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kquil · 11 months

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POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 2

02 : THANK YOU

SUM. : you thank your heroes with home made lunch at their work place, leaving with a temporary tattoo and three men wrapped around your little finger.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; innocent reader ; all three are smitten with you ; all three also being casually dominant with you ; sweetheart reader x rough tough men is the trope! ; prepare to be as obsessed as i am over these men! ; marauders with tattoos and piercings are hot

LENGTH. : 2.6k

PREV. : 01 | RESCUE

“Well there’s a familiar face,” Remus greets with a smile as you step into the shop. You timidly smile back and wait for him to wave off a customer with their care kit before stepping forward with your heavy tote strung over your shoulder, “do you have an appointment for a tattoo or a piercing?” he asks, eyes trained on the tablet at the front desk.

“Oh, no no,” you bashfully stammer, “I’m not here for any of that, I’m scared of needles,”

“That’s a shame,” Remus contemplates and you look up to see him leaning over with a thoughtful look, his elbows on the counter as one hand holds his chin up - he’s so handsome. He has several piercings decorating his ears and an eyebrow piercing to accentuate the angles of his brows. As he moves his chin off his palm to caress it in contemplation, he continues to take you in as you also take the opportunity to admire some of the tattoos on his arms. There are some phrases in different fonts, an impressive vision of a wolf with a full moon and a minimalist set of the moon phases alongside much more, “you’d look good with cute little piercings on your ears,” he finally comments, reaching out to point at your ear.

“Th-thank you,” you subconsciously reach up and touch your ear, his statement making you briefly consider his suggestion.

“So what are you here for if not for a piercing or tattoo?” straightening up into his full height, Remus lets a light scowl take over his face, “Is that bastard troubling you again?”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, I told my manager and he’s been banned from the pub I work at so I haven’t had anymore bad encounters,”

Remus smiles at your precious appearance, you really look adorable being all timid in front of him, “I’m glad,” his voice is warm and comforting, different to the roughness brought on by the ink on his arms. He was dressed in a white shirt under a sleeveless brown sweater vest, high-waisted, tailored pants with the bottoms just about reaching his Doc Martens - he’s a good balance of soft but edgy. It’s a unique charm of his, you gather.

“I-I just wanted to say thank you to you guys,” you gesture to your tote bag, “so I made you some lunch, I hope that’s okay…”

“Free lunch, home cooked by the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen?” Sirius interrupts, stealing your attention as he appears from a corridor to your left with a boyish grin. He reaches for your hand and brings your knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss, “what an honour,”

Your cheeks heat up incredibly at the gesture, “it’s really nothing, you guys saved me last night, it’s the least I could do,”

Sirius smiles down at you and after sharing a look with Remus he begins to lead you down the same corridor he had just appeared from, “well, you have the most perfect timing, darling because it’s a slow day and almost our lunch break,”

“I’ll tell James and help him finish up with his last client for the day. We’ll see you in a bit,” Remus announces as he flips the sign at the door to ‘CLOSED’. You wanted to protest and say that you didn’t want to waste too much of their time but the mousy haired piercer smiled and that was enough reassurance for you to hold your tongue.

“Let’s go love,” Sirius leads you down a corridor to a room with rock posters and varying pieces of art decorating the wall as sofas lined half of the walls with varying aesthetics, one was very much distressed but still cosy looking, as the other was of a sleek, black leather. Thankfully, there was a pretty large coffee table that you could set your tote bag on and slowly began to take out the food you had cooked. On the distressed sofa behind you, Sirius admired your tentative figure and appreciated your stark difference in aesthetic to the room around you. Your style fits close to Remus although more feminine and carefree. There was a cosy structure to Remus’s fashion but with your long flowing white skirt, chiffon blouse and delicate jewellery, you embodied a breath of fresh air under the summer sun, “what a beauty,” Sirius says to himself, arms resting along the back of the sofa as you finally settled down.

Thinking he meant the food in the tupperware, you smile, “you like the food already?”

“I’m talking about you, darling, although the food does look delicious,” Sirius chuckles under his breath as you timidly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Th-thank you but really, I hope you like the food,”

“I’m sure I will,” silence slowly permeates the space between you as you wait for Remus and James but it was still comfortable, not awkward at all. In that time, you both take in each other’s appearance. Sirius wears a white tank that clings to his toned figure and ends just under his belly button, showcasing a majority of the tattoos that embellish his skin. He’s also in black jeans and a pair of worn combat boots. The tattoos on his arms and those that peak out from his torso and chest don’t have a visible theme but they all still go together somehow. There are many unknown symbols and long winded sentences written decoratively around said symbols and the occasional elaborate illustration. There are some doodles dedicated to music, some to inside jokes you would guess and you want to ask questions but you bite your tongue. You didn’t want to be rude.

“Curious?” Sirius asks, having noticed your wandering eyes and smiling at your kitten-like interest.

“A little bit…”

“Ask away,”

When James and Remus finally join the two of you a few minutes later, they see you fully turned towards Sirius on the sofa, eyes focused on a tattoo on his chest that he was explaining the meaning of, catching you in a trance with his voice. The tattoo artist has his tank top moved down and to the side as you absentmindedly reach your hand up to his tattoo, almost tracing the ink on his skin with your delicate fingers. From the grin on Sirius’s face and the love-eyes he was watching your face with, they could tell he was smitten with you, which was rare. Sirius was very much a ladies man but you’ve managed to rope him in with hardly any effort put in. Remus doesn’t blame his friend, though, you’re very captivating.

The chuckle from both Remus and James pulls your attention away from Sirius who smirks up at them, unbothered by their interruption.

“I heard a pretty lady was treating us to some home made lunch today,” James eagerly sits down in the space beside you as Remus sits atop the far right of the coffee table.

“Y-yeah, I hope you like it, please dig in,”

“Don’t mind if I do!” James cheers and promptly consumes his share of food, giving the occasional groan of satisfaction from the taste in his mouth, “Sho good!”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Remus corrects with an amused smile before turning to your with an appreciative grin, “Thank you, truly, (Y/N), I was getting tired of take out,”

“Home cooking is the best,” Sirius groans from your other side, already half way through his share, which makes you giggle in happiness. Your heart swells with joy knowing that you could properly thank your heroes. Speaking off, you finally get to admire James in better lighting than the street lamps. He isn’t nearly as decorated with ink as Sirius but there was a pretty illustration of a stag on his forearm that you admired. You hadn’t wanted to feel awkward so you brought some lunch for you too and ate alongside the trio, stealing secret glances at James who remained oblivious, too engrossed in his food. He’s in much cosier attire compared to Srius and Remus. Hanging from his broad shoulders was an oversized, faded shirt and washed-out jeans with the bottoms rolled up to showcase his high converse shoes. Framing his face was a charming pair of round glasses and, matched with his unruly curls and tattoos, made him a pictured balance of casual and wild that suits only him.

Lunch passes and James was the first to finish between the trio, quickly proceeding to pull puppy eyes at his two friends in a soft plea for them to surrender some of their food to him but they firmly decline.

“I’m not letting you have some of my lunch just because you finished yours too quickly,” Sirius huffs, pulling his tupperware closer to him.

“Sorry Prongs,” Remus laughs, “those puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me, our dove’s cooking is too good to share,”

Unable to resist James’s pouting face, you hold up a spoonful of your meal, “it’s okay James,” you bring your spare hand to sit under the spoon and move it to James’s lips, “here, say ‘ahh’,”

With a boyish, golden-boy grin, James happily accepts the mouthful and moans in happiness, chewing away like a happy squirrel. Enjoying his glee so much, you happily feed him the rest of your lunch, saying that you were already far too full to eat any more so that Remus and Sirius didn’t scold James too much. It was partially true though because seeing James eating was enough to make you feel full already.

Once done, you set aside the tupperware and was completely unprepared for when James kissed your cheek as thanks for feeding him the rest of your lunch, “you’re too kind, angel, thank you,” he whispers into your ear, his breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending a shiver down your spine. You could only muster a timid nod in response.

When lunch ended, casual conversations started which slowly divulged into the boys wanting to give you a temporary tattoo as thanks. You wanted to protest the redundancy of their actions but were quickly convinced by the verbal pleas of Sirius and James as Remus simply stared at you with interested eyes.

“What tattoo would you like, doll?” Sirius asks, smiling at your pondering face. You're far too cute for your own good.

“Surprise me!” you finally chirp, missing the roguish grin the three men share.

Not too long after, you were brought into a room with a computer connected to a specialised printer against one wall of the room. Remus and Sirius immediately move to prepare the temporary tattoo on the screen and set up the printer while James leads you to the tattoo bed in the middle of the room.

“This can fold into a chair but that’s a bit of a hassle right now, do you mind sitting on the bed instead?” James asks as you shake your head and reassure that it’s alright. He loves how compliant you are and watches for a moment as you struggle to get on the high bed before offering assistance, “May I?” his hands hesitates just before they reach your figure but you pay his touch no mind and nod, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders as he secures his hold on your waist. With a small countdown, James lifts you onto the tattoo table with hardly any effort.

Shuffling back, you smile up at James who remains taller than you on the table as he stands between your thighs, “Thank you, James,” the tattoo artist smiles when you say his name but frowns at the distance you’re sitting at the table.

“No worries sweetheart but you we need you a little closer than that,” without another word, James grips your thighs with his large hands and pulls you with some force to sit closer to the edge of the table, which also pulls a surprised squeal from your lips, “sorry sorry,” James chuckles softly his hands still on your thighs and shudders at your proximity when he looks down to see your skirt bundled up, accentuating how close your hips were to his. Stepping away, James tidies up your skirt as you giggle and thank him once more for his assistance. He smiles at you before being called over to the computer, trading places with Sirius.

“Where would you like your temporary tattoo, love?” he asks gently, opening a packet of sanitising wipes as the sound of the printer starts and whirrs in the background.

“Hmmm…even though it’s temporary I want it to be easily hidden,”

“Such a shy princess aren’t you?” Sirius comments with a smile, “it’s so cute,”

Ignoring his comment, you rush to think of the perfect place for the tattoo and distract from your racing heart, “how about here?” you point to your chest, just above your breasts and below your collarbone. Sirius immediately recognises the placement and raises an amused brow.

“Like my tattoo?”

You timidly smile, “yes please,”

“Very good choice,” Sirius praises playfully as pride swells within his chest, “but we need to get to that spot first, love,” you look down at your blouse and curse under your breath.

“Umm…” you try to pull down the collar but it was a small cut and the fabric resists. The temporary tattoo finishes printing and Remus approaches the table with James to see you struggling with your blouse.

“Where does she want it?” James asks as Remus carefully holds the small tattoo.

“Where mine was,” Sirius points to just below his collar bone, “but her blouse is in the way,”

Remus nods and approaches you, “that blouse is going to have to come off, dove,” his brown eyes watches you gnaw at your lip, it’s a hesitance he’s familiar with so he knows what to do, “don’t worry, you have nothing to be scared of, okay?” he gives you a warm smile when you look up at him and soon feel assured enough to untuck your blouse and pull it over your head, “good girl,” he praises with the same soft tone. You feel silly, these men give tattoos and pierce people’s skin, you’re sure that they’ve seen plenty of shirtless women in only their bras. Remus especially…he’s an expert piercer and has probably been asked to pierce lady parts that weren’t…very common.

“I’ve got to prepare your skin, love,” Sirius holds up the wipe and once you confirm exactly where you wanted the tattoo again, he wipes the area clean. Your skin is soft and slightly bouncy as it leads down to your breasts that makes the tattoo artist wipe at your skin a little longer than normal. After Sirius finishes prepping your skin and letting it dry, Remus steps up and applies the tattoo as best as he can without wrinkles. He swipes over the tattoo with his fingers and smiles at the handiwork. Beside him, Sirius and James admire the temporary ink, all three internally screaming at what you had let them ink you with.

“Wait a full hour before you peel off the applicator,” Remus gently instructs, “and try to avoid sweating or showering for the next 6 hours okay?” you nod and Remus pats your head in approval with a contented hum. You put your blouse back on and let James help you down, laughing brightly when he raises you up high and spins you in the air before he finally sets you down, laughing alongside you.

The boys still have a business to run so you collect your empty tupperware and wave the three goodbye before hurrying home, excited to see what tattoo they had given you as they were adamant at keeping it a surprise from you. When you finally arrived home and got a hold of a mirror, you examined the tattoo with your blouse off and felt your cheeks gradually heat up as you trace the differing fonts of the three names decorating the space beneath your collarbone.

Their names in their handwriting. James, Sirius, Remus.

NEXT : 03 | GROCERIES

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

A/N : i'm becoming more and more obsessed with this au - i couldn't stop writing! if i'm going down, im bringing your darlings with me! no survivors allowed! maybe i'll make a part 3? i don't know yet. again, i've added additional tags of the people who have expressed interest in more parts for the timestamp. tell me your thoughts, lovelies!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains ; @manical-heaven ; @ch3rry-pops ; @unholyhuntress ; @animeluvr99 ; @peppers-library ; @thepowerthismanhasoverme ; @buck-fics ; @bohemian-lavender-girl

#james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #poly marauders x reader #poly marauders #marauders #marauders fic #sirius black #sirius black fic #sirius x reader #remus lupin #james potter #james potter x you #☆ : timestamp #𐂂 : timestamp #☽ : timestamp

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clockwayswrites · 7 months

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A Broken Sort of Normal, Part 15

WC 1133, Masterpost

“Danny!”

“Lena, no,” Danny groaned. He let his bag slump off his shoulder as he turned to face them. “Lena. It’s Friday. I have been in meetings for the last three days. I have plans. I am actively leaving the building. Lena. Why are you stopping me, Lena?”

Lena held their tablet up, covering up the lower half of their face. Their dangerously large doe eyes looked over the top of it. “I just have one last thing!”

“Is it an emergency?”

They rolled their eyes. “Do you hear any alarms?”

“If I don’t deal with it until Monday and an emergency happens, are people going to be out of supplies they need to deal with said emergency?”

“No,” Lena huffed.

“Then can it please wait until Monday, Lena? Please? I’m begging you. I don’t want to have to get down on my knees, but I will,” Danny said. “Oh great now more of you are here. Please tell me you don’t all have things you need from me? Why are you smiling like that? If this is a mind control thing just thrown me tied up in my office and let me at least sleep under my desk.”

“You’ve been hanging out with the heroes too much Danny,” Greg said with a laugh from where he leaned on the bright green partition of his cubical. “You’ve picked up on their dramatics.”

“No, I’m just used to the crazy now and this,” he said, motioning to his gathering underlings (HR wouldn’t let him call them minions anymore), “is suspicious.”

“Well if you feel that way, we don’t have to give your gift,” Lena said.

Danny perked up a little. “Gift? Wait, gift?”

Hamid snorted. “Of course he pays attention when gift is mentioned. Danny, someone could catch you with a piece of cake under a cardboard box.”

Danny flapped a hand in Hamid’s direction. “Hush. But why gift? You all don’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course we did!” Lena said. “It’s your one year being the boss man, Boss!”

That made Danny pause. It couldn’t be, could it? Had he really been working as leadership in the Justice League Response Team for a year now? It felt like yesterday still when he had been moving to Central City.

“I think we broke him,” Hamid whispered loudly.

“I just can’t believe it’s been that long,” Danny said honestly.

“Well it has been, so here,” Lena said. They grabbed a tissue wrapped bundle and handed it over.

Danny unwrapped it carefully, aware he was grinning stupidly and not carrying to stop it. It was really sweet of his team. “I couldn’t have made a year without you all.”

“We know,” Greg said, which made Danny laugh.

When the paper was finally discarded, Danny was holding a mug that said ‘You’re the Best Boss’ with the word ‘best’ scratched out. Stuffed inside the mug were floppy Titan figures wrapped with fake bandages. “You’re all jerks, I love it. I’m taking a picture and sending it to the Titans. Nightwing’s little broken leg is inspired.”

“Thank you,” Lena said proudly. They waited for Danny to snap the picture before taking the mug away. “Now you go. I’ll put this on your desk for you.”

“Thank you, really, you’re all the best.”

“We know,” all three of the coursed as Danny headed out the door with a wave.

“I can’t believe they broke mini me’s leg!” Dick wined when Danny got back to his and Wally’s department.

“Of course they broken your leg with all the stunts you pull,” Victor said as he flicked the cap off a beer with his thumb. “Wait, that sounded wrong. It’s not like those were voodoo dolls or anything. Right…?”

Danny laughed hung up his work bag and keys on the hooks by the door. “Greg is right, you’re all paranoid and I’m around you way too much for it to be rubbing off on me.”

“Really only Wally rubs off on y—” Garfield started only to get a face full of pillow tossed by Donna. It sent Gar right over the couch back he had been perched on.

“No one needs to hear that,” she said.

“You’re just jealous Wally has a hot boyfriend,” Gar said.

The couch shifted a little before a green cat popped out from under the front of it. Danny picked Gar up as he passed, setting him back on the couch.

“I am not the hot boyfriend,” Danny said.

“Yes you are.”

“Right.”

“Dude.”

Victor just snorted.

“Wally,” Danny called out. “Our friends are being weird. Did you all get a collective head injury or something?”

“Our friends are always weird, babe,” Wally called back from either the bedroom or the office.

“Yes, but this is extra weird.”

There was a pause then Wally appeared with the monstrosity that was the current Uno set up. It now included a board and six different dice. “Okay, what’s extra weird?”

“That they think I’m the hot boyfriend.”

“Danny, babe,” Wally said. He leveled Danny with a look. “You are the hot boyfriend.”

“Collective head injury, all of you!” Danny said, throwing his hands up.

Wally just laughed, the bastard, and set the game box down so that he could pull Danny into his arms. “Accept it, you’re hot.”

“No,” Danny said, purposefully pouting.

“So hot,” Wally insisted before leaning in to kiss Danny.

Gar whistled while Victor made a fake gagging sound. The kiss broke as Danny laughed at being hit with a pillow.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Is food ordered?” Danny asked as he dragged himself out of Wally’s arms.

“Indian. An absolute feast too,” Wally said, reluctantly letting Danny go.

“Good, I’m starving.” Danny headed for their bedroom, shucking off his clothing as soon as the door was closed. He hated meetings where people expected him to wear suits. It was a relief to change into jeans and a comfortable t-shirt.

“…wait till the others are here?” Dick was saying to Wally when Danny opened the door.

“I know we should, just…”

“Wait for what?” Danny asked.

It was a little startling how both their heads jerked up to look at Danny.

“Um, just explaining the Uno rules! You know?” Wally said with a nervous laugh. “Not all of them have played this version, yeah?”

Danny raised a brow, spotting the lie easily but not knowing what it was about. It was usually safer to not get between Wally and Dick plotting something though. “Right… pass me a cider?”

“Sure, babe!” Wally said with far too much perkiness.

Danny had just accepted the uncapped cider when suddenly the room was filled with a screaming alert. From the volume that wasn’t just one communicator.

That was everyone’s.

---

AN: I managed to shake out some words! I'm not actually sure of the pacing of this one, but I won't know till I write the next part! There's a chance this might get more added to it. We'll see! I wonder what Dick and Wally were talking about??

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, instead you can subscribe to the masterpost.

#dp x dc #quick death ship #quick death #abson

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honestsycrets · 6 months

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omg sex worker miguel o’hara? 🤧🫡

grande | sex worker!miguel o'hara x assistant!reader

❛ pairing | sex worker!miguel o'hara x assistant!reader.

❛ type | extended drabble; 2kish words; explicit

❛ summary | you probably shouldn't tell a man that he's small. even if you've known him a very long time-- and especially if you see him fuck every day.

❛ tags | sex worker au, improper use of belts, male receiving oral, slight disagreements, workplace argument, Spanish is not translated

❛ sy’s notes | ...i now have an escort!miggy x rich girl!reader in my drafts to be finished at some other time because it became a bit depressing and plotty. needed something light to get back into writing for a bit.

He doesn’t play fair. Most women understand that about him. They know Miguel to be the man who bends the delicate boundaries of rules for a good fuck— be it a place, be it a position. Miguel would do what he had to for a better clip.

“Miggy?” You said, hands behind your hips. He should have known then that you were up to some shit. You hover somewhere in his vision with a sugar-sweet smile. You’ve worked with him alongside him since he chose this profession. Most days, he watched you sit by your favorite window that cast a warm midday sun, tacking away with fingers that flew across the keys. Some days, you’re watching him-- mounted on another woman. He cocked his thick brow at you.

“What?”

“I… it’s just… fuck. Elena had something come up.”

“Like I said she would."

Miguel set his fist to his cheek, swirling his protein shake in the other hand. This woman was your idea, not his. There’s a reason your voice choked on the words. You were anxious about your news the way your hands rounded to the front of your body, clammy hands plastered onto your tablet.

“I just thought—“

“I know what you thought. You thought my followers would like her.” He took a swig of his drink. “Not if she’d like me.”

That was exactly the issue. You do too much worrying about what the viewer likes, not enough about what he would like. He was well aware from every ping from Elena and the contorted little face you made that she was scared of him. As to why, he was not certain. He's grumpy, not dangerous.

“She does like you— it’s just your dick,“ you fumbled with your tablet, nearly spilling it over on his lap. “I told her you weren’t that big. She’s just— dramatic.”

“Not that big?”

You’re not winning this fight. He threw a look at the tablet, finding your suggestion more egregious than your description of it. Too thick! She complained. He’d stretch her out. Or, so she feared. He sincerely doubted that. She took enough dick that if that were the case, she’d have an issue long before now.

He’s not that big in real life. All that big dick crap is just marketing. I see his dick all the time.

