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applebutter-and-cinnamon · 2 years

Text

Simplicity

Summary: You come to terms with your feelings for Jake. Jake realizes that sometimes relaxing is who you're with and not where you are.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Read the Story: Morning Coffee (Part One)

You weren’t sure how Phoenix had figured it out, just that she had and that she wasn’t planning on dropping it anytime soon. You’d been avoiding Lt. Seresin since you’d left him the coffee that morning about a week ago. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of having done something for him-you’d wanted to give him a proper thank you for all that he’d done to help you. It was more that you were afraid of his reaction to it: what if you had overstepped and he thought you were creepy or what if he’d just wanted to put the whole thing behind him?

Every time you saw him on base you would either hurriedly exit the room or you’d go out of your way to avoid entering the room at all. When Phoenix had invited you to a bonfire that they were all going to you’d declined saying that you had an important project that you were working on that was going to require you to stay late. When she’d mention him in a conversation that you were having, you’d freeze up and be unable to contribute anything further.

You were frustrated with yourself for developing your little crush on him. He’d just been doing something kind and you’d managed to dig yourself into a hole. He probably wanted nothing to do with you.

Added to that, you’d heard the rumors about him. That he was a ladies’ man, taking a different woman home with him every night that he went out only for nothing to come of it. He was a bad idea, but a bad idea that had gotten itself stuck in your head like a song that refused to leave.

It’s why you blushed so hard when Phoenix confronted you about your odd behavior.

“What’s going on with you and Jake?” She asked, sipping on a cold coffee. The two of you were on the front patio of your house, sitting on the swing-bench that was suspened from the roof.

“What? Nothing,” You told her, your eyes intently looking away from where she was sitting next to you.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” She chuckled and nudged you with her shoulder, “Seriously, is everything ok? You’ve been really jittery about him recently and don’t think that I didn’t see you run out of the cafeteria yesterday when he walked in.”

You let out a heavy sigh and pushed your hair back from your face with your good hand. It was a little disheartening to know that you’d been so obvious, but it wasn’t like you’d really had time to think in those moments. You’d see him or hear his name and your heart would just…race.

“I don’t know,” you groaned, “The short answer is no, he’s never even looked twice at me.”

Phoenix nodded, looking at you with those same kind eyes, “And the longer answer?” You knew that she would never pressure you, over the last couple of weeks you’d grown incredibly close to one another and you counted her as one of your closest friends. You knew she felt the same and only wanted the best for you.

You blew out a long breath of air, “The longer answer is that I’m stupid.”

She snorted, “That doens’t seem very long.”

“I may have a tiny crush on him,” You told her, “But I know it won’t end well. There’s no way that a guy like him would ever even be attracted to someone like me. Plus, even if he was, from everything that I’ve heard he isn’t the type to want anything more than sex. I would want more than sex with him. So, I’m trying to ignore hi- it.”

The two of you sat in silence as she processed everything that you’s said and you stared up at the clouds, wishing that you could float up to join them where things wouldn’t be unnecessarily complicated.

“I can’t believe I’m about to be Hangman’s fucking wingwoman,” Phoenix grumbled.

Your eyes narrowed as they looked at her, “What does that mean?”

She shook her head, “It means that not everything you’ve heard about Hangman is true. Yes, he’s an asshole to work with but he’s also one of the most loyal people that I know. He- If you repeat this I’ll kill you, but he once told Rooster and me when he was super drunk that the reason that he only sleeps with women was because they never expect anything more from him. They walk up, flirt, fuck him and leave before he wakes up.”

“The one girl that didn’t,” she continued, “Fucked him up in terms of relationships and cheated on him with someone he knew while he was deployed. I don’t think he’s ever really recovered from that so he’s just sorta stopped trying and that’s before all of that shit that his family put him through.”

You sat quietly, listening as she spoke with an intensity that can only come with a well-defined friendship.

“There’s one other thing you should know,” She told you, her eyes locking on yours, “He hasn’t slept or flirted with anyone else since he met you.”

You looked at her, completely confused.

She nodded, “He took a lot of shit for it from Coyote. He didn’t even defend himself, he just took it until Coyote figured something out and dropped it. Not that it’s really hard to figure out.”

“What did he figure out?” You asked quietly.

She smirked, “That he’s constantly looking for you on base. That he keeps the note that you gave him in his pocket. That he walks a little slower when he’s walking through the data wing…” She trailed off, looking at you expectantly.

You scoffed, “That can’t be true, you don’t know that he likes me.”

Phoenix looked at you with mock-offense, “Honey, trust me, I can. He’s never looked at anyone the way he looked at you the night that creep attacked you at the Hard Deck and he’s never been so protective over something so simple as a note, he hasn’t even let Rooster read it, which is a pretty big fucking deal, those two have shared every single thought since we were formed into our own unit instead of going back to our usual bases.”

You shifted in your seat, bring your legs up to sit criss-cross in the swing and causing it to rock softly from side to side. You knew Phoenix would never point you in the wrong direction and you trusted her implicitly. The fact that she was defending Jake’s reputation to you was a big deal.

“I’m scared he’s going to break my heart,” you told her.

Phoenix grabbed your hand in her own, resting them on your knee, “What’s life without the opportunity for love?”

Her words were still rattling around in your head when you walked out of your favorite bookstore the following weekend. Your work projects were finally wrapping up leaving you with some unexpected free time to do anything you wanted. It was a cloudy day and uncharacteristically windy as a storm started to blow in.

You were proud of yourself for managing to leave with only 3 books in your bag instead of the 12 you had wanted. You opened the door, looking around in your bag to make sure you’d put the receipt in there and walked straight into another person.

Their arms quickly grabbed you by the shoulders, steadying you and keeping you from falling to the ground.

“Woah, you alright,” a familiar voice asked.

You blushed, realizing the man who you’d run into was none other than Lt. Jake Seresin, the man you’d been hiding from up until the moment that you couldn’t.

“Oh, yes. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you rushed out, avoiding looking at his face as you willed the color out of your cheeks, unsuccessfully.

“No worries, accidents happen,” he chuckled, “Hey, I wanted to thank you for the coffee from the other morning.”

Your head shot up to look at him, completely shocked. His face was soft and he was giving you a hesitant smile, like he was nervous to see you. He’d already dropped his hands from where they’d caught you and he’d shoved them into the front pockets of the jeans he was wearing. It was a thought that struck you as you realized that you’d never seen him without a Navy uniform on.

He wore a pair of worn jeans and a black t-shirt. He had a ballcap that kept his hair hidden from you, but he’d taken off his sunglasses and his green eyes were on full-display.

You cleared your throat, trying to bring yourself back to the conversation and make it less obvious that you were very much enjoying the sight of him in civilian clothes.

“I’m glad you like it, I was a little worried that it might be weird coming from someone you’d just met,” you told him honestly.

He shook his head, brilliant eyes softening further, “No, it was one of the kindest things that someone’s done for me in a while.”

You shrugged, unsure of how to take all of the attention he was giving you and a little intimidated that a man that attractive seemed to be genuinely interested in talking to you.

“You deserve people doing nice things for you,” you said, your voice coming out a little quieter than you’d intended.

He looked away as a dust of pink bloomed on his cheekbones, but looked back as he registered you moving your book bag around in your hand. Your wrist still in a cast had left you unable to switch hands and you could feel the red irritation building in the hand that was holding the plastic.

“Can I help you take that to your car?” He asked, gesturing towards the bag.

You offered a hesitant smile, “I actually walked here, but thank you for asking. I really appreciate it.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You walked? It supposed to start raining soon, could I offer you a ride home instead?”

You paused, you really hadn’t intended to inconvenience him and you were pretty tired at his point, but you did like the walk back to your house.

You had just inhaled to respond when, like out of a movie, the skies opened up and started to pour rain on you.

Jake quickly moved the two of you so that you were standing underneath the awning of the bookstore you’d walked over.

“That would be nice, thank you,” you said with a chuckle.

He shook his head, giving you a broad smile.

“Let me take your bag and we’ll make a break for it? I’m right down the road,” he told you.

You nodded, handing him your plastic bag and the two of you bolted from under the cover. The rain was cold, a stark contrast from the hot blood that had been pumping through your body since you’d run into him.

His truck wasn’t parked too far away, but the both of you were absolutely drenched by the time you’d make it into the cab. The rain was pounding against the windshield and you couldn’t help but giggle at the state the two of you were in.

He looked over at you, chuckling himself at the situation. He gave you his phone to put your address into the GPS, when his expression darkened.

His hand gently grasped your cast, turning it gently in his hands like you were most delicate thing that he’d ever held.

“It’s alright,” you told him, “It’s a waterproof cast so it should be fine.”

He shook his head, “I wish you hadn’t needed it in the first place.”

Your heart ached at the complete devastation on his face as he set your arm down carefully and grabbed the phone back from you, starting the route that would take both of you to your home.

The cab of the truck was mostly quiet, except for an old country song that played softly. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could tell that he was lost in his mind again and you wondered if he’d ever let anyone in to share what was going on in there.

He’d turned into your driveway before you could ask, the truck rocking slightly as it went over the dip in the concrete.

He put the truck in park and grabbed your bag from where it rested between you. The two of you hopped out and hurried to your front porch, where he stopped to rest the bag against the doorframe. His body language was one of someone who was about to leave and you spoke quickly to prevent it.

“I-Let me have your clothes,” you rushed.

His eyebrows shot up and his head tilted slightly at your words.

“I mean,” you sighed heavily, “I can’t let you drive back to base in wet clothes. You’ll get sick, so I thought that maybe I could dry them for you?”

You were sure that you were blushing again, but you maintained eye contact. You wanted him to know that you were being genuine and that you really didn’t want him to go back to base.

He nodded, “That would be nice, thank you.”

You bit your lip and turned to unlock your front door as Jake bent down to pick up the bag again before you both stepped inside. He toed off his shoes and set the bag down so that it was leaning against the wall by your coat rack.

“I’ll be right back,” you told him. You didn’t wait for him to respond as you went into your room straight to your dresser. You ruffled around as you pulled out some clothes that you thought might fit, before heading back out.

He was standing where you’d left him, his picture perfect posture reminded you of when you’d seen them all standing at attention. His eyes were scanning the walls of the living room that were displaying pictures of your family and friends throughout your life.

His head turned towards you when the sound of your footsteps on the floor reached his ears.

You held out the clothes to him, “I think these might fit.”

He took them, his face going carefully blank, “Your boyfriend won’t mind you giving his clothes to another man?”

You chuckled and shook your head, “They’re my dad’s old clothes, so Mr. Non-Existent-Boyfriend better not mind.”

The tension left his body a second after you spoke like it took him a minute to really register what you’d said.

“There’s a bathroom just down the hall that you can change in, if you would just leave your clothes there I’ll dry them for you when you’re done,” you told him as you gestured to where everything was.

His eyes followed your every move and the places where his eyes met your skin seemed to warm at his attention. He nodded at your instructions and moved towards the bathroom to change.

You watched him go, highly aware of the way your home seemed complete with him inside of it, but trying to brush it off.

You changed into some soft shorts and a large hoodie with the logo of your college on it. Grabbing his wet clothes from the bathroom and yours, you threw them both in the dryer before heading into the living room where he sat on the couch.

He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he flipped through one of the books that you’d left sitting out on your coffee table.

“I should’ve known you were a big reader from your comment the other day,” he told you when you’d sat down on the other side of the couch. It wasn’t big by any means but it seemed smaller as your body buzzed with the energy that seemed to radiate from him.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear to dispel some of the nervous energy, “It was something I started to do when I was at my grandparents one summer. They had a huge collection and I’d just steal one from the shelves to read in my Grandad’s big recliner by the window.”

