#How to Enjoy Your Cup of Tea While the World Falls Apart Around You

[thatsbelievable]

#How to Enjoy Your Cup of Tea While the World Falls Apart Around You #tips #tricks #lifehacks #helpful hints #advice #tea #unreality

[charliemwrites]

Nikto's Commandments part 8! (and the first half of the Jealousy Duet).

I'll be honest, I got stuck with this one! For some reason I just couldn't get a good flow going and had to try writing this a few different times. I think it shows in the beginning, but I get the rhythm back towards the end.

Also, apologies if there are more errors than usual. I kind of powered through it and am too afraid I'm going to hate it if I try to read it over.

Anyway, please enjoy as always <3 no CWs for this chapter

It’s your first mission since Nikto failed you.

(You may have forgiven him. He’s even accepted that you have, merciful as you are. But that doesn’t change the truth of what happened – that he failed you. That he left your side, and then almost didn’t return. You’ve forbade him from hanging himself with “almost,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the noose around his throat.)

You’re long since healed and recovered under Nikto’s devoted watch. Nurturing may not come naturally to him, but he’d bend himself into any shape for your use. So, he made himself into your caregiver. Weeks of helping you sit up, walk, bathe… until you were back in the gym, right by his side, gritting your teeth through physical therapy.

A scar is all that’s left now, silvery and tender. The only sign that Nikto’s world nearly bled away on dirty concrete. A reminder of his failure, his disgrace. How could he possibly deserve a place at your side, when he couldn’t even protect you? When he thought, for even a moment, that vengeance mattered more than your life?

Still, he returns to your side. Because you told him to, all that time ago. Because he has so much to make up for after everything. And because you haven’t given him leave to be anywhere else.

(He prays that you don’t the only way he knows how. Through meals from his own hand while you grin, nipping at his fingers. Through tea shared from one cup. With fragrant products in your wet hair while you sigh. You haven’t told him he could be anywhere else, beckoning him into a bed bigger than the one on base, still tucking in close like one of you might fall off the edge.)

It’s not that he thinks you incapable now. He would never blaspheme that you are anything other than utterly competent. It’s just that every blink superimposes pools of blood over his vision, a strobe of you near death.

In his most selfish, private thoughts, he imagines taking you away from it all for good. Tucking you away warm and safe in the cathedral of your off-base apartment, where a god belongs, in their own house. He soothes himself on visions of devoting himself to you fully and wishes he were a prophet. But for all you’ve given him, visions of the future are not one of them.

You were eager to return to duty, nearly cornered O’Conor once you got final clearance from the doctors. Nearly shook him down for a new assignment – for the both of you. Even if he had reservations about sending you to duty so soon, an opportunity to keep Nikto and his temper away a little longer was too tempting. (The bruises Nikto left on his throat were long gone, but the memory clearly was not.)

And so here you both are, in the gym of an SAS base, sparring with Task Force 141.

“Oi, lass! Care for a match?”

“Bring it, MacTavish!”

Nikto stands back to observe as you and the sergeant square off.

The 141 has been cooperative, despite previous tensions with KorTac. You, Nikto, and Konig have managed to build a decent working rapport – though most of that work has been yours. Their captain seems to like your friendly personality and straightforward professionalism; their lieutenant has been cordial. But the two sergeants (especially the Scottish one) have taken a liking to you.

“Fuck!”

Nikto jerks as you get taken down on your bad side – no, it’s not your bad side anymore. You’ve fully recovered; he must remember that. Interrupting a sparring match would be unwelcome and unnecessary. Not just overprotective on his part, but disrespectful to you as well, as if he doesn’t think you can hold your own. Still, he balls his hands into fists as you struggle against the sergeant.

At least you’re laughing, breathless and curse laden as it is.

“She is okay, ja?” Konig asks.

Nikto grunts the affirmative, eyes sharp as he watches you knee MacTavish’s side. Good, he thinks proudly as you twist to get on top. You’ve been working tirelessly to improve your groundwork techniques, learning all the different ways you can use your smaller stature against bigger and stronger opponents.

“He is… friendly,” Konig continues.

Another grunt of agreement. Most people are with you. It’s a natural reaction in the face of divinity; to reach out to a smiling god. It worked on Nikto, anyone else would be helpless. It’s just the natural order of things like green grass, blue skies, or gravity.

There’s a pause that starts to prickle the back of Nikto’s mind. Disinterested as he may be in socializing, he understands how it works. A program that runs in his mind – body language, tone, inflection, facial expression. A complex algorithm that computes to emotion, conversation, feeling. It’s just not an equation that applies to him, or that he can apply to himself anymore.

And right now, Konig is trying to imply something. Nikto cuts his eyes to the side, meets Konig’s.

“Too friendly, don’t you think?” he adds.

Nikto snorts and turns back to the match – where you are just tapping out. MacTavish is unwinding his arm from your windpipe. You’re sat between his legs, back to his chest. A tough position to get out from in a fight. As you’re scooting away, the sergeant pats your hip, leans to say, “good match” in your ear. You shoot him a grin over your shoulder and then push to your feet, sauntering back to your own team.

“Whose turn is it?” you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

You don’t see MacTavish’s eyes darting up and down your body, zeroing in on the sliver of skin revealed by your lifted shirt. But Nikto does.

“Mine,” Konig answers, stepping forward.

You smile at him, bump fists with him. “Kick his ass for me, yeah?”

“Ja.”

He shoots Nikto one last, pointed look before stepping onto the mat. But Nikto has no interest in watching his match. Not when you’re right in front of him, a sheepish look on your face.

“I can’t believe I lost like that,” you groan. “Guess I need more practice.”

“We will practice,” he promises.

You beam and knock the back of your hand gently against his.

Like an insidious weed, Konig’s observation takes root and sprouts. Sergeant MacTavish’s friendliness.

It’s almost like Nikto is hallucinating again – or perhaps that he has just stopped. A veil pulled away from his eyes. A creature camouflaged in the brush, his eyes skipping over the landscape until an irregularity in the pattern was pointed out to him. And now he cannot stop seeing it.

MacTavish saying hello to you first every morning, asking how you slept with a twinkle in his eye. He offers to accompany you to training sessions, often chooses you first for cross-team drills. In downtime, he’ll invite you to socialize (with the rest of the 141, sure) and always save you a seat or a spot. Usually right next to him.

And it is not that he doesn’t acknowledge Nikto or Konig. He is amicable with both, works well with either of them when paired up. But there is always a tilt to his mouth when he speaks to you, a lilt to his voice. A subtle incline to his shoulders that makes every interaction seem just that slightest bit intimate.

A week into the assignment, and he is touching you freely. First a hand tapping elbow or shoulder. Then an arm around the back of your neck. Platonic, commiserating. Within a day, that arm drops to your shoulders and he’s leaning the side of his head against yours, something a bit warmer than a hug.

One morning, he scoops you up in a hug, your toes nearly off the ground. You seem surprised, reciprocate with a pat to the back before you’re set down and offered a chair.

And the sparring… the sparring gets worse. Not just an exchange of blows and a chance to improve skills with a new partner anymore. It’s become a game of teasing you, joking with you. Tagging you with hits to coax you into going after him. Wrestling with you on the ground and dragging it out while he grunts and huffs against you.

And Nikto… Nikto burns.

This is not hell, he knows; but maybe this is some form of purgatory.

He has no place, no right to suffer. Knows that trying to claim you as his own would be like trying to cage the sun. It wouldn’t just be selfish; it would be heresy. You’ve already given him a miracle; you told him you love him. That is far beyond anything he could deserve, anything he could hope or dream or long for. To take after all that, to demand more of the time, attention, energy you pour into him like holy water…

And yet.

And yet he wants to claw his skin off when MacTavish winks at you. Wants to set the world on fire when that accent purrs “bonnie” or “hen” at you. An awful, deafening static scream fills the fractures of his mind when you smile at the sergeant, when you wish him a good morning or evening.

“How are you with a sniper, hen?” MacTavish asks one day.

You hum, glance over at Nikto. He’s been training you with his own rifle for months now – though it’s obviously been on pause since your injury. “Well, I’ve been working on it, but I definitely need some improvement.”

MacTavish crosses his arms, biceps bulging against the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers, if you want to come down to the range with me some time. Promise I’m a good teacher.”

You blink, hesitate. Then lightly, “Yeah, maybe!”

Nikto can’t hang himself on an “almost,” but he’s gutted on a “maybe.”

That night you come out of the bathroom frowning. There’s a furrow between your brows that you only get when you’re both frustrated and worried; if it stays, you’ll have a headache within the hour.

“Nikto?”

He glances up from the knives he’s polishing. You stop, eyes darting all over him, towel frozen in your hand.

“Hm?” he prompts.

You don’t answer. Instead, drop the towel carelessly on the floor and stride across the room. Towards him. He only just manages to shove his equipment out of the way by the time you reach him. And you don’t stop, climbing onto the hard desk chair he’s in, straddling his lap. Your fingers curl so tight in his chest straps that he can hear them creak.

He’s trapped as much by your gaze as your weight. Something swimming in the pools of your irises that he hasn’t seen in them before. Doesn’t know how to name or how to tame.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He jerks back in surprise, but you’ve got a solid grip and there’s nowhere to go.

“Did I… do something?” you ask. “Or… or not do something?”

He stares. “What?” he asks, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still darting between his, like you’ll find answers playing peekaboo between them.

“You haven’t been right the past few days. Maybe even a week,” you explain. “I’ve been giving you space to tell me, but you won’t. And I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you, but please just talk to me.”

Now his brows furrow. “I haven’t been…?”

You sit back a bit, assured that you have his attention – as if that isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re not eating the same. Didn’t even take the green beans I put aside for you,” you say. “You’re not sharing my tea or letting me wrap your hands. You keep leaving for a smoke in the middle of the night. Hell, you’re wearing your mask in our room.”

It dawns on him like apocalypse. That he has been worrying you, affecting you.

“And you’re not… you’re not talking to me.” Your white-knuckled grip eases a bit as you run out of steam, sadness tinging your expression. “I know we don’t talk the normal way but… I haven’t been able to read you. You won’t look me in the eye or press our legs together. You’re even pulling away in your sleep.”

His heart is trying to claw out of his ribcage, wants to crawl into the palm you press to his chest.

“So… if I’m doing something or not doing something… you can tell me. I promise I won’t be upset. I just miss you.”

He crumbles.

Weeks under torture, but he breaks at four words.

You gasp as he rips the gear off his face. Try to help, but he just pushes your hands away. Knows he’s aggravated the old wounds, but a balm is at hand, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“моя любовь,” he whispers fervently. “моя надежда. моя богиня.”

You curl around him instantly, arms around his shoulders, fingers fluffing through the fuzz of hair at the back of his skull. Gentle and kind and everything that sinners and saints would fall on their swords for. And yet all you ask of him is to speak, to confess.

“I fear,” he rasps into your skin.

“Fear what?” you ask.

He is your protector, your disciple. Yours to command, to damn, to sacrifice if you so wished – and he would gladly spill his corroded innards at your feet, careful not to bloody your shoes. And he fears that you won’t ask him to.

“You are not mine, but I fear losing you,” he admits. You suck in a breath, arms tightening around him. “If not to MacTavish, then to the world. I will be left here without you again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as the scars sear all over again, crushes his crooked nose against your collarbone.

“I am yours,” he whispers, lungs burning, “and I cannot be that if you are gone.”

You shift, pressing closer, tighter. Lay your cheek on his head and squeeze him so tightly he wonders if you’re not inviting him inside your ribcage.

“I thought you understood,” you whisper, and even that cracks with emotion. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear. I thought you knew…”

You urge him back. He wants to resist. Wants to stay right there in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the soap you two share, basking in your warmth. But you are bidding him to do something, and he is a weak man to your command.

Your eyes are shiny, but there’s a smile on your face when you look at him.

“You’re mine,” you assure him, “you will always be mine. I will never turn you away.”

His eyes flutter with relief. Always. He has no business questioning the truth of that. You’ve said it; it is so.

“I’m yours too, Nikto.”

His eyes snap open again, but you hold him still, hold him right there.

“Our love isn’t a cross for you to bear,” you murmur. “I belong to you the same way – the exact same way – that you are mine.”

“I don’t—”

“You remember what I told you in that car all those months ago?”

Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.

Your word is genesis. It is revelation. It is creed and commandment, redemption and atonement.

You’ve said it; it is so.

“Here.”

You snatch a pad of black ink from one of the desk drawers, grab at one of his useless, hovering hands.

“What are you—”

You smear his bare fingertips across the damp pad. Then press them to your forearm. He jerks his hand back, but it’s too late. His smudged fingerprints stain your skin in inky little pools. When he looks up at you, you’re grinning. Wide and beautiful and so damn proud of yourself.

“C’mon,” you coo. “Do it again.”

He hesitates. But his eyes are drawn back to his fingerprints on your skin. His mind echoes with your declaration.

You are his. You are his.

To deny you this, to deny your belonging, would be beyond blasphemy. Beyond sin.

You have said it; it is so. You. Are. His.

You beam as he takes the inkpad and gets his fingers wet again. Begins leaving marks all over you. Along your arms, over your collarbone. Lean back to get palm prints on your thighs. Sits you on the desk to smear lines up your calves. You even tug your shirt up, giggling all the while, so that he can mark up your stomach.

He pauses at the gunshot. Places his blackened thumb over the entry scar. Pulls it away to see the whorls of his fingerprint covering it.

You soften, kind hands cupping his jaw and guiding him up. Up and up… until your plush lips are slotted against his. His own stained hands land on your hips – likely ruining your little sleep shorts – and pull you as close as he can get you. Infusing himself with the taste of you, of your love, of your belonging.

“Yours,” you murmur against his mangled mouth.

“Yours,” he repeats.

The next day, you walk into the mess hall with Nikto’s fingers hooked into your belt loops. There’s a single black smudge on your jaw.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #nikto's commandments

[persphonesorchid]

Backyard Boy - JJK

Summary: Jungkook loves you, he won't tell you now, but maybe someday. Right now, he's just gonna look after you.

Genre: Fluff, a little angst, unrequited (?) love, best friend to if we wait a moment we'll get there au.

Warnings: Just that Jungkook refuses to let anything destroy his precious friendship with you.

Word count: 1.3k

See my other works: Here :)

Notes: Requested by @euphoricfilter thank you so much for requesting Darling!! I'm sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoy it!

Loving you is as easy as breathing.

The easy rise and fall of an automatic motion, cresting like a wave and falling like a sigh.

Childlike, the excitement of stomping in puddles in a downpour not caring if you’ll catch a cold.

A lukewarm cup of tea on a spring morning, basking in the rising sun and the calls of the city.

Jungkook loved you as a friend at first, because he’s cautious, wears his heart on his sleeve but not for anyone to hold. Until you came with your sunshine smile and starlit eyes.

It took a long while to get here, through the random run-ins and the shy hellos. Through late night calls, texts in the same minute and shared friend group gatherings.

Sometimes Jungkook was a little scared, that at some point it’ll all shatter like glass and that glass would become sand and blow away.

Sometimes, he wants more than what you give him. When he says ‘I love you’ at the end of a phone call, a text or in parting, you reply in kind, automatically. Because you’re his best friend and he’s yours. You’re supposed to love each other.

He doesn’t mean it like that, not in the way he knows that you think. He loves you, he just doesn’t think you understand it yet.

He knew when he realized that he’d drop everything and come running even if you were halfway across the world; he’d find a way. He’ll pull the stars from the sky if you wanted, he’d walk on hot coals to reach you – and that sounds extreme, but it’s how he feels and drawing that picture barely measures up.

He chuckles at this now, because he’s standing in a soup shop waiting for your order. A plastic bag hanging from his wrist filled with whatever medication the pharmacist recommended. He even called your boss for you. When he found you nursing a headache with a too high temperature he thought it was for the best.

When he got your food, he walked as quickly as his legs could carry him back to your apartment.

It was as quiet as he left it – you’ve probably crawled back into bed after camping out on your couch all morning.

Jungkook slips out of his shoes and into his designated house slippers, and to your kitchen to get a tray and utensils.

When he gets to your bedroom, you’re wrapped up in the sheets even though he’d told you not to bundle up. He’s not even sure where your head’s at.

“Hey, I got you medicine, and you have to eat before you take any of it.” Jungkook says, feeling as though you’re not really listening, though he supposes it’s because he’s talking to a you shaped lump.

The lump lets out a groan and shifts, sheets rustling with the movement of your hands, and tired eyes peak out from under it.

“Can you sit up? You need to eat this before I give you anything.” He motions at the tray in his hands with the tilt of his chin.

“What’s it?” Your voice is a bit rough and he guesses that your sore throat has gotten worse since he left thirty minutes ago.

“Soup. Got it from the place you like.” He sets the tray down on your nightstand, after shifting around the box of tissues and the unopened bottle of water he gave you to drink. “I told you to drink the water.”

“It hurts my throat.”

“You have to stay hydrated.” Jungkook sighs, helping you sit up, propping a pillow behind your back. Setting the tray on your lap he pops the styrofoam lid off, “Eat as much as you can okay? I’ll be right back.”

He goes off to your bathroom, letting the tub fill up with warm water while he thinks.

He wonders if you know, if somehow you’ve picked up on it. He tries to be careful, tries to not let it show too much. You know him well enough to know that his advances are the way they always were; Jungkook has never acted any different.

He cares a lot and he’s always been caring, even when he and you were just friends he’s been nothing more than he is. When you both became best friends he stayed the same.

His friends think otherwise, they know, he knows, and you don’t seem to. Jungkook thinks he prefers it that way, he’s not too big on changes. Changes are scary, big changes are a nightmare; Jungkook doesn’t want things to change. Telling you anything will change everything.

He’s standing in the middle of a three-way street. The one straight ahead is the road where everything stays the same, you’ll go on none the wiser and he’ll remain just your best friend. The one leading right, he’s not too certain of, and it’s the same on the left.

He can pick any of them, he knows that one of them would probably lead a good way, and you and him can be happy despite the change and he’d realize that nothing really changed at all. Or, the other one, well, that could ruin everything. He can go there and pull his own heart out of his chest in the process.

He likes where he is now, hovering in the uncertain and not sure where to go. At least, if he stands still enough, everything would stay still, too.

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head as though it would clear the thoughts from it and send them out his ears. He shuts the tap off when the water is high enough and turns, startled to find you right behind him.

“Fuc-Y/n.”

You peek around him, pointing at the bathtub, “That’s for me?”

“No, it’s for Jimin.”

“Minnie’s here?” The sarcasm flies completely over your head, you turn a little too quickly and stumble a bit.

“He’s not...has the fever gone to your head?” He chuckles as he steadies you, he turns you back around and checks to be sure. It’s gone down but not completely broken, and Jungkook sits you down on the closed lid of the toilet. “Did you finish eating?”

You shake your head, but it’s not like he expected otherwise. “did you take anything from the bag I bought?”

“Just the cough syrup, and I’m sleepy now.”

“It’ll be best if you sleep, but get in there for now and I’ll get you some clothes, yeah?” He reaches for the cabinet next to the mirror, setting the bath oils on the counter, “Want me to put these in for you?”

“I got it, Kook.” There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips and Jungkook leaves you be.

Going through your closet, Jungkook isn’t shocked to find some of his clothes in there. Though, some of them are sweaters he didn’t even realize he was missing.

He picks the warmest of them out and sweatpants he knows would be big on you – your skin’s easily irritated by materials when you’re sick; he’d rather not have you feeling miserable on top of your cold.

Afterwards, he lugs some light sheets out to the living room and dumps them on the couch. He turns the TV on and waits until you’re done in the bathroom.

When you come out into the living room, wearing his clothes and carrying the bag he brought he makes room for you on the couch.

You curl up with your head against his thigh, pulling the sheet up to your chin. “You’ll get sick too, you know.”

Jungkook shrugs because it doesn’t really matter if he does, he just wants to look after you. “Won’t be the first time.”

You pull his arm underneath the sheet to play with his fingers, where it’s almost too warm, but Jungkook doesn’t mind.

“Thanks for looking after me,” you murmur, and Jungkook could tell you were already halfway asleep. “I love you.”

He doesn’t hesitate, “I love you, too.”

Tagging: @xpeachesncream @eoieopda @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @nabiolive @luaspersona @dontstoptime @allhobbitstoisengard

#persphonesorchid #Fic: Backyard Boy #jungkook #jeon jeongkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts fic #bts fic recs #jungkook fic #jungkook fic recs #best friend au #best friend to lovers #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

[yaboyhoney]

I saw you write cyrus?Could you write cyrus x male reader smut your writing is GOOD (keep it up)👍

Cyrus x Male Reader SMUT minors DNI

If there was something you really loved doing, it was making Cyrus your little slut.

That cold calculated demeanor he shows to everyone is pretty normal. You joke that he came into this world with a permanent scowl on his face. He scoffs and turns his head away from you, but entices you by offering a cup of tea. Cyrus is definitely a weird guy. Came flying down from a portal from who knows where and kinda...hasn't left you since. He always leaves for a while, but comes back like a stray but loyal Meowth.

Cyrus tries to control himself. He can be stronger than this. But he can't get enough of you, the way he feels when you fuck him. It's just too addicting. His former devoted life to creating a new world made him celibate, thinking it was impure. But now that he's been fucked good and properly, the thoughts of you fucking him was plaguing his mind. The tea is left forgotten by the porch as you two get situated back inside. He's sitting on your lap, grinding his tented pants against yours as he kisses you hungrily. Cyrus was never a man of words when you had sex with him, usually prompting with gestures and cues instead to convey his hunger. Getting impatient, Cyrus gets on his knees and unzips your pants and belt, your cock hardens as it hits the cold air, rising to its half length, but soon it's rewarded by Cyrus's warm and wet mouth. He starts by licking from the base to the tip, before swirling the head of your cock with his tongue in slow, deliberate swirls. Your cock swells and hardens as he presses a kiss to it, before diving in at a modest pace. His mouth is great but his ass is even better, with how tightly his body tries to milk you. But this time he insisted on treating you so you get to enjoy yourself a blowjob from your blue haired whore. It doesn't take long for your dick to get hard at its full length, Cyrus tries to take more of it, relaxing his jaw properly and breathing through his nose before he's able to kiss your crotch as he deep throats you, his lips meeting your base. He does this again, going as far as he can to deep throat you but you can't help yourself, you buck your hips into his mouth and he lets out a loud, gurgled moan. Cyrus tries to pull his head back, to protest that he was in charge, but you took hold of his head and pressed him all the way down, reminding him who was in charge. His eyes roll back when you do this, the usually stoic man completely unable to control his emotions. You pull him off to let him breath and he sits there on his knees, letting out gasping moans. You purse your lips as you wipe away one of his tears, asking if Puppy had enough. He closes his mouth and shakes his head immediately, looking at you with big begging eyes. Before you could say more, Cyrus immediately begins to strip, taking off his pants and pressing your shoulders back onto the sofa. He struggles for a moment in getting the butt plug out of him but once he does he's primed and ready for you, just waiting to be fucked. He lubes your cock as you finger his ass, just to make sure. He then turns around before pressing your fucking fat cock into him, you don't meet any resistance but it's still nice, tight, and sweet. So fucking indulgent. He was going at a slow and steady pace, you just get to sit back and enjoy yourself. The sensation of his skin meeting yours when your hips meet, paired with how tight his internal walls were, it was good. it could be better. So you take Cyrus and put him in a new position. With your hands keeping him steady, you pummeled his tight little hole repeatedly, over and over. The usually quiet man falls apart into incoherent moans and begging. This always happens when Cyrus tries to "take charge." You just wrestle your way to be his proper top to fuck him nice and well. With your cock fucking him this hard and fast, it's no surprise that Cyrus gets close to cumming. You can tell with how his voice gets strained. When he cums, his body milks your cock, but you keep fucking him through his orgasm, not giving him a chance to rest as you aggressively chase your own high. You do happen to have better stamina than Cyrus, so you're expected to be there for a while. At least until you're satisfied.

#cyrus x reader #male reader #smut #pokemon x reader #my writing

[shiftingparadise]

Hello hello. I'm absolutely in love with the idea of attorney Levi x reader anon requested and you wrote it perfectly. May I ask for a part 2 (angst + fluff + smutt/ Levi being a gentle sweetheart to reader)? Levi proposes to reader after months of dating and they finally get married. The pair have an amazing marriage life until they try for a baby multiple times, but each time they fail. Levi takes reader to professional doctor and the reader's world fall apart when he tells her she may not be able to get pregnant, but that's still not for sure and she has to do examination that could be painful for her. Apparently due to the abuse she's been through her uterus was damaged and she can't hold the baby (sorry I'm not medically professional but we can imagine for the sake of our scenario). When Levi sees reader's pain and suffering for months he decides to visit Zeke in prison to beat the shit out of him but he doesn't get arrested for everyone know how crazy Zeke is. In the end they finally manage to have a baby after examinations. A happy and fluffy ending please where Levi and reader have a beautiful baby 💖 Sorry for the long request. Feel free to ignore this.

Thank you, I'm happy you liked the way I wrote it! I hope you like this part as well 😇. Please never apologize, for long requests, I love them!

Hope everyone's having a great day, enjoy reading 🤍✨

Word count: 3191

‘Hey, stop!’, you let your head fall back, softly brushing your temple against Levi’s cheek, ‘I’m trying to make breakfast’. ‘Tch’, Levi let his hands wander across your body, pressing you against the kitchen counter, ‘You’re telling me you aren’t wearing this shirt on purpose?’, he softly pulled up the fabric, letting his digits run over your waist, ‘You know how crazy you drive me when you’re wearing my shirt’. ‘Hm’, you smirked, rubbing your ass against his pants, ‘It’s a shame you have to go to work’. ‘Don’t worry’, he pressed a soft kiss on your shoulder, ‘I’ll take care of you tonight’. ‘Oh right’, you quickly turned around, ‘At what time are we going to dinner again?’, ‘At 7. I’ve bought you a dress, it’s in the bag next to your nightstand’. ‘Again?’, you giggled, ‘I don’t have any more room to put them’. ‘Then we’ll make more room’, Levi cupped your cheeks, ‘I said I was going to treat you like a princess and I have every intention of doing so’. ‘You know that I don’t like it when you spend so much money on me. ‘I know, but I can’t stop myself when I imagine how perfect you’d look in it’, Levi placed a swift kiss on your lips, ‘I’ll see you tonight, okay?’. ‘Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?’, you looked at the food behind you. ‘I’m not hungry, I’m sorry princess’, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll eat yours for lunch then’. ‘Okay’, Levi replied while grabbing his suitcase, ‘Be careful if you decide to go out’, ‘Always’, you smiled at your boyfriend. 

‘Huh?’, you frowned when you could see his black tea sitting on the table, still untouched. Levi never wasted his tea; let alone he’d leave in the morning without having some. 

Levi tried to act as normal as possible, but he never felt more nervous in his life. What if you said no? What if you still didn’t trust him because of what you’d been through? Maybe you weren’t ready for this, maybe you would never be ready for this. It’s not like you ever talked about something like this. It may even be too early, but he didn’t want to waste any more time. The last few months were perfect. Life with you was a dream, something he would never grow tired of. 

---

‘Where are we going?’, you looked out of the car window, enjoying the feeling of Levi’s hand on your thigh. 

‘Levi?’, you frowned when he didn’t respond. 

You’d never seen him like this. His eyes were fixed on the road, brows slightly frowning. Your boyfriend seemed like he was somewhere else, as if he was lost inside his mind. 

‘Is something wrong?’, you moved a little more forward, trying to hide your nerves. ‘W-what? Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong’., he nervously chuckled. 

You decided to let it go for now. even though you knew he was lying. You could always talk to him tomorrow. You didn’t want to ruin the date he’d prepared.  

---

‘I’m so glad we're home’, you let out a giggle, throwing your arms around his neck, ‘You look so handsome in your suit’, And you look stunning in that dress’, Levi replied softly. 

You were clueless. You didn’t know the palms of his hand were sweating, or how fast his heart was beating, … 

‘Y/N’, Levi barely managed to say your name, but he would never forgive himself if he let this moment pass. ‘Hm? What’s wrong?’, you looked confused as your boyfriend got down on one knee. 

Levi tried to look at you, he tried to take in the way your brows were frowning, your lips slightly parted… but he couldn’t. He was scared that you didn’t want this, that you were going to say no. 

‘I know we’ve only been dating for a few months; I know this may seem foolish, but to tell you the truth… I’ve been searching for a ring ever since our first night together. So, if you would do me the honor…’. 

‘H-huh?’, you widened your eyes when you could see him taking a small box out of his pocket, slowly opening it. ‘Will you marry me?’. ‘A-are you…’. 

Now you knew why Levi had been acting somewhat strange the entire day. Knowing him, he’d probably been nervous. 

‘Please’, Levi’s eyes finally met yours, ‘You’re a dream Y/N. I can’t imagine a life without you’. ‘Hm’, you slowly nodded your head, gently holding out your hand. ‘I-is that a yes?’. ‘Hm’, you repeated yourself, trying to hold back tears, ‘Yes’. 

Levi widened his eyes. This was by far the happiest moment in his life. This was the moment everything fell into place, where everything felt right.

---

‘How does it feel?’, Levi’s heavy breathing greeted your earlobes when he pushed into you, sending shivers down your spine. ‘Good’, your eyes rolled back, nails digging into his shoulders. ‘Now you’re completely mine’, Levi proudly smirked, slowly trusting in and out of you. ‘You’ve got no idea how I’ve waited for this moment. You looked so beautiful today’, he mumbled while leaving a small mark on your neck, ‘Did you notice how Erwin looked at you?’, Levi chuckled, ‘He was jealous of me, I could see it in the way he looked at you when you walked down the aisle’. ‘L-levi’, you moaned out his name, ‘Y-yes?’, he let his eyes linger on your breasts. He loved the way they moved along with your body; he didn’t want to go faster. 

‘No’. 

‘N-no?’, you slowly opened one eye, placing your hand on one of your breasts. ‘I’m going to take you how I want to tonight Y/N’. 

You could feel yourself clenching around his member when he spoke those words. You loved it when he got like this, when he took control. Levi usually puts your pleasure before his, and sex with him always feels amazing… But this side of him was a sight you came to love.  

