#Bumble sweater | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seoksgrl · 3 months

Text

rather be dead than cool, 1 : jjk nerd!jungkook x popular!reader college au, dislike to love genderbent shes all that au

tws: some slight bullying (?), rich people being rich people

m.list

One thing could be said for you, and that is that you’re an overachiever. You set your goals way too high (some might say) and then struggle to reach them (also up for debate).

Since you were a youngster clicking around the nursery yard in baby Gucci from head to toe, you’ve always known you were destined for greater things than the bumbling little town you happened to be born in. If it weren’t for your father building a large technology empire in your formative years, perhaps you would have turned out differently. But he raised you to work hard and to take everyone you know with a pinch of salt.

High school had been a breeze, popularity and good genes meant you had many friends, but your father always reminded you that people could be bought. They always needed something from you, whether it be an elevation in social status or just a bite of your granola bar, your friends had motives. And you respected them when you were upfront about it.

As expected, you got straight A’s, entered one of the top colleges and built an appropriate social circle. Some call you conceited, shallow, rude - you’re just you. If they don’t like it, you don’t waste any more of your time. People didn’t affect you as much as they did your friends, especially boyfriends. You’d grown up with the knowledge your father instilled in you, meaning that when Park Jimin ended things with you, there wasn’t a tear spilled or an ounce of makeup smudged.

Jimin had been your boyfriend for the longest of the guys you dated in college - lasting a whole year, in fact. He was good for your popularity, something you’ve grown to enjoy. Why feel bad for taking advantage of something you have no control over? You dated him, now you don’t. You can easily move on and find someone else, or not. You’re well aware of the fact you don’t need anyone.

Your friends don’t think the same way, however.

“Oh my god!” Irene gasps, her dainty, ring-adorned hand falls on the shoulder of your Prada sweater and you resist the urge to shrug it off. After all, a snag would just be inconvenient, and those rings house many gaudy diamonds, “Are you okay?”

The question isn’t surprising to you - people have asked you every time you’ve had a break up. The answer is always the same.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mina’s brows pull together, and you wonder if she waxed them herself. They’re looking uneven, “Well, you guys were together for so long. I mean...did he dump you?”

You shrug, scrolling through Instagram, mainly Jimin’s posts from Spring Break are all that clog your feed. He ended - you both ended things a week before he left. You pause momentarily on a photo of him with what appears to be a cheerleader and close the app.

“It was mutual,” You check over your acrylics, happy with the peach colour. It matches perfectly with your purse, “I’m good. Really,”

Mina and Irene don’t look convinced, though you truly do feel okay. It wasn’t like you were in love with Jimin or anything - you’d said it to each other, but really, how do you know when you’re in love. Nobody tells you how you’re supposed to feel. Jimin had said it, and so you replied with the same. You had your own way of knowing you didn’t feel much more for Jimin beyond simply liking him, and it was the same measure you used for all friendships and relationships.

If you were planning to go to the movies, would you want to go with Jimin, or go alone?

The answer had always been alone. Jimin was a talker - he didn’t really watch the movie, and the couple times the two of you had chilled at his place with the TV on, he’d texted or tried to initiate sex with you. The idea of Jimin texting in the movie theatre made you irrationally angry. And so, you always went alone.

“Jimin was cute,” Mina says suddenly, as if she had thought about it for some time, “You two were like...the It couple. You know?”

It wasn’t a secret to you that your relationship with Jimin had caught some attention in the social circles on campus. Things in a prestigious school such as Yonsei University worked a lot like high school - there are still the familiar cliques you would expect, and as such, you are known as one of the most popular individuals on campus. Popular and well-liked are not, as most might believe, mutually exclusive. You’re aware that some people dislike you, but it’s hard to care. How can they dislike you without knowing you?

“I mean,” You laugh, brushing away a stray hair from your bangs, “Jimin only got popular after we started dating,” And it was true. You would never lie about such a thing, “I feel like I could date anyone and we could become the It couple on campus. Almost everyone we know is single,”

Mina scoffs, a rice cake inches from her lips, “I could date, I just choose not to,”

Irene is the next to speak, her attention moving from your friend to you, “So, what are you saying? You made Jimin the man he is today?” She speaks through her laughter, but you don’t know why. It’s the truth - and you’re not even trying to be up your own ass about it either.

“Yeah,” You reply, short and sweet, “Making a guy into high class material isn’t difficult. Men are pliable, like clay. You just mould them into what you need,”

Before you and Jimin became official, he was cute. But he wasn’t the kind of cute you would usually date. There was something inside you that yearned for a challenge, something to occupy your time. Doing well on assignments and quizzes was too easy for you. Thanks to your father’s money, he’d bought you the best tutor available to you and so you’re always pretty clued up on what you need to know in class before the semesters begin.

“You know what,” Irene adjusts her bag on her shoulder, settling herself on the bench beside you. Class is in ten minutes, and you should really start walking, but before you can suggest it, her hand is diving inside her purse and pulling out a cheque book. It has daisies on the pages, and from what you can tell, it’s new, “My dad has lowered my allowance after I put a dent in his Jag. I could use some extra money,” Her smile turns devious, a little like when you were in high school and she confessed to shoplifting a jacket she was wearing, “How about we make this interesting, since you’re so confident?”

Mina is standing in front of the two of you now, cheeks stuffed full with rice cake and she bundles the wrapper in her fist, listening intently.

You’re not just confident - you’re stubborn. And it was this, you would later realise, that would be your downfall, “Go on,”

“You have until the spring formal,” Irene writes on the cheque, her handwriting flows smoothly, little hearts adorning the i’s, “to turn some random dude into the newest campus hot boy,”

You chuckle, lips preparing to speak before Irene shushes you with the pen.

“To make this a fair bet, Mina will choose the guy,”

Irene wasn’t wrong, you were confident. So confident in fact that the concept of Mina choosing the guy you had to reinvent didn’t phase you at all. In fact, the fire of a new challenge began to build in your gut, and so you agreed, without even knowing what the prize would be.

“If you win,” Irene speaks, “you get my car,”

Irene’s car is gorgeous, a white Porsche that her father had custom made for her twentieth birthday. Nobody else has anything like it in the world, let alone on campus. The idea of having it for yourself is more than appealing, “And if you win?”

You raise your brow, waiting for Irene’s answer and fully expecting what you hear fall from her lips, “I get your Tiffany bangle,”

Irene had her eyes on your most prized piece of jewellery ever since you stepped on campus with it after Christmas with your grandma in Paris. Like the Porsche, the bangle was also custom made, and you believed it was probably worth just as much. Confident in your ability to create a new campus It boy, you agree.

“Great,” Irene smirks, “If this guy doesn’t win Spring King at the formal, we’ll consider it as your loss. Happy with those terms?”

Anyone could win that plastic crown, you’re absolutely sure of it, and so you raise your manicured hand and shake it with that of your friend, sealing the deal and leaving the next part of the bet in the hands of Mina, who stands watching the whole exchange.

The three of you agree to meet after class, during the free period you all share just after lunch. Your morning passes without issue, mostly because you had already read the book you’re studying during the summer. Now halfway through your senior year, it’s imperative that you remain on top of your game, but with your extra tutoring and excellent average, you have a feeling that would be straight forward.

By the time you meet up with Mina and Irene again, Mina’s hair is just beginning to fluff up thanks to the humidity carried by the change in season. Spring is slowly morphing into summer, and the grass is at its greenest. As the other students laze about in the April sunshine, you and the girls seat beneath the shade of an old oak with rough bark and thick, flat leaves to shield you all from the rising temperature.

“Mina thinks she may have found the perfect candidate for our little bet,” Irene begins, luxuriating on the grass, combing the long, black tresses of her hair with her fingers. Mina nods, halfway through braiding her own hair in an effort to quell its frizz, “If you manage to pull this one off, I’ll be very impressed,”

Mina finishes her work, letting her long braid hang over her shoulder before she crosses her legs, leaning forward to speak directly to you, “On my way to chem, I saw the Jeon boy,”

“Jeon?” The name rings a bell, perhaps from high school or middle school, but you can’t think of who Mina could be talking about off the top of your head, “Who is that?”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” She clarifies, “He’s in my art class - a photography major as far as I can tell. He takes fine art as a minor,”

“Do you have a picture? I’d like to at least know what I’m working with here,”

Mina pulls her cell out, just as Irene sits up, looking over your shoulder with a sly grin, “Looks like he heard you. He’s walking over there,”

What you expect to see, you aren’t quite sure. In your mind you’d pictured someone a little more...rough around the edges. Jeon Jeongguk is rough, definitely, but he seems to have a strange, delicate aura about him. From what you can make out as he walks across the back towards the library, he has long, dark hair - gathered up in a rushed pony that springs out the back of his head. He keeps his head down as he walks, clad in oversized sweats and a matching sweater, large backpack over one shoulder. He doesn’t look at anyone as he passes them, and it’s only when he looks up at the library that you see the white wire of his earphones swing into sight.

From this distance, you can’t exactly know for sure, but you can already think of a few pointers regarding his style. The blank, unapproachable expression on his face intrigues you, and there’s that nagging sense of challenge within you that wants to get through to him. To do that, you will have to plan an approach.

“What do you think?” Irene asks, and you turn back to your friends just as Jeongguk disappears into the building, “I did a little digging with some of the students in my class. He’s a loner from what I hear - a virgin. An excellent canvas,”

With a shrug, you pop a raspberry into your mouth from the bento box sitting in your lap, “Doesn’t seem like too much work,” You grin, firmly confident in your abilities. The desire to prove yourself wins over everything else, and you continue with lunch, mentally planning a way to turn Jeongguk from loner to It boy in six weeks.

What you’re doing right now isn’t exactly stalking, more like research. Shades perched on the bridge of your nose, you peek over them to where the Jeon boy is sitting; the target of your bet with Irene. The very same guy who will win you that Porsche.

It’s a mere twenty-four hours since Irene proposed this bet, and you’ve skipped labs solely to begin your job as soon as possible, paying a girl to take notes for you and cover should your professor ask questions about your absence. No middle aged man can compete against a good menstrual cramp story. During said time, a half hour so far, you’ve learned some small things about Jeon Jeongguk. His hair looks damaged, grown out far too long and unkept for his face shape - a face shape that is, surprisingly, not bad. From this distance anyway. Said hair is currently hanging around his face, like a curtain, shielding him off from the world. He’d stayed like that for some time, and until a familiar student in junior year walked by, you hadn’t thought much of it.

But then, something peculiar and, quite frankly, hard to watch happened. Jeon Jeongguk, famed loner of Yonsei’s esteemed campus, stood up and attempted to talk to the girl. As you’d lowered your shades, her face came into focus and you recognised her from one of the christmas parties you’d attended. Sana, her name was - very pretty, very shy. Though, from what you witnessed, not shy enough to shut Jeongguk down.

And now here you are, almost fifteen minutes since the whole embarrassing affair happened, and Jeongguk successfully retreated once Sana left, crouching on the grass in a shady corner by the arts building, scribbling in a notebook. He hasn’t moved an inch since.

You grin to yourself, going over the miniscule events over the past forty five minutes staring - no, observing Jeongguk, realising this is your in. This is how you’re going to get this guy to agree to the makeover of his college career. Everyone wins; you win your bet, and the chance to retain your impeccable track record, and Jeongguk gets the girl. Nobody will be able to resist Jeon Jeongguk when you’re done with him. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s not totally hopeless.

One thing your friends don’t know is that Jeongguk isn’t all that bad. Minus the overalls, haphazard man-bun and a complete lack of social skills. Okay, so he won’t turn into a stud overnight - so what? Hard work births the best results and at least you have a starting point: the guy’s tall. You know you can make this work.

You have no issues with approaching Jeon, sashaying over the patch of grass between you until you’re all but casting a shadow on his notebook. There’s some faint scratches of black, rushed and wild on the page, though he snatches it away before you can really see what it is, glancing up at you beneath his hand, shielding his hands from the final bursts of winter sunshine.

He doesn’t respond to your outstretched hand, and upon further inspection, you note the ink staining his knuckles and digits, thinking better of your introduction and letting your hand fall back to your side.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” You grin brightly, a smile that has won you many a debate, “Y/N,”

“I know who you are,” Is all he says before he’s looking back down at his notebook, flipping it closed with a finality that indicates he believes your interaction is over. You frown. Jeongguk stands, and you realise how right you were about his height. The guy towers over you, enough so that now the roles are reversed, and you are the one shielding your eyes from the bright sky.

“You do? I can’t say I’m surprised,” You reply, winning smile fixed back on your lips, your resolve as hard as steel, “I’m head of student government,”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply to that, he just gives you a weary once over and starts walking. Very rude, you can’t help but think. Though you won’t be deterred - you have a bet to win, after all. Your legs carry you across the grass, working a little harder in an effort to catch up with Jeon’s strides. He seems eager to get away from you, and that only makes you more determined to win him over.

“I would have thought you’d welcome some social interaction,” You huff out, almost out of breath as you shuffle behind Jeongguk, his broad shoulders hunched as he approaches the sidewalk, heading to one of the buildings close to the science block. If your professor sees that you skipped class to talk to some guy, Jeon Jeongguk no less, you will be in danger of damaging your flawless reputation.

Jeongguk scoffs at your words, though you barely hear it above the sound of your own breathing, and he leaves you no choice but to bring out the big guns earlier than planned.

“I noticed you were talking to my friend, Sana,”

He stops in his tracks, a great sigh heaving from his massive shoulders, and he turns, facing you with a look of trepidation and curiosity. His eyes are impossibly big, like really - you can’t believe someone can have such huge, doe-like eyes. He looks down at you, almost through you, and it has you blinking away for a moment.

“You...know Sana?” He asks, his voice full to the brim with weariness, and you almost feel sorry for the guy. But, you’re not that nice of a person.

“I do,” You smile, hiding the fact your lungs ache for you to take a full breath. It’s a lie, but only a little one. You’re the most popular girl on campus, Sana knows who you are. “I noticed you guys talking earlier,”

At this, he blushes, a faint bloom of red in his cheeks that looks so out of place on a face that was almost scowling at you moments prior. He clears his throat, apparently reigning in any outward evidence of his crush, fixing you with a confused frown, “You noticed?”

Fuck. “I was in the area. You don’t own the quad you know,”

You escape his scrutiny, just barely, and he lands another question on you. His hesitation isn’t surprising to you - after all, this morning you didn’t know this guy existed, you can’t blame him for being suspicious about someone suddenly prying into his life. But you’re stubborn, and eager to win. Your competitiveness can get you into the strangest situations if you let it, so when Jeongguk asks why you’re interested in him and Sana (or the absence of him and Sana), you know exactly what to say.

“Well, I know Sana,” As you have said, despite it being a lie, “and if you wanna get her attention, you’re not gonna do it looking the way you do,”

His frown is back again, and he almost resembles a kicked puppy.

“The template is fine. Basically, you just need some new clothes, a hair change. I can help - I like seeing my friends happy, and you don’t seem like an axe murderer or anything,” You flash him your winning smile again, and this time, it seems to be well-received, “Let me help. I’m acing all my classes, please give me something to do. I’m bored,”

He shoots you a look of mild bewilderment before he considers your proposal, still hesitant. Though, he glances behind you, eyes lighting up and you follow his line of sight towards where the girl in question stands, sitting with her friends. Sana is completely unaware of the way Jeongguk stares after her like a hungry mouse, innocence playing across his features, and you wonder if he’s as pure deep down in his soul as Irene implied. There’s a softness to him that continues to intrigue you the longer you stand here, watching him pine after his crush, and you’re only awoken from your inner thoughts when Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours, a little too wide having found you already watching him.

“Okay,” He says, eyes once more finding Sana in the background, “I’ll let you help me,”

#jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jungkook fluff #jeongguk fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x you #jeongguk x you #jungkook fic #jeongguk fic #jungkook scenario #jeongguk scenario #purplearmynet

146 notes · View notes

mosovi-vian · 1 year

Text

Soldier boy, what will you make of the stripped bones of your past selves? What meaning have you salvaged from your mangled body? In your closet are legacies of a thousand skeletons, in your wardrobe hangs the capes and sweaters you outgrew against your will. Soldier boy, once underground and then underwater, fathom yourself a life above the surface. Outlive the demon you worshipped, soldier boy, and cut your hair again when this world is reborn.

Hunter hands down have the most outfit changes than any of the characters in toh (while also rivaling amity in the hairstyle changes category). I think that says a lot about the character. Hunter was never given the space to define his reality and his own personhood. Discovering who he is outside of Belos' right hand means bumbling around and wear wacky red bird onesies and cosplays and blue watermelon sweatpants and custom wolf shirts. His fashion taste is not superb and often played for laughs but that's the whole point. He's instinctually trying to speedrun the self-exploration, the switching personas, and the interest-based phases that all teenagers experience. The variety of his clothes reflects his shaky sense of self. Speaking from experience (but also please correct me if I got something wrong factually), trauma disrupts one's ability to integrate various version of oneself in a functional/holistic manner (especially if you have to shift back and forth between different paradigms growing up).