Jake smiled at the mental image you’d give him, carefully setting the book back from where he’d gotten it.

“Your clothes are in the dryer,” you told him, “Do you want to watch a movie or something while we wait?”

He settled back into the couch, one leg moving to rest on the other, “I’m fine with anything.”

You nodded, grabbing the remote and booting up the television. You flipped through a couple of different options before you gasped excitedly, “Have you ever seen this?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he told you, amused to see the animation of your face and the way your jaw dropped in indignation.

“What? We’re watching this. It’s so good, based on one of my favorite books, you’re going to love it,” you told him.

“I’m sure I will,” Jake chuckled, moving his arm so that it rested along the back of the couch.

You jumped up from the couch heading towards the kitchen, “Do you want anything to drink?”

His deep voice carried easily through the room, “Umm, just get me whatever you get yourself.”

You came back juggling a bag of chips, a box of cookies, and two bottles of water. Jake jumped up from the couch to help you, unloading the things from your arms and onto the coffee table.

You both settled on the couch, much closer this time than before and you reached to grab the throw blanket from the back of the couch. You shook it to get it out of it’s folded position before covering both of you with it.

“Ready?” You asked, giving him a wide, excited grin.

He gave you a small smirk and nodded. The smirk revealed the small dimple in his left cheek and the look he gave you made you blush.

You pressed play on the movie and let yourself settle into the soft cushions.

The one thing that hadn’t occurred to you was just how exhausted you were. The movie that you were watching was one you’d seen a dozen times, pair that with how Jake seemed to exude warmth and you were out.

Jake didn’t know exactly when you fell asleep, but he knew that you were asleep when your body sagged against his and your head fell to rest on his chest. He’d been trying to pay attention to the movie for your sake but when he felt you snuggled up against him, he gave up.

Instead he allowed himself to admire you in ways that he couldn’t when you were in public. His eyes carressed the softness of your skin and the slight part of your lips as you breathed in deeply in your slumber. They traced the strands of your hair and the curve of hand where it bunched his shirt softly, almost as if to keep him close to you.

The smell of your shampoo and perfume comforted him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long while. He felt, he realized, like he could completely relax here with you. He didn’t need to keep up appearances, nobody was counting on him to be the best. Here, with you, he just needed to be Jake. The man that carried your bag and let you use him as a pillow.

He shifted, careful not to wake you, into a position that more comfortable and turned his attention back to the movie that was playing. As his body relaxed, his eyes began to close and it wasn’t long before he joined you in sleep as the rain left trails on your living room windows.

You didn’t know what time it was when you felt yourself disturbed from your slumber, but a passing window showed evidence of the sun beginning it’s journey into the sky. It took you a minute to realize that the gentle motion of swaying was coming from the arms that were carrying you down the hallway and into your bedroom.

Jake set you down carefully on your bed, using the blanket from the living room to cover you in warmth.

You reached out for him, your hand finding security in his shirt, the same black shirt that you’d tossed in the dryer for him. You grabbed it in your hand, still half-asleep.

“Don’t go,” you mumbled, trying to pull him down beside you.

Jake smoothed your hair behind your hair and grabbed your hand where it was grasping him. His hand swallowed yours completely and the comfort of it made you release his shirt, allowing him to move it down to the blanket.

“I’ve got to go to work, darlin’,” he whispered. His other hand was still smoothing your hair back.

You half-opened an eye to look at him, “You’ll come back though?”

His expression was more open than you’d ever seen it, his green eyes were soft as they watched you. His breath hitched at your question.

“Do you want me to?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

The hand that was in your hair, stroked your cheek softly and you found yourself leaning into it.

“I’ll be here whenever you ask,” he told you.

You shook your head, “You’ve got to promise.”

He took your hand, separating your pinky from the rest and wrapping his own around it, “I promise.”

You let out a quiet, happy sigh and pulled the blanket over your shoulders. It still smelled like his cologne you realized as you drifted off to sleep, his hand brushing through your hair softly.

Jake stood from the bed when your breathing settled into the same easy rhythm he’d recognized from before. He walked out of your bedroom and towards your kitchen where he grabbed a pen to write you a quick note.

He locked the doorknob of your front door as he left, but not before giving your bedroom door a wistful look before he shut the door. He needed to get going or he’d be late, and he still needed to change into his uniform. He sighed and let his legs carry him to his truck.

Y/n,

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Whenever you need me, I promise.

Jake.

#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x y/n #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin

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greatbigshiningstar · 2 years

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...what are we? [bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader]

summary: bradley and reader are friends with benefits. nothing more. until reader falls in love, leading to her asking the question of “what are we?”

warnings: literally the entire fic is a warning. mature themes is the best way to describe it ahah. the characters are literally fwb and it mentions sex and stuff. also a couple curse words but you know me, it’s inevitable. angsty, sad, the end is fluffy though, kinda cliche.

also nothing is capitalized and that’s just because i was just so excited to write this that i couldn’t be bothered.

here’s a little piece loosely based off of the songs “...what are we?” and “stupid” by lizzy mcalpine.

anyway, please enjoy! (and go listen to the songs as you read)

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friends with benefits. fuck buddies. a piece of ass. a little bit of fun.

a sorry excuse for love.

whatever the hell you want to call it. that’s what we were.

at least, until one of us just had to go and fall in love. and as hard as i tried to avoid it, it was me. i was the fool who rushed in and fell in love with the man who was only looking for a good time and an escape from the harsh reality of being one of the best goddamn aviators in the navy.

four months of this. four months of late night “you up?” texts, of him sneaking into my house multiple times a week, of our learning and knowing each other’s bodies better than our own. and somehow, someway, sometime within those four months, i fell in love with him.

it started off innocently, as they all do. the typical “we met in the bar, went home with each other, and now we just call when we need a good fuck.”

we’d do it, and then he’d leave.

but as the weeks went on, he started staying longer, laying next to me as our heart rates slowed and our breathing regulated, and then he’d leave.

and then soon enough, we’d lay there in each other’s arms, talking a little bit about what’s going on in our lives, nothing more than small talk about work and our very few mutual friends.

and then those conversations developed into more. it led to us laying in bed and talking, to him spending the night, holding me all night long as we slept, to us waking up and having coffee before we both went to work.

he told me about his parents and how in love they were, that he wishes to love someone and be loved as they did. i told him how my job makes me feel like i’m making a difference in the world, and that it’s the best thing i could ever ask for. we discussed how we each long to settle down, to have a home and kids and a big yard. but yet, i never told him that i longed for those things with him.

it’s those conversations that made me fall in love with him, despite my best efforts. and that’s how we got here. the night before bradley leaves on another mission. it’s only three weeks, but a big part of me is devastated that he can’t stay with me.

“i leave tomorrow afternoon,” he says distractedly. he’s dragging his fingers up and down my arm that's thrown across his abdomen. i’m lying there, trying to keep myself from thinking about the fact that i can’t ask him to stay. under different circumstances, i could ask him to stay, but he’s got a job to do, and so do i.

i’d be stupid to ask him to stay.

but, then again, i’d be stupid to not ask the question that’s been nagging at me for days.

what are we?

i love the man laying in my bed next to me. i’ve dreamt of falling in love my whole life, but not like this. not when he’s leaving tomorrow. not when there’s a high possibility that he will die on this mission. not when i feel like everything is going to hell. and certainly not when i don’t even know if he sees me as more than just a piece of ass.

no. i can’t keep doing this.

i muster up all the strength i can in me, looking up at the brown-eyed boy who is staring back at me. there’s a look on his face that i can’t quite place.

“bradley, what are we?”

“hmm? what do you mean?”

i sit up, crossing my legs and turning my body to face him head-on as he sits up as well, leaning further against my headboard.

“i mean, what. are. we? you’ve been in my bed almost every night for the past four months. we’ve talked about everything under the sun. hell, i even shared with you some of my deepest secrets. i’m done pretending like this is okay, that we’re not just wasting time. as much as i hate to say it, i love you. you’re all i’ve been looking for in a relationship. and yet, we don’t have much of a relationship outside of this bed, roos. so, i’m going to ask you one more time. and if you can’t answer me, then i’m sorry. so bradley, what are we?”

he looks a little taken aback, and i don’t blame him. i still can’t fully understand the look in his eyes as he lifts my comforter off of his legs and starts to stand up.

when he doesn’t make eye contact, i know that the words i’m dreading most are coming.

“we’re just fuck buddies. i’m sorry, but it was all just for a little bit of fun,” he says.

i sit in my bed, watching as he picks up his clothes and starts getting dressed. i can’t stand the thought of watching him leave, so i drag myself off my bed. i begin walking out of the room, but not before slipping an oversized sweatshirt over my body, the same one i was wearing before things went to hell. i can hear rooster shuffling out of my bedroom behind me, but i simply continue heading downstairs toward my kitchen. i lean against the counter as he’s calling out to me, but i don’t have anything to say.

from my spot in the kitchen, i can see bradley, and i know that he can see me, staring back at him with tears in my eyes. he hesitates with his hand on the door and i wonder what he’s going to do next. he mutters a simple “i’m sorry” as he opens my front door, and leaves, just as he has done so many times before.

i stare at the door, and it’s not until i hear his bronco driving away into the night that i comprehend what just happened. he left. he doesn’t love me. i should’ve known. how could i be so stupid?

i don’t know what to do. it’s close to one in the morning. the man i love just left. he just told me that he didn’t see me as anything more than a fuck buddy. he’s heading out on a mission that is going to bring him inches away from death. so, i do the only thing i can think of – cry.

i slide down against my kitchen island, back against the hard cabinets, legs crossed on the cold hardwood floor. the tears that had already begun to pool in my eyes slide down my cheeks. my breath hitches in my throat, and i just simply sob into my own hands. i feel numb. i feel sad. i feel brokenhearted. i feel angry. i feel lied to. i feel stupid.

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one week passes, and i can barely go through the motions of life. it takes all my energy to get out of bed and go to work. i spend my days longing to get home and get in bed, and when i’m finally there, i spend all night tossing and turning, wishing that the man who was once in my bed was back in it.

two weeks pass, and by now, i’m feeling a little better. the nights don’t feel as lonely anymore. i have the strength to go on with my daily routine.

then, in week three, the anger hits. i’ve stopped feeling sorry for myself, and now i’m just simply pissed. pissed at rooster? yes, very. but mainly, pissed with myself. why would i allow myself to fall in love with him? even more so, why would i let myself tell him that i was in love with him? why would i ruin the one semi-good thing in my life? it's all-consuming. the anger, the frustration.

but, i know i can’t let it affect me as much as it does. it’s time to move on. those four months clearly meant nothing to him, and they shouldn’t mean this much to me. my bed no longer feels empty when it’s just me in it, and the longing in my heart is mending itself.

i feel better, until friday night hits. the night before rooster is supposed to be back. i could spend the night wallowing in self-pity, watching movies, and eating ice cream. but i already did that. i’m already out of the bad breakup stage. now, i’m in the moving on stage. and the only thing that i know will help me move on is by going out. so, i put on my best outfit, and head out to the hard deck. in hindsight, it’s stupid of me to choose the literal only navy bar within 50 miles of san diego, but it’s a friday night tradition for me to be there, one that i’ve missed for the past two weeks. and besides, i know that rooster won’t come to the bar, especially since he’s not due to come back until tomorrow.

the hard deck is quiet. shocking for a friday night, but the peace is much appreciated, as i sit outside on the patio, sipping my first drink of the night. there are dark clouds rolling in, obstructing the beautiful sunset. i chuckle to myself as i think about how the view feels like a metaphor for my life these past few weeks. the darkness rolling in and pushing out any semblance of happiness. i’m drawn from my thoughts as i hear the roar of a car pulling into the parking lot to my left, the same noise that i heard pull into my driveway for four months. i look over at the car, and see bradley parking his bronco, hangman in his passenger seat.

