#i didn’t make this and I don’t who did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gloomwitchwrites · 2 days

Note

You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.

Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.

Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”

You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.

Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.

“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.

Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.

“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.

Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.

It’s a…oh fuck.

“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.

The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?

“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.

No. No no no.

You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”

Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”

“I was drunk.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”

Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.

“I tried.”

That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.

You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”

This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”

It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.

Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”

You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”

He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”

“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.

This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”

“What?” you ask, flustered.

Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“John,” you snap.

Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.

“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.

Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.

“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”

“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.

“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”

You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.

But Price is quick.

With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.

“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.

Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”

Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.

You don’t want to admit it.

Not out loud. Not yet.

But you will be back.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.

You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”

Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.

This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.

“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”

“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”

Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.

Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.

“You remember anything you said to me last night?”

You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.

Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.

“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.

Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.

Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“What?” you breathe.

“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.

Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”

“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”

Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.

When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.

He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.

Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.

Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

“Both of you can fuck off.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Ghost.”

“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.

You frown. “Are you injured?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.

“You keep rubbing your neck.”

Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.

You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.

“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.

“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”

Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.

You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”

“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.

Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”

A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.

Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”

You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.

“You don’t know that.”

Ghost shrugs. “I do.”

His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.

“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.

“Do you remember?”

No. I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.

“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”

Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What the fuck is that?”

Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.

Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.

The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.

Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”

That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”

Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?

You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”

Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.

“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”

Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.

“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.

“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.

You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”

You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.

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pucksandpower · 1 day

Text

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

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oddinary4bts · 2 days

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Chasing Cars | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: a power outage, Jungkook being a menace as per always, getting stood up for Valentine's Day, falling on a patch of ice, alcohol, curses, peach, OC gets a little jealous, explicit content: teasing?, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, sex toy (vibrator), male and female masturbation, praising, cum play (don't be stupid), fingering

☆word count: 13.2k

☆a/n: this is like one of my fav chapters in this whole series, and also the one inspired by jungkook's iconic live with the candle and the white dress shirt and oof :') hope you enjoy it!! Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, February 14th

Sometimes, the universe aligns to create such a shitty day that you think your life is a joke. A cruel joke, and you’re just the sitcom character that people use to make themselves feel better.

Today has been one of those days. You woke up late, somehow not hearing your alarm, and got to your midterm so late you didn’t have time to finish. At least you were confident in the answers that you did write down, so you think there’s a chance you’ll still pass.

Then, you forgot your student ID, and the lady at the cafeteria refused to let you eat even though she’s seen you almost every day of the semester so far. Nabi offered you some of her salad, but you felt bad and barely ate.

Then the rain started – freezing rain at that – and you had to run to the other building for your genetics class, ending with your hair half frozen and the knowledge that you’re going to get sick by tomorrow.

Genetics class in and of itself is fine. Your stomach gurgling all through the class isn’t, and you’ve noticed people looking at you where you’re sitting, every time your stomach thinks it’s a whale and it needs to sing to its fellow mates.

During break, someone offers you a protein bar, and you take it with cheeks burning, thanking them profusely. Though you hate the taste of protein bars, and you struggle to finish it without puking on the desk. You power through, and then the class resumes, and you try to focus. It’s hard, and when you receive a text from Hoseok, you stop pretending that you’re listening.

[2:47 pm] Hobi: have u seen the weather outside? [2:47 pm] You: yeah it’s trash. I think I’m still half frozen [2:49 pm] Hobi: don’t have power at my place anymore [2:50 pm] Hobi: and it looks dangerous to drive

You know exactly what’s coming. It shouldn’t even come as a surprise – you don’t know why you agreed to meet up on Valentine’s Day. Yet, you’ve been looking forward to it all day, perhaps because it’s been so shit even hanging out with Hoseok on this day of celebration of love seemed better.

[2:50 pm] Hobi: any chance I can get a raincheck?

You want to bash your head on the desk, and of course, the professor chooses this exact moment to call you out for being on your phone. You flush a deep red, mumbling an apology as you put your phone face down on the desk. Everyone’s looking at you, and from where you’re sitting at the back of the class you can see that half the people aren’t even taking notes. You think they’re full of shit for glaring at you, but you can’t help the way you turn crimson, and Nabi stifles a laugh next to you.

“Shut up,” you whisper through gritted teeth, elbowing her in the ribs.

She shrugs innocently, and then her eyes slide back to the professor as he resumes the class. Not wanting to risk it, you focus too, and it seems the shame is what you need to finally concentrate because you find yourself typing away on the computer, describing the pictures in the PowerPoint slides so you can understand them later.

The lights go out five minutes before the end of the class. The projector shuts down in time, a clear indication that the college has run out of power too – something that rarely ever happens unless it’s the end of the world outside.

There’s a series of gasps, and the professor looks so jaded at the front of the class that you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made of the actual precious stone. He looks towards the door, where you can see that the light has also gone out in the hallway.

Without even a glance at the class, he slams his laptop shut, heaving out a sigh.

“Class dismissed for today, we don’t have enough time left to wait for the power to come back on.”

It doesn’t even take half a second before everyone is starting to put their stuff away, the class suddenly overcome with a cacophony of sounds, and Nabi turns to you.

“Who were you texting during class?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up.” You put your laptop in your bag, chugging the rest of your water bottle before you stuff it next to the laptop. “Hobi cancelled on me.”

Of course the whole friend group now knows about you two. You have Hoseok to blame for that, and his incredibly good idea to have sex at a party last week, where Yoongi walked in on the two of you. You’ve never seen Yoongi look more uncomfortable before in your life and, to your surprise, he’s been teased about the situation a lot more than you or Hoseok. It’s still a relief because you were afraid the friend group would go to shit if people knew, but now it seems it’s only solidified it even more.

“Bruh,” Nabi lets out. “Why?”

You motion to the dead neon lights over your heads. “The weather. He doesn’t have power anymore.”

“Shit.” You finish packing your stuff and you’re walking out of the class when she continues, “That’s wild though, didn’t think the freezing rain would hit that bad.”

A girl in front of you turns as if summoned. “They’re saying it’s going to be the worst storm of the century.” She points her phone towards you and Nabi, screen first. “Look, tons of trees have already fallen.”

Your eyes widen, because indeed she’s showing a picture from a group chat, of a tree having fallen on someone’s poor car. You wince in time with Nabi.

“RIP to whoever’s car that is,” you answer.

The girl nods, a wistful expression taking over her features. “That would be my boyfriend’s.”

You don’t talk more after that, and she jogs to join her friends closer to the stairs. You take that as an opportunity to finally reply to Hoseok, grabbing your phone out of the pocket of your coat.

[3:59 pm] You: power even went out in college so yeah, np!

Hoseok is quicker to reply than you’ve expected, saying that he’d like to meet up some time this weekend if you can. You don’t promise him anything, though you don’t really have plans as of right now.

You’ve just got a feeling that, if the storm is going to be the storm of the century, you won’t be hanging out for at least a few days. And the moment you step outside, you realize that it might even take more than a few days.

Trees have fallen everywhere. The sidewalk is entirely iced, and just by the time you’ve made it to the bus stop in front of the building, you’ve seen a car accident, both cars unable to stop at a stop sign. You figure taking the bus would be dangerous right now, and you settle on aiming for the pedestrian trail that leads to a park near your apartment, while Nabi parts to head towards the dorm, where apparently the power is still on. She tells you to let her know if you have power at home, and then you turn to head towards home, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

At least it’s not raining heavily as you walk. It’s the only positive thing in your day, and you hold onto your phone, sending a text to Taehyung to inform him of the situation.

You’re two minutes from home when you slip on a slab of ice, and you fall in a puddle of mud that stains your pale pants. You don’t even know how there can be mud when everything else is frozen, but of course, you had to fall in it. You assess yourself for a second, making sure nothing hurts too bad and then you mutter, “Of fucking course.”

You don’t even feel like getting up. If it wasn’t for the fact that the mud in which you’re sitting is freezing, you think you’d sit there until you died. You feel drained, and the weight of the day finally hits you head-on, bringing tears to your eyes.

Or maybe it’s just the embarrassment of walking home with your favourite pair of pants ruined. You don’t even know anymore; too much has happened in just a few hours for your brain to accept to be working anymore. You angrily blink the tears away, knowing you’ll break down the second you step inside your own home.

You can only hope that Jungkook is not going to be there. You hold onto that hope as you get to the building, and when you see the lights are out, the tears win against you. You carefully walk up the stairs – even they are covered in a thick sheet of ice – and surprisingly, you make it to the top unscathed.

You try to unlock the door with shaky fingers, struggling to find the hole through the blurriness of your tears, and you almost consider breaking the door down when it suddenly swings open in front of you.

“Peach?”

You’re aware that you’ve got fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re aware that you probably look a mess – you are a mess – but all you can do is stare at Jungkook.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern as he steps aside to let you in.

You put your bag down, shrugging as he shuts the door behind him carefully, eyeing you as if you’re a specimen of a rare animal that’s going to run if he startles it. You refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to speak lest you embarrass yourself with crying even more. All you do is angrily wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Hey,” he says, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

You motion around. “What’s wrong?” You scoff, and out of spite, you force down the wave of tears that is threatening to meet the ones you’ve just dried on your cheeks. “Everything is fucking wrong.”

You glance at Jungkook, and he’s just watching, eyes widened. He seems startled by your outburst, and you think you see him gulp.

“Do you…” he trails off, glancing at the door. You only then realize that he’s clad in his winter coat, and he was probably on his way out when you arrived. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head no, hating yourself for the way your bottom lip trembles.

His hand is still on your shoulder, and it slowly slides to your arm. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asks.

He’s only then realized that you’re half-covered in mud.

“I fell on a patch of ice,” you answer.

He makes you turn, assessing the damage. “If you soak your pants in water, I can get the stain out.”

“There’s no power.”

He turns you back around, offering you a small smile as he cocks an eyebrow arrogantly. “Astute.”

You want to punch him so bad, but what you do is laugh, which makes you think you’ve gone crazy.

“Water still runs, though,” he points out. “I’ll take care of it when the power comes back on. Doesn’t even need to be warm. You can save what’s left of the hot water for a shower if you want?”

He says it like a question, and you shrug your shoulders. A new tear rolls on your cheek, and to your surprise, Jungkook dries it with his thumb. He then points to your shoes.

“Take these off. You’re going to take a shower before the neighbours steal the water.”

“I don’t…” you trail off, as he’s just staring at you as if what you were going to say was going to be the stupidest shit he’s ever heard. As much as you want to hate him right now, the way his hand feels on your arm is making the anxiety lessen, until you realize that it’s going to be okay.

You can head to Ria and Nabi’s dorm right after a quick shower.

“M’kay,” you finally accept. “But you can go, you don’t have to stay.”

He shrugs, and when he lets go of your arm, you almost want to grab his hand and put it back there. “I was just going to charge my phone in my car. It can wait.”

You hold his gaze, feeling swallowed by his big doe eyes. It finishes drying the tears on your waterline, and you take a deep steadying breath. “M’kay,” you repeat.

At that he smirks, nodding his head once. He kicks off his shoes as you carefully take yours off, and then he makes grabby hands at you.

“What?” you ask.

“Your coat,” he answers. “I’ll put it in the closet for you.”

You slightly frown. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be nice?” When you remain silent, he chuckles. “You think I’m just going to let my best friend’s sister cry when she gets home?”

The words hurt, even though they’re just a statement of what you are to him. “You’re so random.”

He looks somehow offended. “Just give me your coat, peach.” He’s stern, and you have half a thought to mimic him, but you resist. When you hand him the coat, he offers you a grin. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Once again you surprise yourself by laughing, and the grin on his lips softens in a way that makes you warm inside.

“You’re annoying,” you whine.

He shrugs as he opens the closet. “Just go take a quick shower. Make sure to soak the pants too.”

“Yes, mom.”

He chokes on a snort. “Oof, no, don’t call me mom.”

You stifle a laugh, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. He faces you again, and you startle as he pinches your cheek. You push him off, as all he does is offer you a wide grin that makes dimples appear on his cheeks.

You’ve never really seen those dimples before, not while he’s smiling. You have to force yourself to look away, and as entrancing as they are, you manage to have your gaze drop to a random spot on the floor. “Alright then, I’ll grab my stuff. You can charge your phone while I’m in the shower.”

“All good, I’m at 65%,” he says. “I just checked online, and the power outage will likely last through the night so… figured I didn’t have anything better to do.”

You purse your lips. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence before he motions to the bathroom. “Aren’t you going?”

Your cheeks burn, and you nod once before heading towards your room as he snorts behind you, evidently laughing at you. You ignore him, quickly grabbing a change of clothes and bringing them to the bathroom. Jungkook’s moved to the couch, and to your surprise you see him with a book in hand.

“You read?”

The question is out before you realize, and Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction.

“It’s for a class.”

You nod once. “Right.” You then scrape your throat, glance at the bathroom and then settle your eyes on him again. “I’ll be right back.”

He smiles at you, and it’s the last thing you see before you walk into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you. Luckily enough, it’s still light enough outside for you to be able to shower without being in the dark, and as Jungkook advertised, there’s still hot water.

You take the fastest shower of your life, not wanting to risk running out of hot water, and then you put your dirty pants in the sink, soaking them in cold water. You put your clean clothes on – nothing impressive, just a pair of black sweatpants with a white t-shirt. You take one look at yourself in the mirror – you look like you’ve gone through hell, but at least you’re refreshed.

With a steadying breath, you walk out of the bathroom, and your eyes immediately find Jungkook where he’s still sitting on the couch, looking like he hasn’t moved an inch. He glances at you before resuming his attention on his book. You feel awkward, yet you still walk in his direction because, frankly, what else is there for you to do when there’s no power?

“What’s the book about?” you enquire.

He raises it for you to see as you sit next to him. He moves too fast, and all you can see is something about trickle-down economy before the book is back in his lap.

“Looks boring.”

He laughs. “It is. Plus, trickle-down economics is bullshit.”

You nod wisely, even though your knowledge in the economy and business field is little to zero. All you know is that trickle-down economics is what rich people use to defend their actions, which immediately makes it so you don’t trust it one bit.

Eat the rich and all that.

“Right,” you let out.

Jungkook throws you a glance. “Feeling better?”

You don’t know how to answer. Because, yes, you feel somehow better now that you are clean and warmed from the shower, but you’re still very aware that the power is out, you’ve likely failed a midterm, and your date was cancelled.

“Sort of,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders. “Today was just a shitshow.”

He says nothing, but his big eyes on you entice you to open up to him, making you feel more at ease than you’ve ever been around him.

Maybe because you just need someone to vent to after all.

“Like… I woke up late this morning,” you tell him. “Arrived so late to my midterm that I couldn’t finish. Then realized that I forgot my wallet here and couldn’t eat lunch. Got stood up for a date tonight, and now no power here? This day has been the worst.”

You sit back on the couch after you’ve finished your tirade, and Jungkook just looks at you curiously. You don’t register you’ve called hanging out with Hoseok a date until Jungkook says, “You had a Valentine’s Day date?”

You shut your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale loudly. “Sort of. Not really a date.”

“How can it not really be a date?”

You entirely miss the teasing in his voice, mostly because you’re appalled at yourself for the slipping. “It’s just… my friend with benefits, so not a date.”

“Damn, peach,” he says, and he bursts out laughing. You crack an eye open, your heart feeling like it’s been stabbed as Jungkook grins at you. “Didn’t think you were one to have a friend with benefits.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, and his gaze slides away from you as his brows furrow slightly. “You’re Tae’s sister, and the way he talks about you I just… I don’t know.”

Annoyance creeps into you as you cock an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t listen to what Taehyung says about me. He still thinks I’m twelve.”

Jungkook snorts, and to your surprise, it makes you smile, right as he glances at you.

“Are you not?”

“Yah!” You punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs as he massages the spot. “I’ll have you know I’m an adult.”

His features turn somber, and he plays with his piercing for a time before he answers. “I’m starting to realize it, trust me.”

In the somberness of his eyes, a spark ignites, and you feel as if electricity is running on every inch of your body. You wish it would run into the building instead, bringing the power back on but unfortunately, you’re the only victim, and all you can do is hold his gaze.

The moment stretches until you grow uncomfortable, and your eyes slide to the Switch under the TV, as if it’ll find solace there.

“Anyway,” you say, scraping your throat. “Apparently there’s still power at the dorms so I think I’ll head over there.”

“You’ll abandon me?” he says, faking offence. “Right when I offered to take care of your pants? The nerves on you.”

You roll your eyes as the awkwardness fades to be replaced by the annoyance Jungkook usually brings out of you. “You’re a big boy, you don’t need me.”

“You sure you want to walk all the way there though? What if you fall again?”

You push him as he smiles wickedly, satisfied that he’s annoyed you. “I hate you.”

“You know what you hate even more than me?”

Your brow creases in confusion. “What?”

He shrugs his shoulders, a smirk growing on his lips. “You’ll have to stay for me to answer.”

You sigh deeply, folding your arms on your chest. You gauge him, watch as his smirk only widens while you ponder staying here. And you don’t even know why you’re considering it in the first place. There’s just something about being able to talk to Jungkook like this, about being comfortable next to him that makes you want to stay.

“Name a single reason why I should stay,” you finally say.

His smirk turns victorious. “I’ll cook something for you.”

“The power is out,” you feel the need to remind him.

He throws you a no-bullshit look. “Really, peach, you need to find a bit of creativity in your life.”

“What?”

“The stove doesn’t run on electricity, it runs on gas.”

You look up at the ceiling. “How was I supposed to know that, I barely ever cook.”

“I cook!” he bursts, waving the book around. You didn’t realize he was still holding it, and you laugh as the pages flutter around. “And you usually steal my food, so just let me make something for you tonight.”

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze as he looks at you, faking annoyance. “What do you want to cook?”

“I have chicken that I need to cook tonight if I don’t want it to go bad,” he says. “I can make noodles with it.”

It takes you all but two seconds before you realize that there’s no way you’re going to leave when Jungkook is suggesting to cook for you. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” You nod, and Jungkook beams. “You won’t regret it.”

You laugh, slightly shaking your head as he puts the book away and gets up. He offers you his hand, the one with the tattoos on the back of it, and you furrow your brows. “What?”

“Go get changed,” he says, hand still extended between you. “I’ll give you a Valentine’s Day date, but you’re going to have to play the part too.”

Something stops in your chest – your heart, most likely – and you’re hit with the thought that this is a bad idea. That whatever Jungkook means by that is going to be the mistake of the century, yet you still find yourself accepting his extended hand.

He pulls you to your feet, and he doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, big doe eyes widening slightly as he looks at you.

“You…” you trail off, scraping your throat as you look away from his eyes.

It’s all you can do not to get lost in his gaze.

“I?” he presses, voice low.

“You should dress up too,” you mumble, cheeks burning. “So I’m not alone.”

He lets go of your hand, and your fingers twitch as it falls to your side. When his index finds your chin, you think your blood stops in your veins. He makes you tilt your head back, enough so that you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“I will.” His voice is grave, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to your lips once as they part. “I’m going to make this worth it. You deserve it after such a shit day, don’t you?”

You gulp. “Yeah?”

He pats your cheek. “Yeah, you do.”

And then he’s walking away. You’re left standing there, heart racing in your chest, feeling so warm you think you’re about to catch fire. You watch him disappear into his room, and it’s only when he’s out of sight that you manage to move, making your way to your own room.

You shut the door behind you, resting against it as you take deep breaths to calm down. You’re not sure if it’s doing you any good, because this is Jungkook. Jungkook, with his tattoo sleeve and piercings, your older brother’s best friend. Your roommate, the man that’s been playing with you for weeks, for months, like you’re just some playdough. You think he’s doing it on purpose. He has to – he’s trying to make your life miserable because you’re Taehyung’s sister. You don’t see what else it could be. Because why the fuck would Jungkook act like this with you?

You’re not stupid enough to believe it isn’t your fault. Because you were there the night of The Incident, and you reckon things have changed with Jungkook since that night.

