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macabr3-barbi3 · 1 month

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CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed.

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh.

Right over his head.

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring.

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you.

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of.

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him.

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed Val coming into a room.

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants.

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with.

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach.

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

#vox x reader #vox smut #hazbin vox #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #x reader #my stuff <3

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marcsburnerphone · 8 months

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wish I wasn't so hurt

Captain John price x f!reader

Summary:being johns’ wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst,(hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is full of guilt, reader is struggling to process her feelings

Part two!! Find part one here - Part 1

—----------

The cafe was quiet and warm when you entered, a few couples here and there were tucked away in booths chatting mindlessly. There was a dull ache spread throughout your chest and head from crying, ordering your coffee You couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy that sat on the barista's face.

You found a booth somewhere in the corner and dug your phone out of your purse and powered it on after having shut it off to stop the continuous buzzing it’d been doing in the car. To say the least it almost overheated and you couldn’t get to the silence button fast enough.

4 missed calls.

2 voicemails.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“I have lost my mind, I know.”

“Where are you my love?”

“Please just talk to me, or text either please.”

“I know I was wrong, it wasn’t my intention.”

“Fuck em.” This one was from Simon and it made you giggle.

A part of you wanted to message john and let him know you're okay to ease his mind, yet you didn’t instead you tucked your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. Maybe being this upset wasn't reasonable but the way he dismissed you with such harsh words intending to scare you, it was hard to get past.

Had you pushed too far? If you would have just left this could've been avoided, the anger that was spreading in your heart, the trouble of processing how to feel or move forward from this. To be fair John had never done anything to scare you or make you feel unsafe after all these years, even when he came home with blood still on his boots his eyes and voice were nothing but tender and loving. This is where you found trouble, how could he have changed so fast? How had he been so cold?

—--------

Back on base he was suffering, his heart ached with shame and remorse. How could he speak to you in such a way? Often he fell victim to his anger but this time so did you. He checked his phone continuously since you left here and it’d become clear to him you'd stopped somewhere before going home. He just wished he knew where.

The bowl of food hadn't been picked up from where your shaking hands had left it, the thought itself made him nauseous. He was fearful for the first time in a long while, for someone with so much control the thought of you leaving had him ready to crumble to the floor and maybe that's what he deserves.

The Men that were usually rowdy and causing commotion had fallen silent in his presence as he went for a cup of tea in the common area.

Price didn’t understand the blessing he held in the palm of his hands, to find someone as loving and caring as you was a once in a lifetime thing especially with the career he possessed. Bloody hands that get to go home to welcoming warm ones, a soldiers’ wish.

—------------

You sat around trying to pinpoint where the confusion in how to feel was but hopelessly gave up and decided it was time to head home. The chilly air outside made you shiver on the way to your car. The drive home was draining, music filled the silence followed by the wisp of the heater. You'd sleep in the yard to avoid anything john if you weren't so scared of the dark.

As your car arrived on the familiar gravely ground to your home, a deep sigh escaped you. Clutching your keys you headed to the door and jumped at the voice that came through the camera thing.

“Love please I’m sorry, where were you? I was worried?” The frantic yet somewhat calm voice of your husband came through. You thought of replying, yet you didn’t.

You walked inside, locking the door behind you and reset the alarm system. Your feet carried you mindlessly upstairs and to your bed, sleep came easy yet painfully that night but nevertheless any sleep was good sleep.

—-----------

John had never experienced your complete silence and couldn't take it. He decided he'd leave base early in the morning in hopes to resolve this with you, he wasn't even cleared to leave base but he couldn't really 100% be here if the idea of you hurting on your own was weighing on his mind.

—------------

Back at home was exactly that, you were wrong, any sleep wasn’t good sleep, the bed that you’ve slept in many nights without John had somehow felt emptier. Your head was pounding from a lack of sleep and crying, you waited for the ibuprofen you'd taken to kick in and just laid silently in bed . After a while you became lost in thought and missed the sound of tires on gravel but the slam of the door snapped you out of it.

Like a child you acted like you were sleeping instead of running out of bed into his arms like you normally would. His heavy boots climbed the stairs into your bedroom, you were sure he noticed your breathing pattern was one of an awake person but couldn’t find a reason to care.

“Darling.” He whispers and you feel the dent of his weight crease on the bed.