“shit,” i curse under my breath, already reaching to grab my bag from the chair next to me. it would be just my luck that the one man who i wanted to avoid tonight would show up. i chuck my beer bottle into the bin next to me on my way out. i walk fast with my head down, hoping to make it to my car before he gets out of his. just like everything else in my life, the plan went down the drain as soon as i felt my body run right into the muscular chest that i’ve grown to love.

“hey, (y/n). i was hoping you’d be here tonight,” i hear bradley say. i scoff and push past him, keeping my head down until i get to my car.

my drive home is silent, just me and my thoughts. my heart is racing, and i don’t know why. i wasn’t happy to see rooster, by any means, but a part of me wishes that he would have tried harder to keep me there. as i pull into my neighborhood, it starts raining and i feel like i’m in the sad, second act of every rom-com ever.

my thoughts race as i head inside my house, shivering from the chilly air that hit me on the short walk from the driveway to the front door.

why was he there? why was he hoping that he’d run into me? i thought he wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. wait, he’s back. he survived the mission. he’s alive. did he really want to see me?

i’m in the middle of swapping out my top for an oversized sweater and my jeans for a pair of yoga pants when i hear knocking on the door. no, not knocking, pounding. someone is pounding on my door and i’ve got a sneaking suspicion that it’s the same man i brushed past just 20 minutes before.

if there’s anything that i’ve learned about rooster in these past four months, it’s that he’s persistent. he’s stubborn and set in his ways, and i know that the banging on my door won’t stop until i either open it or his hand is battered and bruised. so, against my better judgment, i head downstairs and open the door.

“what do you want, bradshaw?”

“can i come in, please?”

he looks exhausted, and he’s soaking wet. i open the door a little more, and step to the side, allowing him to come inside my house, something i never imagined him to be doing once again. half of me wants to kick him out again, and the other half of me wants to hear him out. my body chooses the latter for me, and i find myself leading him over to the couch, and we sit down facing one another. i look at him expectantly. i have nothing to say to the man that broke my heart.

“i’m sorry. i love you,” he says quickly. i don’t know what to do, so i just simply stare at him, hoping that he’ll provide an explanation. when he realizes that i’m not going to say anything, he continues.

“i love you. i didn’t realize it at first, but i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since i left. i’ve loved you for months. really, i’ve loved you since the night that we talked about our goals for the future. as much as i tried to stop myself, i couldn’t. i want you, all of you. you said we don’t have much of a relationship outside of the bedroom, but i want to change that. you’re it for me. those future plans of settling down and having four kids and a big yard that we talked about? i want that. with you. i’m sorry for what i put you through these past few weeks. i wanted to call you as soon as i realized that i was in love with you, but i couldn’t. i'm sorry. i feel so stupid for not realizing this sooner. i get it if you want nothing to do with me after what i did, but i just needed you to know that i made a mistake.”

i sit there expressionless, unsure of what to do or say. bradley notices this, and i hear him faintly whisper.

“say something, please.”

i know i should say something, accept his apology, or maybe kick him out, anything besides just staring at him. instead, i just lean forward, take his face in my hands, and kiss him.

his hands quickly wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“i love you,” i say, breaking away from the kiss and looking into his eyes.

“i love you more. i’m sorry,” he replies, leaning in again.

our lips brush again, and i whisper a soft “i know” against him, knowing the question of “what are we?” is finally answered.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

my sweet tag list. thanks for your support, friends!

@flashyourgreeneyesatme @destinywyatt @admin-in-residence @lizzieann143 @herladyshipxx @straightforwardly @lunamoonbby @honey-dew-woo @ratcatcher2world @edgypickles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @mads-weasley

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #top gun maverick #top gun

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imtooscaredforthis · 2 years

Text

Entrapment

Chapter Fourteen: Odd Occurrences

Mentions of: Stalking, Gaslighting/Manipulation? Paranoia, Anxiety, Sleep Deprivation and Danny being a little shit and fucking w mcs head

A/N: Poor, Poor, Reader…Unfortunately Ghostface is just getting started.

Tags: @mama-miya @vandeaad @moonshineinasippycup @dead-bxxxtch-walking @stwbwwychan @the-fandoms-georgie @froegis

Weird things have been happening. For the past couple of weeks, you keep on getting these strange occurrences in your apartment. You didn’t notice it at first, but when you did, you assumed it was typical forgetfulness.

You’re busy and stressed from work. You’ve lost things and found them in different places plenty of times before, and that’s what you assumed it was.

But then things got weirder. Your shoes, which you would normally take off at the front door, would be found in the bathroom. Your clothes would go missing, especially your underwear. Your books and journals would be moved to separate shelves, and so would the photos of you and your family.

No one had the keys to your apartment, besides the landlord. Considering the fact that she’s sixty-five and is never around, you doubt that she would come into your place and move your shit everywhere.

There were no signs of a break-in, and you had no idea how anyone could be getting into your apartment. For a moment, you almost thought it was haunted. But then, you knew you were being ridiculous. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

But you can’t find a rational explanation for what’s happening, and you’re getting…scared. You feel like you can never be alone anymore, having Jesse drive you to and from work. Most nights you barely get any sleep. Sometimes you don’t even want to leave the Gazette, because that’s the only place where you feel safe.

“______, ______, Hello?” A familiar voice called your name, causing you to flinch. Your bloodshot eyes snapped up from the monitor, spotting Jed standing in front of you.

“Are you alright there? You seem….jumpy.” He asked, a look of concern dawned on his features.

You glanced around, seeing that it was five minutes before closing time and everyone was packing up. You flashed him a small smile, sighing softly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.”

“Jamison’s working you to the bone, huh?” He leaned over your desk, grinning at you. You nodded, letting out a small giggle.

You turned off your computer and grabbed your purse and jacket, preparing to leave for the day. Jed followed after you. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

“Sure, that would be nice.” The two of you exited the building together, making some brief small talk as you left.

You barely know how to make conversation right now, and you can’t focus. All you ever think about is your apartment, and what’s happening. But it’s not just at your apartment.

You’ve also been feeling very paranoid. There’s been this nagging feeling that you can’t explain. It just feels like you’re being watched and followed wherever you go. Even when you’re in public, you don’t feel safe.

You’re hypervigilant, jumping and flinching easily, and frantically searching for anything and everything. A loud noise, a shadow creeping in the corner of your eye, a hooded figure following you..

“Are you sure you’re okay, ______? Lately, you’ve been really out of it.” Jed placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Your body immediately tensed up, his touch burning against your skin.

“Uh yeah, I’ve just been a bit stressed from work and all. I’m fine, I just could use some rest, is all. Thank you, for your concern though.” You rambled nervously, trying your best not to stumble over your words or stutter.

You haven't told anyone about what’s been happening at your Apartment, and you’re definitely not telling Jed. He’d think you were crazy, and at this point, you wouldn’t disagree with him.

Suddenly, there was a beep of a car horn, making both of you jump. You turned, spotting Jesse pulling up to the curb. “That’s my ride. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jed.”

“See you tomorrow.” With that, you hopped into Jesse’s car, buckling yourself in the passenger’s seat. “Seems like I witnessed a pretty steamy moment. Hand on shoulder? Wow.”

“Just drive, dipshit.”

–

Letting out a long sigh, you pulled your keys out from your purse, fiddling with them briefly. You were so swamped at the restaurant that you completely forgot about what was happening at home. But now, when you stood in the empty hall of your apartment complex, all you could do was think about it.

Might as well get it over with.

You thought to yourself, twisting the key a few times and jiggling the doorknob before it finally opened. As usual, your things had been moved. Just when you thought you could get a break.

One of your favorite blouses was on the kitchen table, its eggshell white colors now being stained bright red. Upon closer inspection, you realized it wasn’t blood or wine, it was your lipstick.

On the back of it, there was a smiley face drawn on it and a heart. You felt a sick sense of deja vu.

That night at the diner, someone had drawn a circle on the sign in paper. You assumed it was Nate pulling a prank on you, but now you’re not so sure.

Someone or something is fucking with you, and you’ve had it. You panicked, impulsively grabbing your phone and dialing 911. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but I think there’s someone in my apartment, or breaking into my apartment when I’m not there. Every time I come home, things have moved around. Like my clothes, my books, and stuff. But there’s no sign of a break-in or anything.” You ranted.

“Has anything been taken from your apartment?” The operator asked.

“Yeah, I think. My Uhm, my underwear. I’ve been losing pairs left and right and I- I don’t know where they went.” You felt your face flush with embarrassment. God, you sound insane. You couldn’t believe you were saying this.

“Is there anyone you know that would do this? How long has it been going on for?”

“No, and that’s why it’s so weird. It’s been happening for a couple of weeks, I think? Maybe more. At first, I thought it was my doing, like I would just put things in other places and forget about them, but it’s getting really strange. Tonight, it was the worst. When I came home, I found this shirt, stained with my lipstick, and there was a smiley face and a heart drawn on the back.”

You paced around nervously, walking over to the kitchen to find the shirt. To your surprise, it was gone. Like it was never there in the first place. You didn’t hear anything or see anyone-

What the hell is going on? Am I going crazy? Is this all in my head?

“What’s your address, ma’am? I can have a car over and have someone check it out. Is there somewhere else you can stay? Somewhere you feel safe?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. You didn’t even know what was real.

The last thing you wanted was to waste any more of the police’s time just because you were having a mental breakdown. “I-It’s fine. Nevermind. I’m just being crazy. Thank you, but forget it.”

With that, you hung up the phone. You groaned to yourself, hiding your face in your hands.

What are you going to do?

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kitty35 · 2 years

Text

'Family' Drama

Satoru Gojo x GN!Reader

Type - family drama and fluff at the end

This is sort of a continuation of Met His Match You don't have to have read that to understand this one, but it explains Readers cursed technique a little bit more

Summary - Sometimes in-laws can be a real hassle. Especially when you aren't actually married and when Gojo's mom is trying to marry him to someone else.

Requests are open :)

Standing in front of the large house that the Gojo family called home now made me regret my decision. Satoru had invited me to a dinner with his family, claiming he needed a date and that there was no one he would rather take. Of course that made sense. We are dating after all. But I wasn’t the fancy type. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone. There wasn’t such a thing as rich or poor and there weren’t any ‘class differences’. People were just people where I grew up.

But that really isn’t the case with Satoru’s family. They very much viewed themselves as above all others for their abilities and cursed technique. He had warned me about this, knowing how different our backgrounds are. But now standing in front of them, face to face with just how big those differences are, I began to grow nervous.

We had gone shopping just hours ago, getting me a pretty outfit that his family would find acceptable. He also helped me get ready, making sure every aspect of me looked up to his family’s standards.

“I want you to know, this is only for my parents. I think you are perfect the way you are. Though, you do look hot dressed like this.” I can still hear him say as we walked out the door.