You take a deep, steadying breath before pushing up from the door. No matter what it is that is making Jungkook act like this, you’re still curious to see what he’s preparing for you. Spending time with him like this, with no power and nothing else to do than talk…

Maybe it’s going to help you understand what’s happening in that thick skull of his. So you search for something to wear, something warm since the heating is also down. You settle on brown dress pants that you know make your ass look amazing, and you pair them with a pale beige wool turtleneck. You tuck the shirt in your pants, putting a belt on to make sure it stays in place, and then you take a good look at yourself in your standing mirror. Satisfied with your outfit, you make to move out of your room, but you stop with your hand halfway to the knob.

You can hear Jungkook humming in his room, a soft melody that’s making you think he’s taking a long time in there. Is he actually dressing up? It makes something terribly warm and soft settle in your chest, and you turn back around, grab your makeup pouch and head to your desk.

If this is a date, or whatever it is that Jungkook considers dates to be, you want to look good for it. So you put a little bit of makeup on, trusting your instinct to make it look great even though the light of your small mirror doesn’t turn on since there’s still no power. You hear Jungkook get out of his room before you’re done, and you hope he doesn’t decide to come here.

You doubt he would, but you somehow feel awkward as you’re getting ready. Because he’s your older brother’s best friend, because he’s a college fuckboy, because he’s been making you feel too many things lately – most of them you repress as if your life depends on it. And you think, your life does depend on it. Because nothing can happen between you and Jungkook; you wouldn’t do that to Taehyung. And mostly, you wouldn’t do that to Jungkook, because you know Taehyung would hate him if something did happen.

You sigh. It comes out shakily, a clear indication that you’re growing anxious, and you almost want to laugh at yourself. You want to tell yourself to get a grip, to just play along for things are bound to go back to normality when the power comes back.

You only stop feeling anxious when Taehyung texts you, your phone lighting up where you’ve put it down on your desk.

[5:02 pm] bröther👽: jk texted me the same thing! Glad u won’t be alone tonight [5:02 pm] You: he’s gonna cook dinner [5:03 pm] bröther👽: lmao, jk doesn’t cook for girls, feel lucky

With that you realize that, indeed, you should feel lucky. Because Jungkook can be a friend, if not anything else. It’s reassuring, and you finish getting ready feeling lighter than you’ve felt all day, as if the hell that today was is all forgotten.

You spray some perfume on the inside of your wrists, dabbing it on your neck before you finally declare yourself ready to head out of your room. You hope Jungkook won’t make fun of you – he’d be the kind of guy to make fun of you for this, you just know it – and you make your way to the kitchen, where you can hear him busying himself.

He’s brought his portable speaker out of his room. The one that also has a projector in it, and it shines northern lights on the walls and on the ceiling of the kitchen, giving it a cozy atmosphere. No music is playing as of right now, yet Jungkook is still humming, voice low yet melodious.

You rarely hear him sing, but anytime you do, you feel like your ears are blessed by an angel.

He reappears from where he was hidden in the fridge, and his mouth falls open as he catches sight of you.

He’s wearing a white dress shirt. You think it’s made of linen – it doesn’t look particularly fancy. Yet the way he’s rolled it on his forearms is weirdly attractive, even though he’s only wearing grey sweatpants with it. It’s a look, a look you think only he can pull off. He’s taken the time to style his hair back, and he’s put on earrings you’ve only seen him wear a couple of times during parties.

He eyes you up and down, his doe eyes crinkling in appreciation. “You look good, peach.”

The compliment makes you blush, and you offer him a small smile. He echoes it right away, and he holds up a bottle of rosé that you bought two months ago and forgot all about since then.

“Wine?” you let out as you stop in front of him. You feel awkward because, obviously, it’s wine, but you still hold his gaze as he nods.

“It’s yours but…” He shrugs, glancing at the label. “I figured it’d work well with the chicken.”

You nod once. “Sure, we can drink it.”

It makes him happy. You can see it in the way he beams, and then he puts it down on the counter with the rest of the ingredients. When he moves, you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you feel your cheeks burn again. You glance outside – the rain has stopped, but grey clouds are still looming in the sky as the world slowly darkens. You wonder if they’ll go away some time tonight – without the light pollution, you reckon you’d be able to stargaze.

You end up helping Jungkook with the cooking, chopping some vegetables as he takes care of the meat. You’re not particularly hungry, so you take your time, talking about everything and nothing. Jungkook is good at this, you realize. He’s good at changing your mind, at making sure it doesn’t wander back to your midterm and to the rest of your shitty day. He makes you laugh, cracking stupid jokes whenever you do something, smirking at you when you roll your eyes.

Being with him like this also makes you understand why he’s Taehyung’s friend. He feels more natural this way, less fuckboy-ish, and it’s a side of him you’ve never really seen before.

You sit at the kitchen table, sharing a glass of the rosé wine while the food simmers on the stove. Jungkook’s put on an indie music playlist before you started cooking – something you teased him about. Who knew Jeon Jungkook likes indie music?

“How was Tae before college?” Jungkook asks all of a sudden when there’s a lull in the conversation. “He barely talks about high school.”

You know the exact reason why, and her name is Youna. Taehyung’s ex, his high school sweetheart. The one that moved to the other side of the country without ever once looking back.

“He was an idiot,” you answer, and Jungkook laughs. “No, seriously. He dated the same girl all through high school. Was convinced he was going to marry her.”

“That sounds on brand with Tae,” Jungkook says, nodding his head wisely. “He said that about every girl he’s dated in college, but most of them don’t last more than a few weeks.”

You wince. “Remember Hailey from last semester?”

She lasted about three weeks, but she spent most of those at the apartment. It was the only three weeks where Jungkook and you had talked more than just small talk – or his usual teasing. Mostly because you kept complaining about her, and Jungkook kept saying you were cute when you were mad.

Come to think of it, it still was teasing.

“Fuck, her voice,” Jungkook lets out, shaking his head. “I’m sure she was faking having such a high voice. I don’t know how Taehyung could deal with that.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and Jungkook smiles as he watches you. “I swear to God, I was about to kick Tae out of the apartment,” you say. “I’m glad she didn’t last.”

“Agreed.”

There’s another silence as the song switches on Jungkook’s speaker. You take a sip of wine, appreciating the taste, and Jungkook gets up to check the food on the stove. He comes back a moment later, sitting back next to you.

You think he’s closer. He feels closer, and the smell of his cologne fills your nose again.

“You put on some cologne,” you state, and it startles you somehow. You weren’t expecting to say that and, clearly, Jungkook wasn’t expecting it either.

“Yeah.” He looks down at himself as if the cologne is visible on him. “Do you like it?”

You gulp. “Yeah, you smell good.”

He smirks, nodding his head. “You too, peach. I love the vanilla scent.”

You don’t know what to do with the compliment. You mutter a thank you before taking a large sip of wine, and Jungkook chuckles before following your lead.

“Do you think Tae and that girl in France will last?” you ask. “He still hasn’t told me who she is.”

Indeed, he’s remained evasive whenever you’ve asked. You stalked the people that are with him on the semester abroad, and you think two of the girls could be your brother’s type, but it’s hard to tell.

“Oh,” Jungkook lets out. He grabs his phone, resting his forearms on the table as he opens it. He goes on Instagram, and as it loads, he glances at you. “He’s told me. Let me show you.”

“What!” you exclaim. “How come he told you and not me?”

Jungkook chuckles. “No idea. But here.”

He shows you the girl’s profile, and you take his phone as you scroll through the pictures. To your surprise, she’s not one of the two girls you stalked. She looks shy, barely showing her face in her pictures, most of them being of nature anyway. Come to think of it, you do get a romantic vibe from her feed, and you reckon that would work well with Taehyung.

You’re about to give Jungkook his phone back when it vibrates in your hand, a notification appearing at the top.

[6:05 pm] Shelly 💦🍒: are u gonna be here soon?

It’s not your fault that you read it, and your gaze widens as you look up from the device. Jungkook hasn’t noticed, and he smiles at you, seemingly expectant.

“So?” he asks.

“You had a date tonight?”

His mouth falls open. He looks guilty, eyes widening and taking a sheepish expression. He remains silent, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he thinks of what to answer.

You don’t know how to feel. You feel bad for the girl – Shelly – who’s clearly waiting for Jungkook somewhere. You feel bad that he chose to stay with you because you were upset, but mostly you feel strange that he’s doing all of this for you when there’s someone waiting for him.

The emojis next to her name are enough of an explanation of what she is to Jungkook. Still, you feel increasingly uncomfortable, even more so as he says nothing.

“What the fuck, JK?”

“She’s no one,” he says when you get up. “Trust me, I’ve only hung out with her a couple of times.”

You laugh, and it’s somehow void of joy. “Why would I care?”

He looks at the glasses of wine, and then at the food on the stove. “I don’t know… because we’re…” He motions between you, and then at said glasses of wine and food. “I just forgot to tell her I wasn’t going to come over.”

It’s enough of a reminder that Jungkook, for all his current kindness, is a renowned college fuckboy. It reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him fuck – was Shelly one of the girls? You feel disgusted, and you walk out of the kitchen, not wanting to look at Jungkook right now.

“Peach,” he says as he follows you out in the darkness of the living room.

The living room is also strangely cold, and you shiver as you turn towards him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “But why are you even reacting like this?”

You scoff. “I don’t know, Jungkook, you tell me.”

You can’t see his expression. But when he takes a step closer to you, you feel the heat of his body radiating in the space between you.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, and you hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” you say, and you scoff again. “I’m weirded out.”

“Because I was going to fuck someone tonight?” It’s his turn to scoff when you remain silent. “Weren’t you going to fuck that dude? Hoseok?”

You don’t know how he remembers Hoseok’s name, but he’s got a point. You wet your lips, tongue poking your cheek next. “Right.”

“Come on, peach, just come back in the kitchen,” he says. He grabs your hand, and your breath gets caught in your throat as he escorts you back to the chair where you were sitting. You begrudgingly follow, and when you’re seated he towers over you.

You tilt your head back. “What?”

He flicks your nose, and you dodge a second too late. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble. “I wasn’t jealous I was just weirded out.”

He smiles at you wickedly. “Of course, peach. Of course.”

He sounds so cocky you want to hate him, but all you can do is glare at the table. He pushes your wine glass towards you as he sits back next to you and you wordlessly take it to chug it.

“Now that that’s done,” he says once you’ve put it back on the table, “what do you think of Tae’s girl?”

You had all but forgotten why you were holding Jungkook’s phone in the first place. You recall her Instagram to the forefront of your mind, pursing your lips.

“She looks chill,” you answer.

Jungkook pouts. “Just that?”

You shrug. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Well,” Jungkook starts. “For one I can’t believe she’s Tae’s type. She looks nothing like the girls he dated here. Like just think about Hailey?”

You just nod, because in truth you fully agree with him.

“Her Instagram is a vibe though,” Jungkook continues. “Tae is big on vibes so… maybe it works?”

You nod once more, tilting your head to the side as you really think about it. Because frankly you’d like for Taehyung to find someone that lasts. As much as you know he’s been having fun in college, you know his happiness usually lies in a healthy relationship like the one he had with his ex.

“Hopefully it does,” you finally say. “Tae deserves it.”

Jungkook looks at you, somber expression on his features as he plays with his piercing. It makes your heart cease in your chest, and you busy yourself with refilling the wine glasses as he remains silent.

“He does,” Jungkook eventually replies. “He actually really does.”

He sounds so serious you throw him a questioning glance. “Yeah?”

He blinks once, as if stepping out of a daze before flashing his infuriating smirk at you again. “Definitely.”

There’s an awkward silence, and you watch as he takes a sip of wine before getting up to check on the food. He deems it ready, and makes two bowls, one for you and one for him. He sets yours in front of you, a proud smile on his lips.

“Smells good,” you compliment him as he sits.

He winks at you. “Wait till you taste.”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, and you take a tentative bite, holding his gaze as he expectantly waits.

“Shit,” you let out, and you fan your mouth with your hand. “Why is it so spicy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re like your brother and can’t stand spicy food,” he complains as you take a long sip of wine.

You put your wine glass back down, wincing as it clinks against the bowl. It fortunately doesn’t break, and you push it away from the dish as you chuckle. “What’s wrong with not liking spicy food?”

He pouts. “You guys are so weak.”

You fake-glare at him. “This shit is so spicy it would wake the dead.”

He snorts, stifling his laugh until you meet his gaze and you burst out laughing at the same time. You think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him guffaw like this. His laugh is contagious, pretty, and you’re convinced it can have healing effects.

You’re convinced it has healing effects. Indeed, in that instant, you finally really forget about the day, the heaviness it left behind dwindling into nothingness. It’s replaced with happiness, and chatter with Jungkook becomes easier, more natural.

You realize he smiles a lot. You make him laugh a lot too, and whenever he does you feel your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t like the feeling, know it’s a mistake, but with the wine, all you can do is try to make him laugh some more, and smile whenever he does.

You’re on your first beer after finishing the wine – and the overly spicy food, which Jungkook congratulated you profusely for finishing. You’ve talked about every subject that’s come to your mind so far, none feeling taboo with Jungkook. He eventually tells you about Shelly – she is indeed one of the girls you’ve heard him sleep with – and you laugh as he admits he’s really happy he didn’t have to see her tonight.

You can’t help but snort. “Jeon Jungkook, saying no to sex? I’ve heard everything.”

“Bruh.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Is your opinion of me so low you think sex is the most important thing to me?”

His eyes are gleaming with mischief in the light of his speaker, which will apparently run out of battery soon. You both don’t care, and you’ve lit a candle in case it does die. Its sweet fragrance has been chasing the smell of the food away, and it’s been giving the kitchen a homey vibe, even as it’s growing chilly.

“Is it not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at you. “Not at all.”

You throw him a no-bullshit look that makes him frown cutely.

“How long can you go without having sex?” you ask him, holding in a laugh.

He narrows his doe eyes at you. “At least a few weeks.”

“A few weeks? That’s nothing!”

“Yah,” he bursts, and he laughs as you snort. “Peach, just because I have casual sex doesn’t mean I can’t stop if I want to.”

“Then stop,” you challenge him.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Give me one reason why I should.”

“To prove a point?”

His eyes narrow further, but if you’ve understood one thing about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he doesn’t step down from a challenge. No, as competitive as he is, you’re pretty sure he’ll do it.

“Peach,” he purrs, and it has something warm form in the pit of your stomach. “Is it really about me proving a point, or is it about you being jealous?”

You choke on the sip of beer you were taking, which only makes him laugh. You think it’s a little condescending, but you know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. You still punch him in the shoulder for it, unable to resist.

“Why would I be jealous?” you ask. “Hobi fucks me good.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes and his nose scrunches. He shakes his head once before looking at you again. “I didn’t want to know that.”

You smile as if you’ve never done anything wrong in your whole life. “Your loss.”

He laughs at that, gaze dropping to the table. Silence grows between you, but it’s comfortable, not like what silence with Hoseok feels like. With Hoseok you feel the need to speak whenever there’s a lull in the conversation but, right now, you’re content with just sitting back in your chair, sipping on your beer.

To your surprise, Jungkook starts singing over the song, gaze lost in his own glass of beer. His voice settles deep inside of you, resonating in your soul, and you just look at him, awe clouding your mind.

You’re not sure he’s realized he’s singing. Because when he meets your gaze, he lets out a small laugh. “Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You have a beautiful voice,” you whisper.

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but you’re pretty sure his cheeks have turned pink. “Nah.”

“No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I often hear you hum and… you sing really well.”

His nose scrunches up again. “Stop it.”

“Just take the compliment,” you say, laughing as he plays with his piercing.

You reckon it might be the first time in your life you’ve ever seen Jeon Jungkook shy. Because he clearly is, and he looks away from you, running his hand through his hair. It undoes the hairstyle, and a strand falls on his forehead.

You’ve never felt such a visceral need to brush your hand through someone’s hair before. You manage to resist, busying yourself with holding your beer instead.

“M’kay,” he lets out. “Thanks, peach.”

His voice is soft. Softer than the fur of a puppy, and it makes the warm thing in you grow. You gulp, wetting your lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance at your mouth, and he looks conflicted for half a second before he smirks again.

“We should have hung out like this before,” he declares.

“Yeah?” is all you can answer.

You feel yourself leaning in. You haven’t even realized how close you’re sitting to him until you’re leaning in. He does too. He leans forward, tilting his head to the side slightly. He looks surprised, even more so when one of your hands finds the back of his neck, pulling him closer until you’ve erased the distance between you.

You both didn’t close your eyes. And you both look startled from your lips touching, so much so that you let go of him, straightening away from him. He, on the other hand, hasn’t moved, and his gaze goes fully serious before he grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer to him again.

This time, when your mouths meet, you shut your eyes, sighing softly as he kisses you. His piercings press into your lower lip, and as his mouth moves against you, you feel the warm thing inside of you grow so big it bursts. It bursts the same way fireworks do – in an explosion of colours that leaves you waiting for more.

He doesn’t disappoint. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. His hand on your arm moves up until it rests on your shoulder before he decides better and moves it to the side of your neck. His thumb swipes at your jaw, gently, and it’s his turn to sigh in the kiss.

When his tongue darts out of his mouth, you meet it with your own. For a reason unknown, you expect it to make you both grow horny, but the kiss remains soft, slow like you have all of eternity stretched out in front of you.

Even though it’s languid, even though it’s soft, you grow dizzy, head spinning as you taste the beer in Jungkook’s mouth. As his hand moves to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You rest one hand on his chest, right above his heart, and you feel the organ racing under your fingers. It makes you grab a handful of fabric as if that will anchor you in the present.

As if that will make you forget that you’re kissing your brother’s best friend.

It does, though you reckon it might be the way Jungkook shifts in his chair, moving so that you can straddle him. And he pulls you in, softly, tugging on your arm until you let go of the shirt and drape it over his shoulder. You sit on him, legs on each side of him, your toes barely even touching the floor. Still, your mouths move in unison, his lips petal soft against yours.

Your other arm circles his neck too, until you’re holding him against you. His large hands land on your waist, gently, and his thumbs stroke you, barely even grazing you over the thick fabric of your wool turtleneck.

You don’t know how long you kiss. It just seems like you both don’t want to stop, like you both know the moment you stop will be a wake-up call, one you’d rather avoid while you get stuck in this bubble of eternity with him. The fireworks keep on shining bright, warm summer sun blooming in your heart as if this, this was always meant to be.

Oxygen is futile when you’re kissing Jeon Jungkook. Not needed, as if he breathes air into your lungs. You think he does, and you sigh once more as your hands get lost in the hair on the back of his head.

The next swipe of his tongue is sharper, carries more intent, and you both startle, finally parting from each other. Though you remain a hairsbreadth away, longing for his lips the moment your mouths aren’t connected anymore.

Immobile, you breathe in shakily, and you hear him do it too. He’s still stroking you, gently, and he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in. You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the clean laundry smell of his shirt, along with the scent of his cologne as you turn your face towards his neck.

The moment stretches some more, as you listen to the music. His grip around you loosens as you press a soft kiss on the mole you’ve discovered on his neck. He pushes you back, gently, until your back is against the table. Your gazes meet then, and you wonder if his eyes always shine like this. Do they always hold the light of the universe in them, or did you set fire to his gaze?

He gulps and his mouth falls open. His pupils fill with something you can’t quite put your finger on, yet it has clouds taking over the summer sun in your heart until the beating organ goes cold.

“Now you’ve had a fake Valentine’s Day kiss,” he murmurs, and the fireworks burst into a void that tastes like ash as you interpret his gaze.

He’s regretting this. It takes over all of his features, turning his big doe eyes into hearths of remorse. It finishes dousing the sun in your heart until the star goes to sleep, and all that’s left is the echoes of what once was.

“Fake?” is all you manage to let out.

He shuts his eyes, eyelids fluttering close softly. He looks like an angel repenting as he rests his forehead against yours, forcing your own eyes shut from the proximity.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he reminds you, reality sinking into his words.

You nod against him before pulling away. You try to get up, but his hands on your waist hold you in place.

“Let me go,” you whisper.

