebrow raised. His skull mask was replaced by his usual black balaclava he wore around base, the prominent shape of his brow bones underneath the knit fabric the only giveaway of his expression. His thick thighs are spread lazily in front of him, large feet planted on the floor as he leans back against the dark leather couch, papers still in hand.
You quickly tear your eyes away from him once again.
"I know." You internally grimace at your response. Stupid. So stupid.
Ghost chuckles, still eyeing you as you stare dumbly down at the now finished boiling kettle and empty mug.
"You're an open book" he speaks up, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, lowering his eyes back down to his reports. "You need to keep your head in the game, sergeant. This is a war, not a dating reality."
You glimpse over at him from the corner of your eye, fighting down the heat that tries to spread across your face.
"I'm well aware of that" you respond sternly, hastily making your coffee.
Fucking. Soap.
"Start acting like it, soldier"
You swiftly leave, coffee rushed and head lowered in shame. You didn't bother drinking the sloppy coffee, instead tipping it down the bathroom sink and watching as it swirls down the drain.
Makarov was defeated - the 141 finally accomplishing what they had chased like hell hounds for months - finally at its end.
Ghost stares down at your lifeless eyes.
What should have been Soap’s life was instead replaced with your own.
It was a selfless act of bravery.
No one was fast enough to respond. One minute you were here, yelling out to Soap in alarm, the next you were motionless. An instant death after Makarov lodged his final bullet in your skull.
Ghost knows that he should feel something - anything for the life lost. His teammate stolen from life too soon, but he can't find it in himself to care.
Price places a large hand on Ghost's shoulder, pulling him away from the scene.
The Taskforce retreats. They would send reinforcements to retrieve your body, to be able to send something back to your loved ones waiting anxiously on your return.
It was a shame really. The potential you had was evident, destined to continue fighting for your country alongside Ghost, Price and Gaz.
Ghost turns on his heel, following after his comrades and boarding the heli, your empty seat bringing a deep sense of impending doom, the reality finally setting in for the four men.
Ghost scoffs, shaking his head.
Three was always a crowd
#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost fanfiction#ghost fanfic#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#ghost mw3#mw3 spoilers#cod mw3#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soapghost#tf 141#task force 141#141 x reader#cod 141#captain john price#john price#captain price#kyle garrick#call of duty x reader
321 notes
·
View notes
Text
This protector. Left in Lincoln, pt. 1
3k | dark dads' best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader
story master list / joel miller master list
Premise: Bill and Frank raised you after you were orphaned by the outbreak. They left Lincoln to get treatment for Frank and asked a neighbor, Joel, to look in on you (early 20s) while they were gone.
He rubbed your arms harmlessly, then his hands grazed your breasts lightly enough to pass for accidental as he hugged you. His breath deepened and his jeans twitched. He slipped his arms under yours and you tried to settle in, still nervous. You sat for what felt like a long time. Eventually, you relaxed into him.
Warnings/Notes: NSFW 18+ (not graphic yet), creepy!joel, dark!Joel, pervy!Joel, big legal age gap, very inexperienced/naive reader, angsty premise, dry humping, touching over clothes, pressure, blue balls, alcohol, pining. Slow-burn horror. Post-outbreak but playing fast and loose with a couple of ages.
When Frank got sick, he and Bill went in search of treatment and left you safe at home in Lincoln. They knew you could manage on your own, but they still asked a trusted neighbor, Joel Miller, to look in on you. You knew Joel from when he came over for meals, but he didn't talk much, so you didn't feel like you knew him very well. You felt like he knew you, though. He knew a secret.
- - -
The secret was that one time, you went on Joel's property and helped yourself to his fruit. It wasn't your first time there, but it was your first time picking any fruit. You snuck in from the back and stayed deep in the orchard. You didn't think he'd see you.
Joel would've been more than happy to pick some fruit for you, or even with you, but you were shy. He was intimidating. Plus, you wanted to take your time to enjoy the orchard. He had the most beautiful peach and apple trees. You were still getting over Jesse and being there reminded you of him. Jesse kissed you there, way in the back, after dark when no one would know. This was your first time there in broad daylight.
You admired the peach in your hand, lightly brushing your thumb over its curves, captivated by the gradient of yellow to pink, then plum.
"You picked a nice, ripe one." Your face went cold as you looked at the peach in your hand. You turned around to see Joel Miller half smiling at you, then he slowly stepped forward and put his hands on his hips with his knee out. "Should be juicy," he added. He didn't seem mad at all, but it made your heart race. It was your first time stealing and you got caught.
"Mr. Miller, I–"
"Call me Joel," he said. "Come on in, let's make some apple juice."
"I really shouldn't. . ."
“C'mon, I just cored a bunch of apples."
He was reassuring, but you were too embarrassed and said you should get home. He told you to come back any time, but you never did.
-
The next time Joel came for dinner, you answered the door and he handed you a jar of apple juice. He normally just brought hard cider. Knowing you didn't drink, he brought a jar of juice that night to commemorate your trespassing.
"Wow, thanks," you said.
"’welcome, peaches," Joel whispered in your ear, and his thumb brushed your opposite cheek as it burned.
You prayed he'd never say it in front of anyone else, but that brief teasing was the most personality you ever saw from him. He almost always wore a scowl - he and Bill had that in common.
That was also the night you realized Frank was truly unwell. He tried not to show it, but he kept steadying himself, and it wasn’t because he was drunk. He only drank one cider and Bill teased him for not having any wine. Later, you overheard your dads weighing the options. They mused that Joel could check in on you if they left. You were embarrassed at the thought - you could still feel Joel's touch on your cheek.
When Frank's health got worse in the following weeks, they decided to go.
- - -
Your first night alone in the house after your dads left, it took you hours to get to sleep, then you barely slept. There was an eerie silence, eventually broken by a creaking sound. You brushed that off as the house settling, but soon you heard rustling, then a thump. You couldn’t recall what the night normally sounded like. Each one of those noises made your heart jump. Unable to sleep, your mind drifted to Frank. You worried and cried.
The second night was even worse. You got to sleep but awoke to a repetitive scratching noise that sounded like it was right outside. You knew it was probably an animal, but you were too afraid to look. The wind howled, and you could have sworn you heard voices.
-
Once Joel came by, you were relieved to see him. Too relieved to be embarrassed. He was somber when you answered the door, though.
"Sorry 'bout your dad…"
It brought everything back to the surface. You nodded, unable to speak with such a knot in your throat. Your head throbbed and your eyes welled up. He jammed his hands in his pockets and hung his head. You could no longer hold back the tears.
Joel's Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow. "Shit, I'm sorry, I shouldnt’a mentioned it." He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and awkwardly opened his arms for you. The hug was rigid and obligatory until you collapsed into his arms like you really needed him. Then it changed. His body relaxed. His thick arms wrapped softly but strongly around you and he rubbed your back. His broad chest swelled against yours with a deep breath as he inhaled you. His flannel smelled like pine, cotton, and sweat.
You stood there resting in his arms for a good minute or so before sniffling, "sorry," and pulling back to dab your swollen eyes and look at him. His eyes were different. Less aloof. His scowl had softened. You wondered how long it had been since someone hugged him. You asked, "do you wanna come in?"
Joel sat you down on the oversized sofa and got you a glass of water. Then, he comforted you as you tried to get a hold of yourself. It was refreshing having someone there. You hugged him from the side, and his armpit was warm and a little damp against your shoulder. Then you started thinking about Frank again and folded forward with your face in your hands.
"Hey, it's okay," he said, rubbing your back. Then he put his feet on the ottoman and gently pulled you back against the couch with his arm around you. You cuddled up to him again like a big, surly teddy bear. He rubbed your arm, then began to brush the inside of your elbow with his thumb. It was a comforting gesture. Entrancing, too. A little sensual. It certainly relaxed you. Somehow, you fell asleep with your head on his thighs.
-
You woke up when his lap shifted under you. He was stroking your head, and you could feel he was hard. You pretended not to notice, but when you sat up, he didn't shy away from adjusting himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was.
You wouldn’t know. You were mostly homeschooled and there was barely anyone your age, or even generation, in the community. By this point, it felt like there was no one left in Lincoln. Jesse was just gone one day, no kiss goodbye, not even a word. He always talked about going West, but you thought it was just a dream. Even Ellie and Riley went their own way when Ellie turned 18. You knew how hard that was for Joel, especially when he already lost Tess.
You averted your eyes from his jeans, then asked Joel, "What do you do? To deal with everything?"
Joel swallowed and clenched his jaw. His his eyes were dark. He hesitated, looked you over, then said, "Tell ya the truth? I'm the worst guy to ask. . . Shit, I knock myself out. I drink. I take pills."
You were flattered by his honesty and felt respected as an equal. Emboldened, you asked him, "Can you gimme some? I can't stop thinking about it. . .I cry every night."
“What, give you whiskey and pills?” Joel laughed, then saw how serious you were. It was surprising because you were so straight laced. You were of age but still never drank more than a sip of wine, and that was only if Bill or Frank insisted you taste a pairing. Never really snuck out. Never done more than kiss a guy - although you'd like to think you would've.
"I don't think your dads would like that, darlin'. I'm s'posed to keep ya safe–not sayin' you need keepin' safe–but I'm sure as hell not s'posed to give ya drugs 'n whiskey."
"I'd never tell," you promised, desperate for anything to get your mind off it and let you sleep. "if either of them ever makes it back." You started to cry again.
"Sorry, peaches." He kissed you on the head and you got butterflies. He stayed with you awhile longer until you stopped crying, then said good night.
You didn't expect to miss Joel, but you did, as soon as he stepped out the door. When you sat back down on the couch, it was even worse. You never realized how huge and deep that sofa was until you sat on it alone that night after Joel left.
You thought about Joel more and more. It was hard not to – he was the only person left. At least Jesse hardly crossed your mind anymore. Finally, after all that time wondering why he didn't say goodbye, you decided he just wasn't man enough. You wondered if you were ever truly attracted to Jesse anyway, or if he was just the only guy around.
- -
The next time Joel came over, you surprised yourself with your girlish reaction. Your cheeks burned as soon as you saw him, before you even answered the door. And when you noticed the whiskey bottle in his hand, your whole chest went hollow, making room for your affection. He was really treating you like the adult you were. You greeted him with a hug and his nose brushed your ear as he inhaled you. He smelled like whiskey, aftershave, and pine.
You got two glasses from the kitchen. He poured you a drink and slouched with his legs wide open and his long arm on the back of the couch. His other hand rested on his inner thigh. You asked if he was going to have a whiskey.
"Nah, had enough. Any more and I won’t be good company."
You wondered what that meant, but didn't pursue it. You sat shyly at the other end of the sofa and winced as you took a sip of your drink alone. You coughed and he came over and patted your back. Then he talked you through your next sip.
"Straight to the back of the throat. Can’t let it linger. Do the rest all at once.”