722 notes · View notes

silantryoo · 8 months

Text

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — minjeong-unnie

seoul cafe, 12:13 pm.

WARNINGS ; alcoholic tendencies, mentions of cheating (4.4k)

jang wonyoung met aeri uchinaga when she was thirteen years old.

the japanese girl had transferred schools near wonyoung's main residence in gangnam a week before high school started. wonyoung had known the girl before she had seen her face, hearing the hushed whispers that spread about her next-door neighbors.

she knew of aeri's father and the alcoholic tendencies that lingered whenever his child wasn't around, bumbling around local bars like a crying for help until his next project had made him forget about his wife and her affairs.

she had seen him briefly on the first day of school, waving at a black cadillac escalade, waiting for it to disappear before bursting into tears.

wonyoung wondered whether her mom had felt the same way when she had found out, but the athlete doubted it.

the older woman was heartless.

the young uchinaga was accompanied by her mother that day, and wonyoung couldn't help but realize the striking resemblance between the two when she first met aeri.

the young uchinaga had gotten her scowl from her mother, and it was almost etched permanently on aeri's face until she had met yoo jimin and baek alexandra. their eyes, though soft and bright, held a malice to the world that no one could seem to break. aeri had also inherited her mother's cadence, their voices nearly indistinguishable if not for her slightly happier tone.

but although aeri had gotten her physical appearance from her mother, she had gotten her personality from her dad. unlike her mother's rough interior, the seventeen-year-old was soft-spoken in an almost vulnerable way. it was almost like the young heiress was desperate to be seen for once, just like every other person in wonyoung's school.

aeri was surprisingly shy when the two met, and held a gentle but comforting smile the entire time (which was nothing like the rumors that had already managed to spread through the school during the first week).

wonyoung could see through her, just like she could see through all her classmates.

behind all the money, the cars, and the luxury bags was a child who didn't understand what was going on. she didn't understand the stares that followed her down the hall, or the whispers that seemed to hang in the air once she entered a room.

her eyes told the entire story that she refused to show.

aeri uchinaga was just as scared as jang wonyoung was.

minjeong didn't understand why y/n was so nervous.

the younger girl tried to not make it obvious, and any other person would've missed the fact that the young actress was wiping her sweaty hands on her cashmere sweater, but kim minjeong wasn't any person.

kim minjeong was y/n's.

"unnie," y/n looked over to the girl beside her, waiting for the elevator to ding open. "you don't have to go if you don't want to."

she watched the numbers go up, listening to the younger girl's soft voice. the bright numbers halted at floor three (minjeong's favorite number).

"i want to." minjeong hummed, a constant buzzing invading her stomach.

y/n could only swallow down her nerves.

"are you sure?"

she didn't understand why wonyoung had explicitly asked for minjeong and at the time, y/n had been too excited to think about the outcome that was most likely going to happen. all she could think about was seeing wonyoung and her perfect smile.

y/n could feel a fluttering feeling in her chest, and she didn't know whether it was anticipation or excitement.

"y/n." minjeong hummed, the elevator sliding open. "we're already here. there's no turning back now."

"okay." y/n trusted minjeong, almost more than anyone in the world. "thank you again."

the two stepped out as the older girl gave y/n a warm, loving smile.

"no problem." minjeong elbowed her slightly, the cold air of the a/c dusting a blush on her cheeks. "you know i'd do anything for you."

y/n couldn't help but smile back. minjeong was one of the very few people who could ease her mind. she was the older sister that y/n had always wished for.

y/n walked passed the sign that hung 'seoul cafe', bowing politely at the workers and staff as she made her way to the balcony. she had never been to this part of gangman before, but she could tell from the smell of freshly ground beans (and the fact that choi sooyoung was sitting in the corner) that it was an intimate place, one that very few, very influential people frequented.

(minjeong was too busy ogling the prices as they passed the counter. 7000 won for an iced americano was absurd.)

the younger girl slid the door open, watching as wonyoung's head whipped around faster than she had ever seen before. behind her, minjeong stuttered back, her eyes trained on the two girls in front of her.

minjeong wanted to yell, or cry. she wanted to berate y/n for even being around wonyoung, to tell her that the volleyball player probably screwed her up in the head that she'd still be willing to interact with her, but her vocal cords seemed to stop working the moment she saw a pair cat-like eyes boring into hers.

"y/n!" y/n couldn't help but smile as the taller girl stood up. "hi."

minjeong glared at the girl before her eyes snapped back to the uchinaga.

"hey wonyoung." y/n could feel herself blush. she turned to the older girl, bowing down slightly. "aeri-sunbaenim."

y/n grabbed minjeong's arm, dragging her gently to the two unoccupied seats at the rounded glass table.

"aeri-unnie is fine." aeri smiled before pursing her lips. "hey minjeong."

y/n glanced at minjeong, before meeting wonyoung's bright eyes.

"aeri-unnie." minjeong could feel her heart bursting. she needed to get out of her. fast. "what are you doing here?"

aeri's irises sparkled against the harsh seoul daylight, her eyes lazily scanning y/n before looking back at the girl seated beside her.

"we're going to get lunch." aeri smiled, minjeong's stomach suddenly churning in anxiety.

minjeong could care less about her financial situation. all she knew was that aeri was up to something, and with a single sentence, minjeong would be reduced to nothing.

she can't do that, not after everything minjeong had sacrificed.

y/n looked over to the old girl, taking no notice of wonyoung's unabashed staring. minjeong was in clear distress, and y/n knew that out of all of them, she was the only one on a scholarship, making use of her financial aid as much as she could.

"i'll pay for you, unnie."

minjeong could feel her ears turn red, aeri humming as wonyoung slid over a menu.

"like hell." minjeong was going to treat y/n the way she deserved, nothing like wonyoung or jimin. "let me pay for you. i'm the older one."

"unnie, you were literally complaining to minju-unnie about how you spent too much money last time." y/n rolled her eyes, remembering the comments that minjeong slipped in between bites of her food days ago. "let me pay."

wonyoung looked between the two, frowning at the ugly feeling she got in her chest whenever minjeong was near the younger girl.

"that's because it was me." minjeong reasoned. "you're different."

minjeong always had a habit of spoiling her, even when it wasn't warranted. she wouldn't have minded if it was every so often, but it seemed like every outing the two had, minjeong would always find a way to pay.

y/n hated feeling indebted to her best friend.

"are you two close?" aeri asked, taking a sip of her water.

wonyoung looked between them, biting her tongue.

"me and minjeong-unnie?" y/n looked at the girl beside her, the older girl picking on the power button of her phone. "yeah, she's my closest friend."

aeri hummed, her eyes settling on minjeong.

"i see."

y/n nodded, taking a glimpse at wonyoung who sat quietly beside her. she couldn't help but smile, finding the taller girl so pretty under the beaming sunlight.

she knew that wonyoung always thought she was prettiest on the court - displaying her talent for everyone to see - or on the walkway, and she was pretty. but to the older girl, wonyoung was the most beautiful when she was illuminated in the sun, barefaced like the early mornings they spent together.

wonyoung ripped her gaze away from the laminated sheet, glancing at the girl beside her. she smiled lightly, and y/n could feel her cheeks heat up.

y/n had always been enticed by wonyoung's eyes. the taller girl thought nothing special of them. they were a boring shade of brown, just like everyone else's. she didn't have any striking features like her former captain's sharp, feline-like eyes, nor a striking color that made her stand out.

but y/n loved them, because everything was pretty about wonyoung. she loved every part of the athlete, every scratch, every burn, every sprain, and every tear.

y/n loved - loves - jang wonyoung.

y/n tore her eyes away, suddenly finding the table in front of her interesting.

oh god. she still loves jang wonyoung, she's never stopped.

minjeong looked at the menu in front of her, wiping her palms on her jeans. she looked back at aeri, the older girl looking between her and y/n.

"y/n, order." she slid the menu towards her. the sooner they ate, the sooner they would leave. "don't worry about the price."

aeri leaned back, watching the interaction intensely.

"how long have you two been friends?"

minjeong pursed her lips. aeri was as relentless as the first day she met her.

"since the end of senior year." y/n answered briefly, her head automatically turning to the girl on her left.

wonyoung was just so pretty.

"hey, wonnie?"

wonyoung looked at her, eyes wide and glinting in the light. y/n could feel her heart stop, and there was no more denying that it was always jang wonyoung.

y/n was always wonyoung's.

"yeah?"

y/n smiled and wonyoung swore she just saw an angel. "what are you getting?"

wonyoung hummed, looking at the menu before she pouted. y/n bit the side of her cheek, trying her hardest not to smile.

"i want the crepe but it's too big."

"we can split." her voice was soft, despite the pounding in her heart. "i can pa-."

"it's okay!" wonyoung rushed out, her ears bright red. she wanted to get down on her knees and thank god at that very moment. "i'll pay."

"what?" y/n shook her head. "no, you already paid for my groceries last time."

wonyoung stared at her blankly.

"but i wanna pay."

y/n stared back, not noticing aeri's knowing smile directed at the two.

"but i wanna pay."

"we can just get the crepe, y/n." minjeong butted in, trying not to get irritated at the display in front of her. "since i'm paying already."

wonyoung blinked, glaring out into the streets of gangnam. she knew if she glanced even once at minjeong, she would burn a hole into her head.

"oh." y/n nodded. "that works too."

aeri looked at minjeong, the older girl's eyes scanning her annoyed face. she wasn't good at reading people, but it didn't take a phd to know that minjeong was a bit too overprotective.

she bit back a sigh. jimin always got herself into complicated situations.

"wonyoung wants the crepe." aeri watched as minjeong's face fell. "i'm sure you two can split."

wonyoung nodded, beaming happily as she turned to y/n.

"i want to pay."

y/n wanted to say no. she wanted to tell wonyoung that she didn't need to spend money on her, and although she never felt like she owed the athlete anything, she wanted to give wonyoung everything that she was capable of offering.

wonyoung looked at her, brown, glistening eyes full of anticipation.

"okay." god, why did wonyoung have to be so cute? "you win."

wonyoung bit the tip of her tongue, smiling down at the menu that reflected the harsh light from above. she could feel her heart against her chest, beating loudly as she tried not to squeal.

no matter how long it had been - how undeserving she was of her - wonyoung would always feel the same for y/n.

wonyoung stood up, scurrying to the counter as she tried to recount all the food that the others had wanted (blueberry crepe for her and y/n, green tea tiramisu and ratatouille for aeri, and carbonara for minjeong). the faster she ordered, the faster she could go back to her table and sit next to y/n.

the volleyball player sat down, ears red as y/n smiled at her.

the four stayed quiet for a minute or two, each of them admiring the view from below.

aeri watched as people interacted while she listened to the dull hum of the busy streets. it was relaxing, breaking away from the chaos of their daily lives for a moment of peace.

but aeri was here on a mission, and she knew better than to let happiness consume her.

"minjeong." aeri called out to the unsuspecting girl, ignoring the barista that seemingly popped out of nowhere. "i haven't seen you around in a while. did something happen?"

y/n watched her best friend's eyes widen, gripping her phone like her life depended on it.

"what?" minjeong bowed slightly to the girl in the apron as she set down her food, eyes familiar, but not enough for her to strike up a conversation. "no, nothing happened. i'm just... busy."

aeri looked her up and down.

"okay."

she was an uchinaga. perhaps she was much like her dad, too trusting and gullible with the people she loved, but she was her mother's daughter, and she could spot guilt from a mile away.

minjeong watched as aeri turned her focus to her food, her stomach suddenly feeling queasy.

aeri turned to the girl across from her.

"y/n, right?"

she wasn't dumb. she knew who l/n y/n was. if she were to ask anyone on campus about the younger girl, they would've all said the same answer.

but initial appearances were never the truth. aeri knew that well.

"yeah?"

"you're really pretty." aeri hummed, watching as y/n's cheeks grew a shade darker. wonyoung pursed her lips, looking blankly at her senior. "how come i've never seen you around before?"

"oh, um..."

y/n looked at wonyoung, and a pit settled in her stomach. she knew that face, lips taut, eyes glossed over. it was a gaze that wonyoung held that was once for her.

it was jealousy.

"she's busy too." minjeong answered for the younger girl.

she watched as wonyoung's eyes softened, guilt and shame running through them. wonyoung always used to blame herself for getting jealous.

it was no different this time.

"hmm..." aeri tapped her cheek, not exactly satisfied with that answer. "okay."

maybe it was too late.

she couldn't blame either of them. wonyoung was perfect, and y/n had searched far and wide for someone who could be her jang wonyoung, but no one could compare. as for aeri, she was an uchinaga. she was beautiful, rich, and everything that everyone wanted to be.

y/n just wished she could be wonyoung's y/n again.

"unnie." y/n whispered upon hearing soft tapping next to her. "your food's gonna get cold."

"yeah," minjeong looked up, smiling despite her furrowed eyebrows. "just give me a second."

y/n looked over, trying to see what was more important than food to minjeong, but the older girl turned her phone off, placing it under her thigh before looking back up.

"who were you texting?" y/n wondered if it was minjeong's roommate who had been trying to hook up with her the past week. "is it your girlfriend?"

minjeong rolled her eyes, ignoring the obvious teasing from the younger girl.

"did yuri tell you that?"

aeri looked at y/n curiously. she glanced at minjeong, her eyes shining with happiness as the younger girl continued to ask her about her roommate, grinning as she winked at the older girl.

aeri had to admit. jimin always had a thing for pretty girls.

but then again, jimin also had a thing for complicated girls.

"are you single, y/n?" aeri took a sip of her water, watching as wonyoung's head whipped to face the girl on her right.

minjeong rolled her eyes. "not yet."

"unnie." y/n smacked the older girl's shoulder. she was probably right, but she had just met aeri less than an hour ago and there was no need to air everything out about aeri's roommate.

minjeong shrugged, taking a bite out of her food as aeri eyed y/n across from her.

the uchinaga looked at minjeong.

"what about you?" aeri wasn't stupid. "you don't like anyone, minjeong?"

minjeong stared at her blankly, all emotion void from her figure, except for her eyes. aeri wondered what the younger girl was thinking, but as her phone rang, she didn't have the heart to care.

"sorry, i have to take this." she looked at y/n for a moment before standing from her chair. "it's jimin."

she watched as y/n tensed up, and that was everything aeri needed to know about the situation.

wonyoung watched as her childhood friend walked away, leaving her plate as another barista came in and placed the blueberry crepe in front of her.

y/n bowed, thanking the familiar-looking girl as she walked away.

"it looks good!" y/n smiled, looking up at wonyoung to find her twidling her thumbs. "what's wrong?"

minjeong could only scoff under her breath.

of course.

"nothing." wonyoung shook her head, looking up to find worried eyes gazing back at hers. she loved y/n so much that it hurt. "you and jimin-sunbaenim are still together?"

y/n hadn't thought about jimin in a while. she had purposely missed her last game, and was planning to do so at the semi-qualifiers that were quickly approaching. she didn't have the heart or the patience to deal with her girlfriend anymore (and deep down, she wonders how she ever had in the first place).

jimin was a good person when they met.

"honestly," she missed the jimin she looked up to. y/n doesn't know what changed. "i don't know."

minjeong couldn't hold it in anymore.

she was tired of playing around with y/n. it was sickening to her how she always ran back to the people who never treated her right, and how she always made excuses for jimin - for wonyoung. it wasn't fair.

"are you fucking serious right now?" minjeong hissed, seething at the younger girl. "you told me you weren't still hung up on her."

wonyoung furrowed her eyebrows.

"unnie, please." y/n hadn't seen this minjeong in person since the day she started dating jimin. "we're in public."

"i don't give a shit." minjeong whisper shouted, and suddenly the sun had become too harsh for y/n's liking. "if i knew wonyoung was here, i would've never come."

"you didn't tell her i was here?"

wonyoung should've known better. maybe jimin's words held some truth to them that she had kept denying. maybe she should've stopped denying them.

she wanted to cry.

"i tried to." y/n muttered, her cheeks suddenly red. "but you told me i should bring her, and i wanted to see you today."

wonyoung blinked, her face lighting up in a bright red hue.

maybe yoo jimin was wrong.

"you wanted to see me?"

she loved how wonyoung looked so pretty under the sunlight, the cool air sweeping through her brown locks. she loved her small smile whenever she saw something that reminded her of hyunseo, and she loved her faint giggle whenever she mispronounced a word.

y/n just loved wonyoung, even if wonyoung didn't love her anymore.

"oh my-" minjeong shook her head. "i cannot believe you right now."

wonyoung watched as y/n flinched back, shame coating her features in a way that she had only seen when she was around jimin.

"unnie..."

minjeong gripped her fork, glaring at the younger girl. "you're a fucking liar."

y/n looked down, biting back tears. although it was rare, she hated when minjeong was like this. the young actress cared about what the older girl thought of her, and it tore her to shreds to see minjeong so angry at her.