He does so, albeit reluctantly, arms falling to his sides in a defeated manner. You try to not let yourself think about it too much, try to forget what just happened as you stand up, moving away from him.

Without his body heat you shiver, and you hate yourself for the next words you say.

“We should share a room tonight. It’s going to be cold.”

His eyes shoot open as he turns his head towards you, surprise replacing the reality. As if he thought he ruined everything, and you think maybe he did. Maybe he did ruin everything, but you don’t even want to be thinking about it right now. You just want to go to sleep, to let the night pass.

Maybe the insanity will go with it.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.”

Jungkook slowly gets up, facing you. You gulp as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, hand going to your chin again. He leans in, forcing you to tilt your head back until his lips find yours again.

It lasts a fraction of a second, yet it leaves you scrambling for breath as he takes a step back. He nods as you meet his gaze, an eyebrow cocked in question.

“We can sleep in your room,” he says. “It’s smaller, it’s going to be easier to keep it warm.”

Right as he finishes his sentence the battery of his speaker dies, and silence surrounds you as the northern lights go to sleep. The light flickers in time with the flame of the candle, and you glance at it.

“Sounds good,” you agree, and you wet your lips as you look at him again. His big doe eyes still shine even with just the candlelight, and you wish the world was different. Wish that he wasn’t Tae’s friend, that you could just grab him and have him kiss you stupid again. But he’s right. You shouldn’t be doing this.

Sharing a bed is only practical. Only because it’s cold, and you have to survive the night. A voice at the very back of your mind tells you that you could head over to the dorms, but you don’t want to.

You want to remain here, in this instant outside of the linear timeline of your life.

“Maybe you should get your bed covers?” you suggest. “So we don’t get cold.”

He smiles, so far from his usual smirk and grin that you feel a pang in your chest. “Yeah. Yes, that’s a good idea.”

All of five minutes later, he meets you in your room. You’ve changed into your previous outfit, and he’s swiped his dress shirt for an oversized white Nike t-shirt. He’s holding his bed cover to his chest, just a white bundle that he offers you as if he’s trying to make peace with you. You motion to your bed, and he nods before walking over to it.

You shut the door behind him, turning to look at him as he debates for a few seconds where to sleep in your bed. He starts by putting his bed cover over yours and then chooses to sit at the foot of the bed, on the side that’s against the wall.

He then turns to meet your gaze, his profile cast in the flickering light of the candle from the kitchen and the few others you’ve lit while waiting for him.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been in this room since Jimin moved out,” he tells you, and his lips stretch into that same soft smile.

You glance around, pursing your lips. “Hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

“It doesn’t,” he reassures you as he imitates your action, observing your room. “It feels like you.”

Not knowing what’s that supposed to mean, you cock an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t explain further, and you shrug it off as you move closer to your bed to sit on the edge. The moment you’re in his vicinity your heart picks up in your chest. It’s hard to believe that Jeon Jungkook is in your bed right now, and you have to remind yourself that it’s purely because it currently is freezing in your apartment.

“Should we…” you trail off, motioning at the bed.

He chuckles, a sweet sound that forces you to gaze at him, eyes widening as your heartbeat picks up even more. “You want me in your bed so bad, do you?”

You short-circuit, flushing fully red as you struggle to find something witty to reply with. Falling short on words, you end up shrugging your shoulders as you move under the covers, hoping he won’t tease you further.

You highly doubt you’d survive him teasing you more.

To your relief, Jungkook ends up chuckling again, but he remains silent as he slides in next to you, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. You lie on your back, while he turns to face you, and you feel the weight of his gaze on your profile.

It makes you turn to look at him, and he offers you the same kind smile.

“Shouldn’t we blow the candles out?” he asks, and his gaze darts to where you’ve left the candles on your desk and night table. “Just to make sure we don’t burn the building down.”

“You want to go to sleep right away?”

You hate yourself for saying that. Indeed, a smirk grows on his lips and he jumps on the occasion to say, “You want to do something else?”

Something grows hot inside of you, and it’s not that same summer sun he ignited in you earlier. You wet your lips, burning from the inside out as you remind him, “We shouldn’t.”

He chuckles again. “Didn’t you say he doesn’t need to know?”

You meet his gaze, find the mischief behind his big doe eyes and roll yours. “You’re annoying.”

Right on cue you shiver. It takes you by surprise, because you feel your insides burning, yet the temperature in your room is low, winning against the warmth.

“Are you cold?” he asks, no traces of mischief left in his eyes. Only concern can be found in his pupils, and you want to hate him for it.

“A little,” you admit. “The covers are just cold.”

They actually are, as your bodies have yet to warm them. To your surprise, Jungkook sidles closer to you.

“I can hold you, if you want. I’m always too hot.”

You burn a thousand shades of red as you wet your lips. “You don’t have to.”

“Come on, peach, I won’t let you freeze while I’m right here.”

Yet he doesn’t do anything, waits until you’ve nodded your head to slide even closer, and he loosely wraps his arm around your waist. His warm breath fans the side of your face, and you do your best to ignore it.

“Better?” he asks, voice low as he whispers in your ear.

You shut your eyes as electricity courses through your whole body. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Your brain zeroes in on the weight of his arm on you, and when his fingers start tracing random figures on your waist, you let out a small yelp.

“That tickles,” you tell him.

He does it again, and you try to push him away. Only, Jungkook is far stronger than you, and all you manage to do is end up with your back against him as he holds you firmly to him.

“Stop,” you beg, a little breathlessly.

“It’s warming you up, is it not?”

You roll your eyes, though you reckon it is. You don’t feel nearly as cold anymore, and you can feel the heat growing in you again. As an attempt to get away from him, you shuffle, and it earns you a breathless chuckle from him.

Just to make sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing, you move your hips again. Something twitches in his sweatpants and your mouth falls open.

“You’re…”

“Consequences of the position,” he’s quick to say. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t know how you possibly can not worry about it. It’s all your brain can focus on as you shift again, and this time he hisses.

“Maybe you should not do that.” His voice is low, husky, and it sends shivers all over your body.

You bite your lips. “Why?”

He pulls you back in, flush against his chest. His lips ghost on the side of your neck, and you think you’ve been struck with lightning. “Because we can’t do anything about it.”

“Right.”

He rests his head on the pillow behind you again, sighing deeply. His hand holds you against him, forcing you to feel every inch of his hard body pressing into you.

Of his hard dick too, where it pushes into your ass.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” you say, eyes fluttering shut.

He nods. “We should.”

“I need to blow out the candles.”

His arm loosens around you before he fully lets you go. You prop yourself on an elbow, leaning towards the night table. You blow out the candle you’ve left there, and before you can move you feel Jungkook’s palm resting on your hip.

“Shit, peach,” he whispers.

You look behind yourself. Your position is explicit, as if you’re angling yourself to fuck yourself on him better. It makes you move your hips, and you see the moment something snaps inside of him.

“Why don’t you lie down next to me before we blow the rest of the candles out?”

There’s something stern, authoritative in his voice, and you immediately obey him.

“On your back,” he adds.

You exhale shakily as you turn, not daring to disobey. His hand lands flat on your stomach, and he starts drawing circles around your navel. You inhale sharply as he nudges your cheek with his nose.

“You look stressed.”

“What are you doing?”

You hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Helping you fall asleep?”

“Jungkook…”

“Peach.”

You fall silent as he keeps tracing circles. He sighs next to you, almost longingly and he rests his forehead against your temple. His lips are so close you think you feel their softness on your cheek.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispers. His fingers still on you, under your navel. Some inch or so over the band of your sweatpants and he pushes your shirt up before resuming his actions directly on your skin.

“We really shouldn’t…” you trail off.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asks.

It’s rhetorical – he knows just as well as you that you won’t. “No.”

“It could help you sleep.”

You don’t want to know what the ‘it’ refers to. “Yeah?”

He wets his lips, or maybe he plays with his piercing. But from the proximity, you feel his tongue and you think you’re going to die right then and there.

“Doesn’t it help you sleep when you touch yourself?”

You’re soaking your panties. You’re burning up, caught on fire by every strike of lightning that Jungkook’s words ignite in you.

“Does it help you?” you counter-back, remembering when you heard him watching porn two weeks ago.

“It does. Always sleep soundly after.”

You slowly nod, gulping as his lips close on your jaw, and he sucks gently.

He’s danger in human form. And he knows what he’s doing, he knows how to weave words to cause your undoing. You think he’s already started weeks ago, the night of the Incident.

Taehyung is miles away from your thoughts when you say, “You want to touch me?”

He smirks against you, licks at the spot he just sucked on. “Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”

He moves his hand away from your stomach, and you moan softly when he parts your thighs open, resting his palm on the one closest to him as he presses it against his hard dick.

“Shit, Jungkook.”

“I know.”

You hate him. You hate him so much you slide your hand between your legs, pressing a circle on your clit.

“Good girl.”

You moan again, yet you stop your ministrations on yourself. “I want to watch you touch yourself too.”

He grunts, grinds his dick in the side of your thigh once more. “You want to see me come?”

“Want you to finger me with your cum.”

You’ve gone insane. You think there’s an asylum out there for you, yet Jungkook only chuckles manly against your jaw. “Peach, I won’t touch you tonight.” You whine, and he sucks on your jaw again. “You can do it yourself.”

He’s mad. So are you, and you untie the knot of your sweatpants so you can slide your hand in. You moan softly as you find your clit, and you dip two fingers inside of yourself before moving back to the bundle of nerves.

“Jerk yourself off,” you tell him. You try to sound commanding, dominant, but your voice is whiny. It earns you a smirk from him as he turns on his back. He takes off his pants and underwear, clearly not as shy as you. You can’t see his dick when you look down as he’s still under the covers, and you gulp as you imagine it.

Feeling bold, you push the covers off, needing to see him. And the sight doesn’t disappoint. His dick is large. Not excessively long, but the girth makes you understand why he’s got girls screaming whenever he fucks them. His tip is glistening with precum, and he runs his thumb on the slit before spreading the precum on his shaft. Large veins run along the length, from base to top, and you’re struck thinking he’s got the prettiest cock you’ve seen in your life.

“Like what you see?” he teases as he strokes his dick once, slowly but with a firm grip.

“Do you want to see me too?”

You really are bold. Far bolder than you’ve ever been with anyone before. Maybe because all of tonight Jungkook has put you at ease, and you think there’s nothing embarrassing about finally living out your fantasy. Especially not when he’s so pliable to it, willing to follow you into the land of insanity.

Scratch that – he’s the one leading to madness.

“It’s only fair if I see you too, no?” he teases with a smirk on his lips as he looks at you with his dark, intense gaze.

“Yeah.”

It’s all you say before you shimmy out of your pants. You don’t miss the way his eyes go to your hip, where you have a large dragon tattoo. He curses under his breath. “Didn’t know you were tatted.”

“Got it last semester,” you answer with a shaky voice.

He smirks up at you. “Hot.”

You gulp, unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. Shier than him, you keep the panties on. To your surprise, he sits up, runs his hand on the inside of your thigh before he lies down on the other side so he has a view of between your legs. His feet are next to your head, and you angle yourself away from them so that they aren’t in your face anymore.

“Touch yourself, peach.”

You nod, and you draw circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear. It’s a plain black thong, yet you feel immensely sexy when Jungkook’s doe eyes narrow dangerously as he watches you touching yourself, stroking his dick lazily.

You watch how he touches himself, heart beating out of your chest. You’re on fire, a wildfire raging through you, and you moan softly as you press harder into you.

“Why don’t you touch yourself under your panties, mmh?” he asks, gaze sliding up to meet yours before he goes back between your legs. “Won’t it feel better?”

You can’t resist him. You push your panties to the side, holding them with one hand as you go back to your clit. Your thighs instinctively want to close together, but he holds them open.

“Put your fingers in.”

You do. You push two digits in, arching them as you rub at the sweet spot inside of you. He watches, licking his lips as he increases the pace on his dick. You moan right as he grunts, the sound making shivers course up and down your spine.

“Why don’t you use your vibrator instead?”

You entirely stop moving, digits deep inside of you. “Huh?”

“I’ve heard you use a vibrator,” he explains. “I want to see you bury it in your tight little pussy.”

Your walls clench around your fingers at his crude words, and it doesn’t take any more for you to roll towards your night table so you can grab said vibrator. When you’re settled back in your previous position, you click it on, and the soft buzzing fills your room.

“Wait,” Jungkook says, stopping you before you’ve pushed your panties aside again. “Take this off.”

He pinches the fabric on your hip, over the tattoo, and all you can do is nod once before you do. He licks his lips, looking at you appreciatively through half-lidded eyes. He looks between your legs, where you just know he can see your juices glistening. Before he says anything else, you put the vibrator on your clit, legs twitching as harsh pleasure courses through you.

To your surprise, he moans, a low sound that has your pussy clench hard. Of course he sees, and he’s quick to say, “Put it in, peach.”

You obey, and you let out a breathy sound as you immediately rub your clit with your other hand. The next few minutes are a world of bliss, of pleasure and of Jungkook’s praises and grunts, entwined with your moans. You think your room is burning hot, or maybe it’s just his eyes on you. His balls are tight as he jerks off harder, faster, eyes never once moving away from the spot between your legs, where your vibrator makes squelching sounds as you push it in and out of you.

“You’re doing so well,” Jungkook tells you after you’ve moaned loudly.

You’re nearing your high, but for some reason, you haven’t been able to hit it yet. His words bring you closer, yet it remains just barely out of touch.

“So fucking well,” he adds, breathlessly, and you notice he’s gripping his dick harder, moving so fast you barely can see his hand, except when it slows on his head with a flick of his wrist. He moans, grunts loudly. “You’re so hot, I’m going to come.”

“Fuck,” you curse as you watch him push his shirt up, and you catch sight of his defined muscles. They contract as he jerks himself off, and you think you’re drooling.

Maybe because you’re so close to hitting an orgasm that you can’t do anything other than drool.

He glances at your face once. You meet his gaze, blood boiling as you see his eyebrows almost touching over his eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes loudly. His eyelids flutter close as his eyebrows bunch up over his eyes even more, and then he moans out something that sounds like your name.

Not ‘peach’. Your full name. It makes your eyes water as you observe him, as you watch how he looks in pain. And then he curses, and your eyes fall to his dick to see white spurts of cum coming out, covering the tattoos on the back of his hand as he keeps moving, never once faltering.

Your walls clench tightly around your vibrator. You think you’re about to come, but the orgasm doesn’t want to hit, evading you frustratingly. Your motions grow inconsistent, the push and the pull of the vibrator clearly not enough for you.

As Jungkook comes down from his high, he surveys you once more, features blissed out from coming. He watches you struggle as his hand stops at the base of his dick.

“Look at the mess I made because of you,” he says, and you moan. He tilts his head to the side, pulls at his piercing, and then stops you. Puts his hand over yours between your legs as the vibrator rests deep inside of you. “Do you need help?”

You feel some of his cum as it spills from his hand to yours. You keep rubbing on your clit, meeting his gaze as he awaits your answer. “Yes.”

He smirks, and you let him grab your vibrator. He pulls it out of you, watches your juice on it with a hungry look on his features before he hands it to you again. “Put this on your clit.”

You obey, and you sigh in pleasure as he covers two of his fingers with his cum, even picking some up where it fell on his abdomen, decorating his defined abs. You know exactly what he’s going to do before he does, and it makes you curse.

He meets your gaze. “Are you on the pill?”

“IUD.”

He smirks. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes his cum-covered fingers inside of you, arching them to expertly play with your g-spot. You cry out, throwing your head back in pleasure. He fucks you with his digits for a while, and you press your vibrator hard on your clit, as if it’s going to make you come faster.

All it does is make you close your thighs on his wrist. He pulls his fingers out, forces you to spread your legs wide open again, and then circles your entrance with one finger.

“It’s so hot, to watch my cum dripping out of you.”

His digits are in again before you can reply, and he fucks you so well, you crash right into your orgasm, walls spasming around his fingers. You moan, loudly so, and tears prick at your eyes as the waves of your orgasm drown everything in you, making you shake with pleasure.

You ride the high for a long time. Longer than you’ve ever had before, and Jungkook whispers filthy praises to you all through it, until you cringe with oversensitivity and turn off the vibrator. You put it down next to you, and Jungkook pushes in and out twice more before he pulls his fingers out of you.

You remain silent for a while, both of you regaining your breath. Once you stop feeling like you’re seconds away from passing out, you prop yourself on your elbows, watching him. He’s still looking between your legs, and you instinctively close them.

His eyes shoot to your face, and he smirks. “You have no idea how hot you are with my cum dripping out of you, peach.”

You bite your lip, so hard you think you taste blood. “Shit.”

“I know.”

“What did we do?”

He shrugs, sucking on his piercing. “We made sure we’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

You sigh, nodding once before you lie back down on the bed. “Shit,” you repeat.

This time he laughs. It’s a soft sound, something that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. For some reason, it reminds you of the kiss in the kitchen, and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Even more so as he says, “Let me go get something to clean you up with.”

He pulls his boxers up and then gets up. You miss the way he winces as his feet hit the cold floor, and he’s back with a washcloth before you’ve had time to realize he was gone.

“I’m sorry, there was no hot water left.”

“Oh,” you let out.

He chuckles as he sits next to you. “Do you want to do it or…?”

You nod, and you grab the washcloth out of his hands before cleaning yourself up. It really is cold, and you wince, one eye shutting as you make sure you’re clean before handing it back to him.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I don’t know?”

He laughs, still grabbing it before throwing it in your hamper. “Did you want to pee before going to bed?”

You nod again. “I should.”

“Are you okay to get there?”

You roll your eyes, finally finding some of your usual defiance. “You didn’t fuck me, Jungkook, I can still use my legs.”

“Right,” he lets out before chuckling. “I’ll wait for you here then.”

The trip to the bathroom is the worst you’ve ever experienced, with how cold it is in the rest of the apartment. You’re pleased that your room is warm when you come back, and your heart squeezes in your chest as you see Jungkook lying on his side, looking at you as you enter and shut the door behind you.

He smiles warmly at you. “Better?”

“Why is it so cold?” you complain, which makes him laugh that cute, giggly laugh of his. You immediately look away from him, not wanting him to see the blush on your cheeks.

You blow the rest of the candles out, and in the dark, you make your way to your bed. You slide under the covers, sighing at how warm they are now.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Jungkook says as you settle next to him.

You gulp. “What?”

“You said you were going to go to the dorms,” he reminds you, even though that was an eternity ago. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh,” you let out. You’re happy it’s dark because your cheeks burn so much you imagine you’ve turned purple. “I’m glad I stayed too.”

He sighs, and you feel the mattress move as he shifts. “Do you want to cuddle?” he asks. “For warmth.”

You snort, and even though you��re in the dark, you nod.

“Sure.”

A few seconds later, you’re the small spoon again, and he holds you close to him. He sighs once more, and it ends with a yawn that has you laugh softly.

“Tired?” you tease him.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, nuzzling his face in your hair. “I’m going to sleep like a rock.”

So are you. Even if you shouldn’t, even if you and Jungkook probably committed a big mistake tonight, you still know you’re going to sleep soundly.

Especially as his breathing evens out behind you, interrupted by soft snores here and there. It forms a melody that lulls you to the land of dreams, to a land where you can forget that he’s Taehyung’s best friend, and where you can imagine that he’s yours after all. It’s idyllic, unreal, yet your sleeping form clings to it like it’s a lifeline in a storm.

You just know that reality is bound to hit again soon.

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Oooooof yep. They really did that hehehe. What did you guys think? Did you like it? Let me know!!

#chasing cars ch 3 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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januaryembrs · 3 days

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JUST A THEORY | Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: congratulations on 2k!!! you deserve that and so much more your writing is incredible! 🥳🥳🥳 if I could jump in with a request could I ask for a Spencer x reader fic where the reader is a journalist/reporter looking into a case as well and they cross paths? I think the tension and bickering would be so fun

Description: There's something about that agent Jennifer brought along with her that pushes every single one of your buttons

Length: 1.6k

warnings: general cm violence, probably not em's best work

“You know this could be considered obstructing a federal investigation,” Spencer huffed, trying to look over your shoulder where you skimmed the book in your hands with meticulous eyes. You ignored him, continuing to read the information despite feeling his burning glare in the back of your head, his breath on your neck as he shadowed your figure around the building.