‘Hmpf’, you whimpered when you could feel him turning you around in one swift motion, gently pressing your head into the pillow. ‘Tell me if I’m too rough’, he softly whispered before pressing you harder into the pillow. 

Before you knew it, the hotel room you were staying in was filled with lewd noises. 

‘Fuck’, Levi grunted, softly biting in your shoulder, ‘I can see why Erwin’s jealous. I would be too if someone got married to someone with a body like yours’. 

You could feel Levi’s hand pulling you up by your neck, his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest. 

‘Maybe I need to change that? What if I put a baby in you? Let you walk around with a cute bump?’. 

You completely lost it when his digit rubbed small circles on your nub. 

‘Fuck, you like that, right? Could feel you clenching around me’, ‘M-more’, you whimpered, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach. ‘You got to stop taking your pill then’, Levi’s thrusts got sloppier, ‘It’s no use to breed my sweet, little wife if she’s on the pill’. 

You could feel yourself coming undone around his member at those words.

‘F-fuck’, you let yourself fall forward again, your legs too tired to keep you pressed against his toned chest. ‘G-good girl’, he clenched his jaw at the feeling of you clenching around him, ‘Let’s practice, okay? Going to fill you up, and you’re going to take in as much as possible. Don’t want to see anything going to waste, okay?’. ‘Hm’, you nodded, still high from your orgasm. 

---

‘So? What do you think?’, Levi’s hands were softly massaging your breasts while hot water was streaming over your naked body. ‘About what?’, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. ‘About starting a family’, Levi stopped his movements, now holding you tightly against him, ‘I would love to see you walking around with a cute bump, carrying our baby’. 

You never thought Levi was serious about it. You just assumed it was some love-drunken sex talk. 

‘I’ve never thought about it’, you turned around, looking at the sparkling diamond around your finger, ‘But I want everything with you, Levi. Just like you said, I want the whole package’. ‘A-are were going to try then?’, Levi tried to hide his excitement, but he’d been dreaming about seeing you pregnant with his child. ‘Let’s try’, you smiled at him, softly brushing through his wet hair. 

Levi didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. So he just picked you up, nestling his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, hoping the water would mask his tears. You’d given him a life that was more than perfect, as if it was a dream. 

---

‘Y/N?’, Levi softly pushed open the door to his bathroom.  

His heart shattered at the sight of you crying on the ground, your legs pressed against your chest. 

‘Hey it’s okay, we’ll just keep trying’, he kneeled before you, cupping your cheeks. ‘We’ve been trying so long’, you sobbed, ‘I can’t give you what you want, there’s something wrong with me’. ‘Don’t say that’, Levi tried to sound strong, but he was worried too. ‘What kind of woman am I if I can’t even give you a family’, you pushed his hands away, getting up from the ground, ‘I’m worthless’. 

Levi wanted to comfort you, but when he tried to hold you back, you broke free from his grip and ran to the bedroom, closing the door behind you. 

‘Don’t do this’, Levi placed his hands on the door, ‘Don’t push me away like this’. ‘Leave me alone’, you placed your hands in your hair, back pressed against the door. ‘Y/N, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but even if we won’t be able to have a kid, I still want you. I won’t leave you, so don’t think for a second you’re not good enough because-‘. 

Levi stopped when he could hear you unlocking the door, signaling him he could come in. 

‘I want to have a family Levi’, you looked into his crescent-shaped eyes when he entered, ‘I want to see you holding our child, want to see you smile at me, telling me how much you love us, … ‘. ‘Ssh’, Levi tried to comfort you, pulling you in for a hug, ‘Let’s go to a doctor, okay? I’m worried about you’. ‘A-and what if we come to the conclusion I’m unable to have-‘. ‘Then we just continue to live a happy life, like we were doing’, he smiled while gently stroking your cheek, ‘As long as you’re by my side, as long as you are mine, I’m the happiest man alive Y/N’. 

---

‘Well, everything’s fine with your sperm’, the woman looked at Levi, ‘ So, if it’s okay I would like to run a test for you’, the doctor sweetly smiled at you. ‘Hm’, you lowered your eyes. ‘But it’s not the nicest feeling’, the doctor looked concerned at you, ‘It’s called a laparoscopy. We’ll be making a small incision in your abdomen to see if anything’s odd. It’s the only option since your ultrasound seemed normal’. 

You could feel Levi’s grip tightening on your leg, letting you know you didn’t have to do something like this if you didn’t want to.

‘Okay’, you replied, forcing a smile, ‘I need to know so’, you shrugged your shoulders, ‘I’m fine with it’. 

---

‘Are you sure?’, Levi had been pacing the entire evening, ‘I’m worried’. ‘I need to know’, you lowered your eyes, ‘It’ll be fine, it won’t be the first time someone-‘. 

You stopped your sentence. You didn’t want to be reminded of all the things Zeke’d done to you, nor did you want to remind your husband. 

‘I’ll be fine, now come to bed, please’, you softly smacked on the pillow next to you, ‘Let’s go to sleep’. 

--- 

‘Is there any way you’ve been in some kind of accident?’, the doctor lowered her eyes, ‘It seems like your uterus has some kind of trauma on the left side. It feels to me like you went through some traumatizing experiences…’. ‘W-what are you trying to say?’, you widened your eyes, already dreading the answer. ‘I’m sorry. Your body is unable to carry children’. 

Ever since those words, you went through a haze. You could hear Levi thanking the doctor, you could feel him guiding you to the car, telling you it didn’t matter, that he loved you… but you couldn’t answer. 

‘Y/N?’, Levi grabbed your wrist once you got home, ‘Talk to me’. 

No. 

You didn’t respond, you softly pulled away, locking you up in the bedroom again. You immediately laid down, completely covering yourself underneath the sheets, not even bothering with taking off your shoes. 

‘Fuck!’, you could hear Levi screaming from the kitchen. You never heard him scream before, an empty feeling filled up your chest. 

‘I’ll kill that piece of shit!’, you could hear Levi throwing with something, by the sound of it, probably a plate. 

Levi knew he needed to stay calm, but he was only human. He was so mad, so angry at Zeke for hurting you like that. He’d damaged you for life, even though he was behind bars, he still managed to make you sad, to hurt you in ways no one else could. He was mad that he still had that power over you. 

---

‘Good morning princess’, Levi placed a kiss on your cheek, ‘I’ve made you breakfast’. ‘Hm’, you replied coldly before turning your back towards him. ‘You got to eat’, he said softly while placing the tray of food on the ground, ‘You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning’. 

A couple of months passed, and Levi saw you spiraling into depression. You never smiled, you barely ate, you didn’t get out of bed… Levi had to force you to shower, to go outside with him. He felt so mad, so powerless. He wanted you to be happy, to feel alive, but that piece of shit still managed to make your life miserable. 

‘Let’s go to the park today’, he tried to sound happy, and excited, but you just pulled the sheets over your head, crawling into a little ball. ‘Y/N, please’, Levi clenched his jaw, ‘We can do whatever you want. ‘I want to be a mother’, you closed your eyes, trying to hold back tears, ‘I want to have a family’. ‘Y/N’, Levi gently placed his hand on your shoulder, ‘N-no, this isn’t fair!’, you angrily threw the sheets away, ‘What did I do wrong in my life to deserve this?’. You were standing next to the bed, looking at your husband. 

Levi never saw you like this, so mad, so hurt. He felt lost. 

‘Tell me Levi, what did I do wrong?’, ‘Nothing, you did nothing wrong’, Levi slowly walked towards you. ‘Then why’s this happening to me? I have so much love inside me, and I’ll never be able to give it to our child’. ‘Y/N, calm down, please’, ‘He took everything he could from me’, you closed your eyes, memories flashing before them. ‘Y/N?’, Levi’s voice sounded worried, he could see you were starting to hyperventilate. ‘I feel nothing anymore’, you cried out, your vision blurry, ‘I don’t feel angry, or happy, or even sad, I just feel empty’. ‘We’ll get through this’, Levi forced his arms around your back. He didn’t care that you were kicking him. pushing him away, telling him to leave you. Levi knew you needed him. 

‘You okay?’, Levi slowly pulled away when he could hear your sobs die down, ‘I-I’m fine’, you stumbled towards the bed, tired out from your outburst. 

Within seconds, you’d fallen asleep. Levi looked at you for a couple of minutes, after all, this was the only time you seemed at peace. 

‘I’m sorry’, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, ‘But I have to do this’. 

---

Levi’s heart was beating out of his chest, hands shaking.

‘Inmate 546, there’s the visitor’, he could hear the guard talking to Zeke, pointing at Levi. 

Levi had arranged a meeting with Zeke. He used his status as a famous lawyer to meet Zeke in a private room. 

‘What’s this?’, Zeke smirked before sitting down at the opposite side of the table, ‘You’re already tired of her? You want to know how to make her shut her mouth?’. ‘Shut up’, Levi balled his fists. 

He didn’t even know what he wanted to accomplish by meeting this monster. He just knew he needed to talk to him, to speak his mind.

‘I usually just placed my hand around her throat until she passed out’, Zeke shrugged his shoulders. ‘Tch’, Levi could feel his emotions taking over, tiny drops of blood now falling onto the table at how hard his nails were digging into his skin. 

‘I tried to avoid her pretty face as much as possible, but at some point, that becomes impossible’, Zeke loved every second of this, ‘Have you hit her already? Addicting, isn’t it? She used to drive me crazy with her whimpers, especially when she begged me to stop. That’s when I loved to take her. God, I can feel myself getting hard at the thought-‘. ‘Shut up! Fucking piece of shit’. 

Levi lost control. He couldn’t think straight anymore.

---

‘No’, one of the guards held back his colleague. ‘B-but he’s beating him-‘. ‘He deserves it;’, ‘B-but’, the other tried to protest. ‘Believe me’, the other guard kept looking forward, ‘This guy’s a monster, he deserves this’. 

---

‘H-huh?’, Levi widened his eyes, looking at the blood that was dripping from his hands. ‘Shit, shit, shit’, he quickly got away from Zeke. ‘So this is what it feels like’, Zeke laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. 

Levi quickly opened the door, ready to face the consequences of his actions. 

‘Had a nice visit, sir?’, one of the guards looked at the blood on his suit, ‘We’ll take the inmate back to his cell. Have a nice day’. The guard nodded before signaling his colleague to follow him. 

Levi couldn’t believe what was happening, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He quickly headed back to his car. He needed to hold you, to tell you how much he loved you. 

--- 

‘L-levi?’, you felt scared at the sight of your husband covered in blood. ‘Sorry, thought you were sleeping’, Levi quickly walked to the kitchen sink, trying to wash away the mixture of Zeke’s and his own blood. ‘What happened?’, you rushed over to him, hands inspecting every part of his body, trying to see if he was hurt. ‘It’s nothing’, Levi smiled, ‘I’m going to take a shower, okay?’. ‘You went to see him, right?’, you said softly, a sad look in your eyes. 

Levi didn’t respond, but he knew that was enough to let you know what happened. He felt ashamed that he lost control, but he would do it all over again if he got the chance. 

---

A few weeks passed, and Levi could see some changes in your behavior. You now forced yourself to get up in the morning, to take a walk in the park, to shower by yourself… Even though these things seemed ‘normal’, they’d become strange to you, so seeing you do them by yourself meant the world to your husband. 

‘Huh?’, Levi widened his eyes when you stood naked before him, your hair still wet from the shower you just took. 

Without saying anything, you grabbed the book he was reading and placed it on his nightstand. 

‘Make me feel good’, you whispered while sliding under the covers with him, your hand softly stroking over the thin fabric of his boxers. 

Levi froze. It's been months since he felt your touch, your warmth. It’s not that he didn’t want to make love to you, he just didn’t want to force himself onto you. 

‘Touch me, please’, you softly whispered into his ear, ‘I need you to make me feel good’. 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He was desperate for your touch.

‘O-okay’, Levi tried to stop himself from moaning, but he could come right here and right now just by you stroking your hand over his boxers. 

‘Does this feel nice?’, Levi asked while slowly pumping in and out of your entrance, unsure if you wanted him to have you or just make you come undone around his fingers. 

Nice? You couldn’t help but chuckle. You were going crazy. You needed this, him, his touch. You needed all of him. 

‘W-wait!’, Levi widened his eyes when you suddenly got on top of him, rubbing your slit over his boxers. ‘What?’, you moaned while smiling, already chasing your relief. ‘I-I’m going to come if you keep doing that’, Levi’s fingers were digging into your waist, trying to slow down your movements. ‘Then fuck me already’, you sloppily kissed him while pulling his boxers down a bit. ‘Fuck’, Levi never saw you taking control like this, he didn’t even know how much this would turn him on. 

Within 2 minutes, you were coming undone, his member hitting every right spot inside you. 

‘Y-Y/N’, Levi grunted out, ‘It’s okay’, you kissed him again, ‘You can come, you don’t have to feel bad baby’. 

That was all he needed to hear to paint your velvety walls white with his come. 

‘F-fuck’, he sighed while pulling you close, ‘That felt amazing’. ‘Hm’, you smiled, ‘Let’s go to the park tomorrow, maybe have a picnic?’. 

--- 

Even though it was normal for you to skip a couple of periods, you still bought a pregnancy test. You didn’t know why, you just had the feeling you needed to buy one. 

‘N-no’, you fell onto the ground, tears streaming down your cheek, ‘T-this can’t be’, you placed your hand in front of your mouth. 

‘Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you crying?’, Levi could hear your sobs coming from the bathroom. ‘Levi’, you looked up at your husband who was looking at you confused, ‘I’m pregnant’. ‘W-what?’, Levi’s heart dropped to his stomach. You couldn’t be, right? The doctor said that it was impossible. ‘Look’, you held out the pregnancy test, ‘I’ve done 3 already, they all came out positive’. 

Levi didn’t even try to hold back his tears. He didn’t care. 

You could feel Levi picking you up. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist in response. The two of you didn’t say anything, instead, only soft sobs were exchanged. This was a miracle, the miracle you needed to happen. 

---

‘She’s beautiful’, Levi softly brushed through your hair, unable to keep his eyes from his daughter. She was so tiny, so fragile. ‘She’s perfect’, you looked at your husband, noticing how a soft tear was streaming down his cheek, ‘Want to hold her?’. ‘C-can I?’, Levi widened his eyes, looking at one of the nurses. ‘Of course’, the nurse giggled, ‘I know she seems tiny, but she’s one tough little girl’, she winked at Levi, knowing he was afraid to hurt her. 

Levi could never describe the feeling that rushed over him when he held his little girl for the first time. He was so thankful that you gave him this, this miracle. His life was as perfect as it could be with his 2 girls by his side. 

#levi smut #fanfic #fanfiction #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #levi x reader #aot levi #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi x you #aot x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi attack on titan #levi aot #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #ackerman levi #attack on titan x female reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you

[alumort]

for @lotusfartstwice ^3^

ao3

She wasn’t too fond of Winter, and that wouldn’t change no matter how much time passed. Things around her seemed to be still, unmoving, as if the entire world fell into a deep slumber for a couple of months.

Everything seemed so bare, and the hospital was always busier than usual during the colder season. Still, Sakura never got tired of helping people, but the low temperatures always made her mood fall down.

Though, there was an excuse to remain inside after her hospital shifts, warm and accompanied by her boyfriend whenever he wasn’t on a mission– Lee and her had been sharing an apartment for a couple of months, and it had been the best time of her life.

Her parents would be too nitpicky whenever the two were together back at their home, and his mom… there was a reason he didn’t talk about her at all. It was like an unspoken agreement between them.

Both of them were happy with a space to call their own at last, just big enough for them. And it was perfect.

It was one of those afternoons where they would just snuggle together on the couch, a heavy blanket covering them in order to avoid the coldness. Lee had already finished his training for the day and had changed into more comfortable clothes, so they could just enjoy each other’s warmth without a worry in the world.

Sakura leaned into him and he hugged her silently, closing his eyes to rest at last– she always thought the amount of training he did was too much, but that was the only way her partner had to get stronger. That was something she loved in him; his perseverance had no end, and Lee had become a splendid Jounin in the end.

And she couldn’t be prouder of him. Sakura turned to give her partner a gentle kiss on the lips, which was returned with the same amount of love, though something unexpected surprised her; Lee's bangs tickled her, when that had never been a problem at all.

His last mission had lasted over a month, and he had probably forgotten to take care of his hair between everything that had to be done.

“Your hair has gotten really long. Are you going to ask Gai to cut it again?” she commented, noticing a smile appearing on Lee’s face before he replied.

“Ah– not really. I want to try a new style for a while,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck while talking. “But I am not too sure of what to do with it…”

That was unusual, to say the least. Sakura couldn't remember a time where Lee didn't use his characteristic bowlcut, never changing it at all– but well, that year had brought many new things in their lives. Maybe that's why he was willing to try.

“I could do it for you, if you'd let me,” Sakura suggested, and she could see her boyfriend's eyes sparkle with excitement over the idea, his reply being accompanied by an enthusiastic nod.

“Of course! I am sure you would do an excellent job, my dearest!”

It wasn’t strange he was so excited over the idea, yet the woman found herself feeling joy in her chest with his response. Only then did she leave the warmth of his embrace, making sure to kiss his cheek before going towards the bathroom to look for some things.

With an objective in mind, Sakura went to pick up some hair ties, a comb and her scissors, smiling as she saw Lee had started to prepare some tea for them to drink in the meanwhile. He had even grabbed a towel to put on himself, to make sure the falling hair wouldn’t bother either of them too much.

“Do you have something in mind?” she asked as Lee poured tea on two cups, offering her one without saying anything.

“Well, I am not sure if I told you, but I used to have a big braid when I was in the academy!” he replied with a smile, taking a sip of his beverage before continuing. “I think that might be nice.”

Sakura grabbed her comb and began brushing his hair, making sure it was in a good state before carefully cutting the edges and his fringe, not wanting to cut too much– Lee seemed worried for a moment, though her reassuring smile helped him calm down.

“Shorter?” she asked, staying still until her boyfriend denied with his head, and so the last part of the process began.

Sakura grabbed some hair ties and carefully began braiding part of Lee's hair, always gentle enough as to not make him feel any pain at all– a long time had passed since she had last made braids, so it took her a couple of attempts.

Lee waited patiently, stealing a quick kiss from her when she stood in front of him, making her chuckle in surprise. Sakura kissed his forehead before focusing on her last attempt, which she deemed better than the last four.

“And… it’s done! It looks really good now, let me get you a mirror so you can see yourself!” Sakura said, going to find the item quickly and then extending it towards her boyfriend with a huge smile on her face, proud of her work.

Lee grabbed the mirror and observed his own reflection with curious eyes, while moving his head to see his small braid and the new shape of his hair. For a moment, Sakura felt nervous, instinctively waiting for a negative reaction– until a huge grin appeared on his face, and then he turned to look at his girlfriend again.

“It is awesome, love!” was the first thing he said, leaning towards Sakura for a kiss, which she returned while chuckling. “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… for a moment, I thought you weren’t going to like it,” she admitted, her eyes falling on the ground for a moment before she felt a pair of strong arms wrapping her unexpectedly, though she didn't complain at all.

“Why would you think that, my dearest? You did an excellent job! And you did it with love.”

He was right, yet there still had been some doubt in herself– after all, it was her first time styling someone else's hair, but Lee did seem content with his new look. She couldn’t help it but hug him wordlessly, happy for the results and his eagerness, not really wanting to interrupt the small moment between the two.

From then on, Lee always asked her for help with styling his hair, and he even began helping Sakura whenever she asked him to– they liked to try new styles they saw on magazines and, later on, cellphones and social media. It was like a small ritual the two had developed over the years, something they shared with their kids years in the future, and everyone usually ended up content with the new looks.

(Though, at first, the only haircut Lee knew how to do well was Gai’s characteristic bowlcut… Sakura ended up just shaving it all for a while.)

#sakulee #leesaku #sakura haruno #rock lee #naruto #naruto fanfic #naruto shippuden

[overdecorated-furniture]

Writer Introduction

Greetings, fellow writers of Tumblr! I thought I should introduce myself, as I have been lurking quietly for a while now, and you all seem like excellent writers with interesting projects.

About Me

I’m a teenage English girl, with a passion for history, literature, the odd cosplay, and storytelling. I’ve been making up roleplays with myself since I was small, and my stories have always kept me company.

I’ve grown up reading Shakespeare since I was seven, as well as the more traditional children’s classics, and have since found that my passions lie in fantasy worlds, historical fiction, and detective fiction/murder mysteries, although I like to dabble in all genres if I get the chance.

My WIPs

I am currently in the middle of writing two novels, a short story that has accidentally turned into a novella, and various short stories, flashfiction and any other bits and pieces that take my fancy.

The Jack of Diamonds

This is a historical fiction set in 1890s London, and focuses on the criminal classes, and the anonymity of personal and public life that is so prevalent across Late-Victorian Literature.

The plot centres around a young Aristocrat called Philip Devlin, and the double life he leads as London’s most infamous criminal. It’s still very much half formed, so I can’t be amazingly accurate about everything that’s in it, but it might be your cup of tea if you like:

Close Male Friendships that fall apart unexpectedly.

A strong female character who doesn’t fall in love with the protagonist.

The adventure/mystery style of Conan Doyle and Maurice LeBlanc.

And the inevitable morally grey Venetian of all good stories.

Echoes of Eternity (Working title)

This is a fantasy/folklore work, centred around the Arthurian legends, and has a time travel/time slip element to it. There is also an exploration of power and the damage it causes, as well as how death affects the living.

This is still mostly at a world-building stage, although I have written the odd scene out, so the plot is still fairly nebulous, but it follows the dual paths of a young mage called Amser from Arthurian times, and the story of Rose and Jay Fleetwood, as they attempt to right the wrongs of the past together. This might be up your street if you like:

A Morally Grey protagonist with dubious motives.

The magic of King Arthur and his knights.

Magic systems similar to those used in The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series by Michael Scott.

And randomly angry ghosts leading to time travelling quests

A Monstrous Regiment of Women

This is historical fiction meets fanfiction, with a good helping of biographical info thrown in. It’s set during the Napoleonic Wars, and examines the place of women in that society, the psychological effects of war, and how the Napoleonic Wars shaped Europe.

I Have reimagined Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington as women, Letizia Bonaparte and Francis Wellesley respectively, and have imagined how their lives would look if they had still enlisted in the military. This is probably the most complete of my major WIPs, as all the information and plot is already available in history books, I just need to jig it around. You might like this if you enjoy:

Stories with good depictions of battles in them.

Regency Literature, or pastiches like Johnathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke.

Strong female protagonists acting outside societal norms.

Sweeping story arcs that cover a character in a range of situations and moods.

Other Bits and Pieces

I often write short stories, and most of them end up on my AO3 account. It’s a rather eclectic mix, with a lot of crossovers, but I enjoy writing them a lot. You can find it below:

I am more than up for being sent asks, participating in tag games etc, and love writing socially. I’m also happy to share any tips or prompts I think up, although those will be very sporadic given all my writing to date has been mostly self-governed. Generally speaking I’m somewhat uncomfortable with NSFW type prompts, asks etc, so avoid those if possible.

Finally, I look forward to chatting to you all and sharing my creations. Happy writing everyone!

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers intro #ao3 writer #fantasy writing #historical fiction #mystery fiction #new writers on tumblr #new blog #writer info #my wips

[windwheeler-aster]

CONGRATS ON 250!!!!! Could i get a rose tea with milk art in a white tea cup with some cookies? Thank youuu

for inspiration

summary: while in the middle of work, yae miko drops by on your door step. as much as a pleasent surprise that is, your heart is beating widely as you accept her into your humble abode. perhaps today would be the day you’d finally grow closer to her?

masterlist | event

customers’ order:  two rose teas (yae miko) with milk art, one in a white tea cup (*comforted) and the other in a pink tea cup (*loving looks exchanged). both would like a side of cookies (one bed trope). extra: customer requested fluff

*brewer’s choice, as it was not specified in either order

pairing: yae miko x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is a creative person of some sort (left vague on person), and reader is not traveler

word count: 2,242 words (11 min~)

genre: romance, fluff, confession

format: one shot

warnings: reader being somewhat of a simp and yae being slightly suggestive (if you squint)

a/n: hello, i hope you two don’t mind that i combined both of youre requests together 💖 i really hope you like this, as i had a fun time writing this :) enjoy💖

While droplets of rain trailed down your window, you sat at your desk. You were hunched over it as you dragged a pen across parchment. To the best of your ability, you transported the ideas that popped into your head onto the paper. However, when you pulled away to correct your posture, you only wrinkled your nose in disgust.

You picked up the piece of paper and crumbled it into a ball. Without care, you tossed it over your shoulder. 

C’mon, just do it, you urged yourself, you can do this, remember that no idea is a—

Instead of continuing that thought, you just groaned and fell onto your desk in frustration. No amount of advice is going to help me, you thought, this is hopeless.

Slowly, you turned your gaze to the window next to your desk. Usually whenever your creative energy seemed to run dry, gazing at the scenery helped. However, instead of creatius genius overcoming you, a wave of confusion met you.

Because at your front door was Yae Miko, the woman you secretly pined for. 

Still confused, you watched her. She knocked on your front door, gently. The parasol she clutched tightly had protected her from the rain on her way here. Although, it looked thoroughly soaked through and ready to fall apart at any given moment.

As you gazed at her, Yae looked around your front door. First her eyes glanced over at the front door decor, then to the framing of your windows. Soon, she spotted your shocked face peering at her from the right. You felt your cheeks warm as she offered you a sweet smile, although any smile from her was sweet, and kindly pointed to the door.

She mouthed the word “open” to you, which only prompted you to scramble into action.

As soon as Yae had seen you disappear, she heard the door creak open. She returned her attention forward, and gazed fondly at you.

“Ah, Yae,” you breathed out, “what a… pleasant surprise!”

“Oh, how kind of you,” she murmured in a sweet as honey tone. But then she cleared her throat. “Did you remember I was coming for tea today?”

“Yes?”

She narrowed her eyes. 

“Okay, so I may have forgotten,” you relented. “Could you forgive me for my poor memory?”

“Only when we have some tea,” she smirked. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

“Deal.”

She raised her brow in surprise. “You're sure? I don’t want to bother you if you're busy.”

You could never bother me, Yae. Not when I love you so much that my world practically revolves around you—

You blinked, slowly, and then snapped back to reality. “Of course. I don’t mind at all.”

“So, I may stay for a while? At least until the rain clears?”

You can stay as long as you want. Stay forever. “Yes, now come in, please. You’ll get soaked if you stand on my front step any longer.”

Yae smiled gently, as though it pained her when the apples of her cheeks pushed upwards and closed her eyes. She bowed her head gently as she crept into your humble abode, and you were more than glad that she didn’t hurt herself. 

Once you had closed the door, as well as pushed away those love sick thoughts, Yae regarded you with kind eyes. She smirked when your eyes met, a cute huff leaving her nose.

“You have a wonderful home,” she praised.

“Thank you,” you eyed her dampened hair, the stray raindrops trickling down her face, and the slight shiver she gave. “Let’s get you some tea and blankets. You must be quite chilly after your walk here.”

“I was,” she hummed as you led her to the kitchen. “But your home has such a… warm feeling to it that I can’t help but be warmed to the core.”

You look over your shoulder to see Yae smirk. But then she wrinkled up her nose and turned in the other direction. The cutest of noises graced your ears, albeit muffled by Yae’s elbow.

It was your turn to smirk at her. “You were saying?”

One eye roll and playfully mumbled “don’t even start with me” later, and you both stood in your kitchen. Yae watched in amazement as you worked. At one point, as you had set your kettle over the heat, Yae leaned against the doorway to watch. The subtle creak in the wood made you look up at her, and Yae felt oddly warm inside.

“Could you remind me,” you began, “on why I asked you to come out here?”

Yae laughed. “You genuinely forgot?”

“Well, yeah. Work has been keeping me busy.”

“Ironically, that’s why I’m here.”

You looked up from the kettle and smirked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Yae’s ears flickered, causing the heavy earrings she wore to swing. “You said something about… what was it… oh, right! ‘I need inspiration for my next piece.’”

You almost spluttered as you reached onto the counter for support. “I— I said that?”

She hummed her confirmation. Then she stuck a dramatic pose, bringing one hand to her temple and the other she left to rest on her hip.

“And here I am,” Yae looked at you and winked, and you swore your heart stopped, “ready to inspire, darling.”

For a moment, you were left speechless. But then your tea kettle let out a powerful and drawn out screech, alerting you that the water was ready.

Carefully, you filled two mugs with the boiled water. You put one rose tea packet in each and handed Yae her mug first.

With gentle hands, she slipped her fingers through the handle. Only her middle finger and ring finger rested in the hole, while her index and pinky rested on the top and bottom respectively. Carefully, she brought the mug to her lips. And, while making direct eye contact with you, took a few cautious sips of it.

“Do you feel inspired yet?”

You rolled your eyes as she cackled, the sound burying itself into the crevice of your heart.

“No, not yet,” you replied. “Feeling warm yet?”

“Tea does wonders to warm a person’s soul.”

“But does it do wonders to warm you? Because you’re still dripping all over my floors,” you said after eyeing her. “Let’s get you dried off. I should have some blankets in my room that you can use.”

Before Yae could protest, and before you could realize what you were doing, you grabbed her wrist. Slowly, you guided Yae to your bedroom. Only when you got into the room did you finally release your grip on Yae.

She eyed your bedroom carefully as you rummaged around in the room. “So, why do you need inspiration for this piece?”

“It’s—” you disappeared into the closet, so your voice became muffled, “okay, it’s kind of difficult to explain.”

Yae huffed. “Try me.”

“It’s just been so hard to visualize the scene I need to create,” from within the closet, you examine a seemingly nice blanket until you see a gaping hole in the middle of it. Why do I still have this? “And, uh, sometimes when I’m talking to people I just feel inspired.”

“Hmm,” Yae hummed as she took a small gulp of her tea, “and what is this so-called scene that’s so hard to create?”

“It's… it’s embarrassing.”

“Try me,” she murmured into her cup.