Then you fuck him!

His mouth flattened into an unmoveable line, clearly unappeased with your response. For a moment, he did not move. He did not fidget. Nor respond. He simply stared down at you with those sharp, unhumored eyes. What little security you had in convincing him flitted away. He abandoned his drink on the table and leaned in close. Close enough that his thick strands of dark hair tickle your skin. Enough that you can smell the perfumed oil that lingered on his tanned skin. He always smelled so good.

“Until you’ve fucked me onscreen,” he brushed past. “Don’t tell women who will what I’m like.”

Oh. You made a mistake.

You don’t like it when Miguel is angry.

Most days coming to work, Miguel has a hot coffee on the table for you as you edit his finest ball-busting work. When the days stretch a little too long, he tells you when enough is enough. And, if you were lucky, he hovered at the stove and made you something to eat. It gave you a perfect sight of his toned shoulders and the long column of his spine-- which he so graciously allowed you to drool over day by day. Today, there was no half-dressed hunk making your delicious meals in sight.

He’s still angry. You pulled up his socials, scrolling through the responses to the latest video. A teasing blooper of a clip with a woman with Miguel’s length halfway down her throat, coughing up his seed all over her chest as you mistakingly giggle behind the screen.

“Keep laughing and see what happens,” Miguel drifted to yours, eyes hazy and soft, chest rising violently with the sundering sensation of his orgasm. He watched for the span of only a few heartbeats, a decadent warning exchanged between the two of you immeasurable before the camera. He reached for a tissue.

“Perdóname, papi.”

Does anyone know if they’re fucking? A user asked. It’s as if Miguel’s co-star was but a fading character. Any chance of seeing him fuck her?? Whats her @?

She’s just his employee.

Need this.

Just an employee. The words pulled on a string of connection that could at any time be cut. Miguel had no interest in wielding the scissors to do so, rather, over the past few years the string only became stronger. He’ll get over it. You stared at the reflection of your poorly made cup of cafecito, undrunken because no one made it like Miguel made it. He’s there, hovering around the sink, but you feel all the more alone in the room. Producer, editor, friend-- your eyes fell back to the cup.

“Are you done?” Miguel hovered by your coffee cup. It was cool to the touch.

“Ah. Sí.”

You gazed up at him, regret seeping from your features. If you apologized yet again, he’d simply leave the room. There are no good words. No ones that would make sense, no words that would… be good enough to make him come back when he’s in this mood, unmoveable and distant. You’re so close to him-- but all alone.

He takes the cup away.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Miguel dropped his phone on your office desk. It thumped over the tablespace, his expression morphing into something wrong. You turn his phone upright, knowing the contents before the information actually registers in your mind.

“It’s a picture of me,” you closed the top of your laptop and whirled around in the chair, knocking your knees against his. He’s closer than he’s been in days.

“Yes. But what else?” he rumbled.

You’re not stupid, remembering the launch of merch that Miguel sincerely doubted anyone would be seriously interested in. How many people wore a male sex worker’s merch? This was all your idea, of course. Your lip is bitten fat, stripped of skin. Your eyes wandered across the table to the cabinet with an array of different cameras. Miguel rapped his scarred knuckles over the table, blocking your desperation for an escape. He wanted a substantial answer.

“You told me to make sure it sold.”

“And that meant model with your ass out on my page.”

“You don’t like it?”

"Dios," that’s not the point. He breathed a forceful breath, navigating your rolling chair up against the bed in the room. Typically the bed was used for a late night at the office or one of Miguel’s performances with any number of women you cast him with. Or, as you preferred, when he masturbates by himself-- squeezing his hand along his length as your phantom hand poured more wet lubricant over his cock. The sheets are always stained and consequentially changed.

“I don’t like that they know what you look like,” Miguel supplied, his chest cresting into a fall. His gaze fell to your hands, settled in a clasp over your short skirt. Now he knew what you looked like. “Do you know how many requests I have to…”

“Fuck me.”

“Sí,” Miguel said, your name dying on his tongue. “To fuck you.”

“Then do it. You have a camera.”

What-- his gaze read. It’s in the way his brow pushed together, how his lips fell just so lightly apart. He would say something more, but your hands are on his dark slacks, tracking up toward his sturdy leather belt. In only an hour or so, Miguel was meant to record with Elena, who, you convinced. He should be saving his stamina for that, not this. Even so, his hands hovered atop your own, grunting slightly in response, unable to stop what you were doing.

“Don’t ask me to ruin you.”

“I think you already have,” you murmured, finding his soft cock. You stroked him through his pants, drawing along his length, getting him where you want him. With every scene you recorded, you knew what Miguel liked. You knew he liked scenes where he could take his time, as short and far between as they were. You want that too. You drew the belt loose and unbuttoned the little spry button. So close, you could almost taste him.

“Are you going to record it?” You gestured toward the desk, pulling his cock into the free air. He’s an impressive length, just as you recall, you think he has to be to be an adult actor. The real treat is Miguel’s thick girth, swirled with delicious veins. You had seen his dick at least a hundred times, delighted in watching him meet his orgasm time and time again, and touched yourself to the thought of being just like his many girls.

“No,” Miguel pulled his belt from the loops and tugged it around his wrist. He let the other hand find the back of your head, weaving through smooth locks of hair, guiding your lush lips to his cock. “This is all for me.”

When he spoke like that, all you wanted was to make him happy. Your moist mouth separated, warm breath tickling the length that he shoved into your wet mouth. Maybe Elena had a point, you think, suckling around his length once, drawing to his fat tip. He hums in response, bucking back deep into your mouth. Miguel didn't want to wait, causing you to gag over his length, a terrible coughing resonating about his dick. Now that he had you here, he would show you how wrong you were.

“I thought I wasn’t that big,” Miguel’s hand left your head, stretching his belt across the back of your neck. Bucking forward, you gagged around his length, scratching his clothed hip for some mercy. If he wasn’t so big-- you could take it, couldn’t you? “Just like that. Hm? Cómo?”

He was gracious enough to allow you off his cock, gasping for air as you were, the depth of his plunging cock having pricked a few oversensitized tears on the sides of your eyes. You’re beautiful like that, overwrought and needy. Your heart rattled in the confines of your ribcage, wheezing as you jerked him pathetically. How certain you look now, tugging on him for a moment of relief.

“I’m sorry--”

“Ya sé.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, guiding him back into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed out, drawing him in fast and hard. If not for the belt around the back of your neck, he might have stumbled, stuck between the warmth of your mouth and the pleasured groans tickling his length. You’re well-accustomed to what the girls do, stretching your palm around his dick.

“Harder,” he remarked, throwing a half-chewed-up curse aside. Unlike with the other girls, he’s weak before the pleasure, usually focused and refined, his jaw clenches. He’s gotten weak-- has it been that long since he’s had sex outside of the roll of the camera?

“Miggy,” you pulled back, your sloppy tongue swirling about his fat tip. He catches the moan in his chest, refusing to let it crest over, not yet. His eyes catch yours, muscular stomach flexing, he’s listening. “I want to taste you. Can I taste you?”

You’re such a good niña. Miguel forces you back to your rightful place on his cock, the band stretched so tight around his fists that he might break it. Your name becomes an unbearable, pleasurable slur on his tongue. He’s a trained man, knowing to cum when you say to come on each shoot. In many ways, he's your trained dog: cuming when he's told to.

His length pulsed in your mouth for one final thrust before he gave you what you wanted, strands of release spraying the back of your warm little mouth. You suckled him up, even as he tried to pull free. You cleaned his cock, sucking him nice and clean. Miguel brushed off your attempt to zip him away.

“Don’t bother,” Miguel breathed, pulling at the black-tie strapped to his throat. His white dress shirt was soaked, causing him to roll the sleeves up to his elbows. His voice dropped, well-fucked out but nearly ready for another round. “Your cunt is next.”

“But Elena is on her w--”

“Fuck her,” Miguel waved his hand, slouching into your chair. “Fix the camera. We have a video to shoot.”

If nothing else-- now you can tell her how big he really is.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv fic #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara smut

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urhoneycombwitch · 8 days

Text

plan b

___

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers used), embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #husky!neighbor!Eddie #husky!neighbor!eddie x reader #eddie x reader

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mewhenimanangel · 10 months

Text

the babysitter ʚɞ

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

synopsis: miguel offered you a job babysitting his daughter, gabrielle. his marriage is going through a rough time and you’re someone he can confide in

wc: 2.2k

warnings!: alcohol, age gap, infidelity, loss of virginity, piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), cowgirl

nia’s ౨ৎ notes: i lovee dilfs so bad

"y/n can you make me ramen, please. i loveeeee the way you make it" gabby came downstairs to ask you. currently, you were lolling around on the couch in the living room watching tv on the big screen. you were babysitting gabrielle o'hara, your neighbors' daughter. you started the job when your mom invited them over for dinner and her dad asked if you were available to watch her for a while, you weren't that busy so you said yes and after that they decided to officially hire you.

her parents were out at the moment, miguel at work. "yeah sure" you smiled, pausing your show and getting up to the kitchen while gabby sat on the couch with her tablet. you reached in the pantry for a pack of noodles, grabbing hot sauce, green onions, and extra seasonings on your way. you waited for the ramen to boil then began adding everything.

"hey you guys okay?" you heard a voice coming from the front room. miguel threw his his keys on the counter and took his shoes off at the door. "daddy!" gabby exclaimed running up to give her dad a hug. "ahh mi cielito, what are you still doing up?" he asked giving her a kiss on the cheek and picking her up into his arms. "oh that's my fault actually she asked to stay up a little longer and she's too cute i couldn't say no" you giggled. he nod his head and smiled before gabby yawned "you ask to stay up and you can't even thug it out?" he laughed. "why don't you go upstairs and brush your teeth and go to bed huh?" he told her.

"okay daddy" she grumbled running up the stairs to go to bed. you'd completely forgot about the noodles you just made "wait i actually just made her some noodles.." you pointed to the kitchen. "oh well, i'm starving" he smiled moving towards the kitchen.

you put some noodles in a bowl for each of you before you sat next to him at the kitchen island. "so how's school going" he asked you, taking a bite. you were a sophomore in university, studying for your degree. "good, it's a little tough but i can manage" you answered him. "you're a good kid, you'll do great i'm sure of it" he smiled. "hope gab wasn't too much trouble today" "no no she was great, she's so adorable i love her." you giggled. "yeah, think she misses her mom" he sighed.

"oh, where is she anyway?" you asked him, as nosy as ever. "she's on some business trip" he answered, mockery laced in his tone. "but between you and me, i think she's seeing someone behind my back." he rolled his eyes. "oh i'm so sorry." you looked at him with a sympathetic expression. "ah it's alright, things've been kind of rocky lately anyway"

he moved his leg ever so slightly, the fabric of his jeans rubbing up against your knee. and he didn't move it, you two sat like that just talking for the next twenty minutes until you checked the time and figured you should head home. "have a good night and thank you as always" he smiled, handing you $200 and sent you on your way.

ʚɞ

you were curled up on the couch, stressing about an assignment you had to finish by the end of the night. "hey." miguel greeted, resting his hands on the chair behind you, leaning over. "oh, hi mr o'hara. i didn't hear you come in, gabby's in bed by the way i'm just trying to finish up this assignment without destroying this laptop." you sighed. he snorted a little at your frustration. "rough day?" he asked you. "yeah, kinda"

"why don't you take a break for a little? have a drink?" he offered, moving to his wine cooler to grab a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "i've had a bit of a rough day too." you weren't one for drinking - you couldn't even do it legally yet, still a year away from that. but you were stressed and you figured a load off couldn't hurt so you got up and went over to join him at the island.

he moved the glass in front of you before finding his seat next to you. "so what were you working on that's got you so tense" he asked taking a sip from his glass. "just some stupid shit from my business class, what about you? why'd you have such a bad day?" you answered. "well, turns out bella has been seeing someone. from work, buddy of mine told me" he sighed.

"oh i'm sorry mr o'hara" you put your hand out on his arm, face expressing your sorry. "really it's fine" he brushed off "just don't know how she could break us up like that, especially for gabby. probecita bebé" you frowned, feeling bad for him. i mean who could ever cheat on him. he was smart, kind, and really handsome. you studied his features looking at his messy brown hair, the way his 5 o'clock shadow graced his chiseled jaw, his milky brown eyes under his surprisingly long lashes. you looked at the way his t shirt clung to his biceps and the way his jeans rode low on his waist.

"what?" he chuckled at the way your stare lingered on him. "n-nothing" you nervously laughed, downing your glass of champagne. "thanks a lot for all you do for gabby, she loves you a lot. always talking about you and it's never one bad thing" he smiled at you. "think she's gonna need us a little more now with what's coming." "what do you mean?" you quirked an eyebrow. "well m'gonna file for divorce, which'll be hard on her" he poured more champagne into your glasses.

the two of you talked for a bit before you told a joke which got him laughing. he rest his hand on your thigh, the other hitting the table. when the joke was over he didn't take his hand off, he instead inched it higher up your leg. you looked at his hand before looking back up into his lustful gaze. you weren't gonna lie and say you didn't want him but he was a little more than twice your age, he had a kid for god's sake. but your wine clouded your judgement and you allowed him to lean in, attaching his lips to yours.

when you were moving an arm up around his neck your elbow bumped your wine glass off the counter, smashing on the ground. you gasped "i'm so sorry" "don't worry about it" he chuckled kissing you again. this time your hands entangled through his hair deepening the kiss. he picked you up, put his hands under your ass cheeks, kneading his fingers into it as your legs wrapped around his waist.

he moved to the stairs before you broke away "wait mr o'hara what about bella?" you breathed out. he scoffed "please she's not a problem anymore and please miguel is fine" he latched his lips back on yours. you broke away again "what about gabby?" "you said she's asleep right? just gonna have to keep it down" he smirked before kissing you again.

you got to his bedroom and he threw you on top of his comforters, crawling his way on top of you. you held onto his strong shoulders as he pressed kisses down your jaw and neck, sucking on your soft skin. you let out a few groans in his ear before pressing your hands against his chest. "um i-i've never done this before with anyone" you admitted.

he took a moment to look at you before taking your hand into his. "that's okay, i'll take care of you. you do still want to right?" he asked rubbing a thumb over your knuckles. you bit your lips and nod your head "m'gonna need an audible response princess" "yes, i still want you to fuck me"

that was all he needed to hear before he was back on your lips. he pulled you in his lap reached for the bottom of your shirt and tugged it over your head, rising your body to help him. he rubbed his hands up and down your waist before reaching to take your bra off. you moved your arm to cover your breasts "no need to cover up. god you're gorgeous" he whispered pressing a finger to your nipple rubbing in circles over it before pinching it between his fingers. you let out a small moan watching him as he looked up at you with a teasing smile. "so sensitive" he lapped his tongue around your nipple sucking and pulling on it while he played with the other one.

your moans began to fill the room "you're already a mess and i've barely even touched you" he teased, lightly biting your nipple. he moved you off him laying you back onto the pillows. he hooked a finger into the waistband of your sweatpants tugging them off you. he looked at the pool of moisture that stained your pretty pink panties "god baby you're soaking" he chuckled, pulling those off you too. you looked away biting your lip in embarrassment "look at me princess" he pulled your chin back to face him. he got on all fours lifting your leg over his shoulder, pressing kisses down it until he got to your entrance.

he pressed his thumb against your clit causing your body to jump in response. he licked at your entrance while continuing to rub his finger over your clit. he sucked and licked at your pussy like it was his first meal in weeks. a moan ripped out of you before you slapped a hand to your face. he squeezed a hand around each of your thighs, them caving him in as he continued to work on making you cum. your hand shot down to his head, taking a handful of his hair in your grip.

"fuck miguel, i think i'm gonna cum" you moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your head. "go ahead princess, cum all over my tongue" he spoke against your cunt, the vibrations sending you crazy, his facial hair tickling against you. you reached your climax and miguel lapped it up, taking every last drop in his mouth.

he wrapped you back up in his arms shoving his tongue in your mouth. "it's not fair that i'm naked and you've still got all your clothes on" you frowned reaching for the hem of his shirt. he chuckled, helping you out with the shirt before taking off his jeans and dropping them to the floor. he opened his nightstand and reached for a condom "why don’t you ride me baby, you wanna take some control for your first time?" he asked, pulling his dick out of his boxers. you gulped looking at his length, how was that supposed to fit inside you.

"uh huh" you mumbled. he laid back on the bed, taking your hand and guiding you on top of him. you straddled him before he grabbed his dick and lined himself up with your entrance. “i’ll be gentle princess” he said, moving your hair out of your face. you eased down onto his dick, his inches splitting you apart. “fuck oh my god” you whined. you rode up and down his length leaning forward to place your hands on his chest. he wrapped his hands around your waist holding you and helping you create your pace.

the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together and both of your moans and whimpers filled the room. his dick slipped out before you grabbed it again and put it back inside you. you sunk further down on it, hitting right on your g spot. you threw your head back, a pornographic moan coming from you. “fuck you sound heavenly, feel it too” miguel groaned. “m-miguel i’m gonna cum” you whined biting your lip. “go ahead baby, cum all on this dick” he whimpered. and so you did.

he leaned up to grab you and flipped you over so you were laying on the bed with him on top. he threw your legs over his shoulder so he could really drive into your cunt. he rest his hand on the headboard, leaning down to kiss you, now sloppy and rushed. “fuck, you are tight” he moaned. soon he reached his climax as well, throwing his head back, his pace slowing down.

he got up and threw the condom away, grabbing a rag with warm water on his way back. he cleaned you off and got you a pair of fresh underwear. he cleaned himself off too putting his boxers on before climbing into the bed with you. he put an arm out indicating he wanted you to lay in it, so you did and you rest your head on his chest. “so did i do a good job pleasing you for your first time” he asked, grabbing your hand to hold. you looked up at him and nodded your head “yes, i loved it” you smiled.

he traced things along your bare back until he heard your soft snores and felt your light breathing on his chest. he smiled to himself before he too fell asleep with you wrapped up in his arms.

#NIA WRITES ࿐#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x black reader #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o’hara smut #spider man 2099 #spider man 2099 smut #miguel o’hara x you

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malestransforming · 1 month

Text

Chronivac Twins

The moment I saw this AI image, I knew I had to write something. Probably one of the hottest things I have ever seen.

Special thanks to @octuscle for the image inspiration. Here is a link to their original story.

- - - - - - - -

Empty beer cans filled the table in front of the two men. The room was silent, the TV showing the console home screen, and darkness was creeping in from the night. The night was winding down, and the two friends were enjoying peaceful moment before the night truly wrapped up.

Mason breathed a heavy sigh, comfortable in his current state. He was clearly drunk, but happily drunk. He fished around in his pockets, feeling for the recent purchase he had received that day: a brand new Chronivac tablet. He pulled it out of his pocket, powering it on for the first time, watching the screen suddenly brighten, flashing the Chronivac logo.

“Check it out!” Mason suddenly exclaimed, surprising even himself with his boldness. “I got this new Chronivac in the mail.”

Beside him sat Chris, Mason’s best friend since grade school. Chris was drunker than Mason was, with his eyes closed and his body still, but he too was in happy state of intoxication.

“Oh yeah? What is that?” Chris slurred from the other end of the coach. The back of Mason’s head was resting on the top of the sofa, leaned back in an almost unnatural position. A massive drunken grin was plastered on his face, highlighting the comfortable state he was currently in.

Mason held up the sleek tablet to an oblivious Chris. A loading screen flashed again as the system booted up.

“Yeah, it’s a tool that lets me change a part of my body. Actually it will change a part of both of us. They had a deal on the twins package.”

“Cool…” Chris breathed.

“Yeah. I know you have been feeling down lately, so I thought it would be nice to spice things up for you. Plus, you know you’re my bro. We’ve been buds since we were five years old. I figured it was time we made it official.”

Mason began tapping at the screen, swiping at different sliders and dials. There were dozens of different settings with labels like “Hair”, “Muscle Levels”, “Race/Nationality”… Mason balked at the overwhelming choices and options, but forced himself to stay focussed; this was a change he had wanted for a while.

“So I was thinking of doing some kind of mixed race. Hmm. Japanese and Mexican? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. I bet that would look hot. With jacked muscles, like body builders. And since we’re gonna be twins, you’ll get it too. Sound good to you Chris?”

Chris only smiled and laughed to himself, the way drunk people often do. It was clear he was not fully present in the moment. Mason took Chris’ drunken laughter as a sign of agreement and continued with the settings page. He slid up the muscle slider to the max, added jock personalities and details such as personal trainer and fitness influencer. He double checked the ‘Race’ tab, making sure that Japanese and Mexican were both checked off. Pleased with his work, he continued on to the last section, “Target Selection” and “Transform”. He allowed the device a few moments to calibrate before confirming the two bodies in the room. He double checked that the “Twins” button was selected and hovered over the Transform button.

“All right bro. This is it. See you on the other side!”

And with that he tapped the button. The screen went blank for a moment, creating a quick sense of panic in Mason’s heart, but reappeared with a white, animated progress bar.

Mason looked down at his hands and arms. “I don’t feel any different,” he said.

He checked the screen again. The progress bar had moved up by one pixel and showed a time remaining of 1440 minutes.

“Oh shoot! I set the transformation duration to be 24 hours. Well that’s okay. When we wake up tomorrow, we’ll definitely see some changes! Next time you see me Chris I’ll be be a huge muscled-out bro. And a completely different race. And so will you! We’ll be twins. Pedro and Miguel. We’re gonna be so fucking hot.”

A gentle and rhythmic breathing came from the other end of the couch. Mason turned his head and grinned at Chris who had passed out on the couch.