“You know the best part about a public library, Doctor Reid? It’s public,” You drawled back, your eyes never ripping from the page except to make a few notes of some key information for your article, “Which means I have every right to be in here just as much as you do,”

You heard him run a hand over his face and tried not to smirk at how easy he was to agitate. You’d heard a lot about the BAU, almost every criminology based paper in Virginia had, and so it wasn’t too surprising to meet the brains behind the reputation when three women had been murdered in the FBI’s home town. Every press association that was worth their money was all over the story, ‘How could this have happened so close to the capital in a city crawling with agents?’, which made your job just that bit more competitive and taxing.

Yet luckily for you, you knew exactly where to go snooping for answers. It just so happened, the BAU’s resident genius did too.

“I guarantee it would be easier for both of us if you just give me the book first. I can read ten times faster than you,” He snipped, still a pup at your heels where you wandered through the aisles of non-fiction, the white lettering hanging above the shelves spelling PSYCHOLOGY. You rolled your eyes at his persistence, ignoring his attitude as you rounded the corner at the end of the row and looped back to where you’d picked up the book, the man still over your shoulder.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to talk in libraries?” You hissed back, flicking the page over and hearing his footsteps move in tandem with your own, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and let the professionals work,”

You hid a grin, hearing him pause at that, remembering the first day you’d been assigned the story.

It started only a week ago. The newest victim had been found in the woods, stabbed seven times the same as the other two, her entire body washed in strong bleach, her hair and nails trimmed and ears even swabbed clean. You’d managed to get five minutes to sit with her parents, your pen and trusted notebook at the ready.

“Why don’t you tell me about what Clara was like as a kid?” You said softly, eyes comforting and calm as you spoke over coffee that was quickly going cold. But you didn’t care.

You didn’t do this part for ‘the story’. At least not the end of the story, the gory bits and pieces that the other news anchors focused on, how the women were brutalised and beaten, changed by a murderer until they looked unrecognisable. You didn’t like to focus on that, because that wasn’t who the victims were.

You wanted to tell their story. Who they were before something awful happened to them.

“She loved to dance,” Clara’s mother, Gwen, sniffled, her cheeks sodden with salted tears. Her voice quivered, croaked like it begged not to be used, but the saddest smile spread on her face when she said it, her husband’s hands clasped tightly in her own, “She used to ask to wear her leotard to bed; we couldn't get that thing off her,”

You smiled, eyes falling to the pictures the parents had spread across the table in their haste to find the best one for the missing posters. Gwen seemed to follow your eyeline and grabbed one in particular, handing it over to you, gently thumbing the edges like that too might disappear. A little girl, black hair as silken as fresh ink stared back at you, her hands poised delicately above her head like the professional ballerina’s you'd seen on TV, her feet laced into pink pumps. The way she should be remembered, not the images you’d seen of her at the crime scene.

You opened your mouth to speak again when two agents entered the room. Jennifer Jareau, who you’d worked with on multiple stories like this one to give the families the empathy they deserved, smiled at you civilly, somewhat guilty knowing she was stepping on your toes. Beside her stood a taller man in a matching FBI jacket, his hazelnut curls falling over his frown.

“Mr and Mrs Townsen,” He addressed the couple solemnly, who looked up at him through red rimmed eyes, their sockets sallow and empty, “We need to ask you a few questions about the last few days you saw Clara before she went missing,”

He flashed his credentials in his right hand, long enough for them to see it was real, and looked to you with a stern stare.

The couple glanced back to you, the picture still grasped tightly in your fingers, as you flicked a tight look between Jennifer and the new agent carefully.

“Just one moment,” You told the grieving parents softly, handing the picture back to Gwen, standing to move to one side with the analysts, immediately turning towards Jennifer with confusion, “I thought you said I had until twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important,” The liaison said cordially, the two of you somewhat acquaintances after emailing back and forth for so long. She liked that you didn’t see the bodies as dollar signs, and you liked that she wanted the same as you; to tell the victims stories the way they should be told.

Sighing, you wrapped up your notepad, delicately pushing the pen through the wire spine. “Can I get an interview with the second family at least? Daily Press was all over that story, and they made an absolute joke of it,”

“That’s a little hypocritical of you,” The other agent piped up, and your head snapped to him. Eyes roving over his figure, brows furrowing when you realised what he’d said. You looked back to his face in annoyance.

“Excuse me?” You snipped, crossing your arms over your chest, your notepad brushing against your ribs.

“I’m just saying, you all get paid for what you write, so it's just as exploitive to write about the victims than it is to write about the crimes,” He shrugged, eyes narrowing when you shifted your weight onto your other foot and raised a brow at him.

“Unlike you,” Your gaze fell to his badge he still had to hand, “Doctor Reid, I see those women as real people, not just little pictures on a white board. They’re not just dead girls to me, and they’re certainly not just money grabs,”

Spencer went to retaliate again before JJ put a hand on both your elbows, drawing the attention away from your little spat.

“We can talk about this later, right now we have an UnSub on the loose that is quickly devolving,” She chided the two of you like you were school children, and you sighed, biting your cheek to stop yourself from snapping back at the man.

“What does that mean?” You asked quietly, well aware of the grieving parents sitting little more than a few yards from where you stood bickering.

“It means you’re going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” Spencer cleared, pushing past your shoulder as he went to sit with the Townsens, his eyes swirling into something new and kind and reassuring as he looked at them, a Jekyll and Hyde to the hostility he had towards you.

You could only suck your teeth in annoyance, before Jennifer pulled you further into the dining room to discuss rearrangements.

Spencer blanked as he watched you skim reading the textbook, his own words thrown back in his face in an infuriatingly clever move on your part. With little more to say, knowing wit and barking orders would get him nowhere because he couldn’t exactly arrest you for not giving him public property, he resorted to begging.

“Please, give me the book,” He said, the desperation buried in his sigh, and you swivelled on your heels, a devilish grin on your face that had him fighting back an eye roll.

“Oh, would you look at that? I’m finished,” You said, handing him the files you were reading, passing them over to him with a smirk and he found himself almost smiling at your sarcasm.

Taking the book out of your hand, he debated saying thank you, but instead bit his lip because he'd found you were somewhat incorrigible when you were getting deeper in a story.

Turning on his heels to check out the book so he could take it back to headquarters, he stopped when you spoke, just a few decibels louder than the ‘Talk Quietly’ sign demanded.

“Agalmatophilia,” You murmured, and he whipped a look over his shoulders where you were skimming the shelves for a second textbook, seeing as your first one had been commandeered, “The sexual attraction to dolls and mannequins. I know you guys speculated he has some form of OCD but I think it's Agalmatophilia,” You said, drawing a book off the shelf without really looking up to where his brow furrowed in familiarity with the word. He glanced at you then, and you flicked open the page of contents, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your head, muttering under your breath absent-mindedly, “Just a theory,”

You’d shut him up the entire way back to headquarters.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #matthew grey gubler x reader

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lichenes · 1 day

Text

Disco Belgica

You and Joost work in an office in his early days as a musician. Enemies to lovers who?? what?? CW: haterperson and loverboy truly, toxic workplace behaviour wc: 814

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

You were Joost’s worst nightmare. He was plagued by you everywhere he went. It wasn’t helping that you were so fucking bright and cheerfull to everyone you met, yet when it came to him - he never got the same treatment. “Do you mind?” You said as you waved at him, your eyes and voice full of disdain. “What?” He answered. “You’re staring.”

It happened more often than he’d like to admit, the constant surveillance made your stomach do flips. Joost has been working in the same office as you for a few months and, apparently, made it his purpose to drive you crazy. “I need you to go through these documents.” You dropped them onto his desk, his blue eyes drifted to your own. “What’s this?” His accent evident, the venom rolling deliciously off of his tongue.

“Boss told me to give them to you I don’t know what they pertain to Klein.” You were about to turn on your heel and walk away but he called your name. “I didn’t tell you to use my name, did I?” You said making sure to convey as much hate in your tone as you could. “Jesus you’re such a pain in the ass.” You opted against retaliating his stupid remark and went back to your work.

At the end of the day you were getting up to leave as one of your coworkers approached your desk. “Hey, Klein left this for you.” You looked at what appeared to be a folder with over 2 hours of work. “That motherf- this was supposed to be done by the end of the day! Did he tell you why he didn’t finish it?” You were fuming. “I’m not taking this home, it’s his job left unfinished.”

Joost was just walking past the reception when you caught up to him and almost tripped him over (it was meant to be a tap on the shoulder). “Jesus, what the fuck?” The folder was shoved into his arms. “Don’t take me for a pushover, Klein. I’m not gonna do your fucking work.” Walking away you caught his face going red.

God damnit. He hoped it wasn’t visible - although his pale complexion must’ve given it away. Truth be told he just liked fucking with you to rile you up to the point of breaking. Your authoritative side came out just when you were about to snap and he loved it. He did the remaining work in his house but couldn’t quite keep his mind off of you.

The next day he dropped off the documents at the boss’ office and made a beeline towards the kitchen where you usually resided for the first few hours of the day. “I need to talk to you.” You raised your eyebrow. “No you don’t, save the apology for someone who cares Klein” He rolled his eyes. “Just- please?” You eyes widened when you heard him mutter the word, for the first time since you’ve known him.

You stood up wordlessly and followed Joost to the desolated part of the office - a corridor mostly used for the cubby holes of the janitors and cleaning supplies. “What the fuck do you want.” He looked increasingly nervous with each passing second. You crossed your arms. “Cut the shit Klein. Come on, spit it out.” He straightened his back and pulled out a small packet of your favourite candies.

“What is this?” “I just wanted to apologise properly. I don’t hate you and I wish you wouldn’t hate me too.” You were flabbergasted. Your hands fell to your sides. “Cat got you tongue?” He smiled at you for the first time since… ever, you realised. “H-How did you know I liked these?” You were starting to suspect he was stalking you. “It’s

not anything bad! I just asked the only guy who you talk to. B-besides me…” His voice faltered a litte when he mentioned Alex.

You took the candies into your hand and quickly thanked him then walked away moved by his sudden change in attitude.

The next day when you walked up to his desk he actually gave you a smile and you handed him a thank-you card. “I wasn’t sure what to give you so I went with the path of least resistance. It isn’t as thoughtful though…” He read the little annotation you wrote under the pre-written text. He smiled and proceeded to chit-chat the whole time you would spend in the kitchen.

“So… you and Klein huh?” Said Alex jabbing your side. “It’s nothing like that… we’ve just gotten on better terms.” Your face got hotter. “Yeah, suuuure.” You were packing your things and just about to leave the office when he called your name and when you turned around he gave you a wave and a huge grin. Your heart started to beat faster and that’s when you felt and knew you were in big, big trouble.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

masterlist

#x reader #joost #joost klein #joost x reader #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #enemies to lovers #eurovision #eurovison song contest #eurovision 2024

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solarmorrigan · 2 days

Note

54 + 12 for steddie!

Okay, I know the prompt list says I'm supposed to describe how I'd use the tropes in the same story, but I got.... carried away. I just really love outsider POV

Fanfiction Trope Mashup prompts: 54. Secret relationship + 12. Roommate AU

cw: allusions to period-typical homophobia

Gladys hadn’t been sure what to make of her new neighbors at first.

She didn’t like the idea of them, to be certain: two young men living in the apartment across the way, who would probably come and go at all hours, noisy and inconsiderate as anything – especially the long-haired one she’d spotted carrying a guitar case.

A month in, however, her initial assessment doesn’t seem to have proven true; she does see them come and go at all hours, but they aren’t noisy about it, and she hasn’t heard any kind of raucous guitar playing. They seem to keep to themselves, and that suits Gladys just fine.

And then grocery day comes, and Gladys is trying to jog from the front door to the elevator before it closes, both arms loaded with bags. She spots her long-haired neighbor already in the elevator, and he spots her, and he holds the door for her before she can even call and ask him to.

He then offers to help with the bags, and Gladys unloads both of the heavy paper sacks on him with a relieved sigh; she tries to keep in shape, but she doesn’t have the strength she did when she was younger, and her joints sometimes ache like mad.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” the man says into the silence of the elevator as they ride up to the fourth floor. “I don’t think we really introduced ourselves when we moved in, but I live across the hall from you.”

“I recognize you,” Gladys says. Then adds, “Gladys Gaines.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you officially, Miss Gladys,” Eddie says with a grin. “I’d offer to shake, but my hands are otherwise occupied.”

He shifts the grocery bags demonstratively, pretends for a moment that they’re weighing him down, though he’d been having no trouble with them until then, and Gladys finds herself smiling. “Never mind that,” she says. “And it’s nice to meet you, too.”

Eddie helps her put the groceries away, and she finds him to be charming, in an animated sort of way, bursting with energy and humor.

The sink gives him pause, though, after he ducks beneath it to put away a bottle of dish detergent as directed. He watches it drip for several consecutive seconds before asking, “Is the faucet giving you trouble?”

“It’s been driving me up the wall for weeks,” Gladys huffs as she stashes a loaf of bread in the breadbox. “But of course maintenance is taking their sweet time to get to it.”

“Huh. Y’know, Steve—my, uh, roommate—he’s pretty good at home repair stuff like this. I could get him to come take a look at it, if you want,” Eddie offers.

“If he can get that awful drip to stop, I’ll be in your debt,” Gladys says.

Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Madam, that’s a dangerous thing to declare.”

“Oh, hush.” Gladys slaps at him with a dish towel, and the boy pretends to be mortally wounded.

Laughing, Gladys finds that she quite likes Eddie.

She likes Steve, too, when he shows up at her door the next afternoon with a bag of tools and a little wave ‘hello.’

“Eddie said your faucet was leaking?” he offers. “Oh– I’m Steve. From across the way.”

“I recognize you,” Gladys says, and she shows him to the kitchen.

Steve is a solid, steady presence that Gladys can imagine compliments Eddie’s high energy well; he’s boyish and sweet, but there’s something sharper underneath that reminds Gladys of her own Avery’s cutting wit.

Gladys finds out from Steve that he and Eddie are from a tiny, rural town; they’re new to city life, but they’re enjoying it even in their adjustment period. Eddie works full time while Steve works part-time and attends classes – he’s hoping to become a guidance counselor.

“That’s an unusual arrangement for roommates,” Gladys comments. “Eddie doesn’t mind taking on most of the bills?”

It’s a bit of a prying question—rude, some might say, but Gladys doesn’t see the point in getting old if you’re not allowed to be blunt—but Steve only ducks his head and smiles.

“No, Eddie’s– he’s a great guy. Helping me out like this,” he says before turning back to the sink. “Here, try it now.”

Gladys turns the faucet on, then turns it back off, watching as the flow of water comes to a complete stop, not a drip to be seen.

“Dear, you’re a miracle worker,” Gladys declares.

“It was nothing,” Steve says.

He turns away to pack up his tools, but not quite quickly enough to hide the smile on his face – pleased but a little bashful, like he isn’t used to being complimented like this. It’s a nice smile, Gladys thinks, and both Steve and Eddie are nice boys. She decides that yes, she really does like them.

Offering to pay Steve for his services seems a little tawdry, so Gladys invites the boys over for dinner, instead. They end up staying well into the evening, talking and laughing with her. Steve eats up all the gossip about the other building tenants that Gladys can dish out, and Eddie eggs them on.

When they say that they’ll have to have her over for dinner next, Gladys braces herself for the worst: the apartment of two busy young bachelors, Lord have mercy.

She’s pleasantly surprised to find, then, that it isn’t so bad at all. It’s a bit cluttered—particularly the desk shoved into the corner covered in graph paper and what appear to be tiny plastic figurines—but it’s quite clean.

After she’s offered to help with dinner and been politely denied, Gladys spends time looking at the photos they have pinned up on the wall. There are over a dozen, a collage of smiles and laugher featuring the same cast of teenagers in varying stages of growth, often posing with Steve or Eddie. There are quite a few of just Steve and Eddie together mixed in, and Gladys is warmed to see two such good friends.

Steve does most of the cooking that evening, but Eddie is a capable sous chef, anticipating Steve’s every request before he can even voice what he needs.

“Hey, can you hand me the, uh–” Steve snaps his fingers, searching for the word, and Eddie opens a drawer and presses a slotted spoon into Steve’s hand. “Yeah, that.”

Eddie grins and goes back to cutting vegetables.

Dinner is nice.

It goes on like this – trading favors here and there, dinners at one apartment or the other, evenings spent talking and laughing. Gladys finds that Eddie is an excellent opponent when playing cards, and Steve shares her fondness for Murder She Wrote.

Gladys and Avery never did get around to having children. At first, they hadn’t had the money, then they hadn’t had the time, and eventually – well, it had been too late. She’s never really regretted it—her maternal instinct isn’t a strong one—but she does find herself starting to think of these boys as hers. She even starts in on knitting some sweaters; the weather it’s getting cold, after all, and it’s the sort of thing you do when you want the people you care about to be protected from it.

It does strike Gladys as a little odd that she only ever sees them with each other; they’re both attractive young men, after all, and she can’t imagine why they don’t seem to go on dates. She’s never seen two friends as content in each other’s company as they are, but she supposes that’s really all that matters – that they’re content.

Things become clearer, however, one sleepless night months after the boys move in.

Insomnia isn’t new to Gladys; she’s dealt with it since she was young, and it seems like age has only increased the frequency of those nights she lies awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling.

She’s found her own ways of coping, over the years; she’ll fill the time with a good book or do some word puzzles or get some knitting in. If she’s feeling particularly restless, she might clean the apartment or even bake something.

She’s just considering whether or not the boys would appreciate some cinnamon rolls come morning (and whether or not it would top that loaf of cinnamon raisin bread Steve had made last week, not that Gladys is keeping track) when she hears the very subject of her thoughts come giggling down the hall.

The boys aren’t being loud, precisely, but they aren’t quiet, either, and there are fewer sounds in the night to swallow up their noise.

They sound happy – they must have had a late night out, coming home a little goofy and tipsy, talking and laughing and then shushing each other as they come to a halt, sounding close enough that they must be outside their own door, just across and to the left of Gladys’.

There’s a moment of indecision, and then Gladys is rising from her chair and crossing to the door. She feels a little silly, but the sight of a friendly face on a sleepless night can sometimes do wonders to soothe her nerves.

She’ll just pop out and say hello, a fellow after-midnighter, and then let them go.

She’s barely opened her door, however, just catching a glimpse of the boys, when something– unexpected happens.

Eddie is fumbling with his keys as Steve leans further and further into his space, and Gladys wonders if he’s drunker than he sounds, but then–

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, waiting for Eddie to look up, and it’s all the warning Eddie gets before Steve is kissing him full on the mouth.

Eddie drops his keys entirely, but it isn’t in shock so much as it is his apparent eagerness to get his hands on Steve, cupping his cheek in one and grabbing his hip with the other, pulling him closer.

This isn’t drunken fumbling – it isn’t even something new, Gladys realizes. The kiss is slow and gentle and lingering, the love in it so evident that for a moment an ache of longing, of missing Avery, rises up in Gladys’ chest.

Then, though he’d been the one to encourage the kiss, Eddie is the one to break it, and when he speaks, he’s properly quiet this time. Gladys can just barely hear him.

“Someone’s gonna see, baby.”

“Let ‘em,” Steve says, just as soft.

“Steve…”

Steve sighs, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. “I wish I could show you off. Tell everyone how much I love you.”

Eddie in spite of his own warning, holds Steve close for a moment longer, swaying him gently. “No one else matters. I know you love me,” he says. “Come inside and show me how much?”

Glady’s can’t see Steve’s grin from this angle, but she can hear it when he says, “Yeah. I can do that.”

Then Eddie gathers his keys from the floor and actually manages to get the door open, pulling Steve in and shutting it after them and–

Well.

Gladys stands alone now, her door still cracked open, showing her the empty hallway, and–

Well.

Actually– well, actually, certain things make quite a bit more sense now.