You took it as a shot.
“There ya go, darlin’. Good girl."
He resumed his splayed out posture at the other end of the couch and you sat where you were, still wincing and recovering from the drink. He gave you a subtle, knowing smirk and nodded toward his end of the couch.
You only moved half way down the sofa. "Get over here, darlin'," he said and patted the space right in front of his crotch. He brought his closest leg up onto the couch then coaxed you back between his arms and legs. You settled back into him, a little stiff at first. Nervous.
"Relax," he whispered. "You're safe. . . You're with me."
He rubbed the sides of your arms harmlessly, then his arms wrapped in front of you. His hands grazed your breasts lightly enough to pass for accidental as he hugged you. His breath deepened and his jeans twitched against yours, giving you butterflies between the legs. He slipped his arms under yours and you settled in like that, still nervous. You sat for what felt like a long time, and eventually, you relaxed into him. You felt the buzz of the whiskey.
Your head fell back against his shoulder. He stroked your head. He kissed you on the crown of your head every minute or so, comfortingly. Then, one time, his lips lightly touched the bare skin of your temple. Then your cheek. Then his hand nudged your face up toward his. You shifted your body to look at him and your hip moved against the bulge in his pants. He inhaled deeply at the friction, and your cheeks burned.
You studied his furrowed brow, wondering what he was thinking. Your heart raced and your skin felt hot from the buzz. Emotions ran high. You kind of wanted to do something, or you wanted him to do something. You just didn't know what, or how. He was still intimidating. You didn't know anything at all and were afraid to make a fool of yourself.
With heavy eyelids and rosy cheeks, Joel looked from your eyes to your mouth and back, then leaned in. When his nose brushed yours, you offered your lips and he closed the distance. He sucked in a chest full of air through his nose with his lips pressed into yours. You stayed mostly still as his tongue parted your lips and he seemed to suck the air out of your mouth. His tongue brushed yours and arousal flooded you. Then your lips embraced his and you let him taste your mouth.
His manhood swelled against you, much harder now, sending a rush to your core. Your heart pounded when you realized how wet you were getting. You scooted your butt forward, self-conscious of your contact with his privates. When you broke contact, Joel broke the kiss.
-
He stroked your head gently again and kissed your temple.
"You’ve never felt one before, have ya?" He asked soft and low as he slowly palmed the hard bulge in his jeans behind you.
Your face burned and you just barely shook your head no.
"It's ok, baby. It's s'posed to feel good."
"What is?" you asked shyly even though you figured you knew. You wanted to shrink into the sofa, but you'd be shrinking into him.
He gently pulled you back against him. With his hand on your stomach, he pulled you all the way in. His arousal was already stiffer, larger.
He lowered his voice and said, "Feelin' this against you, knowin' it's there." His hips lifted gently, and his hard package swelled against you. "It's s'posed to feel good. Nothin' to be ashamed of"
Butterflies swarmed inside you, multiplying, filling up your ribcage, your pelvis. He coaxed you into relaxing back on him again. He cradled you from behind and caressed your thigh for a minute, then his masculine hand slid between your knees, gently nudging them apart. His hand slid up one inner thigh and your legs opened for him all on their own.
"Feel it here?" he asked before he flattened his fingers and slowly, lightly felt the crotch of your pants. You didn't answer. You didn't have to. With several fingers, he ghosted a line from the seam of your pants up to your clit, driving you mad.
He pressed his hardness into you again with a soft grunt. His voice was low as he reassured you with his hand still between your legs. "See, what you're feelin' right here, it's natural. It’s right."
His other hand stroked your stomach, gradually approached your chest, then caressed your breast lightly with his hand mostly flat. His chest rose and fell under you. You inhaled deeply, your breast swelled into his hand, and he cupped it, grinding his hardness into you harder than before. Your nipples hardened and you got goosebumps all over.
You knew there was a pool in your panties, and you didn't want him to feel it if it seeped through your pants. If it hadn’t already.
As though reading your mind, Joel said in a near whisper, "and when it's wet here, that's a good thing." His thick fingers ghosted the crotch of your pants. "Means your body wants more."
"More what?"
"Well. . . We can figure that out together, darlin'." You weren't that naive, you just wanted to know what more meant to him.
He pressed his crotch into you again, hard as a rock, his fingers still lightly stroking you between the legs. “When you’re wet. . .makes me feel good, too. . . .” His breath was hot on your neck, then he began to leave open mouth kisses there.
Joel shifted behind you so you could see each other again. He took your hand in his. "Wanna feel it?" He put your hand on the hard bulge in his pants and thrust against it, biting his lip and lowering his already half-closed eyes. He was so hard, it made your whole body tingle. You could feel the outline of the head. It overwhelmed you with a level of arousal you never knew was possible.
-
"I think I should go to sleep," you said. It came out as a whisper
"Want me to tuck you in?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye, wrapping you in a hug. It was tempting. You suspected he meant more than that. Maybe he'd even stay over. You hated to see him go. It would be a jolting contrast to be all alone in this big house on all this land, not knowing when he might come back. But you couldn't bring yourself to say yes. It was something in your gut.
"Not tonight," you said.
Joel looked in your eyes and studied your face thoughtfully, then brushed your cheek. "Ok baby," he said. "Not tonight." He kissed your cheek. Feelin' a lil better though?"
"Yeah," you said. At least your mind was off things. You stood up and fidgeted with your hands behind your back.
He put his hands on his knees and stood up with a groan. You tried not to stare at the major protrusion in his jeans. He hugged you tight, and when you felt him from the front, it took your breath away.
"Why don’t you come by this week? We can go for a walk, pick some fruit. Trees are lookin’ real pretty.”
“Okay,” you said.
"Night, peaches." He kissed you on the cheek.
He left the whiskey there, but you wouldn't touch it without him.
-
You felt like you were aging a year a minute that night. Adults did these things. Even teenagers did these things. You were embarrassed to be several years into adulthood with no experience, no idea what you were doing. You were so far behind. You thought about Bill and Frank's attempt at "the Talk" – how precious you were and that you could love anyone, but needed to protect yourself. Especially from men. Joel seemed like the protector. Not someone you'd need protection from.
It was all happening so fast after years of nothing. You worried that if you didn't slow down, you'd miss it.
-
PART 2
Thank you so much for reading and engaging! It's really motivating to me and means the world 🖤
While you're waiting for the next part, consider catching up on my series that just wrapped (different story, Joel, & AU): Silence can never be bought, only rented.
-
-
Lincoln tag list: @fan-fiction-floozy @ivyblxnde @lhymer1995 @sugarspiceanthrax @isimpforfictionalmen @zynbsblog @swedishscumfuck @sadgirlstoohightocare @steveharringtonswh0re @skythighs @aoziety @leeeesahhh @jupitersmoon-cal @peekymoon @dtfawn @pedrosbabygirl @shotgun-shelby @romanarose @reader-without-a-story @shewantstoknow @jaxxiepup @yvonneeeee @elvinaa @internetobssesed1234-blog @jbcalway
All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxiousus @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#creepy!joel miller#creepy!joel#innocent!reader#virgin!reader#toxicanonymity ☠️#tlou joel#tlou smut#pervy!joel miller#pervy!joel#dark!joel#dark!joel miller#lincoln!joel#lincoln!joel miller#content label#cw age gap
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹
series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.
[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]
syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)
cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3
love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p
MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.
You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window.
With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.
Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.
Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.
There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.
That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.
Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.
Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—
Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.
A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.
You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.
The world freezes entirely.
It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.
You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.
Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.
Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.
If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.
You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.
Nope. This was very much reality.
You sigh.
It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.
In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.
It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.
There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.
An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—
The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”
You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”
Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”
He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.
The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.
“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.
“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.
The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.
Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.
You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.
It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.
“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”
Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”
He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.
Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.
The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.
If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.
Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.
You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.
“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.
You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.
“It’s so what?” He squints.
“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”
“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.
You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.
The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”
You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”
He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.
He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.
Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”
“You’re a real prick, you know that?”
Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”
Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.
You look up at him and tilt your head.
“You going to let me go now, or..?”
Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”
He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.
There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”
Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.
“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.
You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.
He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.
“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.
He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.
“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.
“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.
“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”
Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.
“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.
God. He’s criminally good at this.
“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.
“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.
You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.
“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.
“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…
He stops.
You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.
“Hey—!”
“You can use your words, can’t you?”
Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.
Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…
“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.
You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.
His grin widens.
“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.
Bait.
And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.
“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”
“Need me to what, baby?”
His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.
That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.
You wanted it. You wanted him.
“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”
His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.
“Whatever my girl wants—”
He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.
You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.
“—my girl gets, yeah?”
You find yourself in the bathroom again.
This time, you are in your own home.
The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.
You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.
You can’t have him. It would never work out.
Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.
And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.
Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.
You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.
You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.
Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.
And the easiest way to get over things?
You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.
The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.
You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.
A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.
(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)
You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:
You need to get over Sampo Koski.
And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.
You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.
You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.
The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.
Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.
You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.
“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:
Sampo. Fucking. Koski.
“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”
His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.
So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.
(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)
“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”
Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.
That he caused.
Indirectly.
“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”
(You want to call him a liar.
You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)
You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.
All you know is that it does not feel good.
“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”
Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”
He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.
You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—
You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”
You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.
Your face blanches.
The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.
How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.
“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.
“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”
He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.
You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.
You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.
And he looks none too happy.
“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”
This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.
“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.
“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”
You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.
Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.
“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”
You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.
You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.
You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.
What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.
The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.
“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.
“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.
“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:
Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.
“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.
“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”
You’re my friend.
Friend.
Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.
No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.
To touch him, to hold him.
You can’t.
“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It doesn’t seem okay—”
“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.
Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:
“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”
It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.
The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.
But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.
“Oh,” is all he says.
You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.
“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”
He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.
“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.
The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.
“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”
He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.
This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.
please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!
#sampo koski x reader#sampo x reader#sampo smut#sampo koski smut#hsr smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail smut#sampo x you#sampo koski x you#☆ oakie writes#☆ series: don't you trust me?#dividers via cafekitsune :p#nereids' realm
188 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Two
Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader
a/n: Hi guys! Back with chapter two!! Thank you for all the love last chapter! You guys are too sweet! I hope you like this chapter as well, although we get a little angsty in this one oops. Also author note at the end!
Word count: 5k.
Find: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4
Enjoy!
December 17, 1970. Still.
Paul Hunham didn’t think his luck could get any worse but then that moron at the Janie Patrick's Girl School had to go make his problems, his. Then at the young lady’s arrival Angus Tully practically had hearts popping out his eyes like those cartoon characters on TV. That would be an issue. An issue he had to deal with at once.
As the boys grumbled and moaned on their way to the infirmary, as if they were the Athenians sent to march to Marathon in 490 BC, he made his way to the kitchen, looking for a certain cook.