“See you in the morning, Miguel,” he whispered.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the apartment. The morning was late, but the day was still young. Chris stirred on the sofa; he was now lying horizontally on the couch, shirtless and in his underwear. He blinked his eyes in the sunlight, rubbing his eyelids with a balled up fist, and stretching against the soft cushions of the sofa. His broad feet pushed against the far armrest, and his arms stretched off behind him. He sat up, and noticed his first change.

Looking down at his chest, Chris saw his pectoral muscles had ballooned out in front of him to a God-like proportion. He cupped his chest, making note of how his nipple had slipped down below his eye line, and squeezed the new muscle.

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed. “Why do I have tits?”

Mason launched himself off the sofa and dove into the bathroom. The flickering fluorescent light clicked on, revealing the extent of Mason’s initial changes. Below his chest were the unmistakeable beginnings of 6-pack abs. Mason ran his fingers over top of his stomach, remembering the slight beer gut that had been there the night before.

He leaned in closer to the mirror and begin poking and prodding his face. His nose seemed wider and his eyes were narrower. His lips were plumping as well, into two thick pillows. He ran his meatier fingers through his darkening hair; it seemed thicker, curlier and shorter than it had before. He pulled a strand and watched it bounce back into place on his scalp.

The sound of a door slamming brought Chris out of his trance. He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main room.

“Bro!” Mason called from the entry-way. “Are you up?”

“Yeah! What the fuck is happening to me?” Chris replied in anguish.

Mason came around the corner and Chris immediately became aware that the changes he was going through were also happening to Mason. Mason appeared to be several inches shorter, and Chris noticed that he was roughly eye-level to himself now. His chest and abs were similarly large and muscled as Chris’ were, except Mason’s shoulders and arms were much wider. Veins pulsed across Mason’ skin and over his bulging biceps. His nose and eye shape seemed strangely familiar, as did the plumpness of his lips. Mason noticed that Chris’ hair was shorter on top with a shaved, faded appearance on the side.

“Mason, what the fuck is happening? I pass out drunk and wake up all top heavy like this! And then you waltz in looking like that! What the fuck?”

“Chill out bro,” Pedro said. “And my name isn’t Mason anymore. It’s Pedro. And your name isn’t Chris, it’s Miguel. You’re turning out to be such a hot twin.”

Chris/Miguel was unable to get anymore words out as sharp pains coursed through his arms and legs. He hunched over, wrapping his growing limbs around his torso. In front of his eyes he saw the muscles in his arms and legs double, triple and quadruple in size, into massive slabs of muscle. His trap muscles ached and burned as the fibres inside re-stitched themselves, growing to match the mass of his arms and chest. Across the room Pedro grinned in anticipation, as his adonis belt thinned out, becoming lean and chiselled, into his tight pelvis and butt.

“Miguel, we’re going to be so hot!” Pedro’s voice was deeper and more coastal sounding. His jock-instincts were bubbling in his brain, overwriting whatever personality he had before.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Miguel. I mean Chris.” Chris stammered. “How did you even do this?”

“Bro, it was the Chronivac. I told you last night. Just embrace it. I paid good money for this twins package.”

“I need to call them. There has to be a way to reverse this.”

With a wide stride, Chris/Miguel walked over to where his phone was, but doubled over as a burning pain seared through his stomach. He squeezed with his hands, feeling the muscles underneath swell and grow under his touch. Before his eyes his abs went from flat and empty to being completely ripped. His waist got tighter as his adonis belt and hip muscles also tensed and flexed, just like Pedro’s had.

“Bro, I have a six pack!” Chris exclaimed, his voice cracking as it matched the timbre of Pedro’s.

“They match mine, bro!” Pedro said.

Chris shook his head. If he could just call the company and explain what the problem was, then he figured he could stop the changes. He found his phone and brought it to his face, waiting for Face ID to unlock. The phone vibrated in his dark and meaty hand, refusing to unlock. In the black mirror of his phone, he saw a completely different face than the one he was used to. His nose was wider, and his jaw was leaner. His eyes had narrowed into Asian-like features and his hair was shorter and darker than before. His face was looking identical to Pedro’s, right down to the plump lips.

In a panic, Chris typed in his passcode and Googled the number for Chronivac. The phone began ringing.

“Hello?” said a voice on the other end.

“Hello, is this support? My name is Miguel, I mean Chris. My name is Chris. I don’t own your product, but my brother Pedro — I mean my best friend Mason does. He used the Chronivac on me last night and I woke up with big muscles and my face is looking Japanese and Mexican? And the same thing is happening to him! He says we’re becoming twins. This has to be against your Terms of Service! I didn’t agree to this.”

A dark skin spot formed on the back of Chris’ hand, spreading across his skin and up his bulging arms. His skin was darkening, to match his new ethnicity.

“It sounds to me like it might be too late to intervene. Our records show Pedro and Miguel Watanabe.”

“That’s right,” Miguel interjected. He was Miguel, not Chris.

“Yeah,” the agent continued. “So your brother got the Twins Package, and since you are legally twins now, there’s nothing that can be done to change back the transformation. But it’s going to be great being a pair of super hot Latino-Asian influencers, right?”

“Yeah,” Miguel replied absent-mindedly, and in a voice that was deepening. “Thanks anyway. Peace.”

He hung up and tossed the phone aside. Pedro wandered over and wrapped his hand around his twin brother’s shoulder.

“It’s at ninety-nine percent,” Pedro said, indicating the transformation process on the Chronivac.

Miguel felt another spasm in his thighs and legs and saw his skin was now completely browned and tanned now. His legs were thick and bulging, and so was the rest of his body. A wave of emotions came feelings rolled over his brain, and Miguel stood silently in place as his brain and personality adjusted to match his new physique. Pedro stood still for a moment too, as the twenty-two year old twins realized they could speak English, apanese and Spanish and had a long history of lifting weights and posting work-out videos on TikTok. The transformation progress bar clicked up one last pixel to one-hundred percent, snapping the twins out of their daze.

“Bro,” Pedro said. “You wanna get a workout in?”

“You know it!” Miguel said, high-fiving his twin brother with a grin.

#male tf #male transformation #jock transformation #reality change #male tf story #male body transformation #jockification #ai image #chronivac #race change #race tf #race transformation #latino transformation #asian transformation

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mangowillow · 1 year

Text

perhaps love

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

summary: for as long as you can remember, you have been in love with your childhood friend turned roommate, but jeon jungkook remains oblivious even when he comes to comfort and help you sleep every night.

genre/tags: fluff, friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, hurt & comfort, mentions of drinking & insomnia

word count: 12.5 k

a/n: no matter how many times i tear this story down, it will always come back swinging. perhaps love was the very first fic i wrote for the fandom and this story means a ton.

For as long as you could remember, you had loved Jungkook with all of your heart.

But the reality is, love seemed out of reach, a far stretch. Not when Jungkook was first and foremost your best friend.

The whole apartment was surrounded by darkness, except for the pure moonlight that seeped through your bedroom window. Your room was your favorite place in the world-- away from everyone, just you and the stillness. You had really bad sleeping habits and your insomnia has gotten worse over time. You tried everything to fall asleep, including hot showers and scented candles. Nothing worked… except for Jungkook.

Jungkook usually played games into the night as his own way to unwind from the stress of being one of the most sought-after graphic artists. When he’s not holding the console, he’s nose deep into his computer or tablet, illustrating his next commission. He just submitted his drafts for his latest client’s marketing kit a few hours prior so he could afford to while away his time tonight. He walked to the kitchen to grab another can of beer when he saw your bedroom door slightly ajar. He padded his way through the hall and leaned against the doorframe, watching your peaceful expression

“Can’t sleep?”

You turned your head in the direction of the bedroom door. Jungkook’s gentle voice that echoed through the quiet of their shared apartment was his other favorite place in the world.

“It’s always hard.”

Jungkook pushed the door further and went inside. You two had been living together for almost two years and Jungkook already knew the layout of the space like the back of his hand. He set the unopened beer can on the bedside table and went under the duvet with you. It had always been this simple-- it was either Jungkook grabbed an extra beer can and share it with you or coaxed you to sleep entirely. Tonight, it was the latter. Jungkook ran a hand up and down your back.

You felt a pang inside your chest. It was barely there but still felt. Tonight was different, lonelier. You closed your eyes, thinking that maybe this was just how it had to be.

“Tell me what you need,” Jungkook muttered.

“Gguk…” you started. Jungkook hummed, ever so kind, so patient. “Can you help me sleep?”

Years of friendship made words between you comfortable and safe. Your insomnia started right around the time your dance studio was gaining more enrollees and by the end of a year, you already needed to hire a few more dancers and bigger studio space. Jungkook was there to witness all your hard work, sleepless nights trying to perfect a routine you had to teach every week. Jungkook was there to help you through the breakdowns and occasionally had to endure your spats, to which you apologized for with ramen and kimbap.

You and Jungkook go way back, but tonight it’s just the two of you and your shared present. Jungkook helped you lay down on the bed and your heart swelled . Jungkook lay on his side as he gently guided you to face him. In the calm of the night, you saw stars in Jungkook’s eyes. You willed yourself not to speak for fear of breaking the moment. Jungkook started to caress your cheek ever so lightly, eyes falling close as you reveled in the softness of how Jungkook took care of you. As Jungkook continued to comfort you, he started singing your favorite sleep song.

now playing: watch you sleep. by girl in red

Jungkook’s melodious voice rang through the room with much reverence. You both find yourselves busy in life, but you always, always come back home to each other-- and that thought makes your heart ache so much more. Tonight might be lonely, but you also treasured moments like this when you allowed yourself to surrender, to take pleasure in being with Jungkook. By the time he finished the song, you were already fighting to stay awake.

I want to be with you for longer.

“What about your game, Gguk?”

“I will play another round before I go to bed. Right now, you’re more important.” Jungkook tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me to.”

“Gguk-ah.”

A smirk found its way into Jungkook’s pretty lips. He knew what was coming next.

“Can you stay?”

It felt like the whole room stilled ten times over.

“I mean… just for tonight,” you quickly added, worried you might’ve said the wrong thing too late.

Jungkook gently got up from the bed and walked out the door, leaving you to wonder if you messed up. Yeah, you did , you thought. Was it that easy to mess things up? Was Jungkook really that uninterested? As you listened to Jungkook’s footsteps, you also heard the gameplay music coming from the living room abruptly stop. A few objects were heard being moved around until Jungkook’s footsteps once again became louder.

Jungkook said nothing as he closed the door to your bedroom, his weight sinking into the other side of the bed.

Oh, he came back, your mind dumbly said.

It was always familiar, that feeling of Jungkook being too close. You wished it never had to end. Jungkook slid an arm under you and the other caged you in closer to his chest. He dropped a light kiss to the top of your head and picked up where his hands left off— grazing your spine.

“Are you cold?”

You swore you heard Jungkook smile through his words.

“No. The duvet can cover us both, I think.”

“Hmm. I’ll hold you through the night in case the duvet falls.”

Jungkook placed another feathery kiss on your forehead. A few seconds seemed to have passed with nothing but comfortable silence, two hearts beating for one another.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

You felt Jungkook’s hold on you grow tighter.

“Goodnight, ____.”

The morning after was both the easiest and hardest thing you had to face because it was either you woke up to Jungkook still peacefully sleeping beside you or to an already empty bedside.

This time around, Jungkook was already awake and smiling.

Smiling.

You thought it to be so endearing and cruel of him at the same time. Jungkook never watched you sleep before.

Chuckling probably because he saw your wide eyes, he asked, “Did you sleep well?”

You shifted before nodding with a small smile. “How about you?”

“Like a baby.”

You chuckled too as he yawned and stretched. You’re so beautiful like this.

“What do you want for breakfast, ___?”

“Do we still have eggs?”

Jungkook nodded, “and bacon, too.”

“Ugh, heaven on earth. I’ll have both, please.”

Jungkook smiled warmly like he was the soft morning light himself, “I’ll whip us some pancakes, too.”

You nodded, yawning a second time. You got up to brush your teeth and do the usual morning skincare routine. As you stared at yourself through the mirror, you thought about how you could feel so content living with Jungkook like this— peaceful with endless possibilities.

You realized your love for Jungkook on a rainy day when both of you were supposed to try and fly the kites you made over Gwangalli beach in Busan. You remember feeling bummed out because Jungkook put so much hard work into making those kites, only to be destroyed by a sudden downpour. You’d expected Jungkook to be upset as well, but to your surprise, Jungkook pulled you into the pouring rain to dance. He always did that. You thought he was crazy for doing so, but you went along with your fifteen-year-old friend’s absurd idea.

It was a good thing you let yourself be pulled into pouring rain by Jeon Jungkook… because from then on, your love for him just grew. Blossomed like the spring flowers on a cool afternoon.

You were pulled out from your memories when you heard a phone ring. You quickly finished combing your hair and went out of the room, feeling hopeful about breakfast.

“...hyeong, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

It was Jungkook speaking to someone on the other end of the line. He had his AirPods on as he waited for the bacon to turn crispy— just the way you liked it. You sat down across from Jungkook on the kitchen counter and he gave you a small smile, even though his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Okay, fine, fine, I’ll go… I’ll see you later.” Jungkook tapped the right AirPod twice, ending the call. You could tell something was off.

“Everything okay?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away as he transferred the bacon onto a plate with paper towels. “Yeah, that was Yoongi hyeong”

“Oh great, are you guys meeting up later?” You tried to make light of the situation, but could already feel the other shoe was about to drop.

You’ve always had that lingering anxiety at the pit of your stomach whenever you were with Jungkook. It co-exists, always present as your love for him. It’s the product of a love unreciprocated.

Jungkook hummed, too concentrated on the eggs in front of him. “Hyeong set me up on a date with someone.”

“Oh…”

Jungkook kept his head down as he cooked, but you didn’t miss how he looked up briefly at you the moment the small surprise left your lips.

“That’s great, Jungkook. Isn’t it? It’s about time you tried dating again.”

The morning was already starting to crumble right before you could even get through breakfast.

“Yeah, I… I think it’d be fun. I’ll see how it goes.”

You have seen Jungkook’s fair share of dating experiences over the course of your friendship. He never brought anyone home to your apartment, but you almost always witnessed how fleeting his dates were. It wasn’t as if Jungkook didn’t like them, it’s just that he prioritized his work more than the possibility of finding love. The last one Jungkook dated was like a tornado in human form. You remembered how happy he always seemed to be after their dates. He’d tell you about how she made him want to come out of his shell more and that maybe, just maybe she could be the one. You were happy for his best friend then, you always were. But you were also heartbroken seeing your childhood love date other people, let alone look at them differently. You had only met the girl once— and you immediately understood why Jungkook liked her. Kind, charming, and passionate about art and life. An advocate for women’s rights, a cat lover.

Everything that you didn’t seem to be.

You don’t know how the relationship ended, though. That’s the thing about Jungkook— with you, he was magic and light, wild and full of compassion, but when it came to sharing his feelings, he always had a hard time expressing them. You are as patient as ever though, never pushing Jungkook to emotional places where he didn’t want to be.

You will always wait for Jungkook. But is it worth it?

“You should really get out of the house, Jungkook. Go and have fun. Your art will be waiting for you here at home,” you tried to smile as Jungkook handed you your breakfast request.

“You sound like you really want me out of the house, ____.” Jungkook teased.

You dramatically sighed, threw in a slight roll of your eyes for good measure, “I just want what’s best for you. You know that.”

“I always know, ____.”

You will always look out for him. Love him from afar. You will always choose your best friend. You could only wish that Jungkook would choose you, too.

You definitely felt like an idiot waiting up for Jungkook.

You liked to tell yourself that Jungkook’s mystery date didn’t bother you at all, but being alone in the apartment on your day off didn’t help much because you thought about the said date all day long.

Here’s the problem: You didn’t know you were so bothered.

Well, you, knew why… in a way. But you didn’t like admitting it to yourself because it becomes so much clearer. Jungkook has always been a constant in your life, a friend through thick and thin-- but that’s the issue. Jungkook is a friend.

You heard faint footsteps becoming louder until someone was punching the code to unlock the door— Jungkook was home. You quickly glanced at the clock. It was only 9 pm. He’s home early, isn’t he? What does coming home early or late from a date even mean ? You shook your head rapidly, willing the ridiculous questions away when the familiar melody of the door successfully unlocking rang through the room, and in came Jungkook. You repositioned yourself at lightning speed, pretended to watch TV, and only looked up when Jungkook came into view.

“Hey. How did your date go?” Your eyes flitted back to the screen in front of you, feigning indifference.

Jungkook plopped next to you on the couch and stretched his legs, “T’was good.”

Turning your body to face Jungkook you asked, “How good is good?”

Jungkook chuckled as he intertwined his fingers behind his neck. He didn’t pry his eyes away from the TV, which was showing a variety show about refrigerators.

“We had dinner. Mia was a nice girl, very polite.”

Ah, so the name was Mia. You slowly nodded before tilting your head to the side, revealing a small smirk, “did you have fun at least?”

“I guess it was alright. You know how awkward blind dates make me feel.”

“What makes them awkward again?”

“I’m not sure exactly… It's like I just don’t know how to act around them, let alone know what to say. It’s— I’m not even sure if she had a good time, to be honest.”

“Well, I’m sure he had a good time,” you turned your attention back to the TV but muted the volume. Why was there a face towel inside one of the refrigerators?

“What makes you so sure, ____?”

You shrugged, “You’re pretty amazing Jungkook. Funny, smart, very attuned to others. I think you just don’t see it because, you know, it’s you.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. The momentary silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Why are you still up, ____?” Jungkook suddenly murmured. He was still facing the TV, but he had his eyes closed.

You suddenly felt a need to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. When you didn’t respond, Jungkook opened his eyes and turned to face you. “Do you need help sleeping, ____?”

“I really shouldn’t ask for too much, Jungkook. It must be uncomfortable not sleeping in your own bed.”

Jungkook gently flicked a finger at your forehead. You feigned hurt.

“Silly. Come on, let’s get ready for bed. It’s getting late and you have an early class tomorrow, right?” You didn’t even know he remembered your schedule. You let Jungkook pull you by the wrist, leading the way to your bedroom.

Like coming home, you slotted yourself comfortably in between Jungkook’s waiting arms as you both lay in bed. Jungkook rested his chin on top of your head and breathed in your soft, powdery scent. You instantly felt Jungkook relax, all tension starting to ebb away, but maybe it was all just in your head.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I just… I don’t know, I have a long day tomorrow and I need to sleep.”

Jungkook adjusted himself in a way to give you some wiggle room but still held you close. “You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand how pressured you must feel, especially because the dance studio is going through big transitions.”

In your mind, you were thinking of all the ways you and Jungkook just clicked . But there’s that tiny part of you that feels that maybe this arrangement wasn’t the most ideal because for all you knew, Mia might just be a really great girl and Jungkook just needed time to warm up to her. Having Jungkook this close was your dream-- a dream you’ve always kept safe in the recesses of your mind. Now that it’s actually happening— and that it’s been happening for a while now— you crave this closeness more and more and yet, you also feel guilty because you needed to run in the opposite direction. Before things got too painful.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Your body went stiff so Jungkook pulled you much closer as he ran a hand through your hair. He looked at you, eyes soft and half-lidded, your faces too close you felt like something else was going to happen.

But nothing ever happened. Of course.

He held your gaze a bit longer and you wanted to tell him the truth. Tell him to look at you just this once. But words failed you once more.

“Thank you, Gguk.”

Not a lot of words need to be exchanged. You have been friends for so long that almost all your movements and emotions, no matter how subtle, were easily discernible. You know when Jungkook is having one of his creative blocks because he becomes irritable. Jungkook knows that you can sometimes be too hard on yourself when it comes to dancing, so he cooks your favorite bibimbap as a way to ease his stress. You and Jungkook just know how to comfort one another.

“My silly darling,” He never called you that before, but you could almost hear Jungkook smile as he uttered it. “I want to be here.”

If your heart suddenly stopped, you hoped Jungkook didn’t notice. I want to be here, he said. With a languid smile on your tired face, you succumbed to the pull of sleep, hoping your dreams about Jungkook would never end.

“You already picked the last movie, ____.”

“Fine, we can watch one of yours.”

Jungkook’s bunny smile reappeared and your heart grew ten times its size. After eating dinner, you both decided to watch a movie. After all, it was a Friday night and neither of you had the energy to spend it outside with other people. You watched as Jungkook flicked through the movie choices until he finally settled on a Marvel movie.

You were already halfway through the movie when the doorbell rang. You and Jungkook looked at each other, both of you surprised because you weren’t expecting anyone at this late hour. As you shrugged your shoulders, Jungkook got up to answer the door.

You decided to pause the movie because you didn’t want Jungkook to miss anything, but doing so made it clear that the sudden visitor was actually Yoongi.

The location of the door wasn’t too far off from where you were sitting. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop either, but you couldn’t help but wonder why Jungkook didn't let Yoongi in.

“Mia told me about your date. I don’t understand, Jungkook, you both said you had a great time, so what’s the problem?”

Oh, they were talking about Jungkook’s date. At this hour?

“I don’t know, hyeong. I guess it never occurred to me to call her so quickly after a first date. Did you come all the way here just to ask that?” Jungkook was a fairly mellow person. Almost never irritable with anyone but himself, just very patient even when you could see how other people were already pushing his buttons.

“I think Mia really likes you, Gguk-ah. You should call her. I also came by to bring you back some of your art supples because you left them at the studio yesterday.”

You heard plastic rustling. Jungkook didn’t answer right away, not until his voice lowered, almost sounding like he was pleading.

“Let me think about it, hyeong. Please?”