“My, uh, roommate,” indeed.

Gladys closes her door, wandering back towards her easy chair as she thinks.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the two of them having the idea that they have to keep this from her. Utter nonsense.

Gladys will show them, though; her boys—and their secret—will always be safe with her.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #if I had a nickle for every time I wrote about a mlm ship from the perspective of an older widow I'd have two nickles #which isn't a lot but it's weird that I've done it twice #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

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steddieas-shegoes · 23 hours

Text

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #graduation #childhood friends #friends to lovers #wayne munson #hurt/comfort

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mopopshop · 3 days

Note

could u please write an angsty emily hc like what would happen if they fought they and stuff? perfectly fine if nottt 🫶🫶

WILDFLOWER

Part 2 <- here

The ride home was silent, confusingly so. You and Emily had just left a mutual friend’s birthday party, you assumed that the both of you had a good time but the lack of interaction from Emily had you doubting that.

She’d rushed the two of you out of the party, barely said anything on the walk to the car, and slammed the door when getting in. Obviously you got the impression that she was upset but had no idea why.

The uncomfortable car ride had finally come to an end when you pulled into the parking lot of your shared apartment. Emily hurried her way out of the car and didn’t bother to see if you were following her, her attitude is seriously starting to piss you off but you huff tiredly and reluctantly follow her.

The both of you get inside the apartment and you lean against the wall at the entrance to toe off your heels.

Emily speaks up finally, “I’m gonna shower” and stalks down the hallway, making no effort to look at you.

“… Okay” you respond but she’s already reached your room by then.

You opt to stay in the living room while she showers, not before quickly changing then dragging yourself to the kitchen to find something small to eat.

You find a leftover bag of cheezits, grabbing them and crashing on the couch. Shortly after, you hear Emily return from the shower, clad in an old training tee and basketball shorts. She’s just standing around in the kitchen as you walk in to throw away your trash.

You turn to leave but Emily starts to speak “Who.. who was that girl you were talking to at D’s party?”

This irks you deeply, she doesn’t speak to you the whole way back and actively avoids you when you actually get home and the first thing she decides to say is that?

“Dude, are you serious?,” you sigh exasperatedly “That’s the first thing you say after basically ignoring me for the past hour?”

“Why the fuck are you pissed off?”

“Why are you??!” you raise your voice slightly “I’ve been waiting for you to explain this sudden- attitude or whatever immature ass temperature tantrum it is that you’re having”

“Can you just answer my question?”

You put your hand over your face and sigh “Emily… jesus fuck, she’s an old friend from high school. Happy now?” you throw your arms up in frustration and walk back to the living room.

Emily follows you out of the kitchen “No, not really”

“Great, why is that?” you respond sarcastically

“ ‘Cause she’s your fucking ex?”

“Where did you even get that from?”

“From Karlie? Jade? They said you two were like a thing back then”

“That’s a full lie, I kissed her once- drunk at some stupid party sophomore year. You know- when I was 16 fucking years old!”

“So is she your friend or not? ‘Cause I don’t kiss my friends”

“Emily what the actual fuck are you talking about?! Jesus- I’m a grown woman now if you didn’t notice. That was 7-8 goddamn years ago”

“You let her be all over you the whole fucking night! Not that fucking fun watching your girlfriend rub up on her ex the whole night”

“She’s not my ex Emily, for Christ’s sake!”

“Bullshit-“

“And I didn’t let her rub on me the whole night, maybe if you actually chose to pay attention and realize that the second she started that shit I distanced myself and shut it down. Immediately.” at this point the both of you are full on yelling at each other, you can apologize to your neighbors in the morning “And maybe if you tried to be a fucking adult and actually speak to your girlfriend about how you were feeling, instead of pouting in the corner like a damn child, we wouldn’t be here in the first place!”

“Don’t do that shit, dude. Don’t put all the blame on me like you didn’t keep all this stuff from me”

“Are you serious? Are you fucking serious? First of all, how the hell was I supposed to know that she’d be there and second, I had no idea it’d piss you off this badly. So please explain to me how any of that is my fault”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes “Yeah, dude whatever, fuck this”

“Oh yeah sure Emily, fuck this, fuck me for responding to you because you brought it up in the fucking first place!”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore, bro” she yells as she stomps down the hallway and slams the door to your bedroom.

You feel hot tears spring to your eyes as you huff, flopping down on the couch. You quickly scrub them away with your fist and occupy your thoughts with re-runs of the Golden Girls on TV.

About 15 minutes later, the door to your bedroom creaks open and Emily comes storming out, shoving a jacket over her shoulders as she makes her way to the front door.

“Where the hell are you going?” you question

“Hailey’s” she deadpans

“Seriously? You don’t even wanna talk this out with me?”

“No, I really don’t”

“God, you’re immature”

“Fuck off, don’t wait up for me either” and with that she slams the door.

You flop on your back, laying on the couch and cover your hands over your face. Eventually the tears catch up with you and you sit there, crying on the couch waiting for Emily to return.

…

—————————————————————————

Count how many times I say “serious” in this LMAO

i’m actually really proud of this one, please enjoy ! 🫶🏾

#women’s basketball #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaa #wnba #wlw #emily engstler #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler headcannons

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luveline · 1 day

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hi jade! ☺️☺️ ur one of my favorite writers gosh you feed my heart everyday

im currently going through my usual body-wrecking periods 🥲 ur fics are helping

could you write something for bombshell! x spencer where maybe deeper into their relationship she is open with him about her period and he comes over to take care of her when her body is aching or she feels nauseous. im thinking some hair playing or some tummy rubbing.

i hope your weekend is lovely 🫶

thank you ❤️❤️❤️ fem, 1k

Can I come over? Are you home

You summon your first smile of the day, reading Spencer’s text.

Don’t know, you text back, can you handle me?

Usually not, but that hasn’t stopped me so far. I’ll bring dinner?

What kind of dinner my love

Maybe Indian? What do you want? I want tandoori chicken

Indian food is awesome if that’s what you want, I’m just messing with you

You can hear his voice in his next text, I know that. So I can come?

You can always come over but I have to warn you, I’m irritable

What’s wrong???

Spencer texts again before you can answer, I’ll come now and we can order delivery, I’ll be right there

You decide to call him before he can make the wrong conclusions. He answers so quickly you laugh down the line. “Spencer, hi, there’s nothing that wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t have to rush over.”

“Well, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“Why do you always think that, babe? No, you didn’t do anything. You’re actively making me feel better just talking to me.”

Spencer pauses briefly. “Really?”

“Really. I’m on my period, it’s kicking my ass,” you mumble, dropping your face into the soft top of your couch. “It would make me feel so much better if you were here. I want a hug.”

“I’m coming. I haven’t brushed up on my hug skills for a while–”

“You hugged me yesterday before I went home?”

“How would you rate that? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten, definitely.” You sigh and stretch out your legs. “No, just, my stomach is hurting and I feel sort of sick from the cramps. I’m a bit… depressed, maybe, so you don’t have to come over if you don’t want to. I might not be good company.”

“You’re always good company, you loon.”

“You what?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to be playful.”

“I know that, you loon,” you say, grinning. “Okay, you better be putting your shoes on. My patience is running out.”

“I’m by the door!” he says, giggles woven through each word. You can picture his smile, his unbuttoned coat. “You feel sick, should I still get dinner?”

“Yes, please. Tandoori chicken for me too, and–”

“I know what you want.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go shower before you get here and see me all disgusting–”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Spencer!” you laugh.

“I’ll run you a bath when I get there. Can you sit down until then?”

“I can’t believe how you’re speaking to me. You used to blush when I said hi.”

“Because you never just say hi. And it’s not like anyone else saying hi, it’s you.”

Spencer lets that kindness sit with you and says goodbye, promising he’ll be there soon with dinner. You hold your sore stomach and wait, flicking through tv channels, craving something warm to eat and a warmer chest to lay your head. Spencer’s hugs are without doubt a ten out of ten experience, he’s weirdly good at them for someone who maybe hasn’t had as many as he deserves. His hands are active as the rest of him stills, rubbing over your shoulders or your chest with care, his hair soft and ticklish on your cheek or his lips right next to your ear.

You’re dozing when he lets himself in. The rustle of a plastic bag awakens your dormant appetite, and you force yourself to meet him in the hallway.

He drops the bag like it isn’t forty dollars worth of food and beams at you. “Hi,” he says, fawning at your sloppy pyjamas. “These are cute, they’re way too big for you.”

You manage to hug him first, your arms around him and face screwed up in his chest. “Hi. My stomach hurts so bad, I missed you.”

“How bad?” he says, dropping his volume. “Have you ever considered you might have endometriosis?”

“Spencer, I love you, can you hug me for now and tell me about it later?”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “Where does it hurt, everywhere?”

“It’s in my back.”

Spencer drops his hand lower. “Oh, here?” He rubs your back, and he leans away enough to see you eye to eye. “Let’s have dinner, then at least you’ll have a full stomach.”

“I don’t know if I can manage it, but I’m starving.”

“You don’t have to eat everything.” He visibly looks you over, one feature at a time. His eyes get stuck on yours, your lashes, and his lovely mouth tips down. “Were you sleeping?”

“Got bored waiting for you. I’m not tired,” you promise.

“It’s okay.” He grasps your back and rubs at it with good pressure, the shard of a cramp held back by his touch. “You okay?”

You lift your chin, turn your head just a touch to one side, asking and not asking. He smiles in that not so secret pleasure as he gives you a quick peck. It’s quick and chaste and everything you need, better when he encourages your face into his neck to give you a last good rub on the back. “Do you wanna sit down? I’ll make you a plate and we can eat on the couch.” He dots a kiss against the highest point of your cheek. “I got you motrin. And tylenol, too.”

“I don’t need any painkillers, you’re gonna rub my back.”

Spencer smiles into your cheek. “Mm, I’ll relax your uterus. Rhythmic touches.”

“That’s one way to say it, sweetheart.”

“How would you say it?” he asks, cupping the back of your neck tenderly.

You deflect, not wanting to make fun of him. “I love you.”

He pulls away, grinning, failing to talk. He's smiling so hard. When he goes in for a third round of hugs, you aren’t surprised.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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navia3000 · 3 days

Text

a l l m y g h o s t s

Includes : Aaron Hotchner

Genre : Angst

Warnings : Crying, sadness, mentions of bombs and terrorists, typical Criminal Minds topics, Morgan’s kind of a dick, curse words

Based on : All My Ghosts by Lizzy McAlpine

Part one : So Long, London

A/N : This is a part two to So Long, London. I’m trying something different with my writing style, and I don’t really know how I feel about this fic overall, so, let me know your thoughts. And, yes, there will be a part three.

The headquarters of the International Operation Division of the FBI was alive with the chatter of agents and the ringing of phones. The IOD had been investigating a major threat against the United States from a major terrorist group in Iraq. There had been two bombings connected to this group, and there were more to be expected. The case is so dire, the IOD decided to call in the Behavioral Analysis Unit to aid in catching the attackers, a fact Y/N wasn’t thrilled about.

It had been two years since Y/N had left the BAU. She hadn’t told anyone of her transfer, leaving without saying a word to the team. She had gone as far as ignoring their calls and texts, and, as time passed, she eventually stopped receiving them. It had pained her to leave her friends, no, her family in that way, but she couldn’t stand having to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. She couldn’t be around the source of her heartbreak any longer, or she would explode. So, she took matters into her own hands.

Y/N knew her and the BAU’s paths would eventually cross again, she just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon.

As she walked through the bullpen, she felt her heart racing. She wasn’t nervous about seeing Hotch, well, she was, but, she was more nervous about seeing her old friends. She knew they would be angry at her for the way she up and left. She would’ve been too if it was someone else on the team who did what she had.

She finally reached the doors that would lead her to the moment she most dreaded; the Behavior Analysis team would be sitting there, going over details of their profile. And, since she used to be a part of said team, her boss thought it best for her to be the one assisting them.

As she walked through the doors into the room the team had set up, she heard them grow quiet. They stared at her in disbelief, each one of them, and she couldn’t help but take each one in. Morgan looked stronger than when she had last seen him, Emily looked even more beautiful, JJ had grown her hair out, Penelope had dyed her hair cherry red, Rossi had more gray hairs than before, Spencer got rid of his glasses, and Hotch, well, Hotch looked exactly as she remembered him. Tall, handsome, and utterly exhausted. She didn’t fail to notice the missing ring on his left hand.

“Hi,” she spoke after minutes of silence. When she received no answer, she continued, “I was sent by my boss to assist you with building the profile on these terrorists.” She could feel her heart racing as the minutes wore on, and the disbelief in their eyes turned into confusion and anger. “I know we haven’t spoke in a while, but-”

Morgan was quick with his anger in cutting her off, “and who’s fault is that?”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Please, Morgan. I hate how I left things with you guys, but, right now, my priority is this case. So, if you could all put your feelings about me aside for the sake of our jobs, that would be great.” Morgan let out a scoff at her words, rolling his eyes and turning back to the whiteboard at the end of the room.

She made eye contact with Hotch, her eyes becoming watery at Morgan’s reaction to her presence. He didn’t seem all too different in his sentiment towards her, making her feel even worse.

“Alright, here’s what we have so far,” Hotch said. It was going to be a long night.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

As the days wore on, the tension between her and the rest of the team grew. They kept things professional, and Penelope and Emily were nicer than the rest in accepting her back, but it was still a challenge. She understood why they felt how they felt, but, still, it broke her heart. Even worse, she tried being friendly with Hotch but he wouldn’t even acknowledge her outside of discussing the profile.

It was late at night, most of the team had gone back to their hotels, leaving Hotch and Y/N working by themselves. Her eyes kept wandering to him, her thoughts consumed by having him so close to her again. Yet, he continued to ignore her.

“How’s Jack?” She asked, attempting to make conversation whilst they went over old case files.

“He’s fine.”

“How’s the rest of the team? I’ve missed them a lot. And you, of course. But-”

“They’re doing alright.” The finality in his tone was making her hopes fall like the petals of a rose fall over time.

“That’s good. What about Haley? How’s she doing?”

“Haley’s dead. She was killed by an unsub.” At that, her head snapped up.

“Oh my God, Hotch, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

He still didn’t look up at her from the papers scattered on the table. “How could you have? You left.”

His words cut deep. Her eyes grew teary for what felt like the fifth time that day. “Hotch, I had to.”

At that, he finally looked up at her. His eyes were hard as stone as he said, “no, you didn’t. And even if you felt that way, you could have told us. I had to explain to everyone else that you left and weren’t coming back, Y/N. You were a part of this family and wouldn’t even answer our texts and calls.” No, his words didn’t just cut deep, they burned. Upon seeing her tears fall, he seemingly decided that was a conversation not worth having. “Let’s just focus on the case.” But, like that night in the restaurant, she stood up and left him at the table.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The next day was no different. Spencer and Morgan refused to talk to her, Hotch was cold as ice when addressing her, JJ was hesitant anytime she had to speak with her, and Emily and Penelope were trying their best to dissipate some of the tension in the room.

It all seemed to boil over when she suggested that her and Morgan go over to the last bombing site and see what they could find.

“No,” he said.

The room was so quiet, you could hear a hairpin drop. “What?” she asked, mostly because she couldn’t believe that he shut her down like that.

“No,” he repeated. At that point, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, Morgan, I get you’re upset with me. But we’re here to do our jobs. And, you have zero right to treat me like I don’t matter just because you’re upset.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N. You left us! You were a crucial part of this team and you left us. Without even an explanation. Nothing! So, don’t come in here expecting everything to be the same as it was because it’s not.”

“I had to leave!” She exclaimed. “I couldn’t take being around you guys after everything that happened!” Tears were streaming down her face. Her throat burned from the lump in it. Her heart sank with the weight of Morgan’s hatred for her.

“Nothing happened, Y/N!” He yelled as he stepped closer to her. “You just up and left!”

“Damn it, Morgan, I was in love! What was I supposed to do?” That grabbed the attention of the others. “You might not have known it, but… but, me and Hotch had just broken up, and I couldn’t be around him anymore. I just couldn’t.” Her sobs racked her body as she finally admitted what she couldn’t those two years ago. Morgan seemed to finally understand. And Hotch? Hotch just stood there, staring at her with the usual expression which occupies his face.

She hated it. She hated the pitiful stares from the team. She hated the way she cracked under the pressure. She hated the way she cried in front of them. But, most of all, she hated how all those feelings she had buried deep down in a dungeon of sadness had broken out and swam up to the surface.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

After everything blew over, Y/N decided enough is enough. She was done trying to work with the BAU, so, she went to investigate some tips on her own.

Her interest was piqued at an anonymous tip that claimed that the terrorist group’s leader was living in a house a few blocks over. She knew she shouldn’t go over there alone, but she it wasn’t like she could ask the team to go with her, they practically hated her for everything that went down.

The house was dark when she arrived. She knocked on the front door multiple times, and, after no answer, she found it to be unlocked. Drawing her gun, she went in. It was clear. As she suspected, it was a dummy tip. She let out a frustrated sigh as she stepped out of the house. They were no closer to catching the bombers than they were when they started. Walking down the front porch steps, she heard a loud boom, and everything went black.

#aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #criminal minds masterlist #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #agent hotchner

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holylulusworld · 1 day

Text

Their girl

Summary: Your boss doesn’t even know your name. This doesn’t keep his guests from finding interest in you.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Shy!Reader x Mobster!Steve Rogers

Warnings: shy reader, tension, awkwardness, fluff, polyamory, love-struck mobsters

A/N: The sequel no one expected to get.

Catch up here: The nameless girl

True to their words, Steve and Bucky stood in front of your apartment the next evening.

They prepared everything for your date while you spent the better part of the day looking for a new job.

This couldn’t be real. And you believed they wanted to make fun of you by inviting you for dinner like one of the beautiful girls from the club.

“Hello doll,” Bucky lazily leaned in your door frame. He offered a bouquet of daisies to you and called you a pretty mouse.

“Sweet mouse,” Steve grinned and offered a single red rose to you, “you look…stunning.” They both looked dashing in their expensive suits, and polished shoes.

“I-sorry. I’m not ready yet and…” you nervously babbled. Still, in your oversized Peanuts shirt and sweatpants, you looked ridiculous next to them. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Why?” Bucky furrowed his brows. He looked a little hurt at your words. “Why’d you think we would not keep our word and come here to court you.”

“I,” you dropped your gaze, afraid you angered the two of them. “Men like you don’t usually pay attention to someone like me. I’m shy, meek, and a grey mouse in contrast to the dancers at the club.”

“Doll,” Bucky pushed the flowers in Steve’s hands so he could cup your face with both hands. “If we say we want to take you out,” he leaned closer to look you deep in the eyes. “We mean what we say. We want to take you out. Not one of the girls at the club nor anyone else.”

You sniffled and murmured an apology. It was strange to you that two men tried to get your attention. Life taught you that most men only like a pretty façade.

Many guys you met didn’t care if a girl was selfish, dumb, or had the worst character as long as they were pretty enough to get their attention.

“Y/N don’t apologize. I know we can be a bit overwhelming and intense,” Steve smirked when your eyes darted toward him. “Buck, tell her how much we like her.”

“Very much,” Bucky purred your name. He swiped his thumb over your lower lip only to groan deeply when you licked over his thumb and lightly sucked on it. “Fuck, Stevie. We got a dirty little mouse here.”

“Oh?” Steve watched you look at his friend like you were in a trance. “She’s such a cute surprise. Who would've thought we’d find our queen among all those boring girls.”

Bucky pecked your temple, making you sigh at the slightest touch of his lips. “We got lucky,” he said. “She’s one in a million.”

Steve chuckled at his friend’s eagerness. “How about we invite you for dinner at our home, Y/N. You can wear your cute shirt and sweatpants. We can have a sleepover and have dinner at the restaurant tomorrow.”

“We also got a job offer for you, doll,” Bucky whispered against your temple. “We got a free position in our organization.”

“Buck, that was a surprise!” Steve tutted but smirked when your eyes lit up. Losing your job at Clint’s club got you into trouble. Your landlord wants his money on time, not weeks or months later. “What do you say, doll? Do you want to come with us?”