“Satoru!” I heard a woman call from the front door. Her voice alone sounded very proper, like she would only ever speak in old english. Looking up, I saw a woman in her sixties or seventies. She had long white hair that was ever so slightly wavy towards the ends. Her eyes were a stunning blue, not quite Satoru’s blue but pretty none the less. She wore a long off the shoulder dress that fit her perfectly as if it were made specifically for her. Honestly, it probably was. Her expression was strict and stoic. “I’m glad to see you made it here on time. You were almost late.”

“The train was delayed. I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.” Satoru placed his arm around my waist and pulled me inside. I didn’t miss the disgusted look she gave at the mention of a public train.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you mrs. Gojo.” I spoke with a smile. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you.�� She only looked me up and down before leading us further into the house. Looking up towards Satoru, I silently asked if I did something wrong. He shook his head ‘no’, but it was hard to feel like I hadn’t.

“So, I have been talking to different families about you.” She spoke towards her son, completely ignoring me. “There are a few women I would like you to meet.”

“Mother. I have already told you, I’m not being married off to some random person.”

“She won’t be a random person. You’ll have met her prior to the wedding!”

“Mom.” He warned. I couldn’t help but feel even further out of place. I shouldn’t be in a place like this and I shouldn’t be here for this conversation. Though, mrs. Gojo probably did feel like it were only her and her son considering how she was ignoring me. Soon enough we were in a large dining hall. A couple people who looked very similar to Satoru sat at one end while, what looked to be, three other families sat all around the large table.

“Do forgive me, mx…” His mom trailed off, finally looking at me.

“(Y/n).” I quickly responded.

“Mx. (Y/n). I didn’t expect your company and don’t have a spot for you.” I could feel Satoru’s hand tighten a little from it’s spot on my waist. Carefully, I placed a hand on his back to calm him down while smiling towards the woman. She had already began to sit down at her spot, completely ignoring me once more. It was obvious she was trying to push me out and away from this dinner event.

“That’s okay. I can stand.” We moved to the only chair left open.

“Here.” Satoru said while pulling the chair out for me. “Please, sit. What kind of gentle man would I be if I let my significant other stand?” I couldn’t help the smile that came to my lips. I wanted to place a kiss to his cheek and whisper a small ‘thank you’ to him, but I only felt that would further anger his mother. So, I bowed my head a little and sat down only for him to quickly be at my side again.

“So, how has everything been?” The man who I assumed was his father asked.

“Good, for the most part.” Satoru responded, staring down at my plate of food as it was being served to me. He very obviously wasn’t happy with how his mother had been acting towards me.

“Why don’t you talk with some of these women? They all gathered to meet you.” Mrs. Gojo spoke, holding a hand out to gesture towards the other families. Said women all smiled and waved.

“No, I’m rather comfortable here.”

Why was I even here? I hated this. I couldn’t stand this tension or the glares I was getting. Both from his family and the women who wanted to be betrothed to my boyfriend. I understood that Satoru probably needed me here to show his family that they couldn’t sell him away to another family. Wether it be to have powerful kids with their cursed technique or to get an even better social standing. None of it mattered to him. He was happy with me. But I wasn’t happy here. The atmosphere was suffocating and I wanted to cry.

I only made it half way through the first course before I excused myself to the bathroom. Before anyone could say anything, I was already gone. I didn’t know where I was going but anywhere was better then there. So I wondered the halls till a voice made me jump.

“I need a word with you mx. (Y/n).” I heard Gojo’s mom call out. Turning, I saw her a little bit away. She looked pissed. “I suggest you leave my son alone. He doesn’t need to be mingling with scum like you.” I have had it with her attitude and as much as her words made me want to cry, they also pissed me off.

“I don’t think I’m the scum here.” I quickly spat with a shaky voice. My whole body was shaking. If she wasn’t mad before then she certainly was now.

“Excuse me?!”

“I only have Satoru’s best interest in mind. I came here because he wanted me to. I dressed up and tried to play nice because he asked me to. But I can’t handle you! I have been trying to be nice and you have treated me like trash since I stepped foot in here!”

“That is because you are trash.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who’s trying to betroth her son to some stranger.” Furious couldn’t even begin to describe the look she currently gave me. Before I even realized what happened, she shoved me. Hard.

I fell into a table, knocking over and breaking a vase, before hitting the wall and falling over. I landed on top of the broken porcelain shards. It hurt but I had experienced much worse. I was more dazed that she had actually pushed me then anything.

“You can’t even fall gracefully! That vase was a family heirloom!” She screamed, but I couldn’t hear her. My eyes were unfocused as I tried to steady my breathing and not cry.

“What happened?! We heard a loud crash.” Mr. Gojo asked, leading everyone who once sat at the table closer to the two of us. As soon as Satoru saw me, he ran over and fell to his knees.

“Stand up Satoru. Don’t dirty yourself on the floor!” His mother scolded, but he ignored her as she continued to yell about the vase. Instead he brought his hands to cup my cheeks, bringing my attention to him. He could see the tears as I tried to breathe.

“I’m here, breathe with me.” As he spoke, he brought one of my bloody hands up to press against his shirt so I could feel every rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t care that this would ruin the expensive material. In fact, he didn’t even think about that right now. Our eyes connected as I began to sync my breathing with him, finally calming down now that I knew he was here.

“Yeah, there you go. I’m here. You’re okay.” He mumbled. Once he was sure I was okay, he helped me to my feet. “What happened?” He asked his mother who stared at the two of us in, what could only be described as, horror.

“She was yelling at me and tried to hurt me so I pushed her away so she wouldn’t be able to. But she knocked over a family heirloom and fell on top of it.” He turned to me to see that I was enraged by her words. Of course he knew that what his mom said wasn’t true and was looking to me for the truth. Knocking his hands from me, I moved closer to her. She looked smug. She knew that even if I wanted to punch her, she could use her infinity and keep me away.

That thought was quickly shattered as I grabbed the front of her dress. How did I do that? No one could get through their infinity, especially a nobody like me. Only, my ability allowed me to do so easily and she quickly realized that as she felt her cursed energy being drained from her. A look crossed my face as I realized this fight wasn’t worth it. So I let go. She fell to the floor, knees weak at the realization that I actually could have hurt her if I wanted to.

“Just leave us alone.” Satoru was quick to fall into step next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist again as we left.

“I think he’s found the one.” His father mumbled once we were gone, much to his wife’s annoyance.

“Are you okay?” Satoru asked. After we got outside he warped us home. Once there, he brought us to our bathroom and began to pick the porcelain pieces from my hands.

“Yeah…I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I made you go to that.”

“No, I’m sorry I made a big scene. I really didn’t mean to.”

“It’s impossible not to when dealing with my mom. But you handled it well. Her face was priceless when you grabbed her dress. No one has ever been able to do that before.” I smiled a little as he laughed at the memory.

“Talk about a bad first impression.”

“I think it was good. My dad really likes you.” It was quiet for a while. After all the pieces were out of my hands he used his reverse curse technique to heal the cuts. Once he finished, he looked up at me. “You know, I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

“Why are you being so sappy right now?”

“Because my mom kept talking about betrothing me to someone else. But I want you to know that I would only ever be in a relationship with you. Only ever marry you.”

“Are you about to propose?” I asked, laughing and making him laugh with me.

“No, not yet. I just thought you’d like the reassurance.”

“I did like it. And even though it’s not an issue for you to worry about, I would never let myself be betrothed to someone else. I’d only every marry you too.”

“Good.” He leaned up and pressed a warm kiss to my lips. With him by my side, I knew I’d always be able to put up with his family. He could help me get through anything.

#gojo #saturo gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo jujutsu kaisen #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #x reader

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mental-health-advice · 1 year

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Hello, I’m a high school student and I’ve noticed that things in my friend group have been tense lately. Whenever I say something, I’m sometimes ignored or no one will respond and there will be just silence. It’s been getting worse lately and I’ve been trying to find new topics of conversation but it doesn’t really work. Out of anxiety, I went through previous pictures of myself with my friends and have found that there is one particular person in my group who always looks uncomfortable around me but covers it up very well. This person (Lets call her T) has been friends with me for almost 2 years now. I’ve looked back on conversations with them and it’s always hard to talk them. Some key things that have happened over the last couple of months have lead me to suspect that they are a definite part of the reason as to why my friends are distancing themselves from me. I want to know if I should continue to make it up with T, build better and stronger relationships with my other friends in that group and find the core issue that’s leading to this tense atmosphere, or give up and find new friends. My family has been struggling with money this year due to COVID and to lessen the weight, Ive been thinking of whether or not I should change schools to go somewhere cheaper and make new friends. Please keep in mind that generally my friends and I have known each other for 5+ years now. I find myself attached to them but also wonder if I should let them go. They aren’t saying anything outright or being mean but they’re distancing themselves. Maybe 1 or 2 people aren’t doing so and are staying by me but I know that T has definitely said something. My relationship with T has been going down a steady decline and I don’t think it’s salvageable, but I also know that she has a strong grip on my other friends. Due to current issues with myself, I have found it difficult to connect with my friends further bc of this anxiety I feel. I’ve always been good friends with everyone in my group but they’ve always been closer with each other bc being so close to them is exhausting for me and I get really emotionally tired. I feel like I could lessen my family‘s financial burden and make new friends (but it’s really difficult for me, I’ve known these people for years) OR try to make up with them, find the issue in the group, and find a way to fix it. I think you should also keep in mind that it’s currently holidays for me and I have 6 weeks until I go back to school - I’ll be starting year 11 next year so this is really important for me. Or maybe I’m not looking at all the other options and should be thinking more outside the box. Maybe I should talk to one of my closer friends about it and tell them how I feel? Please also keep in mind that I really don’t want to talk to my family about this. I’m really sorry for how long this is. I’m just really panicking.

Hey there,

I am so sorry that you are going through all of this and especially with T. I know you probably already know this but sometimes friends may ‘outgrow’ each other or begin to go in different directions. I am not in any way suggesting that this is what is happening in this current situation but it may be something to keep in mind.

It doesn’t sound as though you have done anything to T that would result in her or your other friends being so tense when you are around them. If it was just one person who was distancing themselves from you then I’d suggest it may be because they were going through something personal that may be taking up more of their time than usual or that they had something else going on that may not even have anything to do with you. But given the fact that it’s your whole friend group makes me feel as though something else may be going on.

For example, you mentioned that you have known your friends for 5+ years and T only for 2 years, is it possible that T may be feeling jealous of you and the number of extra years you have had your other friends for? It definitely seems to me that T is the more dominant person in the friend group and as you mentioned it definitely sounds as though she has a strong grip on what happens within the group. It’s so good to hear though that at least 2 friends are sticking by your side!

It can be so difficult when things like this happens within a friend group and especially with other stressors like with covid and knowing that your parents are struggling financially also and so of course you wanting to lessen the load if at all possible and this speaks really big of yourself!

I can’t tell you what to do and so obviously I cannot tell you if you should keep with your current friend group and try and improve the situation or to change schools and start over, but sometimes when I have a tough choice to make, I find that writing a pro’s con’s list can be helpful. Even this can make things confusing though so what do you feel is best for you to do right now, keeping in mind that you have the right to be happy and feel good about whatever you do decide to do.

For example, if you stay with how things as they are, what things can you do to try and improve the situation? Perhaps you could speak to those 2 friends who are sticking by you and ask for their advice, or confront T and have a quiet chat with her in regards to how you are personally feeing about everything.

If you were to change schools, how would this make you feel starting fresh but not knowing anyone to begin with? How would you make new friends, would it make you more anxious when it comes to making new friends or would you be OK with doing this? And remember that if you do choose to change schools, you do not have to lose contact with your friends completely and especially with those 2 who are sticking by you.