Yoongi sounded a bit exasperated, “Fine. How’s ____?”

“She’s fine. We were actually watching a movie,” Jungkook was back to his usual tone of voice, but clipper.

“Oh, that’s nice…”

“Would you like to join us? We still have a beer in the fridge, I think.”

“No, I just… I was just about to go home and thought I’d stop by to give you your things because I already had them in the car, but uh— yeah. Maybe some other time.”

It didn’t register with you right away that Jungkook had Mia’s number. Whether Jungkook asked for it or the other way around, they still exchanged numbers. There was a chance of a second date. You didn’t notice the lump forming in your throat as you came to realize again that Jungkook wasn’t yours. You had no right to think this way about Jungkook and his love life. He lives his own life, free to date anyone, anytime.

You weren’t supposed to hear this conversation either. The feeling of impending dread slowly crept up on you. All you knew was that whatever you were feeling right now is something that shouldn’t even be happening.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you saw Jungkook return from the corner of his eye. You suddenly lost all strength to continue the movie. Without even thinking, you pulled yourself up to your feet with the intention of going back to your room. Maybe sleep would do something to dull the ache.

But then you remembered you had a hard time doing that, too.

Jungkook opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. You held out hope for a minute there— hope that maybe Jungkook would tell you he was sorry, but then again, what would he be sorry for? He shouldn’t feel sorry for anything, especially not your feelings.

The sadness was starting to fester through your bones again. You had to get out of the living room, away from the one person who could make you feel better. Wordlessly, you let your feet take you to the bedroom and quietly shut the door.

Jungkook never tried to pry nor force you to explain anything to him. He was always the understanding one, always the one who gave you your space when you needed it, even when you were being cold to him.

That’s the thing with Jungkook— he knew exactly when to be there for you. Except for this time around, not even Jungkook’s presence can heal an unknown emptiness that you don’t even recognize yourself.

Nine-year-old you never really liked the first few hours after school because that meant you had to stay and wait until your mom picked you up. School grounds can get pretty lonely, especially when all the other kids have already gone home. Young as you were, you found it funny that both you and your mom ended up closing shop every day— you closing school grounds, while your mom closed the register at the grocery store where she worked.

What nine-year-old you hated the most was when you had to wait after school while it rained because you couldn’t walk around the courtyard and play.

You hugged your knees as you rocked yourself back and forth watching the rain splatter on the cold, hard ground. Of all days, you forgot to bring a jacket and you were starting to shiver. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon. Your mom wouldn’t arrive until six.

Just after you let out a big sigh, a boy came running in your direction carrying an umbrella. Strange. No one but you usually stayed at school this late.

When the boy reached the stairs and closed his umbrella, he shook off excess water from his already wet hair, causing a few droplets to splatter all over your face.

“Oops, sorry about that.”

The boy gave you his widest smile as he continued to catch his breath from running too fast. You usually saw this boy walk along the school hallways, always surrounded by his friends. You were also clubmates in dance.

“My name’s Jungkook. We go to dance club together.”

“I know...” You replied as you rested your chin on top of your knees again.

“You dance really well, I wish I could be as graceful as you… anyway, what are you still doing here?”

“I’m waiting for my mom. She usually picks me up, but she has to finish her job at the store first.”

“Oh, okay. How long do you still have to wait for her?”

“Probably a few more hours,” you didn’t mean for your tone to be somber, but you couldn’t help it.

As much as you love your parents, sometimes it can get quite lonely.

“That might take forever!” Jungkook’s eyes grew wide but you found it amusing. Most people would just say ‘oh’ and move on. Or maybe pity you.

“It’s no big deal, I’m used to it already.”

“Well, do you want to grab something to eat first?”

While you knew Jungkook meant no harm, you still wondered why he was offering all of a sudden. What was he even doing here?

“I don’t think—”

“My driver Mr. Hong-sik is parked right outside near a hotteok stand. Let’s go buy some!”

You hesitated because you weren’t supposed to leave the school grounds until an adult came to pick you up but at the same time, you were really hungry.

“What do you say?”

“Do you promise that we will go back here after buying?”

Jungkook was already nodding, his smile growing wide again upon hearing the possibility of you giving in to the idea of hot hotteok.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Hong-sik will take care of us, don’t worry. Besides—” Jungkook opened his umbrella, droplets of rain splattered across your face again, “—this umbrella is big enough to fit us both.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

It would only be years later when Jungkook admitted to you that he had known for a while how you spent your days alone after school and that he wanted to keep you company.

When you were seventeen and Jungkook fifteen, the school dance team won an award. You both celebrated by eating ramen and ice cream at your mother’s grocery store.

When you and Jungkook went to college, you decided to share a room together because you both got into SNU. Over the years mishaps had happened, you both cringed at each other’s disaster dates, and cried when you had your hearts broken by careless people. Through the highs and lows of life and love, you and Jungkook were a team.

Now that you are twenty-six and Jungkook twenty-four, you continue to conquer the world together.

Except that you never expected to slowly fall for the boy who accidentally splattered water on your face twice and shared his umbrella.

“Yah— stop eating all of the danmuji!” Taehyung playfully snapped as he chewed on his jajangmyeon.

“I already told you to order extra, but of course, you didn’t listen again,” you replied, happily chewing on the kimchi.

“I totally forgot, okay? Let me breathe,” Taehyung pouted. “It’s not every day when little kids come into the studio and wreak havoc during hip hop class.” You chuckled at your best friend’s whining and placed a piece of danmuji on top of his noodles. Taehyung looked to you and mumbled his thanks.

You were sitting with your legs sprawled out on the dance floor of the dance studio. Both of you just finished your separate intensive classes and were fueling up for the next set this afternoon.

“I heard Jungkook went out on a date,” Taehyung isn’t really one for dilly-dallying. Always straight to the point.

“Yoongi told you, huh?”

“Of course. The man could never hide secrets from me. Not in our household.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Jungkook did go on a date,” you didn’t like where the conversation was going, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop Taehyung from asking further either. A part of you wanted to talk about it with someone.

“And how do you feel about that?” Taehyung shoved a piece of kimchi onto his mouth and waited for your answer.

You started to re-arrange the toppings on your plate, trying to avoid eye contact all of a sudden, “what do you mean?”

“I know you, ____. You can’t hide from me.”

You chuckled at your best friend’s blunt nature. It’s one of the things you liked most about him because you were the opposite— always caring, understanding, nice. You put others first before yourself because that’s who you are— the reliable friend. You know Taehyung means well and is just looking out for you, too.

“Do I have to answer your question?”

“You don’t have to, but I can tell it’s bothering you. You didn’t even notice that I took the last piece of chicken just now—”

“YAH!”

Taehyung snickered, “But seriously, you’re quiet than usual. Does he still help you sleep?”

“He does.”

“And he hasn’t said anything beyond that?”

“What is he supposed to say?”

Taehyung shrugged, “You tell me.”

“We’re friends, Taehyung. There’s nothing else to say” You let your shoulders sag. You’re surprised at yourself that you’ve been holding the tension in.

“After everything—” Taehyung paused and bit his bottom lip, trying to carefully choose what to say next, “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason why he volunteers to help you sleep is that he likes you too?”

“Stop putting ideas into my head.”

“I’m not, but I do want to point out what you can’t see, ____. I’m your best friend— Jungkook is, too, but with us it’s different. I don’t feel the urge to jump you every so often, ah!---” Taehyung earned a playful smack from you, “Look, all I’m saying is… you and Jungkook have been friends for a really long time so why don’t you just talk to him?”

You started to argue, “It’s not that easy. It might ruin our friendship.”

“But how else are you going to get past this?”

“Take my feelings to the grave,” you expressed glumly.

“So dramatic. And very, very difficult for you to bear all on your own.”

“I’m scared, Taehyung. What if things become awkward?”

“Will Jungkook really let it come to that? He’s your best friend. If he says he doesn’t feel the same way, the more important thing here is you. You and your heart— because at least in knowing, you can finally move forward. Date other people without the what ifs.”

You seemed to mull over Taehyung’s words.

“I’m not forcing you to ask him. At the end of the day, you get to decide. I just want you to be happy, ____. Always.”

“I know, Taehyung-ie. Thank you.”

You came home that night to Jungkook passed out from exhaustion on their couch. He still had his eyeglasses on, his apple pencil caught in between his fingers. His iPad was on top of the coffee table and you assumed that Jungkook rushed yet again another commission for a client. It was still early— 8 o’ clock. You wondered if Jungkook had already eaten. You draped a blanket over him and adjusted his head on one of the pillows into a more comfortable position. The movement slightly jostled Jungkook awake. With half-lidded eyes, he gave you a sleepy smile.

“Hi ____, you’re home.”

“Hmm, I am.”

“How was class today?”

“Excellent. Did you get to finish that commission?”

Jungkook yawned, “Barely... ”

You reluctantly caressed Jungkook hair, fingers gently rubbing his scalp. As soon as you did, his eyes fell closed.

“Have you eaten, Gguk-ah?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for you.”

“You didn’t have to. What if I came home really late? You can’t miss your meals.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

You chuckled as he mumbled, “Brat. I’ll whip us up some kimchi kimbap and ramen. How does that sound?”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

“You can sleep more. I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready.”

“I can help you—”

“Stay put. I’ll be quick, okay?”

Jungkook nodded as he watched you disappear into the kitchen. You prepared all the supplies needed to make dinner and as soon as you started chopping the kimchi for the kimbap, you heard Jungkook’s soft snores.

Suddenly, all of your fears ebbed away. Emotions were a funny thing— the fondness you had for Jungkook overtook your whole being everytime you looked at him. Sometimes you want to feel angry at how Jungkook seemed oblivious, but then again… he isn’t really a mind-reader. You have always been affectionate with each other and you wondered where people drew the line between friendship and love. What happens when one catches feelings? What happens to both of you if a confession was the way to settle things once and for all? The stakes were too high— confessing your feelings for Jungkook might make him pull away. What happens to the friendship built over the years? If you were lucky, maybe Jungkook might love you, too.

You were in a bind and you didn’t like that.

Jungkook slept on the living room couch, tired from the day’s work. You both make meals for each other. You sleep together on the same bed. Shouldn’t life with Jungkook be this easy?

And obvious?

After twenty minutes, dinner was ready. You woke Jungkook up and he devoured the simple dinner over stories of your classes and his ideas for the client’s project.

This friendship is simple. Light. It is a life well lived between two childhood friends that began with a shared an umbrella and hotteok. You wished it was always this uncomplicated.

Jungkook helped you sleep again that night. Not a lot of words were shared because you were honestly exhausted and just when you thought you didn’t need cuddles, Jungkook went into your room and laid on your bed, not uttering a single word. He only wrapped his arms around you and breathed in your cotton scent.

“You’re always helping me, Jungkook.”

“Is it working? Are you sleeping well?”

“I am, thanks to you.”

“I’m glad. I’m really glad, ____.”

All is right in this world, all is well with us this way, you thought before you gave in to the pull of sleep for another night.

You woke up to the sunlight and an empty bed. Muffled sounds could be heard from outside the bedroom.

“Mia’s kind of annoyed that she gave you his number but you still haven’t called her”

“I know.”

“Is this about ____? Is that why you haven’t—”

“I don’t know, hyeong, it’s too early to have this conversation.”

Yoongi came into view as soon as you reached the kitchen. His back was turned to you and it seemed like he was cooking pancakes. Jungkook was sitting on the stool by the counter and had his back to you.

“Oh, good morning, ____,” Yoongi chimed.

“Good morning.”

Jungkook poured you a glass of orange juice, “Slept well?”

You didn’t have your words yet so you just nodded. Even with Yoongi busy with the stove, you felt the tension that made itself known so suddenly around the kitchen.

And for some reason, Jungkook decided to throw out the trash, leaving you and Yoongi alone for a while.

“How are you, ____” Yoongi asked as he gave you a serving of pancakes, egg, and bacon. The last thing you expected was to wake up to breakfast prepared by a visitor sprinkled with passive confrontation.

You sipped his orange juice again before replying, “I’m doing well. Dance classes are picking up.”

“I’m glad… and Jungkook?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is Jungkook… and you?”

It was way too early for this conversation.

“I need you to be a bit more specific about what you really want to ask me, Yoongi.”

Yoongi was met with an almost deafening silence. You knew that apart from him, Jungkook confided in Yoongi the most. He knew most of Jungkook’s dating escapades and with that, his heart aches too. Yoongi is Jungkook’s fiercest protector, you are well-aware. You understand how he tends to be confrontational especially when it came to Jungkook’s feelings.

Because they go way back.

In all honesty, you were terrified of Yoongi knowing about how Jungkook had been helping you sleep, but you didn’t know why you were scared. Yoongi is your friend too, after all.

Maybe because you wanted to keep such intimate moments with Jungkook for yourself. Something that was yours, and yours alone. Unfortunately, you had a gut feeling Yoongi knows a lot more than he’s letting on.

“Jungkook just started dating again, ____.”

“I’m all too aware. I don’t think I’m going to be a problem.”

“It might be if Jungkook helps you sleep every night.”

And there it is.

“We’re just friends, Yoongi. I’m not expecting anything from him.” You felt your heart sink to your feet, trampled on. Yoongi knew.

But why was frustration rising up in the back of your throat?

“Are you sure you’re not expecting anything?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Tension, tension, tension. You hated it.

“You had your chance once, ____, and you walked away. It’s not fair for you to do this to Jungkook again.”

And there it is. The word again .

You swallowed the lump in your throat, lightly tapping the glass of juice with your fingers, willing for the tears to retreat back to where they came from. You cannot afford to cry in front of Yoongi. Or Jungkook. It was too goddamn early.

You did not sign up to have your memories, your insecurities, and your reality laid bare on the kitchen counter.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. Jungkook is my friend. He always will be.”

Vulnerability wasn’t your strongest suit. You weren't your emotions’ best soldier, either. You wanted to yell at Yoongi, shout at him for even implying that you were getting in the way of Jungkook and his dating life.

“Jungkook cannot date freely if he always has to think about coming home to help you sleep,” Yoongi’s words cut like a knife, making you wince. “You know he deserves better than that. You deserve better than that.”

You have very blunt and straightforward friends, and although they keep you grounded, sometimes you hate how they can casually talk to you about your feelings. Sometimes you think they forget that your sunny disposition can also be sometimes moored by rain and storms.

“I’m sorry, ____. That was too much, I—”

“No, Yoongi, it’s okay,” tears have already fallen and you hastily wiped them away, “You’re right, it was my fault. I’m the one who got us into this mess. I’m the one who has the sleeping problem, I’ll— I’ll figure something out, maybe get checked or something…” You kept your eyes glued to the untouched food in front of you. Throat burning, fresh tears threatening to fall once more.

Yoongi’s words stung— but he’s also right. The pain of the unspoken truth you try so hard to push down every day come rising to the surface and you are powerless to stop it.

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it the moment he looked over your shoulder. Your stomach churned because your worst fears weren’t done with you yet— Jungkook was standing by the door.

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Yoongi hyeong.” The only time you heard apparent hostility in Jungkook’s voice was years ago when someone attempted to jump you at a party. Jungkook is always kind, but when irritation, let alone animosity, takes over, he becomes a completely different person.

All you knew was that Jungkook and his girlfriend in tornado form are over.

The music blaring from the speakers were too loud, everyone was all over the place— Jungkook, Yoongi, Taehyung. It was Jungkook’s idea to get wasted at a club. You didn’t always agree with Jungkook’s coping mechanisms, because you knew he was a terrible drinker— someone who couldn’t hold his liquor well.

But he was heartbroken and what do good friends do? Let them cry and wallow.

But right now, it was time to go home. You called a cab for Yoongi and Taehyung, while you and Jungkook got into another. It was a good decision that you didn’t bring your own car. You wouldn’t have any other choice but to drag Jungkook’s drunk ass to the passenger seat and you weren’t sure you could manage that.

You were thankful that Jungkook could still manage to walk, even if he needed to be physically supported by you. You both fumbled for a bit as you closed your apartment door behind you.

“Alright, you big baby, take off your shoes.”

Jungkook did as he was told, but you could tell his body was about to give up on him so you hastily walked him to the bedroom.

You heaved a big sigh after Jungkook collapsed into the mattress. You could hear Jungkook’s breathing slowly steady itself and you honestly thought he was asleep.

“Are you dead?”

When Jungkook didn’t move, a playful smirk painted your lips and you shook your head. You leaned in closer to fluff Jungkook’s pillow, when his head suddenly turned to face you.

With eyes half-lidded, you thought Jungkook looked beautiful underneath the sliver of moonlight shining through the bedroom window. He reeked of alcohol and smoke, but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t help but hold his gaze.

Hesitant fingers reached up to trace the skin on your cheek. Jungkook blinked once as he ran gently ran his fingers from the corner of your eye to your chin.

Jungkook’s voice was so soft, you almost didn't hear him ask, “Why don’t you like me, ____?”

“What are you talking about, of course I like you.”

Jungkook shook his head, “That’s not what I meant…”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. You reminded yourself that Jungkook was intoxicated. He wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. He might not even know what he is doing or saying right now.

“Why can’t you love me, ____?” Jungkook swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “because I have loved you for so long and you won’t even look at me.”

You wanted to cry, but you didn’t exactly know why, “That’s not true, Jungkook.”

“Then prove it, ____.”

“I don’t know how.”

Jungkook, in a way, helped you. With eyes focused on your lips, he slowly lifted his head to graze your mouth with his own. When he finally kissed you, your head was spinning that you had to use your arm for support to keep you up.

Jungkook mustered up all of his remaining strength to sit up on the bed to kiss you properly. He cupped your face with his hand and you did the same. Under the same moonlight, you and Jungkook started to take that one step closer to finally acknowledging what has been there all along.

But in your head, you didn’t know what you want.

Lips separated, letting the both of you breathe. Jungkook touched his forehead against yours before his lips planted a light, lingering kiss there.

Your heart sank even deeper and you fought the tears that were about to come.

Because even though you really loved Jungkook, you and he were at the right place at the wrong time.

The next morning, you and Jungkook weren’t the type to dance around each other. He did remember what happened last night.

“I need to know, ____. I need to know what you want.”

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nodded, but you didn’t miss the flash of sadness that passed through his once hopeful eyes.

“Are we still friends at least?”

It took all of you to nod your head in agreement. It was better this way.

“Of course we are.”

“Then that’s all I want, ____.”

Just as Yoongi closed the door behind him and it was just you and Jungkook in the now tense atmosphere of the apartment, confusion flooded you. Dread soon followed upon realizing what had just happened.

You were holding Jungkook back and it’s all your fault. All because you still couldn’t decide what you really want.

When Jungkook finally locked eyes with you, his gentle gaze made your heart flutter. You don’t deserve it, you thought. But you were allured by it-- so easy to get lost in the sea of Jungkook’s beautiful, observant brown eyes, like they were meant to see right through you, heart and soul. Your face slowly morphed into a pain Jungkook didn’t recognize, a sadness he hasn’t seen before. Your bottom lip began to quiver and before you knew it, you full-on sobbed into your hands. Just as quickly as the collapse of everything began, Jungkook was swift on his feet, taking you into his arms.

Jungkook embraces you tightly, his breathing controlled in an effort to curb your sobs. You could hear Jungkook’s heartbeat and it was an odd source of comfort despite the distress you were actively feeling. You felt Jungkook’s large hand stroke your hair in slow motion, chin resting on top of your head as if trying to silently tell you don’t cry.

Being with Jungkook felt like drowning and coming up for air all at the same time— your constant, but also your poison. Yoongi was right, Jungkook deserves to be happy after you blew your chance to tell him how you really felt.

You loved Jungkook, but you had to let him go because he doesn’t deserve to be with someone who cannot make up her mind. When you said no to him a year ago, you thought it was the best for the both of you— Jungkook was hurting and he kissed you because he was drunk and in pain. Not because he loves you. You thought that maybe after some time had passed, what happened that night would just be a distant memory between two friends who had a momentary lapse of judgment.

You have to let him go because it’s the right thing to do, the only way to save the friendship you built over the years. You once saved it, you cannot mess up again. It was selfish, yet so selfless.

When you finally calmed down a little bit more and your breathing slowed, Jungkook loosened his grip. You immediately felt the distance once more, but it was as if Jungkook heard your thoughts because he only pulled away to wipe your tears with his thumbs. Jungkook’s hands cupped your face for a while longer, staring into your teary eyes. Jungkook mumbled an apology as he pressed his forehead with yours. As he closed his eyes, you received a glimpse of Jungkook’s sadness without words.

Loving Jungkook isn’t supposed to be painful.

Jungkook had to meet a new client so that meant he needed to leave the apartment. You could tell it was difficult for him to leave you all alone in the apartment, but Jungkook only asked if you were going to be okay.

You struggled to leave home that day, but you had to because if you didn’t get out and teach dance, you would continue to drown in your own suffering. You both left the apartment with nothing but your unspoken words and broken hearts.

Jungkook would find himself running late for his meeting and he arrived home to what he thought was a dark, empty apartment. Trodding down the hall to your room, he was mildly surprised to see the door was slightly ajar. Lying on the bed was you. Sleeping.

Jungkook quietly entered the room and knelt down by the side of the bed. Staring at you, with the moonlight shining down on your face, you looked serene— a stark contrast to the chaos that transpired earlier that day. Your lips were slightly parted and Jungkook found himself smiling at the sight. He gently ran his knuckles down your cheek. He did that for a while, just intentionally watching and helping you sleep even more peacefully in the gentlest way. Jungkook was thankful that you didn’t seem to be aware that you weren't alone.