“No.”

“No?” Bucky backpaddled at your answer. He looked you up and down, wondering if he misheard. “Did you say no?”

You took a deep breath and gathered all the courage you could muster and looked Bucky straight in the eyes.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, Mr. Barnes,” you confidentially said, even though, your voice trembled, “but you are still strangers to me. I cannot go with you, to a place I don’t know. I’m shy, not crazy.”

“Aw, she’s even cuter than I thought,” Steve chuckled at your little outburst. “You’re right, Y/N. We will wait outside of your apartment for you to get ready like gentlemen. Please excuse our forwardness.”

“Steve and I will take you out for dinner and drive you back home. We can talk about the job offer on our way to the restaurant. Only if you want to, of course,” Bucky pouted and held out his hand. “Please don’t leave us hanging.”

“I’ll be right back,” you excused yourself and closed the door behind you, exhaling deeply. Your knees shook, but you were also proud of yourself for standing up against Steve and Bucky.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, smirking for a second before they chuckled.

“She’s so cute when mad,” Bucky laughed. “God, it makes me wild imagining her squirming underneath me while I take her apart. She will whimper my name and beg me to fill her up and breed her. But not before I ate her sweet cunt.”

Steve laughed. “You’re a horny dog.”

“Says the man running around with a boner since he laid eyes on our sweet mouse,” Bucky bit back. “I hope you know I’ll have her first. She will melt in my arms.”

“I hope you know Y/N is not like the other girls you easily wrapped around your fingers.”

“I know,” the brunette smirked. “That’s what I like about her, Steve. I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that things would be different with Y/N. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Phew, you got it bad for her,” Steve whistled.

“You are no better,” Bucky snickered. “I know you want to make her ours. Do not deny it. You’re in too deep yourself.”

Both men waited patiently for you to join them outside of your apartment. They offered their arm to you, acting like gentlemen while guiding you toward their car.

The ride toward the restaurant was both, exciting and a little scary. You got into a car with two strangers promising to make you their queen.

Steve held the door to the restaurant open for you while Bucky guided you inside.

“You’ll love the restaurant,” Bucky said as he pulled the chair for you. “Did I already tell you that you look beautiful tonight, doll?”

“Thank you,” you stammered. You didn’t know if he meant what he said. Your sky-blue mini-dress was far from elegant. While all the other women at the restaurant looked like they came straight out of a fashion magazine, you felt underdressed. “It’s new…”

“I like that color on you,” Steve cupped your chin with one hand to tilt your head. “It’s cute and sweet.” You gasped feeling his lips press against the corner of your mouth. “Just like you.”

Bucky’s features darkened when you leaned into his friend’s touch.

“Shall we eat, doll?” He pulled a chair for you, making your heart flutter. “Steve was right, Y/N. You look beautiful in your dress. Did you buy it only for us?”

You giggled and dropped your gaze. “No,” you lied. “I bought it some weeks ago.”

“Aw, our doll believes she can lie to us, Buck,” Steve flashed you a stunning smile. “We know that you wanted to look pretty for us, Y/N. It’s not a bad thing you want to impress us. We did the same. Bucky spent two hours in his closet to find the perfect suit only to drive to town and buy a new one.”

“Steve did the same,” Bucky grabbed a chair and moved it closer to your seat. “He just likes to make everyone believe he looks good in everything without effort, including a potato sack.”

Steve grinned and ran one hand down his chest. “I’d rock that potato sack, Barnes. You know that.”

“I bet you would,” you murmured while eyeing Steve. He looked damn good in his suit and knew it. Men like him and Bucky always know how handsome they are. “You’re both very handsome.”

“Baby, you don’t have to stroke Steve’s ego,” Bucky moved his hand to your thigh to tickle your skin. “It’s already over the top. How about you stroke mine.”

“I think yours is over the top too,” you replied and gave him a tiny smirk before clearing your throat. “So…can we talk about the job now? You got me fired last night.”

“Straight to the point. I like it,” Steve grabbed the remaining chair and moved closer to yours too. He sat down only to place his hand on your other thigh. “We need someone to take care of our paperwork for our more legal business.”

“We need someone we can trust. Steve and I are rather bored when doing office work. You on the other hand have a lot of experience,” Bucky toyed with the hem of your dress while telling you more about the position you always dreamed of.

“How do you know about my work experience?”

“Baby doll, we are enchanted by you. This doesn’t mean we let a wolf in sheep’s clothing inside the inner circle of our business.” Steve pressed a soft kiss to your neck, making you sigh. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

Bucky mirrored his partner. He pressed a soft kiss to your neck, lips nipping at the soft skin. “Oh, and the best is. You can bang your bosses…”

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #mafia au #mobster!steve rogers #mobster!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes

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daydreaming-nerd · 3 days

Text

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Azriel's Version)

Part One , Part 2

AN: "Majesty, Palo is exhausted. Because Majesty only Palo can take this (angst) and this (groveling) and give you...a masterpiece."

No fr guys I put my whole puss into this plz tell me if you liked it

check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: angst, fluff like so much fluff, no editing (I'm so tired omg)

Word count: 9,370

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened.

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all.

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today.

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowing at my tear stained cheeks.

“Yeah,” I laughed him off, wiping the water from my face.

“I’m sorry I interfered like that, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to speak to him or if you wanted me to kick his ass. But he seemed mad and I wouldn’t stand for him yelling at you.” Lucien apologized leaning against the back of the couch a good three feet away sensing I needed some space.

“I suppose that I wasn’t sure what I wanted either,” I sigh leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for stepping in. I think it was for the best.”

“Of course, I’ll always be there for you,” Lucien nods before resuming his staredown with the floor, probably trying to make sense of everything just like I was. “Az seemed…concerned for you. I think the bond snapped for him.”

“It did,” I say, running my hand over my chest, as if I could touch the faint glow of the bond that now sat in my chest. “It clicked the moment he saw us in the kitchen.”

“Are you happy it clicked?” he asked, once again asking all the questions I truly didn’t have an answer for, at least not yet.

“I-I’m not sure.” I say honestly, knowing I didn’t need to hide my true feelings from Lu. “I’ve pictured him finding out a million ways, but over the last couple years I’ve kind of given up on the whole endeavor. I felt like I made it clear that I liked him, and he only met me with complaints about other women. First Mor and then Elain.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Lucien pointed out.

“Even if he had it’s not because he loves me.” I murmured sadly. “You heard him in there. He only wants me because he feels entitled to me. He never once acted like he cared about me beyond being his best friend's little sister.”

“I suppose you’re right, it’s hard to forgive 400 years of cruel behavior,” Lucien muttered, still staring at that little spot on the floor.

I strode across the room and leaned against the couch with him. I wanted to say something, anything to break the silence. But it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room in one foul swoop. I had just let out a 400 year old secret and for the first time ever, our mates seemed to give a damn about us. I look to Lucien who is still processing everything and I recall how Elain was so upset to see her mate with another female.

“Elain…” I started, wanting to tread carefully. “She seemed pretty upset,” I said, only stating the obvious.

Lucien chuckled, “Yeah, I think that’s the first time she’s ever called me her mate.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I ask wanting to give him the same room to speak that he gave me. I knew if he didn’t feel like sharing he wouldn’t, Lucien was no pushover.

“I feel strangely happy,” he says and for the first time since we got back his lip curls into a half smile. “I think that she might be willing to give me a chance.”

My heart warms at the idea of Lucien finally getting to have a chance with his true mate, “I’m really happy for you Lu,” I smile, patting his hand that sat on the back of the couch.

He snaps out of his trance, “that’s not to say that you’re not- you’re a wonderful woman y/n-” he rambles.

“Hey, HEY!” I shout getting his attention. “I’m happy for you Lucien. You deserve this,” I laugh at his attempt to not hurt my feelings.

“Thank you y/n,” he smiles, grabbing my hands and squeezing them.

“What do we do now though,” I sigh looking at his family ring on my finger.

His eyes flit to the ring as well as his thumb brushes over it, “We continue on as normal, we can push back the wedding. I’m not confident in what Elain wants from me at this point and you clearly are at odds with Azriel. If things don��t work out…” he trails off thinking about hsi next words. “If things don’t work out I would still be honored to have you as my wife. I still feel like we could make eachother happy.” he says earnestly.

I look into his eyes of russet and gold and see that he truly means every word, “Okay,” I nod my voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he agrees, keeping his voice down as well. “Shall we head to bed?” he asks.

“We shall,” I laugh, following him up the stairs.

That night we didn’t make love, we cuddled as normal though, but somehow even that felt wrong, now that the bond I prayed over for so long hummed within my chest.

While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed.

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book.

“Just wait till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out.

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“You’re going to be a great mother one day” he admitted.

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “Of course, I’ve always been fond of children myself,” he laughed.

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” he assured me.

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms.

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause.

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over. I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, I always pictured them scaling Azriel when they were little like Nyx, and as they got older I would watch as Az taught them to fly.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple.

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

Feyre’s eyes sparkled at the sight of her son and Rhys eyes sparkled at the sight of Feyre taking their babe from my arms. I reluctantly gave Nyx back, already missing being able to pretend he was my own.

“He was a little angel,” I report to Feyre.

“If by angel you mean hellion,” Lucien chuckles behind me.

“I would expect nothing less from a child raised by this family,” Rhys laughed, wrapping one arm around Feyre and brushing a hand against his son’s cherub cheeks.

A silence rolled over the room as we all watched the little family reunite. I couldn’t help but flit my eyes to Azriel, who looked at them with a grin and a longing in his eyes. His eyes find me and I don’t dare look away.

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

Lucien releases his grip on my hip as I follow Azriel into Rhysand’s study and close the door behind me with a resolute click signaling that I was locked in here with him. Az takes up residence by Rhys’ desk, leaning against it like some sort of tortured man. I couldn’t help but notice he was still in his fighting leathers, his wings tucked in tight and his knuckles perched over his lips, like he was contemplating what to say. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I yelled at you and I shouldn’t have,” he says fidgeting a bit. “Its just… it’s just that I was so pissed when I found him with his hands all over you and you just seemed so happy.”

He sighs running a hand through his hair staring at the ground, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I think that’s what bothered me the most,” he continues. “You seemed…happy.”

“You were upset because I was happy?” I scoff furrowing my brows at him, the fucking gall of this male.

“No, no! Gods y/n,” he corrects me, running his hands down his face clearly upset with himself. “I think I was upset because I wasn’t the one making you happy.” he finally says and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

I’m completely taken back by his words, at the fact that he admitted that he wanted to be the one to make me happy like that. The way Lucien did. It didn’t make any sense, given the fact that he never showed me in the last 400 years.

“That’s funny coming from a male who’s been complaining to me about the females he’s been in love with for the past 400 years.” I deadpan, crossing my arms.

“Is that how long you’ve known? 400 years?” he asked me, voice rising a bit.

I nod, “I knew the night you danced with me on solistance in the Hewn City all those years ago,” I confess.

“Fuck y/n,” he groans running his hands down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you started panting after Mor and the second you gave up on her in walked Elain!” I shouted, it was the most obvious thing ever as to why I didn’t tell him.

“You had to know that you were first,” he says, snapping his head up to meet mine, pleading in those hazel eyes.

I gave him a blank stare not knowing what he was talking about.

“Please tell me you know you were the first, before Mor, before Elain, I was practically on my knees for you,” he confessed.

Once again I’m left speechless. Could it be true? That he had wanted me before I even knew about the bond?

I shook my head, even if it was true he was speaking in past tense. I didn’t want him to be my mate because he felt like he had to be, I wanted him to love me, truly love me. I wanted him to choose me.

“I had no idea,” I admit feeling a bit of shame. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, it’s all in the past. I’m not mad at you Azriel.”

“Thank the cauldron,” he breathes, crossing the room to cup my face.

I place my hands on his wrists and pull them away from me, “Az I think that you should be with Elain,” I say, stepping back from him.

“What? No.” he shakes his head and I take another step back.

“You clearly love her and she loves you, the cauldron made a mistake by making us mates, it's as simple as that,” I say trying to hide my tears.

I loved Az, a part of me always would, but I wouldn’t be his consolation prize just because the cauldron fucked up and made me his mate instead of Elain. I couldn’t live with that.

“No don’t say that, please don’t say that,” Az pleads, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry Azriel but I won’t be your consolation prize,” I say before grabbing the door handle and walking out into the living room where Lucien was.

Azriel goes to say more until he hears the hitch in my breath. There, before me, Lucien is tucking a stray hair out of Elain’s face and placing a kiss on her knuckles. A sweet gesture, one I’ve probably read about a thousand times in my romance novels. Lucien’s eyes flit to mine, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen him so happy.

“We’re going to give it a shot,” he smiles happily, putting an arm around Elain.

“Really?” I ask looking to Elain who smiles brightly.

“Yeah we are,” she says smiling up at Lucien.

“Oh I’m so happy for you two,” I cheer before engulfing them both in a hug.

“Congrats you guys,” Azriel mutters from behind me, seemingly abandoning whatever he was going to say to me in favor of praising his friends.

Lucien chuckles at my excitement, “Don’t get too excited, we’re going to have to move my stuff out of your place today, I think it’s time I move back into the townhouse,” he smiled.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!” I cheer, grabbing his hands to winnow us away.

In reality I wasn’t excited about the idea of moving, and much less excited about the idea of my little townhouse being empty again. But I needed to get away from Azriel.

One week later:

After the all day affair of moving Lucien’s accumulated stuff out of my house and in the townhouse I was back to loving alone. Which at first wasn’t terrible. I was content to read my book and cook for myself when necessary. But after about a week I began to miss the food Lucien would make, or having someone to lie next to. It was a strange feeling, it felt like a breakup, but I wasn’t sad. I missed having another heartbeat in the house, not Lucien himself.

After a week of getting my affairs in order my brother finally asked me for some help and I was thankful for the distraction. All week I had been in my own head about all that had happened, with Lu and Elain, with me and Az. I needed a break to think of something else.

That’s how I found myself slipping on an old day court dress and getting ready to winnow to see Helion, an old friend of mine. I was leaving the house and locking the door when I ran smack into a large chest I screamed being taken off guard.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” a familiar voice apologized, I turn to find Azriel standing before me.

“It’s okay, I should’ve been paying more attention,” I chuckle awkwardly. I hadn’t heard from the spymaster in a week, why would he come to talk to me now?

Azriel’s eyes furrow from where they tower over me, “Why are you dressed for the Day Court?” he inquires.

“Oh well,” I look down at the swaths of white fabric that cascaded down my body, suddenly feeling a bit exposed from off the shoulder dress. “Rhys wants me to go and schmooze Helion a little bit. Something about wanting to get him to agree to better trade deals.” I laugh remembering how my brother agonized over it the other day.

“So he wants you to go and flirt with Helion?” Az cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Well Helion and I go way back, and he’s always been…well keen on me.” I say honestly and I watch as Az bristles just a bit. I can’t even count the number of times the High Lord as tired to get Cassian and I in his bed

“I’ll give Rhys one thing he sure is ruthless,” Azriel chuckles trying to play off his nerves.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask, still wondering why he’s here, at my doorstep.

“Oh uh, no,” Azriel stutters. “Well actually I was walking by and I saw this and I thought of you.” he says pulling out a white rose. It looked like he had plucked it right off the bush down the street. “I thought you should have it.” he finished.

I take the rose from his hand and notice that the thorns have all been cut off. I eye Truth Teller strapped at his side and the lingering thorn that was still stuck on its sharp blade.

“That was very thoughtful of you Az thank you,” I tell him sweetly, taken back by his gesture.

“You’re welcome,” he says, seemingly relaxing at my acceptance of his gift.

I check my watch, “Well I really do have to go, Helion is waiting for me,” I wince moving past him on the stairs so I can get past the words my brother has on my place.

“Yes of course,” Az says following me down the steps and out the wrought iron fence. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’m okay, I can winnow,” I chuckle, closing the gate behind me.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later then,” Azriel voices with a hint of a sigh.

“Yeah I’m sure you will,” I reply before winnowing into Helion’s mansion.

How could Az be so calm about all this? It was like he was trying to force himself to have feelings for me, figuring he better learn to love me now that he’s shackled to me for eternity. Part of me wondered if Rhys had given him a firm talking to and convinced him to attempt to like me.

“There she is,” Helion mused from the top of the stairs coming down the stairs dressed in his usual attire. Part of me hated that I found him attractive, in another life, if he wasn’t so promiscuous, I might’ve seen myself standing by his side.

“Helion,” I smile, pulling him in for a hug.

When we pull away his hands linger at my waist and his eyes look at the rose in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks plucking the rose from my hand.

I think about the encounter with Azriel, how forced it all felt.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

Helion tosses the flower aside before throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me inside, “So, your brother has sent you to convince me to agree to his new trade agreements.” he smirks.

“He’s done nothing of the sort, I came to visit an old friend of my own accord,” I tease, knowing Helion isn’t as daft as Rhys makes him out to be.

“We’ll see about that new treaty after some wine, and tell your brother that next time he wants to use you against me as leverage he should just send you naked,” Helion chuckles.

I erupt in laughter, slapping his arm as he leads us to a white couch with a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table.

Three days later after successfully getting Helion to agree to a new trade treaty I found myself sitting in my living room with a glass of wine enjoying the fruits of my labors. As soon as I told Rhys about the High Lord of Day’s cooperation he sent me one of his finest bottles of wine as a thank you. Not that I required any thanks, I enjoyed spending time with Helion.

My silence was interrupted by my door opening and closing. I just about jumped out of my skin, the only one who had the key to the place was Lucien and he had given it back a long time ago. My heart pounded as I stood from the couch in my nightgown and robe. I had turned in for the night and certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. I lift my romance novel over my head and step around he couch ready to swing when I see Azriel locking the door behind him quietly.

“Azriel you scared the hell out of me,” I sigh, lowering the book.

He turns from the door looking me up and down taking in my casual attire hungrily. “I’m sorry I guess I’m just used to walking right in, I wanted to give you these,” he says holding out a large bouquet of white roses, exactly like the kind he gave me the other day.”

“Thank you Az, they’re beautiful,” I say wearily, taking them from his scarred hands. “I’ll uh- I’ll just put them in water,” I tell him, padding into the kitchen to grab a vase and fill it.

“I thought since you liked the other one I gave you that you might like those ones too,” he says walking into the kitchen and leaning in my doorway.

I place the two dozen roses in a vase,“Well I appreciate them, it’s been a while since I’ve had fresh flowers in the house,” I divulge to him, remembering how Lucien used to bring them home all the time. He would always ask for Elain to make him a bouquet, his little way of speaking to her in a way that didn’t make her uncomfortable. The thought had me thinking of how Lucien and Elain were probably sitting at a nice dinner right now, had me questioning why the fuck Azriel was here.

A silence fills the room as Azriel sits admiring either me or the flowers, from where I’m standing it could be either or. I walk around the kitchen island to test the theory and sure enough his eyes follow me as I lean my back against the side closer to him. A wave of embarrassment slips over me. Did Rhys ask him to bring more flowers again? Was I really that pathetic?

“Az why are you doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the flowers behind me.

Azriel straightens taking a tentative step towards me, “Because I want what Elain and Lucien have. I want you to give me a chance to be a good mate,” he says softly.

I look to the wooden floors below me, my bare feet messing with a loose floorboard, “You don’t have to do this Azriel. If Rhys sent you I’ll just cover for you and say you came.” I say not daring to look at him.

“I’m not here because of Rhys, I’m here because I want to see you,” he implored and I heard his feet shuffle closer.

“I’m still not your consolation prize just because Lucien and Elain are doing well. I won’t do that to myself,” I say, continuing to mess with the loose floorboard.

“You’re not my consolation prize y/n, you’re my mate.” Azriel states, his voice becoming more urgent causing me to tighten my arms around myself ever so slightly.

His boots come into my line of sight and suddenly he’s titling my chin up to meet his pleading gaze. I’m suddenly all too aware of how underdressed I was. There was a time when I would’ve killed for this. But now? I won’t let myself be hurt again.