“Hello, Mary,” he greets. She sits at her desk with a cigarette between two fingers, writing something down in her notebook.
“Mr. Hunham. I heard you got stuck with babysitting duty this year. How’d you manage that?” Her tone tiptoes on the edge of teasing.
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I failed someone who richly deserved it.”
“The Osgood kid? Yeah, he was a real asshole. Rich and dumb. Popular combination around here.”
“It’s a plague. Uh, and you? You’ll be here, too?” God, he hopes she is. He doesn’t think he will be able to survive as the only adult on the school grounds.
To his relief she nods her head, “All by my lonesome. My little sister Peggy and her husband invited me to go visit them in Roxbury, but I feel like it’s too soon. Like Curtis will think that I’m abandoning him, you know. This is the last place my baby and I were together, not including the bus station.”
Paul pursues his lips, unsure of what to say. “Well, maybe you won't be completely alone. How would you feel about letting a female student sleep in the staff common room? We could push some couches together, I'm sure. Make a nice bed that way.”
“Female student? What do you mean?”
“I’m unsure about the exact details, but I have been entrusted by the idiots across the lake with taking care of one of their students.”
“Ahh,” Mary is beginning to understand.
He nods, “Her name is Y/n L/n, I think she and Tully are in cahoots somehow. You should've seen the way he looked at her.”
“Oh no, don't do that though. You can’t have that poor girl sleep on a lumpy couch all break. She needs a bed.”
“I just want this whole ordeal to go smoothly. If I can keep those two as far away as possible, I believe all will be well.”
“Please that Tully boy wouldn't try anything. Sometimes he is the only one to say thank you when we place the food down on the lunch tables.”
Paul mulls it over for a second. “I suppose I could give it a try. Not that I think it is wise.”
Mary smiles slightly, “I know those kids are hard to handle but hold out hope for them. Some trust too. It's not too late yet. Their brains are still moldable or whatever corny crap you teachers say.”
Paul smiles slightly, his attention pulled to the bottle of bourbon on her desk, “You mind if I uh…”
“You want some of that? All right.”
“Thank you.”
“You know this is a necessity,” Mary says as she pours the liquid into a mug for him.
“Oh yes,” for life, love, pain or the next two weeks. Paul understands too well.
…
“Put the bed farther away Angus,” you say, your arms on your hips and you watch him struggle to drag his bed closer to yours.
“Why? Do I smell or something?”
“It's already a stretch to think he might let us sleep in the same room, he's definitely not going to let your bed be that close to mine.”
Huffing he begins to scoot it back to its original place, “Fine.”
Music has started blaring loudly from where Teddy and Jason are bunking in. Park and Ollerman are minding their business in their own space. You are across, what you think will be the place Mr. Hunham will stay in. Your hope is that him having an accessible view will make him more lenient towards you and Angus, despite his earlier warning of having you be on your own.
You situate your lavender near the window and begin to unpack your things. Angus does the same and you can hear his rustling get faster.
“What's wrong?” You ask.
“My…” He trails off. Suddenly he storms off like a man on a mission. You ignore the magazine you were flipping through and let it fall on the floor as you get up to follow him.
You see him head directly towards Kountze. “Where’s my photo?”
“What photo?”
“I think you know what photo, and you stole it.”
“I resent that baseless accusation.”
“Give me my goddamn picture!” Angus shouts.
“Hey man, if you took the photo just give it back,” you plead exasperatedly to Teddy, already tired of his whole innocent act.
“Stay out of it Y/n, it's alright,” Angus assures you and you move back to lean against the doorway. You sort of hope Angus socks him.
Kountze leaps to his feet and stalks towards him, “You need your girlfriend to defend you now? Seriously, what's your problem, Tully? Homesick? Maybe the little boy misses his mommy?”
“Fuck you, Kountze. Leave her out of it. And hey, why are you even here anyway? Where’s your family?”
“We’re renovating our house. It’s all torn up. They’re storing the tools and stuff in my room.” “That’s what they told you? It’s winter, idiot. Nobody renovates their house in the winter. Your parents don’t want you around because you’re a fucking insecure sociopath.”
“Hey, take it easy, guys.”
You can see Angus getting angrier. His shoulders are tense and in a last ditch effort you go up to him and whisper in his ear, “Punch him later. In private. Hunham won’t even hear our reasoning for rooming together. He’ll punish you by punishing me.”
Misery loves company, right? That was the saying at least. In your mind, suffering with Angus was better than the alternative. You didn’t want to spend these two weeks inside a glass case. From what you had seen, Hunham would have no problem in making you sit at your own lunch table or study in a separate classroom. You know that is what Ms. Orchard would have done if she was forced to take in the boys. She would have locked you in your dorm and insisted it was because you would “distract” them.
You can see the gears turning in Angus’s mind. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally nods before turning back to glare at Kountze. “You’re an asshole. I just needed you to know that.”
He turns around to retreat back to the room only to run straight into Mr. Hunhams chest. Angus leaps off and leans his back against the wall. Your own eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the man's footsteps.
He surveys the room and notes all your disheveledness. Teddy's face looks flushed while Angus is still trying to control his heavy breathing. Everyone is completely silent and too scared to even make a move.
“What is going on here?”
“They weren’t fighting,” Alex squeaked. Mr. Hunham only seems to grow more suspicious. He shifted his sights to you and his eyebrow begins to raise, “They weren’t bothering you were they.”
“No. We were just talking,” you swallow the lump in your throat.
“What about?”
“Hmm?” You hum, straightening up.
“What were you all discussing mere seconds before I barged in on what, I am sure, was a highly intellectual conversation.”
“Shocking Blue,” you blurt out and Hunham turns his head as if asking for clarification. “The band that was on the radio.”
“Yeah, we love Shocking Blue,” Angus nods. The rest of the boys chime in, faking their agreement.
“They’re so good.”
“I listen to them all the time.”
Mr. Hunham continues to look unconvinced. Without a word he walks out, and you all collectively let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, you all stare at each other with giddiness. Like when you're a kid and get away with stealing a cookie from the cooling tray. You let yourself relax but shrivel back up upon the echo of Mr. Hunham's haunting voice, “Mr. Tully, Ms. L/n, in here. NOW.”
You frown, gazing up at Angus, “I think he found the room.”
…
After a stern talking to, Mr. Hunham begrudgingly agreed to let you and Angus sleep in the same room. He took a string of jingle bells that hung from a nearby Christmas decoration and tied it around Angus’s bedpost so that if he dared to move, he would hear it. You two were just fine with that.
Later you were escorted to the large dining hall. Mr. Hunham sat at the head of the table as the rest of you indulged in mindless chatter. You and Angus were on your third round of rock, paper, scissors, competing for nothing, when a lady came in to set down a platter of chicken, potatoes and asparagus.
“Lovely. Thank you, Mary.” the older man says.
You wait for the initial rush of grubby hands and pushing elbows to pass before you serve yourself, when you find that Angus already did it for you. He sets down the plate in front of you and then gets himself a serving of the green vegetable on his own dish.
“Didn’t we already have this for lunch?” Jason asks.
“And it was crappy then,” Teddy says through his eager chewing. You gag at the scene.
“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”
The woman from earlier, that you now know is Mary, returns with some water. You give her a passing smile which she returns.
“Mary, maybe you’d, um, maybe you would care to join us,” Hunham stumbles through his words.
Kountze looks up from his food then glances at you with alarm. Like he can't fathom the idea of sitting with the cook.
You think Mary can sense his disdain when you notice her demeanor sour after a glimpse in his direction. “No, I’m all right. Thank you.” She escapes through the kitchen doors.
Teddy pipes up, “I mean, I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s getting paid to do a job. And she should do it well, right?”
The chewing and scraping of silverware halts. You and Angus gauge each other's reaction, both of you completely shocked and slightly horrified. That boy for some reason just never knows when to shut up and continues, “But I guess no matter how bad a cook she is, now they can never fire her.”
“Will you shut up!” Mr. Hunham yells loud enough for you to flinch. He slams his fork and knife down. “You have no idea what that woman has… For most people, Mr. Kountze, life is like a henhouse ladder -- shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat!”
…
You're on your bed and catching up on some reading and soaking in the orange hue that the bedside lamp offers you. The boys are still getting ready for bed, and you were graciously offered the first shift in the showers. You’re waiting for your hair to dry when Angus walks in with his pajamas on, and a towel draped over his shoulders.
“You look very dapper,” You smirk.
“Thank you,” he plops down into his mattress. “You think Walleye is still mad?”
“Probably. I don’t blame him.”
“It made for a pretty awkward evening though.”
“Not one of the worst dinners I ever had. I’d rather endure another night like this than any dinner with my parents.”
“Oh yeah,” he sighs, “Your parents... You never did tell me the reason why you’re here holding over.”
You shuffle around in your bed and bring your blanket up to your neck, “Doesn’t matter.”
“Come on, it's just me now. Tell me. I told you!”
“It's no big reason, just small ones. They didn’t specify. I didn’t want to go home. It's complicated.”
“Okay you just gave like four different excuses right there. What happened? Is it super embarrassing? Did they forget about you or something,” he laughs.
You wince at his words and pray that the world opens up and swallows you whole. Realization dawns on his face, “Oh shit. Did they?”
You nod solemnly and begin picking on the thread of the blanket, trying to make the threading come undone.
“How could they do that? The same assholes who always make a huge deal about RSVPs and invitations. Seriously?”
“It’s alright. I’ll live. I mean what would I have done if I was there? I’d be in my room and waiting for them to drag me out so they could introduce me to people. They’d act like doting parents, ditching me a second later to play blackjack with their friends.”
“I’m sorry. I wish you would have told me, we could’ve… I could have done something.”
You smile, “I didn’t tell you cause I know you. You would’ve cursed them out the minute you had hold of them. Anyways, maybe it was faith to get stranded at Barton.”
“Or bad luck,” he quips, “maybe the universe wants us to die of mundanity together.”
“Either or,” you grin. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let's go to bed.”
Angus nods and spreads his long limbs across the bed exaggeratingly before turning to face the wall. “Whatever you want. Goodnight, Y/n.”
“Goodnight,” you go to turn off the lamp, wondering if you're being paranoid in sensing something off in the way he says your name.
…
December 20, 1970
The last few days had been the same grueling routine. Mr. Hunham would wake you up with the banging of bedpans and you would groan and try to shove yourself deep into your pillows.
“All right, you fetid layabouts,” he would say, “It’s daylight in the swamp. Arise!”
In the quad you were all forced to run laps. You hadn’t anticipated doing exercise, so you were forced to wear some joggers from the lost and found. You had been able to convince him that walking would be better suited for you and your imaginary cramps. His face had completely paled, and he hadn’t even let you finish speaking when he said you walking would be just fine. Men and their immaturity, you think.
When Angus and the rest of the boys would pass by you, he would glare jokingly at you while you would stick your tongue out and wave him goodbye as he flew past you.