You kept your eyes closed as you reveled in the softness of Jungkook’s touch. You initially thought you were dreaming of Jungkook kneeling beside you because after all, the sleep gummies seemed to knock you out enough to fall asleep without him this time. But you realized it wasn’t a dream.

Jungkook came home.

The ache in your heart returned, but at the same time, you wished this moment of Jungkook comforting you never ended. Because at least you could have Jungkook like this.

“Will you stay still, ____? I’m not done yet.”

You pouted as you watched Jungkook draw a bowl of ramen on your leg cast. You injured yourself while attempting to do a tourner for an after-school ballet class. You and Jungkook were now in university and renting an apartment together. Your leg rested on Jungkook’s lap while you both sat on the living room couch. Jungkook slightly had his tongue out while he colored in the ribbons and you scoffed.

“Are you done now?”

“You don’t rush art.”

“Yeah but I’m hungry and I think my leg is asleep.”

Jungkook smirked, “Your leg being in a cast doesn’t really have a choice given the circumstances, what did you expect?” You smacked him with a pillow, “You asshole, give me my leg back.”

“Ow! Nuh uh. I’m almost done.”

You huffed, feigning annoyance. But you were actually endeared with Jungkook’s enthusiasm to draw a different object on your leg cast every week. The moment you got out of the hospital and after Jungkook fed you some jjampong, he carried you to the same living room couch and drew the yellow umbrella he used the day you bought hotteok. The following week, it was a sketch of a person dancing ballet which Jungkook referred to as, “the loveliest ballet dancer in the universe.” This week, it was ballet shoes hanging on one side of the backrest of a chair.

“There, done!” Jungkook slightly pulled away to admire his work then he turned and gave you his dorkiest smile. You could never ask for more.

Weeks passed as you and Jungkook fell into usual routine. You can no longer recall since when you started having a hard time communicating feelings. It wasn’t like you and Jungkook fought a lot because you almost never do. But there’s always that elephant in the room that neither of you choose to address even though it’s already staring back at you both.

On Jungkook’s birthday, Taehyung decided it would be good for you all to spend your time at a club after having dinner. From the get-go, the people in attendance were the birthday boy, Taehyung, Yoongi, you, and Mia.

Needless to say, you were awkward and in pain the entire time.

It was your first time to actually see Jungkook pay attention to someone else in a romantic way. Although he and Mia have yet to put a label on anything, they continued to date, much to your misery.

At the birthday dinner, you tried your best not to look at Jungkook and Mia the whole time, but by some strange magnetic force, everytime you unconsciously looked at Jungkook, his eyes found you.

Come to think of it, Mia was the clingy one the whole night. But maybe you were just misinterpreting things. When Taehyung suggested they go to a club, you internally groaned. Not only was this a repeat performance of what you did wrong a year ago, but it was also like salt being rubbed on a wound that never completely healed well.

“Fuck it, let’s get wasted,” you thought. You weren’t about to let your misery ruin a fun night.

So much for that, though. You couldn’t even pay attention to your drink because Mia was already trying to get too close to Jungkook. The whole time, Jungkook’s expressions were unreadable. One of his many stupid traits, you sarcastically thought.

You don't know exactly what happened after— Jungkook went to the bar to order more drinks for the table, followed not too long by Mia. She was relentless in flirting with Jungkook who seemed stoic and indifferent and awkward. Mia must have been really bad at reading people. Still, she didn’t give up that easily because she dragged Jungkook to the middle of the dance floor and tried to get him to dance.

Maybe you just wanted to see what you wanted to, but if you really were in the right frame of mind, you swore you saw Jungkook finally give in and dance with her.

Jungkook was having fun with someone else on his birthday. This is what he deserves— to be happy and free. Jungkook doesn’t have to sacrifice his time just to help you sleep every night.

You felt like you were about to throw up. The room started spinning and suddenly all you could hear were muffled sounds of the music bass. Before you knew it, you were making your way to the exit. You needed to get out. You faintly heard Taehyung calling out to you, asking what was wrong but the tightness in your chest demanded much of your attention.

When you reached the exit, you pushed the door all the way with all your might and started to walk. You were relieved for once that you weren’t able to drink a drop because you needed a clear head to get home safely. The club was a short distance from the apartment and all you wanted to do was lie in bed and cry yourself to sleep.

It has been weeks. Weeks of skirting around Jungkook, acting like nothing was amiss. It worked for a while, but you knew it would backfire eventually.

You didn’t think this plan of ignoring feelings would fail you so soon. You thought you were stronger.

Your hands were shaking so badly that you struggled to enter the correct passcode to the door: 090197.

You cursed at the irony.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, you stumbled in the dark and took off your heels. You went straight to your room and collapsed on the bed. You let the tears stain his pillow. This isn’t new to you now— crying. It somehow helped you sleep, anyway. Right now, you don't care if you cried your eyes raw. You were hurt, in pain, and you didn’t know what to do.

Nights felt like an eternity for an insomniac like you. Your thoughts were your biggest enemy in the dead of night and most of the time you are powerless to control them. You shouldn’t have allowed Jungkook to help you in the first place. Otherwise, you wouldn’t find yourself in this predicament. You’ve already kept your distance before, why did you fail again now? You should’ve known your place, the order in this world. You were Jungkook’s best friend, and you decided that for the both of you that day you told him you were sorry.

Ruminating thoughts can be a bitch because it makes you oblivious to your surroundings in real time.

You suddenly felt the other side of the bed dip. You heard sheets rustle and felt a different kind of warmth-- the kind that only your best friend could give.

Jungkook wrapped his arms around you and breathed in your scent. In the silence of your room, Jungkook, once again, came home to you.

Both of you didn’t speak for a long while, just listening to each other’s rhythm. You felt your bottom lip quiver— you were on the verge of crying again and as you started to sit up and perhaps leave, you felt Jungkook tighten his grip as he clasped his fingers together, securing you in place.

“Please don’t cry.”

You swallowed and tried to reply, but your voice cracked instead, “Why are you here, Jungkook?”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then why?”

“Like I said, I want to stay here with you.”

Like wildfire, your heart swelled even when your brain told you not to fall for Jungkook’s words. That you were only reading too much into things, “What about—”

“I told them I wanted to go home because you already did. I turned around to look for you because I heard the barista said there were french fries, but you weren’t at the table anymore.”

Tears started to stream down your face and you were grateful you weren't facing Jungkook.

“I hate being the reason why you always cry, ____. I have done absolutely nothing to make things better for you and I keep making you feel sad.” Jungkook’s voice was laced with tight emotion and it was something you were hearing for the first time. Jungkook buried himself deeper in the crook of your neck.

“It hurts so much, Jungkook.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook moved in closer to whisper in your ear, “I know. I know. I’m so sorry.”

You breathed a deep sigh as you willed away the tears. Right on cue, Jungkook gently turned your body to face him. “That’s better,” Jungkook gently smiled, pushing strands of hair away from your face.

With Jungkook’s right arm under your head and his left engulfing you in an embrace, you curled into Jungkook’s chest. No matter what pain you may be feeling, it all dissipates once you’re with Jungkook.

“I am so sorry, ____. I’m sorry I keep running away.”

You let a small smile take over his lips, “No, Jungkook. You don’t have to apologize. All of this is my fault”

“It’s not… it’s not your fault. It’s mine,” you saw Jungkook swallow. You looked over Jungkook’s shoulder, at the clock situated on top of the side table. Thirty minutes left until Jungkook's birthday ends.

“It’s still your birthday. You shouldn’t be spending it apologizing for something you didn’t do.”

“I am enjoying my birthday because I haven’t lost you yet. And it is my fault, stop fighting me.” Jungkook smiled. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? Especially under moonlit skies.”

“I don’t think so. Not yet.”

“Then allow me to tell you now. You’re beautiful. The most beautiful person inside out and I am so lucky to have you. Thank you for not leaving me.”

You scooted closer to Jungkook, trying to fill in all the spaces in between.

It was almost a whisper and you almost didn’t hear it, “Sleep well my silly, beautiful darling,” your eyes flutter close as you felt Jungkook give you a kiss on your temple— a reassuring one, this time.

“Hey.”

You jumped at the sound of Jungkook’s unusually low voice. “Shit,” you mumbled, earning a pretty smile from Jungkook. “How long have you been standing there?”

The smile didn’t leave Jungkook’s face as he apologized and said with all honesty, “A while.”

You have been spending more late nights in the studio since you and Taehyung started offering additional classes. You held a beginner’s ballet class for children after school hours and you felt you had to spend more time thinking about their routines. Kids need structure, lest their attention becomes too difficult to get a hold of. Jungkook, being the sweetest, always stayed up to wait for you to get home and eat dinner together.

This time around, Jungkook decided to pick you up from the studio.

You took in the sight of Jungkook who was leaning against the door frame, wearing a cream oversized sweater and white pants. Even in the dimly lit room, Jungkook’s handsome face was radiant.

Seeing him feels like coming home.

Jungkook walked up to you with his hands in his pockets, “I always get caught up in your world whenever I watch you dance. That hasn’t changed.” He was suddenly standing so close to you that you had to clear his throat. Yet you didn’t pull away, either.

“Time passes when that world is not working in my favor,” you said as you rolled your shoulders backward.

“Is this the ballet class for the kids?”

You hummed in response, “One would think it’s easy enough to make a routine for little kids when really, going back to basics sometimes is the hardest thing.”

“What did you use to tell me?” Jungkook asked warmly, all innocence and love, but you recognized that tone of his.

“Jungkook—”

“Help me remember, ____. How did we do it back then? When we couldn’t figure out a new routine,” you heard the heels of Jungkook’s white chelsea boots clatter against the wooden floor as he stepped away a bit from you.

You were taken back to your days in the dance club with Jungkook, the two of you in a smaller studio after school practicing for competitions. You and Jungkook were the group’s best dancers and that also meant you were almost always tasked to come up with new choreography. You recalled how you and Jungkook used to practice no matter how long it took.

Right now, at this very moment, as Jungkook gently urges you to remind you of those days, you appreciated what he was trying to do.

“I’d always tell you, ‘I’m tired, I don’t want to do this anymore,’”

“Hm, and how did I respond?” Jungkook’s eyes never left your face and his voice was so low, that it sent shivers up your spine.

“You’d tell me we didn’t have to do the things other people ask us to dance… not right now.” you breathed as Jungkook’s face inched closer to yours, so close that you could already hear Jungkook’s heartbeat.

“And then?”

“We’d dance. For ourselves, together.”

Just as the words escaped your lips, Jungkook slightly pulled away to take his phone out of his pocket, scroll through a playlist, the very same playlist Jungkook uses whenever you both lounge around on a Sunday morning. He found the song he was looking for and pressed play.

Jungkook put his phone back in his pocket and whispered, “We dance. For ourselves, together.” He wrapped an arm around your waist while his other hand trailed down to hold your own, intertwining both sets of fingers. Falling, you easily melted into Jungkook, your worries about the ballet routines already forgotten.

With bodies pressed close, you felt your heart plummet to a deep dive into your stomach, leaving butterflies as it burst into a million pretty pieces. Jungkook was never one for sweet words, always choosing to convey his thoughts and feelings through his art. He had given you plenty of his work over the years, drawn on crumpled tissue papers or on the back of receipts. Always in all honesty quietly telling you he was there for you no matter what.

And through dance, he was the same— loving, thoughtful, yours.

“It has been a while since you last danced, right?”

Jungkook leans his forehead into yours, his eyes focused on the floor. He hums his response as he starts to lead the dance.

“It has been a while since I last danced with you,” Jungkook whispered. “Dance with me so I remember, my love.”

You close your eyes, resting your chin on Jungkook’s shoulder, “Remember what, Jungkook?”

“Help me remember everything good about you and me.”

And although Jungkook couldn’t see it, you smile as you tilt your head to the side. You let Jungkook lead the both of you to the melody of the music for a good few minutes until you fell into a slow, swaying rhythm.

“I missed dancing with you like this,” you swore you felt Jungkook tighten his hold around your middle a little bit more. Jungkook dropped a kiss to your bare shoulder and said with all reverence, “I miss you, ____.”

He misses you, not missed. You never wanted to let him go.

You didn’t want to stop touching Jungkook so as you continued to allow your feet to be led by him, you ran a trail using your hand from Jungkook’s shoulders, landing on his chest. Jungkook ran his own hand at the expanse of your back, waiting, waiting.

“And I miss you too,” you said with a smile. Jungkook cupped your face and ran a thumb to your cheekbone. Never leaving your eyes, he responded, “It’s always a pleasure to dance with you, ____.”

“I always seem more eager to dance when I’m with you,” you said.

And I always love dancing with you.

“That’s because we know each other’s moves well. We’re in sync no matter how long it’s been.”

Tentatively, you respond, “Maybe we should do it again… more often, this time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all. I’ll dance with you forever.”

You and Jungkook went home that night and slept once more in each other’s arms. You noticed a change this time. You felt peaceful, more hopeful. Jungkook didn’t say anything definitive, still, but maybe his heart did.

And you fell into a quiet sleep as soon as Jungkook kissed your temple. This time, his kiss was more intentional, more heartfelt, like he never wants to let you go.

Not again.

You woke up the next morning still reeling from the dance you shared with Jungkook. Always the romantic, you thought as you shook your head. Usually, Jungkook was already up and about before you even opened one eye, but life continues to surprise you.

Jungkook was sitting on the bed, drawing on his iPad. You couldn’t believe it at first— you rubbed sleep out of your eyes and looked at your own phone for the time. It was 8 o’clock and Jungkook was drawing.

The minute you moved, Jungkook was attentive. He stopped drawing as he turned to you to mumble a good morning.

“Good morning to you, too. What are you doing so early in the morning?”

“Oh, I woke up earlier—”

Cutting him off, you teased, “You always do.”

Jungkook chuckled, the crinkles in around his eyes so evident, so endearing, “Yeah. Um… I just— the morning light through the window was just so beautiful and I had to draw it.”

“You drew a sunrise at 8 o’clock?”

You rolled your eyes as Jungkook said matter-of-factly, “Actually, 6 o’clock… but no, I didn’t draw the sunrise, not exactly.”

“Then what did you draw?”

Instead of responding, Jungkook gave you his iPad. You realized Jungkook drew you. Jungkook used digital watercolor brushes to paint a picture of you sleeping with your bedroom window behind you. Sunlight accentuated the side of your face, expression tranquil.

“It’s not finished yet, I need to fill in some of the—“

“It’s beautiful, Jungkook.”

“You always say that, ____.”

“Because your works are beautiful. Every single one of them,” you couldn’t stop admiring Jungkook’s work. You felt your throat constrict once more, emotions starting to take over. This isn’t the first time Jungkook drew you, but it’s definitely the first time you felt something different after seeing his art— a love that continues to blossom, a love for Jungkook that never withered. For the past few weeks, you felt like you were slowly coming to terms with you and him being just best friends, but after last night, you were starting to backslide.

You will always love Jungkook no matter what— you know that now. Maybe not in the way you want, but Jungkook will continue to have a special hold on your heart that no one else can replace.

“Thank you for this, Gguk-ah. Can we print and frame this? When you’re done, that is.”

“Of course, ____. I’m glad you like it.”

One of the things you and Jungkook appreciate about the apartment is the silence because it’s never an awkward one. In silence, you’re both comfortable— awkward and pain and everything else in between. In the shared space, you and Jungkook are free to love one another.

In silence, you also hear each other’s hunger. You giggled as Jungkook turned beet red. After all these years of living together, Jungkook still tended to be embarrassed around you. One of the many adorable Jeon Jungkook traits that you love.

“That’s my cue to make breakfast.”

You stood up and ran a hand through your hair before pocketing your phone. Jungkook didn’t move an inch. You didn’t think much of it, but just as you were about to walk out the door, Jungkook called out to you and scrambled to his feet.

Mornings with Jungkook more often than not are calm, but when you saw Jungkook walk up the short distance to where you were standing, his gaze so strong, your heart began to race. Because you were standing too close to each other, you felt Jungkook take a deep breath before uttering the words you never thought you’d hear from him.

“Don’t leave me.”

At first, you thought you heard wrong. A few seconds later your brain told you that maybe it was Jungkook’s way of saying that he wanted you both to stay in bed a little while longer because after all, it was a Sunday.

But then a third thought came to you, the most dreaded one— what if?

“S-say that again.”

It was physically impossible for Jungkook to get even closer to you. The wide smile drawn on his face made all the difference.

“Don’t leave me.”

Like a bucket of cold water doused on you, you couldn’t believe what Jungkook was really trying to tell you. Your childhood best friend, the man of your dreams. The one person who will move mountains for you without being asked is trying to tell you something you longed to hear.

“Say that again… o-one more time.”

Tears threatened to flow from your sparkling eyes and Jungkook was quick to hold you small face in his hands, “____. Please… don’t ever leave me.”

You struggled not to cry so much upon finally understanding what Jungkook was really trying to say. You wanted to respond to Jungkook’s plea, but all that came out was a sob. Jungkook peppered your face with soft kisses down to your jaw. You found yourself holding on to Jungkook, grip like a vice. You don't want to let him go. You will never.

Not again.

You tried your best to properly respond this time, “Don’t worry, Gguk. I will never, ever leave you.” You ran your knuckles down Jungkook’s face, “I was just going to make us breakfast because you’re hungry.”

Jungkook laughed at how you could still manage to make an intimate moment so endearing. He held your wrist and kissed the palm of your hand before leaning in to finally kiss you full on your lips. His kiss was tentative at first until he decided to be bolder, silently asking you to let him in. You readily gave Jungkook access to kiss you even deeper. Like wildfire, heat spreads throughout your body— this is what it feels like to kiss Jungkook without reservation. This is what it feels like to kiss your best friend, no holds barred.

Overwhelmed with affection, you felt yourself being lifted by Jungkook and your legs automatically cling to his waist. The position gave him an even better angle to kiss the person he has longed for almost all his life, “How long, Jungkook? How long have you really liked me?”

You didn’t think Jungkook would immediately understand what you were trying to ask, “Since that day I asked you to dance with me under the rain.”

Jungkook saw the look of recognition in your eyes. He knew you knew what he was referring to. “I have always been in love with you, ____. I just… I was so scared of you rejecting me that I thought it was best if I kept my feelings to myself. I tried dating other people because I thought maybe that would help me get to know others better.”

And as if Jungkook could read your mind, he kissed your forehead before talking again.

“I don’t regret kissing you that night… I was drunk, but I was sober enough to know and remember what I said. We broke up because she told me I was always distracted. I always thought of you everywhere we went. She told me I never really moved on… that I still call out your name even when I was with someone else. When you told me no then, I knew it was my fault for not thinking things through. It was my mistake that I didn’t communicate with you better, ____. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a lot of words to respond with, not after that speech from Jungkook so you only asked ever so meekly, “And Mia?”

“I told her we were better off as friends. She took it quite well than I expected. I think deep down, she knew too.”

“Knew what?”

“That I was undeniably, irrevocably in love with you.”

“Do you really have to use big adjectives?”

Jungkook shrugged and chuckled, “Makes for good conversation. I’m trying to communicate better, remember?”

It was your turn to chuckle and lean your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, ____. I put you through so much pain and I just let it happen.”

You shook your head, wanting to let Jungkook know this wasn’t all on him.

“If anything, you have always made me so happy, Jungkook. I don’t get to show you how much all the time.”

“Can we start over?” Jungkook looked at you, full of hope.

“I would love that.”

“I love you, ____.”

My best friend in this entire world, whom I love.

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

My best friend in this entire world, who loves me back.

Your hotteok was already paid for by Jungkook before you even had the chance to pay for it yourself. “It’s all taken care of,” Jungkook said.

Both of you were already hungry from running so you decided to eat right there under the hotteok stand. You could see a black car parked across the street and assumed that it must be Mr. Hong-sik. You both ate in silence for a while, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain until you felt Jungkook tugging your sleeve.

“What’s wrong?”

“Come on, ____”

“Where are we going?”

“There!”

You looked to where Jungkook was pointing with his finger. There was nothing there but the school.

“You want to go back to where we came from?”

“Not really. School is boring,” Jungkook mused and before you knew it, you were being pulled in the middle of pouring rain.

“What are you doing, Jungkook? We are going to get wet!”

“We already are, ____! Come on!”

You both had to shout over the steady noise of the rain. You realized Jungkook wasn’t kidding— he was really under the rain, in the middle of the school’s wide, open space, waiting for you to join him.

“You are insane, Jeon Jungkook!” you shouted, but he just grinned that much harder. He took both your hands and led you to jump and dance in the rain.

“Maybe I am, but it’s fun to dance in the rain with someone else!”

You felt so glad to be living the same time with someone as Jungkook after that day.

The day you will forever be grateful for.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts jungkook #bts au #mwillow: perhaps love #bts fanfiction

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

Text

The first bout of whispering, Shiro can ignore. He’s a teacher by trade, after all. Astronaut, sure. Paladin, even. But he always expected to be a teacher, trained for it, and he knows when you put a group of teenagers in a room and expect them to start learning by lecture, there’s going to be some whispering. He’d be concerned if there wasn’t, frankly.

But as it keeps happening, again and again, to the point where it’s almost constant, Shiro begins to lose his patience.

“Lance, Hunk,” he says, catching himself long before then. He tries to smile, gentle but firm. “Everything okay?”

The two boys clam up immediately. Lance even begins to lean slightly away from Hunk, although Shiro’s not sure he notices.

Shiro frowns, puzzled at the reaction. That’s — uncommon. He’s seen embarrassed, seen sheepish, seen unbothered, even seen downright rude, but Lance looks almost… afraid. And Hunk looks at him with a lot more anxiety than the situation calls for, but Shiro is beginning to notice that that’s just Hunk.