“Y/n please-”

“Azriel I’m at peace,” I snap, cutting him off and looking down at our feet once again even though his hand still rested under my chin. “For the first time in 400 years I’m at peace. I have loved, and pined, and thrown myself at your feet for 400 years, and I am finally happy in my exile. So forgive me if I’m hesitant to give that up so quickly because you all of the sudden want a mate.” I bit out.

His shadows dance around my hands and I move my fingers out of their grasp, like their cold kiss was burning me.I wait for him to say something back, for him to breathe wrong, yell at me or leave but he doesn’t move. I let my eyes flit up to his, and I find him staring down at me, like he’s been waiting for me to look at him this whole time.

“I’m not going to give up,” he states, if he was sad or upset by my previous words he doesn’t show it.

I sigh, tossing my head back, “Az please,” I beg.

“No I’m serious, I’m not giving up on you, on us,” he maintained steadfastly, his hands not leaving my cheek as he steps even closer to me and my back hits the cool granite behind me.

“Azriel I think you should go,” I grit out, the second my body stiffens under his he steps back giving me my space.

“Alright I’ll go,” he says, taking a step back.

I follow him to the door and hold it open as he steps out into the cool night air that has me wrapping my silk robe around me tighter, as if it was helping anything anyways.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he assures me before shooting off into the sky.

“I really wish you wouldn’t!” I shout into the air after him before slamming the door and locking it.

I take a deep breath once I’m seated on my couch again, trying to salvage any sort of peace I might still have. But that tranquility was disappearing in my hands the more I chased it.

The following day I head to Rhys’ house to talk over the new adjustments in the Day Court trade agreements. It was supposed to be easy enough, but as things got more and more complex it ended up being an all day thing. By the time I walked up the steps to my own townhouse I was exhausted and starving. I wasn’t looking forward to bread for dinner as I had no time to go to the market today.

I kicked open the door and locked it behind me, the smell of fresh tomatoes and basil wafted through the air causing me to pause in my tracks. Was Lucien here? Had him and Elain gotten in a fight or something?

“Ah shit!” I heard a male cuss followed by the searing of liquid on a burner.

I curiously walk around the corner of the kitchen where I’m greeted with the sight of Azriel, standing in my apron, reading my cookbook and stirring some sort of sauce. His shadows were helping him turn the pages of the book. I see the spilled sauce on the burner that was the cause of his profanity just moments ago.

“There you are,” he smirked, his eyes flitting up to mine before reading the book again.

“Az what are you doing here?” I ask, setting my bag down on the table.

“Making you dinner,” he said, gesturing to the numerous used pans and utensils lying around my once clean kitchen.

I walk over to inspect what he’s cooking. Fresh herb crusted chicken cooks in the pan next to him while he stirs a red sauce. In the sink is cooked pasta sitting next to freshly sauteed green beans. I inhale the smell of the food deeply and I can’t help but feel myself salivate a little, it smells delicious.

“You always dog ear the recipes you want to try but you never make them for fear of not liking them,” he says nonchalantly as he prods at the chicken.

I look down at the cookbook he’s reading, sure enough the recipe he’s making has a bent corner. I had been itching to try it but had never found the time.

“If you end up not liking it there’s take out from Rita’s in the ice box,” he said using the spoon to point to the ice box in the corner of the room.

I look up to fully inspect him. This all feels like a ridiculous practical joke. If someone had told me that my spymaster would be cooking me dinner I would’ve laughed in their face. Upon further inspection I realize he’s shirtless, save for my apron he’s wearing.

“Was the half nudity necessary?” I cock an eyebrow leaning against the counter.

Azriel barked out a laugh, “It took me a while to find the apron, I had gotten tomato juice on my shirt when I started chopping them up for the sauce so I took it off and washed it,” he explained the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Plus I figured the whole shirtless bit might win me more brownie points with you.”

I rolled my eyes at his cockiness, I didn’t dare let him know how right he was.

He laughed at my reaction, “Why don’t you go sit down, dinner’s almost ready.” he said gesturing to the couch.

I shrugged my shoulders and padded my way over to my favorite reading spot. The one he found me in yesterday. I plop down on the velvet sofa and there in front of me on the coffee table, my book has been left open to the place I bookmarked and a glass of wine sits for me. I raise an eyebrow but decide to just roll with it, I pick up the book and sip on the wine, becoming engrossed with the story.

A few minutes later I feel the cold begin to bite at my toes. I look around for a blanket and see that the nearest one is across the room. I curse at the idea of having to move, but before I can even set my book down one of Azriel’s shadows is scurrying across the room to retrieve the knitted blanket for me. The wisp of darkness arranges the blanket neatly over my legs, tucking me in like a mother would her child. I can’t help but laugh at the care the little thing is putting into the job.

Azriel’s shadows looking out for me was nothing new, the second the bond clicked for me they tended to stay near me. Picking up pens and silverware I dropped on the floor and always twirling around my hair and wrists. There were even times they would try to drag Az near me, like on starfall and solstice, nights I looked especially beautiful. But he would always curse and wave them off until they left him alone.

The little shadow perched itself on my shoulder as if it too wanted to read my book. I could sense it was trying to anticipate any other small need I might have.

“You know he might be insufferable but you guys are pretty great,” I laugh looking at the curious being.

In response the shadow boops itself on my nose as if it was giving me a kiss.

“Don’t tell them that or they’ll get a big head,” Azriel murmurs behind me where he’s leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, still shirtless and wearing that damned apron.

“In that case I’ll be sure to praise them more often, they’re little angels,” I smile as the tendril of darkness dances around my collar.

Azriel lets out a small chuckle behind me, “Dinner is ready,” he tells me before disappearing into the kitchen once more.

I follow him as the small shadow frantically pulls at my wrist towards the table, as if it’s eager for me to see what it helped its master cook. When I walk into the darkened kitchen and find that Az has set the table not only with our dinner but with candles and another bouquet. This time it’s an arrangement of jasmine, no doubt from the florist down the street.

I sit down and inhale the heavenly scent of the white flowers and hum in delight. Azriel comes in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring us each a bit. He sees me admiring the flowers and smiles.

“Jasmine, like your perfume,” he says, putting down the bottle and taking his seat next to me.

I smile and look down at the plate before me. It looks delicious, the pasta is fragrant with basil, the chicken is cooked to perfection and the green beans are vibrant and green. I lift my fork and dig into the past first. The moment it hits my tongue the flavor melts in my mouth, rich, bold and oh so savory. I let out a moan as my eyes flit to Azriel who is watching me expectantly wondering if I’m going to like it or not.

“This is incredible,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see me chewing.

“Thank the cauldron I thought I put too much red pepper in,” he breathes out, seemingly relaxing before digging into his own plate.

“No it’s perfect, thank you really,” I say earnestly.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, taking a bite of chicken.

We sit and eat our meals in silence simply enjoying the good food. A little shadow flitted up in front of my face to gauge my reaction to the bite of chicken I was chewing. I couldn’t help but laugh as it shifted like it was cocking its head at me.

“Yes it’s very good, you did a wonderful job,” I laugh at the little fella.

My giggle brings Azriel’s attention to me once again and before I know it he’s waving his hand at the little tendril like he’s swatting a fly.

“Hey go away let her eat for the love of god,” he chastises as the shadow slinks back behind him.

“Don’t worry it wasn’t bothering me,” I laugh taking another bite of green beans.

“Yeah well they haven’t been listening lately,” he says looking back at the little shadow that had slinked behind his shoulder like a reprimanded child.

I shake my head at the two of them interacting and take another sip of wine. To be honest I wasn;t really sure what to say to Azriel. Despite his valiant efforts to win me I still wasn’t ready to abandon the peace I had grown so fond of.

“You know it’s funny,” he tells me, playing with the food on his plate. “I feel like my shadows have always liked you. It was like they knew before I did,” he laughed nervously at his confession.

“Maybe so,” I shrug, not wanting to broach the subject, the friendlier we could make this the better.

“I can remember times when they would drag me into any room that had you in it. Most of the time I control them, but when it comes to you? They control me.” he laughs while taking a sip of his wine.

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say, forcibly changing the topic of conversation. “It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I think the local restaurants have my to-go orders memorized now.” I laugh.

“Lucein used to cook for you didn’t he?” Azriel asks, and I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my head as I play with the pasta on my plate.

“Yeah he did, he was a surprisingly good cook too,” I say, recalling the traditional Autumn Court meals he would cook all the time. They were mostly for him, for when he was feeling nostalgic, but he always left some for me as well.

Azriel sits for a moment as if debating whether or not to say something for a moment. “Did you love him?” he asks.

My fork clatters to the plate at the abrupt question and I’ve never felt so put on the spot. It was never something I had thought about in regards to the autumn court male. Love seemed like an emotion that would be reserved for Azriel and Azriel alone, until one day it wasn’t. I didn’t love Lucien, but I certainly stopped loving Az in that way, or at least I think I did.

“No I didn’t” I say honestly turning to meet the shadowsingers gaze. “Lucien and I… it was never like that. We both knew what we needed for each other, it started as just sex. But then he would stay the night, and then we started going to breakfast. His shirts started showing up in the laundry hamper, his books on the coffee table. Eventually I just gave him a key, it seemed like the logical thing to do. We didn’t even label our relationship until he asked me to marry him.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Azriel said, going back to shyly staring down at the table. “I overheard your conversation that one day. When you asked him about the possibility of having children. You said that you always pictured your children having wings, was that true?” he inquired.

I nod shallowly, unable to trust my own words in such a raw moment.

If Az had any other questions he didn’t ask them or press me to talk about the two of us, it was as if he was happy with the answers I did give him. He was perfectly content to let me finish eating my meal in comfortable silence. When I was finished he cleared the table and didn’t let me lift a finger to help clean. Instead those pesky shadows cornered me into reading my book once more.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he came in, dressed in his shirt once more to bid me goodnight. He insisted that I stay in my comfortable spot by the couch as he walked himself out locking the door behind him. As the comfortable silence, which I had grown so used to, ensued, I found myself silently wishing he had stayed just a little longer.

The following weeks were spent with little visits from shadows and shadowsingers. Sometimes it would be Azriel showing up at my door with coffee or gifts. Other times, when Rhys had Azriel on missions he would find ways to leave things at my doorstep. The first time it was another bouquet of flowers and then chocolates.

My favorite gift from Azriel had been the books. The first set he got me was the second and third book in my series. They appeared at my door the morning after he made me dinner with a note that read…

I noticed that you were almost done with your book last night so I went out to get you the second book. I noticed it was a short book so I got you the third in case you finished it in one day like you no doubt will.

-Azriel

Of course he was right and I finished the second book by the end of the day. When I opened the third, and much longer book, to begin reading it a bookmark fell out and another note.

I figured you might need a bookmark for this one.

-Azriel

He was right about that as well.

The next book to be delivered was a classic romance with certain pages, and quotes underlined. His notes scribbled in the margins. Clearly he had taken the time to read the novel himself. When I saw the first annotation I expected his further notes to be corny or cheesy, but each one was well thought out.

The most recent literally delivery was a small and short book about different types of flowers. Between each of the pages sat a live flower that corresponded with the page. It was possibly the most vibrant and beautiful bouquet I had ever seen and by far my favorite floral gift I had received.

This week though things had been different. As the colder months were drifting in I started spending more time inside, reading by the fire. But not once had Azriel stopped by. Not a present, not a note to be found. When I subtly asked Rhys were the shadowsinger was he told me he was in the isle of Hybern.

A week had come and gone without so much as a tendril of a shadow to be seen. I sat infront of my roaring fire with a book in hand trying to escape the bitter cold. Outside the first snowfall of the year had taken the form of a blizzard. I pitied the shopkeepers that would have to walk home in it.

Around midnight I heard the scraping of metal against stone from outside my house. I jumped out of my skin and quickly looked at the clock noting the late hour. I set down my novel to wrap myself in a blanket and pad over to the front door. I could already hear the winds outside and feel the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the door.

I open the door to investigate the strange sound and I nearly gasp when I find Azriel outside my house shoveling my walkway with a small shovel from my garden. One meant for digging out plants and trees, not snow.

“Az what are you doing?” I ask, making the spymaster jump a bit.

“I’m shoveling your walkway. I didn’t want you to slip tomorrow morning or hurt your back trying to shovel it yourself,” he said, digging into the snow again with the little metal shovel.

“Oh Az you don’t have to do that,” I coo walking out into the cold pulling my blanket tighter.

“I don’t have to but I want to,” he said shoveling more snow. “It wouldn’t take so long if I had a bigger shovel.” he grunts, frustrated.

“Well why didn’t you take Rhys’ shovel?” I laughed watching as the overgrown Illyrain tried to mangle the tiny thing.

“Well I just got back from Hybern, I saw it had snowed and I came here first.” he explained and my heart swelled. He had come to my place first before he even went home. “I figured if I didn’t do it you would fall and break your head open.”

“Azriel, really you don’t have to do this, I can handle it,” I plead with him feeling bad that he’s subjected himself to the weather.

He stops his shoveling and turns to look at me, “y/n I want to do this. Don’t worry about it.” he says before looking me up in down seeing that I’m in nothing but a short nightgown and a blanket. “Now go inside before you catch a cold.”

“Me? What about you?” I laugh looking around at the snow falling around us.

“I’m Illyrian the snow doesn’t bother me,” he retorts and I can tell that he’s lying by the pink in his cheeks from the cold.

“Well I’m half Illyrian,” I counter, swinging back and forth on my heels.

“Then I’m sure half of you is really cold,” he rebuttals. “Now go back inside and get warm before I carry you inside myself.” he smirks before shoveling up another heap of snow.

I just shake my head and retreat to the warm fireplace awaiting me.

I waltz into the House of Wind where the Solstice party is in full swing. Lords from neighboring courts are chatting and drinking all around and from the corner of the room I can hear Cassian’s booming laugher as he doubles over at something Helion has said.

Like almost every solstice party I arrive fashionably late. I truly never mean to be the last to arrive, but it feels like the whole guest list decides to arrive early just to spite me. I make my way around the area where couples and children are dancing to a small quartet and head toward the bar. My dress billows behind me like liquid starlight. Just like every solstice party before this one, I will get by with copious amounts of wine.

I lean against the bar and watch as Elain and Lucien laugh and giggle across the room. I smile as Elain pops a pastry into Lu’s mouth and I can’t help but feel a warmness in my chest at the two of them. Lucien was finally happy with his mate, and if there was ever someone who deserved such happiness it was him.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shadowy friend making its presence known. Flying up by my face to say hello and then rushing behind me as if it was called. I turn to see Azriel dressed immaculately staring at me. His eyes flit up and down my body taking in every detail of me.

“You look…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if the words he was going to say wouldn’t be the right ones. “There are no words. Even the poets would get it wrong.”

I can’t help but blush at his choice of words, taking a step toward him as the shadows behind me are pushing me to do so.

“You clean up pretty good yourself, spymaster,” I chuckle giving him a once over.

He blushes and then speaks again, “I mean it, you look beautiful tonight y/n.”

I blush again and turn my head to avoid his gaze, like that shade of hazel might burn me from the inside out if I look too long.

“You must allow me to dance with you,” he says, taking both our drinks and placing them on the bar. “Not having you out on that dance floor would be a disservice to everyone here.”

I laugh taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor, “Alright Az you’ve convinced me, but only because I know you won’t step on my feet,”

We fall into a comfortable motion, swaying back and forth to the slow tempoed song the quartet is playing. The couples around us filter around us, some lost in deep conversation, some embraced closely swaying to the song. I keep my eyes on them, knowing that Azriel’s gaze is on me.

Memories of a solstice much like this one float through my mind. The way my feet ached before Azriel saved me, sweeping me up into a dance. The way the bond felt when it snapped into place for me. I had pulled on it so desperately hoping he might feel it too. I thought of all the years of agony that followed that night. Watching Az fall for Mor and later on Elain. Hearing my brother and Cassian talking about Azriel’s exploits in bedding local women. All of it tore me apart and it took over 200 years to rebuild the part of me that I had lost. I wondered if I would ever be whole like that again.

I hear Elain and Lucien’s laughter once more, the sound breaking me from my thoughts as Azriel and I continue to sway to the music.

“They make a great couple,” Azriel’s deep voice rumbles through me.

I smile watching Lucine place a kiss to his mates lips, “They really do,” I say with a lightness to my voice.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” He asks tentatively and my world comes crashing down.

“Az,” I say and his face falls at the dismissal in my tone.

“Why not y/n? Why can’t we have a shot like they can?” Azriel says starting to get upset.

As if on queue the song that the quartet is playing ends and I hear the musicians flipping through their sheet music to find the next song. I pull my hands out of Azriel’s and take a few steps back.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” I say calmly, trying not to let the damn of tears break. I swiftly move past him towards the door.

“Y/n wait!” I hear him call out behind me but I’m already out the door, my tears falling down my face as I make my way back to that empty townhouse in the middle of the city.

The rain outside my house slams into the window violently. Spring has come early in Velaris and I wasn’t exactly upset about it. At least I wasn’t until this torrential downpour blew into town. I hadn’t seen rain like this in the Night Court for at least a hundred years now.

It’s been weeks since solstice and it seems that Azriel has finally taken the hint and left me alone. I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that dance. Not a flower, chocolate or shadow to be seen and while I should be happy about it I had never been sadder. After all the walls I put up trying to keep my peace it seemed that he had succeeded in breaking them down again.

I sat by the fire staring down at the dancing flames, no book, not even a glass of wine or tea. Just me and my all consuming thoughts. Each one of them led back to hazel eyes and blue siphons.

I jump at the sound of a fist pounding on my door. Pulling my sweater tighter to cover up my nightgown I walk over to investigate who would have the guts to stand out in this monsoon at this hour. When I open the door I find Azriel bracing his arms against the doorframe, out of breath like he ran here. His hair soaking wet and sticking to his brow as the rain pelted him.

“Az?” I shout over the sound of rain.

“I can’t go on like this any longer y/n, I won’t do it!” he shouts over the storm.

“Az it’s pouring what are you-”

“I love you y/n!” he shouts stopping me mid sentence. “From the moment I met you I knew. I wanted so badly to put my hands around your waist and kiss you. And if you’re wondering why that seems like such an adolescent dream it’s because that’s what we both were. I was 117 years old and you were 115 and that’s all I wanted. I knew little of love, even less of lust. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you,” he hollers over the sound of rain wiping the water from his eyes.

“I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve hurt you, but I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, because I love you. And I don’t care that you don’t love me too, because I love you y/n. I choose to love you!” he finishes and I can’t tell if it's rain falling from his eyes or tears that match my own.

I choose to love you.

I take a shaky breath and take in the sheer desperation on his face, “I love you too Azriel,” I laugh feeling another tear slip down my cheek.

He doesn’t waste a moment, stepping through my threshold and cupping my cheek to place a searing kiss on my lips. I melt into him, feeling his clothes soaking my own as my nightgown clings to my skin. His hands are on my waist, scarred and cold from the elements but still so intoxicating. My arms wrap around him pulling him further into the entryway. I hear him slam the door shut with his boot drowning out the sound of rain leaving only the music of our ragged breaths as he kisses me deeper.

He pulls away to press his forehead to mine, his wet hair and skin causing drops of water to cascade down my own face.

“I love you so much,” he breathes cupping my cheek to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “My mate.”

I pull him in deeper at the utterance of those two little words. I had waited 400 years for this male to kiss me, and this kiss right here? Well it made everything all the more worth it.

Epilogue: 5 years later

I stand outside on the lawn of the townhouse. My arms clutching around the sweater I’m wearing as the fresh spring air blows over my skin. My hands drift lower to the small bump of my stomach.

I was only a few months pregnant and barely starting to show. Elain had told me that it would be a girl claiming she had seen it in a vision. I couldn’t have been more excited for Azriel to be a girl dad.

“You’re doing it son!” I hear my mate call from the sky where he teaches our son to fly.

“Dad, I'm flying!” the onyx haired child shouted as he flapped his wings to pick up some speed.