"don't talk to her like that." wonyoung raised her voice, glaring straight into minjeong's eyes. "it's your fault for not knowing."

she just wanted minjeong to like who she liked for once. she wanted the approval of an older sister, for someone to cheer her on, and for someone to talk to.

"it's your fault for being here." minjeong spat out, gritting her teeth as her anger turned venomous. "you should've stayed away from her like you initially planned to."

wonyoung inhaled, not wanting to be reminded of everything she did wrong with the older girl. she knew she messed up, she knew she wasn't good enough, but she didn't need kim minjeong to remind her.

"unnie."

but she desperately wanted to be good enough to love the girl beside her, even if that meant putting up a facade that she was.

"people change." wonyoung stated half-heartedly.

"people like you don't change." minjeong laughed. wonyoung? change? "they pretend they do and then hurt people like y/n."

wonyoung gripped the hem of her skirt. she didn't mean to hurt anyone but herself. she only wanted to love y/n, but somehow, everything blew up in her face.

wonyoung just wanted to love y/n properly, the way a person should love another.

wonyoung clenched her eyes shut. "i don't want to hurt her."

minjeong couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"now you don't?"

"unnie!" y/n shouted, and it was like the city of seoul had halted at the boom of her voice. "stop it. please."

y/n was tired of everything happening over and over again. she was tired of hurting, of being happy only for it to be shot down.

everything was too familiar, and she just wanted it to change, just this once.

y/n looked at the forgotten crepe in front of her, sniffling as she wiped her free-falling tears away.

"y/nnie?" wonyoung's voice was the only thing she wanted to hear.

"i'm sorry, wonnie." wonyoung's heart clenched. she had never heard y/n like this, so tired and so done. "we should go, unnie."

"y/n-"

"let's go."

minjeong looked at her silently, nodding.

"i want-" wonyoung wanted her to stay, even if that meant that the athlete would stay quiet for the rest of the afternoon. "aeri-unnie's gonna be upset."

"please tell her i'm sorry." y/n muttered. if she could, she would just send minjeong on her way, but she didn't have the strength to argue anymore. "me and minjeong-unnie should really go."

wonyoung stared at her, watching as tears fell down her face.

she never liked kim minjeong. the girl was always too overbearing, suffocating y/n through every step of the way, but wonyoung knew how much minjeong meant to her.

she knew how it was like to idolize someone, to want their approval.

"i'm so sorry."

wonyoung nodded, handing her a tissue.

"it's okay."

"let me pay for you." y/n pleaded, eyes teary as she looked at the girl she loved. "please?"

"y/n," minjeong could feel a blood vessel burst. "be fucking serious right no-"

"minjeong!" y/n had never gotten mad at kim minjeong, not in their two-and-a-half years of friendship. "shut up."

minjeong stared at her, emotions threatening to bubble out of her throat. she didn't know whether she was about to cry from anger or from pain, but all she knew was that what she was feeling was wonyoung's fault.

the taller girl looked between the both of them wide-eyed, clearing her throat to alleviate some of the tension in the air.

"next one's on me then?" wonyoung smiled.

y/n loved wonyoung.

"you're so cute," she muttered under her breath as she stood up, only loud enough for the volleyball player to hear.

wonyoung could feel her entire body light aflame, and suddenly it felt like her head was in the clouds.

"what?"

"huh?" y/n blinked at her, watching as minjeong gathered her things quietly. she watched as the older girl glanced at her, walking towards the elevator with tear-stained cheeks.

y/n sighed. maybe she was too harsh.

she turned back to wonyoung, a regretful smile on her face. "i'll see you around?"

"yeah, um." wonyoung couldn't form words, unable to think in any coherent language. "okay."

y/n smiled, teeth showing as her eyes narrowed.

"bye wonnie."

jang wonyoung loved l/n y/n with every fiber in her body, worthless or not.

"bye bye."

y/n walked away, biting her lip as she tried not to sob in disappointment. she went to the counter, tearfully paying for all their food before meeting minjeong in front of the elevator.

the two entered, feeling the shift of the pulley system under their feet. y/n listened to the hum of the machine, ignoring the tears and hiccups that escaped the girl beside her as they watched the numbers go down.

y/n was tired.

"where'd they go?" aeri returned, confused as to why half the table had gone missing in the last twenty minutes.

wonyoung shrugged, wailing in a small voice. "raincheck."

the older girl leaned down, inspecting her tear-stained face.

"did you cry?" aeri furrowed her eyebrows. what was it with jimin and complicated girls? "what did they do?"

wonyoung didn't mean to cry. she wasn't the one who had gotten affected by the whole debacle, but she couldn't help but wonder if none of this would've happened if she was perfect enough.

"happy tears, unnie."

(actually, she mostly cried because y/n had called her cute, and smiled at her so many times that wonyoung almost forgot how to speak korean.)

aeri raised an eyebrow. "they look like sad tears from here."

"maybe they're both."

the younger girl looked at the crepe in front of her, taking another teary bite before burying her face in her hands.

y/n called her cute.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @forever-in-the-sky2 @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

213 notes · View notes

nerdraging4point0 · 8 days

Text

Power Play // Chapter Seven // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx

Despite having no obligations or reasons to rise early, I find myself waking before dawn, a nagging sense of unfinished business rousing me from slumber. I rummage through the cluttered closet, pushing aside the detritus of my old life to unearth a relic from simpler times: my pristine white ice skates, barely used since training gave way to textbooks and 12-hour shifts. Running my fingers over the smooth leather, I marvel that they have waited so patiently while life pulled me away. I dress in fleece leggings and a sweater as I grab my purse and head to the car.

The rink should be empty, the guys left around four this morning, as I pull into the parking lot it’s already six. I see some of the players' cars parked in the garage as I head to the elevator to enter the rink. The lights are on, but that’s to be expected, with the team gone, deep clean can commence. Yet as I walk through the quiet, empty halls of the arena, the familiar sounds of hockey emanate from the rink ahead. The rhythmic slapping of a composite stick striking a frozen puck echoes down the corridor. Scraping, swishing - the nostalgic melody of steel blades carving arcs across the freshly resurfaced ice. I push through the heavy wooden doors and gaze out at the rink. There before me a solitary figure glides smoothly about the ice, stickhandling a puck through an intricate array of cones.

Noah isn't in a uniform, just his athletic wear and skates, simple winter gloves on his hand as he skates around. The cold air nips at my cheeks as I observe him gliding effortlessly across the smooth, glassy ice. He looks so graceful and at ease, carving gentle curves with each push of his skates. I suddenly wonder if I should continue with my plan. It's been years since I've set foot on the ice. The last time I tried skating I clung desperately to the wall, my ankles wobbling with each tentative stride. I was that bumbling, awkward beginner all over again. What if I make a fool of myself out there? What if I slip and stumble repeatedly in front of Noah, struggling just to stay upright while he floats by with poised confidence? The thought makes me hesitate. I don't want to embarrass myself or look incompetent compared to Noah's natural skill.

"What are you doing here?" I call across the rink, seeing him turn and find me by the benches. He pushes the puck back and forth between his stick, the repetitive motion seeming to soothe his obvious frustration.

"Medics benched me for two games, to make sure my shoulder isn't seriously injured," he responds, and I can hear the pain in his voice - not physical, but emotional. Being forced to sit out is agonizing for any athlete, but especially for someone as passionate and competitive as him. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to watch his teammates head off without him this morning, their bus pulling away as he stood there, barred from joining them.

“Why are you here?” he ponders the question to me and I feel my cheeks go red as I stammer a response.

“Came to um-um-skate. But I didn’t expect…it’s okay, I’ll go.” I turn to leave. But I hear the hard scrape of blades on ice as Noah skates to the wall close enough to me I can smell the scent of his body wash from his shower.

“Where you going? Let’s see what you got, little fox.” I feel my heart race and my palms grow sweaty as Noah's intense gaze bores into me. His muscular frame towers over me, broad shoulders and chiseled torso accentuated by his tight black shirt. I'm frozen in place, mesmerized by his masculine beauty and commanding presence.

“Lace up. Get out here." he teases as he skates out to the rink, picking up the cones he'd laid out. I am not sure what propels me but I do as he says, slipping into the leather slippers and double knotting the laces. I stand on the blades feeling the unusual balance of them as I take long steps to the ice. The blades touch the ice and suddenly I'm wobbling on my knees as one hand grips the wall and the other wraps around myself trying desperately to hide the embarrassment. The empty ice rink echoes with each scrape of his skates as he circles me like a predator stalking prey.

I tentatively step onto the icy surface, the razor-sharp blades beneath my feet gliding smoothly at first. But as I push off, my ankles wobble precariously, threatening to tip me face-first onto the cold, unforgiving ice. I flail my arms, grasping for something, anything to steady myself. My hand finds the wall just in time, saving me from a humiliating fall. Meanwhile, he is gliding effortlessly around the perimeter, his strong strides propelling him forward with ease. I watch enviously as he picks up speed, the toes of his skates carving graceful arcs into the glossy surface. My own skates feel awkward and foreign beneath me, the thin blades clacking loudly with each uneasy step. I wrap my free arm around my middle, trying in vain to conceal my evident lack of skill. This was a mistake. I never should have let him goad me out here.

Noah skates around me, effortlessly turning his feet outwards to slow himself before sliding to a smooth stop, sending ice shavings scattering across the glossy surface of the rink. He looks back at me with a playful smile, taking in my awkward, shaky form as I struggle to maintain my balance on the slippery ice. I clutch the wall, my legs stiff and tense, my movements rigid and unstable. Noah glides back over to me, the blades of his skates slicing rhythmic patterns into the ice, and holds out his gloved hands, wiggling his fingers invitingly. "Here," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

I eye his outstretched hands warily, hesitating. A painful memory surfaces of myself as an awkward thirteen year old girl, when a boy in skating class had offered to help me up, only to let go and trip me instead. I had fallen hard on the unforgiving ice, the wind knocked out of me, my pride injured far more than my body. I had never forgotten that humiliating experience, and since then, I harshly refused any offer of help when trying to skate, not trusting anyone to not let me fall.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Noah grumbles, breaking me out of my bitter recollections. Not waiting for me to decide, he takes my hands firmly in his, enveloping my fingers in the soft wool of his gloves. Then he begins skating backwards, pulling me along with him, his strokes smooth and steady. My legs tremble violently, overtaken by the fear of falling and I cling to his hands for dear life, as if I'm moments from plunging to my death. My ankles wobble and feet slip on my first few strides, struggling to find my balance. But Noah's graceful momentum carries us, and slowly I feel my legs begin to glide in sync with his, my rigid muscles easing. My confidence builds as Noah patiently guides me around the rink, the ice smoothly passing beneath me.

“I figured the coach’s daughter would know how to skate.” he teased. I rolled my eyes at his assumption that just because my dad was the hockey coach, I would naturally be an expert skater myself. Sure, growing up as the coach's daughter, I had spent countless hours at the rink, watching practices and games from the stands. And yes, I had even taken some basic skating lessons as a kid. But that was years ago now, and so much had changed since then.

“It’s been a while,” I countered, “I had other things going on.”

“Let me guess,” he looked at the white leather of my skates and smiled, “Figure skating.”

“Nope. Just lessons.” The truth was, once I hit high school, skating had faded into the background. I became absorbed in academics, friendships, and other activities that didn't involve blades on my feet and cold rinks. Sure, I had taken some recreational lessons here and there to appease my dad, but nothing stuck. “Dad really wasn’t a fan of figure skating, some unspoken rivalry with Hockey I think.”

My hold on Noah’s hands relaxed as we glided hand-in-hand across the ice rink, my fingers barely holding onto his gloved hands anymore. As we swayed our hips in unison, Noah gently turned our wrists, overlaying our hands before interlacing our fingers together. His soft yet firm grip provided a sense of security and balance as he led us around the rink, periodically looking back over his shoulder to navigate and ensure we wouldn't crash.

“And mom?”

“Mom wasn’t, the mom type.” I confessed with a sigh. I felt a familiar pang of sadness in my chest at the thought, dropping my head a little in shame. Noah raised an eyebrow, prompting me to reluctantly explain further. “Divorce. Just before I was twelve. Mom moved down to Florida with her new boyfriend, got the occasional birthday card then silence.”

“I get that,” Noah nodded in understanding, releasing our clasped hands so we could skate shoulder-to-shoulder, my legs now gliding on their own as we lazily circled the rink.

"Your mom too?" I asked gently.

"Dad," he replied tersely. "Wasn't the dad type. Mom did her best, but I lost her." His words sank in, my own petty grievances seeming trivial in comparison. While my mother may have been absent, at least she was still living. Noah had no one left, both parents gone, leaving him truly alone in the world. A swell of empathy rose within me, along with a new appreciation for the family I still had, dysfunctional as we may be.

As we glide, our skates' soft swish and measured breathing form a quiet harmony. All too soon, our wordless waltz comes to an end. I make my way to the bench on rubbery legs, fumbling with the laces and easing my numb feet from the rigid boots. Noah gathers his stick and returns to his solitary target practice, slapping puck after puck into the empty net with a methodical rhythm. The sharp crack of composite meeting vulcanized rubber echoes through the cavernous arena. I watch him for a moment, marveling at his self-contained focus. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I turn to leave, savoring the lingering chill on my cheeks. But then his voice stops me - that gentle tenor tone that never fails to make me shiver.

"Sarah," he says, my name emerging soft as a caress from his lips. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens #hockey player!noah #badomensau #hockey!au #hockey player x reader #hockeyromance #bad omens bandom

59 notes · View notes

ecliptiz · 9 months

Text

EUPHORIC FEELING 1 ╰► MARAUDERS ERA

SUMMARY — The Marauders are… utterly fascinated with the Slytherin Girl

WARNING — Cursing, Fem!Slytherin!Reader, Stupid Teenage Boys

IT WAS UTTERLY RIDICULOUS, the whole situation. The green versus the red, like a cosmic joke played out on the grounds of Hogwarts. A ridiculous rivalry meant to separate them, keep them apart like the forbidden fruit that no one dared to touch – or even cast a glance towards.

Yet there they were, the Gryffindors, acting like a bunch of bumbling idiots. Instead of discussing the next Quidditch game strategy, practicing spells, or planning yet another harebrained prank, their thoughts were inexplicably fixated on one particular girl – a girl draped in the very color they were sworn to loathe.

It was almost comical how they tried to mask their fascination with her, like lovesick fools attempting to maintain a façade. They'd shoot furtive glances her way, only to quickly divert their eyes or feign disinterest with well-timed pranks and scoffs.

Remus, concealed his infatuation behind the cover of his books. To anyone passing by, it seemed as if his gaze was glued to the pages. Yet, upon closer inspection, his eyes subtly traced the path of the girl in green as she wandered close to the Black Lake.

Peter, hid his feelings behind his incessant eating. He constantly had something to munch on, whether for himself or to offer to others. As the girl approached, he'd stuff his mouth with food, determinedly chewing to keep his nerves at bay.

His cheeks puffed up, flushed with the hidden fact it was from the sight of the girl and not the amount of food that pushed the inside of his cheeks to the limit.

James was an embodiment of chaos when it came to concealing his feelings. Subtlety was an alien concept to him. Whenever he found himself in her presence, he was like a bull charging through a china shop, ready to declare his affection to the world. His friends often had to physically restrain him from belting out his emotions in a grand display.

On the other hand, Sirius was a master of disguise. He carefully kept his gaze from constantly following her every move, a feat that required considerable effort. Instead, he channeled his energy into extravagant sighs and dramatic gestures in front of his friends, particularly when she was around.

Even when she wasn't, he maintained his over-the-top persona, hoping to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment.

But one day, all their efforts at subtlety seemed to shatter with just one word.

Remus Lupin charged into their shared dorm room, his hair wild and his eyes wide, flushed cheeks adding to his disheveled appearance. Instantly, his friends abandoned their respective activities.

James and Sirius halted their game of exploding snap, and Peter shifted back to his human form from his rat Animagus form, his small figure now standing upright.

"Merlin, mate, what happened to you?" Sirius teased with a chuckle, amusement lacing his voice. Remus did indeed look like he had been through a storm. His sweater was askew, trousers wrinkled, and his hair seemed to have battled a gusty wind.

"She's coming to our dorm," Remus announced, his breath coming out in uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling as if he had just completed a sprint.

"Who?" James inquired, his brow furrowed, his round glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and his attire limited to a pair of trousers.

Sirius shifted his attention from James to Remus, his curiosity piqued but still mixed with confusion.

Remus took a deep breath before practically exclaiming, "Y/N!" His voice cracked with the intensity of his announcement.

At Remus's revelation, the other boys sprang to their feet, and Peter emitted a small squeak of surprise. "Merlin, mate, you can't just drop something like that!" Sirius interjected, his words rapid.