“It’s about a one bed trope scene. More specifically, I’m having some difficulties envisioning a… a loving gaze between two people.”

“You know, as repeated as it is in all the texts I go through,” Yae said off handedly, “it’s a really cute trope, in my own opinion. Not embarrassing, at all.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been pretty stumped when I try to create this scene,” you replied with a huff. “I don’t know why, either.”

“So you called me to the rescue?”

“Yes.”

“And what is this scene, exactly?”

“Well… okay, so these two characters haven’t seen each other in so long. So it doesn’t bother them to share a bed, at first. Until they both clamber into bed, and due to its size, they must cuddle together to get through the night.”

“Sounds sweet,” Yae hummed, “but complicated to put on paper.”

“Yeah. And looking for inspiration from my backyard and front door hasn’t been working like usual, so…”

Yae eyed your bed, and then a bright idea came over her. 

“What if we tried doing it? Like right now?”

You popped your head out of the closet quickly, a flustered expression on your face. “D-do what, Yae?”

“The scene,” she shook her head and muttered, “honest to gods, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Choosing to ignore that snarky remark, you gazed over at your bed. Your cheeks grew warmer as you recalled the scene you were commissioned to make. To even imagine Yae and you enacting it made your chest bloom with warmth.

“Uh, yeah,” you creeped out of the closet. “T-that sounds genius, actually.”

“Thank you, darling, I do try.”

Together, you both settle under the covers of your bed. She set down her tea on your nightside table. Yae lays on your side of the bed, at least when you’re alone it’s your side, while turning to face you with a half lidded gaze. Meanwhile, you are struggling to get comfortable on your side of the bed and completely missing Yae’s looks.

She sighed as she watched. “Uncomfortable?”

“Very,” you gave up with a defeated slump. “I don’t sleep on this side for a reason.”

“Is there anything I could do to help?”

“You’re already being more than enough help, by being my—”

“I meant to make you comfortable, sweetie,” Yae murmured. “I do care about you. You know that, right?”

“O-of course I know that!”

Her lips transformed into somewhere between a smile and smirk. Yae then turned over in bed so she now laid on her back, and slowly patted her chest. A new heat overcame your face as you realized what she was implying.

“Just rest your head here,” she explained.

“I—” you clamped your mouth shut. When in the world would you get another opportunity like this? “Okay, for inspiration.”

She chuckled as you began to gently lay your head on her right breast. “Of course, honey. For inspiration.”

As you laid on her, your restlessness grew. You stiffened up and relaxed periodically, almost as though your muscle contractions were in sync with your breathing. And each time you moved your legs, they kept grazing over hers by accident.

“Darling,” Yae said in a tired tone, “I don’t think we can act out this scene if you’re so restless—”

“No, no, I promise I’ll be good,” you pleaded. “I’m just… I’m so nervous.”

“And why’s that?”

It was as though your mouth had been sealed shut.

“Darling?”

Why does she have to call me that? Does she know how flustered I get when she does? Is that why? Or maybe it’s because she likes—

Soft fingers came up to your chin and tilted it upwards. You now gazed upon Yae’s face, her piercing lavender spheres memorizing your face.

She’s a mind reader, you concluded. 

“Do you like it when I call you darling?” she teased. “Is that why you make me repeat it over and over again?”

“N-no,”

"Then why are you so flustered, dear?"

You tried to move your face back into the crook of her neck, but Yae's hold on your chin was strong. 

"B-because I… I like it?"

A devilish look spread across Yae’s face so quickly you thought she had been possessed. “Oh, you like it? What else do you like?”

You averted your gaze. “Do… Do I really have to say it?”

“C’mon dear,” she urged, “I promise I’ll reward you for your efforts.”

“I… I like you?” you spoke tentively, but then said in a firmer voice, “I really like you, Yae.”

“Good,” she leaned in so her lips ghosted over yours, “because I like you too.”

Despite her suggestive and alluring nature, the kiss was soft and delicate. She put little pressure into it, and instead molded her lips against your own. However, as she tilted her head to the right, the hand that held your chin trailed down until it found its spot on your hip. In between the hands journey, Yae and you broke apart only to fall back onto each other again.

After you both had enough, you laid back onto Yae’s chest. She trailed her fingers softly along your jaw and neck area, earning some screaming from you. But, too tired from her loving already, you didn’t protest much. 

“So, do you feel inspired now?”

You chuckled lightly. “I think so.”

“Well, we can’t be so unsure,” she murmured. She leaned her up and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Hm, better now?”

“Yes,” you mumbled as your eyelids lowered. “Much better.”

“Alright my love, get some rest. You’ve done more than enough to earn it.”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

#wheeler's works #from the lovely anons #wheeler's 250 #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin one shots #yae miko x reader #yae x reader #wheeler's events #romance #fluff #confession

[dang-itshauntedinhere]

I Don't Love You, But I Always Will - Chapter 3

Summary:            

I watched The Exorcist with a friend and spent the entire time staring at Father Karras, so of course we crafted an elaborate story surrounding his and reader's life together. Falling in love with a Jesuit priest and watching his faith fall apart in front of you is not problematic at all actually, and your life in this story will proceed in abject simplicity. (Lies, slander) Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 (You are here) - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Find also on my Ao3

Divider by @racingairplanes

Word Count: 11k

When your life takes an unexpected turn, your world comes crashing down around you - so you find your way home.

TW: Emotional abuse, Miscarriage

Explaining it had been simple, and you’d asked Claire for a reason: you knew she could keep a secret. When she stopped by the house that afternoon to drop it off, she’d been smiling ear to ear - you tried your best to copy her excitement. She handed you the bag, the items concealed thoughtfully under a bag of brown sugar. 

“Thank you so much Claire, I really owe you one,” you said groggily, taking the bag from her outstretched hand. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” You hoped she would accept, you’d been brewing coffee all morning. The smell helped your nausea, but the pots on the stove boiling would seem excessive if you didn’t get rid of some of it. 

“No, no - I’d really love to, but I’ve got to get home, I’ve got ice cream in the car.” She said with a look of disappointment. “How are you feeling though, dear? Do you need anything else?” You shook your head with a smile.

“I’ll be alright,” you said. “I’ll call you.” She nodded, beaming with the joy of holding your secret. “I really don’t know anything yet - not a word, Claire.” She made a motion like she was zipping her mouth shut and turned to walk away, nearly bouncing with every step. 

You started toward the house, clutching the bag against your abdomen, anxiety and nausea rippling through you in cold waves. You listened as her tires crackled against the driveway.

“Oh Y/n?” She shouted from her window, and you looked at her, panicked at her shouting. Please don’t say anything obvious, you prayed, smiling across the lawn at her. “Ginger helps honey - ginger tea!” You nodded, waving as she rolled away. 

Finally in the safety of your home, you leaned against the door, relieved. You’d been sleeping most of the day - throwing up when you had the energy to be up. It had started a couple of days ago - you thought nothing of it at first, assuming it to be flu and moving on with your day. When it seemed to linger, however, you started to get nervous. Something was different. 

You pushed yourself from the door, dizzy for a moment before you could make your way to the kitchen. You set the bag on the counter and reached up to a cabinet. Ginger, huh? You opened the cabinet to search, pushing your way through boxes of tea. When you couldn’t find anything, you settled for peppermint. Mint is supposed to settle your stomach, right? 

You set the kettle on the stove, lifting the nearly empty pots of boiling coffee from the stove, holding your face over the steam for a moment before dumping them into the sink. With a moment of hesitation, you reached into the bag and retrieved two rectangular boxes, turning one over in your hand. With a sigh, you sank to the floor. You read the instructions for the pregnancy test, listening to the kettle rumble quietly behind you. Seems simple enough.

You stayed down there for a while, savoring the cool floor against your bare legs and closing your eyes. I’m sure most women are scared when it happens, you thought. The kettle started to whistle behind you. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound and hoped that it would drown everything out.

—

After wandering the house nervously for the first hour of the test, the nausea creeped back in - enough to drive you back to bed. You crawled under the covers, propping yourself against the headboard. You reached for the book on your side table, opening it to a worn page. Damien had mailed it to you a few weeks ago.

You’d already read through it - in fact it had been a gift to Damien, one where you left notes in the margins in blue ink. You’d been a little surprised when it arrived, but upon opening it, you found the margins were no longer just yours. Your questions and prompts were accompanied now by notes in black, and sometimes pencil, responding. You loved it. It was like a long-distance conversation that you could start at any time. 

The book was a relatively thin paperback copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God, a story that had astounded and captivated you. You weren’t sure how much Damien would enjoy it when you gave it to him - maybe that’s why he found parting with it so easy, you thought with a smile and an eye roll. 

Reading it again however, you found that the notes in the margins increased from a few scattered underlines and responses in the beginning chapters to sentences squeezed between lines, paragraphs wrapping around corners, cluttering any open space. All things considered, the book was nearly illegible in its last pages, but you found you were most excited to reach them. 

Continuing where you had left off, you reached the scene where Logan demands Janie work on the farm along with her work in the house. You’d enjoyed the painful comparison of her role to that of his mule: 

At least a mule can’t resent her place in the world. What an ass.

Haha

Interesting how such a cruel man has such little regard for gender roles. Or more regard?

More. He seems to enjoy the benefits of manhood enough. Perhaps all women are simply doomed

I wonder why a 15-year-old has such limited knowledge of keeping a home? :0

You mean women aren't genetically destined for the kitchen? Someone should have said something

Breaks my heart

Funny how it doesn't break his

An arrow pointed here with the message: Obviously not funny

You breathed a laugh. 

As the book continued, some of the messages were original, crowding around chapter numbers for room. 

I believe she is lucky he is not initially good to her. It might be harder to leave - I consider now that to love is to be held hostage - Too preachy?

I wish I could say men of the church were above all of this, but unfortunately it demands a separation of faith from institution -

The church does not speak on its past in the owning of people - one has to wonder 

Kidney failure: now that is an act of God I can appreciate

The shrill ring of the egg timer echoed in the master bathroom, and you swung your legs over the side of the bed, rushing to stop the noise. You snatched it from the vanity, intentionally keeping your eyes from the tests that were ready on the other side. You set the timer down shakily, and picked one up. 

A dark ring appeared around the bottom of the small tube. You swallowed thickly. You reached for the next one. Another positive. The room seemed to lurch as you sunk to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and holding yourself together as your world fell apart.

You’d told Claire that you weren’t sure, but that if it ended up being positive, you wanted to surprise Chris with the news, so you figured that bought you some time. Besides, you could wait to call her - maybe even tell her they were negative - these were a pretty new invention, after all. 

But you couldn’t fight the panic that set in with reason for long. Your thoughts ran out of control at the thought of having a baby. Of course you’d considered the possibility, it always felt like something that was on the horizon - but that had always been something for later. I guess it’s later now. Your head felt heavy and your throat constricted. What am I going to do? 

You took deep breaths and tried to stay calm. I’m married - this isn’t some crime of passion, it’s what married women are supposed to do. This is what I’m supposed to do. The panic cooled as you pulled together thoughts of your friends with children, thoughts of your students, all the times you’d watched the children during mass - children were wonderful. Of course, children were difficult, dirty, and life-consuming, but they were wonderful. I can work with wonderful, you thought.

A sweet numbness, not quite joy, but not panic either, settled over you. Raising from the floor, you busied yourself with disposing of the evidence, grateful that this bathroom was “yours,” and that Chris used the one down the hall. You would tell Jo at dinner next week, she would know what to do next. Until then, you would convince yourself of the idea. 

A pang of guilt resonated in your mind - Why not tell Chris? He’s my husband, he should be the first to know. You knew already that you couldn’t tell him. Something held you back, and prodding at the feeling sent a shock of fear through you. Not yet. I’ll tell him eventually, you reasoned, pushing the feeling away. Just… not yet.

You wandered back to bed, enjoying a quiet breeze through the open window and sighing in the heat of the afternoon. You sat there for a moment, letting your thoughts go blank. You opened the book again.

He hurts her if she stays, someone new hurts her if she leaves. What would you tell her? 

I submit to the idea that everything happens for a reason - but I think “God’s plan” is often misunderstood. I think God obliges us to the ones we love. This is not love.

—

You were grateful the Martins had agreed to have dinner at your house tonight, it gave you a chance to choose a menu you could stomach. That meant chicken and dumplings. Your recipe was good enough and the heat had subdued with the evening- no one had noticed. It was just as likely no one had questioned your choice at all, despite its simplicity for a family meal. Were you being paranoid? Maybe.

Keeping the secret was surprisingly easy, but nerve-wracking. You wished it wasn’t summer break - going back to work might have helped, but thinking of your students now… also made the secret harder to keep. It had only been about a week since the positive tests. It just didn't feel real yet. It may have been the denial fading, then, that made your heart race as you thought about this recipe. Your mother would make this for you when you were sick. The wave of warmth and nostalgia washed over you as you made quiet conversation. Maybe being a mother wouldn’t be so bad.

Your mind drifted through possible names, through halloween costumes, through swim lessons and birthday parties and singing, through childrens’ books and screaming laughs and splashing in puddles. You thought about all the pictures you’d take, the height marks against the wall, the bright eyes. 

This feeling always left you awash with joy - I guess this is what people are talking about when they say someone’s *glowing.* Lost in thought, you tried to hold on to the feeling, chasing memories you had yet to make.

“Dear?” You felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at Jo, who looked at you with concerned eyes. You shook your head slightly as the feeling flitted away. 

“Sorry, lost in thought,” you said with a smile. Your heart sank slightly as you looked around, suddenly aware. “I’m sorry, did anyone need anything? Oh the jell-o!” You rose slowly at first, then all at once struck by the memory of the orange jell-o setting in the fridge - hopefully not frozen.

You hurried to the fridge, pulling out the mold and slowly turning it onto a plate. The orange surface was maybe a little too stiff, but glassy and cool nonetheless. You sighed with relief. 

“It’s alright,” you called to the dining room, carrying the platter shakily to the table. Chris watched from the table, with a puzzled look on his face. 

“Sorry about that,” you said with a laugh.

“Seems like you’ve been lost in thought a lot lately,” He put a hand on your arm. “What’s going on with you?” You stood there for a moment, face hot in the spotlight. A chill prickled over your skin and you swallowed thickly. You hated being put on the spot, and this was not the time. 

“It’s just that flu lingering.” You smiled and patted his hand. “I always seem to get sick in the summer - good thing work was keeping you out of the house, you might’ve caught it.” You deflected the question, starting to gather empty plates. 

You caught Chris’ expression in the corner of your eye. He seems convinced. Jo joined you in clearing the plates as your husband delved into the gelatin. Retreating to the kitchen with the plates, you wondered if you imagined the sigh you shared, the facade falling. Something about holding a smile like that… It felt like speaking to a particularly anxious student - like trying to get ahead of something. You looked at Jo in the moment you shared in the kitchen, her face blank, eyes tired. What must it be like, staying ahead of him? You returned to the dining room, resolved to keep your joy buried a little deeper.

“-is a pretty broad topic, so there’s a lot to consider. Feels like each time I’m close to completing it, something happens that proves my point just a little bit more, and then I just have to add it.” Chris spoke with serious excitement about his book. You were pretty sure you could pass a philosophy exam with all he’d told you at this point - and that look he would get in his eye, that furrowed brow, that deep patience for questions and discussion - you always thought he was at his best when he was talking about his work. 

“I think it’ll make some waves with the current political climate, I’ve just got to finish it in this lifetime.” He smiled. “Actually, the women’s movement is my current inspiration.”

“Oh?” You asked, genuinely intrigued. Chris had never been one to spend much time outside of his own head, maybe this was a sign of change? He straightened, his eyes bright with the thrill of an audience. 

“Make your speech,” You prompted, scooting forward and shooting him a curious smile. 

“Well, women’s issues and inequalities have been the subject of philosophical debate since men learned to think,” He smiled a little at that. “And what we’re seeing as the women’s movement is a product of everything that has been thought of, decided, and enacted upon women for years. But I would argue that what we perceive as an independent movement of collective thought is rather the work of fate.”

“I think, then, if we work backwards from this conclusion, we find that all of the things these women are protesting, and saying ‘should never have happened,’ were always going to happen. And, that whatever outcome is reached from the movement, if change occurs at all, will have been destined to happen as well,” He continued, gesturing following his words in clear movements. You looked at him with a degree of confusion, nodding for him to go on.

“So, I don’t think we can blame them for questioning it all, but I also think that if change occurs, will it be anything more than the re-packaging of every other social movement that has ever occurred? And to that extent, will it prove to actually change anything? Women are biologically destined for certain events in their lives - and collectively, until now, have never objected to that.” He said it as if it was a fact, but you suddenly found him very opinionated, and a little cold-blooded to reduce the movement to a personal marketing decision, and a futile one at that. Your skin crawled. 

“If we see change, it will have been the product of everything women have never objected to before - think childcare, marriage, preparation of food - ” He looked at his father expectantly. 

“Do we see women, on a mass scale, demanding to be put on the front lines?” he replied, amused.

“Socially, I'd argue that it was always going to happen, but biologically, it was never meant to be. Simple as that. We’ll have to see where it goes, but it’s just another layer of a repeating pattern, and choosing a side is pointless. The pattern was decided on a long time ago - all we can ever do is catch up to it.” He seemed satisfied with that, smiling as he returned to his dessert. Your face flushed with rage, and you watched as your parents-in-law nodded along, understanding. Even Jo seemed convinced. The conversation continued, muffled by a ringing in your ears. Your stomach turned and the room swam around you, like the air above a car on a hot summer day. 

“Excuse me,” you blurted quietly, pushing yourself away from the table and forcing yourself to walk, rather than run to the bathroom. You shut the door with careful silence, breathing ragged breaths through clenched teeth as you crumpled onto the floor. You backed away from the door, your back finding the cool side of the bathtub, mind reeling with a crashing realization. Cold tears dripped silently from your chin.

The feeling at the back of your mind revealed itself in all its snarling glory, the same one that had you hesitating with the thought of having this baby. If I have a daughter, she will grow up to be just like me. Your breaths were tight and fast. He’ll teach her to be a slave to responsibility, to be perfect and quiet, to marry a man who takes everything from her. You pressed a cold hand to your mouth, quieting your broken breaths. If I have a son, he’ll be just like him. He will take him far, far away from me and everything I can teach him. Whoever you are, you are doomed.

All at once, you could see what it had all done to you. Your mind was silent as you rose, slowly turning to the mirror, looking at a person you didn’t recognize. Clothes you didn’t own, hair longer and straighter than yours, dull eyes full of tears and surrounded in dark rings. I am doomed.

—

Big TW for miscarriage here, regulate your reading and proceed with caution.

—

You faced into the fan perched next to your window, relishing in the cool breeze on your brow. The school didn’t have air conditioning, and your room was on the second floor, so the heat was overbearing. The tinny clatter of the highest setting filled the room, white noise you welcomed, drowning out your thoughts. You sighed. It had been two weeks since your realization in the bathroom. Home hadn’t felt right since - you were grateful for the upcoming school year, you could bury yourself in work in the classroom, refusing to think about anything other than ordering finger paints and writing lesson plans.

There were a few other teachers here relatively early, and you had the occasional quick conversation with them as they passed your open door. You wonder if anyone could tell.

You were sorting through slides of animals and places, holding them up to the sun through the blinds and labeling them, when you felt it. Your back slowly tensed, a deep ache spreading through your abdomen. The pain wasn’t so bad, but it made you stop for a moment, and breathe slowly through your nose. The pain subsided. 

You pressed a hand to your back and straightened. This chair is finally catching up to me, you thought. You decided to move to the lounge - where the couches are. You smiled at the thought - and where the ac unit is. You collected the slides, a few piles of work, and your keys, feeling the ache seep in again. You gritted your teeth and left for the lounge, walking slowly. 

Entering the lounge, you sighed in the cool air. Two other women had the same idea, Mrs. Farrow and Claire sat at the round table in the middle of the room, chatting over their work, papers strewn between them. 

“Mind if I join you?” You asked with a smile, unloading your pile on a side table next to a sinking orange couch. You collapsed carefully into the deep cushions, the springs creaking under your weight. “It’s got to be almost 100 degrees up there.” They laughed with you, and you marveled at how Mrs. Farrow’s salt and pepper hair somehow managed to keep its height in the heat, thinking of your own frizzy bun. 

“Dehlia, you’ve got to tell me how you keep your hair looking that good,” you said. She chuckled.

“Honey, I’ve been up on the second floor a lot longer than you have,” she said with a smile. “What took you so long? We’ve been down here for hours.” 

“I have no idea,” you said, leaning your head back onto the arm of the chair, swinging your legs across the couch. “Ah-” You gasped at this new wave, the pain gripping around to your entire abdomen, stealing your breath away. You shut your eyes hard, mouth open in a silent wail. It felt like it held on like that for minutes before it finally let go. You breathed a shaky gasp, static filling your mind as you tried to catch your breath. Panic was starting to set in as the color drained from the room. With a jolt, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder.

“Honey, are you okay?” Claire’s voice ebbed in, ringing. You wanted to nod, to look over and tell her you were fine, that it was just your back hurting, but you were frozen, waiting for the pain to return. Your thoughts were spinning out of control - you barely heard her next words. “Y/n look at me, what’s going on?”

Mrs. Farrow’s face joined Claire’s now, and you pushed out a response.

“M’ okay, just need the bathroom-” You swung your legs over gingerly. I just need to be alone, you thought, trying to put thoughts to words and failing embarrassingly, only stammering. Claire crouched in front of you, hands on your shoulders, keeping you down. Mrs. Farrow pressed a cool hand to your forehead.

“I think you need to lay down,” she said. “You have no color at all!” You shook your head, bracing yourself before standing shakily, the two women moving to support you. They helped drag you to the small attached bathroom while you tried to say something. 

You sunk to the floor, Claire holding your hand as Mrs. Farrow looked down at you, a hand over her mouth. 

“Call Christian, Dehlia, she needs to go to a hospital,” Claire said. Mrs. Farrow nodded, turning to leave the small room, but you reached out, catching the edge of her skirt and holding on as tightly as you could, awake enough now to a single thought, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NONONO-

“No!” you croaked, looking up at her, pleading with every fiber of your being. “No, no, no, he can’t know-” you stopped with a strangled yelp, the pain flooding back around you. All you could do was curl up on the floor, holding your breath and sweating against the dirty green tile. 

You heard her leave the room in a rush, and panic buzzed through you, static filling your ears - I can’t - she can’t- 

You blacked out.

—

You weren’t sure how long those two women stayed with you - hours? All night? You breathed slowly and sipped metallic tap water from a mug, shivering, but conscious. You felt empty with exhaustion. 

Mrs. Farrow leaned against the door frame - the lounge was dark behind her, the yellow glow of a light overhead projecting a halo over her. You almost smiled at the image. You’d gotten to know these women well in the last few hours. She knew what you were going through - the cool dark of her eyes were profoundly sad behind the brave face she wore. She assured you it wasn’t your fault, that sometimes these things happen, but she didn’t tell you to smile. She didn’t tell you to feel better. She didn’t tell you not to cry. 

Claire had been by your side the whole time - your life line. She held onto you and coached you through the worst cramps. She held your hair away from your face when you vomited, listened to your stammering, and distracted you by telling you all about the play she had been to see a few weeks ago - Applause with Lauren Bacall. 

You had all aged a millennia tonight - their eyes were deep and bloodshot, hair frizzy, clothes rumpled and jackets ruined. You almost laughed at the thought of how you probably looked. How can I ever repay them?

You were feeling relatively well for everything that had happened, but the shaky, cold feeling still worried you. You knew you had to go to the hospital - but the idea of leaving the small green bathroom, of leaving Claire and Mrs. Farrow, of telling a doctor everything that had happened, of them seeing- You couldn’t do it. 

“Is-” Claire hesitated to ask you, looking askance before meeting your hollow stare, resolute. “Dear, is there someone we can call?” You looked away and swallowed. You knew you should call Chris. You also knew you wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Maybe…

“You need to go to a doctor, honey.” Mrs. Farrow’s tired voice joined Claire’s pleading look. You nodded slowly.

“Yes,” You said, voice quiet. You had someone you could call.

—

The sun was rising by the time you left the hospital. You were lucky - it was a complete miscarriage, and the doctor let you go with some light pain medicine. Part of you was nervous about some kind of complication, and the pain still radiated through you, but you were grateful to get out of the hospital so quickly. 

Jo helped you into the car carefully, her tidy beige coat draped over your slumped shoulders. She’d been at the school in mere moments - eyes glassy. She only asked a few questions - Claire and Mrs. Farrow helped you answer as you stood slowly. You thought you’d cried every tear in your body - but falling into her tight embrace had you sobbing silently again. She said she was glad you called her. Told you you were so brave. 

You didn’t need to tell her to lie to the doctor when you shuffled into the hospital at around 2am - she drove a little ways out of the city to the next closest emergency room and signed you in as her daughter, explaining that her son-in-law was out of town, and had been informed. You stared ahead blankly through swollen eyes. 

Now, as she drove you home through the rising sun, she asked you if you wanted to go home. 

The question struck you dumb - and remembering your husband lit a violent strike through you. Yes, you begged internally. I want to go home. Away from here. Back to the city. Back to my small apartment, back to my parents, back to smoke and shade and noise and painting and safety. I want to go home. Please. 

“Yes,” you answered. The thought of being in that big, hot house all alone scared you though, and in your streak of relying on her, you asked one more favor. “Jo, I know I’ve asked you for a lot tonight- but…” She looked over at you, expectant. “Could you- would you stay with me? Just for a little while?”

She looked ahead at the road and smiled.

“Of course.” She sniffed. You sighed. 

“Thank you.” You said. 

—

Jo hadn't lied on one account: Chris really was out of town, as he so often was in the summer. Conferences, research, and binge-writing sessions kept him out of the house often. Sometimes he worked from his office, the shrill clunking of the typewriter resonating through the house into the early hours. You were grateful this was not one of those times. 

When you crawled into bed that morning, you wanted to sleep forever. Just… close your eyes and slip away. All you knew was that you didn’t want to do what you had to do next. Your thoughts blurred as you sank into a deep sleep, only barely registering that Jo had crept through to close the blinds. 

When you awoke, sweat clung to you in an oppressive sheen, your sheets sticky. You laid there for a while, thoughts swimming in the heat. You could hear Jo on the phone downstairs, the tall ceilings and ajar door carrying a few words to you. She was talking to Dr. Martin. Telling him you were sick - the flu had come back worse, and you needed to be alone. She was taking care of it. She’d be home later to fix his dinner. 

You pushed yourself away from the cling of the sheets and swung your legs over the side of the bed slowly. The pain had faded now to nothing more than a dull throb, and your hands had stopped their shaking. You looked at the clock on the wall - 6:23pm. 

Jo had placed your medicine next to your bed with a glass of water, the outside dewy in the humid air. You gulped a couple of pills down and finished the glass, gasping. Combing your hands through your hair, you found it tangled and dirty. You stayed like that for a few moments, head in your hands, stealing a moment to enjoy the lack of pain before it washed over you again every few moments.

When Jo walked in with a tray, you looked up, blinking through swollen eyes. 

“You’re awake,” she said with some shock, setting the tray down at the end of the bed and pressing the back of her hand to your temple. “You look a lot better.” You breathed a small smile. 

“Do you think you convinced him? Was he too upset?” you asked suddenly, previously unspoken words now spoken. Something about the last several hours had your mind feeling clear, and frankly, a little blunt. She hesitated for only a moment - you could almost hear the wall come down between you as she sat down on the bed next to you. 

“No… he believed me easily enough,” she answered, quietly. You sat there in silence for a minute. “He- he’s a good man-”

“Jo,” you squeezed her hand. She looked down. 

“It’s my life dear,” she said with a sad smile, sniffing. “He’s my husband. I love him.” You nodded as she turned for the tray by her side, handing you a warm mug of savory-smelling soup. You breathed the salty steam for a moment, your nose running and head loosening a bit with the heat. 

“Oh thank you,” you said, smiling at her over the edge as you took a sip. She watched you, expression lightening. “I think this is the best soup I’ve ever had in my life.”

You stayed like that for a while, making easy conversation and drinking beef and barley soup from a mug, ignoring everything that hurt.

—

You didn’t leave the house for a few days. Jo visited you a few times a day, bringing you meals and passing a few hours by reading, or mindlessly watching television. You couldn’t hold up a conversation very well. Claire and Mrs. Farrow visited once too. They brought you cookies, but you didn’t feel like eating.

You enjoyed the company while it lasted, but it was only a matter of time before they were gone again, a sad look and a gentle touch lingering as they left. The rest of the time you spent in bed, all the shades drawn and a fan pointed in from the window. 

Sometimes you would wander the house, stopping to clean a surface mindlessly until your hands were raw and red. Sometimes you would just… lay on the floor, trying to quiet your mind. Nothing seemed to work. 

Biologically, it was never meant to be. Simple as that. Simple as that, simple as that, simple as that, his words rang in your mind. You felt… hollow. Empty. You didn’t even feel like crying anymore. You didn’t know what to do. It was easier to just sleep.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, you found yourself on the floor of your room, sweating through your clothes. You weren’t sure what time it was - what day is it? Pushing yourself up slowly, you blinked in a stripe of pale sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. 

Rising slowly to your feet, you crept to your unmade bed in the dark and sat on the edge. Biologically it was never meant to be. Simple as that. You looked down at the table. Down at the clock that read 6:31pm. Down at the book you started- before it all. Turning on the bedside lamp with a wince, you opened the worn book to the marked page. 

He hurts her if she stays, someone new hurts her if she leaves. What would you tell her? 

I submit to the idea that everything happens for a reason - but I think “God’s plan” is often misunderstood. I think God obliges us to the ones we love. This is not love.

You looked up from the page - this is not love. And just like that, you decided. It was time to leave. You’d go home. You let your head fall back with a sigh, a few cool tears falling silently. Resolute, you rolled your shoulders around stiffly, cracking your back and taking a quick breath. With your mission clear in mind, you rose to your feet - a bright, flaring will fueling your every move. I have so much work to do, you thought.

With that, you carried yourself to the shower, turning the hot water on before walking back to the bedroom to make the bed. With each step, you told yourself you were a terrible wife. A terrible daughter. A terrible friend. Deceiving, distrustful, guarded, cowardly - a grieving, overreacting mess of a woman. 