During study hall, you would read some more and ignore the ongoing feud between Kountze and Angus. In the span of the last few days, you must have read three entire books. There was a lot of downtime in between recreational time with Mr. Hunham and dinner.
Today you had all decided to walk along the river. You can hear the church bells in the distance signaling the fact that it is the afternoon. Angus is swinging around a branch while Teddy and Jason pass around a football. You steer clear of both. You walk in sync with Alex and Ye-Joon. You’ve taken a liking to them. They remind you of the little sibling you always wanted but never got.
“What about your car?” Angus suggests, “We could take it, go somewhere. Boston maybe.” Jason shakes his head, “Nah, we’d get in so much trouble. Face it. We’re stuck.”
“If we just had some way to get out of here. Just split,” Angus kicks a pile of snow.
“Well, you could put a chopper down right in the Quad.”
“A what?”
“A helicopter, dumb ass,” Teddy snaps, “His old man’s CEO of Pratt & Whitney.”
“Got his own bird,” Jason confirms, “Takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our backyard. Pilot’s name, Wild Bill.”
“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon awes.
“Yeah. Flew up to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me,” he shrugs.
“Flying with presents, like Santa Claus,” Alex comments with glee.
“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”
Jason whistles and tilts his head for Teddy to “go long.” They play catch, getting farther from the group as they go.
“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar,” Alex reminisces. You smile sadly at the boy.
“That sounds so nice,” Ye-Joon agrees.
Kountze runs back suddenly and grabs one of Alex’s gloves and throws it into the river.
“What's wrong with you?” You intervene.
“Hey!” Alex says simultaneously.
“That’s what you get for ratting me out, little Mormon,” Teddy laughs, not an ounce of regret at what he just did. You tap Angus’s shoulder as you go trailing after the young boy, “I’m going to go help.”
“It’s gone! My glove’s gone!” Ollerman shouts. You continue searching for it through the clearing.
“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose. Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more,” Angus shouts back.
Ollerman looks to be on the verge of tears. He stares down at his hands and starts walking down a snowy ramp. He throws the other glove before you can do anything to stop it. He watches it disappear downstream as you make your own way down.
“Did your mother make you that?”
He nods. “It’s alright. I know where he keeps his wallet. We’ll steal it and buy a new one.”
You manage to bring out a muffled laugh from him. You consider it a win.
…
Angus wakes up in the middle of the night to see you knitting. He gets up from the bed to see your progress.
“Oh hello, grandma,” he scoffs. “When did you learn to do that?”
“Girl scouts before I quit. You guys had a bunch of yarn just rotting behind your auditorium stage. Did you know that?”
“No? Are you making that for the kid?”
“Yeah, I feel bad.”
“That looks like crap,” Angus chuckles as he messes around with the gloves fingers. You swat his hand away.
“I never said I earned the badge. Besides, it's the thought that counts.”
“I’m going to get a glass of water. You want some?”
“No thanks.”
Angus leaves the room, only to return a couple seconds later.
“Ye-Joon is crying,” he whispers. You furrow your eyebrows and get up to follow him. His cries become louder, and you turn the corner to see the poor boy shivering.
“Are you all right?” You ask.
“I had a nightmare,” You crouch down so you can hear him better.
“Don’t worry we get nightmares too. Right Angus?”
“Yeah, I’m always falling. Or drowning.”
“Also, I had an accident,” he weeps.
You motion for Angus to check. He doesn't have to look far.
“Yeah, you did. Shhh. Stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”
“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends,” he sobs full-on. You hush him gently.
“You have plenty of time to make friends. You’re like a freshman, right? I would start worrying when you're fifty and living vicariously through your kids.”
“Yeah man. You could have a thousand friends and not like any of them. What would be the point of having them then,” Angus adds.
“We’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right?” You wipe his tears with a tissue from a Kleenex box nearby. “Find a dry spot and try to get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” Park smiles consoled. Before going back to bed you ask him one last thing, “Hey do you like gloves?”
Ye-Joon gives you a quizzical look.
…
December 22, 1970
Once again, you’re all studying in silence in a fancy room with portraits of dead white guys on the wall.
Mr. Hunham clears his throat loudly and Jason leans in to mutter in disgust, “Are you kidding me? It’s only eleven and he’s already lit. I can smell the whiskey on him.”
“Can you blame him? It’s freezing in here. It’s fucking Greenland in here,” Angus retorts.
From outside you hear the faint whirring of a machine. Not a car but something else. You all approach the window and spot the helicopter flying above the trees. It lands in the quad just like Jason had said it could. An older man steps out and he looks like one of the men you imagine roam Wall Street.
“He finally caved, the big softie!” Smith exclaims. He all but skips to the door and turns to you all, “Hey, any of you guys like to ski?”
You and Hunham stay behind as the rest go racing after him, filled with hope for what must be the first time in days. He goes to subdue the riot they make as they whoop down the hall, but you stop him by grabbing a hold of the end of his sleeve.
“Uh, sir? If Jason is inviting us, would you have to call our parents?”
“That would be proper protocol, yes.”
“Oh. Is there a way I could stay here then? I never cared for skiing and my parents would say no anyway.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I’d have to ask Woodrup about this first. Come on along,” he clears the path for you.
Grumbling, you find your way to the administrative offices. Hunham, Jason and his father shut themselves in a room. The boys along with Angus all try to listen in on the conversation by pressing their face as close as humanly possible against the glass. You watch from the sideline as Jason gives you guys a thumbs up. The hallway erupts in cheers and a minute later Mr. Hunham steps out with an announcement, “Gentlemen, good news. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents. Most of them, anyway.”
Paul glances at Angus and you. Angus expression falters.
As the rest pack, you find refuge in your room. You can, however, hear Angus’s pleads.
“Try calling again. Just one more time. Please.”
“There’s no point. The desk clerk said no one’s answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”
“Excursion,” he repeats.
Mr. Hunham scoffs, “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so. I could be spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”
“Maybe they’re back by now. Just call again.”
“Okay,” he gives in and marches down the corridor.
Ye-Joon had wished you goodbye a moment ago and now does the same for Angus, “Happy Holidays.”
“Same to you.”
“Take care, Tully.” Smith follows Park, giving him a pitiful pat on the arm.
You catch Alex as he is about to exit. You’ve wrapped the gloves you worked on endless last night in newspapers. “This is for you. Try not to get them stolen by Teddy again. I don’t think my fingers can handle another round of knitting.”
Ollerman smiles genuinely, giving you a hug you didn’t expect. You’re unable to return it as he has your stiff arms completely glued to your side. You follow him out, and Angus scowls in your direction.
“Why aren’t you more upset about this? That was our only way out and we blew it.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Did you really want to go skiing with Kountze that badly?”
“No, I wanted to get out of here badly. Your parents seriously didn’t answer either?”
“Um-.”
“Hey, you know what! Maybe Hunham can call them again and they can take us both in!”
“Angus no-,”
“Yeah, come on! Let's go ask,” he tugs at your hand to get you through the corridor.
“No Angus. I don’t want to.”
“What, why?”
You run your hand through your hair, “I asked Mr. Hunham not to ring them.”
“Wait. So, you didn’t even try to leave!”
“No! I thought I was clear the night we talked about why I didn’t want to go back to that house. If they answer they’ll pull the victim card and be all ‘I can’t believe you guys kept my child from me! Who do I sue?’ before coming to fetch me and berating me all the way back.”
“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything because I could tell you were upset but you could have at least let them know for both our sakes. Then we could have spent the holidays in a hotel in Boston or something! We didn’t have to stay with them.”
“I knew you were off that night!” You curse the way you’ve managed to read him. “Anyways, with what money? To do what?”
“I don’t-, I don’t know… we could have figured it out.”
“I can’t believe you're getting mad at my decision.”
“It’s a pretty selfish one,” his eyes widened like he couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.
You gasp and hit him harshly at his side. “Ow!” he yelps.
“You’re being an asshole right now. I’ve never been madder at you in my entire life.”
“Really? What about that time I spilled mashed potatoes all over your dress? Your face was beet red,” he mocks.
You go to swat at him again only for him to dodge you. You try once more and fail, almost falling onto the floor but stopping yourself by putting your hand on the nearest wall. If you weren’t so angry this would have reminded you of the times you would wrestle when you were eight. Especially now and the way he holds you back by putting his hand on your forehead to keep you at arm's length. You give up with a huff and you b-line to your room.
“Tell Mr. Hunham I won't be at dinner tonight!”
You hear him groan behind the door you slammed shut and then the sound of his footsteps fading. In your solitude you collapse on the bed, letting out a scream into your pillow. Even though it's muffled, you hope Angus can feel it from where he is. That it reaches him and causes goosebumps to arise all over his stupidly long arms.
…
You had skipped out on dinner like you said you would. Although Mr. Hunham had been polite enough to bring a plate down to the infirmary. As he handed it to you, he said lowly, “I’m not sure what that little deviant did, but I’m sure it's related to his foul mood and your absence tonight. Let me know if I can do anything.”
You almost wanted to cry at his politeness. Later he invited you to the kitchen common room and claimed there was a TV there. Considering you had only stared at words on a page for the last few days, you jumped at the offer. You saw Mary there and to your displeasure Angus had been forced to tag along so that Mr. Hunham could supervise him.
Your eyes were glued to the television, not letting Angus’s burning stare get the best of you. They were watching “The Newlywed Game” and drinking from mugs. It was not half-bad. In fact, it was starting to get pretty good to see these couples have their relationship crushed within a thirty-minute runtime with ad breaks in between.
The boy had begun throwing pieces of balled up paper at you and you picked them off your hair and tried your damnedest to not pay him any mind. You could hear him tear a new page from that magazine of his and finally you snapped at him. “Will you stop it? You’re wasting paper.”
“Thank God. You’re talking to me,” he stood straighter in his seat. “Here's the thing, I'm sorry. I should have never said that you were selfish. Cause you’re like, not. You’re honestly the most unselfish person I know.”
“I don’t want your apology right now. I’m watching TV.”
“I just got caught up in the moment is all. The truth is that-.”
“Angus, I said I don’t want to hear it!” You raised your voice loud enough to catch the attention of both Mr. Hunham and Mary.
“Everything alright back there?” Hunham takes the pipe out of his mouth to ask.
You get up, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “Can I be excused. I’m pretty tired.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” You pick up your discarded book from the nearby coffee table before leaning down and whispering in Angus' ear, “Don't follow me.”
As you stomp away you hear Mary say, “We need to get those two onto this program. Win us a trip to Bermuda.”
Mr. Hunham lets out a suppressed chuckle, embracing it soon after along with Mary. You roll your eyes at the pair and their drunkenness. You’re comforted by the fact that they’ll have a big headache tomorrow.