“I don’t want to see you right now John.” But you had wanted to see him, you were just scared this time you’d see him differently.

“Please, my love, talk to me.” It was a plea as his hand went to your thigh rubbing small circles into your soft skin.

“No.” Tears began to well in your eyes again, thankfully you chose to lay facing the window.

At that he raised from where he was sitting and rounded the bed kneeling beside your head, it broke his heart to see your puffy eyes and fresh tears streaking your beautiful face. His hand raised to caress your face and you stubbornly pulled away.

Instead of that he placed his forehead on yours not minding the way his rickety knees would ache tomorrow.

“You scared me.” You whispered, voice quivering with emotion.

“I know, I’m so sorry. I’d never hurt you willingly a day in my life. I just- I don’t know what came over me.” He kissed your forehead and then the tears that he was causing.

“No you don’t understand John.” You flipped your body the other way, suddenly feeling overwhelmed in his presence.

He wasn’t going to leave you too hurt although you wished he would. There was just enough room on the bed for him to lay beside you. He formed his body to yours holding you firmly.

At this you sobbed, the weight of your cries was devastating, as his body shook with yours he pulled you tighter to him.

“Your my wife and my equal I was beyond wrong I- I’m ashamed of my behavior you didn’t deserve that nor it will never happen again I promise i’ll never be the man that makes you hurt please forgive me.” he whispered into your hair soothing your erratic breathing back to somewhat stable.

“John.” you said between hiccups.

“Yes my darling.” he didn't like when you called him by his name but at least you were speaking to him.

“Im tired.” he was fucking hurting inside.

“Then sleep.” he nuzzled his nose deeper into the scent of your shampoo, you just nodded your head and let your eyes close, exhaustion showed no mercy as you immediately fell into a deep slumber.

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

the love on part 1 was amazing thankyou all from the bottom of my heart.

feedback and reposts are deeply appreciated;)

There will be a part 3;)

#john price #captain price x female reader #task force 141 #captain john price #john price x reader #angst #cod mw2

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toournextadventure · 4 months

Text

a novel life pt.2

Summary: You're trying to make nice with Sam's little sister, for everyone's sake. Maybe it leads to an interrogation. Maybe it leads to more. And maybe you end up sucked into the unusual events that follow Legacies

Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: swearing, distrust, mentions of past trauma, mentions of blood, mentions of Scream typical violence Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x GN!Reader A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Yule, and whatever holidays y'all all celebrate 🫶 (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4)

“Are you sure this is okay?” You asked as you nearly tripped over your feet.

Sam gave you a look that was both sweet and condescending. “Yes, because I said so.”

“That doesn’t seem like solid reasoning,” you mumbled, but nonetheless continued following her up the steps to her apartment.

It was nearing Halloween, with the cooling air finally allowing for the use of jackets. Which you had few of, since Sam had decided to keep them for herself. Not that there was anyone to blame but yourself; it was what you deserved for offering her jackets every time she forgot one. She had simply decided it was rather nice to have an unlimited selection of jackets, both too-large and just right.

In all her wisdom, Sam had suggested the two of you, and Tara and her partner have a movie night. Tara got to choose the movie, and no one could object. All in all it should have been a win for the younger Carpenter; she could make you suffer if she truly wanted, and you couldn’t say a word about it. Which was going to cause the night to be very, very long.

Oh, the things you would do for her.

“Is she going to pick something scary?” You asked before you both approached the door. “Because I don’t like scary.”

“I have no doubt it will be scary,” Sam said with a barely-concealed smile. “I’ll hold your hand to keep you safe.”

“You’re my hero,” you said as you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She tasted strongly of the cigarette she had smoked on the way from your apartment to hers.

You tried to pull away, but she quickly followed, keeping her lips pressed against yours. Every sense was enveloped by her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her body pressed against yours so tightly it was as if you would float away without her. There was nothing you could have ever wanted more than your Sam.

“We shouldn’t give Tara something to be upset about,” you mumbled against Sam’s lips when she finally pulled back just the slightest distance.

“Tara’s always upset,” she answered before sighing, “but you’re right.”

“Baby steps,” you said with a smile.

“For the big baby.”

“Samantha.”

“I’m kidding,” she tried to argue as she grabbed your hand and started finally moving into the apartment.

You both knew she wasn’t kidding.

“My dude!”