These are just some things to consider!

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!

Take care,

Lauren

#mha-lauren #advice #advice blog #mental health advice #anonymous #friend group #T #staying with current friends #changing schools #making decisions #covid #financial stressors

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 18 days

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AITA for getting upset at my best friend for calling me a hoarder in passing?

My (29NB) best friend (also 29NB) have been going through major crises lately at the same time—we will call them Sun. So, yesterday, they sent me a text, when we weee talking about how they haven’t wanted to be over at my house for a while, mostly bc they don’t like my partner…although the subject was in discussion bc my partner and I are splitting up, and I will be living alone again in a couple months. At some point in this discussion, they mentioned the more pressing matter that’s caused them not to be over as much is that they are very allergic to one of my cats—but only the one I just adopted a couple years ago, they’ve had no allergy issues w the other one and they love her very much, she is their niece.

However, at one point, they mentioned that a few years ago, when I was using drugs a lot more irresponsibly than usual—to the point where I got injured from falling down the stairs—they had been speaking to my other close friends. Which is appreciated, and I knew about this already obviously since there was an intervention that happened around that time…the way they mentioned this was upsetting. Specifically, they mentioned that “they approached [other friend of mine] about my drug use bc they thought I was becoming a hoarder” and that MAJORLY triggered me—specifically the hoarder comment. The woman who gave birth to me/raised me is a hoarder, which is a well known fact to just about anyone who is close to me irl, especially anyone who’s known her irl, and ESPECIALLY Sun, who worked as her caregiver for quite a while. Also being compared to/told I am just like my abusive egg donor is the thing that will hurt me the most, bc she is the most cruel, manipulative, abusive people I’ve ever had in my life.

So the thing is, my house is indeed very messy…I have too much junk around, and it’s very difficult for me physically to keep anything clean. It’s actually one of the reasons I’m separating from my partner, and as ashamed as I am about it, I understand. However, it’s not a hoarding disorder at all—I don’t hold onto anything I don’t need out of sentimentality, and if I could wave a magic wand and simply get rid of all the extra shit I don’t need/make everything nice and clean, I would. Unfortunately, I am very disabled with too many chronic pain/fatigue conditions, and actually cleaning the house/sorting through shit to get rid of takes immense physical effort. But whenever someone offers to help me, I jump at those opportunities! I take things to be donated all the time (if I’m able to sort through the stuff that needs to go) and it’s entire worlds different than my egg donor refusing to give up several bins of my baby clothes bc she can’t bear to part with them, despite them never seeing use in her possession ever again.

So, I responded to Sun’s mention of a past conversation thinking I’m a hoarder, with offense and saying it hurt me. We had been discussing just downsizing and how we will be going through my stuff as we pack for the new place, and had mentioned that I should make sure to get rid of certain clothing things if they have holes/are worn out/whatever, which to me, sounded like they think I have a hard time throwing clothes away even if they’re not even wearable anymore. With that and the hoarding accusation in mind, I told them I was very hurt by this. I made sure to be respectful and kind yet assertive, but after explaining how this was an unfair assumption/description of me, they got upset and said I should’ve asked for clarification before coming at them.

Now, do me, I wouldn’t have even considered they meant anything other than how I interpreted it, so it would never have even occurred to me to ask for clarification if I’m not even aware there’s a miscommunication. Apparently, the reason they mentioned getting rid of clothes that have been too worn out is an issue they have themselves, but this isn’t anything I was ever aware of, and once again never would’ve thought was referring to anyone but me. They also say they’re aware that it’s my physical difficulties that make cleaning physically painful for me…but honestly, that’s not anywhere near the same as having a hoarding disorder, which is indeed what they’d accused me of.

Of course, I know the both of us overreacted—me, being offended about being accused of being a hoarder (especially since my immense difficulty cleaning the house is part of why I’m separating from my partner and is therefore something I’m incredibly sensitive about right now) and them, being offended that I took what they said wrong and being upset over some things they didn’t actually intend w what they said…but I’m just not sure if maybe I AM in the wrong here, for expressing being hurt by being called a hoarder here, or if I really am making the entire thing a big deal out of nothing.

So, AITA for voicing my offense at being called a hoarder?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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alexstorm · 8 months

Note

All the other things you've mentioned happened after she became famous which is partly due to her highly publicised relationship with Alex Turner. If you just drop in because my blog showed up in the Alexa tag you might wanna read my tags here first before getting all upset. The things you've said have already been discussed here for years. She was hardly known outside the UK before she got with Alex. I know because I was there during that time. She worked that relationship so hard. She also had several failed TV programmes. That girl got where she is today certainly not with talent but connections. She doesn't get invited to the Met Gala on her own anymore. She's not relevant enough for that anymore. It's either her friend Derek Blowberg or someone else she asks for invites. I seriously doubt Anna Wintour cares about her. // Actually I found your blog through amtwt, as im a huge fan of Alex’s music, and i’ve been binge reading it for the past 2 weeks since i’ve been sick, in bed & bored and i’ve read most of the gfs tags. As much as i agree with your opinions about Louise or Taylor, I think the Alexa slander is uncalled for and unsubstantiated. First of all to become famous and to stay famous is two different things. Look at Taylor, that relationship ended only 5 years ago, everyone knew who she was at that time, now some of the AM less-into-drama fans dont remember her. Even if Alexa’s highly publicised relationship with Alex contributed to her “It girl status” (whatever that means) I dont believe Alex had any influence on her getting those campaigns, editorials. It was mostly her style, which was classy, but fun, girly but comfortable and something that was admired and copied by many long after their relationship. Even though she quit modeling quite fast and doesnt talk about that much, her opinions on fashion and related subjects are actually really interesting, thats why Vogue still asks her to conduct interviews, bc she actually knows what questions to ask to make the conversation fun but also of substance, which is rare in modern journalism. Also I’m sorry, but I was also there, and while Alexa wasnt known much outside the UK, so was AM at that time. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it wasnt until they’ve released AM that they became popular in US and also some parts of Europe. Im from Poland (eastern Europe) and I remember how everyone discovered them through that very album. So dont try to make it look like big shot Alex dates nobody Alexa and somehow she starts to get invitations to worlds most important fashion events only because of that relationship. Also the publicity not only helped her being more recognized, but vice versa. AM got a huge wave of new fans since Alex started dating someone who works in TV, does interviews for radio stations. Like the one that she had with Matt & Jamie (?i think) where they finally didnt mumble and stutter, but were actually relaxed, open and comunicative. You may think she was toxic, selfish, whatever. But to reduce her whole career to the guy she dated long ago is so anti women.

Sorry but not true that the Monkeys only became famous in Europe with AM. Simply not true. I'm a fan since the first album so how have I heard about them if they weren't happening anywhere outside the UK? AM made them famous in the US but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm also pretty sure they were well known in South America before AM. You do the same thing with the band what you accuse me of with Alexa - reducing their success to one album.

I also never said that her whole career was solely due to her relationship with Alex. I said that she knew how to milk her relationship to make the little she had to offer grow bigger. The name she became due to the relationship with him wouldn't have happened if she hadn't been dating him. She literally gets worshipped for having been in THE indie couple of the late 2000s. So how has that anything to do with fashion? She is certainly PR savvy and has one of the best publicists in the business. That's what makes her stay relevant. She writes for British Vogue and British Financial Times. She's riding on that early "success" in the UK but nobody outside the country is asking for her. Why did she get dropped from Next In Fashion if she has so much substance and brings so much to the table? Her personality doesn't seem to work outside her own country. At least not on TV.

Saying whatever to her It girl status is funny given she literally published a book called IT. She knew what she was and that's why she wants to get away from that label now.

I'm really tired of having to repeat all this. I have nothing to add but what's already in the tags so I'm done here. I really don't care that much about her.

#Alexa Chung #The Turner Girlfriends Club #ssylw

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mt-musings · 1 year

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Bluebell

Chapter 42

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

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42. The Hours

“I hate your stupid turtleneck,” Spencer said, leaning against the break room counter as she refilled her coffee mug. She fought a smile as she put back the pot and leaned next to him.

“Really? I thought it looked nice,” she said easily, taking a sip of her coffee.

It did, especially with the cute little dress and tights she’d also bought with Penelope layered over it. She’d showed him the rest of what she’d gotten on their way to work when they’d stopped at her apartment to pick up her badge and work things, all of which was adorable and actually nearly in her size. He’d insisted he drive them in so they could stop for breakfast on the way and not get double Metro fees, but it was really just to allow him a little more time with her before they went back to pretending to be just colleagues at the office.

Morgan had noticed the hickey peeking out of Spencer’s collar right away, despite the concealer he’d borrowed from Cassie to try and hide it. Cassie’s were worse, but hidden under her sweater, something that would have seemed very suspicious for May if she didn’t wear some variation of it to work every day.

“Oooh, looks like Loverboy got lucky last night!” He’ d nearly sung, grinning from ear to ear. Spencer had turned bright red, stuttering out protests.

“I bruised my neck.”

“I think you definitely had help on that one.”

And of course that was when Cassie and Garcia had returned from her office talking about database security and hacking. Derek had called over to her, expecting, no doubt to embarrass the pair and out them as a couple, asking what she did last night.

“Penelope and I went out,” she said with an innocent smile. It was strange, now that he knew here so well, to see how good she was at disguising her emotions, at presenting exactly what she needed to in order to diffuse a situation. It was almost as if she stepped into the shoes of another person, as if it wasn’t quite as much of a front as it was a completely different persona detached from the rest of herself.

“Yeah, we celebrated wrapping the last case with dinner at that Mexican place I’ve been trying to get you to try, and then we shut down the mall. Doesn’t she look so cute?” Garcia gushed. Cassie blushed when she tried to get her to do a little spin, refusing.

“It was really fun,” she replied. “I didn’t even realize the mall was open that late after work.”

“See! I told you! Girl time is sacred. I think we should plan a karaoke night at that place you mentioned with JJ and Em.”

“I’m going to have to ask Ayesh what it’s actually called, because I only remember the weird alley it’s in, but not how to get there.”

“How do you not know how to get there if you’ve already been?” Morgan asked, laughing.

“I was already drunk when I got there. I know it’s by the Red Line.”

Cassie and Garcia went back to their conversation about databases as Cassie crossed to the other side of the bullpen to pick up a stack of papers from the printer. Morgan turned towards him, brow raised.

“So then who were you out with last night?” He asked, sounding half-impressed and half-concerned. It wasn’t as if Morgan hadn’t been the first to clock his crush on Cassie, before even Spencer himself had realized.

“No one. I stopped fast driving back from the case out in Alexandria and the seatbelt bruised my neck.”

Morgan hadn’t looked convinced, but he’d dropped it, though he’d kept a close eye on the pair the rest of the morning.

“Now he thinks I hooked up with some random person,” he complained, trying to glare at her. She didn’t bother hiding her smile.

“Well, he can’t tease you about having no game then,” she replied.

He snorted at the mischievous glimmer in her eyes, at the same unguarded smile she’d worn for most of their morning together. She reached out and threaded her fingered through his, giving him a gentle squeeze. She glanced at the door to the hall, brows furrowing minutely before slipping her hand from his and wrapping both around her mug.

“So basically, we can see disorders within the endocrine system pretty easily if it’s tied to an adrenal issue, since overproduction, like in Cushings and pheochromocytoma, can lead to the bone metabolizing itself, which then results in osteoporosis that you can see in a basic visual analysis. There’s not a lot of studies out on it yet, since most focus on the cardiovascular effects on the living, but from an identification standpoint, it lets me look into possible reasons for the osteoporosis other than age, which might have traceable factors. It seems a bit out there, but think it’s worth more research. What do you think?” She rambled, Morgan and Prentiss wandering into the break room partway through her speech.