The both mutter some semblance of apology, and Shiro moves on quickly, unwilling to dwell on the incident too long.

For the rest of the briefing, he keeps an eye on them. He’s still focused, of course, as their break-in and recon on a nearby Empire warship is not only hugely dangerous, but will also be hugely beneficial, but he lets his notes do a lot of the talking for him. He flits his eyes to the pair every so often, and while Hunk meets his eyes on occasion, smiling slightly, Lance keeps his head down, hunched over his tablet.

Shiro notices that the tablet is powered off. He doesn’t write a single note.

His shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

———

“Alright, kiddo, good job.”

Keith grins, stepping backwards and bowing to finish the fight. Shiro bows back, matching his smile.

“You did great.”

“I know,” Keith says cheekily. “You’re getting easier and easier to beat. Probably because you’re elderly.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Am I.”

His annoying little brother hums, completely unconcerned. He steps off to the side and starts swinging around his training stick, very clearly showing off. “Mhm. It was super easy to fight you. I just went whoosh, smack, bam! —” he punctuates every sound with a swing and slash of the stick — “and every hit just landed. Honestly, I think a punching bag would have been more of a challenge. Adam is a way better spar partner than you. I wish I was shot into space with him.”

Shiro’s eye twitches. It’s a clear goad, he knows it is. Keith isn’t even trying to hide it. He’s a twerp with too much energy and too much experience pressing all of Shiro’s buttons — a favourite button of his, of course, being the bit of…healthy competition Shiro has always had with his boyfriend.

(He’s well aware of the irony. He hears Adam pointing and laughing in his head every time he endures Keith’s complaining about Lance pulling his mullet, so to speak. In fact keeping his mouth shut about the parallels is the only thing keeping him from throwing Keith down the laundry chute. He’s waiting for a moment when the reveal can be well and truly devastating.)

Shiro manages, with herculean strength, to step away from his turd of a brother, putting his training stick away.

“I am leaving,” he says loudly, pointedly turning away. “I said I’d train one hour with you and not a second more.”

He feels Keith’s pout more than sees it. “Coward.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorts, waving his hand dismissively. He hears swishing sounds, and the clicks of buttons — Keith is starting up his own training. Again. “Don’t be late for dinner or I’ll send Lance after you.”

“Can’t promise I won’t maim him,” Keith mutters. “Sometimes I just want to wring his neck.”

Shiro is very familiar with that feeling. Or at least the raving about it. He used to feel great pleasure in driving Adam to that point, just because he was hot when he was mad. But Shiro values his limbs — or at least what’s left of them — where they are, so he keeps the comments to himself as he makes his way out of the training room, meandering back to his own quarters.

He takes his time showering and redressing, knowing he’s got some time before dinner. He thinks Hunk even managed to wrestle Coran out of the kitchen, which means no food goo. It also means that he’s banned from even breathing near the kitchen until the food is fully cooked and completed — which is a bullshit ban and one based in false accusations — but he’s sure he can help set the table, or something. Stir a pot. He’s good at that.

He towels off his hair, not bothering to style it, and takes his time walking over to the kitchens. The castle floors are cold under his bare feet, he finds himself wishing he had the lion slippers Lance made him. They’re very warm. He never wears them because he’s terrified of ruining them, but it’s so icy in here that he might start having to, or else he’ll freeze.

As he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. He freezes, quieting his steps and pausing behind the wall to listen. Hopefully no one else walks by, or that will be humiliating.

“— all you have to do is ask, Lance, just casually, it’s not even —”

“— it is even, Hunk, it’s the worst and I’m not doing it, why would I inconvenience —”

“— it isn’t! Not even a little! It’s the smallest tiniest thing!”

“Hunk —”

Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation, spoon going flying and splattering some kind of blue sauce all over the cabinets. Neither of them even blinks at it.

“I am tired of watching you struggle, Leandro! Heaven forbid you ask for help!”

Shiro frowns. That’s not good. That sounds serious.

“I asked for help,” Lance huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t count and you know it,” Hunk says sharply, mirroring him. “I already knew.”

Lance looks away, clenching his jaw. His fingers are tangled in his jacket’s sleeve, tense.

“You don’t have to help anymore if it’s too hard,” he mumbles. “I can handle it myself.”

Hunk softens. “It’s not that, Lance.” He wipes his hands in his apron and pulls Lance to his chest. Lance goes, although he doesn’t move his arms, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “You know it’s not that. If that’s all we have then I’ll keep doing it, damn the consequences.” He pulls back slightly, nudging Lance back so he can look him in the face. “You can just do better, dude. All you gotta do is tell Shiro about your —”

A hand claps over Hunk’s mouth, cutting him off, and Lance squeaks, “Hey, Shiro, hello, hi!”

Shiro startles. He scrambles upright before Hunk turns all the way, so at least he’s only seen crouching by the door like a weirdo by one person.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hi.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Hunk says, muffled. How he looks so mighty and dignified with Lance’s hands still very much pressed to his face is well and truly beyond him. Shiro is frankly awed.

“I just came to help set the table,” he assures, hands held up in surrender. “Promise I’ll stay away from the actual food.”

Hunk narrows his eyes, but must decide he could use the help, because he nods, stepping backwards so Lance’s hands fall back down.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m making stew. You can set out utensils if you must but know I’ll judge you heavily for it. Lance, come help me finish up.”

Lance scrambles after him, avoiding Shiro’s gaze like he’s sure he’s going to get yelled at. Shiro watches him go, perplexed.

———

The next few days are, for the most part, manageable. Their mission goes well, Keith is surprisingly mellow — Shiro suspects the little nerd has discovered a library of some kind — and distress calls are minimal. All in all, Shiro should be taking the time as the blessing it is and catching up on some much needed R&R.

Instead, he’s worrying about the Blue Paladin.

Shiro can’t say he knows him well. They’ve hardly been in space a couple of months, after all, and while Shiro must have taught him a couple times — he was in the piloting program so it’s almost impossible that they didn’t cross paths — the Garrison is huge, and Shiro largely teachers younger students. Shiro can’t recall teaching a Lance, anyway.

But he can tell something’s off.

Besides the fact that Hunk keeps looking at Lance with concern, the Cuban seems…withdrawn, almost. He still works hard in training and smokes them in any kind of long distance, but there doesn’t seem to be any joy in it. Even his arguments with Keith seem halfhearted, which Keith will never admit leave him agitated as much as it has Shiro’s eyebrows raising. Shiro is sure, basically, that something is the matter, and surer still that he has to be the one to fix it.

How exactly he should go about it…well, that’s the part he’s struggling with. He knows Lance is kind of star-eyed around him, even though they’re on the same playing field, so Shiro’s not sure just regular talking to him about it is going to do something. And he seemed pretty resistant when Hunk pressed, in the conversation Shiro overheard. He’s just not sure what to do.

Luckily, the situation starts to resolve itself.

“Hey, Shiro, can I talk to you?” Lance mumbles into his breakfast, as everyone else is distracted by Pidge and Keith’s loud argument about cryptids (Shiro has heard it too many times at this point. He’s tuned it out).

Shiro blinks. “Sure,” he says, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “Now?”

“Uh, after we eat, maybe.”

Shiro tries very hard not to seem over enthusiastic. He sucks at that, so it doesn’t work, and it seems to make Lance more stressed, which only stresses Shiro out more. By the time everyone has finished up and people are starting to file out to various tasks, the tension between them is so thick Shiro feels as if he might suffocate.

Suddenly, as if he propelled himself, Lance springs to his feet, snatching his bowl and Shiro’s and powerwalking towards the kitchen sink. Shiro, startled, follows him.

“You okay?” Shiro asks softly, noticing the whiteness of Lance’s knuckles, clenched around a sponge, and the robotic way he scrubs it across a dirty spoon.

Lance says nothing. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the soapy water, spine ramrod straight, nerves bleeding from him in waves.

Hesitantly, Shiro rolls up his sleeves, standing beside him and beginning to dry what he rinses. As Shiro gets close he gets tenser, shoulders hiked up to his ears, but as the minutes drag on, empty kitchen echoing the sound of swishing water and clanking cutlery, he begins to calm down. Shiro watches his face relax, easing its worries twist, and terror fade from his brown eyes.

He hands Shiro the last clean dish to dry, then pulls the plug on the sink, darting over to grab a hand towel and starting to dry.

“Can you write mission plans in pink?”

The words rush out of him, like he’d been holding them between his teeth for God knows how long and they’d finally spilled out. He looks almost nauseous after he says them.

Shiro blinks. That was…not what he’d expected.

“…Why?”

“It’s perfectly okay if you can’t,” Lance continues, as if Shiro had not spoken. “I mean, whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ve gone without this long, after all, and it’s totally doable. Of course there’s the migraines and the agony but that’s all light work. It’s war, after all. Ha.” He chuckles nervously.

He’s shrunk in on himself, looking almost small. Shiro stares at him with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Lance doesn’t even notice, eyes focused intensely on the hand towel, breathing worryingly erratic.

“I just swore to Hunk that I’d ask, you know. He said it wouldn’t hurt. And of course it wouldn’t but I don’t need it. It’s just. You know.”

Shiro cannot stress enough how much he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this lost in a while.

“Pink makes the letters stick to the page. And I know that sounds stupid as shit and that’s because it is stupid as shit, unfortunately. Dyslexia is the dumbest thing in the world, actually. And who named it that? You know how hard that word is to spell? It’s hard. They should have called it — I dunno, I just mean, it’s whatever. It’s fine. I’ve handled it this long. Uh.” He looks up, finally, and maybe he doesn’t know how to make sense of Shiro’s expression, because he winces, shame overtaking his face. He sets down the towel and gestures vaguely behind him, stepping towards the door. “I’m just gonna — go. Sorry. See you later. Sorry.”

He all but flees out of the room. Shiro barely manages to snag the back of his hoodie, holding him in place.

“Lance. Chill a second. Give me time to respond.”

Lance looks deploringly at the door, then back at Shiro. He looks like he’s accepting his death. Shiro can’t help but feel the teensiest bit offended.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he says, aghast. “Jesus, kid. You’re going to give me a complex.”

To Shiro’s great relief, the remark makes Lance grin. Some of the tension eases from his face.

“You sound like my mother.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s a compliment,” Shiro says lightly. He pulls out two chairs, orienting them so they’re facing each other. He deliberately takes the one farthest from the door, so Lance doesn’t feel trapped. He gestures to the other one. “Sit.”

Lance does.

“Now. From the beginning and with a little less fear, hopefully. Tell me what’s up, kiddo.”

Lance looks down at his hands, where he’s picking at a scar on his wrist.

“Um. So. I have dyslexia. I can’t read too well.”

Lance cringes as he says it. Shiro wonders who he has to kill for putting the idea that this is something to be ashamed about in his head.

“Cool,” Shiro says, as encouragingly as he can manage. “The main character of my favourite book series as a kid had dyslexia. I was jealous of everyone who had it. I used to pray for it.”

The revelation startles a laugh out of Lance, like Shiro hoped it would. The tension melts right off of him.

“You prayed?”

“Every night,” Shiro affirms, grinning. “I even crossed my eyes and pretended when it didn’t work. My mother didn’t believe me for a second.”

“You’re a dweeb,” Lance says, sounding kind of awed. Like he’s shocked that Shiro, too, is a nerd loser on this castle full of other nerd losers. “Dyslexia sucks.”

Letting his face settle into something more serious, Shiro nods. “I imagine it does.” He reaches over and squeezes Lance’s hand, subtly stopping him from picking at the skin. Keith has the same bad habit. “Writing in pink helps?”

Lance shrugs. “Sorta. Dunno why. But things are less squiggly when they’re written in pink or red. Not perfect, but it’s something. I can hardly read at all when they’re in black; it’s like my eyes are spinning out of my head trying to focus on ‘em. Gives me migraines like you would not imagine.”

“And thus Hunk whispering the plans to you so you don’t have to read them,” Shiro surmises, the whispering during briefings suddenly making sense. Guilt twinges in his belly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says gently. “I get it now. Sorry for not understanding.” He frowns, remembering something. “I should’ve asked beforehand. Or suspected something, or known better, really. I had a kid a few years back in one of my astronomy courses. Li-something. I marked all his stuff in red for the same reasons.”

Lance makes a very particular face. Warning bells go off in Shiro’s head.

“I appreciated that very much,” Lance says politely.

It takes a moment for it to click.

Shiro considers banging his head against the table.

“Please tell me no,” he begs, ears reddening.

“It was a great honour to be renamed by the Takashi Shirogane,” Lance insists.

“I had you in my class for three years!” Shiro says, aghast. “I — I called you Li all the time! In front of people!”

“I didn’t want to correct you! That’s — embarrassing!”

Shiro cradles his head in his hands. Dear God. He knows he’s not great with names, but — Jesus. To rename a kid. Blatantly. Other teachers must have thought he was some cruel jackass.

“I think there was a Li McKinney ahead of me in roll call,” Lance offers, patting Shiro’s back delicately. “So. Pretty easy to mess up.”

“Did you write your name as Li on tests? And assignments?”

“After the first couple times, yeah. Hunk laughed at me. At a certain point I’d just dug myself too deep, I think.”

Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s still quite hot. He looks up at Lance, who’s mouth is twitching.

“You were short as shit back then,” he observes, trying to picture the kid in his class. “Like, shorter than Pidge.”

Lance scowls. “I was — saving up on growth spurts. Yeah. So. Purge that from your memory.” He smirks. “Like my name.”

Shiro groans. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I.”

Lance smiles. “Probably not. I didn’t know you were uncool. It’s interesting. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but reaches over to mess with Lance’s hair, like he would Keith. Unlike Keith, Lance freaks out way harder, screeching something about hard work and artistic expression.

He smiles. “Glad you came to talk to me, kid.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, but he looks pleased, too. “Yeah, yeah.”

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underoospeterparker · 3 months

Note

desperately need a finnick x reader where he comforts reader (*cough* me *cough*) during their period bc i am starting soon and am absolutely dreading it 😍

terrible to say but i stopped studying 2 write this as soon as you requested it - thank you for requesting anon, i hope this helps w/ the period at least a little :)

"Honey." Finnick's voice was warm, comforting, and you hung onto it for a moment longer before you opened your eyes and felt the dreaded sticky wetness between your legs.

You groaned. "I leaked onto the sheets, didn't I?"

Turning towards Finnick, you watched as he gave you a sheepish smile, then rushed to reassure you. "It's perfectly fine," he said. "You know I've seen much worse."

You gave him what you hoped was a grateful smile, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. As soon as you stood up you felt the blood rush down your body and you winced, knowing it would be a pain to have to clean up.

Finnick, the gentleman he was, rushed to your side, covering the bed up with the blanket just in case you were feeling queasy. He reached for your hand, squeezing it and leading you to the bathroom.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Before he left, he asked, "are you doing okay?"

Your heart broke at his obvious concern for you. "I'm okay," you shrugged, giving him a small smile. "My stomach hurts a bit, but otherwise it's not too bad."

You hopped into the shower, washing everything off you as well as you could with heaps of soap. When you stepped out, you realised that he'd put a pad in your underwear so it was all ready to go.

You pulled it on, eyes getting teary when you saw that he'd placed your favourite pair of sweats on the toilet lid, along with your unicorn hot water bag.

You couldn't help but burst out crying when you opened the bathroom door to find Finnick had changed the sheets and had gotten you a glass of water and some pain medication.

"Sweetheart?" His voice was filled with concern and empathy. "Why're you crying?"

He had hopped off the bed and was now towering in front of you, hands cupping your face, thumbing away at your tears.

You giggled wetly through your tears. "Just," you said, "I'm so lucky to have you." Your voice cracked on the last word and you promptly fell into his arms.

"Aw, baby," he cooed, voice sweet as he picked you up. Your legs curled automatically around his waist as he placed you on the bed and wrapped his arms around you. "I love you," he whispered, passing you your hot water bag and placing it on your stomach.

"I love you too, Finn," you whispered back, falling asleep in his arms.

It wasn't long, though, before your cramps arrived full force, making you curl your legs up to your chest. You lay in the fetal position, silent tears streaming down your face, trying your hardest not to wake Finnick up.

He was a light sleeper, though. Always has been.

He blinked his eyes open, hand braced against your leg so he could pull himself up to a seated position. "Honey?" he asked cautiously, his voice still thick and raspy from sleep.

You gasped, then tried to turn away from him. "I'm sorry for waking you up," you said. "You can go back to sleep," you added, even though you knew well that he wouldn't.

He pulled you to face him and you relented, teary eyes meeting his. His heart cracked in his chest at the sight of you in pain. "Really bad?" he settled on asking, his voice gentle.

You nodded, and he helped to sit you against the headboard. He reached for the cup of water and the pain medication tablets on the bedside table.

Your hands were shaking, trembling so badly that once he handed you the tablet to swallow, he held the glass of water to your lips instead, watching you swallow and murmuring a soft, "good girl," when you did.

Leaning back against him, you waited for the medicine to set in. His hand retreated to your stomach, the warmth from his palm seeping into your aching muscles. You almost whined in pleasure and he smiled, seeing you relax at least a little.

"Feeling a bit better?" he asked, kissing the side of your head.

You nodded, curling yourself into him, almost trying to meld your bodies together. "Thank you," you murmured, head pressed against his chest.

"Of course."

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asterrrific · 9 months

Text

1:00am

You wake up with a start, your head spinning. Everything feels so heavy: your eyes had a hard time opening, your breathing harsh against your chest, and you feel cold sweat drip down from your forehead.

You knew it was a fever, and by some unknown reason, fevers always made you want to cry. It always made you feel so helpless.

You let out a soft sob and feel yourself tremble as you tried to steady yourself and keep yourself from crying but then Mingyu wakes up with a start beside you.

"Oh no, y/n hey... are you crying? Why are you crying? Please stop crying. What's wrong, hmm?" he rambles, shaking sleep from his senses as he grasped around trying to sit next to you.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. He gets startled when he feels your skin on him.

"Baby, you're burning." he worries, a pout on full display.

You start shaking and crying because you don't know what to do at this point. Panic fills you from the inside.

"Everything h-hurts..." you sob into his shirt as he rubs gentle circles on your back, his chin resting on top of your head.

"You'll be fine my love, I'm here. Tell you what, I'll take care of you, okay? Hang on for a bit and I'll go get everything you need. Can you hold on for me?" he gently whispers, bringing both of your warm hands to his lips for a soft kiss while he searches your eyes for a confirmation of anything under the glow of your lamp.

You nod weakly, tears still streaming from your eyes. He coos as he pulls you close to him again, this time leaving a kiss on your burning forehead.

He assists you as you leaned on the stack of pillows he fluffed by your headboard, then hurries to the bathroom to retrieve a fresh towel soaked in cold water, the thermometer, and some medicine.

He quickly shuffles back to bed and sits on the space beside you. You keep your eyes shut as you have no energy at all.

"Y/n darling, you still with me?" he asks as he feels your forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Mmm..." you mumble, your head still pounding as you manage a weak nod.

Mingyu lets out a concerned tsk as he prepares the thermometer. He levels it on your forehead, then tsks again as he reads the result.

"Fever's pretty high my love. I'll pat you down with a cold towel now, 'kay?"

"M'kay, Gyu. Thank you..." you whisper with your remaining strength.

Mingyu then goes to work, concern and worry painted all over his pretty face. He gently does the job, providing you with relief.

When he's done, he tucks you back in, just slightly.

"Here's your meds baby. I'll wake you up after a few hours so we can check your temp again and see if you still have to take more meds. Sound okay?" he informs you.

You slowly open your eyes and reach out to take the tablets and glass of water from him but he smiles softly and turns himself away.

"I'll do it for you." He insists, as he helps you down the tabs.

"Mingyu..." you call him, as he sets the glass on the bedside table.

"Yes my love? anything else wrong? Tell me, hmm? So I can help. I'll do anything." he promises as he scoots closer to you. He leans himself on one arm beside you as he gently strokes your hair with his other hand, waiting for you to speak up.

"Nothing. Just... thank you." you smile. you feel another tear slip from your eyes but you can't say if it's from another fit of sobbing about to come out or from wincing too much from all the pain and heaviness you're currently feeling.

Mingyu smiles and presses his forehead to yours, your noses brushing against each other. Your breathing fans hot air on to his face, but he doesn't mind.

"I love you. So much. Always." he says carefully and softly. He leans away and cups your face with one hand, then leaves another kiss on to your forehead.

"I'll always be here to take care of you okay?"

You nod and smile appreciatively at him.

"Okay. I love you." you sigh, as he brushes his nose on yours again, his way of showing affection when he's feeling soft.

"I'll be right back then, okay? I'll just put all these back to the bathroom and get you a cooling patch, then we go back to sleep." he whispers as he fluffs your pillows again gently.

He worked carefully in the bathroom, afraid to make any noise or clutter as he's concerned about your current sensitive state. Then he returns with a cooling patch.

He settles himself in bed beside you, then applies the patch on your forehead. He smiles at his work before he leaves a tiny peck on your nose.

"Go back to sleep now baby. I'll be right here. Just nudge me if you need anything, yeah?"

"Can I have... uhm... cuddles?" you ask hesitantly as he settles on his back.

"Won't you get too hot though? Your fever's pretty high." he asks

"I'll be fine. I just want you near..." you shyly add.

Mingyu offers you a sweet little smile as he gently pulls you closer to him, though careful enough not to cuddle in too much to make you comfortable. You cuddle immediately on to his chest, inhaling his scent and ignoring for now the pain that you're feeling from all over your body.

"I love you, Gyu..." you whisper as sleep pulls you back in.