James surveyed the dorm room, recognizing the chaos: clothes strewn haphazardly, wrappers and papers scattered across surfaces, and an unmistakable scent of body odor permeating the air.

"Why?" Peter chimed in, his voice tinged with confusion as he unconsciously began tidying his own area, his blue eyes reflecting his bewilderment.

Remus let out a rushed explanation, his words tumbling over one another, "Well, we've got this project for our NEWTs class, and she asked if we could collaborate in our dorm, and I kind of panicked and blurted out 'yes'!"

"And why in the name of Merlin's saggy left—," James began, but his language abruptly shifted as he looked around the cluttered room, "—sock would you do that?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression, "Mate, I thought your legendary Marauder pranks and smooth demeanor would have extended to handling a simple invitation."

Peter chimed in with a shrug, his rat-like tendencies showing, "Yeah, you usually handle stress by wolfing down chocolate frogs and giving our transfiguration notes a menacing glare."

Remus sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, "Well, this time I couldn't exactly employ those tactics. Besides, we're supposed to be responsible adults, remember?"

James let out a half-hearted laugh, "Oh right, responsible adults who are about to introduce our dorm's chaos to an unsuspecting soul."

Sirius grinned, "Well, at least it'll be an adventure. Who knows, Y/N might end up joining our ranks and become a honorary Marauder."

Peter chimed in with a snicker, "Or she might run out screaming and never speak to us again."

"Well," James trailed off, taking in a deep breath and puffing out his chest. "We cannot, under any circumstances, allow her to witness the chaotic state of this place. So..." He spoke with an air of authority, his eyes dramatically narrowing as he shot the other boys a sly grin.

And just like that, James Potter transformed into a mother on a mission during a spring cleaning spree.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Y/N WASN’T entirely sure what to anticipate upon entering the marauders' dorm room, but the fragrance of lemons mingling with the soft glow of candles placed on every available surface certainly caught her off guard.

The beds were immaculate, and there wasn't a towering heap of rubbish that might have hidden a lurking trash monster, as she had half-expected.

It was a vision of order, a far cry from what she had imagined. Yet, she ventured into the room with cautious steps, her green robes contrasting with the predominant red hues of the decor. She clutched her book and satchel tightly, containing notes, ink, and quills. Each step was cautious, as if the wrong move would trigger a cascade of pranks.

Additionally, Y/N wasn't prepared to find Sirius Black and James Potter... reading. The sight almost caused her heart to skip a beat out of sheer astonishment.

And they appeared well-groomed. It was a departure from the usual view of James with his unruly brown curls and Sirius with his perpetually tousled black hair.

Their outfits seemed carefully chosen too. Instead of their customary half-done ties and rumpled robes, they were wearing oddly formal clothing for being in their dorm room.

Suppressing a chuckle, she ignored the apparent disappointment on Remus's face when his gaze fell upon his two best mates. Meanwhile, Peter was sprawled out in his bed, his head buried in the covers, presumably fast asleep.

"Uh... so, where should we start?" She directed the question to Remus, feeling a bit awkward. Remus seemed momentarily lost, his attention momentarily consumed by her features, his own body heating up.

"Right," Remus eventually replied, tugging at the hem of his sweater as he moved towards the desk. He indicated for her to take a seat while he perched on the corner of the desk.

"We're supposed to write a seven-inch essay on Amortentia – its effects, how it's made, the whole lot," Remus explained, his eyes fixed on her with a keen intensity. He attempted to shake himself out of the daze that seemed to settle over him every time he looked at her.

In the background, he heard suppressed laughter, recognizing that Sirius was imitating him while Y/N's attention was on him, and James was doing something similar with giggles.

"Right..." she trailed off, her eyebrows arching slightly as she shot a playful yet quizzical look towards the source of the giggles – the other two boys in the room.

Remus cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged with a light pink as he shifted his attention back to the task at hand. "So, um, the essay. We could start with the history of Amortentia and its usage over the centuries."

Y/N nodded, relieved that the focus had returned to the assignment. "Sounds good. And then we can move on to its effects on individuals and relationships."

Y/N's focus remained steadfast on the task at hand, despite the playful antics of James and Sirius. Remus, on the other hand, seemed to be getting slightly exasperated as he attempted to concentrate.

"Guys, seriously," Remus huffed, trying to hide his amusement. "We're trying to work here."

James let out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes widening innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry, Moony. Did we interrupt your riveting discussion about the history of love potions?"

Sirius chimed in, grinning mischievously. "Yeah, because we all know how exciting that is."

James grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he sauntered over to Peter's bed. "Is Wormtail seriously sleeping?" he exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, leaning over to inspect the lump that was Peter.

Sirius couldn't resist the opportunity to play along. With a dramatic sigh, he raised his hand as if to answer a question. "No, no, I'm Sirius," he chimed in, a sly grin curving his lips. He burst into laughter when James retaliated by flicking a pillow at him.

Y/N's concentration was momentarily broken as Sirius dramatically threw himself onto Peter's bed, causing a yelp and a sudden movement from Peter.

She glanced over, her eyes widening at the unexpected commotion. Remus shot Sirius an exasperated look, shaking his head in disbelief at the antics.

Peter, now wide awake, blinked rapidly, trying to process the sudden chaos that had unfolded around him.

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on Sirius with a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Merlin's beard, Sirius, what's gotten into you?" he grumbled, his voice still groggy from sleep.

James, unable to resist the opportunity to join in, grabbed another pillow and playfully whacked Sirius on the back. "You're worse than a blast-ended skrewt," he teased, a mischievous grin on his face.

Y/N let out an amused chuckle, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the book. The boys' attempts to capture her attention might have been over the top, but it certainly wasn’t unwanted.

As the hours passed, Y/N remained engrossed in her reading and note-taking, occasionally exchanging ideas and thoughts with Remus.

The two of them worked together in a surprisingly synchronized manner, their focus strong in the way they discussed the various aspects of Amortentia's effects.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius continued their playful attempts to catch Y/N's attention, their antics ranging from exaggerated yawns to whispered commentary on the material being covered.

Remus seemed to be handling their disruptions with a mix of patience and exasperation, occasionally shooting them disapproving looks that were met with innocent smiles or exaggerated expressions of innocence.

Peter's silent observation remained a constant throughout the day. He found himself captivated by Y/N's presence and the easy way she interacted with his friends.

Her passion for learning and her ability to remain composed in the midst of the boys' shenanigans intrigued him. While the others vied for her attention, he preferred to stay on the sidelines, content to watch her from a distance.

Despite the interruptions, the collaborative effort produced tangible results.

The essay slowly took shape, combining Remus's meticulous writing with Y/N's well-organized thoughts. By the time the sun began to set and the golden light filtered through the curtains, they had made significant progress.

As they wrapped up their study session, Y/N stretched her arms above her head, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Remus let out a content sigh, rubbing his tired eyes as he glanced at the nearly completed essay. James and Sirius finally relented in their attempts to distract Y/N.

As Y/N packed up her belongings, her conversation with Remus took on a more serious tone. They discussed the final touches for the essay and set a plan to complete it by the following Tuesday.

Remus handed her the items she needed and watched her straighten her robes, giving her a warm smile as she waved goodbye to the others in the room before leaving.

However, as soon as the door closed, the room erupted in laughter. Sirius couldn't hold back his amusement, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he mimicked Remus's voice, repeating his words, "'So next Tuesday'."

James, always ready to join in the fun, pushed up his glasses with a grin. "Come on, Moony, we thought you were better than that."

Remus's cheeks were still tinged with pink as he shot them a glare. "As if any of you would do any better. The first time she tries to talk to you face to face, you'll all be blubbering fools."

James opened his mouth to retort, but Peter chimed in with a dreamy look on his face. "Honestly, I can't believe she was here in our room." He flopped back onto his bed, his voice almost swooning as he buried his face into the pillow.

Sirius raised an eyebrow playfully, nudging Remus with his elbow. "Did you see the way she looked at you, Moony? It's a miracle you managed to speak at all."

James leaned against the wall, his grin turning into a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, next time, maybe just stick to writing love notes. Might be safer."

Remus sighed, rolling his eyes at his friends' teasing. "You're all insufferable."

Peter lifted his head slightly from the pillow, a cheeky grin on his face. "But you love us."

Remus couldn't help but crack a smile at that. "Unfortunately, I do."

Sirius grinned, leaning against a desk as he looked toward the ceiling. "I can't deny it, mate. We might as well be first years all over again, fawning over a pretty girl."

Remus let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "It's not like that," he muttered, though the pink tinge to his cheeks said otherwise.

James chuckled, crossing his arms. "Yeah, yeah, Remus is just tutoring her in more ways than one."

Remus shot James a narrowed look, his amusement evident. "Oh, come on, James. Don't pretend you wouldn't be blubbering to us about her if you were in my shoes. You'd be going on about how her eyes sparkle or how she looks when she smiles." He teased, earning a laugh from the others.

Sirius, always one for pushing the boundaries, chimed in with a devilish grin. "Oh, if I had a project with her, it wouldn't be potions we'd be brewing, if you catch my drift." He lowered his voice suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows as he spoke.

Peter, caught in between the banter, rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his blonde hair. Remus simply stared at Sirius, shaking his head in mock disbelief. James, on the other hand, nodded with a cheeky grin. "He's got a point there."

Laughter echoed through the room as the teens teased each-other, there minds lingering on the girl in Green.

264 notes · View notes

sea-owl · 7 months

Text

Been rewatching Danny Phantom and I forgot how much I love Jack Fenton.

Yeah, he falls into that early 2000s trope of bumbling himbo husband who is kinda neglectful, so writers can easily move their teenage protagonists to plot a to plot b. But I feel like if Danny's secret was ever accidentally revealed or he told his parents, Jack would be the more supportive of the two. Not to say Maddie wouldn't be, but Jack gives off vibes of a giant teddy bear. That man would knit blankets, sweaters, and other hand-made items for his loved ones. He would be the first one to hug me if I was crying.

Plus he commits tax fraud so even better.

#danny phantom #we love jack fenton in this house #jack fenton

120 notes · View notes

tma-reader-inserts · 8 months

Text

Gerard Keay x Lonely Avatar! Reader

Tw: suicidal thoughts; mentioned character death

XXX

You missed Michael. You missed him so much you ached. You missed his breezy laugh and fun sweaters and how he always made tea for the two of you every morning. You missed your best friend, and his absence weighed on you like a stone.

You never worked together exactly; but you were an assistant to Elias, and you took the same route home every day and he was just so friendly it was hard not spend time with the sweet and sensitive man.

You didn’t have many friends. Hardly any except for Michael. And by extension, you were on friendly terms with Gerard Keay, who worked closely with Micheal and Miss Robinson on several statement cases. You were… intrigued by Gerard. Michael had encouraged you several times to “go for it”, to suck down your cowardice and just asked the attractive book-burner out for drinks; but you were so, so awkward; even more bumbling than Blackwood.

It felt like a miracle Elias hasn’t fired you yet. You assume it’s because you’ve memorized his coffee order and know exactly where to buy the biscuits he enjoys so much. You really didn’t do much in the was of assisting. You help take names and numbers of potential statement givers, arranged for them to meet an archivist or archivist assistance, fetch coffee and teas, and mostly just sit at the desk in front of Elias’s office and look busy. Whatever papers Elias gives you usually are meant for someone else and all you do is have the building’s mail system bring them to the specific person, so you don’t really do any actual filing.

Well, it’s a living.

A small reprieve from the hum drum of your boring work life was Michael and his fun stories.

Now you don’t even have that.

You wore all black for three weeks in mourning when you realized Michael wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t the first assistant to disappear, but it was the first that affected you. Elias and Gertrude said nothing about the change of your attire and attitude.

You also haven’t seen Gerard in ages. You had seen him once in passing as he exited the building while you were walking up to the stairs, smoking heavily with a dark look on his face. You have to assume he knows of Michael, you couldn’t imagine telling him, and Gerard always seems to know about everything that happens in the Institute. He eyed you briefly, in your dark clothes and somber expression, and he gave you a pitying look before walking in the opposite direction.

Not a word was exchanged, and you had felt so utterly and horribly alone since.

The loneliness creeps into your chest cavity, hollows it out and curls in there like a fog on a pier. Michael was gone, Gerard hasn’t been back in so long, and you were so alone.

Elias briefly checks up on you, asks about your morning walk and compliments your new shoes, wishes you a peaceful weekend and lends you an umbrella when it’s storming. But he’s no friend, and you are under no delusions that you are replaceable to him if needed.

You had no family to turn to. No more friends. Even the stray cat you were feeding regrettably was hit by a car. You felt so desolate and solitary.

You used to cry about it frequently. Every night even, especially after Micheal’s disappearance. But now you can’t even bring yourself to shed tears, they dried long ago; now all you have is the cold knowledge that you have nothing, and that nobody wants you.

When Gerard comes to the Institute again, you don’t even see him at first. You used to jump at the chance to even look upon the handsome man with his badly dyed hair and plethora of tattoos, but now when you hear the other people in the office tittering over his arrival, you just… acknowledge he’s there in the building. You don’t feel excitement or dread or anything. You meant nothing to Gerard, why would he visit you? You don’t even leave your desk to see him.

You felt it again, the loneliness. The heavy fog settling in your brain where you just stare ahead and register nothing going on around you, not processing anything, just barely existing.

Maybe you’ll kill your self today, your thoughts muse in the back of your mind. Death must be nice. To not have to worry about anything; not about friends dying or abandoning you, about poor strays on the street, about perfectly distant bosses and co workers…

It’d be easy; people kill themselves all the time. The Institute was a rather tall building. A drop from there would surely end you; and you know where all the key copies were to get access to the roof.

You had to cross a bridge over a river to get to work; on your way home you could easily crawl over the railing if you wanted.

You were suddenly acutely aware of the sleeping pills in your apartment, ones you bought months ago to aid with your insomnia. It’d be like taking a long rest, like going to bed.

Someone was shaking your shoulders, someone was saying your name with a rising pitch of desperateness. You felt your office chair swivel to face a dark mass and warm warm hands cupped your face.

Rough thumbs wiped away at the hot tears settling on your face. When your vision focused, you saw Gerard. Black lipstick, teased hair, tattoos and dark, wide, worried eyes.

He says your name again and it sound like it aches in his throat to say it.

Several long moments were in silence as the book-burner wiped your face with his finger and smoothed your hair down, eyes darting around your figure as if to search for an injury.

Finally, your voice croaked. “Hi…”

A sigh of relief escapes him, he visibly sags. Hands rest on your shoulders heavily. “Hey. You were crying, did something happen?”

A part of you wants to be enraged. Of course something happened. Micheal is probably dead. The cat that sleeps in your apartment all winter is dead. You want to be dead. You want to carve out your insides so your body reflects how you feel and this whole time he wasn’t there-

But you can’t even feel the anger within you anymore. The burning spite inside you is snuffed out by the chill of your indifference of the situation.

“… I’m fine…” you eventually mutter, looking to your desk. The files on the surface were meant to be sent out ages ago, you should really get on that.

Don’t want to leave your replacement a messy desk after all.

You see Gerard flinch in your peripheral. “Listen- I’ve been meaning to talk to you…”

He smells like cigarettes and sweat, and you briefly realized you will miss that smell when you kill yourself. He flinched again.

“It’s really kind of important, um, can we talk about it over drinks? Right after you get off?”

This stalls your brain. Sure, suicide was a sudden desire, but it felt like the right decision to make. Drinks would just put off the inevitable.

Gerard’s hands came back up to your face again, warm and solid. “Please?”

… you’ve never heard Gerard Keay say please before. At least not earnestly. Usually it was sarcastic and in annoyance. The sincerity of the word casts off whatever dregs of the fog were left, and now you were hyper aware of yourself and your surroundings.

Your cheeks were wet; when did you start to cry? And your hands were balled up into fists so tight your knuckles changed colors. Your mouth was incredibly dry and your jaw aches which how tightly you were clenching your teeth.

Gerard’s presence was warm, comforting. It almost make you choke a sob, and you felt very suddenly the desire to spill every thought about your plans to kill yourself to him, and the only thing that stopped you was social graces and the idea that Elias was right behind the door beside you both and could probably hear you.

“Drinks?” You inquire, blinking away the swell of cold tears in your eyes “um, it’s Tuesday, though-“

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just-just say you’ll come. I’ll walk with you after work.”

It sounded more like a plan for himself but you were always so weak willed you didn’t have it in yourself to contest him. So you nodded. Gerard smiles and breathes out a long breath, like he was holding it in. “Good.” He concludes, rising up from his crouching position and removing his hand from your face. “Good. I’ll see you at five.”

He almost turns to leave, before staring hard at Elias’s door. Thick rubber soles squeaked slightly as he steps even closer to you. He looks down at you, eyes wide and searching. One of his black painted finer nails prodded at your fist until it was pulled apart and relaxed by his ministrations.