You had barely walked through the door when Tara’s partner called out to you, a genuine, toothy grin visible on their face. They had asked you to call them J, which you had happily agreed to. Sam teased that it was short for Joker - you assumed because of the scars - but the look on Tara’s face told you not to ever bring it up. Ever.

It was a rule you could oblige by.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” you said as you hung your coat on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table. It had only taken you dropping your coat once before you realised the Carpenters saw no need for a coat rack.

How utterly uncivilised.

“They think it’s a pleasure to see me,” J said to Tara, who rolled her eyes almost instantly.

You would never say it aloud, but you noticed the small smile she sent their way. So, she wasn’t as heartless as she wanted you to believe. Exactly like her older sister. It would be simple enough to chalk it down to their past experiences with the world; it had taught them nothing but hardness. But maybe they both just needed a safe space to let those walls come down.

“What did you choose?” Sam asked. She very quickly made her way to the couch opposite Tara and J.

“Depends,” they said.

“On?” Sam asked.

J turned to look at you and held something up to their mouth. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” The voice came out almost robotic, sounding similar to… something you possibly recognised? Vaguely?

“That’s not funny,” Sam said quickly.

“Lighten up, Sam,” Tara said even though she pushed J’s hand - and the voice changer - into their lap. “We’re watching Hellraiser.”

“Thought you didn’t like that one,” Sam said. She reached over and grabbed your hand the moment you sat down beside her on the couch.

Tara’s eyes darted to where your hands were joined and lingered. “I don’t.” She looked back up at you with a hard gaze. “I picked it out just for you.”

“Oh,” you said, perking up instantly. “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Sam with a stupid smile on your face, missing the look J sent Tara. Well, this was turning into a lovely evening! Tara had picked out a movie just for you! Surely that was progress to the finest degree, was it not? If all it took was watching a movie with them every month, you were more than happy to do so. This was turning out to be a rather lovely evening.

At least you thought so until the movie started and you realised just exactly why Tara had picked the movie out just for you.

It was… well, it was a movie. Filled with hooks and needles and… blood. Oh gosh, so much blood. There was a singular blessing amongst it all; you hadn’t eaten before coming over. Thankfully the popcorn sat untouched between you and Sam as your stomach twisted and turned and tried its best to embarrass you.

Sam squeezed your hand as you did your best to keep your cool. Not that it was such an easy thing with all the… you couldn’t even think the word without feeling queasy. Surely there was no way they all enjoyed this kind of thing, right? It was grotesque! The creatures on the screen, the inhumanity of it all, how was it an enjoyable movie?

The room started to shrink around you. Oh, that wasn’t good, you didn’t want to feel claustrophobic, you were trying to be tough. You couldn’t let anyone know that you had an, um, aversion to blood. What would they say? They were all horror fans, how could you ever possibly mention that you just… didn’t enjoy it? Quite frankly, it made you sick to your stomach, like all those science experiments you had to do back in grade school.

The credits couldn’t have rolled a moment too soon. If anyone were to ask you what you thought, you wouldn’t have been able to answer. The only thing you were aware of was your heart beating loudly in your ear and the saliva that continued to fill your mouth. Maybe it would actually be better if you didn’t try to answer anyone for a few more moments.

“So, Professor,” Tara asked all too soon. “What did you think?”

“I-”

-You cut yourself short. There was a part, a rather significant part of your mind that said you should lie. Tell Tara it was a wonderful movie, and you would love to see more if it existed. But lying had never gotten you anywhere in the past, had it? It certainly wasn’t going to assist you in winning over Tara, not when she was already sceptical of you. How was a lie going to assist you?

It wasn’t.

“It’s not my cup of tea,” you finally said before swallowing the remaining saliva in your mouth. “I don’t really enjoy scary movies.” You nodded to yourself. “Or blood.”

“Oh my god,” Tara huffed, “why can’t you just lose your shit about something?”

“Tara,” Sam warned.

“No, this is ridiculous,” she continued as she stood up from the couch, ignoring J reaching for her hand. “Why can’t you lose your shit?” She pointed at you. “Nobody is this level-headed about everything.”

“That’s enough,” Sam said as she followed suit, standing up from the couch. Similarly, you reached out for her hand but she moved just far enough away.

“Get out,” Tara said before promptly looking Sam dead in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“Get out,” she repeated.