…
You’re shaken at a frantic rate. You went to sleep early but were awoken now by a mischievous looking Angus. He dangles a set of keys right in front of your face.
“What are you doing?” You squint under the harsh glare of the flashlight.
“Inviting you on a night of adventure. Walleye is completely blacked out. He won’t even notice us gone.”
“No thank you,” you turn away from him and drape your blanket over your head. He tugs it back down.
“Come on. Please?”
“I’m still not in the mood. Plus, now I’m tired.”
“Y/n,” he whines.
“If you find a cookie in a pantry somewhere you know what to do,” you murmur, already being lulled back to sleep by the warmth you feel under the covers.
“Y/n,” he says more seriously, “I am sorry.”
“I know,” you sigh. Maybe you had been too harsh. You prop yourself up on your elbows, “It’ll be better tomorrow. We will talk then.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He embraces you tightly in a hug. As he parts away, you two are face to face. You’re able to notice his eyes gleam under the light of the moon. You wonder when his eyes got to be that dark of a brown. Those same eyes flicker to your lips. You stare at him wearily as he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. He walks backwards to leave, his back bumping into a nearby lamp. “Shit. Sorry. Uh, goodnight. Bye.”
You were probably disorientated. Sleep deprived most definitely. Or maybe that secondhand smoke finally got to you. Surely you were just seeing things. Because surely, your best friend hadn’t just looked at you the way songs and books always seemed to describe love.
a/n: Thanks again for reading! Just to clarify some things, obviously Y/n knows about Angus’s dad, but just like in the movie, he doesn’t let it show how much it affects him. That’s why Y/n is unaware of why Boston is such a big deal. Anyways bye :)) until next time. Let me know your thoughts.
180 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up
Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11
Prompt: Royalty AU
Rated: G
CW: none
Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending
"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir."
"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit."
Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair.
"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-"
Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?"
"What, now you care?"
He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs.
"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?"
*
The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.
Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like-
"Watch out!"
Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him.
Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph.
"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-"
"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time."
Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way.
For a second, nobody says anything.
"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful."
"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!"
His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans.
"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …"
He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide.
"I, erm … Dustin."
"I'll stay here with Dustin."
*
Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick.
Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.
"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids."
Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light.
"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though."
Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee.
"You mean the royal visit?"
Eddie huffs.
"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."
Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-"
Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-"
"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon."
They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly.
Dustin sighs and stands.
"Coming, Hop."
"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-"
And then it clicks.
"Oh fuck," Eddie says.
Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat.
"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise."
The door clicks shut.
The car glides away.
Eddie buries his face in his palms.
"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."
Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.
"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit."
Eddie groans.
Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day.
Part 2
All my holiday drabbles
#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve x eddie#steddie brainrot#steddie fanfic#fanfiction writer#fanfiction#fanfic#my writing#steddie ficlet#steddie holiday drabbles#hype's holiday drabbles
296 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello! may i say i absolutely love your writing??? so i thought i’d request something :) aaron is readers first actual relationship (like her first serious one?) and her family dynamics have been difficult while growing up (absent father, not a really close relationship with her mother, she always felt like more of a flatmate to her yk?), so she hasn’t experienced what it feels like to be truly loved and wanted and aaron has given her that, which makes their relationship even more special and important to her. he’s basically the only person she fully trusts and vice versa. when they get into their first big fight, she gets overwhelmed and is afraid he’s going leave her and thinks things like “i knew this was too good to be true” etc. of course, they make up and aaron comforts her and assures her he’ll never leave her.
if this is something you don’t want to write, that’s totally fine!!! 🫶🏼
Thank you, sweet nonny, for your kind words and the request 🥹 And sorry this took me so long to post!! I hope you don't mind I tweaked a bit to play more on reader's anxiety than the fight aspect- I hope this is what you were looking for 🖤
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x female reader (angsty angst + hurt/comfort)
—————
Stupid, you chastise yourself for the umpteenth time as the apartment door closes behind your partner. Evidently he’s taken all the air in the room with him because your lungs can’t seem to find any oxygen to breathe in. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. What did you think was going to happen?
Rather than staring at the closed door in the vain hope that Aaron will walk back through it, you scrub your hands over your face and head down the hall to his bedroom. You stand on your tiptoes to reach your duffel bag in the closet that’s been sitting on a shelf since he first insisted you keep some things at his apartment. Maybe if you just give him space and then apologize, he won’t leave. After your dad walked out, that strategy had worked on most of your mother’s relationships, however short-lived they happened to be.
Your heart breaks at the thought of losing Aaron over something so seemingly trivial. Why hadn't you fought harder, spoken with more confidence in your voice? Why couldn’t you just let it go?
You had planned a quiet dinner at Aaron’s place to celebrate six months of absolute bliss together. All you had told him last week was there would be a surprise waiting for him at home, courtesy of the shiny new key on your ring you had yet to use. You spent the evening cooking the recipe that you had been buying ingredients for when you bumped into him at the grocery store, a smile on your face while the memory replayed in your head. As the clock neared seven, you left the food in the oven to stay warm and went about setting the table, complete with fresh flowers, candles, and Aaron’s favorite red wine. Music played softly in the background, a series of songs you put together that reminded you of your boyfriend that he was never allowed to find out about. You gave the sauce simmering on the stove another taste test, smacking your lips together before adding another pinch of oregano.
Then, you fired off a quick Can’t wait to see you soon! text to your boyfriend and settled down on the couch with your book to wait for his arrival from Quantico.
You waited… and waited, and checked your phone, and waited some more. As the minutes ticked by and the smile on your face faltered, you reasoned with a sigh that the BAU had probably gotten a case, and he was busy briefing the team before heading halfway across the country. You were no stranger to receiving a text or call from the jet, an apology for the untimely case and promise to make it up to you as soon as he was home.
But this radio silence felt different, and you released your bottom lip from its cage beneath your teeth with a quiet hiss when the familiar metallic taste of your anxiety getting the better of you touched your tongue. A thousand and one scenarios flew through your mind, possibilities of Aaron being hurt in the field or succumbing to another one of those fainting spells that his teammate and friend, Dave, had once warned you about.
Or maybe, just maybe, he had grown tired of you and was trying to figure out how to break things off.
Reaching the six month mark was a new milestone for you in a relationship. Most of your other relationships, if you could even call them that, didn’t make it past the third date. Aaron could probably profile you in his sleep, tell you that the absence of your father in your life and your strained relationship with your mother made it hard for you to recognize genuine connection. That you were a serial people pleaser, even at the expense of your own health and wellbeing, convinced that if you said and did all the right things, you would be worthy of people’s attention, time, and affection.
Hell, the person who cut in front of you in line for coffee could probably tell that about you by the way you insisted they go ahead first.
As the digital clock on the stove flickered to 10:00, your nerves over Aaron’s welfare outcompeted your guilt over bothering him at work. You unlocked your phone to find your earlier text to him delivered but unread, and pressed his contact picture to place the call. He picked up on the third ring, and you released a sigh of relief until he answered with an easy, “Hi, honey, how are you?”
Confusion muddled your features, but you kept your voice even as you answered, “Fine, my love. You got a new case?”
“Luckily no, and I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to your text earlier. I just got caught up trying to finish this report so I don’t have to work this weekend while we…” He trailed off with a quiet curse before coming back on the line. “Baby,” he breathed out, a heavy sigh laced with regret. “We were supposed to celebrate tonight, weren’t we?”
“It’s okay,” you offered immediately, not really answering his question as your gaze flicked up to the wax dripping down the half-eroded candles.
“No,” he responded firmly, and you could hear the distinct shuffling of papers in the background. “It’s not okay. It’s late, so there shouldn’t be traffic now. I’ll be home in twenty.”
You had spent those twenty minutes cleaning up the kitchen and convincing yourself that you weren’t really upset, just worried that he hadn’t eaten all day or taken proper care of himself. Then you changed out of your dress, opting instead for sweatpants and one of Aaron's old law school shirts to appear as casual as possible. By the time you heard his key in the lock, you were ready to meet him at the door with a smile.
“Hi, baby,” you purred in greeting, cupping Aaron's face in your hands and drawing him down for a sweet kiss. He practically melted into your touch, pressing his lips to yours between words of apology. “It’s okay, really,” you answered easily with a shrug. “We can just have what I made tomorrow!”
Aaron’s mouth turned downward at that, and you immediately criticized yourself for mentioning the meal at all. “Sweetheart-”
“Aar, baby, it was nothing,” you attempted to laugh it off, but his brows furrowed even deeper at your insistence.
“Why aren’t you upset? You should be upset.”
“Why?” you challenged in return, smoothing your hands along his arms even as your fear that he was trying to push you away reared its ugly head. “I know how difficult your job is. I don’t expect you to remember every little thing we talk about.”
“Y/N, no.” His voice was firm as he gripped your shoulders and dipped his head down to meet your gaze. “This wasn’t a little thing. Just… give me a minute and then we’ll talk.”
And now, here you are, hastily packing your bag and trying to make your escape before he returns to avoid having that dreaded conversation. The trite It's not you, it’s me and It’s for the best and You should be someone’s priority. Aaron had already sighed out the classic You deserve better before walking out the door.
You jump in surprise at the sound of Aaron’s voice rumbling over to you from the bedroom doorway. “Are we going somewhere?”
You look up at him and his heart breaks at the way your eyes are glistening in the dim light. “I thought I should spend a few days at my place. Give you some space to breathe.” And save you the hard part of saying we shouldn’t be together anymore.
His bags fall to the floor unceremoniously, and Aaron crosses the room in two short strides to cup your face in his hands, brows furrowed, eyes searching yours. “Why would I ever want to be apart from you when I don’t have to be?”
You gape at him in disbelief. “You don’t want me to leave?”
His answer is firm, resolute, a simple, “No.”
“And you’re not leaving me?”
“Absolutely not.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you down beside him, tucking you into his broad chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear when I left. I just went to get my things from the car, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” you whisper. Your voice is so small and fragile, and Aaron tightens his hold on you. “I just thought…”
“You’re used to people not sticking around?” You nod, his starched shirt brushing against your cheek with the movement.
Aaron pulls back a bit to tilt your chin up, his gaze soft yet determined as he looks into your eyes. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You understand?” You nod again, and he dots kisses all over your face until your mouth turns up in a genuine smile. “You-” He takes a deep breath and pulls your hand into his lap, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “You have made my life- and Jack’s- infinitely better, and I can’t picture our family without you now.”
You lift your joined hands to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Then, hesitantly, you ask, “Aaron?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you get upset about me not getting upset?”
“Because you deserve the world, angel,” he answers firmly. “And you deserve better than the bullshit I pulled tonight. And…” He trails off, and you can feel the tension mounting in the rise of his shoulders. Placing your hand on his taut muscles, you rub it back and forth in a soothing pattern until he releases a breath and admits, “It reminded me of my marriage, when things started falling apart before the divorce. Haley had gotten so used to my absence or making work a priority that she would just excuse things. First it was little things, like not answering a text for hours.”