“I mean, it depends on what you can get for sampling, right? Because you’d have to confirm the adrenal issue before decomposition in order to quantify the level of osteoporosis present,” replied, fighting his smile. There was no quicker way to disinterest most of the team than with scientific shop-talk.

“I suppose you could also include decomp as a factor to see if the the adrenal over-production lead to any structural factors that differed from age-dependent breakdown. Do you think there’d be a significant enough change in the chemical composition to trace?”

“Theoretically yes, though I think it might come down to the available equipment, and considering bone is non-conductive—“

“You two have the worst water-cooler talk I know,” Prentiss said, shaking her head at the pair of them as she grabbed her coffee.

“It could be worse, we could be talking about syphilitic structural damage in bone, that’s really nasty because it’s not just weakening of the calcium but actual necrosis. And that’s not even considering the amount of soft tissue damage that needs to be present in order to effect the bone.”

“Doesn’t the Mütter have one of the largest syphilitic collections?” Spencer asked, not bothering to hide his smile as Morgan made a face.

“If you count both the skeletal and artifact collections, definitely.”

“Aaand that’s enough for me,” Derek said, pouring his coffee and leaving without a further goodbye. Prentiss gave a little wave, following hot on his heels. Spencer fought a smile before bursting into laughter.

“You talk about the grossest things.”

“I have four degrees in dead people, I don’t know what you want from me,” she said, biting back a laugh.

“Did you get anything for graduation when you were out with Penelope? You’ve got nine days until you walk.”

“I didn’t get anything specific. I’ll probably just wear this, honestly.”

“You should pick out something special! You only get your doctorate once.”

“Unless you’re Spencer Reid, professional overachiever.”

“Okay, you only get your first doctorate once,” he said, teasingly.

“You’re a dork.”

“What does that make you, then?”

“Two thirds less of a dork.”

He rolled his eyes, watching as she stuck her tongue out at him before practically flouncing out the door. He waited another three and a half minutes before following her back to the bullpen, trying not to glance up at Cassie over his files more than what was normal.

“Hey,” Hotch said as he stepped out of his office, “Conference room, now.”

---

Spencer hadn’t expected to be back on the jet less than a day after their last case. He’d hoped for another quiet night in, but a serial killer in Clearwater had other plans. He sat on the couch, pouring over the case file, Cassie crosslegged next to him. They both looked up as Hotch stopped in front of her, leveling her with his perpetually intense stare.

“I know that medical cleared you, but you are taking it easy this case. No running down suspects, I don’t want you interacting with potential unsubs at all, do you understand?”

“But—“

“Those are orders, Boann, or you can continue working with Garcia back at Quantico. We’re not risking further injury, alright? We need your brain.”

She nodded, turning back to her case file. Spencer tried to figure out what, exactly, had struck him as odd in the interaction. It wasn’t unusual for Hotch to insist they stayed safe, nor was it strange for him to limit what they were allowed to do in the field after an injury, even after being cleared by medical. He shook his head, focusing back on the crime scene reports. He was probably just being paranoid.

He and Cassie were both tasked with going back to the station first to go over the evidence before meeting with the ME who’d autopsied the last two victims. Morgan hesitated handing over the keys to them, eyeing the pair.

“I don’t know which of you is more trustworthy behind the wheel,” he quipped, obviously ignoring Spencer’s outstretched hand to toss them to Cassie.

“That was solidly the wrong choice,” she said dryly, though she didn’t give them to Spencer either.

“Good luck,” Morgan said to him as Cassie dumped her kit in the back of the SUV and climbed inside, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Make sure you wear your seatbelt.”

Despite the teasing, Cassie wasn’t a terrible driver, perhaps a little lead-footed and sharp on the occasional brake, but not nearly as bad as he’d expected. They holed up in the station’s conference room, going over evidence and putting together a rough profile for the team to update when they returned from their canvassing. Every so often he looked up to find Cassie’s eyes on him and watched her flush and hurriedly drop her gaze back to the files.

He couldn’t help but smile.

---

Cassie was finding it hard to pay attention to the case.

First, there was the fact that Penelope had once more unknowingly provided her with another lead, one that would surely lead to a breakthrough—she’d outlined the sort of security that surrounded WITSEC files and the sort of skills a person might need in order to hack into their system and what sort of databases, historically, they were running out of. It gave her a narrower pool to search through, and perhaps—with Robert’s help—a new jumping off point.

After all, the FBI didn’t have records of Federal Marshals.

She’d guessed he’d have to have had some connection to the Marshals or the FBI, seeing how he always seemed able to track her down, regardless of location or manufactured identity, but considering the lack of cyber security present in the late 80s, early 90s, it didn’t seem out of the question that he’d merely found a way to hack the systems and pull her file. It still would have been difficult, but not impossible.

And according to the school records she’d had Detective Melnyk pull on Hadeon Lyvychko, he’d been bright. Unusually so.

Of course, if he was talented enough to hack into WITSEC, chances were he’d have had no problem hacking himself a new identity back in the Soviet Union to get a passport and immigrate to the US, if his immigration was above board at all.

So while it was exciting to have a new angle to try and track him down, it still left his in much the same place, which was equally infuriating.

And second, there was Spencer.

She’d been finding it harder and harder to avoid lingering on his features, absently recalling the previous night’s events, how his face looked with pupils blown and lips slightly swollen, hair a mess from her pulling at it. Harder to not remember how his voice had deepened, the shivers he sent through her with his words alone.

Which would be fine enough if she wasn’t actively trying to solve a series of machete murders.

Of course, that would have been a whole lot easier if the local department hadn’t literally hosed down the blood evidence from the latest victim’s driveway without waiting for CSI to collect samples.

Sometimes she really hated her job.

Especially when the trip to the ME hadn’t offered any further insight into the crimes, other than to underscore the ferocity of the attacks.

She threw her pen down, dropping her head in her hands. It would still most likely be hours before she received the X-rays back from the ME, before she could start reverse-constructing the weapon from the tool marks. She hoped the canvas was going more productively. Spencer looked up from his map across from her, where he’d been plotting out different factors in various colored markers.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah. I’m just coming up blank.”

“Me too,” he said, making a face. “It almost seems random.”

“Random as in convenience killings or random as in inside knowledge of forensic countermeasures?” She asked idly, flipping open another file. Spencer froze. She glanced back up at him when he didn’t answer, cataloguing the furrow of his brows, the intensity of his gaze in the middle distance.

So, the latter then.

She got up and crossed to the conference room door that they’d left propped open, glancing out over the officers in the bullpen discreetly before tugging it shut. She crossed back to her seat, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper from her notebook.

“Did we pull any of the victims’ financials yet?” Spencer asked. She shook her head and he just nodded, already dialing Penelope. Cassie turned back to the autopsy reports, zeroing in on the time of death intervals, seeing if there was any pattern that would correlate to shift changeovers.

---

Hotch ordered a whiskey on the rocks at the hotel bar, sliding a few bills over to the bar tender to cover it and the tip. He didn’t usually drink while they were out on cases, much less this late, but he needed something to take the edge off.

It wasn’t the case—or at least not the case in particular. It wasn’t the worst they’d dealt with by far, fairly open and shut, all things considered.

He narrowed his eyes as he spotted a familiar figure, half-hidden at a cramped table.

“What are you doing down here?” Hotch asked, ducking behind the potted palm tree to take the seat next to Gideon. He smiled, nodding at the piano.

“Waiting for the show.”

Cassie perched on the bench, one knee pulled up to her chest as she typed out something on her phone. She set it aside with another glance. He watched as she rolled back her shoulders and dropped her foot to the floor, posture so different from the shrinking violet he was used to seeing. She took a deep breath and held it for a few moments before she started to play.

He froze as she started to play. He’d expected a mediocre rendition of Fur Elise or Moonlight Sonata, something that lingered after two or three years of childhood lessons forced on Wednesday afternoons. Impressive enough to remember, but nothing out of the ordinary, really. But there was nothing mediocre about the way she played—her fingers were deft, as they danced across the keys. She pulled something mournful and resolute from the instrument, something brimming with unspoken longing. He didn’t recognize the piece, didn’t see any sheet music on the music stand. Indeed, her eyes slipped closed as she played, her face softening.

He turned to look at Gideon, brow raised. He smiled back, an almost nostalgic look on his face

It had never been a secret that Gideon had known Cassie before she’d joined the BAU—he’d recommended her to fill Elle’s vacant position personally, after all.

He’d never pried too much into what, exactly, their connection was. Gideon had said he’d known her parents, known her, growing up, and that had been good enough, coupled with her academics, her solve rate in CASMIRC, her near-perfect scores in nearly everything. He’d assumed they’d be bringing on a second Reid—a young, internationally trained forensic anthropologist and anatomist with a genius-level IQ scarcely a dozen points below his, that specialized in cases of child abduction and serial murder. It also hadn’t hurt that she’d scored in the top three percent in all her field assessments.

He’d expected someone confident, outspoken, divisive—someone very similar to Gideon. He’d been surprised, then, to find her painfully reserved upon her arrival. Private to a fault. Tireless in her investigations, but solitary until she’d achieved the desired results. He’d thought maybe it would simply take time for her to warm up to the team, to open up, but as weeks passed, and then months, he doubted it would ever happen. Her work was impeccable and she proved the asset to the team Gideon had promised, but she held herself apart from the rest of them—even Gideon, whom she very clearly looked up to with an almost childlike devotion.

Now he knew why.

It was a defense mechanism, honed and sharpened with deadly precision, everything about the way in which she carried herself meant to push others away, meant to dispel any interest, any curiosity. To keep her isolated and alone and in total control.

He felt a pang of sadness at the thought, especially as he listened to her play. She was extraordinary, truly something special—and yet he knew the only reason she’d come dome to play in the lobby was because she thought it was too late for anyone else on the team to be up, too late to be caught doing something she excelled at and so clearly loved.

That must have been why Gideon had hidden himself in the corner table, behind the palm. He wondered if it was something that he did often when they stayed at hotels with lobby pianos.

“She plays with the same intonation as her father. Even after all these years. Even out of practice,” Gideon said quietly, without looking at him.

“This is out of practice?”

Gideon nodded.

“Rasmus had been preparing her for an audition at Juilliard in the spring. He thought she could have started in the fall. They’d started looking for apartments. Liliya had been ecstatic—she hated Montana. She’d always lived in cities. They hadn’t wanted to tell Bebe beforehand, though. Didn’t want to put any sort of pressure on her. I never told her either. Sometimes I think I should have. Maybe then she wouldn’t have given it all up so easily for this,” he said, nodding at their half-drunk glasses of whiskey. He knew he meant the job, meant the forensic degrees, meant the death and horror.

Hotch understood the sentiment, understood the sentiment as a father who wanted his son’s life to be nothing but joy and triumph, to shield him from the evils of the world they faced every day. He also doubted the sentiment would have amounted to anything if he had told her, not with the visceral, yearly reminder of the worst the world had to offer.

“She’s good at what she does.”

“It’s consumed her. Everything that she was.”

Hotch gave him a hard look. It was a rather scathing pronouncement, especially for someone she clearly considered dear.