“Hey…” he sighs, “I’m… I am sorry for not coming back to you sooner.”

A small frown pulls at your mouth. You never meant to make Gerard feel guilty. “It’s fine.” You assure, voice soft.

His eyes alight with sadness. “It’s not. It’s not okay, you need to know that.” He stresses, before finally turning and leaving.

As soon as the door to the hallway close, Elias’s door opens.

He says something about a meeting he has tomorrow with a Board member, a Mr. Lukas, and he asks you to be sure to brew strong coffee for the gentleman when he arrives tomorrow.

You nod, and plan on maybe killing yourself later in the week; to make it easier on everyone.

—

Five pm rolls around at a snails pace, but surely and dutifully, Gerard is there at the door to the exit, waiting for you.

He looks… not stressed, just anxious. Like he’s itching to leave the building as soon as you’re within reach. And that’s exactly what he does. The second he saw you his face erupts into a smile and one of his pale, tattooed hands reached out and gently grabs your elbow, pulling through the front door and down the steps to the road as he sings praises about the bar the two of you were going to; nothing too stuffy but not overtly casual, and he promises that the cocktails are unique and the music they play is a far better selection than most.

You knew from his description he was probably taking you to a goth bar; you didn’t really mind. The idea of strong drinks and black painted walls and sad music almost seemed like a comfort to you.

The hand on your elbow migrates down to your wrist, and finally your hand. His grip was sturdy, and he never let your digits go, squeezing slightly whenever he thought the two of you might get separated.

Gerard was always affectionate with you before. Casually playing with your hair whenever he passed by you in the hallway, placing a hand on your shoulder as you laugh along with Michael over the latest office mishaps, even a few times bringing his lips to your knuckles when you handed him a well appreciated cup of tea whenever he was staying late at the Institute. The touching was not foreign territory, but it felt like forever since you’ve been there, like walking through your childhood house after having been moved out for decades.

When you finally make it to the bar, which was in fact a hole in the wall goth bar, Gerard lead you to the darken back corner, and huddled up next to you comfortably, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, like it was a regular thing. His arm was heavy and warm around your shoulders and he handed you a cocktail menu.

True to his word, they all had fairly spooky names and sounded tasty. You didn’t even really know which to pick, but Gerry points to one that seems like it’ll suit your taste just fine. You almost titter at how well he knows you, before swallowing down your excitement. You could just be an easy read.

You don’t even order for yourself; as soon as the waitress, decked in black and spiked black hair, came over, Gerard ordered for himself and you, his voice lilting and he seemed utterly uninterested in even looking at the woman, rather eyeing you as he moves some hair out of your face as he spoke.

While the drinks were being made, he fusses over you, asking small conversational questions like, “How is Elias treating you?” and, “You’ve been sleeping well, I hope?”

After weeks of no one even asking after your health you flush under the attention, answering each question softly and as briefly as you can surmise, shy and bashful as Gerard’s dark eyes roam your face and observes your mouth every time you opened your lips to answer. He nods along and occasionally his hand rubs your shoulder.

You feel like he’s avoiding the obvious. Avoiding Michael. Maybe the loss was felt as keenly for him as you felt it. Maybe he was just as wrecked by the blond’s disappearance and is trying to find solace and common ground in you.

When the drinks do come, the goth man removes his arm from your shoulders and sets a napkin in front of you, moving your cocktail onto it without prompt. A tense moment of silence settles now that you’re alone again, and Gerard heaves a heavy sigh.

“I never should have left you alone for so long after he left.” He chokes out, eyes searching your face for your reactions to his words. When not a muscle twitches in your expression, Gerard continues. “I was… hurting. I was angry, and it had nothing to do with you but I was acting ugly and I didn’t want you to see that side of me.”

You nod, ready to let forgiveness slip past your lips when he cuts you off.

“It wasn’t okay of me, it’s not alright. I should have never, ever, let you go through that alone.” He looks so regretful, so sorrowful, it made your heart ache; it was one of the strongest emotions you’ve felt in a while. “I- I don’t even know how to make it up to you, for abandoning you like that.”

The earnestness in his voice makes you stall. You’re not the kind of person people seek forgiveness from. You just got walked over and forgotten and you were used to it. To have anyone, especially someone as high up and composed as Gerard, beseech you for amnesty, seemed to fully pull you from whatever slump you’ve been in these past few weeks.

Your face finally emoted; you frowned and your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, and you shouldered the darkly dressed man. “Drinks is a good start, but I don’t want you beating yourself up over it. You’re here now.” You tried really hard to show that all was forgiven. “Just… try not and leave me again for so long?”

It felt silly to even ask, like a child begging their parent to return safely from a business trip.

Gerard looked at you very seriously, one of his hands coming to yours that were clasped in your lap. “Not as long as I live.”

—

The night was a blur, your drinks were consumed and you’re not entirely sure when you kissed Gerard on the cheek in gratitude or when he kissed your shoulder in fondness but somehow the two you ended up just… kissing in the dark alley next to the bar.

Gerard was all consuming; the way he leaned into you, how his thumb ran over the pulse in your wrist with one hand and his other thumb pressed into your jugular. He smelled like cigarettes and old books up close, he felt warm and heavy against you, how he sighed and moaned when you grabbed onto the lapels of his leather duster to pull him in closer. Every time you opened your eyes all you saw was his dark and brooding set gaze at you from behind heavy lids and the sight was too much for your heart to handle so you close them again, Gerard pulling you closer.

Any closer and you’d become one.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so lonely then.

His head ducks down, nosing your neck and the hand the occupied your throat drops down to your waist. A hot tongue licks your pulse and you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head. A black jean clad leg slips between yours, and you’re effectively pinned against the brick wall.

“Missed you…” he moaned, teeth scraping against your skin. “Missed seeing you, being around you, talking to you…” a hand snaked around and pulled you closer by the small of your back. “Fuck me for leaving.”

You gasp and groan, and come to the realisation. That Gerard was a talker, and that you were easily swayed by words. You didn’t even realise that Gerard even liked you this way until about twenty minutes ago. How long has he harboured a crush on you? Had he thought of kissing you often? As often as you thought of kissing him?

He said other things, salacious things, directly in you ear as his hands moved up and down your body, hot breath puffing against the shell of your ear as he occasionally dipped down to kiss you or give you love bites along your neck.

You desperately wanted to do something besides just being there, allowing yourself to be kissed and bitten and wooed. You wanted to move, kiss back, make Gerard as flustered as you were; but the skin to skin contact, the affection, the confirmation of attraction overwhelmed you so much you almost choked up.

In fact you did.

A small sob crashed through your lips as tears welled in your eyes.

The sound causes Gerard to straighten up, and he quickly took in the sight of you crying and stepped away from you, concern of his face.

“Shit- I’m sorry.” He rushes out. “Fuck I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

The separation makes you feel cold and lonely again and your stomach swoops in dread because Gerard, beautiful, wonderful Gerard, is now looking at you like some fragile breakable thing and you just can’t stand the idea that you’ve ruined all the ground you covered in the last hour, and that after this he’ll never want to talk to you again. Boys don’t like people who cry when you kiss them.

Fog begins to seep into the alley, coming off from the street and the dead end a few yards away from you. You don’t try to comprehend how fog just manifested from no where, you just sob again because Gerard was going to shun you out for being too damn weird and unapproachable.

You babbled apologies, heart clenching, trying to verbalise that you were fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, just that you were fucked up about everything and he should probably just ignore you forever after this.

The fog became thicker and you shiver at the coldness it brings. You sob again, hiding your face in your hands so you can stop looking at the man’s beautiful and worried face.

God, you wished that the wall would swallow you up entirely; you wished you could just disappear and stop being such a nuisance; you should’ve just gone home and killed yourself.

So a brief second, the sound of the air about you had changed. The music leaking through the wall stopped, cars were no longer passing by the mouth of the alley, you didn’t hear the wind shake the plastic lid to the dumpster, you even stopped hearing Gerard’s breath in front of you. The silence was deafening, frightening. For that second, you felt utterly, terribly alone. Like you were the only person in the entire world.

And just as soon as the sounds of the world were gone, they were back. Cars hitting the puddle on the road, early aught goth music seeping through the brick, and Gerard saying your name with desperation.

Warm warm hands clasp your shoulders and you finally peer through your fingers to see the man, lipstick smudged and hair frizzy from the fog. He eyes looked wild, fearful, and he gripped your person so tightly like a life line, like you’d runaway if he let go.

Gerard says your name very lowly. And your sobbing ceased at his tone. Oh god, he was going to yell at you or something, you were certain. He was going to call you a freak and that he never should have even bothered with you in the first place-

“You need to breathe.” He commands. “Look at me, and breathe; be here with me right now, get out of your head.”

Your eyes dart wildly around the alley, not wanting to meet his gaze. God, why couldn’t just be normal for once-

A small pang of pain snapped across your brow, right between your eyes.

You look ludicrously to Gerard, eyes moist from tear and voice shaking from crying. “Did you just flick me?” You warbled.

“Yes.” He admits readily. “Now, calm down.”

His word sounded normal but felt… staticky in your ears. Like tv fuzz was playing just under his voice.

Almost instantly your breathing evened out and you no longer felt the desire to cry; your mind wasn’t filled with self-hateful thought but now just focused on Gerard, who was watching you carefully.

Reaching into the pocket of his duster, he pulls out handkerchief, and wipes at your face, sighing. He looked expressionless, and you feared the worse.

“I’m… I’m not great at this.” He says softly, stowing the cloth back into his coat. “I always go too fast, I’m told, It’s just-“ he screws his lips together as he thinks. “I- I feel like if I left you alone for too long, you’d forget about me, and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I’ve lost interest in you, I didn’t even think that I’d, well, overwhelm you like I did.”

You swallow thickly, considering his words.

“I never knew you were interested in me.” Was all you can say.

Gerard sighs. “Yeah, I’m piecing that together now.” He winces. “I had it in my head that this was a long time coming for both of us, I never stop to think that I might be surprising you with my sudden infatuation. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth is already opening to forgive him when he silences you with a cool look.

“I… must’ve freaked you out pretty badly, huh?” He questions, moving closer to you, but refraining from touching you again.

“It’s not that you freaked me out,” you’re quick to answer, “it’s just… yeah, it came out of nowhere to me.” He looks down casted and you wait a moment before speaking again. “I like you so much, Gerry.” You confess, voice creaking with emotion. “I’ve just been so lonely, and it’s hard for me to think that you’d like me too.”

He looks to you, sympathetic. And he nods to himself before extending one hand to yours, gently grasping your fingers.

“How about we do this a little more properly?” He suggests. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

You almost laugh at how hopeful he looks, like you would say no.

The idea of dinner was nice, but the thought of going back to your empty apartment scares you now. Being alone again scares you; the idea of someone not watching you scares you because what if you get lost in your own head again and this time the silence wouldn’t disappear after a second.

“Tonight?” You ask, stomach twisting. It’s wasn’t exactly early evening any more, by all rights he could deny you.

He nods, decisively and eagerly. “My place?” He suggests.

A smile fights its way across your face. “Scary movies too?”

Highly amused, Gerard smiles, and pretends to think for a moment. “Well, if we do that, you might be too scared to go home by yourself.” He reasons.

“Sounds like I’ll need to sleep over, then.”

“Brilliant.”

#gerard keay #gerry keay #Gerard Keay x reader #Gerry Keay x reader #tma #the magnus archives

135 notes · View notes

mjolnirswriststrap · 6 months

Text

Haunted

“Something's gone terribly wrong,

Won't finish what you started

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this”.

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Reader escapes her abusive ex and moves to the alps. Bucky is in denial about some things, like what the year is, and if he’s dead. Part 2/6

Warnings: ghosts, death.

Masterlist Pt.One Pt.Three

“Steve!”

Bucky is falling, eyes locked with his best friend, it all happens in an instant. One second he’s reaching out, watching Steve disappear in-front of him. Falling from the train feels like time froze, but it ends when he hits the frozen earth. He’s gone on impact. His spirit won’t accept it, it won’t accept that he failed.

Bucky rolls in pain, screaming Steve’s name. Steve is long gone, Bucky has no chance of catching up with the train. He stands, grabbing his riffle that landed near him. He lets out a yelp of pain when he tries to move his left arm but it’s dead weight. He throws the gun strap over his head, tightly gripping his arm to his body.

His mind races as he runs through the trees, one boot after the other. Bucky never backs down, he never gives up. Even when every muscle in his body is screaming to stop, go back, slow down. He runs for miles. He can’t feel any part of his body now. He’s almost frozen solid. But still, Bucky keeps taking one more stride. He spots a light in the distance and has a burst of energy.

A small cabin comes into view. He’s bumbles through the door without notice. He prays no one’s here, he only speaks English and doesn’t know how to explain. It’s empty when he does a quick check. That’s enough for Bucky to throw the gun on the coffee table. He peels the blue jacket from his body, his chest puffs out with every jagged breath.

He lays down on the couch, letting his feet hang off the side. He doesn’t know how he got himself into this position, but he just wants to go home. This was Steve’s territory. Bucky never wanted to be a hero. What he does know is that he’s fucked. There is a snow storm passing through, and no one would make it here in time.

He falls asleep, nightmares of being frozen in the ground flash in-front of his eyes. His arm torn off, bones and flesh exposed. He screams for help, he begs for Steve to come back. He replays falling, over and over again. He just wants it to stop. He shoots up on the couch, being awoken by the sound of the door opening.

He looks up wildly as the bright sun blinds him, he sees the outline of two old ladies come through the door, paper bags in arms. He quickly stands, about to excuse himself for intruding in their home. But he notices the way they don’t stop talking when walking in. One keeps going to the kitchen and one turns around to set a fancy new tv on the coffee table.

The women can’t see him, Bucky walks over to the kitchen, waving his hand in front of the senior citizen. She just mindlessly puts away groceries. He scoffs, turning to the taller lady of the two. “Can you really not hear me?” He laughs. The woman jerks her head to the side, squinting her eyes at the empty living room, his eyes grow, knowing she heard him.

He goes to say something to the woman with the groceries but when he turns around she’s not there, and he can’t find the taller woman now either. They’re gone. He sits down on the couch, pulling his left arm to his chest. He closes his eyes and suddenly he’s back on the train with Steve, the events of falling replay. Then he’s being awoken again by the sound of the key turning.

He sees you walk through the door, the sight of you causing him to jet up. You look so cold in only a sweater. He says “Hello?” But you just stare past him. He can’t wrap his head around why no one can see or hear him. Maybe he’s invisible, he got pumped with some kind of super power just like Steve.

Bucky is sat with his head in his right hand, when your legs come into view. He looks up and your stood there with a feather duster and an old rag, leather polish already sitting on the table. He stands, swiftly gliding past you. He watches you reach out for the wall. Shaking your head free of something. You look dazed for a moment.

Watching you devour apple pie made Bucky like you more than he’d care to admit, after a certain point, he started to feel like a creep watching you saunter around the cabin. You didn’t know someone was in the room when you decided to strip all the layers of your clothes and curl up on the couch.

Bucky may be a lot of things but a weirdo, he is not. He is starting to feel like he is invading your privacy. He makes his way for the front door, swinging it open, letting the snow hit him in his face. You jolt up behind him, and he instantly feels guilty. You look like a deer caught in headlights.

He stands frozen in place as you make your way in-front of him and close the door. Standing this close to you he can see the color of your eyes more clearly, they shine in the golden lamp light. You’re breathtakingly beautiful to Bucky. Your beauty isn’t like any other girl he saw back home. Almost futuristic in a way.

Before Bucky can disappoint himself any further you walk away, find yourself tucked into bed. He stays in the living room, accepting that of course he gets the couch again tonight. When his eyes close, he is holding on to the side of the train. Begging Steve not to drop him, but he does. He falls, and falls over again. It only ends when he hears glad shatter and you scream.

He watches you as you sweep up the glass, your brows pressed tightly together. He can feel the blood pumping rapidly through your veins. He doesn’t like that you’re afraid. He doesn’t know what to do to make you relax, he follows you up the stairs and sits with you while you sleep. He reaches out, moving your hair from your face, and you take a long deep breath. You produce a smile, causing Bucky to smile, he leans over you and grabs your blanket, pulling it over you.

He quietly steps down the stairs and stands in-front of the couch. Every time he sits on it, he has horrific nightmares, maybe he should try the chair. He sits down, kicking his boots up on the coffee table. Like clock work he’s falling, then limping through the woods, holding his arm. This time he sees you in the distance about to enter the cabin, he yells for help but you don’t hear him, he’s right behind you as you close the door, but he’s too late. He tries the handle but his fingers pass through it, they disappear for a second like a mist. Bucky blinks at his hand as it regenerates in-front of his face.

He hears Steve’s voice echo in the woods “Buck! Come back!”. He turns around and faces the pitch black trees. His left shoulder starts with a searing pain, then it turns into a mind numbing ripping and tearing feeling. Bucky sobs out “help me.” Before he falls to the ground. He jerks awake from his dream, feeling the soreness in his otherwise dead weight limb.