As you scrubbed your skin in the scalding water, the thoughts faded to the low, desperate blaze of your fury. You unburied every memory of his condescending speeches, his raised voice, his candy-sweet, biting comments, his lingering, empty touches, his excuses - your fear, your complacency, your blindness - I’ve wasted so much time. 

The cool tile felt like ice through the rolling steam as you stepped out. The relief of your decision had settled easily over you - but each moment you stayed in the house was worse than the last, like realizing you were drowning at the bottom of the ocean, clawing through miles of black, praying that it wasn’t too late. 

Every movement was frantic. The house contorted neatly to its pristine coldness, your two-week notice lay neatly folded in a stark white envelope on the desk, and deep, golden light fell over the house by the late evening. Like you were never there. 

You hadn’t known how to start a letter to Chris - what could you say? You stared at the paper for a long time, lost for words. Everything with him had always been so easy for you before - you always knew what to do, what to say. You’d gladly siphoned away your life and your personhood to him, it just felt like what you were supposed to do. Now - tearing away - you didn’t know where to start.

Cold fear swept in around you then - what will he do when he finds out?

You scribbled out a few weak sentences - I’m going home for a while… Not sure when I’ll be back… I’ll call…I’ll write… You figured that you would at some point, and until then, he would survive. He’s a smart man - he’ll be alright. You couldn’t bear to think about him for another moment - his furrowed brow as he’d read your note, his confusion, his heartbreak. So you folded the note into a peak, and set it squarely on the desk. I refuse to spend another moment on his heart. He never could spare a moment for mine. 

With that, fiery urgency filled you once more, the dark sky like a ticking clock, reminding you he would be back in the morning. You packed in silence, working single-mindedly by the dim light of the lamp. You took only what you needed- only what was beloved. 

Your favorite clothes, most of which were old and dusty at the back of your closet, pushed there years ago. Some money you'd tucked away in a cigar box, your jewelry, some hygiene essentials. The silence of the house echoed, and you worked faster. Important papers, another pair of shoes, drawings and notes from your students. You made sure to bring the book, nestling it among Damien’s letters. Pictures of your family. Scribbled phone numbers and addresses on the back of an empty envelope. A few recipe cards of your mother's. Your two bags were almost full. It was like a bad dream - this is all I have. 

“Y/n?” A small voice called from the dark of the hallway, freezing you in place. Your blood was icy cold as you stared like a deer in headlights, watching with bated breath as Jo stepped into the room, wide-eyed. You didn’t hear her come in. 

She’s here to stop me. She’ll tell Chris, she’ll tell everybody- 

“Please,” was all you managed to say. A tear fell from her eye, a deep frown clear on her face. “I’m sorry-” you choked. I can’t leave her with them, you realized. She’d be all alone. This was the worst doubt you’d felt in hours - you’d stay if it meant she’d be safe. You’d stay if it meant she’d have someone. You’d stay if she asked you to. 

But she didn’t. She let out a shaky sigh and began to help you pack. The relief, the gratitude, the guilt washed over you as you followed suit, tears flooding your vision. 

“You don’t have much time,” she said as she zipped your suitcase closed. You looked up. “The latest bus leaves in an hour. From there you can catch the midnight train out of state.” 

“What-” You sniffed, astounded. “How did you know?”

“I look at the bus schedule every day.” She smiled. “I think about leaving here - every day. Every day.” She shook her head with a broken laugh, smearing a tear away with the back of her hand. You noticed the red bruise forming underneath, barely noticeable under her thick makeup. You were at her side in a moment, gathering her in your arms and sinking to the floor. She shook with quiet, laughing sobs, clinging to you for dear life. 

“Come with me,” You asked, looking bleary-eyed over her. “Please, Jo. You can get out. You can stay with me. You can be free. Please.”  You knew what she would say. She stayed like that for a moment, face buried in your shoulder, not saying a word. Then she drew away from you, smiling with her hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes. You thought it was the saddest thing you’d ever seen. She sighed heavily.

“I’m too old, and too old-fashioned, dear.” She said, slipping back into her familiar resignation. “He can’t go without me- and I can’t go without him.” She sniffed.

“I won’t leave you-” you started to protest.

“You have to. Or you’ll never do it,” she said, gripping you and looking into your eyes with determination. “It’s time.” She smiled again - this one was real. Her face was bright in the deep shadows of the room as she stood. You nodded. 

—

Jo drove you to the bus station in the dark, and you spent the time in terrified silence, watching the red taillights float along outside the window. It had been years since you were alone - what will I do? Where will I go? 

You thought of all of your friends here, the other teachers, the other wives. You thought of Mrs. Farrow and Claire - you thought of Jo. You’d never been alone here, they’d made sure of that. So you thought of your friends who were still in the city, the people who had gotten you through the long nights at school, who had helped you move into your first apartment, who had been there at your wedding. 

You thought of Damien and his mother. No, I can’t - they’ve already done so much for me. You thought about the letters stacked in your suitcase. You knew they would help you, he wouldn’t think twice about it. But you knew his mother was - well, to put it lightly, not doing well. You refused to be a burden to them. I can find something. But… the thought of seeing Damien again was comforting. He was your best friend, and though you felt abysmally guilty for it, you were a little excited. 

You thought of your parents. Of course I could go home - god, I’d love to go home, you thought. Christmas two years ago had been wonderful - everything felt right in that moment, however short it had been. Your parents are retired now, though, and your father spends most of his time taking care of your mother, who had started going blind a few years ago. Regardless, they were in good spirits when you saw them, though you remembered their silence as you told them about Chris and his work - as you told them about the party. They’d been insinuating that they wanted you to come live at home in their letters since. 

But they were on a slim fixed income now. And worse, I hate to even imagine - Chris knew where they lived. If he did come looking for you, he’d look there first. You wanted to avoid that at all costs. You needed somewhere to hide for a few months - somewhere you could restart, where you could heal. 

You thought of Sharon. You hadn’t written to her for a few months now, but from what you remembered, she was living in Georgetown, working as a personal secretary and tutor for a rich Hollywood family living there. She had a boyfriend - but he was in California. She didn’t know anything about what had happened in the last few weeks - and she hated living alone. So, you elected to call Sharon on the first phone you found in the morning. I still don’t like the idea of relying on her until I can find a job, but… I can’t do this alone. 

Having a plan, however uncertain, helped you steady yourself as you stepped out of the car next to the station, hot exhaust collecting in the street as the bus idled in the cool night air. You rushed to load your luggage - the bus would only stay another few minutes.

Reality sunk in fast as you approached the open door, Jo pressing a worn ticket into your hand. Her ticket. You hugged her one more time. Your heart beat fast as your chest grew tight.

“I’ll write-” you said over the engine. “If you ever need me, if you decide to go - I’ll come get you, just say the word- promise you’ll tell me?” She was quiet.

“Promise me!” You looked at her eyes. She looked away for a moment and nodded. 

“Okay.” She took your hands in hers. “Take care of yourself. Please.” She smiled at you. 

“I will.” You stepped back. “I love you. God I don’t know how I can ever thank you-”

“Don’t look back.” She said, holding your gaze, resolute. “I’ll look for your letter - even if you don’t write your name on it, I’ll find it.” You nodded as the brakes hissed - you had to go now. With one last look, you kissed her cheek and rushed to board the bus, avoiding the bloodshot eyes peering over their seats at you, waiting for you to sit down. You found a seat far in the back, and the bus lurched as it began to speed away. You watched her headlights get smaller and smaller as you moved, until they were nothing but pinpricks in the dark. And then you were gone. 

— 

The day was overcast, and a thick fog blanketed the track as Damien ran. With each step, new pavement revealed itself through the mist. Good for losing track of time, he thought. Days like this, he’d run until he couldn’t anymore, and as his steps grew shaky and his breaths stung in the cold air, he decided this lap would be his last. 

Rounding the last corner, he ran a little faster as the steely shine of the bleachers appeared through the fog, along with the distinct form of a person sitting at the far end, watching him. As he got closer, he could make out the soft brown of her long coat and the color of the scarf wrapped casually over her hair. He slowed to a stop with a huff as she stepped down from the bleachers, two paper take away coffee cups in hand. 

It had been about a month since he’d started seeing her in Georgetown again. At first he thought he’d been seeing things - her face among a crowd, a flash of her distinct hair color on the floor of Carol’s station at the salon when he visited, her laugh floating over a sea of voices while he waited in line. Of course he’d always brushed it off - it seemed to be in his nature to see her everywhere, it wasn't the first time.

But when she had appeared in the church, struggling alongside Sister Tallis to lift a long-faded painting from the wall of the south hall, he had frozen in his tracks. Her hair was cut much shorter than he remembered, regaining some of its original shape after having been straightened when he saw her last, a bandana holding it away from her face. 

She wore a tattered, olive green smock with the sleeves rolled up to the bend of her elbows and a pair of boxy jeans rolled up at the cuffs. She’s painting again. As she spoke, her voice was clear and light, and her movements were steady, if a bit hesitant. She seemed like she’d returned to the land of the living, in a manner of speaking. And when she’d looked down the hall to where he stood, she smiled, and despite all her energy and color, he’d noticed a shadow in her eyes - a deep sadness that lurked quietly under her joy. 

After that, you’d started taking walks, getting coffee, eating, and reading together often. You saw each other almost every day - if she didn’t find him, he’d find her. She told him a little about the last few months, but not much. Only that she’d left Chris, and stayed with Sharon for a few weeks before the church hired her to do some restoration work. Along with a few other projects and a slot lecturing art history at the university, she’d made enough for a small apartment nearby. He didn’t push for anymore details - he knew there were things she wasn’t telling him, but he also knew that they hurt enough to have her looking away, knuckles white and voice growing quiet. He didn’t mind. He was just glad to have his friend back. 

He did find however, that he hit a lot harder in practice when he imagined the bag with Christian Martin’s face.

“Almost didn’t see you in the fog. Good run?” She asked, handing him one of the cups. He looked down at it. 

“Is this water?” He asked, a little disappointed. She laughed.

“I read somewhere that coffee dehydrates you!” she said. He took a long drink, emptying the cup quickly. 

“I know that,” he said as you started to walk. I needed that - but she doesn’t need to know. He feigned a deep frown. 

“Pfff-” She set the full cup into the empty one he held, the familiar bitter smell of black coffee drifting up from the dark drink. “You know I don’t like coffee.” She smiled. 

“Hm.” his frown broke into a small smile as he took a short drink. She took his arm, as usual. “If this was a scheme to get me to buy you a tea, it’s working.” She smiled mischievously, not meeting his eyes. He drank the coffee slowly as you walked, listening as she talked about her work on the towering painting that hung in the sanctuary, and her anxiety in working on such a tall ladder. 

“I can hold it for you if you like,” Damien offered. She sighed. 

“Not for hours at a time you can’t,” she said with a laugh, looking up at him. “I’d appreciate it if you made sure I have white flowers at my funeral, though.” He knew it was a joke, but he pulled her a little closer nonetheless. 

He hadn’t told her this, but those two years since seeing her at Christmas had been… terrifying. He kept thinking of how miserable she looked, of how ragged her voice was, how tattered and calloused her hands had been. He didn’t know if Chris had ever hit her, but he knew enough to gather that he was something of a narcissist, and that he was, at the least, emotionally abusive.

The thought of letting her go back to him, once he’d held her in his arms at the station - he almost couldn’t let go. But she loved him. And she could take care of herself. So he resigned himself to writing her letters whenever he could, and praying. When he stopped hearing from her out of the blue two months ago, he'd assumed the worst. 

He’d sit awake in his room, imagining that Chris had forbidden her from writing to him, that Chris had taken her somewhere farther away where he’d never see you again, that Chris had finally hurt her- he didn’t know what to do. 

So he waited, and prayed that she was safe. Somewhere along the line, he started to pray that she would leave him. That she would come home. He knew that God didn’t work that way - but asked all the same. And here she was.

—

Damien loved to watch her paint. Restore, he could hear her say, telling him for the 100th time - she was painting all the same. She stuck out her tongue when she was really focused, and wore thick glasses that he assumed gave her a closer look at the finer details. Every movement was so slow and controlled, it barely looked like she was moving at all. But gradually, she could bring a painting back from the dead - push new life and color into once dusty faces, and bring out details that were once unnoticeable. It was like magic.

“Father Karras.” A voice called behind him. He turned to find Father Hale walking towards him, hands behind his back.

“Father Hale,” Damien greeted him in a civil tone. Some part of him found it strange that she would have an audience of anyone other than him - besides, Father Hale carried with him everywhere an obtrusive piousness that seemed to drown any interesting conversation. He was pretty sure the man had no inkling of his dislike, however, and preferred to keep it that way. “Good to see St. Michael is getting a makeover, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He stopped beside him, watching her work for a moment, before looking over at Damien. “May I… have a word with you, Father?” 

Damien looked over at him, puzzled, but nodded. Father Hale turned to walk down the hall as Damien followed. They walked until they reached the far end of the hall, turning into an office. Father Hale shut the door behind them.

“What can I do for you?” Damien asked, trying to hide his annoyance. Father Hale’s voice was condescending in tone as he spoke. 

“I’m worried about you Karras, that’s all,” his face showed genuine concern. Damien held back a scoff.

“Go on,” Damien said.

“It’s been good to see you in better spirits since Mrs. Martin joined us,” He said. Damien shot him a dark look. Don’t call her that, he thought. He suddenly didn’t care about whatever Hale said next, but he stayed silent despite himself.

“But I’ve noticed you together outside this church-” he said, looking out the window to the street. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Karras.” He looked at him, all at once serious. Damien was furious - what is he insinuating?

“She’s a friend - what are you trying to say?” Damien raised his voice. Hale stepped toward him, undeterred.

“You’re young,” he said, stern. “She’s married, and you have taken an oath to serve our lord in poverty, obedience, and chastity. What else is the church meant to assume, with her parading you about like a-” Damien closed the distance between them in a moment, towering over Hale and gripping his collar in his fist.

“What? Like what, Hale?” He wanted him to say it. To call her whatever he was going to call her so he could make sure he knew he couldn’t get away with saying it. All he could hear was his pulse roaring in his ears, grateful now for the closed door. Hale paled - stammering. He held his gaze like that for a moment, daring him to say something. The man seemed to steel himself then, pushing Damien away in a huff, a bead of sweat formed on his broad forehead. 

As the roaring in his ears died down, he watched as Hale straightened his collar with a huff. 

“I won’t listen to this for another moment. How dare you doubt my vows?” Damien shook as he spoke, breathing even. He knew, deep down, he couldn’t do anything. Hale always had the Bishop’s ear - and she’d despise him if he ever hurt anyone in her name. He took a deep breath. “Good day, Father Hale.” 

Hale held his eyes, furious, but too intimidated to stop him as he slammed the door behind him. 

Damien had never made an enemy like that before in the church - he wasn’t sure if it would mean anything - but Hale's words had found their target. He thought of his vows for a moment, and of her-

He stopped. He could see the ladder standing empty in the sanctuary, and as he walked closer, her palate and the thick glasses lay on the floor - paint splattered as if she’d dropped it. He walked faster.

“Y/n?” He called, fear rising in his chest.

She’d stepped in the paint - a trail of yellow-tan paint leading a patchy trail to the side hall. Snatching his coat from where it lay over a pew, he rushed to follow it to the courtyard door. 

—

You were focused on a shadow. The shadow under St. Michael’s chin to be exact - it had long since lost its darkness, and you needed to bring it out - softly. Times like these, you wondered how Raphael managed such soft shadows with such clear contrast. All the same, the challenge was wonderful. You missed restoration with all your heart, and getting to return to it now, and on a Raphael, too. Well, at least a damn good copy. You knew it wasn’t the real thing - it had been in the Louvre since 1667, after all. I’m going to make it a better copy, you thought, smiling to yourself as you dabbed on the smallest speck of the deep yellow-black-

“Y/N.” You froze completely, breath hitching and blood running ice cold. You knew that voice. You prayed you’d imagined it. No, this isn’t happening-

“Y/N!” Chris yelled again. You dropped the palate, the loud clattering echoing over Chris’ deep bellowing. You shook, gripping the ladder with all your strength as you pulled the glasses from your face, setting them on the table of the ladder with a clatter. You turned your head slowly to look down at him. 

He stood about 20 feet away from the base of the ladder, eyes blazing and mouth open in shock. 

The few other people in the sanctuary looked on in confusion, some staring, some averting their eyes with obvious effort. You didn’t want to go down there. 

“Please-” He choked. His strangled voice struck you as his gaze softened. You watched his face, now noticing the thick stubble and dark shadows under his eyes - his hair unkempt. He looked… miserable. “I just want to talk- can we just talk? Please?” You hesitated for another moment, white noise filling your ears in the dead silence of the room. You nodded, and descended the ladder slowly, hands trembling. 

Panic distracted you as your feet found the floor, and you missed the last step, the ladder jumping with a clatter. Your glasses fell with an echoing ‘clack,' Chris’ hands biting into your shoulder and arm, steadying you. Too tight, you thought, fear spiking through you. You looked down the hall, searching for Damien. Please, please, please, you begged for him to appear. You didn’t see him. 

Chris released you after a moment, hands hovering near you, afraid you might bolt. 

“Follow me,” you said, walking slowly to the side hallway - I won't do this here, you thought. But you made sure to smear your foot in the paint before you turned, trailing a pattern of light-colored paint as you walked. Please find me, please. 

You didn’t think he’d hurt you - but you didn’t know what he would do like this, his eyes bloodshot and tear-stained. Your thoughts spun, screaming that this was a bad idea, that you should stay where the people are- but your feet carried you to the courtyard door all the same.

You held the door for him and closed it behind you, stepping out onto the stone landing. Steps fell away from the landing about eight feet away from the double doors, and Chris stood in the sun a few feet away from the edge. Though the sun had seemingly emerged, the day was still bitingly cold, and you shivered in the realization that you had left your coat inside. Can I even get back in this way? You wanted to check, but Chris’ gaze had you locked in place. You held your arms at the elbows, steadying yourself in the cold.

“How are you?” he asked. It surprised you. 

“I’m alright,” you said. That soft tone in his voice - you weren’t prepared for it. It broke your resolve. Maybe he’s here to listen, you thought hopefully. “How have you been?” He snorted.

“I’ve been better,” he said, looking down. “How could- do you know how worried I’ve been?” His voice rose.

“I’m sorry-” You started. You looked up. “I just couldn’t stay - I had to leave.” 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me what was going on with you?” He said, voice strained. “Nobody would tell me anything, it feels like everyone’s hiding something from me.” You were quiet for a moment.

“I didn’t feel like I could talk to you. You were always gone- away at a conference or working, I didn’t want to interfere-” Your voice shook. “I tried to be everything you wanted from me. I thought being a good wife would make us happy… but it was never enough.” He was quiet for a moment.

“I’m not a bad husband,” He insisted. “I work so, so hard to build you a nice home, a nice life - the book was for us-”

“The book was for you, Chris," you said. “Everything was for you. I know you tried - I tried too, but it just wasn’t enough-” 

“You’re not telling me everything,” he said, anger rising in his voice. “Why are you still lying to me? Have I ever known you?” He was yelling now, and he took a step towards you. You shrank back. What? He-he can't know- Your silence seemed to make him more upset. “What aren’t you telling me-” You winced as he hissed in your face, backing up.

The door opened behind you, and you turned to see Damien step through quickly, standing behind you. Relief flooded over you.

“Damien,” you whispered as you gripped the cuff of his coat, clinging to him. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You nodded, letting him go as you looked back to Chris, who stood motionless, eyes dark with realization.

“Was it because of him?” he demanded, eyes darting. His voice shook with rage. “You left me for a priest?” 

“No.” You tried to explain. “Chris, it wasn’t-” 

“No, I see now. You’re here for him - after everything we’ve been through, after everything I did for you, our life- you’re here fucking a Priest?” He smiled as he spoke, incredulous. You wished he would stop. You tried to say something - tried to defend yourself - 

“Stop.”

“How long have you been seeing him? Is he-” he laughed now, looking away before smiling up at Damien. “You know she’s pregnant, right?” All the air left your body, your stomach sinking.

“-no.” you could barely get the word out, recoiling away. 

“I kept waiting for you to tell me after I found the tests- I was so excited for us, y/n.” His voice broke. “And now I know why you never said anything-” His words were drowning in static, the floor pitching beneath you. Damien was yelling now too- it’s too much-

“I had a miscarriage.” You blurted out, forcing yourself to look up at Chris. The courtyard was silent, the static roared. Tears fell from your eyes, but you didn’t feel them. You felt a firm hand on your shoulder as Damien braced you. You took a shaky breath. The static quieted.

“I had a miscarriage,” You said it again. “And I-I couldn't tell you, because I didn’t - I couldn’t imagine raising a child with you.” You paused between sentences, taking a deep breath. Chris’ face fell, his eyes empty as he listened.

“And I should’ve said something. Years ago. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, because I knew it would break your heart like it was breaking mine-” Your voice cracked. You continued. “So I came home.” 

His face was set in stone, a tear falling from his face. “You’re not leaving me.” He seemed to be losing his grip on anger, and it fell away in pieces as it was replaced by despair.

“No, you’re right,” you ventured, concentrating on keeping your voice steady as you met his eyes. “You’re leaving me.” He looked at you, incredulous.

“I won’t-” he started, quiet now. “I’ve been a terrible husband-” 

“I’ve been a terrible wife.” you held his gaze. Make your speech.

“Despite it all - despite everything I think what you hate is that you do love me,” he said, his voice wavering, but with a weak note of hope. “I think you stayed all this time because you love me, and it was real. I think this - this was meant to happen. We’re supposed to be broken and terrible together, and despite it all, I love you, and I’m not leaving you until you get down on your knees and beg me.” He looked into your eyes then, seething. 

You looked at him, and kneeled - cold pavement stinging your knuckles as you steadied yourself. 

“Please leave me.” You said, as clearly as you could. He looked truly lost now, mouth slightly open in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d do that,” he said plainly. He waited for a moment more, as if waiting for you to take it back. You didn’t. “Fuck,” he said with an empty laugh. Then he inhaled deeply and with a sigh, turned and left. Descending the stairs, walking down the sidewalk beside the building, and turning at the front of the building, he disappeared.

When you were sure he was gone, you fell back onto your legs and breathed a shaky laugh that descended into a broken sob. The tears wouldn’t stop - you couldn't see or get a breath in - but crying was all you could do.

Something heavy and warm fell over you like a blanket as Damien’s coat wrapped around your shoulders. You couldn't see him, but you felt his strong arms encircle your waist and hold your head gentle against him as you collapsed into his shoulder, surrendering to the shaking sobs.

He held you and rocked you gently as you wept, whispering quiet ‘I’m sorry's' and ‘I’ve got you’s’ into your hair. You stayed like that for a long time. 

#damien karras x reader #damien karras/you #friends to lovers #slow burn #my first fic #mutual pining #the exorcist #love this man #damien karras #what if instead of writing a fic like a normal person i wrote a novel #angst

[s-creations]

The Lost Child - Chapter 10

Once, when the land was young and new, the Gods, the  demons, and the mortals lived together. The world shaped by the battles between the Gods and the demons. Mortals attempting to thrive with what  they could, living on the lands created by beings stronger than them. Eventually creating a connection with the Gods through shrines and  offerings, in turn the Gods granted their protection.

When the  number of demons grew, the amount of power diminished. Those deemed too  weak were cast away. A tentative agreement was reached between those outcasted and the mortals. Demons allowed to live in the structures  mortals had built. It was a slow process, but a calm living was  eventually reached.

All seemed well. Until the Gods and powerful demon suddenly disappeared one morning. No reason, no explanation. Those  left behind having to wonder what could have happened. It was  all…strange. Worrisome. It was a clear sign something was wrong. Now it was just a question of when it was all going to fall apart.

Fandom: LEGO Monkie Kid       Rating: Teen and Up Audiences         Relationships: Shadowpeach, Freenoodles, MK&SunWukong&Macaque, MK&Pigsy&Tang, Mei&MK&Redson       Warnings/Additional Tags: Lots of Characters, Everyone’s here, A lot is going to be changed, Rated Teen for just in case, Found family, Returning to Parents, There’s gonna be fluff and fighting, There’s plot - trust me.

Huntsman was silently berating himself for getting caught so easily. Now stuck sitting at one of the booths in the restaurant. He’d attempted to sneak away, once. Which resulted in the blue cat that had been carried by the other demon hissing loudly and calling attention. The water demon immediately at Huntsman’s side to sit him back down before he could get too far. 

Even though the behemoth had yet to raise his voice or even throw a punch, the spider demon was on edge. Because something about the other demon told Huntsman to not cross him. 

So there he sat, eyes darting between the water demon and the clearly angry cat now stationed on the table to keep an eye on Huntsman. Watching as the other demon carefully maneuvered around the comically small kitchen. Said being occasionally muttering something before finally emerging with two cups and a kettle with steam pouring out of the spout. 

“Sorry for the wait! Pigsy’s moved his supplies around from the last time I was here. But nothing helps soothe nerves like a fresh cup of tea between two budding friends.”

Huntsman inches away as best he could as the water demon as the other sat across from him. Eyeing the cup of tea as it was handed over. Giving a tentative sniff, not finding anything wrong, and taking a cautious sip. A palette of fruit washed over his tongue. Not overly sweet but absolutely refreshing. His face must have betrayed his surprise because he found the water demon smiling at him.

Huntsman quickly worked his face to a more neutral appearance before muttering, “It’s fine.”

“Don’t fret. You’re allowed to enjoy things in your own way, don’t feel embarrassed. I’m Sandy.”

Huntsman stared the other down. Giving a name so willingly to someone who’s clearly an intruder was a foolish move. It made the other seem open and vulnerable. But if this fool wanted to keep his defenses low, so be it. It’ll be a mistake he’ll pay for later no doubt.

The spider demon cleared his throat before saying, “Huntsman.”

“Well met Mr. Huntsman, pleasure to meet you. Don’t suppose you could tell me what you were doing in MK’s room?”

Huntsman knew the water demon had to have some connection to the family. It was, however, hard to pinpoint how strong of a relation it was. Sandy knew where rooms were, but commented how the chef had moved items around. Meaning he’d not been here for a while.

Taking a sip to mull the information over further, Huntsman replied with, “I was asked to pick up a few things for MK. Something suddenly came up and they had to leave suddenly, family related I believe. But they left in such a hurry they forgot to grab a few essentials.”

“Ah, so you know Pigsy and the family!” Sandy beamed.

“...In a way.”

“Well, I will admit, I did stop by today because I got a strong aura reading coming from the city. A bad one. Made my skin crawl to be honest and realizing it was coming from here…makes me even more worried. I don’t suppose you know what’s happened?”

“No, just that it was a family emergency.”

“I do hope everything is okay,” the water demon frowned, “I hope you don’t also mind me asking as to why you were leaving through the window? Or why you attacked me?”

“I…thought you were an intruder and tried to run because… I’d rather not have a confrontation.” 

“A fellow pacifist! Or, well, almost one, you did attack me. But I’m going to assume you just started on the path.”

Not even close.

“Yep,” Huntsman said quickly, “You got me. It’s…difficult to start off.”

“Don’t I know it, but don’t fret. The first few steps are going to be the hardest. I have a few groups who’ve helped me out that you could also benefit from. Oh, and I’ll give you my number as well! It’s just a sealine, not a cell phone, so I might not answer all the time. But I’m happy to talk whenever you need me. It’s beneficial to know you have people supporting you already.”

Huntsman couldn’t argue as he was handed a few pamphlets and a scrap of paper with a number written on it. The spider demon was stunned by this while Sandy merely smiled.

“Uh…thanks. I’ll keep this in mind.”

“Of course! More than happy to help. And I can also recommend some fantastic teas, that’s helped keep me focused from time to time. Are you more of a fruit or spice guy?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Not a problem, we can figure it out. I can give you a number of recommendations to pick from. Let’s see…” Sandy started to pat himself down, frowning in thought. 

“I doubt my…local store carries tea.”

“Then it’s a good thing I always carry backups!” 

Another wave of surprise hit Huntsman as numerous boxes of tea suddenly littered the table. Some were already open, a few bags spotted resting inside. Some were new, unopened still. There were teas that promote health, better sleep, being more awake, clearer skin, it was just a little bit of everything. While Huntsman’s eyes traveled over every box with clear confusion, Sandy got to work. Selecting a relatively empty box, the water demon grabbed a bag from different teas.

“This one has a wonderful tang of mixed berries. One of a casual spiced tea, a little bit like Earl Gray. Have you had that before? No? Well, guess you’re getting one of those as well. This one's good to have in the morning and this one will help you sleep better and…ah!” 

Sandy’s smile never faulted the entire time he was selecting. But it seemed to grow brighter when collecting a bag from a rather beat up wooden box. Huntsman couldn’t help but become curious as Sandy brought the box to sit between them. Sliding open the lid and pulling out the last remaining bag from inside. The color of the leaves inside reminded Huntsman of the warm glow that occurred during a sunrise. 

“This is one of my absolute favorites, and not just because I made it. A perfect blend of flavors, blueberry and sage, I enjoy this on a rainy afternoon. A good drink to give you a few moments to just…relax.”

The spider demon was stunned as he was given said bag. Sandy slid it in with the rest he had selected. “I…don’t think you should waste this on me.”

“Nonsense! I’m so happy to share my interest with new friends.”

Huntsman couldn’t argue back as a full collection of different teas were handed to him. “Uh…thank you.”

“My pleasure. You’ll need to come back and tell me which ones you like. A great way for us to bond!”

“Sure…but I should be going. I’ve been here for a bit too long.”

“Right, I’m sure Pigsy’s worried. Don’t suppose you could tell the family I say ‘hello’?”

“...Yeah.”

Huntsman was happy to finally break away from the restaurant. Ignoring Stront’s questions, the larger demon wanted an explanation as to why Huntsman was gone for so long. To which the shorter replied with a short ‘Drop it’.

Left behind in the darkened shop, Sandy let out a slow sigh before turning to Mo. “One of the few times I wish I had a cell phone… Well, nothing to do about it now. Let’s close up shop before going home. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Mo replied with a soft meow.