“Huh, you don’t say,” you interject, and Aaron’s gaze cuts over to you to find a cheeky smile on your face.
He nudges your shoulder with his own, muttering an apology before continuing, “Then it was bigger things. Holidays and trips and back to school nights. I even- I missed Jack’s first steps, y’know that? I was on a case, halfway across the country, and I didn’t see the video she sent me until days later.”
“Aaron,” you sigh, now tucking him into your chest. “Do you know what Jack’s going to remember? That you were always there when it counted. He’s going to remember the night you went out in the rain to find his special Darth Vader suit for Halloween, and the countless hours you and Dave put in to coach his soccer team to the championship, and the blanket forts and movie nights and walks in the park with ice cream dripping down our wrists until it’s an unsalvageable mess. You’re his hero, you big dummy.”
Aaron shifts until his head is in your lap, looking up at you with a small smile and glistening eyes. “How did we get here?”
“You gave me a key to your apartment and then missed our anniversary dinner.”
“Thank you, you sassy little thing.” He playfully tugs at your hair falling down from your shoulders and framing his face. “I mean, I was supposed to be apologizing and groveling at your feet for my transgressions, but here you are comforting me instead. You really do-”
“If you say deserve better, I’m going to beat you up, Aaron,” you threaten, although the smile on your face says otherwise.
He mimes zipping his lips, then twists his wrist around to glance at his watch. “It’s still our six month anniversary for another hour or so, and the apartment smells divine. You up for a late night meal?”
Leaning down, you nuzzle your nose against his before answering, “Deal. But I’m sitting pretty at the table and you’re serving me, Hotchner.”
“In just an apron and nothing else underneath?”
“Oh, hell yes,” you squeal in delight. “You’re in trouble now, baby. I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth.”
“As you should, my love. As you should.”
__________
AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies
#this is unfortunately how my brain works#ow my feelings#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotch x female reader#hotch x you#hotch x reader#hotch x y/n#hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#hotch imagine#hotch#ssa aaron hotchner#criminal minds fic#criminal minds imagine#reader request#angst and hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort#angst with comfort
259 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey there! Could I please request Furina, Clorinde, and Navia with an S/O who fancies themselves as something of a vigilante (secretly or not is up to you, I have no particular preference) and generally likes to play pretty fast and loose with the laws? Thanks, hope you have a great day!
Them with a vigilante reader
characters: Furina / Clorinde / Navia x gn!reader (separate)
warnings: slight(?) angst in Clorinde’s part, light spoilers for the 2nd Arc of the Archon quest in Navia’s part
a/n: I have no idea if you wanted this to be angsty or fluffy, since the reader turning out to be a vigilante has more than enough potential for soul crushing angst, especially in the Nation of Justice, so I played it safe and go with the fluffier option whenever possible, that being said the Clorinde one is a bit more angsty, I think.
Also, I'm still trying to get a feel for the characters, so if I got some of their character traits wrong, then I'm really sorry
So I hope this matches what you envisioned, if not, tell me and I’ll try to write it again.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Navia
While the main producer of Sinthe had been convicted and she finally got rid of her father’s undeserved epithet, Spina di Rosula’s work was not yet done. The biggest supplier may have been dealt with, but as long as there were still people making Mora from selling that substance, neither you nor Navia would rest, not after witnessing what it did to people’s lives.
Navia and you making for good partners shouldn’t have come as a big surprise for anyone. Both of you held an enmity for anyone related to the Sinthe-trade, neither of you held an unwavering trust towards the justice system and the both of you had known each other since long before she took up her fathers mantle. And while your operation wasn’t technically legal, considering how the Hydro Archons last encounters with Navia went, the state decided to turn a blind eye for as long as Spina di Rosula didn’t betray its new found reputation.
You couldn’t remember when the last time was that just the two of you got to eat together like this. For weeks your nights were short and full of investigating, and even when you got to close your eyes, your dreams were filled with the case. But now that most of the Sinthe dealers were locked up behind bars, Navia felt it was only right for the two of you to take some time off.
“Where are Silver and Melus?”, you couldn’t help but ask when you didn’t spot the two men. They were always by her side, no matter when and where she set off, something even more impressive considering Melus’ age.
“I sent them to take some time off, they deserved it. Well, that and I wanted to have some alone time with you”, she explained with a smile, grabbing the plate with her baking and handing it to you, causing you to grab a macron or two before returning the smile, your heavy eyes feeling just a little bit lighter.
“You seem tired, didn’t you say you’d try to fall asleep earlier?”, Navia noted upon seeing the circles under your eyes, causing you to wave it off.
“I did, but then I thought of something and before I knew it I was looking into something”, you tried to play it off, only for the Boss to frown.
“The biggest threat is dealt with, give it a break and get some good night sleep. Not sleeping much isn’t good for your health.”
“Okay mom”, you sarcastically responded, a playful smile growing on your lips. One Navia quickly matched.
“If you don’t stop playing with the reports so late at night, I’ll have to confiscate your toys”, she responded in kind, causing both of you to let out a few snickers before turning your attention to the food.
“Can you pass me the black tee?”, you eventually asked before pointing at the kettle, only for Navia to stop in the middle of her bite and glare at you.
“No. I wasn’t joking, you’re going to sleep early tonight. Even if I have to force you.”
Furina
You were nothing more than a proactive private Investigator. A proactive private Investigator that followed the law, obviously. Vigilantes were criminals, criminals with good intentions, but criminals nonetheless and for the God of Justice’s closest companion, being a criminal was obviously out of the question. Because she would never protect and keep a criminal by her side. That would be ridiculous.
That was the deal, and what Furina made sure you'd remember.
Had this sort of secret been kept by anybody else, Furina might have considered it a twist worth listening to. It would have made for a trial she wouldn’t have been able to wait to attend. But why did it have to be you? Had the Archon found out about your secret earlier, you would be sitting behind bars since a long time ago. Nobody but the state, nobody but her, was allowed to determine whether someone was a criminal or not.
But by the time you eventually confessed it to her, it was too late. Were it her feelings that made her choose to keep shut or the knowledge that having news that the all knowing God of Justice didn’t notice her closest companion’s secret identity would deliver a considerable hit in her both trustworthiness and popularity as an Archon was irrelevant. The only thing counting being that you remembered those three important rules.
“Hand them over to the Gardes at the earliest possible opportunity, deliver evidence that there’s a crime that justifies me arresting them without the legal clearance to do so and don’t be seen.” While it would have been a lie to say that your lackluster recitation didn’t annoy Furina in the slightest, the fact that you remembered them word-by-word was reassurance enough that you would do your best to follow them.
For anyone unfamiliar with the person behind their god’s confident facade, it would have been a surprise to see their Archon nervously pacing around the room, but for you it was hardly a rare occurrence. Whenever you gathered enough information about a suspect to be certain they were a serious criminal and the only step left was to make them face justice, she’d sit you down in her room before hammering those rules into your brain..
“Exactly, and you better remember each and every one of those. I may have kept our- your secret so far, but don’t even think for a second I’ll hesitate to throw you into the dungeons myself if I hear you as much as consider breaking one of them”, she tried her hardest to keep her composure, and although the thought of making a small jest crossed your mind, doubting the validity of her threat, it wouldn’t surprise you if anything but a 100% serious answer would be enough to make her pass out, and so you cleverly decided to shut up and nod.
“Good, I could see from the moment I first laid eyes on you that you weren’t a criminal, so rise and do what you have to do”, she continued to cling to the image of the well spoken, righteous Archon her citizens surely knew her as before just as quickly collapsing onto the same chair the moment the door closed behind you.
“Why do I keep doing this to myself???”
Clorinde
While your family wasn’t wealthy enough to pay for you to get any kind of training, you were always a fascinated with sword fighting, so much so that the moment you finally saved enough to buy a good sword you asked Clorinde to teach you how to properly use it, something she saw no reason to refuse.
You had gotten a lot better since the first time the two of you trained, not nearly good enough to best her, but more than certainly enough to hold your ground against most enemies and threats in the wild. A part of her wanted to feel proud about her accomplishments as a teacher, but she couldn’t, not when she knew what you were using those acquired skills for.
Clorinde wasn’t blind. She knew something was going on the moment you started returning home in bruises and wounds from your “late-night walks”. At first she assumed some petty criminals must have started extorting you, but when you didn’t seem to be missing anything and she heard about a mysterious person apprehending criminals, it didn’t take her long to realize just what you were doing.
“What do you think of that ‘vigilante’ everyone is talking about?”, you asked while trying your best to block whatever attack she threw at you, your eyes landing on her for just a split second before fixating on her blade again.
Well, you couldn’t be more direct.
“I’m not sure. I know desiring justice is a noble trait, but if it’s justice they’re after, why not report the cases to the Gardes?”, she responded calmly, trying her best to keep her suspicions as hidden as possible.
“Maybe they don’t trust Fontaine’s law enforcement to do their job?”, you countered just as calmly, not averting your eyes from her weapon for even a split second.
“And what’s your opinion on the way the court does its sentencing? Just between the two of us”, her gaze left her own blade long ago, slowly but surely making their way down towards you.
“It’s certainly an entertaining spectacle”, you explained, only for her blade to suddenly change course and hit you in the chest. The only thing stopping it from sinking into you being the fact that it was a dull training sword. Before you knew it, Clorinde was silently staring you down, staring straight into your eyes and sending a shiver down your spine. Before finally speaking up once again.
“Then I hope they don’t get caught. The last thing I want to do is have to fight them in a real duel.”
If it took her, a duelist, nothing but a closer look to figure your secret out, it wouldn’t take a prosecutor long either. For your sake-, both of your sakes however, she hoped you’d manage to keep any suspicion away from you… at least long enough until she didn’t have to worry about you losing against her fellow champions.
#furina#furina x reader#furina x y/n#furina x you#clorinde x you#clorinde#clorinde x reader#clorinde x y/n#navia#navia x reader#navia x you#navia x y/n#focalors x reader#focalors
390 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prompt: The story about a prince and a traveller <3
Pairing: Malleus x Gn!Reader (Yuu)
Genre: Slight angst (?), Fluff I dunno
TW: Uh, although this is GN! Reader, the reader or Prefect or Yuu is referred to as "Mama" at one point in this. It is meant to be a gender neutral form of address (but if there is another form of address that is more fitting in the scenario please let me know), minor character death, heavily based on Orpheus and Eurydice's story.
AN: Not really happy with the ending of this, but its been in my drafts for far too long. It would have been more angsty, but my sister (who I usually make read my fics to check if it sounds coherent and/or is good) as well as my friends who I showed the initial draft to said that it would be too cruel and that I should make it a happy ending so here we are! Hope you enjoy!
One upon a time, there used to live a prince.