You gasp and Bucky jerks his head in your direction. You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, your hand covers your mouth. You’re looking right at him, he swears it’s almost as if you could see him. Then you scream at the top of your lungs and Bucky knows, you really can. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” You yell, you look more terrifying than anyone Bucky had been fighting before all this.

He stutters out a reply “I, I’m a sergeant in the United States military ma’am. I was wounded fighting some Nazis not so far from here. This place isn’t safe. I need your help getting out of here, I need to get to a town and find a phone.” He waits for your reaction. When it doesn’t come he continues, “I’m calling my friend, Captain America. Do you know who that is?”.

You stare at the man who you think broke into your house. He’s obviously completely off his rocker. “I don’t have anything of value, take the rugs, they’re worth the most besides the copper wiring.” You say, backing yourself away from the intruder. Bucky doesn’t say a word, too confused by what’s going on. “I don’t think the nazis are coming for you sir, that was 70 years ago,” you trip going backwards on the steps but catch yourself with your hand “no need to do anything rash.” You finish, completely terrified.

Bucky stands and doesn’t say a word. He just walks out the front door into the daylight. You’re left all alone wondering if any of it really happened. You barely slept all night, due to the nightmares, maybe this was a walking nightmare, something made up by your mind to fill in gaps. You tried to rationalize it as you close the front door. You can’t rationalize the strong scent of pine and mint that fills the whole living room. You lock the door behind yourself, then start searching the cabin for you phone. Once you find it you see that you have no bars. You have to go outside for service.

There is no possible way you’re following outside, what you think is either a serial killer, or an apparition your mind created. You can’t take that chance. You go to the front door, looking out at the rising sun, it was no longer snowing, so the rays were bouncing off the white crystals. You notice there are no foot prints in the snow on the porch. Surely if the man had walked out the door, you would be able to see his tracks. The pristine white coat stared at you through the window. Now you know your mind is playing games.

65 notes · View notes

gingerjolover · 6 months

Note

pumpkin patch/fall date with phoebe and maxine! please!

y'all know the fucking vibes ok so

just blurbed about pumpkin carving with julien (julien and soft!gf def meet up with y'all towards the end of the day to get their pumpkins but before all that)

but y’all are like taking a little fall trip in nashville or maybe you’re in LA who knows

pheebs is def in like an all back maxi something with boots and if we are doing black cat and golden retrieve vibes, i feel you’d be in a more autumnal outfit

y’all definitely are checking out all of the foods stands and the small market first

getting various jams and fall treats

in my version of this pumpkin patch/fall farm, there is a section with animal costumes for pets and you guys spend so much time discussing maxine’s costume

“bro she could be a bumble bee🥹”

“don’t call me bro oh my god look,” you start to be sassy back but you see a small collar and a neck tie, “maxi! you could be mommy for halloween🥹”

i feel like this where y’all would find the sheep costume that she wore at boogenius

with various apple butters and more than one costume for maxine y’all finally go out to the farm part

maybe pick your own apples or something

and then you get a on an afternoon hayride, maxine is sitting on your lap, she has a little knitted sweater on because it’s chilly and phoebe is taking SO many pics because “you and mama look so cute”

maxine is so popular on the hayrides, everyone wanting to pet her but you’re like “she’s kinda skittish so be careful,” and it just warms phoebes heart

eventually y’all get to the pumpkins, meeting up with julien and her partner

julien is like “we need four pumpkins in case we mess up the jack o lanterns,” which phoebe is like omg “babe we should get an extra just in case” and you and julien’s gf look at each other like “are they fucking kidding?”

maxine is crawling all over the small pumpkins, and you’re holding her leash watching her

phoebe is taking pics of you guys, eventually getting you both to pose in the patch “smile with mama maxi!” she will say so sweetly and you’re like holy fuck marry me pls

i feel like as it gets darker phoebe will pick maxine up and hold her in the baby carrier on her chest, both holding hands as you pull the rent-a-wagon to the car full of pumpkins

after you load up the car you walk back through all the halloween lights and grab some dinner, sitting on a picnic bench, stealing kisses between bites

def takes a pic of y’all under the orange lights and you’re holding a lil pumpkin and she’s biting your cheek lol

#anon cutie #phoebe bridgers blurb #phoebe bridgers x reader #gingy’s halloweekend

54 notes · View notes

nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years

Note

Request idea: Robin comes out to her parents and it doesn’t go well (referenced abuse) so she goes and stays with Steve. Nancy sees her living with him and wearing his clothes and assumes the worst, they’re dating, but she can’t understand why it bothers her so much if she’s so over Steve. How does she react to the truth after seeing robins bruises one night and how does she realize her feelings weren’t for Steve after all?

i loved this prompt :) i hope you enjoy!!

the gaping mouth (2,973 words)

That definitely wasn’t Robin’s shirt she was wearing, and it definitely shouldn’t be bothering Nancy as much as it was to see her wearing it.

It was hot and it was Hawkins and maybe that was why. Maybe Robin didn’t own any proper t-shirts.

Maybe Nancy was just an idiot - but she was a sucker for detective work and she couldn’t stop the jealous bile rising up in her throat every time Robin caught her eye that day, draped in an old basketball tee that practically swallowed her whole. The faded green made her sharp blue eyes stand out even more, glinting in the hot sun.

They’d all accompanied Max to the Hawkins skate park (less of a skate park and more of an old, rusted parking lot) that day. And while watching Mike bumble around and attempt to not open his forehead on the sidewalk was very fun, Nancy was regretting her involvement more with each passing second.

“Did somebody set your dog on fire?” Eddie asked from where he’d sprawled himself on a bench by the rim of the skate park, clunky sunglasses covering up a good half of his face. She held a hand to her face and dimly recongized she’d been scrunching her whole expression up in anger, practically burning a hole through Robin and Steve - who were stood way too close together on the opposite end of the park.

“Is it that bad?” Nancy asked miserably. She used the hand on her face to wipe at her forehead. Maybe it was the heatstroke. She wasn’t sure what else it could be.

“It appears, Wheeler, that you’ve got a jealousy issue,” Eddie hummed through clenched teeth, grinning wickedly up at her. She shook her head vehemently and leaned against the chainlink fence, arms crossed. Pay attention to Mike, Nancy. He was on the verge of collapsing. Pay attention to Mike, Mike with his flailing arms - and Robin was laughing at him, leaning back with the tiger emblem on full display. Nancy groaned dramatically.

“I do not have a jealousy issue,” Nancy replied, short and clipped. Because she really didn’t. “You know I don’t like Steve like that. Not anymore.” Eddie poked her side with an intrusive finger, dragging her eyes back to his impish face.

“Who said anything about Steve?” He said, laughter chasing his words. Nancy shook her head down at him in confusion, refusing to give him anymore bait. Whatever he’d meant by that, she had no idea.

Because she wasn’t into Steve. Seriously. And people needed to stop trying to force them back together.

There’d been a moment, maybe, in the franticness of the Upside-Down where she’d considered it. Where she’d saw how much he had grown and changed and came to appreciate it. But it wasn’t a like-appreciate. It was a love-appreciate, like the love you share for a close friend. Somebody bonded to you by trauma. They’d never work, just like they didn’t work in the first place. They clashed heads too much.

Besides, couldn’t a boy and girl be friends? Nancy wasn’t one of those people who disagreed…which is why she’d tried for so long to wholeheartedly believe Steve and Robin when they promised they were platonic-with-a-capital-P.

But they couldn’t be. Nancy didn’t believe it. Steve didn’t share shirts with her. They shared drinks, sure, and food, and babysitting duty. But never clothes. And yet Robin showed up to practically every friend gathering adorned with some article that screamed Steve - basketball shorts, baggy t-shirts, sometimes even his well-loved sweaters.

So they were dating. That much was clear. Why that fact upset Nancy as much as it did was the real confuser.

This bubbling, upset volcanic feeling came to a head when Steve hosted The Party (trademark) at his new apartment downtown. It was far too small for them, so small Nancy spent half the night pushed up against the wall, but that was the best part about it. The scuffing sound of sneakers on his kitchen tiles, the kids piled on the couch together to watch a VHS of The Dark Crystal, the ‘adults’ (and jesus, they were adults now, weren’t they?) taking shots on the countertops and stealing popcorn from his cabinets.

Well. It’d been a great night, up until the point Nancy found herself wandering down the singular hallway. So what - she was a snoop. And the party in the joint kitchen-living room had gotten a little too loud for her liking. She’d never been a crowd person. So she stepped out to take a breath.

There were two doors, one presumably the bath and one presumably the bedroom. Nancy pushed on the one she guessed was the bathroom only to find Steve’s room.

At least, she’d assumed it was Steve’s room. But the door opened enough to give her a glimpse of a folded bra on a pile of clothes. Her stomach dropped to the soles of her shoes. Nancy edged the door open just a little more, glancing behind her to check nobody was about to catch her completely invading her friend’s privacy.

Stepping fully into the room, Nancy was overwhelmed by the amount of evidence that Steve did not live here alone. For a start - both sides of the bed were destroyed in two different ways with both pillows equally slept on. There was a pair of fuzzy pink socks, certainly not Steve’s, slung over a chair in the corner of the room. On one bedside table there was a photograph of Steve, Dustin, and Eddie at the recent Hawkins ‘graduation’ (if you could call it that) and a comb. On the other sat a loosely capped bottle of antidepressants and a small polaroid. Nancy drifted over almost on autopilot and picked it up.

It was her and Robin. She remembered this getting taken - El had gotten a polaroid as a late birthday gift from her father. At a party a few weeks back she’d been obsessively taking pictures. Nancy and Robin had posed accordingly. Robin had stuck two fingers behind Nancy’s head. They were grinning equal smiles. Nancy traced Robin’s face in the photograph absently. They’d spent practically the whole night together.

Her smile soured considerably remembering where exactly she and this photo were located. Clearly the owner of this half of the bed was Robin. Who else could it be? As if the universe wanted to confirm this as soon as possible, a tube of familiar mascara rolled out from where it’d been tucked underneath the pillow when Nancy accidentally bumped the bed. She recongized it because Robin had done her makeup a few days ago in Nancy’s bathroom - Nancy on the counter, Robin on the floor (she was considerably taller). Their faces had nearly been pressed together from the small space. And Robin had used that exact mascara.

“Nance?” Speak of the devil. Nancy whirled around to see Robin in the doorway, face scrunched up in confusion and hand on the doorknob. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nancy managed out, although the flaring emotions in her stomach were nearly untamable. Jealousy, anger, frustration. Frustration from feeling like this in the first place. She hated when there wasn’t an answer for something.

“I just noticed you’d left the party, so,” Robin explained. She took a cautious step into the room, hand out in offering. “Are you sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Nancy gestured to the bedroom, “sorry for snooping. I just needed a minute.” Robin gave her a reassuring smile, one all teeth and pink cheeks, and somehow it made Nancy even more upset.

“It’s okay,” Robin promised. After a beat: “It’s a great picture, right?”

“Hm?” Nancy wrung out her hands anxiously and put a good amount of distance between herself and the bed, except she was partly trapped from Robin blocking the doorway.

“The polaroid,” Robin elaborated. She pointed over to the bedside table and Nancy’s suspicion were seemingly confirmed. “I love it.”

“So you’re living with Steve?” Nancy asked, wincing at the lack of grace with which she asked it. Robin didn’t look bothered by it. In fact, her smile grew. It was confusing because - if they were seriously secretly dating, wouldn’t they want to hide that?

“Yeah,” Robin said, rubbing the back of her neck with a little laugh. “Sorry. The bedroom’s a shitshow.”

“It’s fine,” Nancy said, absent now from the conversation. Suddenly her head was flooded with drowsy concepts of what exactly Steve and Robin were doing in this bed. She took another step away from it, face contorted in a pained expression. It hurt and it hurt even more to see how concerned Robin was, taking another step into the bedroom. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t take this explosion in her stomach, this overwhelming jealous feeling that had her on edge at a near constant rate.

“Nance.” Robin was inches away now, both hands outstretched. Nancy resisted the urge to glare at her, but it seemed she hadn’t fought it back quite well enough because Robin’s fingers curled into her palms. She was so close - too close, Nancy couldn’t breathe. She pushed past Robin breathlessly, sprinting from the bedroom and down the hallway.

She knew the whole group was watching her as she rushed from the hallway out the front door, no doubt visibly distressed. The apartment door slammed shut behind her but she didn’t even wait for it to close before she was bolting down the creaky steps to the first floor.

Outside Nancy took in a breath of the cool night air and felt her eyes, embarrassingly, well up with tears. It was so unbelievably absurd. She pressed a clenched fist to her mouth and heaved.

So what if Steve and Robin were dating? Clearly they made each other happy, happier than she and Steve had ever been. She attempted to separate out feelings to identify the source of the issue, because - she was happy Steve had somebody. That wasn’t the problem.

Nancy sat down on the curb and pulled her shirt into her chest with a little whimper. Nancy Wheeler did not struggle to find the answer. She should’ve figured it out by now. She shouldn’t be feeling like this, so unbelievably helpless and - and crushed.

She was happy Robin had somebody. She was happy Robin had Steve. In a romantic with a capital R sense. But when those words came out of her mouth silently, Nancy testing how they felt around her lips, the taste was all wrong. It hurt to even say it to herself - the implication of what that meant for her, for Robin. It was a gunshot to the chest. Nancy found herself gripping her shirt physically, as if the pain in her heart manifested into a genuine wound.

The door to the apartment complex swung open and closed. Somebody’s booted shoes walked up to her hesitantly on the sidewalk and Nancy didn’t have to look up to know it was Robin.

“Yes?” Nancy allowed after a moment of tense silence. Robin all but collapsed onto the curb beside her, launching into her typical motormouth spiel.

“I’m so, so sorry Nance. I didn’t realize -” Robin choked on her whole breath “-I didn’t realize you didn’t feel like I felt and I didn’t mean to imply anything and I hope you don’t think differently about me now and I hope you don’t think I’m, like, a creep or something because I swear I’m not I just really care about you and you’re, like, my closest friend and I’ve never actually had a close girl friend like this before and I don’t know what I’m doing-”

“Rob,” Nancy said, and Robin promptly snapped her mouth shut. She looked up at Robin’s big blue eyes, shaking with unshed tears, and tried to avoid looking at the too-familiar letterman Robin had adorned on her trip to chase Nancy outside.

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispered. From what little of it that hadn’t been broken before, Nancy’s heart ached with how quiet her voice had gotten.

“I’m not upset,” Nancy said and then sighed, because who was she kidding? “No, I guess I am. I’m sorry. I really tried to be happy for you. I’ve got no right, feeling like this.” Robin opened her mouth and then closed it, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” Nancy rolled her eyes, gesturing to nothing in frustration.

“You and Steve!”

“I don’t follow,” Robin said, shaking her head. “What about me and Steve?”

“That you guys are together,” Nancy all but hissed between clenched teeth. So there. The words were out and they hurt just as much, if not more, as they had thinking them. She had to look away from Robin as she spoke. Silence rang across the street and then Robin started laughing. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nancy,” Robin got out between giggles, “Nance. Oh my god.”

“What?” Nancy repeated. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing-” Robin cut herself off with a hand wipe down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing at how crazy this is.”

“How crazy what is?”

“Nancy, Steve and I are so not together,” Robin said. Nancy was about to protest when Robin reached up and grabbed her arm just soft enough to catch her eyes. They looked at each other and Nancy realized Robin, for perhaps the first time in her life, was being completely serious. “Really. We aren’t.”

“Then what? You’re just sleeping together?” Nancy retorted, face flushing.

“I mean, in the most literal sense, yes,” Robin allowed. “He’s letting me live with him. But we just share a bed because we can’t afford a two-bedroom place right now, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Really?” Nancy asked. She was a little embarrassed by how breathy and excited her voice had gotten. Robin nodded, relieved smile on her face. But there was something else in her expression - disappointment, maybe.

“Yeah, so don’t worry,” Robin said. “If you’re, you know. Into Steve again. Or something.”

“I’m not into Steve again!” Nancy protested. She raised an eyebrow at Robin’s disbelieving stare. “Seriously. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She mimicked Robin’s earlier gesture by slashing an ‘x’ across her heart.

“Okay,” Robin finally agreed. She dropped Nancy’s arm, leaving the skin burning from the lack of her warm touch. Nancy folded her arms across her lap and they sat together for a bit on the curb. She tried to press her chest closer to her knees - jesus, it was cold outside.

Suddenly there was a rustle of fabric and then Robin was placing Steve’s letterman on Nancy’s shoulders. Nancy looked up to see Robin in a tank top, clearly her own, watching her with this odd smile on her face. Before she could say anything, Nancy’s eyes caught on a set of molting black-and-blue marks on Robin’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Nancy asked. She reached out a hand to touch the bruises, hesitating before Robin nodded and let her make skin-to-skin contact.