Mingyu smiles to himself as he strokes your hair and hugs you to him closer, soaking up some of the warmth from your body and on to him.

"I love you, y/n. Go to sleep now..." he whispers as he plants a small kiss on top of your head.

---

Hiii! It's been a hot minute since my last written shenanigan. As of writing this, it's currently 1:30am and I couldn't sleep, and Mingyu has been bias wrecking me a lot recently so I thought of this.

I hope you like this as much as I did making it! Please reblog if you loved it so more people could discover my works 🥹🙏🏻

Thanks as always! Lablab~

#svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen #svt au #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt fluff #svt oneshot #mingyu #mingyu au #mingyu fluff #mingyu oneshot #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Text

Eight-Thirty PM

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader (from It Had To Be You series)

Summary: Steve returns after a long business trip.

Warnings for smut. Yeah, it's not rocket science. They bang in the office. Yes, of course, on the desk. Yeah, up against the window, too. And a chair. And the floor. Look, it's just smut (with very light bondage, consensually unprotected sex, hint of marking kink, dirty talk, and the ever-expected fact that I'm going to hell). WC 3k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this work is not for you!

“Why are you still here?”

Your head shoots up from your tablet. You didn’t think he’d come back to the office. Steve’s plane landed only an hour ago, and after a grueling two weeks of flying around the world to five different countries, you thought you’d see him tomorrow after he’s slept off the jet lag.

Overnight bag in hand, your co-CEO and boyfriend is still wearing an overcoat and work suit from meetings on the other side of the Atlantic just twelve hours ago.

You’ve been in this office just as long, finishing up the odds and ends from new contracts.

Giving a quick shrug, you answer, “You know damn well I don’t leave until the day is done.”

He sighs dramatically in your doorway, giving a pointed glare to the clear night that has fallen outside. If he’s brought his bag all the way up though, Steve planned to work, too, the hypocrite.

“What’s left?” He drops his bag in the corner, the door automatically swinging shut, and walks to your side, planting one hand by your elbow and one on the back of your chair to peer at your screen.

For the last fifteen minutes, you’ve been scrolling mindlessly through news articles, dreading going to your empty apartment for one more night. You’d hoped Steve would call when he landed, ask you out to dinner, or immediately back to his place, so you waited and zoned out.

“Ah yes, pressing stuff,” he grumbles at your social media feed. “How dare I interrupt this?”

You drop your hands to your lap and spin toward him.

“How else am I supposed to keep you supplied with soothing yet hilarious animal memes?”

Steve hasn’t changed his lean over you, so his face is just there, within reach, but you hold firm.

He lifts the hand from the desk to stroke your cheek, voice like warm honey tea. “Of course. That makes sense.”

Like a magnetic dance of alignment, he shifts and so do you, forcing you to rise from your chair. Words don’t come to mind while Steve crowds your space, hands deftly finding your hips and petting—pushing, rather—you back towards your office window.

“Is this new? I like it.”

The blouse you bought in Japan, the perfectly tailored pencil skirt is from Italy, and your ability to resist his presence was on loan. Time just expired.

His long fingers bunch the thick fabric of your bottoms higher and higher until your thinly veiled ass presses against the window for the whole world to see. Not that anyway cares; not that anyone can look in when you have an unobstructed view out to the water. You couldn’t care less when Steve is back.

He’s back, back here, back by your side, back against your body, a thin, reinforced pane of glass separating you both from a thirty-story, sheer drop. If you could shift your feet six inches farther, you’d be flying like a superhero above New York City.

That’s ridiculous. There aren’t people who can fly. Superheros don’t exist…but if they did…

Steve Rogers would be a prime specimen. He and his broad, stabilizing hands—the ones anchoring your hips to that precariously invisible wall, the ones suspending you between ecstasy and terror—would definitely classify as hero-level marvelous.

Your skin buzzes, alive and anticipating. Your mind drowns in the wave of rich, comforted by the scent flooding the air around you.

That damn soap.

Those broad hands move up your sides, gripping so firm and hot your blouse wrinkles in their wake until his fingers finally reach the column of your neck. He replaces the grounding effect of pinning you with a deliberate thrust of his hips. His breath rolls between his fingers at your throat. The sensation brings you back from truly floating.

“Precious…”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to open. You hadn’t realized they were even closed. When he fills every sense, what’s lack of sight? He’s just so wonderful to feel, and he’s almost too glorious to behold: dark, blown pupils; tongue striping across his bottom lip; pristinely coifed hair slightly out of place in his rush to corner you.

You missed him. You missed this because this is Steve in your space, and he doesn’t invade. No. Steve enlightens the world around you. He lifts your work-weary soul up another thirty stories high and makes you believe that thing he’s always saying to you.

You’re amazing.

You sure as shit feel amazing when the first prickles of his beard scuttle across your jaw, the distance between you so minuscule now that you’re left with a void of all else but him and his oh-so-smooth, plush lips grazing yours.

With a shaky, deep breath and a sensual rasp to his voice, Steve starts, “So about the Cloutman contract…”

You almost laugh, but you almost slap him, too.

He just won’t quit. It really is so marvelously irritating.

“Shut up,” you huff into his mouth before taking hold of his lapels and making him.

You offer your best reciprocation of hot hands all over him, sliding beneath his coat and blazer to wrap his heaving chest and cling while he shrugs the layers off. Your tongues dance and slow. Your mouths suck and nibble. Your lips touch and tease.

You could not go on like this all night. You need each other after this long apart.

“Got any condoms in your office,” you ask during one break for air.

Steve freezes.

You didn’t actually anticipate the answer would be ‘no.’ Somehow, though he’s never dated much, though he’s rarely even touched you in the office these last two months of dating, you expected him to have…some sort of manly stash everywhere.

“Not in your bag?” you try.

Steve looks horrified, huffing, “You weren’t on the trip with me.” Why would he need condoms without you? his look continues silently.

You bite your lip and try not to laugh.

Door to door, the office to his place is over half an hour, the office to your place takes forty-five minutes on the best day, and to a drug store and back here would cost both twenty minutes and your dignity. You would never send a driver on that kind of errand, so you keep mulling over your options

Steve’s so disappointed, in mourning for his last moments before even more travel, running his fingers along the silky fabric of your blouse, the supple leather of your skirt, and the soft cotton of your panties.

“Maybe we should sit,” you suggest, thinking he’ll walk you over to one of the three chairs in the room, but Steve plunks his ass down right on his coat pooled atop the carpet.

He pulls you into his lap, hands still roaming your clothing. He seems resigned to staring at the sliver of your décolleté beyond your collar, and it’s natural to tease him by starting to unbutton it. Two weeks is too long to go without seeing that slack-jawed look of envy for the fabrics that are allowed to kiss your skin all day. He’s as ravenous as an addict before they fall right back off the wagon.

“Okay,” you say finally.

Steve absently repeats you, but you’re solid in your decision.

Last week was your period, there are no fluctuations in your cycle to concern you, and you even thought that was a lucky break while your new-ish boyfriend was away. Then the word’s meaning seems to dawn on Steve.

“Okay-okay?” He swallows thickly.

Your top is undone, so you start on his, pulling the Windsor knot loose from his neck and moving slowly.

“Oh-kay,” you repeat, button by button.

Steve inhales sharply through his nose. “Like okay we don’t have one?” His face exposes his thoughts tentatively, a spark of something akin to hope here, a flicker of darker desire there. “You want me to…” he puffs out his chest “…and then I’ll just—“

“—come inside me.”

“—pull out,” he finishes. “What?!” It’s the world’s smallest exclamation. All the air rushes out of him. His blue eyes shadow as if dusk hit the harbor in a sudden eclipse.

You push the crisp white shirt over his broad shoulders.

“Precious,” Steve breathes, “are you sure?” Once the sleeves are off his arms, he pets down his beard. “You…”

“Uh-huh.” You nod, sliding off the navy tie.

“You’re sure,” he says again, unconvinced, short-circuiting. “I never…”

You understand his hesitation, you really do, but Steve doesn’t have to become a broken record questioning your choices. It’s a reasonable call in your monogamous relationship, and if he fucking ruins this for you after waiting half a month for his return, you’re gonna…you’re gonna…get ideas.

Ideas like this one.

You take Steve’s hands in yours and start wrapping the tie around his wrists.

He says nothing. He doesn’t even look down. He just stares at your face as you concentrate on tying a couple of knots on the makeshift binding and glance back up at him. He keeps his hands together, suspended between your bodies, unwilling to move yet.

So you keep working.

You undo his belt and unzip his pants, watching his lips fall open and the thoughts racing behind his eyes slow down. It’s a hard reset—one making Steve harder and harder beneath your touch.

“Hey, Captain,” you husk, leaning into his paralyzed hands only to have him recoil in alarm, “whatcha thinking?”

His long fingers grip gently at your face, face close to yours. Steve licks across his lips excruciatingly slow. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me.”

He growls, sweeping his arms over your head and pinning you to his chest. With ease, Steve rolls onto his knees and rises, carrying you until your ass hits the chilly wood of your desk. He drags his body between your wide legs.

“Say it again.”

He bends forward, forcing you to lay back with his bound hands cradling your head, heat surging down your body when his warm skin sits flush down your torso.

With his lips latched just below your ear, you whisper in his, “I want you to come inside me.”

You feel his teeth graze your throat as Steve grunts involuntarily, ripping his hands out from under you and shoving down his pants and boxer briefs. He orders you to remove your panties, demands you unhook the front clasp of your bra, and presses his erection to your core. He praises your exposed beauty while shushing your incoherent whimpers. His arms push past your shoulders and settle beneath the small of your back, angling you perfectly for his cock to slide back and forth through your folds, his hips nudging that too-long neglected bundle of nerves.

No more long, solo business trips, you think before your mind blurs in the low lamp light, you won’t survive another absence.

He spreads your arousal between you for an agonizing eternity, swipe after swipe, making you cry out every time the head of him notches in just the right spot. He could be in you right now. He could be fucking your brains out. At least that would give you reason to be this stupidly cock-crazed already.

“Didn’t use to need it like this,” Steve mutters into the valley of your breasts. “Went so long without. Can’t now.” He nips at the swell of you. “Not a day—not a night without…wanting this.”

He’s slow to push the head in, having foregone stretching you on his fingers, but he lavishes your nipples with attention enough to have you mewling for more.

“…wanting you…”

You gasp as his edging progression throbs across your whole body. His thick length and dextrous tongue coax every thrill back to the side of pleasure that curls your toes and shakes your thighs around him. He thrusts shallowly before pressing deeper, bullying a nipple with strong suction as he struggles to control himself.

“Missed you. Missed you so much.”

It makes you soar to hear him so broken, unable to separate his need for your company from his need to bury himself in you, unable to rein in his raw, animalistic desire to fill you in any way.

Steve fights this nature.

He fights to be respectful. He fights to be appreciative. He fights to ensure you always feel seen as more than just a woman, but right at this moment, it is the greatest accomplishment of your career to override the genius mind of Steve Rogers and make him crumble in worship of your pussy.

When he’s fully seated within your walls, you shiver straight into his embrace.

“I love you,” you breathe, pulling your arms out from beneath his to card through his hair.

Steve whines at the intimacy, muttering how good you feel into your neck before finding you for a kiss.

“I love you, too.”

Your spit-slicked nipples graze his rough chest hair with every bounce of Steve’s frantic and increasingly wild thrusts. His excitement fuels yours, his moans turning to groans while your core heats up like a kettle on the cusp of whistling.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he sounds so wrecked, so incapable of any rational thought that isn’t pure praise of you.

His huge hands cling to your shoulder blades. The bite of short fingernails barely registers on your sweating skin. All you can do is scream in warning.

Your body clamps down, fluttering a strong and desperate rhythm of its own against him.

“Oh fuck, precious,” Steve pants, hustling to move his arms back around to your front, pressing into your tight stomach, imagining the glide of his cock beneath his palms as he holds you still.

He’s lost and lust-drunk, focused on pumping you full of his cum and relishing the new sensation. His eyes shut, lashes kissing his cheeks, and his head lolls back in one last choked shout.

It’s so much wetter combined with you, so much nastier and possessive.

He kneads gently at your belly, still pushed in as deep as he can be, and lets out a breathy chuckle in utter, debauched bliss.

A second later, Steve easily twists out of the looped tie, tossing it in a heap beside you on the desk and petting every inch of you he can reach as he comes down.

His descending calm only sends you reeling.

You watch the corruption of man in 4K high definition as Steve succumbs to this new, greedy delight. You see the very moment it dawns on him that he’s a righteously common man—replete with vice he’s unlikely to recover from. His downfall keeps you floating on shockwaves like you’re in a mosh pit, his every expression pushing you back into the fog of orgasm.

You did this. You did this to him as much as he did this to you.

Eyes glazed and dark, Steve’s fingertips finally trace the joint of your hip.

The tickle makes you buck against him, knocking him back a little, and slowly, Steve does pull out entirely. He never lets go of you though.

His thumb finds your clit and starts up another leisurely pace. He sits his bare ass on your office chair and looks directly at your exposed sex, staring as the stimulation makes you clench.

You hear the powerful man between your legs roll forward for a better view.

You feel him leaking out of you and know he’s holding that gaze for a moment longer before yanking out a few tissues from the box in your drawer and wiping up what he can. He’s gentle, but he doesn’t have to be so slow to clean you.

You expect that to be it.

He’s brought you back down—albeit teasingly,—returned from his trip to some feral, nomad land, and that’s likely the end of your romp at work with straight-laced, kind Steve Rogers.

But his hot hand finds your calf, lifting your leg to drape over his shoulder. He doesn’t even wait until the other leg is moved into place before his lips lock around that sensitive nub still aching from attention.

He goes to town, particularly ravenous for more noise, pausing for long periods to caress and nuzzle the plush skin of your thighs. He whispers how he likes the smell of you two together, how it’s stronger, maybe because he’s been away, how you smell potent and ready for him, and he didn’t hurt you, did he? He just wanted you so bad. Needed you.

You lean into his new-found obsession, steadily rising high again, body and soul.

Did he like marking you? you ask. Will he keep thinking about it?

Will he want to keep you full and watch it overflow from you?

Is he ready to fuck you again already?

Your words don’t even shame the golden boy begging to suffocate between your legs; they only encourage him. He has you gushing again in minutes. It takes longer for the sparking electricity of your high to dissipate than it did to build the charge.

He simply watches with a smile on his face and his lips sliding across the tender back of your knee.

Eventually, you sit up, gasping for air, blouse and bra still trapped on your elbows, skirt still hiked up to your waist. No more words pass between you. You hold each other in an adoring gaze, giggling when he has to help you put your feet back on the ground.

You fluff your destroyed hair and step onto wobbly legs. Steve races to help, but you only move to straddle him in the chair, your hand finding his still-slick cock that’s well on its way to hard. His eyes meet yours and never falter, his hands steady beside your arms in case you need his strength but untouching while you jerk and toy with him. He unabashedly shows you the full mess of him you’ve made, like you let him see of you.

You look over to the clock near the door.

8:30.

The night is still young, and you missed your boyfriend. He’s full of surprises and you want to explore at least one more before breaking to head home.

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @rach2602 @patzammit @royalwritersoftheuniverses @supraveng @1950schick @yiiiikesmish

A/N: Hey gang, so I'm in a phase of this emotional cluster-fuck that I honestly cannot tell if my work reads well? Normally, I have a decent radar for the quality I'm looking for/proud of, but lately, absolutely nothing makes par. I'm kinda relying on you guys to tell me if and when we get to a point that it's bad and maybe I need to take a real break. I PROMISED SINFUL SUNDAY THOUGH, so I do hope it was at least passable as entertainment! 💚💜

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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housethemd · 3 months

Text

Come in from the Cold

House/Wilson established relationship

Written based on a prompt from @griffin-11

This wasn’t what I was expecting to write when I got the prompt, but it’s what happened!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bite of early January always sinks into his bones in a way he can’t shake. The trip from the car to the apartment takes twice as long as it does in other seasons, lest he slip on the icy ground. No amount of complaints to the building’s management about the state of the steps in the wintertime have any effect. They insist the stairs are perfectly passable, which may be true for the even footed but are treacherous to his uneven gait.

Snowflakes flutter to the ground, fluffy and large, adding the existing two feet of snow already on the ground. For a moment he remembers winters from a decade ago. When weather such as this would mean a trip to upstate New York, to a ski resort where he and Wilson would spend weekends on the slopes. Wilson skied, but he always prefered snowboarding. He liked the speed, the balance it required, the feeling of the wind burning his cheeks as he hurdled towards the bottom of the hill, the satisfaction he got from safely reaching the bottom of the difficult hills, having dodged trees and other obstacles the whole way down. But those days are long behind him now, and the memory stings almost as much as the cold.

Every second spent outside is painful, as even his long wool coat can’t protect the crater in his thigh from the sub-zero temperatures. A mess of missing muscle and over sensitive nerve endings, the cold burns bright hot. He limps heavily up the few stairs into the building, doing his best to strike a balance between speed, safety, and keeping pain to a minimum. When he finally breaches the threshold into 221 Baker Street he lets the door fall shut behind him, and leans on it heavily.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He grips his thigh tightly, desperately trying to rub the stiff burning from what remains of his leg, as the mantra plays in his mind. Wilson always tried to get him to breathe through the pain. He always argued that it was new age bull crap, right up there with auras and chakras. Breathing wouldn’t regrow this missing muscle, breathing wouldn’t fix the damaged nerves, and breathing certainly wouldn’t get rid of the mangled mess of partially numb, partially hypersensitive scar tissue that marred his right thigh. Still, he tries. Wilson doesn’t know he tries when Wilson isn’t around, and he always gripes when Wilson makes him try, but he tries all the same because that’s what people in relationships do. They try.

When the breathing mumbo jumbo doesn’t work he reaches into his pocket to pull out his Vicodin bottle and dry swallow two of the white, chalky tablets. The bitter taste promises some relief, though he knows it will only do so much. His leg will take hours to warm up, and only then will the pain reduce to its usual daily level. He really hates Winter.

Sucking a breath through his teeth he limps slowly towards his door, pausing to pull out his keys he can hear the puttering sounds of Wilson moving about their now shared apartment. He was unsure about Wilson moving in, his one and only stint with cohabitation had been with Stacy, but had since found it was not completely terrible. It was nice not being alone all the time, and Wilson was probably the only person in the world he could stand to have around all the time, though he’d never say that out loud.

When he enters the apartment Wilson pops out from the kitchen, smiling fondly.

“Oh wipe that look off your face. You saw me three hours ago.” He scoffs, shucking his coat and letting it fall to the ground.

The apartment smells like Wilson’s cooking. The living room is tidy in a lived-in sort of way. Wilson is dressed in sweats and his McGil sweatshirt, but is barefoot. The entire scene is so warm and domestic it warms his heart and makes him nauseous in equal measure.

“What? A guy can’t look happy when a handsome man walks into his home?” Wilson asks, arms crossed.

“Sure he can. He just can’t look happy when an old, misanthropic, cripple walks into his home.” He shoots back.

“Oh right. I always confuse those two.” Wilson smiles, leaning on the door jam and throwing the dish towel he had been holding over his shoulder.

House managed to remove his shoe from his right foot, but as he shifts his weight onto his right leg and cane to remove his left he has to stop, a pained noise slipping unbidden past his lips as pain shoots through him. Wilson is beside him in an instant, one hand on his back and the other on his chest, ready to support his weight should he need it.

“Hey hey hey, what’s going on?” Wilson asked gently.

“Stupid cold weather. Cripples don’t do well in the cold.” He grumbled, not meeting Wilson’s eyes.

“Alright well let’s get you off your feet. You're inside now, so the pain should lessen up soon, yeah?” Wilson tried to encourage.

Wilson knew the cold bothered him, but House had never really been clear to what extent. He weighed his options now, agreeing that he would soon feel better and spend the rest of the evening trying to hide his pain or admitting that the cold made things worse than he’d let on. On the one hand he could keep a little bit of his dignity, but would likely end the evening fighting with Wilson over something stupid. On the other hand Wilson would enter full caring mode, and spend the evening doting on him, and that always gave him a weird feeling in the bit of his stomach.

“It… takes a while for my leg to warm up. Damaged blood vessels and nerves. I thought you were a doctor? Just, let me go to bed.” He grumbled, staring at the floor.

“Wouldn’t a hot bath help? Or at least a heating pad?” Wilson reached out to rub circles on his shoulder.

“No. Too much heat at once makes it worse, just let me go to bed, dammit!” He snapped, and it seemed that his honesty still resulted in a stupid fight.

Wilson said nothing, but supported his weight from the door to the bedroom. As soon as House was seated on the bed he turned and left. With a deep sigh House stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the blankets. He winced when he swung his right leg onto the mattress, pain shooting down into the rest of his leg. He closed his eyes, naming infectious diseases in alphabetical order in an attempt to distract himself to sleep. His leg was killing him and he had a pissed off boyfriend in the other room, sleep was truly his best option at this point.

He’s just starting to get through the B’s when the bed dips behind him.

Wilson has stripped down to his boxers as well, and is carrying what appears to be every blanket they own in his arms. He begins pulling them over the bed, over the lump of House’s body. Creating heavy layers that aren’t at all unpleasant.

“What are you doing?” House asked, trying to sound annoyed.

“Warming you up.” Wilson replied.

“Then why are you practically naked?”

Wilson just smiles, and as the last blanket is smoothed out over the bed he slides underneath them, curling his body around House’s. Wilson radiates warmth, and House can admit it’s nice, though it will be awhile before the heat sinks into his leg. He’s about to say as much when Wilson places one large, warm hand over the scar on his leg. The body temperature heat isn’t enough to aggravate the nerves, but is enough to soothe them. Wilson runs hotter than House, apparently just enough hotter that his body can provide a small amount of relief to his painful leg.