The prince was the heir of a prosperous kingdom. His wise eyes looked over his subjects with the love of a friend and the vigilance of a father. All he ever wanted was for his kingdom to flourish and grow, for his people to live happy lives. And he worked hard to ensure their protection, so that they may spread their wings under his watchful gaze and soar to new heights, bringing honor and prestige to their kingdom. In turn, the people of the kingdom loved and respected him, singing his praises to the birds in the sky and the flowers blooming in the soil. There was no one in the kingdom who would speak ill of their prince, for he was beloved by all.
But, the prince was lonely. He had loving friends to lean on, and trusted elders to learn from, but his heart yearned for that one person who would transform his happy yet monotonous days into pure bliss. His one true love.
And how fortunate was he to find it, in the most unexpected of places, at the most unassuming of times.
He found his solace, his refuge in a traveler from far, far away. It was love at first sight, though the prince would come to realize it much, much later.
The traveler was an intriguing, mysterious figure; quickly endearing themself to each person they came to know. Many vied for their hand, for their affections, yet their eyes seemed to sparkle for only one; the prince.
After many trials and tribulations the two were finally able to be at each other's side. The prince took the mysterious traveler as his spouse, his to love and nurture and adore forevermore. Yet such bliss, was fated to be short-lived.
Death came calling soon, far too soon for the traveler. No matter how much effort the prince expended to save his beloved, their life slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
The prince was stricken with grief. He mourned for the untimely loss of his pride and joy, and his people mourned alongside him. His heartfelt cries and pleas reached the heavens, moving the hearts of the Great Seven themselves.
One day, the prince was visited by the Thorn Fairy in his dreams. "Child, I have heard your prayers. Your devotion to your beloved is commendable, but the other side can often be cruel. It is best if you let those who have left rest where they rightfully belong, for the price to bring them back is often steep. Are you willing to do anything to have your beloved by your side once again?"
"Anything," the prince replied, with a conviction that moved the fae's heart. The fae sighed, and said, "Very well. If your love is true, and your decision final, then I shall not stand in your way. But be warned; one misstep, and your love will be lost forever. Do not look behind, for nothing exists there except regret."
The prince woke up in a dark cave, the Thorn Fairy's last words ringing in his ears. A warning, and a hint.
The prince followed his instincts; standing up and walking towards the small pinprick of light he could see in the distance. The floor of the cave was damp and cold. It seemed as if the shadows were clinging on to his legs, beckoning him to stay, to rest a while, but the prince continued moving ahead.
After what seemed like hours, (for the prince could not say if time was passing or if it was frozen. All he could do was walk and walk and walk-) the prince heard footfalls of another person, walking behind him. A voice called out to him, the tone so timid and fearful than he had ever heard it be, yet unmistakable. It was the voice of his beloved traveler, his most adored spouse.
The prince nearly turned to look at them, wishing to see what state they were in. He barely caught himself from doing it at the very last minute, remembering the fae's warnings.
Do not look behind, for nothing exists there except regret.
The prince kept walking ahead resolutely, one foot placed in front of the other with a haste. His heart beat wildly inside his chest, as if it was trying to escape its bony prison. The footsteps of his beloved echoed louder as they followed him.They called out to him again, hoping, perhaps, to get a reply; to get a confirmation that their love had truly come for them. But the prince did not answer, in fear of being tempted to look behind. Silently, he walked on ahead, his gaze trained on the light that seemed to get bigger and brighter as he walked towards it. Only a little more, and then...!
His beloved's voice grew frantic the longer he did not reply to their calls. The prince, in his hurry to reach the light and reclaim his beloved, had started walking faster, much faster than they could keep up. So they ran behind him, calling out to him. And fell, just as the prince took one step out of the cave.
The pained hiss that left his beloved's lips was the last straw for the prince. He turned, his eyes widening as the figure of his beloved knelt inside the cave, so close yet so far away from the sunlight, from him.
"No, no, no, no!" The prince exclaimed, falling to his knees and letting out an anguished wail as he wrapped his arms around his beloved. His beloved, who was gradually crumbling away into dust. Even so, they had a calm smile on their face, their hands coming up to cup his cheeks.
"I love you," was all they said, before they returned back to eternal rest.
...
Malina pouted, her hands resting on her father's shoulders as she looked up at him with wide teary eyes. Maleah, her twin, sat beside her on their father's lap, frowning as she asked, "Why did the traveler not return to the prince? He was out of the cave, was he not?"
Malleus gave his two children a gentle smile. "He may have been out of the cave, but the traveler was not. He turned back before they could take a step into the sunlight," he explained to her patiently, eyes shining with amusement as he watched her frown get deeper.
Malina sniffled, her big teary eyes sending a stab of concern through him, and Malleus held her closer. "But that's not fair..." she whined, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
"What's going on?"
"Mama!"
The two little girls scampered off his lap, making their way to their other parent who picked them up with a confused yet fond smile on their face. "Father was telling us the story of the prince and the traveler," Malina said as she wrapped her short arms around their neck.
They narrowed their eyes at Malleus as they held the little princesses in their arms.
"Malleus."
Malleus chuckled, the sound soft and slightly hesitant as he made his way to where the three of them were standing. "Apologies, my beloved," he said in a soothing tone, his hand rising to tuck a wayward strand of hair back in its place, hoping that the loving gesture would take away some of their anger.
"We will be having a talk about this later," they huffed, and Malleus nodded, placing a gentle kiss on their forehead.
He watched as they brought the young girls back to their bed, settling the little ones and promising to tell them a better bedtime story than the one their father had told. Malleus smiled as he sat behind them, his arms wrapping around their waist loosely while he placed his chin on their shoulder. A soft rumble left his chest when they raised their hand to run their fingers through his hair as they regaled the two sleepy girls with tales of knights and princesses.
Soon Malina and Maleah drifted off into sleep, holding each other close. Yuu sighed, a fond smile playing on their lips as they looked at their children.
"Hornton."
Malleus pressed his lips against the nape of their neck and smiled. "Yes, my dear child of man?"
"You are a menace," they chuckled, and Malleus smiled.
"Perhaps."
They hummed, the sound light and sweet as it carried into the otherwise silent room.
"One day, they will learn that it was all a true story," they said.
"I believe they would like our version much better, when the time comes," he mumbled against their shoulder, the great dragon fae being lulled to sleep by his beloved's soft voice.
"Definitely, Hornton. Definitely."
#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x yuu#disney#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twst malleus draconia#malleus draconia x reader#twst malleus x reader#twst malleus#malleus x reader#malleus x yuu#ice writes#twst writing
226 notes
·
View notes
Text
A happy home (realizations pt 2)
Title looks like a Midwest emo song name dude 🙏give me strength
Barbie dolls: Jegulus x reader (James, Regulus, Your punk ass).
Words: 2.4k ish
Summary: Reggie is all like muh I don’t deserve love I’m just a poor peasant boy then he’s all like muh i should ignore all my friends bc I’m just a poor boy from the bourgeoisie and then you and James are like no 🥺 pookie and then hilarity ensues
Warnings: it's kinda angsty but it ends happy trust, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of Remus' dick, Harry Potter possibly mentioned, James has a mustache for about three sentences, regulus is all emo, its alright guys first one waa better ngl
Pt 1
After you and James used the classic kiss & run technique on Regulus, his mind was swamped with questions. Baby Black was having yet another crisis. Barty and Pandora had started a tally board marking up all his catastrophes. He was somewhere around the double digits at this point. Regulus wanted love, as any poor emo poetry loving teenager, but he felt he didn’t deserve love. He wanted. He wanted so much. Regulus wanted a house with a screeching screen door. He wanted a wrap around porch. He wanted beautiful tiles in his bathroom. He wanted nick nacks. A cluttered home is a house full of love and life. He wanted color in his home. Regulus’ parents’ house (attention to house not home) was cold. Regulus wanted a home. He thought of it frequently, planning the decor and colors. He would go to his little home in his head for comfort. After panic attacks he found himself pressed into a rocking chair, sitting on his wrap around porch and staring out at the beautiful garden in the backyard. His book open in his lap, his favorite pen between his fingers, tracing over his initials. Next to his chair was a small table with a mug full of his favorite tea.
With the more time he spent with you and James, he felt his fantasy home adapt. Suddenly when he visited he found your sweater flung over the back of his couch, James’ pictures on the wall. Which he could accept. Friends left their things at each others’ homes all the time. Friends made it onto each other’s walls frequently. He could handle your friendship infiltrating his home. Regulus appreciated you both no matter how much he threatened to kill you. It was his love language.
Regulus seemed to pull away. Suddenly you never saw him in the library, he didn't appear next to you, he didn't even hang out with Sirius and the others. He was actively avoiding you both. You tried to pretend you were wrong and just making things up. You knew it was true after you saw him in the Gryffindor commonroom again.
But after you both kissed him, granted on the cheek, he malfunctioned. Regulus’ home changed rapidly. He was rocking in chair again, following the vines of the tomato plants with his eyes. His train of thought interrupted by the squeals of a small child. Regulus wondered what on earth was a child doing in his fantasy home. A small boy, no older than three or four, ran around the corner of Regulus’ porch. His little bare feet stomping on the wood. Regulus felt himself smile like nature. The boy was decked in jean overalls, a red shirt underneath. A small truck printed on the shirt was peaking out from under the edge of the overalls. He looked like James, Regulus realized. The boy heard louder footsteps following after him and squealed louder. The boy jumped into Regulus’ arms muttering something about ‘papa’. Regulus looked up from the boy to see James. Though now he had grown out his mustache, and wore matching overalls with the boy. James scooped the boy out of Regulus’ arms. James pecked Regulus’ cheek before dropping the three year old back to his feet. He ran off, zooming around the garden patches. James quickly went after him. James raced after the boy. They both laughed. The boy squealed when James caught him and tickled him. Regulus tore his eyes away when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He found you sitting next to him, in a matching rocking chair. You moved your hand up to his hair. You looked older, like James, not by much but enough for Regulus to know you all had left Hogwarts. You kissed Regulus on the lips gently. He felt warm. You leaned closer and leaned into his ear. You whispered to him that you loved him. Regulus felt his eyes prick with tears and his throat dry. You stood up and took his mug off the table. You walked away muttering about him drinking so much tea people will think you’re dehydrating him like a raisin.
It was change. Regulus didn’t like change and he didn’t like identifying his feelings. He couldn’t like you and he couldn’t like James. You were in a relationship. He can’t. He couldn’t. But he wanted. Regulus knew he wasn’t ever good at controlling his wants. So he avoided you and James. Regulus knew if he made eye contact he’d fall all over again. If he fell his heart home would be crushed. Regulus had to protect his home.