“My parents weren’t too happy with me,” Robin laughed drily, humorlessly. Nancy pushed back the tank top strap to see a multitude of matching bruises lying the rest of her shoulder and traveling down her back. Nancy swallowed back bile that had risen up in her throat at the sight and instead let the anger take over her. Who could ever touch Robin like that? What monsters would do that to her? Nancy cupped her hand on Robin’s shoulder and rubbed the bruise absently with her thumb. Robin’s eyes closed at the soft touch.

“Why?” Nancy asked. “Or was it just-”

“I came out to them,” Robin said in one quick breath. She cracked an eye open to see Nancy’s reaction. “As a lesbian. So, uh. That’s why.”

Nancy nodded. Suddenly some new feeling in her chest bloomed at that. Something warmer and distinctly delicious. Her hand on Robin’s shoulder slid down but Robin was quick to reach up and take it with her own. Their fingers brushed together as they pressed palms, folding in on each other slowly. Robin’s hand was warm and soft, softer than expected. Nancy took a sharp breath in watching the way the dim streetlight a few feet away reflected off Robin’s sharp nose, her cheekbones. The way her shaggy hair was tucked behind her ears. The freckles that splattered her skin even the places where the bruises had all but covered them. And something connected in her brain that had never connected before.

Oh. That’s why she was so jealous.

“Is that why you’re living with Steve?” Nancy whispered despite it just being the two of them. Robin nodded. “I’m sorry for being so stupid about it. And storming out.”

“It’s fine, Nance,” Robin laughed quietly. Nancy watched her sharp eyes drift down to Nancy’s lips and she licked them on instinct. Robin took in a shaky breath reactively but didn’t move her gaze. Knowing Robin was watching her like that made Nancy’s heart twist happily.

“I wasn’t upset because I’m into Steve,” Nancy added. She leaned forward almost on instinct, letting her head tilt slightly. Robin did the same, her clipped hair brushing against her neck as she did. Nancy reached out her other hand to push it back a little, shocked at how shaky her hand was. Robin looked up to make eye contact with her as Nancy cupped her hand around the back of her neck.

“Then why - why were you upset?” Robin stuttered out, eyes closing as she leaned into Nancy’s soft hand. Their noses bumped into each other. They’d slumped forward to meet each other halfway without even really realizing it.