“How's that?” Wilson asked, breath tickling the hairs on the back of House’s neck.

“It’s fine. Weren’t you doing something when I got home?” House questioned, pretending not to enjoy having his boyfriend as his personal heater.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Nothing more important than this.”

House feels strangely choked up. He hates when Wilson does this to him. He shouldn’t be getting emotional over a cuddle session in bed, no matter how much it helps his pain. He opts to say nothing, but feels Wilson smile against his skin regardless.

“Go to sleep, House.”

The pressure of the blankets, the feeling of Wilson’s body against him, and the warmth of his hand radiating into his scarred thigh have his eyes feeling heavy. He slips into sleep with the sound of Wilson’s breathing as a lullaby.

#housethemd writes #house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #gregory house #house md fanfiction #hilson fanfic

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trickphotography2 · 9 months

Text

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 10

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 9 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 10

I’m late.

The thought jolted you awake. It was still dark as you reached for your phone to check the time, knocking over the bottle of Tylenol in the process. After confirming that you still had ten minutes until your alarm went off, you collapsed onto the pillows. The room spun behind your closed eyes as you removed the now-dry washcloth from your forehead and pressed a palm against your temple.

A low-grade headache had been plaguing you for the last few days, stubbornly not moving toward a migraine, so you couldn’t justify using your meds. As it was, you still had some nausea and had gotten sick at work the last two days. Thankfully, Jake was on mids - working from 4:00 PM until midnight since he was helping the Strike Fighter Weapons School Pacific with dog fight training - and hadn’t been on base to make you go home. Your team was reviewing contract bids for a new plane towing machine and needed all hands on deck. You just had to make it through today and tomorrow, and then you’d have a long weekend to relax. Jake could go to the 4th of July party that Phoenix was hosting - you would sleep.

When the world righted itself, you slowly sat up and breathed through a wave of nausea. The pills rattled as you shook out two tablets from the bottle and swallowed them with a sip of water, glancing at Jake sleeping beside you. For the first few nights he’d been on mids, you’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home. With his schedule, you passed one another in the house without having actual time together. A few hours of uncomfortable dozing was worth the minutes you talked until he sent you to bed and watched TV to wind down for a couple of hours before passing out. Since your headache started, you’d gone to bed right after work. Other than exchanging texts, you hadn’t had a chance to really talk to him all week.

Slipping out of bed, you took your phone and headed towards the bathroom, turning off your alarm. You waited until the door was closed to flick on the light, not wanting to wake Jake up. Bracing your elbows on your knees while peeing, you hung your head and breathed through your nose and out your mouth, wishing that you’d taken the time to run back to your apartment to get your nausea meds after work yesterday, but you’d been so exhausted.

The shower warmed as you brushed your teeth and tried not to gag. Deciding that you couldn’t handle the noisy blow dryer this morning, you tied back your hair and stepped under the hot water. Tilting your head back, you exhaled deeply as your muscles relaxed, keeping one hand on the wall when the heat made you lightheaded.

The bed was empty when you crept out of the bathroom dressed for work, and you heard the gurgling of the coffee pot. Following the noise, you found Jake leaning against the counter, ankles crossed while scrolling on his phone, boxers slung low on his hips. His eyes were red with exhaustion when they lifted to meet yours, a sleepy smile crossing his lips as he set the phone down. “Mornin’,” he rasped.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” he lied, opening his arms as you drew close. You pressed your cheek to his sleep-warm chest, sinking into his comforting embrace. “You feelin’ any better?” His accent always came out more when he was tired.

“Not really,” you shrugged. His hand swept the length of your back as he kissed the top of your head.

“You know, I learned something pretty interestin’ last night.” When you hummed, he chuckled. “Apparently, orgasms help with headaches.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he asked, pulling away to meet your gaze. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not exactly the first thing I think of when my head hurts. Besides, I have two perfectly good hands.”

“Your boyfriend also has two perfectly good hands. And a mouth. And a dick.”

“And a work schedule that isn’t exactly conducive to a sex life.”

“Darlin’, I’d happily give up an hour of sleep to help you feel better.”

“How generous of you,” you chuckled. He pressed his lips to your forehead before kissing you.

“You’re going to the doctor if you don’t feel better tomorrow.”

“It’s just a headache.”

“They shouldn’t last a week.”

“Whatever, Dad,” you huffed. Jake lightly swatted your ass, a teasing smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Careful, baby - I might just start likin’ you calling me Daddy.” He kissed you again, lips a soft counterpoint to his rough stubble, before guiding your head back onto his shoulder. “Take the day off.”

“I can’t. We’re almost done with the first run through the bids.” When a wave of nausea hit, you turned to press your forehead to his collarbone, fingers digging into his back as you breathed through it.

“Darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you said once it passed. Smiling weakly, you pulled away. “You should go back to bed.”

“Any chance you can join me? For medical reasons,” he added, brushing the hair from your face.

“I’m gonna be late.”

“Fine. But I’m serious - you’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Groaning, his head fell back against the cabinets as you stepped out of his arms and got your coffee ready.

The morning passed in a blur of documents as the team sat in the conference room. Cruz had picked up a box of donuts, and you’d nibble on a plain one while sipping your coffee. During a bathroom break, you’d grabbed another sports drink from the hanger break room, tossed two dollars into the jar, and added the ninth tally mark by your name. But as it got closer to lunchtime, half of the donut sat heavily in your stomach, and most of the coffee sat in front of you.

“I’m heading to the food court if you want to join,” Cruz offered, pushing away from the conference table.

“I’m in,” Woolsey agreed, as did Armitage and Gale.

“I’m good,” you said. Lunch didn’t sound appealing, but a power nap in the car did. Once you’d tossed the donut and grabbed your thermos, you headed to your office to grab your keys. When you bent to retrieve your purse from the desk drawer, another wave of nausea hit. Groaning, you sat in your chair, dropping your head into your hands. Sweat dotted your brow as your ears started to ring.

You stared, trying to figure out where you were and why you were looking at the ceiling tiles. Turning your head, you saw the bottom of a desk and realized you were on the office floor. Your ears rang louder, and you widened your eyes as the room spun. Your hand shook when you held it in front of your face. From the corner of your eye, you saw feet approaching and looked up to see Armitage’s shocked face. Her mouth moved, and you frowned. She crouched and pushed against your shoulder when you tried to sit up. “What happened?” you asked, sinking back onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ, are you alright?”

“I…I think I fainted.”

“Shit.” She turned to look out the office door but whipped around when you gagged. Pushing onto your elbow, you reached for the trashcan and vomited. “Damn it. Are you okay?” Draping your arm over the rim of the trashcan and resting your head on your forearm, you breathed through your mouth, trying to keep from fainting again. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” She was right. Your left foot had a deep scratch, and blood was dripping into your shoe - you’d caught it on your desk drawer. “Fuck.”

“You need to go to the hospital. I can drive you.”

“No, I’m fine. I… I can go myself.”

“You can’t drive.” You groaned, knowing that she was right. But the idea of having your coworker take you to a hospital - and it would have to be off base - was too humiliating. You knew what you had to do. Armitage helped you into your chair, which had rolled across your office and hit the wall, before grabbing your phone.

“Hey, darlin’. You on lunch?”

“Can you come to get me?”

The Navy spent a lot of money training their pilots to be calm under pressure, which was the only way Hangman was able to drive to the Bounty Hunter hanger, and then across town to a civilian hospital. After escorting you into the ER and getting you settled into a chair with the paperwork, he parked the truck and hurried back inside.

Other than when you stepped into the restroom, Jake never left you, keeping his arm draped over your shoulders. Tucked against his side, you kept your eyes closed as you told him what happened, his lips grazing your temple. Thankfully, your foot stopped bleeding as you waited the hour to go back to an exam room. You could tell he wasn’t happy they sent a medical student to take your history. Jake stood to the side, arms crossed and eyes following every movement.

“Your paperwork says you’ve had a headache for a few days. Is that common?”

“No. I have migraines, but they’re usually gone in a day or two.”

“Any stressors?”

“Other than work, not really.” He nodded again.

“Do you know what usually triggers your migraines?”

“Stress or my period.”

“Is your menstrual cycle normal?”

“Pretty much,” you shrugged.

“And you said your last period was about a month ago?” You nodded. “The paperwork says that you were sitting before you fell. Were you sitting for a long time?”

“Kind of. But I’d walked to my office.”

“When you fainted, did you hit your head?” You nodded. “Did you vomit afterward?” Nod. “Do you know how long you were unconscious?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He left after cleaning and bandaging your foot, and a few minutes later, you had your blood drawn and was hooked up for an EKG. Jake stepped out to call his CO and tell him he wouldn’t be at work that night, then slid his hand into yours as you closed your eyes and tried to stay calm. When the tests were done, you curled up on the bed and dozed with your head on his shoulder.

Around 3:00 PM, the doctor finally came into the room with the med student and shook both of your hands before settling on the stool and tapping on her tablet. “So your labs look good. You’re a little dehydrated, but I’m not seeing any issues with your heart. I did want to ask a couple of follow-up questions. Have you had any sharp pain recently in your stomach, pelvis, or shoulder?”

“No,” you frowned.

“The lightheadedness - has it been consistent or just the one time?”

“I’ve felt a little light-headed off and on, but it goes away in a minute or so.”

“Any irregular bleeding?” You shook your head. “Great. So it looks as though you experienced vasovagal syncope, which is when your blood pressure has a sudden drop. You mentioned that your periods trigger your headaches, and hormone fluctuations can trigger one.”

“So she’s okay?” Jake asked, squeezing your hand. The doctor smiled at him.

“Yes, she’s okay. I wanted to discuss some of the symptoms you were experiencing before the syncope. You mentioned being nauseous - was that just before the syncope?”

“No, it’s been a couple of days.”

“Have you vomited?” Nod. “Have you been keeping food down?”

“Not really. I’ve mostly been eating crackers the last couple of days.” You pointedly ignored the look Jake gave you.

“Have you been more fatigued recently?” Brow furrowed, you nodded again. “How about any other physical symptoms?”

“Like?”

“Any tenderness in your breasts?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jake answered, clearly thinking about how he’d brushed your nipples in the shower over the weekend and you’d threatened to punch him in the throat. You blushed. The med student snorted. The doctor met your gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“The labs show that your HCG levels are elevated, which probably triggered the vasovagal syncope.” Her eyes darted between you and Jake before she added, “HCG is what we look for to confirm a pregnancy.”

The word echoed through the exam room. You froze, feeling Jake’s hand flex around yours. “P-pregnancy?” you stuttered.

“Yes,” the doctor looked between your stunned faces. “I would recommend setting up an appointment with your OB in the next couple of days to see how far along you are and to monitor your morning sickness. Right now, it’s unclear if your nausea is because of your headache or hyperemesis gravidarum, which is severe morning sickness. I’m a bit concerned about you being dehydrated, so make sure you’re taking in as much fluid as possible - water, sports drinks, soup, popsicles, whatever you can keep down. For food, go with the BRAT diet - bread, rice, applesauce, and toast. And I want you to try and eat a couple of small meals throughout the day. You want high carbs and protein with low fat.”

“I’m going to write you a prescription for something to help with the nausea. For the headache, again, hydrate and eat. You can take acetaminophen as needed. I want you to return to the ED or urgent care if you still can’t keep anything down, if you faint again, or if you feel any pain in your abdomen or shoulder. And make sure that you take your time when standing up - your blood volume increases during pregnancy, and your pressure can drop. Compression socks can help. Do you have any questions?”

“I’m pregnant?”

Her smile was soft when she nodded, “You’re pregnant.”

“Darlin’, you awake?” Jake asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. Your seat was tilted back, eyes closed behind sunglasses against the setting sun. It would be so easy to pretend you were sleeping, but you held out your hand and felt his palm slide against yours before the soft brush of his lips against your knuckles. “You feeling okay?”

“My head still hurts, I’m nauseous and exhausted, but other than that, I’m okay.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

“It hasn’t been - this isn’t the first time I’ve had a headache last this long. I’ve only been dizzy a couple of times.”

“That’s a couple of times too many.” When you tried to pull your hand away, he tightened his grip. “I’m gonna get you settled at home, then go to the store and pick up some stuff. You need to eat.” The thought of food turned your stomach, and you rolled your lips together, focusing on your breathing. He momentarily let go of your hand, and the air conditioner blasted, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. “Tell me if I need to pull over.”

Thankfully, you made it back to the house. When Jake stopped to let the garage open, you threw open the door and rushed inside as he parked, barely making it to the guest bathroom to vomit bile. A minute later, he set a glass on the counter, pulled your hair away from your face, and rubbed soothing circles on your back. “I thought morning sickness was only in the morning,” you groaned.

“Well, you’re an overachiever.” You let out a watery chuckle, sitting back on your heels and blowing your nose. He handed you the glass of water before leaning against the doorframe. Your hand shook when he pulled you to your feet, and his lips pressed into a thin line. As soon as you rinsed your mouth and washed the tears from your face, he lifted you off your feet and carried you into the bedroom. He left after setting you on the bed and telling you to get comfortable.

Sighing, you stripped off your shirt and slacks and pulled one of his t-shirts from the dresser before retreating to the bathroom to brush your teeth and remove your makeup. He returned as you slipped under the covers, handing you an ice pack and setting one of his sports drinks on your bedside table. Carefully, he sat beside you, planting a hand on the bed by your hip as you placed the ice pack on the back of your neck. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not right now,” you sighed, blinking back tears. “I think I’m still in shock.”

“You and me both, darlin’. So much for it just being a headache.” Jake’s smile was soft, contradicting the tension in his shoulders, as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m gonna go to the store. You want anything in particular?” When you shook your head, he left.

Once you heard the rumble of the garage close, you turned onto your side and hugged your pillow. You and Jake had talked about kids before but hadn’t had strong feelings either way. When picturing your future, you thought about vacations and career advancement. You could see a kid or two, but that wasn’t the first thing you thought of. It wasn’t like your friends who always identified being a parent as something they had to have in their future.

You’d decided to wait until after getting married to make the final decision. But it seemed like the universe was going to make you choose early.

The first tears fell as you slid your hand under Jake’s shirt and cradled your stomach.

Jake walked around the grocery store in a daze, tossing items into the cart.

Pregnant. You were pregnant. With his kid.

He'd been scared when you called him to say you needed to go to the hospital. Not only because you were hurt but because he couldn’t take you to the nearest hospital - the one on base - but had to go to a civilian one. He’d already been mentally crafting his argument to push up getting married when the doctor dropped the bombshell.

Pregnant.

That word terrified him. He’d never pictured himself as a dad, even when his ex tried to convince him to have a kid. Jake knew he wouldn’t be a good one, especially if they had a boy, not with how he’d been raised. He didn’t want a kid to grow up hating him for doing a shitty job.

But he couldn’t deny that his heart leapt when the doctor said you were having his child.

Something soft crushed under his shoe. Jake stopped and stepped back, lifting his foot to see a small elephant stuffed animal with a pacifier attached to its trunk. Slowly, he scooped it off the floor while looking around the aisle to see if someone had dropped it. He spotted a guy in NWU camo pushing a cart with a car seat, turning left in front of him. After grabbing a jar of applesauce, he followed, speeding along the aisles to catch sight of him again.

Of course, he caught up with him on the aisle with all the baby stuff. “Hey, excuse me. Is this yours?” The man tossed a package of diapers in the cart before looking at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh shit. Yeah, thanks, man,” he replied, closing the few steps to take it. “My wife would kill me if I came home without Wubbie - bedtime’s hard enough without his paci.” Jake fought the urge to raise an eyebrow but nodded.

“No problem.” He glanced at the car seat and saw that the baby was wearing the man’s service hat and felt his lips twitch into a smile. With a nod, he pushed the cart away, unable to stop looking at the shelves as he walked. There were so many different types of diapers and wipes. And it was all expensive. His steps faltered, and he grimaced when he saw a straw-looking thing for literally sucking boogers out of a baby’s nose.

“That thing is disgusting but a lifesaver,” the guy said, coming up behind Jake and seeing what he was looking at. He grabbed a bottle of baby lotion and tossed it into the cart. “You having your first kid?”

“Uh,” Jake said, “yeah, I guess I am. How’d you know?”

“You’ve got that freaked-out new dad look,” he chuckled, then glanced at Jake’s cart. “Plus, you’ve got a shit ton of stuff for morning sickness. My wife swore by these ginger candies they’ve got over in the pharmacy area.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab some.”

“Congrats, man. You’re in for a fun time. And thanks again for the pacifier.” Jake stood there for a long moment before heading to the pharmacy.

What he needed more than anything right now was to talk to someone and get his head on straight before going into the conversation with you. Having kids was supposed to be something you discussed in a couple of years, but not now. Not when he didn’t have time to really think about what it would mean to be a dad. His whole adult life had been focused on becoming the best naval aviator. Now that he’d accomplished that, he had time to breathe, enjoy being in a relationship, and get promoted to Lieutenant Commander. A baby would complicate that.

Not that he didn’t like kids. Some other officers had them, and he liked them in theory. They were cute, and he knew any child the two of you made would be adorable. But they were a lot of work. And he didn't know how to be a father. His example growing up was everything that he didn’t want. Jake knew he could focus too much on his career and what he wanted to do, which was, unfortunately, similar to his dad. He could be mean and lose his temper when annoyed.

As much as he wanted to call Coyote and talk about how much he was freaking out, he couldn’t. His best friend would tell him what he wanted to hear, but Jake wasn’t sure what that was. He needed someone who would give him an honest opinion without considering his feelings.

And, thankfully, he had just the person for that.

The phone rang as he stopped in his driveway. Rather than reach for the remote to open the garage, he waited.

“Hangman.”

“Am I going to be a shitty father?” The words were out before he could stop them.

There was silence for a long moment before Rooster groaned. “Jesus, Hangman. At least tell me that you knocked up your girlfriend and not - ”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jake snapped. “This was a dumb fuckin’ idea. Don’t tell anyone - ”

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry,” Rooster said quickly. “Don’t know why you didn’t call Coyote for this.”

“Because he’s gonna tell me what I wanna hear. I need to know what the truth is.”

“And I’m the guy to do that? The one in the squad who grew up without their dad and has Mav as a pseudo-parent?”

“The only thing you’ve never hesitated on is calling me on shit, Rooster.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Exactly. So am I gonna be a shitty dad?” Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as the silence dragged on.

“You’re dangerous in the air, but when your team needs you, you’re there. You get the job done.”

He cleared his throat, “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.” Rooster sighed, “The fact that you’re worried about this means you’re not gonna be a shitty dad, Jake.” Hot tears sprang to his eyes as he let his head fall back, and he quickly brushed away the few that fell. After a long moment, Rooster cleared his throat. “So when’s she due?”

“No idea. Just found out a couple of hours ago.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” The silence stretched again. “Thanks for… that. And could you not tell anyone about this? We’re…”

“Yeah, no, of course. And…uh… congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” When the call disconnected, Jake folded his arms over the steering wheel and rested his head on his forearms. There was a tiny flicker of hope in his chest that he wouldn't be the worst father if one of his strongest critics believed in him. Hell, he was pretty sure all he needed to do was do the opposite of everything his own did. Sighing, he hit the garage opener and pulled the truck in before grabbing the bags from the backseat.

When he opened the door, he saw you standing in the kitchen, sipping a glass of water. You looked pale as the corners of your lips lifted in a tired smile. “Hi.”

“Hey, darlin’. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I was, for a little while.”

“Were you sick again?”

“Almost. How about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m not the one who ended up in the hospital today,” he replied, setting the bags on the counter and starting to unpack them, his back to you. Sighing, you set the glass down and crossed the kitchen to wrap your arms around him, head resting between his shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” `

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Are you as freaked out as I am?” When he huffed, you moved to lean your back against the counter beside him. His eyes met yours. “I know we said we’d have the kid conversation in a couple of years, but what’s your gut telling you?”

Jake’s gaze drifted down your body to land on your stomach. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before answering. “I think we can do this.”

“I think we can, too,” you said. “But do we want to?”

“Do you?”

Your heart beat fast as you studied him, trying to figure out what his response would be. With a deep breath and tears stinging your eyes, you said, “I’m terrified but…kind of. You?”

Knowing that this moment would change everything, Jake swallowed hard and nodded.

Your gasp echoed in the kitchen as you clapped your hands to your mouth. A slow grin spread across his lips as he turned to face you, gently tugging your hands away to wipe the tears on your cheeks. “Darlin’, are we having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby,” you whispered.

Jake’s kiss was soft, interrupted by his laugh as he tugged you close. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the quick thumping of his heart against your palm. “You know,” he said, “this means we’re gonna have to renegotiate the contract.”

“Let’s focus on one life-changing thing at a time, please,” you groaned.

“‘M gonna put a pretty little somethin’ right here a hell of a lot sooner,” he grinned, lifting your left hand and tapping your ring finger.

“I hope you’ve been saving up, then.”

“I can probably scrape something together.”

Little did you know that Jake had an engagement ring tucked into the back of his closet.

He’d called your parents to ask for their blessing to marry you on the ship coming home from the uranium mission.

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Author's Note: The way I STRUGGLED with this chapter. Given the story synopsis, you know the ultimate decision, but a surprise pregnancy when you're in your 30s is a moment to pause and reflect on what you want. And with Jake's daddy issues, I think he would struggle with the idea of being a good parent. Hopefully Rooster was able to set him straight!

Read Chapter 11

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