Regulus was sitting with Sirius. They were both talking and laughing comfortably. It was one of the few times you've seen Regulus without his journal in front of him. He caught sight of you standing at the steps of the Gryffindor commonroom. Regulus' smile fell and he quickly stood up. Regulus muttered something to Sirius before swinging his bag over his shoulder. As he breezed past you, you whispered a goodbye. He didn't return it, he didn't make eye contact, he ignored you entirely. Sirius had asked you what that was about but you just left the commonroom as silently as Regulus.
You brought it up with James. He was just as upset as you. The one thing you both feared was making Regulus uncomfortable and that's exactly what you had done. You and James had to have burned your trails into the floors with all your pacing but you decided on what to do. You'd confront him. Even though it seemed all Black relatives hated confrontation it was all you could do. You confront and apologize and beg him to come back to the group. You both missed his insults so much you felt sick. You looked for him everywhere. Days went by before you were finally able to find him. He was hunched over in the library. Regulus was sitting as far away from his regular table as possible. He was scribbling away in his journal, as usual. He glanced up when he noticed people approaching. Regulus quickly shut the journal and went to grab his bag.
"Please." James whispered. James sat in front of Regulus. You sat next to James. Regulus stared at the ceiling before gently letting his bag drop to the floor again. He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on top of his journal. You steeled yourself, clutching James’ hand under the table for support.
“We’re sorry. For everything. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. We were just being-“ You paused. You wanted to make everything make sense to Regulus. You needed to explain yourself, you couldn’t live with yourself if you left this thread hanging. “Brainless. We were just trying to harmlessly flirt and we would’ve stopped the second we felt you uncomfortable. We misread you, obviously. We miss you. You’re avoiding us and the rest of our friends. We need you to come back. We’ll leave you alone, we won’t even look at you if that works for you, so long as you come back. So.” You stopped and cleanched your jaw. You felt like you might cry if you kept talking. Though you already seemed to do a lot of that. James dropped your hand to rub your shoulder.
“So, we’re so sorry.” James finished for you. Regulus stayed silent. He looked between you and James. You saw it in his eyes, hatred, disgust, repugnance. You felt sick to your stomach, knowing you’d only see his distaste in his eyes. Never seeing all of Regulus in his eyes again, made your throat close and tears collect in your eyes. You pressed your hand against your mouth, looking away from him. You would not cry in front of him. You would not make Regulus feel like this was his fault. James squeezed your shoulder, moving his soothing hand to your back.
“I’m not good.” Regulus whispered. You quickly looked at him. How could he think that? He was staring down at his journal. Regulus squeezed his own hands, you knew his rings must’ve hurt. Regulus sucked in a sharp breath. “At speaking how I feel. I usually avoid it. I’d rather sit in silence than speak up.” He looked up. His eyes had tears like yours. You hadn’t made eye contact with James since before speaking but you assumed he was probably teary eyed as well. Regulus slid his closed journal to the middle of the table. He stood and pulled his bag over his shoulder. Regulus tapped on the table with his pen twice.
“Just return it.” Regulus whispered before leaving the library. You watched him walk away. You looked to James. Your tears had left leaving behind pure confusion.
“Did we just get told to go fuck our selves in poetry nerd?” You asked James. He looked just as confused as you. He glanced at the journal.
“He did say he’s bad at saying his feelings, maybe he wants us to read his feelings.” You stared down the journal. It was bound in black leather. A small string wrapped around it thrice. It was unsuspecting. You didn’t want to read it though. That felt wrong, going into Regulus’ private brain like that. He was constantly writing. His deepest darkest thoughts, you assumed. You once sneaked a peak at Sirius’ diary and you truly never needed to know in that extreme of detail what Remus’ dick looked like. You looked to James. He stared at you. You pressed your lips together, contemplating. You gently picked up the journal, scared it would shatter under your fingertips. You unwound the string. You pulled the front cover up. You found the first page had Regulus’ initials. You smiled and held it toward James for him to see. He laughed and turned the page. You saw the pages were full of Regulus’ flowing handwriting. Overflowing really. The lines of his poems were pressed up against each other. His letters interning with each other like a lovers hold. If you weren’t already absolutely totally in love with him, you would’ve fallen more looking at his pretty messy letters.
The last poem made you melt entirely. Regulus started speaking of a cold home. All the walls stained with blood and screams. He moved. A nice home with a porch, a reading nook, painted walls, a coat rack, a garden in the back, and you. He moved into a home with his two lovers, their presence sweeping over every inch of the house. There was ding in the doorframe to your shared bedroom, James had pulled a dresser up the stairs and tried to squeeze it through the door. You had painted in small forgotten corners of the house. A sunflower on the side of one of the kitchen drawers, a moon added to the coat rack, a heart on the corner of Regulus’ bedside table. The back door was newer than the rest of the house, James had flung a snowball so hard one winter he shattered the glass. Regulus had started talking of the rocking chairs on the back porch. His sentence fell off, unfinished. You set his journal down, leaning back in your chair. James followed your lead. You both sat in silence for a few minutes. Baby Black liked you both back. Say that 5 times fast. You sighed. You stretched your arms over your head.
“McGonagall did say we needed 20 minutes of reading everyday.” You whispered to James. He nodded and pulled the journal closer between you two. You both held onto it with one hand leaning closer to each other to read Regulus’ writing. You read and read and read and read. Regulus wrote so much he had to get new journals fairly regularly. This journal started a few days before meeting Sirius’ friends. The fast few pages were Regulus stressed with his workload. After that there was the first mention of you. Regulus spent a whole page explaining how gorgeous he found you. He spent another page after talking all about how handsome and beautiful James was. All of which you agreed with.
After that all his pages were dedicated to you two. Slowly as you worked through the pages together, and the candles around you melted, Regulus fell in love. His words were frillier. He spoke of a garden, and tea. Regulus told all about laying in field of flowers. He painted images of you three deep in love and extremely domestic. Regulus wrote of pain. The pain of knowing it could never be reciprocated, you were already with James and James was with you. The pain feeling every touch warm his heart before burning his skin with his own insecurities. He wrote how the kiss situation felt for him. All roses and sunshine until his own sick mind turned it against him, making him think it was all some big joke on him.
“We are really bad at reading people.” James muttered. You gasped and sat forward. Glad somebody said it.
“Right?!? Oh god we just can’t catch a break.” You clicked your tongue. James gently closed Regulus’ journal, wrapping the string around three times. You huffed and stood up. You and James left the Library, it was closing soon anyway. You both decided you had enough time before curfew to go to Regulus.
You returned his journal. Regulus stood in front of you staring and waiting. You and James let it all out. Laughing at your stupidity, apologizing for making him feel like he was some joke even if it was only for a few minutes, and confessing that a wrap around porch and back garden sounded perfect. Regulus was happy. He smiled at you both before telling you curfew was sneaking up behind you. James decided you three would get together and make plans on how to move forward with your relationship on Saturday in the courtyard. Regulus agreed. As you and James were heading off towards your own common rooms, Regulus called your names. He ran over to you from his commonroom door. He quickly kissed your cheek before James’. Regulus skittered off back to his commonroom without a second to spare. You smiled brightly at James. He returned the look. He intertwined your hands, swinging them back and forth. James started skipping down the hall, still holding onto your hand. You joined him. You were both carefree
You didn’t have anything to realize. You already knew you loved them both.
#jegulus x reader#jegulus#james fleamont potter#james potter x regulus black#trans james potter#james potter x reader#james x regulus#james potter#regulus black x#regulus black#regulus black x reader#trans regulus#james loves regulus#regulus deserved better#the marauders era#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
Anyone interested in some fic recs? Here’s a few ones I recently read and am enjoying — I prefer long, slow burn stories heavy on characterization/character study with adult protagonists, so that’s what’s on the list! As always, check the ratings and mind the tags; almost all are M for themes/language and a few have E chapters. This list is not exhaustive, and doesn’t include many older works, so if you have q’s or want more recs, ask away!
EraserMight
Blood Orange by @flyingjemsaucer is my happy place right now (the author has other lovely EraserMight fics too). It’s a wonderful AU with orange farmer/vendor Toshinori and teacher Aizawa. This one is interesting and different because Toshinori is un-injured and Aizawa has his post-PLF disabilities. As a bonus, this fic also has great DadMight and Dadzawa, with David Shield and married Mic/Midnight as the best friends of the lead pair.
Closed Fist and Bleeding Heart by MoonlightAndDust (who I believe also wrote this AU twitfic). Just all around good, canon universe, angsty EraserMight.
EraserMic
Nine Lives by machiroads (also check out the author’s Naruhata Noir, which ties in to Vigilantes lore). This one is set during Aizawa’s canon post-war hospital stay and features a super fun Mirko, snarky little shithead [affectionate] Shinso, and good OCs. Honestly, the EraserMic romance is just one part of the story, and that’s fine because it’s full of other things.
And When It All Goes to Hell by @purekesseltrash (also check out the author’s Rooftop Necromancy series for a band AU). Both of these fics are examples of an author’s other hobbies/interests making the fic truly special. This one is a hockey AU and it’s great! Filled with lots of cool details, it cuts between the teenage rooftop trio and the adult Hizashi and Shouta reuniting after 10+ years to figure their shit out. Knowing some hockey stuff helps, but isn’t required at all — the drama is still there! And if you want to read about 1A students in this hockey AU, then you’re in luck because the author has that too (though I have yet to read it myself only because I prefer adult protagonists).
ToshInko
Naive Melody by @aconstantstateofbladerunner. I also like many of the author’s other works including For Kurou and Dekugate, but I think this one deserves more attention for its terrifying premise and action sequences. It keeps the core “hero society” concept from MHA and then goes and does its own thing. Also, I love the Talking Heads references — you KNOW how I get with my 80s new wave music!
Bones of You by @thoughtfulraven. A really sweet story set in the canon universe, with BFFs Inko and Mitsuki and a closer look at Toshinori’s mental state.
Nighteye/All Might
Happiness by @puddinginthemix made me like Nighteye, and that’s a feat. Set in the canon universe with canon events…I’ll just say this one made me tear up a bit.
DadMight and gen All Might
Living Well by @krisingtons is super sweet. If you want some DadMight fluff, this is where you go. (I also happen to really like the Quirk Development Theories series, especially the OC that pairs off with Inko in one of the later stories because they all work together so well to support Izuku).
Learning to Trust by @siriusfan13, a longtime favorite. Not only is this a fantastic look at All Might in the year before he agreed to work at UA, but the author links some amazing DadMight/genMight fic recs at the end of (most) chapters.
Kacchako & also Hawks (WhaaAAaa????)
Toy Soldiers by AJLenoire is a bit of a wild card on this list, but it’s really well-written. The multiple subplots within the Kacchako plot and the Hawks/OC plot are all fun, and the Hawks/OC relationship is a blast.
287 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
techhedu360
Untitled
kevinchanergo
Ergonomic Office Product Review
erectus-perfectus
Untitled
mrpoker21
Cerita Aku
past-guilt-au
Residential District