“Because I’m into you,” Nancy admitted, nearly inaudible. Robin surged up to kiss her and when she did, Nancy was ready. All she could think was: I’m a dumbass. A very, very lucky dumbass.

~~~~~

(btw feel free to leave a request in my inbox!) <3

#ronance #ronance fic requests #ronance fic prompts #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #stranger things #fruity four #steve harrington #eddie munson #the fruity four #steve and robin #nancy and robin #nancy x robin #robin nancy #nancy robin #stranger things fanfic #ronance fic

632 notes · View notes

midnight-moth-musings · 4 months

Text

Unspoken Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mactavish Reader

Part 2

---

The calming pitter patter of rain cascading down the cold window dulls my senses as I stare outside at the dark road. A shitty street light flickers weakly at the edge of the concrete. Other than the occasional blur of a passing car, the night is empty and cold. I tap a finger on the cracked window in thought before a tug of my sweater pulls me out of my daydream. I turn in the seat of the booth to look over at my obnoxious sibling incessantly tugging on me. My brow quirks up as I meet the bright blue irises of my grinning brother.

"Hm, Johnny?" He looks at me with a wide smile, nudging me in my side.

"Thought we lost ya there lass. We're supposed to be celebrating, remember?" I roll my eyes, trying to hide the smile forcing its way on my face. I look around at the booth, eyes flickering between everyone. Price and Gaz laughing in the corner, Johnny seated next to me, and him at the end of the table watching everyone carefully. My eyes meet his gaze momentarily before I turn back to look at Johnny.

"I am celebrating, just not the way you do." I counter, raising my bottle as I take a sip of my chilled beer. I look down at the glass, fiddling with the silver rings taking up space on several of my fingers. Johnny shrugs, turning to join Gaz and Price in their heated discussion. I can feel him watching me again, and my eyes quickly flicker up to meet his gaze. I try to smile softly, holding back the bubbling feeling of anxiety in the pit of my stomach at his stoic expression. He only nods in response, looking down at the glass in his hands. I can't help but watch the way his hands grip the glass tightly, wondering how the skin would feel on my own. I stand up from the table, moving quickly to walk outside for a cigarette. The cold air surrounds me and I shiver at the temperature change. The rain has calmed down by now, light droplets hitting my skin softly as I stand by the wall of the pub. I tug my sweater over the edge of my wrists as I fumble to try and pull out a cigarette from my pocket.

"Cold?" His rough voice calls out from behind me. I whip around to face him as he walks over to stand by me.

I muster a nod. "Yeah." Great, one word. I can only manage a single word in his presence before turning into a bumbling idiot. I swear I see the fabric of his balaclava move in the shape of a grin as he takes off his leather jacket and plops it on me. I try to hide the pink blush on my cheeks as he pats my shoulder. "I...thanks, Simon." I mumble.

He only nods, standing beside me as I look out into the dark street. My breath hitches as his arm rests against mine, my brain short-circuiting at the sudden contact. "I thought you quit smoking." His brown eyes narrow as he looks at the cigarette in between my fingers. I stuff it back into my pocket haphazardly.

"Don't tell Johnny." I reply softly, wrapping the leather jacket closer around my body. I inhale, trying to avoid the sudden staggering of breaths as I smell him around me.

"I won't." He looks down at me, and I swear I see his balaclava crinkle again. My heart beats rapidly as we stand in close proximity. I don't know if my mind is playing tricks on me, but I swear I feel his hand brush against mine. Before I can turn to question him, loud laughing catches my attention. Johnny, Price, and Gaz stumble out of the pub and walk toward us.

"I guess that's our queue to leave." I look over at Ghost, whose brows are now furrowed in thought. Instead of a reply, he quickly walks toward the car we came in. I watch him walk away with a frown, sighing as I meet the rest over at the car. We drive in silence, me at the wheel as the only mostly sober driver. Gaz snores in the backseat and Johnny giggles to himself as I grip the wheel tightly. My eyes flicker over to Ghost in the backseat, although he seems to avoid meeting my gaze. We reach base quickly, and after putting Johnny to bed I sit down in my own quarters.

I decide to get some water and after changing into a tank top and pajama shorts, I walk to the kitchen. As I pour myself a glass of water in the dark kitchen, I hear footsteps. My eyes flicker over to see Ghost walking in. I immediately avert my gaze as I realize he is only wearing his balaclava and sweatpants. "Hi." I squeak out, mentally yelling at myself for sounding so nervous. He only grunts in response, walking over to grab a glass from the cabinet. He leans against the counter top as he sips on some water, his eyes never leaving my form. I try to hide the pink blush spreading across my cheeks as my eyes look over at his bare chest to the ink spreading across his arms. "I like your tattoos." I say quietly, trying to fill the awkward silence with conversation.

"Is that why you're staring?" His gruff voice startles me for a moment and my cheeks redden further.

"I'm not staring." I set my cup down and cross my arms stubbornly. My heart skips a beat as he laughs, walking toward me to place his hands on each side of the counter behind me. He leans down, looking at me carefully. My breathing quickens at the close proximity and I quickly think up a lie. "I was admiring your tattoos. I've been thinking of getting one." This time, he chuckles, shaking his head as the balaclava covering the lower portion of his face stretches. I begin to imagine all the possibilities of what his smile looks like under that fabric.

"Oh really? What were you thinking of getting?" His hands move from the counter to rest on my hips and I gasp.

"M-Maybe a flower." I reply, feeling his rough hands trace the exposed skin between my top and my shorts.

"You aren't a flower kind of girl." He whispers, leaning closer.

"How would you know?" My brows furrow as I stubbornly try to hold onto my lie.

"Because I know what you like." My hands find their way to rest against his chest as his find their home at my waist.

"Simon?" I whisper hesitantly.

"Hm?" He murmurs, resting his forehead against my own.

"I-" Before I can continue, the heavy footsteps of someone walking toward us appear and we quickly step away from one another. Gaz tiredly stumbles into the kitchen, sending us a confused expression before grabbing some chips.

"You two still up?" His voice is muffled as he stuffs some chips into his mouth. I roll my eyes, nodding. I look over at Ghost, who avoids my gaze. I sigh, turning on my heels and heading back to my quarters. I jump onto my bed with a groan, rubbing at my head as I try to make sense of the night as I fall asleep.

---

-P

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod modern warfare

41 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months

Text

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 11 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer has a good day and an even better night when a mysterious visitor reminds him how to have some fun.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - self-harm scars, Spencer info dumping, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, swearing, oral (m receiving), masturbation (male), therapy, talk of prison, talk of beatings, mentions of an almost sexual assault.

WC - 5.8k

Chapter 11 - Modern Loneliness

The following day was, as far as they go, a pretty good one for Spencer.

Doctor Sanderson checked on his healing wounds and decided to remove the dressings to allow them to further heal. He removed the stitches in Spencer’s right arm as well and although the bandages protected him, his skin finally felt as though it could breathe again. Even if he did immediately cover himself back up with a sweater.

In his physical therapy session, Nick deemed his progress to be good enough for him to move to just one walking aid instead of two. It was much less cumbersome to walk with one stick, allowing him to move more freely and for him to not feel quite so bumbling.

He finally got into the little salon and had his overgrown facial hair shaved off and his hair trimmed.

By the time dinner came, Spencer actually felt pretty good. He felt like he was making progress. He ate alone like he did most days as he still wasn’t keen on the idea of making friends here. Maggie tried to encourage him to but Spencer still had his walls firmly up.

After dinner he had group therapy and then he joined in one of the arts and crafts sessions. He wrote in his journal until his meds made him too sleepy to keep his eyes open any longer and he only just managed to drag himself to his bed before he fell asleep.

***

He awoke with a start and could instantly tell it was the middle of the night as his room was still shrouded in darkness. But the silhouette of a body sitting at the end of his bed was as clear as day. He blinked a few times as he shuffled up the pillows and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The voice was laced with mild amusement and even though he couldn’t see the face it belonged to, he knew that voice anywhere.

“Am I?” He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure if you’re here I can’t be.”

You shuffled on the bed a little before getting up and moving towards the door where you switched the light on suddenly. Spencer groaned and shielded his eyes against the onslaught on his retinas.

“What do you mean?”

He heard you move closer and after a few moments to adjust he looked at you properly. Your face wasn’t blurry or melted like it had been in his dreams. He could see every little detail of your beauty much like he had in the courtyard that day. But that could only mean his dreams were toying with him.

“Don’t worry.” He shook his head, swinging his legs over the bed.

He was shocked by the pain that spread through his leg as he stood up. He never felt pain in his dreams. His brain was really messing with him tonight. He took a few shaky steps towards his stick and balanced himself on it.

“You want to have some fun?” You had a wry smile on your face and slight hint of mischief dancing in your eyes.

And being that Spencer was convinced this must be a dream, he didn’t question it.

“Sure.” He shrugged, motioning for you to lead the way.

You skipped a little in excitement as you headed towards the door. You thought the handsome man would have more concerns about how you’d gotten into his room and why you were there in the first place. But you weren’t going to argue it. You’d already established he was a little eccentric by the way he’d accosted you in the courtyard the other day.

He followed you from the room and down the corridor, hobbling a little on his cane.

“Stay close to the walls, if the security cameras pick us up we’ll be done for.” You whispered as he followed.

Spencer frowned to himself. Why was his subconscious thinking of things like that? This was shaping up to be a strange dream. Nonetheless he did as you said and continued to trail behind you as you traversed the dark halls. You were both quiet as you walked, the only sound from soft footsteps and Spencer’s cane.

He had no idea where you were going but you seemed to have a plan and he would follow you to the ends of the earth. You took him to a part of the building he hadn’t been before and knowing the insanity of his subconscious you could very well be leading him to the gates of hell.

He watched you make quick work picking a lock on a door with what appeared to be two paper clips. When you stood back up you gave him a playful smile before letting you both in the room.

“Where are we?” He asked as you closed the door quietly behind you.

He squinted to try and see in the dark room, illuminated only by the soft moonlight rolling in through the windows.

“You struck me as the literary type.” You motioned for him to follow again towards the large windows at the back of the room.

His eyes started to adjust and he could make out shelves upon shelves piled high with books. Of course his brain would conjure a library, they were one of his most favourite places.

“You know I love to read.” He said as he accompanied you to the corner by the window.

You frowned briefly as you ran your fingers along some cracked spines.

“You never did tell me your name.” You mused out loud and kept moving while he blindly traveled after you.

“Angel, don’t play dumb.” He picked up a book and opened it in his free hand.

It was too dark to be able to see the words on the pages but he could feel the weathered paper beneath his fingertips. You turned to him and he could barely make out the curious expression on your face. You leant back against a shelf and eyed him up.

“I told you, if we met while I was high I don’t remember. I don’t remember much from those days. You’ll have to jog my memory.”

Spencer snapped the book closed and placed it back on a shelf before hobbling closer to you. His subliminal mind was often a strange place to be, but this seemed odder than usual. But he’d go with it, there was no point in second guessing himself.

“Ok, I’ll play along.” He shrugged. “Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Hmm doesn’t ring a bell.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Sure.” He wasn’t going to get into an argument in his own unconscious mind. “So why did you bring me here?”

“I felt bad for how rude I was the other day. You caught me off guard. I have terrible anxiety and you approaching me the way you did, got my back up.”

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

You shrugged too and were suddenly pushing past him.

“Do you like swimming, Spencer Reid?”

“Swimming?” He spun as fast as he could to watch where you were going.

“Yes, you know, large body of water. Moving your limbs to stay afloat.”

He started after you back towards the door.

“Why not.” He clambered after you back out into the corridor.

He followed you down some more corridors and observed as yet again you expertly picked a lock. This was far more detailed than any dream he’d had for some time.

The swimming pool was illuminated by the moon and it looked glorious, as though it was calling to him. The water was completely still and it transfixed him, drawing him closer. He imagined the water caressing him, lapping around him and washing over his skin. He couldn’t think of anything better at that moment than getting in that pool.

Until he finally tore his eyes away from it to see you standing by the side, stripping out of your clothes. As your skin was unsheathed from your jeans and sweater, it became bathed in starlight, and Spencer was instantly hypnotised.

He’d known your body so well it may as well have been an extension of his own, but now clad only in a pair of panties and a bra he was taken aback by your blemished skin. The scars that riddled your arms from wrists to biceps were not something Spencer remembered. And he had enough of his own to know they were self-inflicted.

You didn’t shy away when you saw Spencer’s eyes wandering your scarred arms. You wore them like badges of honour, they were signs you’d made it through the worst life had to throw at you and you were still alive. You weren’t ashamed of that.

“I’ve shown you mine, your turn.” You smirked at him, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Normally Spencer wouldn’t undress in front of someone unless he was high enough to banish his insecurities. But still convinced this was a dream, he didn’t care. Usually in his dreams his scars didn’t exist anyway. But when he dropped his cane to the tiled floor and pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his head in one swift move he was surprised to find his wounds still littering his skin.

Dreams never made sense, it didn’t matter.

He dumped the clothes on the floor and wriggled his pants down his legs but leaving on his boxers, and kicked them off his feet revealing his busted up legs. Your eyes trailed from his face, slowly down his body, taking in every inch of him, every single one of his scars. When they landed back on his face, you were smiling.

“Ready for a dip?” You didn’t wait for his response before you strolled to the shallow end and gracefully stepped down the large concrete steps into the cool water.

“I don’t know if I can swim with my leg.” Spencer limped closer to the edge.

“That’s ok.” You turned back to him from the top step. “Let me help you.”

You reached your hands out for him to aid him in the pool. Usually in his dreams your skin was cold but this time when he took hold of your hands he was momentarily startled by how hot your flesh was.

You helped him step down off the ledge and the water was deliciously warm as his toes sunk into it. His leg throbbed a little as he put weight on it but it was bearable. He waded with you down three more steps, water rising slowly up his legs and hips and eventually reaching his waist.

He sat down on the step so the water climbed to his chest and he revelled in the way he felt instantly cleansed. You stood in front of him, running your fingers through the water and creating small ripples on the surface.

Even in his dreams he was always floored by your beauty even when he couldn’t see you clearly. You made him anxious even in his sleeping state which didn’t make sense to Spencer, but dreams didn’t make sense he supposed.

“Did you know that some bacteria is resistant to chlorine?” Spencer mused out loud. “It’s added to pool water to kill germs that can cause illness if ingested but it takes time to work. It can eliminate most germs within minutes but some such as Cryptosporidium can live in pools for days.”

You narrowed your eyes on him in curiosity but you didn’t reply. So Spencer continued.

“In twenty twelve a report from the Water Quality and Health Council found that seventy percent of people don’t take a shower before going in the pool which only adds to the number of germs.”

Again you simply stared at him in confusion and all Spencer could do was keep talking.

“They also found that three quarters of Americans incorrectly believe that the strong chemical smell in public pools is a sign there is too much chlorine in the water, when actually it’s the opposite. The strong chemical smell means there’s not enough chlorine in the water. When chlorine combines with urine, faeces, sweat and dirt from peoples bodies, it produces irritants called chloramines which give off the chemical odour.”

Once more he was met with confused silence and he chewed his lip awkwardly.

“Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” You finally spoke.

That was a good question. Why was he nervous? It was only a dream after all.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “Because of our history I suppose.”

“I still don’t know what you mean.” You waded a little closer to him.

Right, it’s a dream. Apparently this version of you doesn’t remember our past.

Not wanting to waste precious sleep explaining it, he decided on a different tact.

“I think I knew you in a different life. I think I loved you in another life. But things between us got messed up and I guess I’m scared of that happening again.” He shrugged as you continued to get closer.

You moved so you were standing between his thighs and he could feel your wet skin against his and it set his heart ablaze.

“How did things get messed up?” You humoured him.

“It was me. I ruined everything.”

Your lip turned up at the corner in a small smile and you ran your nail lightly down the side of his face.

“Well, don’t do it again.”

He raised one hand out of the water and cupped the back of your neck, tugging you closer to him. You allowed him to pull you close, until your noses were almost touching.

You could feel his soft breath as it fanned across your face.

“Don’t do it.” You whispered.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me. Don’t do it.”

“Why not?” He kept hold of your neck, making sure you couldn’t go anywhere.

“My main focus has to be my recovery right now. And if you kiss me it’ll be all I can think about. If you kiss me, I will be bound to you.” You confessed.

“It’s just a dream though right?” Spencer’s eyes danced with amusement.

“You still think you’re dreaming, huh?”

“Am I not?”

You wiggled free from his hold and stepped back a little.

You reached for your left wrist and dragged a purple and gold braided bracelet over your hand. You took hold of Spencer’s hand and fixed the bracelet around his own wrist.

“If you’re still wearing that when you ‘wake up’ I guess you’ll have your answer.”

Spencer turned the bracelet around his wrist while he watched you wade away and start gracefully swimming around the pool.

The two of you stayed like this for a little while, Spencer hypnotised by the way you moved so elegantly while he simply watched. After a time, you swam back to him and declared it was time to go before you got caught out of your rooms.

You both redressed despite being soaking wet and he followed you back to his room. Outside his room you gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

“This was the most fun I’ve had since I got here.” You told him quietly before getting on your tiptoes and placing a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

“Me too.” He agreed.

“Goodnight, Spencer Reid.”

“Goodnight Y/N.” He stepped back inside his room and he heard you fiddling with the lock for a moment before it clicked.

Through the window on the door you shot him a smile before you disappeared into the darkness. He limped to his bed and leant the cane against the nightstand as he slipped back beneath the covers.

As his eyes fluttered closed, his fingers toyed with the bracelet around his wrist. There was no way tonight could have been anything other than a dream. And he was sure tomorrow the bracelet would be long gone, just like you.

***

You were waiting for him on his bed again only this time he couldn’t see your face properly. You told him you wanted to go on an adventure.

You clicked your fingers and suddenly you weren’t in his room anymore but back in the library. It was much lighter than he remembered but your face was still out of focus.

You leant against the bookshelf and motioned him closer to you. He could move a lot more freely without his cane and the pain in his leg.

“Well what are you waiting for?” You giggled as he stood in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“I thought you said not to?” He frowned slightly.

“Why would I ever say that?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him into you.

Once again your skin was as cold as ice.

Not wanting to overthink it and miss his opportunity, he cupped your blurry face in his hands and crashed his lips against yours. You moaned against him, parting your lips enough for him to plunge his tongue inside. You tasted of the bitter remains of cocaine.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck as the kiss deepened. He was already growing hard and you could feel it as he grinded against you, causing you to moan again.

As his hands started to wander from your face down to your arms he suddenly felt wet. He broke the kiss and opened his eyes and he was back in the pool, sitting on the same step he had been earlier. Only this time you were both completely naked and you were straddling his lap.

“What’s wrong?” You sensed his confusion.

“Nothing.” He shook it off, gripping your hips to lift you a little so he could line you up with his hard cock.

“I love you, Spencer.” You giggled as he pressed against your entrance.

“I love you more, Angel.” He pushed inside of you, slowly filling you up.

Your eyes closed and a moan erupted from your lungs as he bottomed out inside of you. He kept hold of your hips while you started to move up and down, water lapping around your waist with your movements. Water caressed your breasts and he was mesmerised by the way they bounced in front of his eyes.

He tugged you in for a kiss while you continued to ride him, bouncing on his cock like it was your fucking job. Every time you clenched around him, he moaned against your lips. Fucking you was the best damn drug in the whole world. If he could do this for the rest of his life, he’d never need to get high again.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He panted into your mouth, rocking his hips slightly.

“Not half as good as you feel, baby.” You mumbled in reply.

He already felt close. It had been so long since he’d had the chance to be with you and he’d almost forgotten how incredible it felt to have you sheathed around him. He closed his eyes and gave over to the feeling entirely. It was a whole other high than he got from dilaudid or cocaine.

Suddenly he felt his back against cool sheets and the feeling of the water that had been lapping around him vanished. He opened his eyes and he was back in his room, laying on his back in the bed. And his was cock sheathed inside your mouth as you bobbed up and down on him.

He reached for your hair and tangled his finger in the locks. You glanced up at him through your lashes as you ran your tongue along the vein on the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck Y/N, I’m close.” He squirmed a little, feeling his orgasm bubbling in his chest.

When he came it was utterly euphoric and he moaned so loudly the walls practically shook. You swallowed every drop of his arousal and kept your mouth around him until he was completely spent. You sat back on your haunches, your hazy face looking down on him.

“Stay with me?” He panted as he reached for you but for some reason he couldn’t.

“You know I can’t.” You whispered as your image started to fade away. “I’m barely even a ghost of a memory anymore.”

He tried to reach for you again but once more he couldn’t get to you. And soon you had completely faded away until nothingness.

***

Without having the conscious thought to do so, Spencer found his hand wrapped around his hard cock before his eyes even opened. He stroked himself into consciousness, his toes curling beneath the sheet.

“Fuck. Y/N, fuck.” He mumbled to himself as he picked up his pace, picturing your wet, heaving breasts above him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

He was already coming before he was properly awake and he coated his hand and the sheet in his sticky load. He was panting heavily as he opened his eyes, pulling his hand out from under the sheets.

But it wasn’t the come slicked on his hand that caught his attention.

It was the purple and gold braided bracelet adorned on his wrist that piqued his curiosity.

He twirled it around his wrist, slightly disjointed from the combination of just waking up and his orgasm. But he was awake and the bracelet remained on his wrist which only heightened his bemusement.

And as he heard the familiar sound of the nurse wheeling the trolley of the meds down the corridor, he could have sworn his clothes were damp too.

***

“Tell me about prison.” Maggie narrowed her eyes on Spencer to gauge his reaction.

He had an excellent poker face, that much she’d learnt very early on. Of course she knew his years working for the FBI had primed him for that. As expected his expression didn’t change. He barely even glanced up from where he was focused on a purple and gold bracelet he kept fiddling with.

“We’re done with the segways huh?” He clucked. “Just diving right in with that one.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time talking about your life prior to prison. But prison is the route cause of your relapse so we need to talk about it sooner rather than later.” Maggie gave him one of her encouraging smiles he’d grown used to.

He squinted at her a little, struggling to see the resemblance to Tara he’d been so sure of until now. He was sure they’d had the same eyes but now he couldn’t see it. Her hair which he was certain had been similar to Tara’s wavy bob was large and curly and down to her chest. Even her tone sounded less like Tara than it had up until now.

He shook it off, letting go of the bracelet he’d been playing with since waking up and finding it this morning and drew his hands up into his sleeves.

“I spent three months in a federal facility for a murder I didn’t commit. I was framed by a hitwoman, Cat Adam’s, who I arrested the year before.” He stated the facts, like usual.

He still wasn’t any good at speaking about his emotions. Maybe he never would be.

“That must have been terrifying. You’ve spent almost your entire adult life on one side of the law only to find yourself on the other side of it. I can’t imagine what that was like.”

She said that a lot. I can’t imagine what that was like. Reading between the lines it meant she wanted Spencer to tell her exactly what it was like.

“It was hard but I survived.” He shrugged.

“Barely.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell me about what you went through inside.”

Spencer clenched and unclenched his jaw. He drew his left leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. His right leg was still too sore to bend in such a way.

“I had to pretend I wasn’t a fed because I would have been killed for it. Pretending not to be an FBI Agent when it’s the only thing I’ve ever known was hard.” He mused, picking at an errant thread on his slacks.

“More specific please, Spencer.”

That was something else she said a lot.

“I was beaten a lot.” He admitted, not looking up from his stare off with the thread. “At first anyway. I used to get beaten. Really badly sometimes.”

“Just beaten?” The tone in her voice was enough for Spencer to look up at her. He knew exactly what she was getting at.

“I wasn’t raped in prison.” He rolled his eyes and then he added, “I almost was.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Spencer’s eyes fell back to the extremely interesting piece of thread he was still toying with.

“Not really.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “They tried. Stripped me of my clothes and then Shaw stopped them.”

“Shaw?”

“Calvin Shaw. He was another fed. Only people knew he was a fed and he got respect for it because he killed his CI. He walked in and told them to stop.”

“What do you think would have happened if he hadn’t?”

Again Spencer glanced up at her, a frown on his face.

“They would have raped me.” He deadpanned.

“You say that like you’re not talking about yourself. Like you’re just reading it from a case file.” Maggie jotted down a few notes but she didn’t take her eyes off Spencer.

“It’s easier that way.” He shrugged again, finally getting the thread free and rolling it between his fingers. “I guess that’s how I deal with things.”

“Ignoring them?”

“Yeah.”

“And by taking drugs and hurting yourself?”

“Yes.”

“What was it about prison that pushed you to relapse? By all accounts you’ve been through a lot of trauma. Why was that what pushed you over the edge?”

Spencer never wanted to use more since being sober than he did right now. This line of questioning was making him think too much about his time inside and it was thinking too much about it that had led him back to drugs.

“It was one trauma too many. I push things down and ignore them until I can’t take it anymore. Prison was the straw that broke the camel's back. I couldn’t take anymore. And drugs were the only thing I could think that would help take my mind off of everything.” He dropped his foot back to the floor and sat back on the couch.

“I’m really going to need you to tell me more about what happened in prison.” Maggie set her pen down.

“Well I don’t want to talk about that.” Spencer shrugged once more.

“What do you want to talk about?”

The answer to that was simple. The only thing Spencer wanted to talk about was the only thing that had been on his mind all day.

You.

All he’d thought about through breakfast, group therapy, free time and lunch was the happenings of the previous night. The entire thing had felt like a dream but of course it couldn’t have been; he had the proof around his wrist. It stood to reason everything up until he got back to his room and closed his eyes was real and everything after was a dream.

But how could that be?

If last night had really happened then that meant you were a patient here. And if you were a patient here you certainly weren’t his former DC Field Agent girlfriend.

So what did that mean?

He’d tried looking for you during meal times and his free times between therapy but you were nowhere to be found. He knew there were a lot of patients at PIW and he wasn’t likely to cross paths with all of them on any given day, logically he knew that anyway.

But the more he considered it, the more Spencer was convinced he’d made you up entirely. Not only weren’t you his ex-girlfriend, you also weren’t a patient here. You were a complete figment of a brain destroyed by drugs.

But the bracelet…

“Spencer?” Maggie snapped him out of his thoughts just as his hand wormed its way up his sleeve to play with the threaded band around his wrist.

“Hmm?”

“What do you want to talk about?” She repeated.

“How can you tell if you’re hallucinating?” He surprised them both with his words.

“Do you think you’re hallucinating?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not sure if hallucinating is the right word. I’m struggling, I suppose, to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.” His fingers danced along the woven band as he spoke, grounding him in a way.

“Given the amount of time you were using narcotics and now you’re detoxing combined with being on methadone and Zoloft I think it’s understandable that that line could become blurred.” She nodded.

“I don’t want to take methadone anymore.” He decided right at that moment. “My pain is a lot more manageable and I need to try and clear my head.”

Maggie was almost impressed. It wasn’t often a drug addict asked to be on less medication.

“You’re sure?” Maggie questioned, not wanting him to end up in unnecessary pain.

“No.” Spencer sighed. “If I’m being honest I still want to be on as many drugs as humanly possible.”

“That’s to be expected. It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“There’s a lot I still don’t remember, a lot of pieces I can’t put into place. I don’t want to be sober still, but I need to be. If only to figure out what I’m missing.” He confessed and honestly it was one of the hardest things he’d admitted so far.

“You know it’s going to take time. Regardless of the medication you’re on or not on. You were using drugs for a long time and it’s going to take a while for your body to completely flush them and for you to start seeing more clearly. I don’t want you to try and rush things.”

“My brain has never failed me like this before. I hate it. I hate not knowing things.” He pulled his hands out of his sleeves and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“We can look at lowering your dosage but I think after everything you’ve put your body through you need to keep taking the methadone a little longer. I think you’ll be surprised how much pain you’ll be in without it.”

“Fine.” Spencer didn’t have the energy to fight her. “Is there a library here?”

***

After their session ended and Spencer had some free time he located the library he’d asked Maggie about. It looked different in daylight but it was clear it was the same place you’d brought him when he thought he was dreaming.

He traversed the aisles of books, running his fingers along some of them, picking others up and glancing at them before putting them down. There were some literature books, but mostly they were of the self-help variety which made sense. Spencer found he wasn’t particularly interested in reading any of them, which was strange in itself.

When he reached the far corner of the library he spotted a figure sitting on the floor, back against the wall and legs folded underneath their body with a book open in their lap.

He cautiously hobbled over with the aid of his cane. You glanced up from your book and gave him a soft smile before closing the cover.

“Hello, Spencer Reid.”

“Hi Y/N.”

You pushed yourself up to your feet as you knew Spencer would find it hard to get down to the floor with his injury and tucked the book under your arm. He was looking at you curiously, clearly wanting to speak but not being able to find the words.

You stepped forward and cautiously reached for his wrist, keeping eye contact with him so you could see if he wanted you to stop. He didn’t show any signs of wanting that so you gently rolled up the sleeve of his sweater to display the woven bracelet underneath.

“I told you it wasn’t a dream.”

“I’m still not so sure I’m convinced.” He gripped his cane tightly, feeling slightly overwhelmed by your skin touching his.

“I’m not sure how else I can convince you.” You let go of his wrist and took a step backwards.

“How did you get into my room?”

“Stole some paper clips from my therapist's office. I’ve always been good at picking locks.” You shrugged.

“And how do you know where the cameras are?”

“I’ve been here for nearly four months. It was one of the first things I scoped out.” Again you shrugged.

“I’m scared you’re not real and this will all come crumbling down again.” He shook his head, signing wearily.

“I understand.” You leant back against the shelves. “But I don’t know how to prove to you that I am.”

“Neither do I.” He admitted. “Do you ever feel like you’re just completely bat shit crazy and you’re the only one who doesn’t realise?”

“All the time.” You laughed a little. “Unfortunately that’s the paranoia that comes with heavy drug use.”

“Yeah.” He sighed again. “Which makes me even crazier that I’d still go out and get high right this second if I could.”

“That makes two of us.” You confessed.

“At least I’m not the only one.”

You turned to him, a slight sparkle in your eyes.

“Will you read to me? You have a really calming voice.” You pulled the book out from under your arm and proffered it to him.

“Of course.” He smiled, taking the book from your hand.

He glanced down at the cover and his chest constricted a little as he looked at the very familiar book in his hand.

The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle.

“Something wrong?” You clearly noticed the frown spread across his features.

“No.” He shook his head looking back at you. “Nothings wrong.”

“Can you get on the floor?”

“As long as you help me back up and don’t leave me there.”

“Promise.” You smiled.

You took his hand and it was warm and Spencer had never felt comfort like it. You helped him sit on the floor and he stretched his legs out in front of him. Before he had a chance to open the book, you laid on your back and rested your head in his lap.

Spencer closed his eyes briefly as a million emotions washed over him. He opened them again and focused on the book in his hands and opened it to the first page. He started to read the words out loud and his voice wrapped you in a blanket of tranquillity.

At some point while he read, his hand wandered of its own accord and his fingers threaded into your hair. You hummed at the feeling and nuzzled into his lap.

It had been such a long time since Spencer felt peace like this. And he never wanted it to end.

Taglist

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @ssa-uglywhore27 @tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @dreatine @dr-spencerr-reidd @radtwinkie @drayshadow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @safespacespence @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @dielgonacoffee @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

98 notes · View notes