________________________

Macaque let out a content sigh as he started to wake. Groaning softly as he stretched before opening his eyes. Barely holding back a coo as the scene before him. MK was still asleep, snoring softly, cheek squished against Wukong’s chest. The teen had shifted in his sleep to completely lie against the golden monkey. Wukong, who was already awake, had his eyes on the sleeping teen. Finger gently combing through two toned hair. A small smile on his face as he hummed a lullaby softly. 

“Well, isn’t this just a comfortable scene.” Macaque whispered as he shifted closer. Wukong happily accepted the kiss on his cheek.

“The kid was clinging to me when I woke up!” Wukong whispered back excitedly, beaming.

“Like a baby monkey.

“Right!”

The Shadow Warrior laughed softly. Inching closer so he could lean against Wukong as well. “Probably helps that you’re just so comfortable.”

“Hey, when did I become furniture?”

“Shush, comfortable, furniture doesn’t talk.”

“...You’d better be happy I love you so much.”

That caused a round of quiet laughter from both. Which in turn woke MK up.

“Too early…” The teen whimpered softly. Nuzzling into Wukong’s neck, purring softly feeling the soft, golden fur. 

“No such thing bud.” Wukong replied softly.

“Mmm, no, I agree with the kid. Too early.” Macaque said while laying his head back down on Wukong’s shoulder.

“Oh no, am I stuck with two night owls?”

Mk huffed before saying, “No, night monkeys.”

That caused Macaque to roll off Wukong as to not turn the other deaf from the boisterous laughter. To which Wukong sighed before saying, “Night monkeys and sass masters.”

“The sass is all you Peaches.”

“How dare you! You have all the sass.”

“Oh please, what do you bring to the table then?”

“Charm.”

“Is that what that was when you annoyed the Jade Emperor?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t handle how suave I am.”

MK was more than happy to lay there and listen to his parents talk. Occasionally wondering if being raised here would be different from where he was now. The deities seemed a bit more carefree and MK had yet to see them, well, work. But that didn’t mean the teen felt off or out of place. Even able to offer a few words to the conversation when he could, that caused a few laughs to be shared. Like he had with Pigsy and Tang.

The moment ended when a gentle knock sounded on the large doors.

“Excuse me sires,” a servant poked their head in, “but I wanted to inform you that breakfast is ready and your guests are already eating.”

“Suppose that’s our cue to finally get up. Come on you two.” Wukong smiled softly as dual groans were the replies. 

When they arrived, they indeed found the mortal sitting around the small island. Nibbling away at the food prepared. MK claimed a hug from each before sitting down himself. It was determined, while they ate, that Wukong would take the morning session. Saying that it would be a good starting point to see how magically inclined the teen was and what he could do.

“Magic can be dangerous if left unchecked.” The golden monkey explained. 

MK had just nodded in understanding. Soon dressed in an outfit that Wukong swore was ideal for training in. Even if the teen noticed that the garments were exceedingly expensive. More than what he’d ever owned before. Pushing that thought down as he entered the training room, seeing Tang in a similar outfit. Wukong beaming as MK joined the group again. 

“How do those feel? Able to move around well?”

“Uh, yeah, I feel kind of bad though. They’re really nice, I don’t want to ruin them.” MK replied sheepishly. 

“Don’t fret, it’s okay. They’re built to stand a lot. Tang did ask to join us in the part as well and I must say you two look great! What we’re going to focus on first is finding the source of your magic. For you Tang, it’s more of trying to find your center, a peaceful place if you will. But it’s not as simple as it sounds. MK, you’re going to find that you can’t just pull your magic out and use it like a tool.”

“Magic is more like water. It can take any shape, be hardened into something more solid, and it flows where it’s directed to when commanded. But you have to work out what needs to be done with it before using it. If you don’t have a clear idea, the magic you call upon can do more damage than good.”

“I’m already confused.” MK said worriedly.

“Which is why we’re starting with the basics. “ Wukong sat down on the training mat. Legs crossed as he got comfortable, watching as the other two followed. “As I said before, our first task is going to find the source of your magic. You’ll need to fall into a deep meditative state, learn how to recognize the feeling of it so you can find it without the extra steps.”

“It’s going to be difficult at first. Mortals don’t tend to hold magic. It seems to have dwindled out as the generations pass by. For you MK, it’s more of the fact that you haven’t done this before. We would…normally start off at a young age. But clearly that’s not an option! What I’m trying to say is that don’t be discouraged if you can’t get this right away. It takes time and patience.” 

MK and Tang nodded, both looking worried but determined. Wukong gave an assuring smile before continuing. “Alright, get into a comfortable position. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing, keeping it slow and steady. Focus on that until you can’t hear or feel anything else.”

Off to the side, Macaque watched on with a wash of comfort falling over him. Another feeling of domestic bliss at the scene before him. Only looking away Pigsy sat next to the warrior. The chef seemed determined to not look over to Macaque, himself looking nervous and tense.

“...I’m surprised you didn’t join in the training?” The Shadow Warrior offered as a conversation starter. 

“I’m not…really comfortable with the idea.” “Ah…okay…” Tail twitched nervously, Macaque shifted as he tried to get comfortable. An uneasy aura falling around the two. Feeling as if the chef was staring him down without actually looking at him. “Are…you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I can tell you’re unhappy.”

“Maybe I’m just not overly pleased with the current events. That I was pulled from my home and now…I feel like I’m losing my son.”

Macaque twitched again, clenching his jaw. He didn’t know why he thought they’d pushed past this, it was just a hopeful want. Clearly, he was wrong. Fur bristling hearing the words ‘my son’ pour from Pigsy’s mouth. “MK…is my son too.”

It was Pigsy’s turn to flinch, crossing his arms. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Both fell quiet. Macaque looked up to find Wukong peeking out of his meditative state. A worried frown on the golden monkey’s face. The warrior gave a short shake of his head. Wukong gave a small nod in understanding before going back to the training. 

Macaque let out a slow sigh before saying, “Please understand…I’m not trying to push you or your husband out of MK’s life. Nor are we trying to pull MK away… All we want to do is make sure that he’s safe… As safe as we possibly can. We don’t want to lose him again. There’s…no possible way we could or would want to wipe away what you two have done.”

“...I’m very rigid in my life. Tang, the scholar, has been called the life of the party so many times… This is such a large change and it’s so out of my control. Tang and I are just mortals in a God’s world. How am I supposed to help? How can I…keep my kid safe?”

“Being a deity doesn’t give me much of an advantage when the enemies are numerous and powerful. Wukong and I…we thought we were prepared before and we lost MK because of this. All we can ask for right now is to plan as best we can. Which means training.”

“I can’t feel comfortable…with any of this.”

“You assume I am. We’re just doing what we can to work with the situation we’re handed.”

Pigsy huffed, a finger tapping his arm as he couldn’t tap his foot. This conversation was not going the way he wanted. He had assured, by Tang’s words, this would calm his frazzled nerves. But it was honestly making everything feel worse. Pigsy was guarded with no idea how to fix this…or what he wanted to hear. 

“I don’t-”

“You can’t put blame on us. You can’t… You’re trying to put blame, to put anger, on us. Trust me when I say I’ve been in your position before and I know that want to put this bitterness towards someone. So you have something physically there to hate. If you let that fester for too long, it will eat away at you.” The Shadow Warrior let out a slow, shaky breath. Pigsy finds himself leaning away slightly. 

“Please…Please remember that we lost 15 years of our son’s life. I have lived each day with regret on how I couldn’t keep my own son safe. I…We are trying to be as open with you as possible. We are trying to make the best out of this situation… Your life has changed in a drastic way and there’s no way for you to go back. No matter how much you wish. You need to adapt…and accept your bitterness comes from digging your heels in from trying to go back. Not from us.”

Pigsy’s reply was interrupted by the doors opening again. Nezha walking in, a servant seen bowing before disappearing down the hallway. The chef flinched when Macaque suddenly stood. Looking tense as he says, “If you’ll excuse me. I have other business to attend to at the moment.”

And he walked off. Passed a confused Nezha and out the doors that had just started to close. Another shock occurred when Wukong passed by, looking frantic and whispered something to the lotus prince before following Macaque out. 

“Pigsy?” The chef turned to find Tang and MK broken from their training. The scholar looked worried as he asked, “What happened?”

Pigsy wasn’t able to reply. Because he would have to voice that he’d done something wrong and he wanted to hold onto his belief that he was right. 

________________________

He knew something was wrong. Macaque’s aura was tense and dark the moment Pigsy had sat next to him. He should have intervened faster, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Wukong stalked the halls as his senses were on alert trying to find where his partner had run off. Stopping by the entrance to one of the numerous gardens they had. This one held an overgrowth of plum and mango trees that laid a deep shadow over the ground. 

Taking a deep breath, Wukong cautiously walked in. Eventually finding Macaque resting in the center of the small garden. Meditating, or at least attempting to, taking deep breaths. Clearly trying to center himself as Wukong joined him.

“Hey there, My Precious Shadow.” Wukong said softly, kneeling close to Macaque but not enough to inadvertently touch him. “Are you…okay?”

Macaque let out another slow breath before opening his eyes. The Monkey King realized that glamours were down. Allowing him to see how truly tired the other was. Macaque said nothing, instead pulling Wukong closer to hide away in the golden fur. 

Which didn’t ease Wukong’s worry. Reaching up to comb his fingers through the black fur. “Please talk to me… I can’t help if you don’t…”

“...I’m tired of smiling.”

That struck Wukong right in the heart. Pulling Macaque as close as possible. “You don’t need to…”

“We have so much to worry about. They…They think that we can somehow solve all of this. I don’t know if they think we can just snap our fingers and everything will be back to normal or… Wukong, why do I feel like we’re being punished for wanting our child back. Why are we the bad guys?” 

“We…we’re not. Macaque…what did you and Pigsy talk about?” Macaque quickly shook his head, wrapping his arms around the other tighter, “Alright, I’ll…drop it. But if there’s still an issue to such a stance that you have to run from the room to feel safe… We four need to talk. As adults. Buried feelings on either side will not help us.”

“...We really can’t catch a break, can we?”

Wukong laughed softly. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy… But I do wish we could go a day without feeling like the world’s going to end.”

“...You should go back…”

“They’re fine, Nezha’s with them. He’s going to work with them for a while, while I tend to you. So, let’s just focus on that for now.”

Macaque didn’t argue as he was pulled into a deep kiss. Succumbing to the deep embrace of his partner’s hold, allowing himself to relax.

#lego monkey kid #lmk #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk sandy #shadowpeach #freenoodleshipping #s-creations #fanfiction #also on ao3

[annaberunoyume]

🏳️‍🌈A list of more monogamous gay (wlw and mlm) medias for those of us that loves romantic comedies and fidelity. 🎞️🍿

Have you ever noticed how the modern LGBTQ+ community is often...how do I say it, promiscuous (not that there is anything wrong with it)? Sadly, unfortunately, there are some of us queer ones that feels rejected and left out, because we wish for all the hallmarks of a romantic comedy as our idea of pride. I know, because I am a lesbian that wishes for a good old 1950s-style date with a woman. And I often feel alone in a world that puts forward (with all due respect to the community) a provocative, quasi-porn-like pride. It is just not my cup of tea. Long story short, therefore, I compiled my own list of movies, tv series, comics and even fanfictions that are more like my taste. I do hope that someone else find solace in this list. ENJOY AND HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAY!

List of more monogamous gay movies and other medias:

Movies:

Imagine Me and You

Love, Simon

Can't Think Straight

Spoiler Alert

Strange Frame: Love and Sax (one of my favourite. Thank you, Tubitv!)

Set in a future where humans left Earth a long time ago for the moons around Jupiter, a woman named Parker falls in love with a musician named Naya and forms a band. But a cunning producer tries to tear them apart. Interesting world building and animation. Very psychedelic in style.

The Rainbow Bridge Hotel (Tubitv)

A gay couple tries to get married in a old motel, while the silly owner gets in trouble with inspection. (Tubitv)

Strange World (the latest Disney movie. This movie's main protagonist (Ethan) is gay and

no one makes a big deal about it. Plus, Ethan and Diazo (his crush) are so dang cute, together.)

Ringolivio (Tubitv)

A young woman passionned by insects visits her girlfriend's brothers for the first time and spends a peculiar holiday, struggling to fit in with these strange brothers.

Bros (some might like it, but I hated it. Such a whiny and unlikeable, yap-yapping protagonist.)

The Falls triology (Tubitv)

A triology about two mormon young men falling in love. Nice story,

but filmed in an extremely boring way. I understand that these are independant movies

with less budget, but dang, stop filming with a still camera all the time. All three movies

were on Tubi tv, last time I checked if you are interested.

TV series with monogamy in it:

Heartstopper

The L world (at least in the beginning. Please do not spoil me as I am not done with this series, yet. I love how each woman in his series is developped beyond their orientation.

Something that Netflix should learn, frankly.)

Our Flag Means Death

Steven Universe

Comics with a monogamous gay relationship:

Heartstopper (obviously) (by Alice Oseman, available in most libraries and on

Amazon, plus its original web comic format (Tumblr and Tapas). :

A sugary-sweet comic about two british teenage boys falling in love. Famously adapted into

a Netflix series, recently.

Puu (by Nabi):

Set in India, this comic follows a man named Jameel that lives with a quirky, flower-loving roommate named Saboor. They slowly developp feelings for each other, but struggle in a rather unwelcoming India. Lovely, simplistic art.

Bingo Love (by Tee Franklin, Jenn St-Onge and Joy San)

A most gorgeous comic book romance about two black girls falling in love in the 60s, then after being separated for years, finding each other at the same Church Bingo where they met as kids.

Rock and Riot (by Cheriiart)

A most beautiful, inclusive comic about basically the lesbian version of Danny and Sandy (from Grease) falling in love in a sort of alternative universe where it's the 50s and queer ones are rather accepted.

Ivy comic by mimimar

A dream come true for a lesbian that loves sapphic, disney princesses vibes. I feel like I'm reading a Disney Golden Book. So darn cute so far.

Fanfictions with gay monogamy in it:

Fanfiction: medicine (fandom: Watchmen, Pairing: Nite Owl x Rorshchach)

This beautiful 18+ fanfiction is about Nite Owl and Rorshchach developping, or rather revealing burried feelings after Rorshchach gets wounded on a patrol, coupled with being sick. While Nite Owl (alias Daniel) nurses him back to health, Rorshchach lets down his guard and accidently shows himself without his mask to him for the very first time. Thus the Walter Kovacs underneath begins to timidly show itself from the cracks. Slow-burned and very tender. My new favourite fanfiction.

100% Exhausted (fandom: Mob Psycho 100, Pairing: TeruMob (Teruki Hanasawa x Shigeo Kageyama)

A most adorable TeruMob fanfic in which a worn-out Mob returns from work and Teruki is the best, caring boyfriend to him. Bonus appearances of Shou and Ritsu.

#for more trad gays #movie list #must see #tubitv #movies #comics #fanfictions #lgbtq movies #lgbtq+ movies #lgbtq comics #lgbtq+comics #lgbtq tv series #lgbtq+series #trad lesbians are valid #trad lgbtq are valid #monogamy #monogamous #for more trad lesbians

[bratkook]

right now. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost , right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, smut, idiots to lovers!! word count. 14.8k warnings. two mega fucking idiots<33, miscommunication/dumb assumptions, smut in forms of: fingering, oral sex (f.), orgasm denial, spanking, some spit bc duh, unprotected sex, super sweet & lovey!! also jungkook is a sweetheart pls love him summary. coming to terms with your feelings after getting off to the idea of your close friend is a little harder than you thought, but how long can you take before jungkook decides its time to move on? note. did jlin forget how to write for a few weeks? yes, yes she did....i know this took a long time but life is rough man so forgive me... but anyways lol the final part to the not yet!verse is hereeeee! thank you to @kithtaehyung​ for reading this over for me ily!! thank you guys for enjoying this mini series, the response was really unexpected but im sososo happy over every comment/ask i’ve gotten for this story. once again, tysm for your love and let me know what you think<3

The evening sun illuminates Jungkook’s apartment, golden hour bouncing off every reflective surface and straight into his eyes the second he walks in, immediately squinting as he makes a beeline to shut the blinds. His head was already throbbing from the hangover that decided to peak around noon, a mean case of nausea putting a damper on his work day. So as much as he loved soaking in some vitamin D today was not the day. 

“Are you joking?” he huffs as he brings down the blinds, hand yanking at the flimsy string in an attempt to get it unstuck. “How stup—you’d think with the amount I pay every month in rent the blinds would work!” 

Alright, so maybe he was a little grumpy today, choosing to take it out on an inanimate object and blame it purely on the bad decisions made last night—definitely had nothing to do with the residual moping of you going on a date. This could be fixed, easily. 

The first order of business? Texting you to see if you’d be interested in devouring greasy food from your favorite place down the street. He’d get to see you and finally put something in his stomach, it’s the best of both worlds really. 

Jungkook forgets about the blinds, leaving them stuck in the awkward position as he walks away entirely, fishing his phone out of his pocket while he enters his room. It’s the same text he always sends when he’s hangry: If I don’t get food in the next 15 mins I'm burning this place down and taking you with me. 

He knows the response he’ll get, either that meme of the child in front of a burning house or an equally hangry paragraph. The phone gets tossed onto his bed as he changes out of his work clothes, needing to dispose of the business casual attire that was suffocating him, his old college hoodie giving him the comfort he needs. 

By the time he’s finally slipping on his sneakers he’s expecting you to come knocking on his door, your impatient attitude always putting a smile on his face. Half of the time your neighbors thought you were having arguments from the way you’d pound onto the slab of wood, saying his name with just enough annoyance laced into each syllable it would fool anyone into thinking you were actually upset instead of being a brat. But when that never comes, he reaches for his phone again. 

A few notifications fill up his screen, some instagram direct message previews, his group chat that he never responded to, and a few emails coming through, but you had yet to respond. Maybe it’s a little creepy, but Jungkook knows you’re home because he passed by your parked car on his way in. So his mind jumps to two extremes: you were either face down, drowning in your bathtub, or that yellow shades wearing wannabe version of himself was at your place. 

Not an ounce of shame sits within him as he speedwalks to the side his bed was on, placing both palms onto the wall before his ear was pressed against the cold drywall. Jungkook’s not really sure what would make him feel good, hearing you and Jung Hoseok together, or hearing nothing at all. His ears strain to hear anything, but the only sound he gets is his own blood pumping. 

With a small pout he pulls back, deciding he’d play the annoying neighbor role today and pound on your door instead. It’s a role he doesn’t take lightly, knuckles banging on the wood loud enough for you to hear wherever you were in your apartment. It takes a few minutes before any sign of life is shown, your door creaking open, and Jungkook is thankful because he was about to head to the maintenance office to ask for a key in case you actually were drowning in your bathtub. 

“C’mon, let’s get food,” he declares instantly, a charming smile on his face as he stands with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. The smile slowly falls off when he gets a good look at you, hair looking like a mess on your head and your fluffy blanket draped around you as you give out a weak cough. “Are you sick?”

“I think so,” you rasp out, leaning against your door frame and tugging the blanket tighter around you. 

“Did that fucker give you mono?” Jungkook looks irritated, brows pinched together in a grimace—something you’re definitely not accustomed to seeing so you almost don’t catch his accusation.

“Jungkook, no! It’s nothing serious.”

He doesn’t look fully convinced, but he shrugs anyways, positive you weren’t interested in getting interrogated when you were feeling under the weather. “Alright, let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctor if it becomes something serious.”

With a roll of your eyes and a small smile, you wave him off, slowly shutting the door behind you. Your eye immediately peeks through your peephole, not relaxing until he makes his way down the hall and enters the elevator, still on his quest for greasy food. 

“God, how old are you?” you grumble to yourself, yanking the blanket off your body and onto the floor with a huff. Pretending to be sick to avoid your friend was a new low, especially after the post-orgasm epiphany you had last night. A sane person would come to terms with their feelings and confess to them, uncertainty and possible rejection be damned! But you? No, you have to fake a cold like the giant coward you are. 

The guilt only deepens when a knock comes from your door an hour later, a quick peek through your peephole allowing you to see Jungkook setting two plastic bags on the floor before stepping back and walking to his apartment next door. You don’t come out until you hear his door shut, seeing the logo of your favorite diner down the street. No doubt would your comfort meal be inside the takeaway container. 

It takes all you have to not rush over to his place and say you were lying when you see he had also gone ahead and got you cold medication, a few different bottles because he surely didn’t know which was best, along with teas and some cough drops. 

You’re a dirty liar. A horrible friend too. 

That doesn’t stop you from devouring the meal in the takeout box as you’re hunched over your breakfast bar like a little gremlin. “This is just for today,” you mumble out to yourself as you set the plastic fork down and chug some of the leftover alcohol you had in your fridge. It’s your own version of a pity party, except the food feels heavy in your stomach, knowing the man you were avoiding was the one who bought it—bring on the guilt. 

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You’re a dirty liar and horrible friend 2.0. Why this time? Because tomorrow stretched out a few more days than planned. It wasn’t entirely intentional at first, getting stuck at work longer than usual and missing the weekly hangout at your place where you got your remote covered in cheeto dust as you argued over what to watch. But it trickled down onto shorter replies to his texts, or you scrambling out of your apartment and into the elevator so fast in order to not run into him, your mind still trying to list all the pros and cons to this potential relationship before you even had the guts to confess to your feelings. 

Jungkook didn’t know thats what was occupying your mind, no he was currently thinking the worst. He notices the change instantly, recognizing it because this was the exact way you had acted while you were with Hajoon, right before you broke the news to him that you needed to keep some distance while you focused on your relationship. So Jungkook automatically assumes that your sudden change in behavior after going on a single date with Jung Hoseok, was because you wanted to make your relationship with this man work. 

His assumption stings—a lot actually—and soon enough he stops initiating conversations altogether. He didn’t want to hear you tell him you had to distance yourself again, he’s not sure his heart could handle that a second time, so he decides to get ahead of the curb and take a massive step away from you. It hurts him to know you’re right next door, and just like before, it’s like you’re back to being total strangers. 

Safe to say Jungkook was currently going on his own downward spiral. 

You could text him like nothing had happened and he’d accept it with open arms, but instead you text your best friend an SOS text, begging her to meet you at your place. She calls you dramatic at first, but once you say it’s about Jungkook she shows up at your place in record time. 

“Did you finally fuck him?” Is her greeting of choice, spoken shamelessly from the hallway with no worry about her volume. She cackles when you yank the bottle of wine from her grasp and tug her into your apartment, letting the door slam behind her. 

“You’re lucky he’s not home you bitch.” An eye roll is her only response, yanking the bottle back and making her way into your kitchen to grab the opener. 

“So you didn’t fuck him?” The cork pops at her question, a curious glance staring you down as she pours the red liquid into an oversized cup. 

“No Seulgi, I didn’t fuck him. But I did...something.” It makes your face warm up as you remember it, gratefully grabbing the cup she hands your way because you definitely need some liquid courage before confessing to your sins.

She hums in thought as she raids your pantry for something to munch on, settling on a bag of mini pretzels before leading you to your couch, needing to know the gossip that led to your sos text. “Okay, did you accidentally send him a nude then?”

“No, that wouldn’t be so bad I think?” Sending him an accidental nude would be laughable, probably resolved by a few screaming texts and dumb jokes before moving on. But new feelings seeing the light of day seemed so much worse. “But I sort of kissed him at a club a few weeks ago to get back at Hajoon—long story,” you cut in when you see her ready to fire off questions. 

“And then I went on that failed Tinder date I told you about, and when I got home I sort of heard him, you know,”— you mimic a jerking off motion with your hand and ignore her lewd gasp, “and then I…” you trail off shamefully. 

“No!” she gasps even louder, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide. 

“Yes! And the fucking orgasm opened my eyes and made me realize that maybe that tiny crush you guys always joke about him having is real, and maybe I have a tiny crush on him too.”

“Does he know?”

“That I like him?”

“No, that you rubbed one out while listening to him you dirty slut!” Oh she’s loving this, leaning back into your cushions with a handful of pretzels resting on her boobs, a sly smile on her lips as she takes a sip of her wine. She’s the one who planted the seed in your mind, playfully joking about Jungkook any chance she got, saying he had the hots for you because she enjoyed the flustered look on your face. No doubt would she text the group chat with the news the second you finish this cry for help. 

“Do you think I told him? I can barely come to terms with the fact that I like him. Like what am I supposed to do?”

She sighs dramatically, munching on the final pretzel on her tits before sitting up and dusting off the crumbs from her shirt. “Look, I know you’re just realizing that he likes you so this is still new and fresh for you, but we’ve noticed it for years. It’s fine that you didn’t see it, you had other things occupying your mind.” 

You frown as you stare at the rug beneath your feet, remembering how life was when you first moved into this complex. Getting out of a previous relationship weeks prior, when you had met Jungkook your mind was not interested in pursuing anything with him regardless of how cute you thought he was. It made it easier for you to form a friendship, not worried about trying to impress him, or flirt with him, allowing him to see you for who you truly are. 

Jungkook had his fair share of girlfriends during the years, none of which were entirely serious but by the time he was completely single you had met Hajoon, and he had accepted the fact that maybe you were better off as friends and he would just admire you from afar. That is, until you decided to plant one on him. So technically this is your fault. 

“Jungkook likes you okay, and I’m sure if you just marched next door and told him you like him too he’ll drop on one knee and marry you.”

“Shut up,” you snort, shoving her shoulder with a smile. 

“As a matter of fact, go over there right now!” She stands up from her spot, yanking your arms to haul you up with her. 

“I told you, he’s not home. But, I’ll tell him. I have to.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest as she stares at you, clearly displeased that she wouldn’t be witness to this love story unfolding in real time. “You better. You never know what sneaky little bitch is trying to get him to get over you.”

The sneaky little bitch in question is Park Jimin, currently sitting directly across from Jungkook, guzzling down beer like his life depends on it. It's impressive really, how quickly he empties the cup, eyes shut looking as content as could be even in the dim lighting. Jungkook can only watch with a grimace as his friend sets the glass down and wipes at his mouth with no sense of table manners. 

“What?” he burps, proceeding to pour more of the golden liquid into his cup from the pitcher in the middle of the table. 

“I always forget how absolutely disgusting you are. How do you do it?” Jimin just frowns at the question, not entirely understanding so Jungkook continues. “What switch do you flip to go from sipping champagne to chugging beer like a fucking biker.”

“It’s a talent, I know.” He smiles wide, reaching forward to grip Jungkook’s hand and force him to grab his own cup. Condensation was pooling around the bottom from sitting there untouched, and that just wouldn’t do on Jimin’s watch. “C’mon, drink it!”

“Fine,” Jungkook grumbles, raising the glass and allowing Jimin to clank the cups together before taking a big gulp. He doesn’t clear the cup like his friend did seconds prior but it's enough to appease him. It tastes absolutely bitter the whole way down, settling into his stomach uncomfortably, and the look on his face as he pushes the glass away from him is very telling. 

Boisterous shouts fill the sports bar they were in, huddles of people surrounding the tables and booths as they watched the current soccer match playing on the televisions lining the walls. Jungkook honestly feels like a debby downer now, moping in his seat instead of enjoying the atmosphere with his friend like they normally did. The current game was definitely not the reason Jungkook had texted Jimin to grab drinks, no he needed an outlet to talk about you—preferably in a space that didn’t have walls as thin as his apartment.  

When he barely acknowledges the plate of wings set in front of him Jimin huffs, resisting the urge to dig in because he knew once he did he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. “Are you gonna be like this the entire time?”

“Like what?” Jungkook has the gall to ask, acting as if he wasn’t looking like a wounded animal. 

“Like you just discovered your wife of ten years is having an affair with your sister.”

He sits up straighter at that, eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus.“

Jimin knew the jist of what was happening through the texts he had received the past week, but it seems like Jungkook didn’t want to jump into the topic of it at all now that they were sitting across from each other. He just sighs before deciding to be honest, wasting no time beating around the bush to hopefully be the voice of reason Jungkook needs. “You’ve been simping over her for years JK, and I get it, you think she could be the one. But what about you huh? It’s not fair for you to have your heart wrung out each time she gets a man and decides to put the friendship on pause—“

“That happened once!” He defends, brows pinched on his forehead as he shakes his head, ready to explain your situation because he wasn’t a fan of hearing his friend say anything about you when he didn’t truly know what happened. “The dude was a piece of shit and basically told her it was him or me. I’m not gonna crucify her for wanting a long term relationship to work.”

“Right, so she’s not icing you out again because she got a new man? That’s literally what you told me, it’s why I bought you this sympathy pitcher of beer!”

“Fuck you, you bought this pitcher for yourself.” Jimin had chugged two giant glasses of beer already, and was steadily working on his third, whereas Jungkook’s watered down cup remained relatively untouched. “Besides, I was just...spiraling and assumed when I sent you that desperate text. But I haven’t heard anything.”

Jimin can only stare blankly at the table as he processes what was just said before locking eyes with his friend once more, “Sorry, what? You haven’t heard anything? The hell kind of riddle is that.”

Jungkook sinks into the booth with a look of shame, not wanting to admit to occasionally laying in his bed at night in complete and total silence just to see if he could hear you and the hypothetical version of Jung Hoseok doing literally anything. It’s not one of his proudest moments, feeling like a bit of a creeper as he laid stiff on his bed, too scared to make a sound.  “Nothing, forget about it. Point is, I haven’t seen the fucker come in or out of her place, so what does that mean?”

A deep sigh comes from Jimin, hand reaching forward to push the beer closer to Jungkook, desperately trying to get him to drink and ease up. “It means you pay far too much attention to her. When was the last time you got any action?”

Two weeks ago. From his hand and filthy imagination. 

“A few months,” he grumbles, remembering his last hook up that happened a few days before he discovered you got dumped. 

“Get outta here.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he points to the door. “Literally, go stand at the corner outside, show some thighs or a tattooed titty and take your pick of the swarm of girls that will surely follow you.”

Jungkook thinks he’s joking, but when his friend doesn’t drop his hand and narrows his eyes threateningly he knows he’s being serious. “My tits aren’t even tattooed,”—his large palms press against his shirt covered chest as if to prove a point— “And you sound like a douchebag talking like this.”