He wondered, then, if Gideon saw a twenty-six year old woman when he looked at Cassie, a woman who’d relentlessly pursued justice for her family and the other victims of the man who had held and tortured her, or if he still saw the broken little girl with the eyes far too old for her face, too old for the body she was left to inhabit. If there was a reason for the furrow in her brow when he’d insisted she take off time for her graduation, if, perhaps, the reason she hadn’t confided anything about her fellowship or the doctorate to Gideon in three years had been to avoid his disapproval.

It had been hard not to profile Cassie since finding out about her past, harder still not to let it effect how he treated her. Perhaps it was his being a new father, or simply the brief glimpse at the scaffolding holding up her unwavering facade, but he couldn’t help but feel for her. Couldn’t help but think of that laughing little girl in the back of the file, safe and loved between her mother and father.

He furrowed his brow as he saw Reid appear from the direction of the elevators, clad in pajamas, horned-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He was rarely one to be up and about late after a case, had always been the first to decline a celebratory round of drinks before Cassie had joined the team. And yet he stood rooted to the spot in the center of the lobby floor, clutching something in his left hand.

His cell phone, Hotch realized a second later. Which meant that it was Reid Cassie had been texted before she began.

It had been clear for months that Reid liked Cassie much more than their pronouncement of merely being friends. It was clear in the way he gravitated towards her, clear in the way his eyes always flicked first to find her when entering a room, clear in the way he stared at her empty seat when she wasn’t there. He’d been sure after she’d taken her ‘vacation’ to Ukraine and Reid had seemed grey and deflated, checking his phone every twenty minutes for a text when he usually barely bothered to use it. He’d been positive after Cassie had been concussed by the unsub in Ohio, when he’d stemmed her bleeding with his own jacket and had insisted he be the one to accompany her to the hospital, rather than Gideon. When he’d jumped in to take care of her upon their return before anyone could say anything.

Cassie had been harder to read. There was no doubt the pair were friends, but her face, her body language at work rarely betrayed anything she didn’t want to portray.

He watched as Reid shook himself of the spell of the music and crossed to her side, careful not to startle her. She turned and caught sight of him, her whole face lighting up as she grinned. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but whatever words were exchanged left her with flushed cheeks and a soft smile that reached her eyes. She scooted over to make room for him on the bench before turning back to the keys.

Gone was the mournful melancholy of the previous pieces, replaced with something earnest in its yearning, something wistful. Something that wove quiet adoration between its notes. She didn’t close her eyes as she played this time, instead turning to grin at Reid sat by her side. It wasn’t as clean as her playing before, lacking the same striking depth and technical precision, as if the new tone was unfamiliar, the joyous edge foreign under her fingers. But she played all the same, laughing as she muddled some of the trickier notes. She was no longer playing for anyone but Reid, her sole focus on him and the music.

He didn’t have to wonder, then, if she felt the same about him.

He tried to catch Gideon’s eye, but he was too focused on watching the pair. There was something strange in his expression, something he couldn’t quite put a name to. It struck him as odd. Reid was his protege, after all, and Cassie filled an almost filial role. He would have expected him to be pleased to find them enamored with one another, to know that they were at least well-matched in their interest. Sure, it would be paperwork and require a conversation about professionalism, but their work had yet to suffer—in fact they’d proved much more efficient since Reid had buried his jealousy.

Perhaps it was sadness that tinged his expression, but it wasn’t quite all of it.

He decided against prying, instead watching the pair as he finished his drink. His days were so often drowned in misery and depravity—there was something soothing about watching such innocent adoration. To remember, for a moment, what it felt like to be young and in the stumbling first steps of love.

He watched as she tried to teach Spencer how to plunk out a tune on the keys, as she tried to correct his posture, only for him to slump cartoonishly over just to make her laugh.

“It would be nice if the team all went to see Cassie graduate this weekend.”

“She’s never really cared about those things.”

“We should go, Jason. She doesn’t have family to celebrate with, and she worked hard. I talked to her advisor at the Smithsonian, when it all first came out.”

“Reid will go,” he deflected, nodding towards the piano where, even without being able to hear, it was clear Reid was rambling, Cassie hanging on his words.

Hotch just nodded, trying not to wonder how complicated their relationship was. What had happened in the years after Bluebell had disappeared, before Cassie had joined the FBI.

She’d needed an exception made, seeing as she was barely twenty-one, but it hadn’t been Gideon to push for it. Not like he’d pushed for Reid.

He bade Gideon goodnight before dropping his glass off at the bar, careful not to attract the attention of either of his young agents on the way back to the elevator.

He’d call Haley in the morning, see if they had anything else planned for Saturday. Cassie had yet to meet Jack, but he knew they’d get along famously—Cassie had always been good with the kids on their cases, always gravitated towards them. He was sure if he mentioned graduation to Garcia, she’d wrangle everyone else—it’d seem a lot more natural, too, coming from her.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #long reads #multichapter #slow burn

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sl-ut · 2 years

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i wanna be your girlfriend

PART THREE

pairing: rue bennett x reader, rue bennett x jules vaughn, piper (oc) x reader, maddy perez x reader (platonic), cassie howard x reader (platonic), kat hernandez x reader (platonic)

description: y/n learns what really happened while she was gone and confronts rue at the carnival.

warnings: canonical warnings– drug/substance abuse, swearing, sexual content, mention of suicidal thoughts

words: 3K

date posted: 18/01/22

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Jules came into my life the very same night that Y/n had left it. In fact, there were only a couple of minutes between my conversation with Y/n and Nate and Jules’s confrontation in the kitchen.

I haven’t spoken to Y/n since that night at McKay’s. I’d seen her around school plenty, and surprisingly, even more so outside of it. Sometimes she would catch my eye from down the hall, or from her seat in one of the several fucking classes we had together, or I would notice her car easily speeding passed me on my bike after school. But it seemed that every time, Jules was with me. I could see how it looked from her perspective; I’d traded her in for Jules, and I guess that she wasn’t entirely wrong to assume such a thing.

I hadn’t gotten that text from Y/n until later the next morning. After Jules had lost her shit with Nate, I had gone home with her. She was nice, and to be entirely honest, the thing that drew me to her in the first place was the exact same thing that had enticed me about befriending Y/n. In some way, it comforted me, but there were also so many differences between the two.

Jules was boy crazy in a very similar way that Y/n was girl crazy, but Jules had made a habit of bragging and occasionally making me feel like shit, though I’m sure it wasn’t her intention. When Y/n would climb through my window after a late night hookup, she would tell me about it like any best friend would, and then, after that one night over the summer, we would make out for a while. Jules was also naive when it came to boys, especially after she started talking to ShyGuy118. Y/n was never serious about any of the girls she hooked up with, and would only count two of the girls she’s been with to be official ex-girlfriends.

They were so similar in many ways, but Jules was no Y/n, she never would be.

It was kind of stupid of me to expect that they wouldn’t cross paths. Jules had transferred into the same advanced art class that Y/n was in, but even then, it seemed plausible that they weren’t going to interact directly.

“What’s up with her?” Jules nodded in Y/n’s direction, catching the side-eyed glare that had been thrown their way as she joined Maddy and Kat at a different lunch table.

“What do you mean?” Rue played dumb.

“Oh, come on, Rue. I see you guys looking at each other all the time,” Jules smirked, “Do you like her? She’s really pretty. You should go talk to her.”

“No,” Rue shook her head quickly, “Definitely not.”

Jules frowned, “Why not? She looks at you, too, you know. And, every time I’ve bumped into her, she’s given me a really dirty look. I think she’s jealous.”

I knew Jules wouldn’t leave it alone, so I gave her the edited version of the story. I told her about how Y/n was my best friend, that there was a pattern of self-sabotage throughout my life, and how it ended because I caught feelings. It was selfish of me to leave out the key details; Y/n’s mom, how she didn’t know about my own addiction, and the fact that I had not simply caught feelings for my best friend, I was in fucking love with her. Jules seemed pleased with the story, and I trusted that she wouldn’t bring it up again out of compassion for me.

That was my first mistake.

Y/n huffed in frustration as blue flakes of paint dusted over her head, the direct result of someone leaving the bottle open overnight. After shrugging out of her smock, she rushed to the bathroom, where she was greeted with the unwelcomed sight of the mess that had become of her hair. Carefully, she began plucking the sharp pieces of dried acrylic paint out of her hair, grimacing at the residue that was left behind.

Her eyes flicked sideways as the bathroom door creaked open, then subtly rolled as she recognized the smiling face that appeared. Jules eyed Y/n for a moment, leaning against the sink as her hands fidgeted with one another anxiously.

“Do you need any help?” Jules offered quietly, motioning to the back of Y/n’s hair, “There’s a bunch like, in the back.”

Y/n watched her through the mirror pensively before she silently nodded, allowing Jules to stand behind her in the mirror and start pulling at her locks.

The tension was thick in the bathroom, a mixture of Y/n’s disinterest in interaction with Jules and Jules desperately trying to find the best way to approach the situation.

“I, uh,” Jules cleared her throat, “I got it all, but there's still some blue in there. Maybe you should put it up or something.”

“Thanks,” Y/n muttered.

“You know,” Jules began, “Rue told me about what happened between you guys. She misses you. I think it would be nice if you could talk to her.”

Y/n met the taller girl’s stare, for real this time rather than through the reflective surface of the mirror, letting out a humourless scoff, “Sorry, I’m just trying to find the nicest way to tell you that it really isn’t any of your fucking business.”

Jules appeared shocked at her outburst, “It is, actually. Rue is my best friend, and she’s seriously upset. And with everything that Rue’s been through, I feel like you owe it to her.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Y/n sneered as she shoved passed the blonde, “But I don’t owe her shit.”

“So what, Rue catches feelings and goes to rehab and suddenly you’re too good for her or something?”

Y/n froze in her place, twirling around to face her with glossy eyes, “What?”

In hindsight, the short time that I knew Jules had taught me that she couldn’t keep a fucking secret to save her own life. After the situation in the bathroom, Jules texted me to let me know what she had done, and after a brief case of cardiac arrest, I ditched. Between that, and her obsession with Tyler, I had just about had my fill of Jules for one afternoon.

The carnival was that night, and I knew that the odds of me seeing Y/n there was pretty high. She always seemed to have a sense of exactly where I was at all times, even when I tried my hardest to avoid her. Thankfully, the carnival was a much better place to stay out of her sight than I had hoped; A real-life game of Where’s Waldo.

Y/n peered over the heads of literally hundreds of people in search of Rue, taking advantage of how high up the ferris wheel had brought her. Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth, knee bouncing up and down anxiously.

After her discussion with Jules in the bathroom earlier that day, Y/n’s entire body had gone numb. She had gone through the final few periods of the school day on autopilot, save for unblocking Rue’s number and asking her if they could talk. Rue, of course, did not respond.

A warm hand grasped Y/n’s knee, halting it’s erratic motions. She glanced over, meeting the heavily-glittered gaze of Piper, who watched her with a tilted head.

“You okay, babe?” She asked, thumb massaging comforting circles onto the bare flesh of her knee, “You’re shaking the entire cart.”

Y/n smiled softly, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… heights, I guess.”

“Aw,” Piper cooed, laying her arm across her shoulders and tugging her to sit closer, “I got you.”

“I know,” Y/n tucked her head into the crook of Piper’s neck, nuzzling her pulse point before leaving a pink, lip-shaped stain on her throat.

Although Y/n wouldn’t admit it, she had genuinely started to like Piper somewhere down the line. They began hanging out every other day after McKay’s party, which typically consisted of meeting in an empty parking lot around midnight to screw each other's brains out.

Y/n like Piper’s consistency above all else.