At first I was apprehensive of him learning to fly so early, even though it had always been a dream of mine to watch my children learn to fly. But Azriel had assured me that the youngster was more than ready, and after a few weeks of lessons here he was taking to the air like a natural.

I look around at the townhouse behind me. It had seen some significant changes since the night Azriel stood in the rain and told me he loved me. The front yard was littered with toy swords and shields, and the outside had a fresh coat of paint. The inside had a room addition, a room for our son, Kai, and now we're adding another room for our daughter. All paid for by Rhys of course who was more than happy to give his nephew and niece everything under the sun.

My thoughts are interrupted by Azriel slamming into the ground before me. I turn to see him walking over to me with a smile on his face.

“Az shouldn’t you be up there with him?!” I fuss looking to where our son swoops and dives through the air.

Azriel laughs and picks me up bridal style, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“It didn’t feel right being up there without my girls,” he smiled nodding to my bump.

Without warning he took off into the sky meeting Kai up there. We must’ve spent hours flying around the city, stopping by every uncle and aunt's house to show them Kai’s new skill. Everything was perfect, and for the first time in my whole life, I finally knew peace.

(Do you guys want a smutty bonus chapter of what they did after he confessed his love???)

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ellecdc · 3 days

Note

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing, I’ve binged like all of your fics 😂. If possible could you do maybe a poly!moonwater x reader where said reader maybe gets hurt (maybe someone says something negative about Remus and she gets hurt defending him?) I just absolutely adore your moonwater fics! And when Barty gets involved is hilarious. thank you so much! No pressure if you don’t feel the Inspo for it!

I've not written for moonwater in a while, so this was a sweet treat! thanks for your request, lovie <3

poly!moonwater x gn!reader who defends Remus' honour

CW: Snape's a wanker in this and we hand his ass to him for it [sorry to my Snape apologists out there - don't hate me!], alluding to blood but no actual mention of it? small injury to hand, Regulus sharing Sirius' DNA trait for mischief

You sucked in a pained breath through your teeth which was quickly replicated by your boyfriend in some sort of weird comradery.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry dove.” Remus murmured softly as he continued dabbing gently at the broken skin on your knuckles.

“S’not your fault.” You mumbled petulantly as you tried to ignore the stinging of every swipe he made; the once pristine white cloth now quite decorated in red.

Remus snorted as he eyed you pointedly before affixing his gaze back to your hands. “It sounds as if it sort of was.”

It was your turn to snort as you glared at the wall behind Remus as if it had been the one making derogatory comments in the halls a mere ten minutes ago. “You’re not the wanker who was begging to be punched.”

Remus shook his head in admonishment, but you could feel the [painful] puffs of air dancing across your open wounds as he breathed out a laugh. “He’s going to be furious, you know?”

Remus didn’t clarify who he was, but he didn’t need to. “Yeah well, if you would bloody hurry up and cast an episkey on this already, he’d never have to know.” You taunted only half teasingly [and half very nervously about how long it was taking to close up the few scrapes lining your hands from your minor scuffle].

Unfortunately, he walked in through the door before Remus had finished patching you up.

“What in the bloody hells is this I’m hearing about a brawl between you and Snape?” Regulus demanded with a stoney face as he stalked towards your form; face falling as your hands came into his view.

“Amour! What in Salazar’s name- On dirait que tu as combattu un nundu.”

“Okay, well, I think that’s a little dramatic.” You deflected quickly at the insinuation that you walked away from a fight with a nundu with nothing but a few cuts and scrapes to your knuckles to show for it.

“Dramatic?” Regulus drawled as he levelled you with an unimpressed look. “I’m not the one who jumped another student in the hallways after Potions! And Snape of all people; you know to ignore his usual drivel, amour.”

You shared a guilty look with Remus who gave you a sad smile.

“It wasn’t the usual drivel, Reg.” Remus offered, causing Regulus’ breath to leave him which he had at the ready, no doubt, to continue his admonishment.

“I didn’t think that sod had the brain cells left to come up with anything new.” He offered noncommittally, causing Remus to snort a laugh. “Still, sweetheart; I’d really prefer you just ignore him.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore a tosser who has the audacity to speak about my, quote, half-blood half-breed freak and his blood-traitor servants who he no doubt imperio’d to be with him?” You challenged; tone both soft yet firm as you looked at Regulus imploringly.

Regulus stood there staring back at you before you noticed his jaw tighten. “Bâtard.” He spat as he looked down to where Remus was sitting on a footstool in front of you as he finished wrapping your hands.

“He’s just jealous that he can’t find one person to put up with his black hair and brooding personality, let alone two.”

“Did Regulus Black just make…not only a joke, but a joke at his own expense?” You teased as you kicked one of your feet out at him, only for him to catch you by the ankle and run his thumb over your ankle bone.

“Of course I did; I’m hilarious.” Regulus agreed in monotone causing both you and Remus to chuckle.

“You’re all fixed up, dovey.” Remus announced as he stood, bending to press a kiss on your head before pressing one to Regulus’ too. “No more fights at my expense, okay?”

“Can I fight at Regulus’ expense?”

“No.” Both boys chorused, though Remus pointed at himself as he nodded and mouthed “tell me first”.

“So, where can I find Snape now?” Regulus asked as he dropped your ankle, earning him unimpressed looks from both of you. “What? I’m not going to go find him, I just need to tell Barty where he can find him.”

“Junior doesn’t give a niffler’s arse about what Snape has to say about me, Reggie.” Remus admonished as he leaned against the headboard of his four poster bed.

“Perhaps not.” Regulus agreed readily before his gaze moved to meet yours; the horrifying glimmer of mischief present in his icy grey eyes sending shivers down your spine. “But he will care to know that his precious Treasure lost blood over that foul git.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You hissed.

But Regulus had already turned on his heel and was rushing out of the marauder’s dorm room; as you stood to chase him, two arms wrapped an iron grip around your middle and pulled you flush to his chest.

“No more fights, dovey.” Remus murmured into your neck as he pulled you back into his bed with him.

“I’d only be fighting our sodding boyfriend! You know I’d win!” You whined petulantly, though your body traitorously melted into Remus’ frame as he nuzzled impossibly further into your neck.

“No more fighting.” He repeated.So you acquiesced; you stopped fighting and fully allowed yourself to be cuddled by your half-blood half-breed boyfriend that you were so unbelievably and willingly in love with.

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junrenjun · 2 days

Text

love and lacrosse jackets

pe teacher!vernon x chemistry teacher!reader (fem)

genre: fluff

wc: 3k

warnings: reader is referred to as ms. (and other fem pronouns), reader wears vernon's clothes

a/n: this is not an understand series update and i apologize for that. however, here's a vernon teacher au with a little side of lacrosse and dad!seungcheol

You were suddenly thrown out of your thoughts by one of your students sighing and turning from her worksheet. “Ms. y/n, can I ask a question?”

You knew this student, Maya, was likely trying to get out of doing her assignment. She was too smart for her own good. “Depends. Is it about the worksheet?”

She paused for a second, turning her head slightly away in order to avoid your gaze. “...no.”

You continued. “Do you need to go to the bathroom or the nurse?”

Maya sighed and mumbled, “no.”

You turned back to your computer while giving your final response. “Then I think you know the answer. I would be happy to talk to you once you’ve balanced all those equations.”

You should’ve known she wasn’t giving up that easily. If anything, she probably gave up halfway through the worksheet because she knew the answers and was just looking for something to entertain herself. “Mr. Chwe lets us ask him questions all the time.”

You snorted. “Mr. Chwe is a PE teacher Maya. You don’t have worksheets to do in his classes. Unfortunately, you do in chemistry. So please finish this or at least study for your quiz next week.”

Maya was apparently taken aback by this. She was quick to defend herself, saying, “how do you know we don’t do worksheets in PE?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Maybe you should've been a college professor instead of a high school teacher. “I’m the girls lacrosse coach and he’s the boys coach. We spend a lot of time together and I’ve never once seen him make a worksheet.”

An evil grin spread across Maya’s face. You internally groaned at this. That expression means she’s up to absolutely no good. She turned and tapped on her partner’s arm. Great, now she’s distracting other students too. “Henry, wouldn’t Ms. y/n and Mr. Chwe make a cute couple?” He grinned and started going off on a tangent about how funny it would be if the two lacrosse coaches were dating.

This conversation really took a turn for the worse, didn’t it? There’s nothing you could do but groan, out loud this time, and put your head in your hands. Your neighboring teacher, Mr. Seokmin, really has impeccable timing though. He stuck his head through your door and grabbed your attention a few moments later. “Hey Ms. y/n, do you have a student that can run an errand for me real quick?”

Now was your chance. “Maya, since you seem to have no interest in balancing any more equations, why don’t you go help Mr. Seokmin?”

Before she could protest, the physics teacher grinned brightly at her before exclaiming, “perfect! Come on Maya, I need someone to help me carry these projects to the library.” Once she was finally out of the room, you breathed a sigh of relief.

It didn’t last long though because your other students suddenly started giggling and murmuring amongst each other. Henry, who was still turned toward you, decided he needed to continue Maya’s antics in her absence. “You did say you and Mr. Chwe were close.” More giggles were heard.

You’re not sure what you did to deserve this treatment from your 3rd hour honors class of all people, but clearly it was something. “Alright if you all don’t go back to your work I’m not offering any extra credit on this next quiz.” The rest of the hour passed in silence.

“What’s with the long face?” Vernon thought the joking would cheer his best player up, but it just made Henry frown even more.

After a few moments of silence, he finally answered, “I had a quiz in chemistry today. Don’t think I did too well on it.”

Vernon was quick to ask him which teacher he had. “Your favorite, Ms. y/n,” Henry responded.

The PE teacher rolled his eyes at the comment but still clapped his hand on the player’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, kid. She offers extra credit. But she also told me you and Maya were pestering her the other day instead of doing your work, so maybe you should put a little more effort into understanding the material next time.”

Henry grumbled, knowing nothing good would come of an argument. “Yeah, whatever you say Coach.” Then, he dropped his bag on the ground and ran out onto the field to start warming up.

Vernon felt someone approach him from behind. “See dude, even the kids can pick up on you and y/n’s chemistry. Haha, get it? Chemistry? Y/n teaches chemistry.” The head coach could barely restrain himself from flicking Mingyu in the forehead. He was a great assistant coach, but an incredibly annoying friend.

“Why can’t I just be friends with a coworker and fellow lacrosse coach?” Vernon complained. Mingyu simply watched on as his friend continued. “Just because we’re both single doesn’t mean we should get together. I mean she’s really cool and works really well with the kids. And she’s an insane lacrosse player, an even better coach too. I think she could get the girls to state this year. I just think…” He’s cut off by Mingyu smacking his arm.

For once, he’s grateful for the assistant coach’s intrusion, because he turns around to find you jogging up to him. Weird, he thought to himself, since you and the girls have a game today. You skid to a stop next to the two, and make eye contact with him. “You don’t happen to have an extra SVHS shirt do you? I think I forgot my coaching shirt at home today and I really don’t want Seungcheol getting on my ass for it.”

Vernon’s world comes crashing down at that moment. Maybe he does have a teensy little crush on you. Because the thought of you wearing his clothes has him swooning. Mingyu, ever so helpful, snaps him out of the moment by clearing his throat to yell at the boys for messing around. Vernon blinks at you for a second before stammering out, “uh yeah I think so,” and reaching into his bag. He pulls out a gray quarter zip with the words “SVHS” and “Coach Chwe” embroidered on the chest. He debates hiding it from your sight and shoving it back in his bag to save you both the embarrassment, but he knows how strict Seungcheol is as an athletic director.

He eventually tosses it to you, stuttering out something about good luck while watching you throw it over your head. Once it’s on you say, “I have the same one, so hopefully no one sees the difference. Thanks Chwe.” He can’t even process your words because his brain is simply malfunctioning seeing you in his clothes, especially ones that say his name. He’s no better than his high schoolers. Before he knows it, you’re turning on your heel and jogging back to the main field.

Someone comes up behind him, filling Mingyu’s absence, since the assistant coach ran off to lead practice drills in the middle of Vernon’s little crisis. He hears the lacrosse captain snickering and then telling him, “damn Coach, you’ve got it bad. You’re redder than a tomato.”

Vernon simply cannot handle it any further. “Oscar, for heaven’s sake, please shut your mouth and go back to practice.” Oscar throws his hands up in mock defense, before grabbing the ball that rolled over to Vernon’s feet and running back onto the field.

You really need to give Vernon his coach’s jacket back. It didn’t help that you weren’t a morning person, and seemed to accidentally leave it at home whenever you left for work each day. It also maybe didn’t help that it smelled just like the boy’s lacrosse coach, who, admittedly, smelled pretty damn good. But, you couldn’t hoard Vernon’s things forever. You were lucky enough that you had gone a week without him mentioning the jacket at all, which you chalked up to him knowing you were busy.

Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow you would take the jacket back to school and give it to him. You even laid it out with your own jacket, which you were going to wear the next since you had a game anyways. That, however, was a mistake. Because in the morning, groggy from lack of sleep, you accidentally threw on Vernon’s jacket and shoved your own into your work bag.

How no one told you until 3rd period, you’re not quite sure. Mainly because Seokmin had specifically complimented your outfit when you visited him before your first class. You thought maybe it was because you were wearing a new pair of pants. Clearly it was not and the physics teacher was using it as a means to tease you (and Vernon by proxy). If only you had known.

Maya stepped into your classroom extra peppy that day, which was already a recipe for disaster. The fact that she was the one to catch that you were wearing Mr. Chwe’s zip-up certainly did not help. A gasped “oh my god” stopped you in the middle of your lecture. You pointedly looked at the girl before asking, “Maya, is everything alright?”

The poor girl could barely contain her excitement, practically shaking in her seat. “You’re dating Mr. Chwe! I knew it!”

You were caught so off-guard that it took you a while to respond. “Maya, where did you even get that idea from? And you’re being disruptive, I’m trying to teach about equilibrium.”

She stood from her seat and pointed at you, before excitedly exclaiming, “your jacket. You’re wearing Mr. Chwe’s jacket!” You looked down and, sure enough, Vernon’s name was plastered across the chest. To put it plainly, you were mortified. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ve embarrassed yourself even more when you don’t respond for a solid minute.

Finally, when you’re done wallowing in pity in front of a bunch of 16 year olds, you make your way to your desk and pull out a hall pass. You hand it to Maya swiftly before telling her, “if you’re too invested in this to learn chemistry, go bother Mr. Chwe about it. It’s his planning period.” She gapes up at you before scrambling out of the room.

You turn back to the rest of the class, making sure to pointedly look at Henry. “No other questions about my love life?”

A deadly silence spreads across the room. Henry sinks back in his chair but you watch a hand creep up from the back of the classroom. You sigh and call on the girl. She’s clearly surprised you even allowed her to speak, because the question is whispered to the point you can barely hear it. “Why do you have Mr. Chwe’s jacket?”

The inquiry is enough to throw you off the deep end. “Ok, I’m not teaching the rest of class. I don’t care what you guys do as it’s either A) not disruptive or B) asking me about my personal life.”

Seungcheol is surprised when there is a knock on the athletic office door in the middle of 3rd period. Students should be in class and if it were a staff member, they would have just let themselves in. He tells whoever it is to come in and is slightly less surprised to see Maya standing in front of him. She doesn’t let him speak first, quickly letting out, “do you know where Mr. Chwe is?”

He raises an eyebrow at the girl. “You got a hall pass kid?” he fires back. Maya waves the piece of paper around in his face. He rolls his eyes.

She puts her hands on her hips and looks pointedly at him. “Seriously though. Do you know where Mr. Chwe is? It’s supposed to be his planning period or something.”

Seungcheol is still confused why she needs to see Vernon in the middle of 3rd hour and how she managed a hall pass for it. “Why?”

Maya plops down on the chair in front of his desk with a sigh, clearly this conversation was not happening without a little bit of a fight. “Ms. y/n sent me to ask him a question.”

The athletic director can’t help but let out a snort at the girl’s comment. Maya is suddenly interested in his reaction. “Why is that so funny? Do you think they’re dating too?”

Seungcheol is surprised yet again. “Do you think they’re dating?”

Now Maya snorts. “Obviously. Ms. y/n is wearing his lacrosse jacket today.” She laughs when the man’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull. He rustles around his desk, grabbing a notepad and writing another hall pass for the girl.

After scribbling for a second, he passes the note to the girl and tells her, “Mr. Chwe is in his office, room 218.”

The girl grabs the note from his hands and gleefully gets up to skip out the door. She stops midway through and calls out over her shoulder, “thanks Dad!”

“I’m not dating Ms. y/n, Maya. You know that.” Vernon sighs exasperatedly. “Why are you even asking me this?”

He knows he’s in for trouble when she smirks. “She’s wearing your coaching jacket today. Care to explain that?”

Vernon knows he should’ve asked for it back sooner rather than later. But he was secretly hoping that he would be able to see it on you one more time. And the longer you have it, the more likely it’s going to come back smelling like you (not that Vernon cares anyways right?). He doesn’t miss a beat though, explaining to Maya that he lent you his jacket for a game and that you probably mixed it up with your own. She’s not impressed, but she knows it’s an explanation that’s most likely true. This doesn’t stop her from interrogating Vernon further. “Do you want to date Ms. y/n?”

His silence is incriminating. He can tell by Maya’s mile wide grin. Trying to put an end to it, the lacrosse coach stands up from his desk, telling her that he’ll walk her back to whatever class she left from.

One tiny important detail he forgot is that you teach 3rd hour honors chemistry. A class that one of his players, Henry, shares with Maya. And he’s currently standing outside your door, watching as you type away on your computer. Sure enough, “Mr. Chwe” is embroidered across the chest. Vernon thinks he might combust on the spot. His student clearly picks up on this, muttering something about how she’s “seen middle schoolers with more balls.”

He waits outside your door as Maya enters the room. There’s only a few minutes left of the period, so he figured it would be better for both of you to talk away from prying eyes. As the bell rings, he patiently watches the students trickle out your door. When he’s sure that everyone is gone, he steps into the doorway. What he does not expect is for you to walk straight into his chest, stumbling back with the cutest “oomph” he’s ever heard.

Vernon is stunned but you look completely mortified. Probably because you just ran into the man whose jacket you’re wearing basically without his consent. His assumption is correct because you start mumbling out apologies. “I’m so sorry I thought this was my jacket when I grabbed it this morning. I didn’t mean to wear it today, I made such a mess of this. I shouldn’t have even asked for it in the first place. I was just about to change, give me a second I…”

The lacrosse coach cuts you off in the middle of your little rant. “Do you want to go out with me after your game on Friday?”

You blink at him, not even processing the words he just said. When you finally do, your cheeks flush and you glance down at your watch. “Do you think you can ask me that in like 4 hours, Chwe?”

Vernon has no idea what you mean by that. He gawks a little bit. Do you need time to think about it? Are you not interested? Do you already have a boyfriend? Shit, he should’ve thought this through.

You break him out of his little trance with a small chuckle. “We’re on the clock Vernon. And you have a class in three minutes.”

He glances at his watch. His freshman PE class is probably waiting for him. He mumbles something about meeting him on the main field before practice. Then he’s out the door. You’re left there, stunned, still in his jacket. You don’t bother to take it off the rest of the day.

A few hours later, Mingyu and Seokmin are watching you both converse from afar. Vernon’s cheeks are the reddest they’ve ever been. You’re fidgeting nervously but also smiling. It seems to be going well. Seokmin turns to the assistant coach before saying, “took them long enough.”

They hear someone approaching and turn to see Seungcheol. “You both owe me $20.”

Both the teachers roll their eyes at him but reach for their wallets. Maya pops up from their other side, walking up to her father. “I should be getting at least half of that. I did all the work.”

Seungcheol grunts, pondering her proposition. He turns to her. “What about this? You can either get $20 now or $200 if y/n is Mrs. Chwe before you graduate college?”

Maya’s eyes brighten and that sinister smile spreads across her cheeks once again. “Deal.” (She’s $200 richer at her college graduation).

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