“What? She went on a tinder date and definitely got laid, so you need to even out the playing field. Also, it might help you chill the hell out.”

“Oh my god, you’re not helping.” Jungkook really didn’t need that visual again, it had flashed in his mind too often the night of his pity party and now it was once again at the front of his brain. 

“Alright, okay. I’m throwing out my safe word right now.” Jimin leans closer, arms resting on the table with a confused look on his face. “What do you need from me here? Like, do I play the role of a supportive friend who wants you to get over her, or do I play the role of a friend who wants you to confess? Because you’re giving me some mixed signals Jeon.”

A groan escapes Jungkook, fingers rubbing at his eyes before dragging down his face as he sinks even further into his seat. “I don’t know.” 

It’s the truth. Jungkook had no idea what he wanted his friend to do to help him. He knew that although his feelings for you have weighed heavy on his chest for what seems like years, you technically had no idea, so he feels a little guilty over his frustration for the whole situation. You were newly single again and determined to go through this self proclaimed wild phase so Jungkook isn’t dumb enough to think you can’t go out and do whatever you want, even if that means being with someone who isn’t him. 

“Look,” Jimin sighs, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You only have two choices here, tell her how you feel and accept whatever comes with it, or make peace with the idea of just being friends. Either way, I think you need to loosen up and have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jungkook sits himself up, wrapping his fingers around the cup in an effort to at least look like he wanted to be here. He couldn’t sit here and mope about a problem like this when he hadn’t attempted to come out and tell you how he feels. 

One night of loosening up to get you off his mind wouldn’t hurt, if anything it might help him come to his senses. At least that’s what Jimin was currently whispering with a mischievous smile on his lips. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure you don’t black out and get home safe. Who knows, you might get plastered enough to drunk text your confession.”

Jungkook glares at his friend, not liking the goofy look on his face as he starts to laugh. “I swear to god, you better not let me get to that point. Take my phone away from me.”

Jimin obviously wants to see the world burn, or at least he enjoys it when Jungkook somehow digs himself into his own grave. That's exactly why he responds with a million laughing emojis when Jungkook texts him asking why the hell he hadn’t taken his phone last night. 

He did a good job hiding his shock when a knock came from his front door, half expecting it to be you, keeping a smile on his face as he allowed  the person who was very clearly not you in before swiftly entering his bathroom. Jungkook wants to stay locked here forever, holed up while he sits on his toilet and not in the living room with company. It wasn’t like it was bad company either, his drunken ass going through his contact list and sending an invitation to hangout the following day to the last person he spoke to, Aillie. 

The girl is sweet, someone he had a casual fling with for months, someone who was used to his random texts so she doesn’t think twice before agreeing. The only silver lining to this was that he hadn’t sent you a typo-filled drunken confession, which is what Jimin responds with before telling him to suck it up and leave his bathroom. 

Jungkook accepts his fate, as well as accepting that he is partially responsible for this. He shoves his device back into his pockets before standing up and flushing the toilet for show, washing his hands just to stall. One good glance at his reflection makes him cringe, stained shirt and sweats combo leaves him looking like the unprepared mess he is. Another detour through his room to change was a must before he has no choice but to step back out. 

“You’re totally hung over aren’t you?” Aillie jokes from her spot on the couch, comfortable enough in his apartment from the time spent here. She locks her phone as she stands up, taking her time to really look Jungkook over. He was not dressed like someone who was expecting a guest, and despite having seen Jungkook at his sloppiest, his previous attire of oversized shirt and slightly stained sweatpants didn’t look like someone who was expecting a fuck buddy to pop over. Even with his new outfit looking more put together, it was obvious Jungkook was caught off guard by her showing up. 

“What?” Jungkook dumbly asks, trying to come up with some lame excuse to justify his earlier appearance but he falls short. His fingers gently rake through his hair, a grimace falling on his face as he looks back up at her. “Actually, a little. Sorry, I got drunk last night when I text you so sober me was not really prepared.”

“Yeah I figured, you sent me some blurry selfies right after. But we can just hang, we don’t have to do anything,” she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. The only time they ever hung out was to hook up, having ten minute conversations before and after the fact. “Or I can leave too if it's weird that I’m here.” 

Jungkook is shaking his head before she can even finish, already feeling bad enough after texting her to come over. How shitty would he be if he immediately kicked her out. This was fine, a nice distraction from it all, decent middle ground that would help him get his mind off you without having to take Jimin’s douchebag advice. 

“No, we can watch a movie or something. It’s not like I have other plans.” Had this been two weeks ago it would be a totally different story. Jungkook would typically be waiting in his apartment as he stared at the slowly ticking clock, just waiting for it to strike 7:30 because that's when you usually got home. Then he’d either get a text from you to come over with snacks or you’d show up at his door and invite yourself over for the weekly game night. 

It didn’t happen last week, or the week prior, so Jungkook is very confident that it would not be happening today either. It’s that same sense of confidence—and saltiness—that allows him to get comfortable with Aillie, blissfully unaware that you had just pulled into the parking garage a few stories below. 

“I swear to god if you don’t go straight to his door the minute you get off the elevator I will never let you live it down.” Seulgi’s voice fills your car through the speakers, fading out as you shut the car off and bring your phone to your ear to continue the conversation. 

“Dude, I just got off work. I need to make myself look decent.” Plastic bags rustle together as you grab the snacks you had picked up on your way home, all full of yours and Jungkook's favorite treats. It was definitely a guilt fueled purchase, hoping the items were enough to distract him from the fact that you were kind of a bitch for ghosting him recently, or at least butter him up into accepting your apology easier. 

“You think Jungkook cares if you’re a little sweaty from work? He’s a grown man, that’s not gonna stop him from going do—“

“Okay, goodbye!” You hastily cut her off as you press the elevator button, hearing her rambling off about being interrupted. “I’m about to get on the elevator, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

With a small sigh you hang up and stuff the device into your purse, stepping onto the lift as the doors open up and pressing the number for your floor. Your hands are clammy as you grip the plastic bag, uncharacteristically nervous about seeing Jungkook again after so long. 

The main obstacle for you to get over was apologizing for being a crappy friend, and if that went well you were going to suck it up and just come out and confess, the odds of him saying no were slim. And even if he did, you’re perfectly content with staying friends, as long as you could keep him close. 

It’s that same optimistic mentality that allows you to calm down as you enter your place and decide to give yourself a minute to mentally prepare. His favorite ice cream gets put into the freezer for later before you decide to shower and give yourself a pep talk the entire time. 

This pep talk of yours is filled with best case scenarios: Jungkook accepting the confession with open arms, finally being able to kiss him properly, everything falling into place the way it should have a long time ago. And as you head over, totally sober, freshly washed, looking and smelling your best, you really can’t picture this going any other way. 

With a deep breath you’re knocking on his front door, quickly pulling back your hand and wiping it onto your pants as you step back. Jungkook hears the knock clearly from his spot on the couch, his gaze tearing away from the television to stare at his front door with a small frown. He hadn’t ordered any food and Aillie had just excused herself to use his bathroom so his brain is having a hard time wondering who it could be. 

He curses under his breath, not putting it past himself to have texted a second person last night with an invitation to hang out. Why was Jungkook a friendly drunk?

As he presses his eye against the peephole and spots you standing there, he thinks he’s imagining things. It had seemed like so long since he had last seen you in person, and the warped fish-eyed version of you has him stepping back and rubbing his eyes before taking another glance. He suddenly feels like throwing up, and he can’t blame his earlier hangover on it. 

For a brief second he contemplates pretending he hadn’t heard you, but the guilt of doing so makes his heart twist, so he musters up the courage to open the door. It’s barely a crack really, just enough for you to see him while still concealing his apartment, something you definitely found strange because you’re usually flinging the door open and strutting right in, but you suppose his reaction is warranted considering your previous behavior. 

“Y/N, hey. Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine!” Your fingers tangle together in front of you, not entirely sure what to do with your nerves and Jungkook spots it easily. His own nerves sky rocket when he hears the sound of running water coming from his bathroom a few feet away, knowing Aillie would most likely pop out any second now, and he’s not sure why it feels like a dirty secret that he has another girl over. 

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something kind of important.” Your smile is hopeful, despite the nerves swirling in your eyes. The nervous skip of your heart is felt in your throat, not remembering the last time you had felt this way about telling someone how you felt about them romantically. 

“Right now?” he wonders, fingers gripping the door handle tighter when he hears his bathroom door unlock, the sound of footsteps rounding the corner before stepping into the living room, a few feet away from the door and in perfect view of the wedge Jungkook had opened. 

When your eyes flicker over his shoulder, spotting the auburn haired girl giving you a curious glance, you feel all your confidence slip away. Seulgi had definitely been right about needing to confess soon, Jungkook was a catch and just because you hadn’t realized it sooner didn’t mean the rest of the world was blind to it. 

“Yeah, right now...but you’re busy, so it’s fine!” You want to scramble away from there, feeling dumb the longer you stand there. Jungkook wants to say he’s not busy, kick the girl out of his place and invite you in but that wouldn’t be fair to her, for all he knew your important conversation would be a repeat of the conversation you had over Hajoon, and he really didn't want to get friendship dumped while this girl was in his apartment. He’s pretty sure his Yelp rating would drop a bit if he cried on the couch about you to his old hook up. 

He starts to speak but you cut him off before he can, “Don’t worry about it! I’ll see you later.” You force a smile before walking away, not allowing him to get a word in as you quickly step into your apartment and move to the furthest room away from your bedroom. 

You can feel the cold of your kitchen floor as you sit on your butt, back against your cabinets, the small twinge of defeat spreading within you. “This is fine. Maybe she’s just a friend. I can always tell him tomorrow,” you whisper out. But your fingers seem to think otherwise as they type out a message to Seulgi, informing her that the mission was unsuccessful and you’d be putting on The Notebook like you always did. It was basically protocol to do so when things went south in your life. 

She doesn’t even know how to console you, knowing she can’t tell you it was his loss or that he wasn’t worth it because she knows that’d be a lie and you wouldn’t believe it for a second. The only thing she can offer is coming over, but you’re quick to turn her down, deciding that being alone in the comfort of your bed as you inhaled the ice cream you bought for Jungkook would be best. 

Is being in your room the wisest choice when you know you share a wall with Jungkook—and he has a cute girl over? No. Probably not. But you figure if you hear anything explicit it’s just your dose of karma, so you accept it, turning up the volume of the movie a few levels just to soften the blow. 

However, Jungkook would definitely not be hooking up with her in his bedroom, or anywhere in his apartment for that matter. Luckily Aillie is blessed with the gift of reading the damn room and can easily spot the shift in Jungkook’s mood the second he shuts the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch now, hands gently placed on her knees as she gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“I get the vibe that somethings off.”

He looks up at her then, slowing his pace until he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My friend—my neighbor just wanted to talk about something. But everything’s fine.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, and Aillie doesn’t believe him in the slightest. A small sigh fills the air as she stands up, collecting her bag and approaching him. “Look, I know deep talks really aren’t our thing so I’m not going to even try to dive into this, but you should go talk to your friend.”

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder before she makes her way to the door to leave, Jungkook already following closely behind her. “No, you don’t have to go. You came all this way because I texted you with way too much tequila in my system.”

“Jungkook,” she laughs, opening the door with a smile. “You’re way too sweet for your own good. It was nice seeing you though.” Her eyes slowly move over to your front door before looking back at him, head cocking to the side in a very clear indication that he better go over. He can only nod in understanding, waving her goodbye and shutting the door once she heads down to the elevator. 

The action sounds of the movie they were watching continues to fill his apartment, whatever chaos was going on only making his brain whirl so he’s quick to grab the remote and shut it off entirely. Now he’s just stuck in complete silence, wondering if he should quickly make his way over to yours or play it calm and collected. 

The total silence allows him to hear the muffled mumbling of a movie he knew all too well. It draws him in, lures him into his bedroom until he’s kneeling on the mattress with his ear pressed against the wall to properly make it out. You were watching the Notebook, at a concerning volume, which could mean a number of things. Jungkook knew none of them were good, usually rooted in issues you had with your ex, or a tough day at work, or any particular day where you just felt like crying. 

With a deep breath, he’s slowly knocking along his wall, almost experimentally, hoping it's enough to grab your attention through the current scene playing. For a second he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep while watching the film, but then the room falls silent as you pause it entirely. 

Your hearts racing now, ears straining to hear anything else and hoping this wasn’t how the beginning of the explicit noises would start, but then another knock comes from behind you. It makes you gasp, like you’ve just been caught being the nosey neighbor you are, hearing the soft scrape of his hand sliding down the wall. The ice cream gets put onto your nightstand as you sit up properly, forcing yourself out of the mountain of pillows you were practically suffocating in and turning around to knock back.

Jungkook’s palm presses back onto the wall, smiling at your response before fishing his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find your thread of messages, further down the list than he was used to, and as he opens them up and sees the string of unanswered texts dating back to two weeks ago, it stings just like it did before. He pushes his pride aside though, knowing you had wanted to talk today in person, so he proceeds to quadruple text you. 

Jungkook 8:44pm : are you seriously watching the notebook again?

You’re unlocking your phone the second it buzzes, smiling at the dimly lit screen before typing out a response. 

Y/N 8:45pm : shut up, it’s my comfort movie

Y/N 8:45pm : do you wanna watch it with me? for old times sake

The device is locked and placed face down onto your sheets the second you hit send, sinking into the pillows once again as you try not to scream at yourself because you know he’ll hear you. Why would you invite him over when he clearly has company? You had seen her with your own eyes, had seen how cute she is, had seen how cute Jungkook is, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. 

Jungkook is quick though, texting back in agreement and heading over instantly. If you were watching your comfort movie then Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay. Putting the past two weeks behind him, knowing you’d most likely have a good enough explanation—an explanation he would definitely be needing before the night was over—he’s knocking on your door before you can even check your messages. 

It takes you a minute to untangle your limbs from your covers as you hastily try to get to your door, sock clad feet sliding along your wooden floors when you finally yank the door open. Jungkook wears a soft smile as he stares down at you, taking note that you had switched your outfit to your usual sad movie binge attire of baggy shirt and lounge shorts. His eyes zero in on your lips when he notices there's something lingering at the corner of them. 

“So, are you gonna share whatever the hell that is?” His finger points at it smugly, laughing when your tongue peeks out to wipe it away. 

“It was actually meant to be for you.” Stepping aside, you let him enter your place. Jungkook almost feels a little strange being here after the weird few weeks, but he pushes it aside, just wanting things to feel normal. 

“Does that mean there’s no more left?” His eyes playfully narrow at you as you step closer, moving on to stare at the kitchen table, and the coffee table in search of the tub of ice cream that supposedly had his name on it. The earlier nerves you felt slowly fade away when you realize he’s not visibly upset about what happened, but it only makes your guilt deepen that despite your ability to be a crummy friend, Jungkook would still try his best to come through for you. 

“There’s about half of it left, it’s probably a little soft now though.” You side step him to enter the kitchen, grabbing an extra spoon and handing it over as a peace treaty, smiling when he gratefully accepts it. “C’mon, I paused the movie.”

Jungkook is not a stranger to your bedroom, especially when sappy movies were playing, finding his spot easily on the right side where he typically handed you tissues whenever you cried. The tissues were missing this time, in place of them being the bag of snacks you had bought, his ice cream on the other nightstand. 

“What part are you on?” he asks, settling onto the bed after fluffing up the pillows, waving his hands so you could pass the tub of ice cream his way. 

“It just started raining on the boat.” Jungkook hums, scooping out some of the chocolate ice cream and into his mouth. He knew this scene very well, and when you press play, he mentally repeats all of the lines. Just as Noah declares he wrote her 365 letters, you awkwardly clear your throat, your own spoon slowly sneaking over to his side to steal some ice cream for yourself. 

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with your date.” Your voice sounds timid, something he’s not used to hearing from you at all, so he chuckles, laughing harder when you swat at his arm. “I’m serious, I should have texted you before just showing up.”

“Really? When have you ever done that before?” The two of you never notified the other when they wanted to show up, Jungkook had even given you the code to his place once when he was at work and you were desperate for some fruity pebbles—you used that code to your advantage and Jungkook never hated it. But all things considered, it's fair why you think you would have to give him a heads up. 

“You didn’t make it awkward though.” It’s not the complete truth, you coming over is what had made Aillie decide to leave, but Jungkook had to take most of the credit for it. “I kinda made it awkward from the beginning.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I went out last night with Jimin“ —you immediately hum in understanding, knowing very well how convincing Jimin could be with alcohol— “and apparently I texted her to hang out today, had no recollection, so when she showed up I was definitely not ready.”

“Damn, this is how I know you’re a better person than I am. If that happened to me, the second I checked my peephole and saw someone I didn’t remember inviting over, I’m gonna pretend I’m not home.”

“Yeah well, she lives like an hour away so I’d feel like an ass if I did that. Don’t think I’ll be talking to her again any time soon though.” He sighs in thought, gently tapping his spoon on the surface of the softening ice cream. There was one thing weighing heavy on his mind, needing to know what important thing you had to talk to him about, wondering if you were actually going to friendship dump him earlier and he had just made it worse by coming over and hanging out like old times. 

He doesn’t want to come right out and ask it though, not wanting to set himself up for an awkward conversation in case that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about, so he settles for something safe enough that would allow him to get a glimpse. 

“So how are things with Hoseok?” Yeah, that’s a good start. 

“Huh?” Your spoon freezes in its spot, face clearly looking confused in the dim glow of the television, the movie long forgotten now that you were speaking. 

“Tinder guy? Yellow sunglasses guy that gave you mono?” 

It suddenly clicks again, having forgotten all about Jung Hoseok the second you had gotten home from the failed date and came to terms with your feelings. Your lie of having a cold must have been believable enough for Jungkook to genuinely think he had given you something like mono. 

“He didn’t give me mono!” Jungkook rolls his eyes with a playful smile, humming along like he totally believes you. “But I didn’t tell you?”

He frowns as he stares at you, not entirely sure how to take your tone. “Tell me what? That you’re engaged and the wedding is in June?”

“No way,” you laugh, swatting his spoon away with a clank as you grab some ice cream before shoving it in your mouth, fighting against the brain freeze to continue speaking. “Our date was a bust.”

“How? Was it that bad?” He desperately wanted to know, having convinced himself the date had gone spectacularly well and you were now an exclusive item. The small twinge of guilt is felt when he realizes he’s a little too happy that the date had been a failure, but he allows himself to have this small, tiny victory. 

“Mm, it was so good it was bad.” He looks utterly confused, and you don’t blame him, so you elaborate. “He was this perfect gentleman who just wanted to play games, like to the point where he had a notebook where he was tallying our points, and then he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodbye.”

“Oh the horror!” Jungkook gasps, setting his spoon down to clutch his heart in dramatics. “How dare he try to romance you with a game night.”

“Jungkook, shut up!” you laugh, finally feeling like everything was right again, sitting in bed with your closest friend as you teased each other. “Look, I’ll give him some credit. The date was nice, he was not the sleazy douchebag his profile made him out to be, and I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl for him on Tinder. But he clearly wanted something serious and—“

“And you don’t want that right now. It’s fair.” Of course you would turn him down, you had just decided to embark on this new adventure in the single world. It was kind of dumb for Jungkook to assume one date with Tinder Boy would be enough for you to give up your short lived dream. 

You take a steady breath at his words before taking another scoop of ice cream, lips wrapped around the spoon as you slowly pull it out of your mouth. The nerves are trickling back in, making your heart skip and your eyes bounce around. If you don’t come out and say it now, you know you never will. 

Your spoon joins his in the tub of ice cream before you decide to move it back to the nightstand, forcing yourself to look back at him, seeing him turned away as he rummages through the plastic bag full of snacks. “I don’t want that with him.”

Jungkook freezes, the rustling of plastic ceases as his hands come back to his sides and he turns back around. With him. He was the king of jumping to worse case scenarios so his brain has no issues coming to this very horrible conclusion. 

“Have you been talking to Hajoon again?”

“No, Jungkook I haven’t.”

“Are you sure? I’m saying this now, but if you get back with him I will not hesitate to pop him in the face if I run into him in the halls. It’s fair game out there, neutral territory for him to get his ass beat—“

“It’s you.”

His brain short circuits at that, mini versions of himself currently running around and screaming in his head as he tries to make sense of this. The first instinct he has is to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t been talking to Hajoon again, and laugh it off. But you look a little too vulnerable right now, eyes nervously looking at him and then looking away at his lingering silence. 

“Wait, what?” It’s the only thing he can sputter out, caught off guard by your words, not wanting to say anything else in case the world was cruel enough for him to have completely misheard you. 

“I don’t want that with Tinder Boy or Hajoon, I want it with you.” It gets a little easier saying it a second time, but his reaction is hard to gauge. You had been expecting him to reciprocate the confession instantly, but the longer he looked shocked only made you think that you and Seulgi had been seriously wrong about his supposed crush. 

Jungkook is having a difficult time trying to go from you ghosting him to you suddenly admitting to liking him, the change in emotions not allowing him to say anything he had practiced in the mirror for so long. He can’t come out and give you a speech about how he thinks you’re the one, how you’re obviously a good match together, brain too focused on other details. “How long have you known this?”

“For the past two weeks, but deep down I know it’s been longer.”

His wide eyes glance over at you now, everything slowly clicking into place. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” you mumble, embarrassed over the way you had acted. The last time you had avoided someone was in elementary school, having a best friend go ask your crush if he likes you while you hid in the bathroom, scared of the answer. “I like you Jungkook and I knew I wouldn’t be able to play it cool. I was scared to say something and have you not feel the same and then have our friendship be weird.”

Jungkook smiles in that adorable way you love, nose scrunching up cutely as he leans closer, large palms coming to cup your cheeks. He has wanted to hear this for so long, and sure, maybe it wasn’t some super romantic confession over a candlelit dinner like he had occasionally dreamed of, but this felt right. 

“You’re so stupid,” he whispers out, thumb softly caressing your cheek as he chuckles, feeling the way your lips turn into a frown at his harmless insult. 

“Jungkook, I’m being serious,” you whine, heart still pounding in your chest. Your hands come up to gently wrap around his wrists, allowing him to continue to squish your cheeks with that endearing look on his face. 

“I’m being serious too Y/N. Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the same?” Jungkook did everything he did with you out of pure friendliness, never expecting to get something in return from it, but there was a small sprinkling of a crush in every one of his actions. “I like you too, and I have for a really long time.”

The relief you feel comes instantly, lips slowly pulling into a smile when you finally have the confidence to look directly into his eyes again. If this is how light you feel after the two weeks spent freaking out, you can only imagine how Jungkook feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Now, can I please kiss you?” You’re nodding the second the question leaves his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his hands glide down to cup your jaw, soft lips slowly pressing against yours. It’s a gentle smack of skin as he pulls back, a smirk on his lips when he opens his eyes, softly rubbing his nose against yours. 

“Wait,” he breathes out, chuckling softly. “Is he still looking?” He has the nerve to repeat the same question that had been the root of your guilt, and when your eyes shoot open and glare at him, he can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. 

“I hate you,” you mutter out, not an ounce of truth behind it. 

“Mm, no you don’t.” 

His lips find yours again, falling into a steady rhythm, softer and less rushed than the first kiss you had shared at the club. There’s no pounding bass in the background, or the taste of liquor on your lips, but Jungkook prefers it this way. He likes the low hum of the movie continuing to play in the background, the sweetness of the ice cream lingering on your lips when his tongue gently swipes at the seam of them, the way your hands slowly slide around his neck as he deepens each kiss. 

With each shared breath, you slide further down your bed, pulling Jungkook down with you until he’s hovering directly above you. His knees dig into the sheets, one hand pressed beside your head to keep himself stable as you urge him even closer to you. The delicate golden chain he wears kisses your skin, pendant settling onto your chest, the cool sensation is almost enough to distract you as his tongue slowly slips into your mouth. Jungkook groans when you let out a small gasp, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently at the strands by the nape of his neck. 

He wants to remember this kiss instead of the one from the club, embed every gasp you let out into his brain, the way your chest pushes up to feel more of him, how your hands slide down his back, leaving a fiery trail in their path that makes Jungkook shiver. And when you slide your thighs further apart for him, innocently at first, he can’t help it when his lips freeze on yours as you slowly roll your hips upwards. It gives him the same automatic reaction he had gotten at the club, all the blood rushing to his cock instantly, except this time he doesn’t feel the shame he had felt before. There was no ulterior motive to what you were doing, sincerity shown in your confession, shared within each kiss, so Jungkook allows himself to bask in the want he feels for you.

“Y/N,” he groans out when you repeat the action, pulling away from your swollen lips to stare at you through hooded eyes. You’re licking your lips over as your eyes slowly open, a small glimmer evident in them as you tilt your head and pretend to not know what you’re doing.

“What?” you question, leaning up to kiss the edge of his mouth, giggling when he attempts to chase your lips as you pull back, choosing to kiss down his jaw instead. As your tongue gently trails along the side of his neck, you feel the harsh gulp he takes, his fingers bunching up in the sheets beside your head. His neck has always been a weak point for him, turning him into a puddle in seconds, you knew this from the unfiltered conversations you’ve had and it was something you were definitely going to be using to your advantage. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you nip at his skin, a visible shiver racking through him. 

“Of course I am,” you hum, letting your hands roam his back, sliding around his front until you’re sneaking past the white fabric of his shirt. When your cool hands meet his skin, he tenses, the muscles on his stomach tightening up as your fingertips trail up his body. You’ve known Jungkook was well defined, lean and toned in all the best places, having seen him shirtless a few times. But being able to touch him like this, feel each stuttered breath and jump of his skin reacting to your touch fueled you. 

Jungkook knows you can feel the racing of his heart now, your palms flat on his chest, each thrum revealing his emotions despite the cool and calm exterior he was trying to have. His hips lower towards yours, resisting the urge to rut into you as you start to suck on his skin. The low hum you let out vibrates against his neck, mixed in with the feeling of your wet lips, and he knows he’s done for. The final blow comes in the form of you swiping your tongue at the blossomed hickey, sweet voice pulling him back to earth as you look at him once more. “I want you Jungkook.”

Oh god, he couldn’t do this. His face pulls into a grimace, begging himself to not instantly cum in his pants at what you just said. How many times has he fantasized about this? Hoped you’d beg him for anything in that same exact voice, dreamed of you kissing and sucking on his skin like you currently were. Jungkook isn’t sure any amount of mental preparation would be enough for this. 

“Say that again please.”

You giggle, finger pushing back a strand of his hair as it falls over his face, tucking it behind his ear. The normal doe eyed look you were accustomed to is nowhere to be found, pupils blown out in lust as he stares at you. Being on the receiving end of this stare fills your stomach with butterflies, the flapping of their wings intensifying as he nudges his nose into yours. 

“I want you.” It’s breathless, spoken so softly through the background noise like a personal secret just for him. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing you say it, that much is proven true when you repeat it in between kisses, trailing back up his neck in the same path you had taken until you're speaking the words directly against his lips. He swallows them down greedily, groaning into your mouth when his tongue tangles with yours once more. 

“Fuck, you can have me baby.” He chuckles against your mouth when you start to tug at his shirt, yanking the thin material until he has to pull back and slip the tee off himself. The balled fabric gets tossed aside without a care, dark swirls of ink on his arm fully revealed now, each tattoo reminding you of how long you’ve known him, remembering the two pieces that he had when you first met. When he leans back over you, taking his time trailing kisses down your neck, onto your chest until his own hands are slowly tugging your shirt off of you, you decide there’s other things to focus on besides his glorious tattoos.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair when he kisses the swells of your breast, warm tongue sliding over your nipple before his lips are wrapping around it. His large palm gropes the other, thumb flicking over the pebbled bud, smirking when you push your chest further out for him.

“What baby?” He pulls back to blow a gust of cool air on your nipple, the wetness of his saliva making your skin break out into goosebumps. 

“No teasing.”

Jungkook’s laughing now, eyes peering up at you through his lashes. “Oh, you think I’m not gonna tease you after what you did?” He tsks in disapproval as he continues to kiss down your torso, letting his hands trail down your sides, not stopping until he reaches the hem of your shorts. A kiss is placed above your navel as he pulls the shorts down your legs, toying with the waistband of your black underwear. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

The build up before pleasure will always be your favorite part. The way his hands grip your thighs after tugging your underwear off, fingertips trailing up until his palm is pressing them further apart. It’s impossible to look at him now, the visual of his long hair framing his face as he starts to press wet kisses on your skin is too much to handle. You can feel the warm huff of air when he laughs as your head drops back onto the pillow once more, eyes slipping shut while you wait with anticipation. 

Jungkook wants to comment over how wet you are already, boost his own ego about being able to rile you up with just kissing, but he can see the way you’re already on edge, and he decides he can tease you some more later with what he has in store. Instead, he gives you what you’re mentally pleading him for. Finally pressing his soft lips to your folds, the short gasp you release as his tongue glides up before gently flicking across your clit has him shutting his own eyes, reveling in the way you react to his touch. 

His long fingers spread out your folds before he’s messily spitting onto them, watching the way the glob of saliva trickles down before he’s diving in, falling into the perfect pace with ease. It has your hips rutting up instantly, your hand uncurling its grip from your sheets to travel down your body and find its place tangled in his hair. Jungkook groans against your clit when your fingers grip tightly, yanking the dark strands as the prettiest moan flows out of you. 

“J-just like that, fuck,” you whimper, finally lifting your head up to stare down at him when he latches his lips around your clit and sucks. It sends a spark down your spine, stomach tensing at his rhythm, fully intent to have you fall apart. 

Jungkook wants to push you over the edge, knows he’s talented enough to get you there in record time—he was cocky in the best way—and the way your thighs tremble as he slowly sinks his finger into you proves his point. The slick coating your entrance allows a second finger to slip through with little resistance, a shuddering breath filling the air as he begins to spread his fingers apart, stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

It’s not until his fingers curl up, rubbing along the sweet patch inside of you and you moan out his name, that he realizes he has you right where he wants you. He can’t get himself to look up at you, to see the way your jaw drops as you plead for more. Jungkook knows if his eyes lock with yours too soon he’ll be too weak to be as cruel as he wants to be. 