Piper was actively trying to impress Y/n. She texted her daily, and always made sure to respond within minutes. She offered her rides to school in the morning and would treat her to Starbucks, brought her little baked goods from her dad’s bakery every day at lunch, and above all else, she actively spent time getting to know her. For the first time since she had come out, Y/n was the one being chased instead of doing the chasing, and it felt good.

After a week of simple hook-ups, Piper finally asked Y/n to hang out for real. They went roller skating, and then got pizza. Y/n had agreed, expecting to go do something for an hour before they got down to their usual business, but after getting dropped off with a simple kiss, Y/n came to realise that Piper was in it for the long haul.

Before she knew it, they were doing couple-y things together. They held hands in the hallway, Y/n wore Piper’s basketball jersey around school on game days, they met each other’s parents, and Y/n had nearly jumped Piper’s bones when she suggested that they wore corresponding pink outfits to the carnival. Piper was stability, something that Y/n hadn’t had before, especially not with me.

“You guys look so fucking cute,” Maddy drawled as she snapped several photos of the two girls, motioning for them to alternate between their cosy poses.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder at the camera, a wide grin across her face as she hugged Piper’s waist tightly, eyes blinking shut at the harsh flash.

“That’s really cute,” Cassie mewled as she watched over Maddy’s shoulder, swiping through the series of photos that she had taken, “You should post that one.”

“Aw, I love those,” Piper pressed her palm to the small of Y/n’s back as they observed the pictures, making comments about how certain ones were super cute or how ‘my hair looks so weird in that one!’

“Ugh,” Maddy groaned as she glanced at her watch, “I’ve gotta go meet Nate. Wish me luck.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, taking her phone back from the girl as she sauntered off in search of her abusive boyfriend. Cassie smiled gingerly at the girls as she excused herself with the same reason, leaving the two girls alone.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” Piper grinned at her, “The gravitron line looks kinda short now, or if you’re not in the mood for rides, we could go find somewhere more private…”

Y/n craned her neck to face her, accepting the soft kiss she pressed to her lips. Her eyes narrowed, gaze over the taller girl’s shoulder catching sight of a familiar head of curly brown hair rushing in the opposite direction.

“Uh, would you mind grabbing me some water or something?” She asked, glancing back up at Piper, “I have to go to the bathroom, but I’ll meet you back here in a few.”

Piper nodded, ghosting her fingertips along Y/n’s spine as she moved towards the concession stand. Y/n eyed her for a moment, making sure that she didn’t notice her speeding off in the opposite direction of the porta potties in pursuit of Rue.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to spot her in the crowd, especially with Jules by her side. The girl stood out like a sore thumb in her bright outfit and glamorous makeup amongst the others, most of whom tried to catch as little attention as possible.

“Rue!” She hollered, easily catching the attention of Jules, who nudged the brunette and nodded in Y/n’s direction. Any attempt that she could have made to escape would have been completely fruitless.

“Now’s not a really good time, Y/n.” Rue sighed.

“Yeah, well when is it ever?”

“No, seriously. I can’t find Gia anywhere.”

“I’m gonna…” Jules glanced around, “I’m gonna check out by the ferris wheel, see if she’s over there.”

“We need to talk, Rue.”

“I just told you–”

Y/n shook her head, “I don’t mean now, you obviously need to find Gia first. Do you need help?”

“Wait,” Rue stared at her, “For real?”

“Yeah,” Y/n crossed her arms across her chest, “Why would I be fucking with you?”

“Well, I mean–” Rue stammered, unsure of how to respond.

“I never stopped being your friend, Rue.”

Literally nothing has made me feel shittier than Y/n did in that moment, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. I did some bad things, a lot of bad things, actually, and as angry and hurt as she was, Y/n had never retaliated or done anything to me since. Maybe there still was a chance.

“Okay, yeah.” Rue nodded, allowing Y/n to fall into step beside her as she started across the carnival grounds. “Uh, Jules is looking by the rides, so I guess that we can look by the food trucks.”

The two girls meandered through the crowd, mumbling apologies to one another as they occasionally bumped shoulders. Rue stiffened at the closeness between herself and the girl who’d once been her best friend and closest confidant, but had spoken to more in the last twenty minutes than she had in weeks.

“Hey,” Y/n grasped her arm gently, tugging her back and pointing with her free hand to the two cars parked side by side just outside of the fence, the dark figures of several people visible, “You think she could be there?”

Rue scanned the group, but didn’t immediately recognize any of them, but caught sight of a familiar girl trying to sneak past, “Emma, yo.”

Emma, the petite blonde girl froze. Her face was quite flushed, and her eyes were glossy and rimmed with red, clearly under the influence of something, “Yo Rue, what up?”

“Have you seen Gia?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, nodding in no particular direction, “Like, over there.”

“And where’s that?” Y/n pressed.

“You know, like, the gravitron.”

“Is she in the gravitron?” Rue asked, growing impatient and increasingly worried with her sister’s friend as she continued to avoid giving a straight answer.

“No, she’s just like, by it.” Emma mumbled, “I… I really have to pee.”

Y/n craned her neck to watch the girl rush away, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Her phone vibrated in her palm, and though it had been the first time that she had felt it, there were various texts from Piper.

“Shit.”

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Y/n sighed, “I just forgot, I was supposed to meet up with someone.”

Rue shrugged, “It’s good. You go, don’t give up your plans for me.”

“Okay, but uh,” Y/n glanced up at her, “We really do need to talk. For real this time. Without you avoiding me or me blowing up at you.”

“Yeah. I guess we do.”

Y/n’s phone buzzed again, “Okay, I gotta go. Uh, do you think you could meet me at the playground behind my house later?”

“Uh, I have to have Gia home by ten,” Rue glanced at the time, “So like ten-thirty?”

“Yeah, that works,” Y/n smiled at Rue for the first time in over two months, “I’ll text you.”

Being so near to Y/n after so long felt strange, but in a good way. Frankly, I haven’t felt that good since the fentanyl incident.

Y/n made it easier to stay clean, to genuinely want to stay clean. It was different than when I was with Jules. When I was around Jules, I was always fighting with myself; What do I want more, Jules or drugs? While Y/n was around, there was no choice to be made.

Even before my OD, the withdrawals were easier to manage when I was with her, and smaller doses were more influential. A part of me gave credit for my overdose to her. Well, more to her absence, and that stupid fucking text.

Y/n was a drug. The way she called me out on my shit, how her body curled into mine each time we had sleepovers, and God, the way she fucking smelled was like crack to me. It had occurred to me on several occasions that drugs were the only thing keeping me from killing myself, but with her, I didn’t even think about either. Y/n was the drug that made me not want to do drugs, as fucked up as that may be.

The soles of Rue’s sneakers squeaked loudly against the dewy grass as she shuffled across the park, eyes trained on the hooded figure sitting atop the monkey bars, legs swinging aimlessly through the air.

There were a variety of events that had Rue yearning for some sort of high over the past few days, but since Fezco had essentially cut her off, she did the best she could with what she had. For a while, Jules seemed like she may have been a stable anchor for Rue, as Y/n had once been, but it quickly became clear that Rue would never be Jules’s top priority, and often left her texts unanswered for hours (or in some cases, days) or spent more time talking about ShyGuy118 than anything else. In fact, that’s where she was as Rue arrived at the park, despite Rue explicitly asking her not to.

She finally stopped, feet quickly sinking into the sand beneath the monkey bars as she stared up at the figure.

“Yo, Rue-Rue.”

MY WORK IS, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, TO BE REPOSTED OR SHARED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I HAVE NEVER GIVEN CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING SHARED, SO IF YOU SEE ANOTHER ACCOUNT POSTING MY CONTENT PLS LET ME KNOW.

tags:@ariianelle @charliesdaze

(willing to tag anyone else in this series, but i will not be maintaining any major taglists for the rest of my work)

#rue bennett imagine #rue bennet x reader #rue bennett #rue bennet icons #zendaya #euphoria #euphoria hbo #euphoria season 2 #hbo euphoria #jules vaughn #euphoria s2 #euphoria imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #reader insert #female reader #x you #smut

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lilpuppiepaws · 3 years

Text

💕 how to tell loved ones about your regression! 💕

☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸

being a secret regressor can be pretty difficult!! especially if your family doesn’t give you personal space to regress, or if you’re unable to get regression gear to help you regress because of said family! and sometimes just telling them may be easier so you no longer have to hide it!! but first, i’d like to say that you DO NOT NEED TO TELL THEM!! it’s your business, and completely your choice!! your regression is 100% valid even if no one knows about it!! and if you don’t think it’s safe to tell them, then don’t!! your safety matters more!!

so, before you tell your loved ones about your regression, it’s a good idea to think about why you want to tell them, if it’s safe for you to tell them, and how telling them will affect you. after giving these things some thought, you can then consider these ways of explaining it to your loved ones!

ways you can tell them:

• write them a letter

• have a friend or partner explain

• text them

• sit down in a comfortable environment, and tell them face-to-face

• tell them over a phone call

• send them an informational website link or social media post (be sure to read it before sending it so that it accurately describes what agere is to you!!)

some things you might want to mention to them:

• why you regress

• how it helps/has helped you

• what agere is not. (e.g., agere is NOT k!nk, etc.)

• who else regresses

• when you first started regressing

starting the conversation:

(whether it’s over text, in person, through letter, etc!)

• you could pretend to not know much about it to hear their opinion. like, “hey, have you ever heard of age regression?” , “i just found out about this coping mechanism recently, and i’m thinking i might want to try it..” ,or “what do you think about age regression?”.

• if you haven’t been doing well recently, you could start off by explaining one of the “big things that has been helping you cope” (age regression). you could say something along the lines of “yeah, it’s been rough lately, but i’ve actually found an incredibly helpful coping mechanism…”

• be honest and open with them. you could start off with: “to be completely honest with you, i feel embarrassed talking about this…”, “talking about this topic is hard because i’m afraid…” , “this conversation is difficult for me because (xyz), but i want to tell you anyway.”

• you could also be very forward, and straight to the point with them, if that’s what you want to do. you can say something like: “i wanted to tell you i am an age regressor. (then go on to explain it)” , “i’ve been using a coping mechanism called age regression.” (explain, or clear up any misconceptions).

speaking of misconceptions, here are the most common ones you’ll probably want to clear up:

• age regression is NOT sexual in any way

• age regression is for everyone

• age regression is NOT the same as ddlg/abdl/etc

• age regression doesn’t mean you’re regressed 24/7

• the relationship between a caregiver and an age regressor is NOT a power exchange.

questions you should be prepared to answer:

the person you’re telling may have some questions for you! i found that these were some pretty common ones you might want to keep in mind!

• “where did you learn about age regression?”

• “how is it different from ddlg/abdl/etc?”

• “is age regression safe?”

• “how does it work?”

• “should i treat you any differently?”

• “when did you first realize you started regressing?”

• “is this something i can tell other people?”

• “how can i treat this topic respectfully when speaking with you about it?”

(big thanks to a couple of my close non-agere friends who helped me come up with these questions!!)

“what if they react badly?”

if the person you’re telling has a bad reaction, that is not your fault! i’d say the best thing you can do is not to get upset with them! but instead try to educate them when you can. don’t forget that it’s your coping mechanism, and it’s there to help you.

i rlly hope this helps anyone who is thinking about telling their friends/family/etc about their regression!! remember that even if no one knows about it, your regression IS VALID!!!

☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸🍼💗☁️🌸

#agere #agere community #agere blog #age regression #age regression community #age regressor #agere textpost #cglre #sfw cglre

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junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought�� I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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