The pleasure blooms inside you, hips rolling up into his in a way he welcomes, smirk spreading onto his lips when your moans get breathier. He eats you out with determination set in his brows, not satisfied until you’re tightening around his fingers, thighs threatening to close in on either side of his head. The messy way he slurps against you sends you reeling, rutting up into him with need, the wet thump of his fingers blending in with your moans of his name. 

“God, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.” He believes you, eyes finally opening up to stare at you. The visual is enough to make his cock throb in his pants, your glassy eyed stare locked onto his, chest rising and falling in time with each choked breath. When he playfully winks at you, your walls pulse around him, seconds away from being pushed over the edge, and that’s when he pulls away. 

The warm glow of your orgasm approaching, just about to crest, gets ripped away from you instantly. It makes you gasp, thighs twitching as your hips attempt to push up back towards his mouth, but he’s having none of that. His shiny lips smile up at you innocently, head tilted to slowly kiss your trembling thighs, chuckling at the small cry of frustration you let out. 

“You taste good baby,” he hums, smooching the skin at the juncture of your thighs, circling around your clit without relieving the pressure you felt. The dull ache has your fingers releasing his hair in defeat, a frown etched onto your lips. 

“Jungkook, that’s mean,” you pant, sitting up and resting on your elbows to properly stare at him. 

“A little, but you deserved it don’t you think?” Jungkook didn’t want to tease you too much, he just wanted to get even for the past two weeks. “You could have had me between your thighs every single night if you would’ve said something soon, so I think you can be patient.”

A firm kiss is pressed to your swollen clit and it makes your whole body shudder, your head dropping back as you take a deep breath to control yourself. “I can’t be patient Kook,” you whine, head leveling back out to give him the most convincing stare you can muster. There's that crease between your brows that he likes when you pinch them together, hands gently raking through his hair, teeth pillowing out your lower lip as you bite down onto it. 

“Please, you can torture me later if you want but not now.” Your words have him cocking up his brow, hands once again gripping the meat of your thighs before he crawls back up your body. The feeling of his chain dragging up your skin has you shivering, breath catching in your throat when he hovers inches above you once more. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before his hand slips between your thighs again. A groan reaches his ears as his fingers circle your clit, covered in your arousal and his saliva, gliding with ease as he works you back to your ruined orgasm. 

His lips find yours, swallowing down the moan you let out when he quickens his pace. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangling with yours with more urgency than before, messy and desperate in a way that had more arousal gushing out of you. The earlier pleasure reignites inside you, your hands sliding around his neck to keep him close, kissing him with fervor, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past between each smack of your lips. 

“Jungkook,” you barely manage to squeal, a few more flicks needed to finally push you over the edge. Your lips are slick with spit as you pull back, jaw slack as you lose yourself in the feeling, and Jungkook easily bookmarks this into his brain to go back to and daydream of whenever he’s bored at work. Your eyes are squeezed shut as the feeling flows through you, not able to see how Jungkook stares at you in awe. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, slowly pulling his hand away when you keen at the sensitivity, thighs twitching on the sheets as the pleasure rolls through you in waves. You’re looking up just in time to see him slip his messy fingers into his mouth, tongue licking them clean and savoring the taste of you. Just as he slides them back out, your fingers wrap around his wrist and lead them directly into your mouth, sinking onto them with your eyes locked on his own. 

Jungkook’s cock jumps in its confines when you suck, tip of your tongue circling his fingertips before popping them back out with a smirk. There’s a brief moment of shock on his features before he’s jumping into action, quickly unbuttoning his jeans in haste that left you giggling on your sheets. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, laughing harder when he pauses with one foot stuck in the hole of his jeans, a playful glare thrown your way. 

“Oh, now you want patience?” He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, slowly shuffling towards you as he stands beside the bed in just his boxers. Your hands make grabby motions for him, reaching for the waistband of his underwear to tug them down, licking your lips over as his cock springs out. It bobs in the air for a second, thick and heavy, precum collecting at the tip with the prettiest veins on the underside of it. Of course Jungkook and his pretty privilege would have a dick worthy of leaving you speechless. 

Jungkook allows you to ogle at him, confidently wrapping his palm around the base of his cock, hissing slightly at the sensation as he looks down at it, allowing spit to accumulate behind his lips before a string of it escapes and lands right onto his length to help the glide of his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight, hand replacing his as he guides your motions, giving an experimental squeeze and enjoying how his abs tense up. 

“I’ve been patient for a long time Y/N. You said you want me right?” You’re nodding instantly, eyes looking away from his shiny length to stare up at him. “How do you want me?”

“Jungkook, just get over here.” He doesn’t resist when you let go of his cock, hands gripping his arm to yank him back onto the bed in a clumsy heap. His legs are a tangled mess, nearly ramming his forehead with yours from the force, shared laughter filling the air as you situate yourself. Jungkook had pictured this a thousand times and this is exactly how he imagined it, full of soft kisses, hushed laughter and goofy smiles, playfulness mixed in with lust all coming together perfectly to make the two of you. 

As he settles between your thighs, your sodden folds inches from his length, you can see the look on his face as his eyes glance in between both of your nightstands. Already knowing the question that was about to spill out, you beat him to the punch. “You don’t need one, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control, and haven’t been with anyone since…” you trail off, not needing to specify.

Jungkook tries not to look too excited, really, but it’s hard. Every one of his lewd fantasies had involved being able to feel you entirely, and if your thoughts from that night were anything to go by, you definitely want the same. It takes him a second to speak, having to swallow properly to prevent himself from choking on his saliva and embarrassing himself in front of you. “I’m clean, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you smile, biting down onto your bottom lip as he fists his cock, slowly leading it to your dripping center. His free hand rests on your inner thigh, softly palming the skin as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscles and into your heat. With his gaze locked down to where you connect, he sees inch by inch sink into you, finally bottoming out with a shared gasp.

Jungkook leans over you properly now, hand sliding up to lace with yours as the other rests beside your head, just taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped tightly around his cock. You welcome the stretch, the curve of his length inside you, how he cages you in with his body, eyes full of want staring directly at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze because he knows he can’t properly form a sentence right now. 

“Fuck me, please.” With his hips pressed flush against yours, he’s slowly inching back, letting you get used to his size with each thrust. It doesn’t take long before he’s rearing back entirely, thrusting forward with a wet squelch, corner of his lips curling up into a smirk when you moan out his name. Your hand curls around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself steady from the force of his hips. 

Each time the head of his cock would nudge against your bundle of nerves, your nails would sink into his skin, leaving half moon indents that left him groaning in pleasure. Jungkook hadn’t outright told you, but it had become increasingly obvious that he has a slight kink for pain, practically mewling above you as you scratch his back, fucking you with more determination than before. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, slotting his lips with yours in a messy kiss. The back of your headboard starts to rattle against the wall, bouncing back in time with his hips, and it brings you back to the filthy thoughts you had before. How often you’d hear the same sounds on the opposite side, mixing in with the sharpness of skin connecting together, and you want it. So badly.

“J-jungkook,” you breathe out, letting him pepper more kisses onto you, hips never slowing down. “Can you do something for me?” The tone you use, coated in sugar so sweet he couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Anything.”

It’s hard to concentrate on anything else while his cock continues to fuck into you, turning your mind into mush each time he sunk all the way in. He can see the way you try to focus, eyes falling shut with the cutest pout on your kiss swollen lips, finally grabbing onto the reigns of your mind as you spit it out. “Wanna feel you—fuck—spank me, please.”

Only then do his hips slow down, cock throbbing inside of you, fighting the urge to cum before fulfilling your request. The only confirmation that he was agreeing, wholeheartedly, comes when he pulls out of you, moving too quickly for you to protest at the loss of contact. The room spins for a second as his hands grip onto your hips and flip you over with ease, palms gripping the globes of your ass and softly patting them with a chuckle.

“Of course baby,” he murmurs, hooking his arm underneath your stomach to haul you up onto your knees, allowing you to steady yourself before he’s sliding into you once again. The change in position has you keening, his cock sinking deeper than before, the wetness dripping out of you helping him maintain the earlier pace he had. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, back arching in ecstasy as he hits your g-spot with precision, a tiny shriek of his name making him smile.

Jungkook keeps you on edge, strong hands gripping the skin of your hips tightly, mouth dropping open while he pants at the way you pulse around his cock, leaving it coated in your slick. His hand slides down to your ass, a gentle touch being your only warning before he’s pulling his hand back and delivering a swift slap to your skin. Your reaction is immediate, an unrestrained moan sounding like music to his ears. The sharp sting spreads directly to your core, your head bowing forward as you mentally beg him for more, your wish being granted seconds later when he repeats it on the other side.

If the wet sounds of his cock fucking you weren’t filthy enough, the added slap of his palm across your ass definitely topped it off. Jungkook had never seen you so needy, thighs coated in your arousal, gushing around him each time he spanked you until you were creaming his cock. The greedy way your walls suck him in, wanting him closer, deeper than ever, left him mesmerized. 

His hand soothes the dull throb on your skin, a trembling breath reaching his ears as he leans over your back, lips kissing up your spine up until reaching your shoulder. Hot pants of breath hit your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail along the edge of your ear. “Feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you mewl, voice trembling from the pleasure, rutting your hips in time with his. 

Jungkook’s way of love was a breath of fresh air for you, rough enough to exhilarate you, the force of his hips leaving you scrambling for purchase to prevent you from face planting onto the sheets, gripping onto your hair and tugging it back with enough force to make your body tingle. But it was intertwined with adoration, sweet praise whispered into your ear, lacing his fingers with yours to let you feel secure.

“You’re never getting rid of me baby,” he groans out. The low rasp in his voice makes you tremble, neck straining from his grip in your hair but the burn feels too good to pull away. His small confession has your heart skipping, eyes slipping shut to bask in the overwhelming feeling surrounding you.

“Good,” you manage to pant, “would never dream of it.” After four years of friendship, the beginning stages of getting to know each other, figuring out the right ways to flow with your different personalities, it's all out of the way now, so it’s incredibly easy for you to picture a steady future with him. The breakfast gossiping, shameless club outings, chaotic game nights with snacks thrown at each other, you want everything you already have with him and more. What you have, so rooted in sincerity, built off mutual respect for each other, blossoming into love so pure, you can’t imagine having this with anyone else.

“Y/N,” he gasps, the pulsing of your walls bringing him closer to his climax. “I’m close.”

You can only hum in agreement, burying your face into your pillow when he releases the grip he has in your hair, nipples rubbing against the sheets in time with his thrusts, the sensitivity sending sparks throughout you. Both his hands grip your hips again, dimpling the skin as he quickens his pace, the tantalizing roll of his hips intent to send you over before him. His eyes trail over the curve of your back, how you arch it further to feel more of him, sliding down to your ass, seeing the way it bounces back with each snap of his hips, how you weakly rut back onto him, pussy clamping around his length as your orgasm approached. 

Jungkook slides his hand around you, trailing across your tummy before slipping between your thighs to the spot you needed him most. Even with your face buried in the sheets, the moan you let out is loud enough for Jungkook to hear perfectly, body shuddering as he flicks across your clit in tight circles.  

“Kook, I’m cumming—fuck,” you shout out, white heat enveloping your body as you get sent over the edge. Your mind blanks for a minute, the intensity of your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly, making your limbs tense up while every nerve ending lights up. The only thing you can think of is him, chanting out your name while you pulse around him, sweet words coaxing you through your high, thumb rubbing along the skin of your hips as he never slows his pace. 

As he fucks you through it, groaning out at how tight your walls are around him, you have to turn your head to gasp in a breath, face feeling hot from it all. You can feel how sweaty your skin has become, the back of your neck feeling sticky as your turn to get a glimpse of him, body still shuddering from the aftershocks. 

Jungkook doesn’t have a care for his own volume now, moaning unabashedly as he pistons his hips into you with less grace than before. The soft mewls of overstimulation you let out just bring him closer to his release, thrusts getting sloppier as the pleasure takes over him. 

“Fuck, baby-” he grunts out, mouth dropping open as he moans even louder, finally falling apart. He pushes further into you, head falling forward as his hips press flushed against your ass, warm spurts of his cum filling you up in a way that fulfills your dirtiest fantasies. A few more shallow thrusts has the two of you gasping, hearts pounding in your chests, coming down slowly as he finally stills.

A serene silence falls over you, the movie long turned off in the background, only the low glow of the television letting you know it was still on. With great hesitation, Jungkook finally pulls out of you, gulping when he sees the thick globs of cum spill from your core, dripping down your thighs before landing on the sheets in a sinful mess. Your sheets are well and truly ruined, Jungkook would honestly suggest tossing them in the trash judging by the damp spot directly beneath you.

With a small groan, you’re flopping fully onto your stomach, thighs no longer able to keep yourself up, the exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungkook chuckles when he hears you, soothing your back with a gentle massage. “You’re not sleeping in here babe.”

“Why not,” you slur, cheek pressed against your pillow, eyes already shut. All you wanted to do was lay here, preferably with his arms wrapped around you, but Jungkook clearly has other plans. 

“Because it’s disgusting,” he laughs, giving you a few more seconds of rest before he’s moving around. The dip in the bed lets you know he’s gotten off, one eye peeking open to search for him, seeing him gathering his belongings from the floor.

“Where are you going?”

He shimmies back into his clothes with a grimace, gathering your own items before approaching you once more. “We are going next door and sleeping in my totally clean bed, c’mon.”

You only put up a fight for a second, secretly enjoying the way he helps you get dressed in your earlier clothes, heart swelling in your chest at how domestic it all feels. The mess in your room would have to be dealt with another day, the only important item being the ice cream that finds its way back into the freezer as you both head out of your apartment and swiftly enter his next door.

He’s just as delicate and careful in the shower, taking turns cleaning each other, large hands gripping your ass and giggling like a child when you wince at the small throb of pain you feel. Soft kisses are shared under the showerhead, warm water soothing your body as the room fogs up, sweet confessions scribbled on the glass in his messy writing, topped off with a heart. Jungkook stops you before you can wipe it away, shyly telling you that he’d like to see it reappear the next time he showers.

His bedroom was one you weren’t too familiar with, used to lounging in his living room the most, so as he settles into his bed after getting cozy in his pajamas, you wait for him to call you over before joining him. The coolness of his sheets has you sighing, snuggling into his side with a smile on your lips, one that Jungkook sees as he stares down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Seeing you draped in his clothes, cuddled up beside him in a way you’ve never done before, makes him feel like a giddy teenager. 

“Can I be honest?” he wonders, arm wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. When you hum in confirmation, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought you were going to friendship dump me today.”

“What, why?”

Your head bobs up as he shrugs his shoulders. “The way you were acting reminded me of the last time you told me you wanted to focus on your relationship. I was just scared I was going to lose you again.”

The tone he uses makes your heart ache, the same guilt you felt these past few days coming back when you put yourself in his shoes. You had no idea that the way you were acting would affect him this way, never once imagining that he thought you would cut off this friendship while you were just coming to terms with the fact that you harbored strong feelings for him. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you sigh, palm resting on his chest, feeling each beat of his heart, no longer racing like before, confident and steady in it’s pace because he knows you’re not going anywhere. “I’m stupid, and freaked out after what I did, and just needed to gather my thoughts before saying anything.”

He cranes his head away from you, a confused look on his face. “After what you did? What did you do?”

Fuck.

“Uhm,” you start with a strained laugh, refusing to look up at him out of embarrassment, but the truth has to come out so you power through it.  “So, the night of the date, I sort of got home earlier than I told you I did.”

His eyes narrow at you, refusing to give anything away before he knew where this was going. “Okay, go on.”

“And I sort of heard you through the walls.” You look up at him now, your guilty stare spelling it out for him. His eyes widen before he can conceal his surprise, cheeks warming up instantly because oh boy, he knew exactly where this was going. “And then, I sort of...joined.”

“You lied to me!” he shouts, shocked smile on his face as he recalls the way you had replied to his texts, telling him you had just gotten home and going the extra mile to say you were in a totally different room when in reality, you were sprawled out in your bed after just getting off to the sound of him.

Filthy. And also kind of hot. Jungkook was definitely into that, something he’ll totally proposition you into doing again because why not.  

“I know! I couldn’t help it, it was so hot, and I felt so guilty. But, you’re technically the reason why my orgasm gave me my epiphany and let me realize I really do like you. So, I think I did us both a favor by being a dirty liar.” He’s laughing instantly, fingers gripping your cheeks to turn your head up, planting a firm kiss onto your lips obnoxiously.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. Plus, consider us even because I have definitely heard you getting off on your own plenty of times too.” A squeal of surprise fills the air as you swat at his chest, burying your face into his shirt and feeling the rumble of his laughter. It really wasn’t ever intentional. The walls are thin, you weren’t exactly quiet, and he couldn’t just lay there and ignore it. So call him an opportunist, or a pervert, because you were one too. 

Jungkook is cheeky though, knowing how to get under your skin in the best way, and you can already tell you’re in for a ride when he gets close to your ear and whispers, “You wanna show me how you did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you snort, peering up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You did say I could torture you later.” He smiles innocently, fingers pinching your chin as he kisses you again. “It’s later.”

The sweet laughter that escapes you makes his heart skip a beat, still not able to come to terms that this was happening and wasn’t some dream of his that he’d wake up from. He kisses the tops of your cheeks first, then your nose, before reaching your lips, his hand gently caressing your skin. Jungkook had no intention of torturing you tonight, knowing how tired you typically were after work on a normal day, and after drawing two orgasms out of you that left you shaking, he knows how close you are to sleep with the way your eyes droop. 

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give up on crushes and love?” he mumbles against your lips, inching back to stare down at you. 

“I’m glad I stopped looking for it in the wrong places.” Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with his hair before pulling him back to you, reattaching your lips because you just couldn’t seem to get enough of him. 

Every single moment you shared, from moving in and awkwardly trying to get to know each other, the ups and downs of failed relationships, the push that started it all at the club, and every almost moment in between brought you full circle to right now. There probably won’t be a moment where you don’t wish you had done this sooner, worked past your worry of ruining a good friendship in fear of what could happen, but the past helped mold you into who you are, strengthening your relationship to be the way it is now.

Right now had you thinking of the future, and there was nothing more exciting than that.

#jungkook smut #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #jeongguk smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jungkook fluff #new

[amjustagirl]

Love knows not its depth (until the hour of separation) 

pairing: Kuroo x f! reader  genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! warnings: a tiny smudge of suggestive content wc: 4.9k m.list ~ taglist. ~

a/n: this is my rendition of a grown up Kuroo. life has been a little hectic for me recently, so i’m only getting around to posting it now. pls be kind and i hope y’all love it <3 

“I need a break.”

Kuroo continues to snore. You are unsurprised he doesn’t hear you. After all, he came home glassy eyed, smelling strongly of alcohol after yet another night of drinks with his boss before quickly falling asleep in bed. It’s what he does most weekday nights, leaving you alone at home to manage your two daughters and tuck them into bed. 

“I’m tired, Tetsuro.”

You are too tired to even tell him how you feel. You have a career of your own, two daughters to raise, a never ending list of chores and errands that must be done. You are a mother, a wife, a career woman. You have so many roles to play yet there is no space for you. 

You must do something, anything or risk your heart imploding in your very chest. 

You cannot survive that. 

The next morning, you call your boss, ask for a day off. Then you pack your girls off to your mother’s place with two little suitcases with toys and clothes enough for a long weekend before you take the train to Hakone, check yourself into the ryokan with a view of Mt. Fuji that you spent your honeymoon at - except this time, you’re alone (but then again, you’ve been lonely for so long, you hardly notice the difference anymore).

You dip yourself into the hot waters of the onsens, watch bamboo sway in the breeze. It’s been at least a year since you’ve been even able to take a bath uninterrupted. There’s always something - Aiko needing help with her homework, Fumiko whining for another piece of mochi, your boss calling to chase for yet another report, so all you’ve ever had time for is a hurried shower before placating your daughters or seating yourself in front of your laptop to deal with your boss. 

Finally, you’ve stolen a day to yourself. It’s absolute bliss. 

The water is kind to you. Its heat soothes your aching muscles, the rising steam steadies your breath. You walk out of the baths feeling refreshed, renewed, but when you enter your room you find Kuroo Tetsuro waiting for you. 

“I’ve been calling your phone all afternoon”, he says, face pinched. “I was worried.”

“Were you?” you say before you can stop yourself. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he says, uncrossing his legs to stand. “You’re my wife and the mother of my children, of course I care.”

Wife. Mother. Employee. 

The roles that life has handed you haunts you again. There is no escape for you. 

Your skin suddenly feels as if it’s stretched too tight over your frame. Your bones rattle, brittle. They threaten to break if you take another breath. Yet you laugh and laugh and laugh, the sound spilling from your lips filling the room, suffocating the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“If you really cared, you would have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between bouts of laughter. “I tried fixing myself with a break but you can’t even give me that.” 

Kuroo stares at you, equal parts horrified and confused. He takes a hesitant step forward towards you before thinking the better of it, swerving over to the kettle instead, clutching it as if it holds the cure to your madness. 

“Calm down”, he says, “take a seat”, and you do. He offers you a cup of tea. You accept it, even though you’re still shaking from the aftershock of your laughter. “Drink”, he says, and you bring the cup to your lips, though you wonder absently why you taste salt in the bitter tea. 

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You want to tell him that you’re not strong enough to do what’s expected of you. You want to tell him that you’re drowning from the weight of being his wife, the mother of his kids, from being a working woman that he can be proud of. You want to tell him that you understand his career is important, but so is yours, and you can’t carry the weight of the world alone. 

But that would take too many words, and you are far, far too tired for that. 

So you say blankly - “I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.”

His face falls. 

You should remember that Kuroo Tetsuro, first and foremost, is a child scarred by his parents’ divorce. You should remember that you made promises that you and he would never put your daughters through that. But you’ve floated beyond hysteria into a grey indifference, your mind too broken, too tired, too numb to consider him when you can barely even hold on to yourself. 

You don’t even notice the hot tears soaking through your yukata. You are deaf to his pleas to give him another chance. There is nothing left in you to give because you’ve poured all you’ve had into him, into your family, into your job. You are so, so empty, and you just sit and sip your tea and wonder idly if the warmth from the liquid you’re ingesting will make you feel a little more alive, or if it’s possible to ease the dull ache in your heart. 

It is only when you wake up the next day and the sun is high in the sky that you register that he rolled out your futon for you, tucked you into bed, and kissed your forehead as a goodnight and goodbye. But all of this is washed away by the relief you feel when you read the note he’s left behind telling you that he’s returned to Tokyo, and to enjoy your break. 

So you do. 

You relish every bite of the meals you have at the ryokan. It’s nice not having to cook or scarf down your food at your office desk for once. You fill your time flitting between the onsens and curling up in your room with a book, taking frequent cat naps until tomorrow comes around again and it’s time to check out and head home. 

There’s a brief moment of surprise when the reception informs you politely that your husband already paid your bill - but you suppose that’s just Tetsuro being efficient at racking up credit card points. The bullet train takes you back to Tokyo, and a couple stops on the subway takes you home.  

“Okaeri”, you call softly out of habit, not expecting anyone to respond, but Kuroo responds with an even softer ‘Tadaima’, striding over to take your bags from you and usher you into the apartment. There are pink roses sitting in a vase, but you pay it no mind. 

“The girls?” you ask, already headed in the direction of their room. 

“I picked them up from your mom”, Kuroo responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed”.

A peek into their room and it settles your mind to see that your girls are safe and sound asleep. 

“Thanks,” you say, back in the kitchen, checking the fridge for what you can whip up for breakfast for you and the girls tomorrow. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine”, Kuroo answers, scratching his head. His hair seems a little more rumpled than usual. “I’ll cover it. I should’ve realised you needed a break.”

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me, I’ve got money of my own.”

“No, let me pay for it, please. It’s the least I can do.” 

You shrug. “Okay”, you say gracelessly. “Thank you.”

He continues to watch you over the kitchen counter as you lay out bread, eggs, ham, cheese. It’ll do for a quick breakfast for the girls tomorrow, never mind the guilt eating away at you that you really should do better than feeding them processed food all the time. You’re so preoccupied with planning the morning rush, the best way to clear the stack of reports that must have piled up on your desk at work by now that you miss Kuroo rounding the counter to stare down at you worriedly. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” 

“Oh no, I had a bento on the train on the way back.” It’s second nature to you to brush away anyone’s concern. “It’s for the girls’ breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take them to childcare before work tomorrow. Sleep in and take a break.”

“Really?” You stare back at him, confused. He doesn't even take charge of the girls in the mornings when you’re sick, your mother always has to fill in your place. He only ever turns up on the first day of school each year. 

“Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve rearranged my work schedule so I can take them to school all of this week at least.”

“Oh”, you say, brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, I guess. Wake me up if you need my help.”

“I won’t”, he replies, with a cocky smirk that seems almost false. “Goodnight, love.”

You don’t think of Kuroo’s strange behaviour overmuch, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

Kuroo continues to act strangely all of next week. 

As promised, he takes charge of getting the girls out of bed and ready for school. But you’re taken aback when he starts coming home for dinner, completely floored when he hands you a whole armful of bath salts and orders you to take a relaxing, hot bath while he wrangles both the girls and the washing machine into submission. 

He even calls your mother to ask her to babysit on a Saturday evening so he can take you out for dinner at a fancy restaurant that serves foam instead of food. You manage to stumble through conversation with him - a commendable effort, since it’s been so long since you’ve even held a proper conversation with him besides snatches of discussion about the girls. 

At least until he states during dessert - “we can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.”

The mousse on your spoon melts by the time you put it down on your plate. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls? Is that what this is about?”

Kuroo shakes his head frantically, reaches across the table for your hand, but you yank it away with a glare. The extra rest you’ve gotten this week has injected a little more fight in you. 

“I try my best to be a good wife and mother, but I’m sorry I can’t be perfect and be there for you and the girls 24/7.” You press down on the sliver of cake with a vengeance. Clink! goes the flat of your spoon against the porcelain plate. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but I don’t want to be reliant on you.”

You regret your harsh words when Kuroo slumps back into his chair, murmuring “I just wanted you to be happy. Forget I ever said that.”

He pays the bill and you walk home in silence. He bids you goodnight with a crumpled smile. 

It finally clicks when you are startled awake by Kuroo’s shout of alarm. 

You roll over, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake from the nightmare that has him in its grip. His eyes jolt open, and the sight of your face makes him sink back into the pillow with a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.”

“Why would I leave? This is my home, isn’t it?” You mumble, turning your back to him again. 

You feel the bed shift as Kuroo sits up. 

“No”, he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I was afraid you left me”. 

Oh. So that’s what all of this is about. 

You must stay quiet for far too long, because he gingerly crawls over to you. 

“Dearest”, he says, your heart suddenly aching because you don’t remember the last time you heard him use that pet name with any amount of affection. “Darling”, he tries again, pawing at your back. You shut your eyes resolutely and refuse to turn to face him. 

He doesn’t give up, even though the distance between you seems to yawn wide and wider with each passing second. 

“Are you?” he asks, his words small, shrunken in the still, dark room. “Going to leave me, I mean.” 

No, you’re about to say, the word balancing at the tip of your tongue but it feels wrong. Your break has given you the space to breathe, the time to think. It’s made you realise what you’ve said to him in the ryokan that night remains true. 

This week has shown you that Kuroo can do better as a husband, as a father if he wants to. But he’s poisoned your marriage with neglect, forced you to dress up your sadness in silence, allowed your resentment to fester and simmer into frigid indifference. If you reassure him that you aren’t going to leave him, it’s only because you’re too tired to, not because you actually love him anymore. 

“I don’t know, Tetsuro. Our daughters deserve to grow up with both their parents, but I’m not sure I want them to learn from my example that it’s okay to shoulder the weight of marriage, parenthood and a full time job all by themselves. Your dreams and career are important, I know, but I’m just so tired of being alone in this marriage when it was always supposed to be a partnership between me and you.” 

You hear him choke back a sob. You should comfort him, but the exhaustion you feel at being honest with him, with yourself, weighs your bones down, forces you to sink further down into your mattress. 

“I’m sorry”, he finally says. 

“I’m tired, Tetsuro”, you whisper brokenly, clutching the blankets to your chin. “I think I deserve better.”

“I know. I’ll make it better, I promise.” 

You want to ask him how, but your eyelids grow heavy, and you allow yourself to submerge into slumber. 

You’re not sure what to expect, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. Things start to change. 

Kuroo continues to take your daughters to childcare in the morning on the way to work as he did last week. That very weekend, he straps Fumiko to his chest, takes Aiko by her hand, and within an hour at the department store aided by a flash of his credit card, he purchases a dishwasher and robot vacuum for the house. He loads the dishes without you asking, runs the robot vacuum remotely once a day. It buys you time to breathe, a little more time to sleep. 

He doesn’t always make it home in time for dinner, but he tries his best to rush home so he can read the girls a bedtime story and tuck them into bed. 

“Dada”, Fumiko lisps, chubby fists wound around Kuroo’s tie. ‘I wanna hear another princess story!” 

“No Fumiko! Papa promised to tell us how he met mama!” Aiko prods Kuroo’s side with the wooden doll Yaku sent from Russia that you know he abhors. ‘Keep your promises, papa!” 

“Alright, settle down you monsters. I’ll tell you two stories if you promise to go to sleep right after that.” The girls cheer. “Now. Let’s see. A long, long time ago, your papa met your mama when she decided to beat him up because she thought he was trying to steal her food.” 

“You were trying to steal my food”, you interrupt, leaning against the doorway amused. “You didn’t stop til I stabbed you with my fork.”

He glances up, surprised when you sit beside him on the bed. Then he grins. 

“You left it on the table, dearest. What was a guy supposed to think?” 

“Mama, please let dada tell the story”, Aiko interjects with a huff. 

“Hurry up, dada! I want the princess story next!” Fumiko pulls at her silly dada’s shirt, pouting. 

You both laugh. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips when his eyes meet yours. 

Travelling all around Japan is still part of his job as a marketing director of the Japanese Volleyball Association. But now Kuroo pares it down to the bare minimum, makes sure he’s always back by the weekend at the very least to sweep the girls in his arms and shoo you off for a break of afternoon tea with your friends or shopping with your mom. 

“Will you be ok when I’m gone?”

You hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.”

He bends down to kiss Aiko on her forehead, pinch Fumiko’s cheek playfully. 

“Yes. Well. I’ll come home soon”, he says, quietly. You startle slightly as he brushes his thumb over your wrist, lets it drift over your pulse point. “Please wait for me.” 

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’ll see you soon then”, you reply. His smile widens, his eyes are hopeful, bright. 

On the weekends, he stops flitting off for work functions and events. Instead, now he joins you for lunches at the kaiten zushi near your house, indulging the girls by ordering yet another plate of sushi just so Aiko has another chance to win a toy from the gachapon and Fumiko has another chance at feeling grown up when she lifts the plate from the conveyor belt. He stops ducking out from dinners at the grandparents’ place - both his and yours. Your mom stops giving him dirty looks when he actually turns up more than three times in a row with sake in hand. 

Once every so often, he even throws little parties for your family of four, going so far as to buy a frilly pink apron that makes your daughters giggle when he whips it out for the first time. After a few mishaps (and a number of frantic calls to Fukunaga), he masters how to make takoyaki and okonomiyaki, and in the colder months, he makes steaming pots of nabe and shabu shabu. 

“Itadakimasu” you murmur, and the girls follow suit. “It tastes good”, you say. 

He ducks his head bashfully, pink dusting the column of his neck. 

“Thank you”, he replies. “That means a lot, coming from you.” 

You start to savour the bubbles of happiness in your chest when you see how your daughters’ eyes shine when they see their papa whip out the pink apron. You learn to laugh when you hear the pitter patter of little feet, their delighted squeals and shrieks when they tell you the latest exploits their silly papa is cooking up - sparklers under the stars one weekend, a nerf gun fight, the next.

The weight on your shoulders grows lighter and lighter until one day you hardly notice it at all. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown at the sight of your husband dashing out of your bedroom, hair a frazzled mess. 

He whips around at the sound of your voice. “Oh. Oh.” He approaches you, slowly, carefully. “You’re still here.”

Your frown deepens. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed. Tetsuro, is everything alright?” 

He nods. “It’s fine - I just... I just woke up and thought you were gone.” 

You take a closer look. It’s dark, but the shadows of the night fail to hide the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the fine lines carved into his brow. His shoulders are bowed, his lips downturned and he looks broken, battered.    

Your heart hurts for him. 

“I’m here”, you say, beckoning him towards you. Physical affection has been scarce between you two for so, so long but he looks so distraught it’s only natural to pull him close, let him rest his head on your lap. “I’m here, Tetsuro. I’m not about to run off into the night – you know I don’t like the cold.”

He doesn’t laugh at your feeble joke. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, you say firmly, combing your fingers through his hair, rubbing circles along his back. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do.”

You can feel him sag in relief. 

“You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for me. That’s – that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired, you need to take a break.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can bear it as long as you don’t leave me.” 

“Tetsuro –“ 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he begs, head bowed. “I know I’ve been a shit husband to you for so long. It’s no excuse, but I thought - ” he swallows heavily, waits until his voice stops wavering. “I thought we were ok, ‘cos we didn’t fight, not like my parents did before – before my mother left.”

“I was too tired to fight with you”, you say simply. 

He nods once, jerkily. “I know – I know that now. When you disappeared that day, I didn’t know what to do. I went to your mom’s place and she reamed me out, screamed at me in front of the neighbours. I took the kids back, and it made me realise how fucking hard it was for you to do it all alone.” He inhales, closing his eyes as if the memory aches. “I know it’s late but I’ve changed, I swear. The girls need you. I need you. I’ll do anything as long as you stay.”

His fingers are freezing, but you do not pull away. Not when the desperation reflected in his irises makes your heart lurch in pain.

“It was hard”, you confess, and he shudders, struck in the chest by your honesty. “It was so hard, Tetsuro. You hurt me so damn much that I think I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was really functioning for a while. For a long while.”  

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, and you nod shakily. 

“I know”, you reply, reaching out a hand to cup his face, a bittersweet twist to your lips as he melts into your touch. “That’s a chapter of my life, of our marriage that can’t be re-written. We can’t rewind that. But the past few months have been so different. I – you’ve shown me you’ve changed. And I think –“

You fall silent. 

He prompts you. “Dearest?” 

You recall the glimmer of light in your daughters’ eyes every morning when he takes their hands to walks them to school. You hear the echoes of their laughter, the lilt in their sweet voices every night when they welcome him home. You think of the tea parties he throws, the blanket forts he builds, the frilly pink apron he wears without shame and the bedtime stories he weaves every night.

“I think”, you say, with a smile that reminds him of the rising sun. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you until the weight of your words dawns upon him, and he surges forward to fold you into his arms. 

“Thank you”, he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.” 

“Don’t thank me, you silly man”, you nuzzle into his neck sleepily, draping your arms around his waist. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.”

He laughs wetly, cradling you close as you fall asleep against his chest, soothed by his heartbeat and the tenderness in his gaze.  

Fumiko wakes you up unceremoniously before the sun even rises by climbing into your lap, and you open your eyes to Aiko pouting, hands on hips, demanding to know what’s for breakfast, and dada, dada, make a ham sandwich, pretty please with a cherry on the top. 

“You guys are little monsters”, Kuroo teases with dancing eyes. “Can’t even give your papa a break to snuggle up to your mama.” 

The girls shriek in dismay. “Don’t be mean”, you admonish him gently. 

He mock sniffs. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.”

Aiko and Fumiko crowd the sofa, clamouring to give their papa a kiss, but he stalls them with an imperious wave of his hand. 

“This morning, only a kiss from your mama can chase my crankiness away”. His tone is teasing, but his shoulders remain tense.  

“Nonsense. You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine”, you scold, swatting his arm lightly as the girls giggle. 

“Yours do!” he protests, and you roll your eyes as you press your lips to the corner of his lips, laughing when he puffs out his chest and declares his day can now start, that everything’ll be as right as rain.

Some days are full of sunshine, whilst others are full of rain. That’s life – but it’s bearable, enjoyable even, now that you and Kuroo face each day together, thanking the sun when it shines, and splashing through puddles on rainy days. 

Things recalibrate. 

The mornings are his domain now – he’s a master at concocting the most random breakfast items to satisfy your finnicky daughters. Aiko sniffs when she informs you that she’d prefer her papa to braid her hair, thank you very much, and when you shoot a look of death at Kuroo, he can’t even keep his face straight, his trademark hyena laugh erupting from his chest. 

You cook dinner in the evenings, appreciating the times when he can join you at the table, not counting the nights he can’t against him because you know he’s trying his best. The girls clamour for his stories every night, laughing when he teasingly scolds them for yanking on his tie, demanding goodnight kisses from both him and you. 

Now you force Kuroo to take some time to himself, shoo him off for lunches with Kenma, get-togethers with his Nekoma schoolmates. “I know you can manage it”, you tell him archly, “but you need breaks  so you don’t burn out, or worse – you’ll lose your hair and we don’t want that”. When he opens and closes his mouth without a smart retort, you smirk. You get your way. 

Both of you organise parties and playdates, inviting your shared friends – Kenma, of course, is a frequent guest, Bokuto, who brings along Akaashi and his sweet tempered little son (who Aiko always manages to pick a fight with, much to Kuroo’s amusement). You host Kai, who always brings offerings of flowers from his garden, Yaku, when he’s in town with his daughter, son and alarmingly fat cat. The adults congregate in the kitchen with food and alcohol, cracking good natured jokes at Kuroo and his frilly pink apron, watching the children cause a ruckus in the living room. 

But you cherish the quiet moments you share with Kuroo at night when the children are asleep in bed. The chats you have whilst soaking in a hot bath about your day at work, the snippets of stories he shares about his boss, his crazy colleagues, the warmth of his arm around you as you stay up to clear emails late into the night, the heated kisses he presses to the nape of your neck to distract you when he thinks you’re working too hard. 

It’s a good life. You’re happy, and so is he. 

A year slips by. 

The seasons come full circle. You return to the ryokan, finding peace in soaking yourself in steaming pools, watching the bamboo sway, the sun rise over Mt. Fuji. But this time, you’re not alone. You persuade Kuroo that he, too, needs a break - deserves one, truly. So you leave the girls with your mother and take the bullet train down to Hakone. 

He shoots you a smirk as you both emerge from the private bath he’d insisted on booking. You swat at him, pulling your yukata higher up your neck, scowling as he winds an arm around your waist to press you into his side. 

“You couldn’t wait til we got back to our room?” you hiss at him. 

He chuckles lowly in response. “Didn’t hear you complaining”, he retorts. 

“We were in an onsen, Tetsuro!” 

“A private one”, he says with a waggle of his eyebrows, laughing aloud when you try and fail to slap your hand over his mouth. “What d’you think I was going to do with my lovely wife? I’m not a monk, sweetheart”

You try your best to shush him, but his cackling manages to capture the attention of everyone in the lift.  

“What a happy couple”, an old lady remarks, within your earshot. “They must be newly married” 

You think she must be a little senile. Or a little blind. 

Neither of you are in your first flush of youth anymore - there are streaks of grey in Tetsuro’s mop of hair, extra weight in your hips and lines in your faces. No one could conceivably mistake you for a pair of newlyweds.

“Nah”, Kuroo drawls easily into your ear. “Just your regular old, married couple.”

You don’t speak until you’re safely in your room. 

“A regular, old, happily married couple”, you say, as he hands you a cup of tea. “That obaa-san got that part right at least.”

Kuroo chokes on the lump of emotion in his throat as you serenely sip your tea. 

The tea tastes bitter (as it always does), but the kisses that follow are so very, very sweet. 

#haikyuu angst #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader angst #Haikyuucafe #haikyuucreations #love knows not its depth

[aurorablue22]

Reunited - Sirius Black x Reader

Summary/(A/N): After 14 years, Harry’s Godmother is finally reunited with her husband. I made this sort of specific to whatever my own mind came up with; (Y/N) is Harry’s Godmother, and has of course known the Marauders since their school days. She’s known Harry since the events of POA, and she took him in. Harry and (Y/N) have lived together for the past two years, and although Harry has met and seen Sirius, the most that (Y/N) has received is letters. Finally, in OOTP, they’re reunited. 

Warnings: None really, maybe a lil’ kissing scene <3 

“Good morning my dear!” you said as you walked into the kitchen, where Harry was cracking an egg over the frying pan.

“Mornin’ (Y/N).” he smiled, and you walked over to him.

“Y’know Harry, you don’t have to make breakfast for us. Even after all this time I feel bad-”

“(Y/N), I’m fine, I promise. Besides, I already made you tea.” he nodded towards the counter, and you gave a pouty smile as you picked up the mug. “Sweet boy.” you cooed, and ruffled his hair. 

You and your godson were enjoying whatever Harry had whipped up, and talking about the strange dream he had last night, when an owl tapped on the window. You took a swig from your tea mug and lifted the latch, letting the dusty creature inside. It gave a polite hoot, and you bowed your head in return. 

You unfastened the letter from the owl’s foot while Harry filled a bowl with water and a plate with bacon scraps.

“Oh, it’s from Rem!” you hastily tore the envelope, and slipped the parchment through the folds. Sprawled across the yellowed paper was half-messy, half-loopy writing, which you’d grown quite familiar with. 

“What’s he up to?” Harry asks nonchalantly. 

Your eyes quickly moved from left to right, scanning over the message. Your brain hung onto specific words; Order, Phoenix, Army, The Dark Lord... and Padfoot. 

You took a breath in as you read your husband’s name, and Harry peeked over your shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, my dear..” you shook your hand, handing him the message. “It’s just..”

Harry immediately understood. “Well, that’s a good thing, right? You do want to see him... right?” 

You whipped around, your updo falling loose. “Of course I want to see him! I just... I just don’t know.. “ you sighed, and sat back at the kitchen table. Your brain floated back to what Remus had written; how the Order was reassembling, and he was extending the invite to you, just like he had in the 70s. 

Not only that, but he had scribbled something along the lines of “Padfoot will be joining us as well. I do hope you’re willing to see him.”

Of course you did! But it was complicated to explain to others. You were nervous. The most communication you’d had with Sirius over the past two years was letters. Most of his were on scraps of newspaper, so you always made sure to pack extra parchment into your envelopes.

Within the past few weeks, his message arrived a lot cleaner and appeared less rushed, which you appreciated. Each time an owl arrived, your heart soared. But in those letters, you couldn’t reveal anything about your lives, in case they fell into the wrong hands. That being said, the most you two could say to each other was “I love you”. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just after 7 o’clock, when Remus and a girl with purple hair had come to pick up you and Harry. She introduced herself as ‘Tonks”. Of course, you hadn’t realized at the time she was your cousin in law. 

You both waved them off, Remus assuring them you’d catch up soon. You gave your Godson a kiss on the cheek.

“Be good,” you pointed your finger at him “Listen to Tonks”.

“I will, I will!” he teased. 

When they’d both left, you and Remus sat on the tiny loveseat in comfortable silence. 

“I wanted to check up on you,” he stated, and you looked up to reach his gaze. Oh, Remus. Your best friend. “I realize when I sent my letter it must’ve been a bit of a shock to you.” he placed his hand over yours.

“Oh yes, well, I think I might’ve frightened Harry more than anything. I’m not sure if he’s used to how dramatic I am yet.” you two laughed, Remus teasing you that it took him a long time to get used to it too. 

Your laughter died down, and Remus spoke again. “He’s very excited to see you, (Y/N). In fact, he’s been fixing up his hair all day.”

You couldn’t even laugh. That was such a Sirius thing to do. 

Your eyes glossed over at the thought, which Remus noticed immediately. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to see him Rem.” you cut him off, and you saw relief wash over his features. “I’m just a little nervous.”

It took a few minutes, but after a warm hug and Remus’s signature pep talks, you were ready to go. Never letting go of his hand, the two of you apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Always a gentleman, Remus opened the front door for you, and you were greeted by the distant chatter at the end of the hall. Although you couldn’t see any faces, you recognized the voice of your Godson and his friends, along with that of Mad-Eye and Mrs. Weasley, to be followed by- 

him. 

It was that glorious laugh you’d waited 14 years to hear, the sound bounced around your head and you began to feel faint. Remus patted your shoulder, and you turned your head to look at him. 

He nodded towards the end of the corridor, smiling. You took a deep breath, staring down the long hallway ahead of you. You brushed the stray hair out of your face and clenched your fists. As you began walking, you could hear Remus following close behind. 

Your footsteps were booming across the corridor, your pace picking up with every step. Your breathing heightened and your heart was in your throat. You pushed open the door in front of you, and it slammed against the wall. The sound alerted the entire room, and you scanned over everyone’s faces. You finally landed on those eyes, his eyes, still as grey and dreamy as you’d left them. 

“(Y/N)!” he shouted, getting up from his seat, looking anything but composed. 

“Sirius” you breathed, tears already forming. The two of you ran towards each other, and finally, after 14 long years, you found yourself in his embrace once more. 

It was tight and strong, he held you protectively yet with extreme caution. You sobbed into his chest, knowing that there weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how you felt at the moment. 

Much to your surprise, and those in the room, Sirius began to cry as well. Not as much as you, but tears fell from his eyes as though he was only a boy. You held onto him, not wanting to let go, your hands digging into his jacket, and your face buried in his chest. 

The world fizzled out around you, and you didn’t even notice how people were reacting to the scene. Remus leaned against the doorframe, wiping away a few tears himself; he felt so grateful he could see his best friends together once more. 

Although they would deny it later on, Harry and Hermione hid their emotions behind Ron, the both of them on the verge of an entire breakdown. This was followed by Mrs. Weasley, who was sniffing loudly as her husband passed her a handkerchief. 

Sirius was the first to pull away, and he cupped your face with his hands. He had a certain look on his face, as though he’d fallen in love all over again. He wiped away your tears with his thumb, and looked into your eyes. 

Your knees might’ve given out at that very moment if he wasn’t there to steady you. “Even more beautiful then when I left you.” he spoke, barely over a whisper, his voice sending those familiar tingles down your spine. 

You couldn’t even form words, you were so lost in his features. You only smiled, which he returned. “Why don’t we go into the other room, hmm?” he wrapped an arm around your waist, leading you out of the dining room. You could barely hear Ginny burst into loud sobs behind you, and how Mrs. Weasley followed suit. 

He walked you down the hall, and you never took your eyes off each other, only breaking the gaze when he opened the door to the living room. 

You two sat on the dusty couch in the dimly lit room, and he took your hands in his. You realized then and there how much you’d missed his loving gaze; at this point he was practically drooling at the sigh of you. 

He wrapped his arms around you once more, his head resting atop yours. “I’ve missed you so much my love, so very much.”

You only gripped him harder, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and his old cologne. Your eyes pricked yet again; it was the cologne you used to spray on his pillow when he was first imprisoned. 

“Sirius..” you said his name as though it were your only prayer. He hummed in response, lifting your face to meet his. You leaned in closer to him, your faces not even an inch apart. You closed the gap, your lips finally meeting his. You took in a breath through your nose, and butterflies began swarming in your stomach. 

You parted your lips, which Sirius took as an invite, and his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your hands found their way into his hair, and his around your waist. You felt your cheeks getting wet, and you realized it was from Sirius. A few tears had spilled from his eyes, but he didn’t let up from the kiss. 

It was full of passion and love, sprinkled with a bit of lust. He laid you gently on the couch, his body hovering over yours, and you finally broke apart. He gave a few gentle pecks down your neck, and returned to eye level with you. 

“Oh darling..” you spoke, trying to contain the emotions that were sure to spill out of you. Both of you were at a loss for words, simply staring at each other, taking in everything you’d missed out on. You smiled lovingly at him, and the corners of his mustache quirked as he did the same. You giggled, fiddling with his locks. 

“You grew a beard.” you stated, still admiring the sight before you.

“Do you not like it?” he asked, more so a rhetorical question than anything. 

“I find it very sexy.” you reassured him. 

He chuckled a bit, never taking his eyes off you. “Oh my dear,” he stroked the side of your face, and he brought you to sit back up. “I haven’t a clue how I managed without you.” 

A certain emotion flashed over his eyes, and he fought off a grimace, trying to outrun the hell that lived within him. You placed a hand on his cheek, your wedding band giving a bit of a cold sting to his face. 

He gently took your hand and brought it into view; his eyes crystallized once he saw the ring he’d given you so many years ago. “You kept it..” his tone was unsure, as though he was confused as to why you did. 

“Of course I did Siri, I love you.” your heart ached for him; he must’ve thought you’d moved on before he’d seen Remus again. You remembered the conversation you had with Remus a few months ago, where he opened up about seeing Sirius again. They’d been writing every couple of months, and Remus had to constantly reassure him that you were still available; that you’d never given up on your husband. 

“I’ll always love you.” you furrowed your brow in an attempt to conceal yet another sob.

“And I, you. My sweet girl.” Sirius placed a kiss on your knuckles, then moved back to your lips. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” he mumbled into the kiss, and you felt yourself melt in his embrace, knowing that you and your husband were finally reunited. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi my lovelies!! I hope you enjoyed reading this just as much as I loved writing it! Let me know if I should follow up on this “Reunited” fic, because I’m really looking forward to adding more. That would include something romantic and/or something smutty, I’m honestly up for anything bahaha. Please send in your requests, whether it be for this fic or really anyone in Harry Potter. And don’t be afraid of giving feedback, I’d love to know what you think! <3

~Aurora 

#marauders #wolfstar #marauders x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black x wife #sirius black x wife reader #post azkaban #post azkaban! sirius #old!sirius black x reader #old!sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter ootp #ootp #harry potter #harry potter imagines #padfoot #sirius black fluff #sirius black smut

[sammygvfslut]

i like you a latte | s. kiszka

Summary: Words cannot espresso how much you mean to Sammy Kiszka.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Hey besties!!! this is my first ever sam fic, and i really hope you guys enjoy it! it’s super cheesy so beware of some tooth-rotting fluff ahead. any and all feedback is appreciated <3

Loud chattering and the sounds of espresso machines hissing and whistling filled the cafe. Every few seconds or so when a new customer walked in, a soft ringing above the door rang. Glancing at the clock, you sighed as it read 7am. Way too early for your liking. You wished to be back in bed under the covers with your cat Joey snuggling. Plus, the cold weather made it even harder for you to get out of bed every morning. Damn you, winter.

“Good morning.” A voice said suddenly, startling you as you slightly jumped. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you there for a sec.”

Turning around at the voice, your heart fluttered and a smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “G-Good morning, Sam! Nope, didn’t scare me at all. I was just uh...focusing very hard and you caught me off guard.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, his own lips curving and flashing that beautiful grin. God, he made you melt. You took a quick chance to admire his appearance for the day, luscious brown locks pulled back into a low bun with a few stray pieces framing his face, and he wore a slightly oversized brown grandpa looking sweater. He exuded true fall energy today and all you wanted to do was snuggle with him watching a movie while sipping on hot chocolate. “Right. Focusing on what exactly? Staring at the register?”  

“S-Sure. Yes, the register.” Totally not him instead. “Um, I realized it turned off right now and my mind blanked to turn it back on.”

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder as he laughed, his touch leaving a wave of goosebumps to rise out of your skin. “You’re so cute. I’ll leave you to that then, but if you need help trying to get the register to turn back on again, let me know.” And with that, he sent you a wink and turned on his heel away to start on the customers orders.

Alright, alright. So maybe early shifts weren’t as bad as you thought thanks to your insanely charming co-worker. Sam and you had been working together for the past year, and almost instantly you started falling for him. He welcomed you with open arms and he was a great help when it came to your training. Your co-workers were nice too, but Sam took that extra step in making sure you were comfortable with what you were doing. If you made a mistake and were freaking out about it, he somehow knew the way to calm you down. He was too precious and good for this cruel world. And most of all, out of your league too.

With his dashing looks and amazing personality, you just knew there was no way he’d ever feel the same about you. Except, any time you’d voice that thought to any of your friends at work, they’d tell you you’re crazy and that he likes you too. Apparently they caught on to the signs more than you did, which wasn’t a shocker considering that you’d have no clue if a guy was interested in you unless he blatantly confessed. So, trying to figure out hints was completely pointless for you.

“Uh oh, she’s deep in thought,” one of your friends/co-workers, Danny, teased. He also happened to be Sam’s best friend, and current band mate since the pair are in a band with Sam’s older twin brothers. “I bet I can guess what, or who you were thinking about.”

“Don’t even say it,” you warned with a finger, “He’s literally four feet away from us—”

“So?” Danny rolled her eyes with his arms folded. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Come on, it’s been almost a year now. What’s the worst that can happen if you confess?”

“He can hear me.” You stared blankly at him, shaking your head. “Absolutely not though, Danny. I will not embarrass myself from the humiliation I’d have to face from his rejection.”

Danny groaned frustratedly, placing his hands on both your shoulders and shaking them. “You’re so hopeless! Y/N, how many times do the guys and I have to tell you he likes you too!” He raised his voice a little louder than necessary which accidentally caught the attention of almost everyone in the cafe. Sam included unfortunately. Danny’s eyes widened, silently cursing under his breath. “Carry on, everyone.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Danny wasn’t lying when he mentioned about the guys agreeing that Sam likes you too. Every time you came over Josh’s apartment and Sam was there he’d find any little excuse to have his arm around you or teasing you constantly. You’d shake it off that he was just treating you like a friend would, but of course the guys would disagree with you.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Danny told you sternly, “But for now, and don’t make it obvious, but Sam’s looking at you.” A mischievous grin spread across his face as he winked and stepped to the next register before greeting a new customer and taking their order.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you slowly looked over your shoulder in Sam’s direction. You saw his head quickly turn and finish off the drink in front of him. Your cheeks burned at this and tried taking deep, slow breaths to calm yourself down. Didn’t work much, but as a new customer waved and told you their order, your breathing turned back to normal.

On the other end of the counter, Sam was currently freaking the hell out from what he heard a few minutes ago between you and Danny. He didn’t mean to, but he also wasn’t that far from either of you. Plus, Danny wasn’t the best at keeping his voice low. He had a strong feeling he knew you were talking about him, and for that reason alone he overflowed the cup he was pouring into and made a mess. He cursed under his breath and wiped his hands on his apron, shaking his head.

You caught sight of this and rushed to his side, grabbing a cloth from under the sink and started wiping the sticky counter. Sam was certain his cheeks were tomato red from his embarrassment, making a complete fool of himself for not paying attention to what he was doing. More so focusing on your conversation and your damn smile from earlier. You weren’t the only one here with a crush.

“T-Thanks, Y/N.” Sam chuckled nervously, throwing the cup in the trash and tossing the drink pitcher he held in the sink. “I’m normally not this much of a dumbass.”

“I’m not too sure about that one, Kiszka.” You teased lightly with a grin. “It happens, don’t worry,” you assured. “I’m just glad it was cold tea you spilled and not steaming coffee. I’d hate for you to get a third degree burn. That happened to me once, don’t recommend it.”

“Didn’t I drive you to the hospital for that?” he asked. “I think that might’ve happened a few months ago.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Oh shit, you’re right. God, I’m still so sorry I had to drag you into that.”

Sam shook his head, lips curving and cheeks no longer flushed. “For the hundredth time, stop apologizing about that, Y/N. You know you can count on me for anything, so of course I didn’t mind driving you to the hospital. I remember even blasting some ABBA on the way over there so you’d have something else to focus on instead of the pain you endured.”

You smiled at the memory. “Didn’t we also go out for ice cream afterwards?”

He nodded, lightly rubbing his arm. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I mean, I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his last few words, blinking slowly. “O-Oh.”

Oh? That’s all you have to say? Nice one, Y/N.

Sam’s heart dropped. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t talking about him after all. Maybe it was Danny or one of his brothers that you had a crush on and he was mistaken about it. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole right about now. Being anywhere but here sounded splendid to him.

“Y-Y/N, I—“

“Ihavefunwhenimwithyoutoo,” you muttered all too quickly, and poor Sam barely even understood what you said. He didn’t have the chance to ask you to repeat yourself because you quickly walked away to the back and he was left with a tug at his chest, frowning.

Within the next few days after Sam’s tea spill, literally, things between you and him became...awkward. Something went off in him to become even more clumsy than normal and forget everything he’s ever known when you’re near him. He’d get flustered, stuttering a lot, messing up orders, dropping dishes, and nearly tripping all the time. He hated it so much and wished he could just muster up the courage and apologize for being such an idiot and confess his feelings to you. Even during your hangouts with the guys, Sam and you wouldn’t interact as much and honestly you were well aware you were being super childish and immature about the situation. Sam did too, and he needed to snap the fuck out of it.

The next few days at work Sam would ignore Danny’s little side comments about his immaturity and continued working in silence. For the rest of his shift he didn’t talk much to anyone other than the customers. He wanted to talk to you when he had the chance, but then he’d quickly back out and walk the opposite direction.

He couldn’t figure out why it was so futile for him to just grow a sack and tell you he likes you. He’d never gone through this struggle before. Then again, as cheesy as it sounded, the other girls he’d asked out in the past couldn’t compare to you. Never in a million years, and maybe he was too afraid that he didn’t deserve someone as amazing as you.

Nearing closing that same day, it was only you, Sam, and Danny. The flow of customers died down and not many people came in towards the end of the night which you were grateful for. It finally gave you the chance to relax a bit and start cleaning things up ahead of time so you wouldn’t have to stay after. Joey and a nice warm bath were waiting for you at home.

While Sam decided on working the register and you and Danny would clean, he grabbed your arm and led you into the back.

“What are you two still doing not dating each other or talking?! It’s been way too long now, Y/N. And since it’s only us three tonight, you have no other choice. Come on, I know you can’t take this any longer, and he can’t either. I can take over the register for a bit while you and him talk.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating his offering. As incredibly thankful as you were for his help, you were also scared shitless of the possible outcome. Perhaps it was finally time though that you say fuck it and say what you needed to. You couldn’t go on for any longer to keep your feelings bottled up inside. Maybe, just maybe he might feel the same way, and by God you hoped that would be the case.

Inhaling, you nodded slowly and made your way back to where you were. Your eyes searched for Sam and saw he was busy making a drink, except there was no one else here besides you, him and Danny. It could’ve been a drink for him, so you shrugged this off and went towards the sink to start washing the dishes.

A few moments later, Sam cleared his throat from behind you. “H-Hey Y/N, so um, I know the créme brûlée latte is your favorite, and I thought I’d make you one. You seemed really stressed and busy today and I wanted to try to cheer you up. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at his generosity and your cheeks burned as you felt his gaze burning into you, his palms soaking from nervousness. “Sam, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He shrugged casually, a small smile on his lips and his cheeks tinted a light pink. “It’s okay, I wanted to. And I uh, tried my best on the art. Hope you like it.”

Raising a brow, your gaze dropped on your cup and your eyes widened as you saw what he was referring to. A small coffee cup with the words I like you a latte around it.

“It’s true,” Sam chewed on his bottom lip while running his fingers through his hair. “I really like you Y/N, and I’m so sorry for acting like such an idiot these last few days around you. I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you much either.”

Setting your cup on the counter, you took a step closer to him and cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb softly against his soft skin. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Sam. I’m sorry for not talking to you too, as well as for making a fool of myself. I tend to do that around someone I like.”

Finally, the realization dawned on Sam as a wide grin pulled at his lips. “Glad we’re on the same boat.”

“I-Is it alright if I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you.

You giggled. “You don’t even have to ask, loverboy.” You playfully rolled your eyes and cupped his other cheek before connecting his lips with yours.

A smirk pulled at Danny’s lips as he glanced at the two of you, shaking his head. Josh and Jake owed him $20 now. 

It was about damn time that Sam and you finally espresso’d your love for each other. 

tagging these lovely folks bc they helped inspired me and their work is amazing <3 @godlygreta​ / @flowervanfleet​ / @dharma-divine​

#sam kiszka imagine #sam kiszka x reader #greta van fic #greta van fleet #sam kiszka

[something-fanfiction-ie]

The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

___

“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

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