“Hey, T-”

“-You too,” Tara interrupted J, who froze with a comically shocked expression on their face. “Both of you get out so I can talk to them-” she pointed at you “-alone.”

“Absolutely not-”

“-Sounds reasonable,” you interrupted Sam. She looked at you like you had grown a second head. “I would love to talk.”

“Come on, Baby Ghost,” J said as they stood up. You were starting to feel left out by being the only one still sitting. “I’ll buy you a new pack of cigs.”

Sam looked like she wanted to argue, but both you and Tara gave her a look. Differing looks, of course, but still. While Tara seemed to get her a death stare that was almost permanently etched onto her face, you tried to go the more convincing route. If Tara wanted to talk, who were you to tell her no? Talking was key, that’s what your family had always done and it had never ended poorly.

“Fine,” Sam finally said. She seemed resigned. “But you have 15 minutes and that’s it.”

“Deal,” Tara said. “Now get out.”

You stayed as still as a statue when Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. A little more forceful than usual, but you wouldn’t complain. Any kiss from her was perfect. A sigh came from behind her, and you both knew who it was from, but she took her time before pulling away and standing back up.

“Don’t let her bully you,” she said.

“Sam,” Tara said forcefully. “Get out.”

“Fine,” Sam said, throwing her hands up. “But I mean it,” she said as she and J walked to the door together. “15 minutes.”

You and Tara both watched your partners leave the apartment, practically abandoning you to the force of nature that was the youngest Carpenter sister. It shamed you to admit you were a little afraid of her. You knew there was something going on deep down that she either wouldn’t or couldn’t accept, and you wouldn’t dare fault her for it. But she let her internal frustrations out in a very external way.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tara asked the moment the door shut behind the two. You stayed silent. “You don’t yell, you don’t scream, you don’t even freak out when I put on a movie I knew you would hate.”

You waited a moment to make sure she was finished. “I was raised by two very… pacifistic parents,” you said, gesturing for her to sit on the couch opposite you. “We talked through our issues, we didn’t yell about them.”

Tara opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, or complain, or something. Slowly, her mouth closed and she pursed her lips. She kept looking at you, but slowly took a seat opposite you. There was something going on behind her eyes, you could see it, but you knew better than to question her just yet. Just like your mom had taught you; let them lead the conversation.

“I don’t trust you,” she said slowly. Her eyes stayed locked with yours. “You’re too understanding and too kind.” You stayed silent. “Sam only ever falls for freaks.”

“Didn’t she date an FBI agent?” You asked. You could vaguely remember what Sam had said about her, but she had seemed nice enough.

“Kirby is cool, I’ve always liked her,” Tara said with a dismissive shake of her head. “But she was attacked by Ghostface twice,” she said, “so she’s a freak by proxy.” She looked back at you. “So what’s your deal?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you said, “ask your questions and maybe you can find out.”

It had initially been your idea, but before Tara could even open her mouth you started to second guess yourself. Perhaps allowing her to ask whatever questions she wanted without any repercussions was… not the smartest idea on your part. You had nothing to hide, but what if she really started to ask unusual questions? What if your answers weren’t what she wanted to hear?

But when you thought of Sam, and being with her, you felt that, without question, it was worth the gamble.

“Have you ever used a knife?” Tara asked quickly. It seemed she wasn’t going to wait.

“Not outside of cooking,” you answered just as quickly.

“How about a gun?” So, it would be a rapid fire interrogation. Game on.

“Never.”

“Ever hurt anybody before?” A tilt of her head.

“Not on purpose.”

“What about animals?”

“No.”

“Not even in science class?”

“I-” you attempted to clear your throat to buy a bit of time “-I fell ill that day.”

Tara paused and narrowed her eyes. “Because of blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” you said anyway. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“You’re pretty pathetic,” Tara said as she leaned back on the couch. For the first time in… well, ever, you thought you almost saw her smile at you. “That’s exactly Sam’s type.”

“I thought you said it was freaks,” you pointed out.

“Pathetic freaks,” she corrected quickly. That quirk near the corner of her mouth rapidly disappeared. “Why did you choose Sam?”

You paused. It was uncertain what exactly Sam had told Tara about you both meeting. Surely she wouldn’t have overdramatised it, but had she told her the truth? The truth was… well, it was pathetic as well, but you weren’t entirely convinced Tara would approve. Not that it was entirely her place, but the two were the only family each other had. They both had a right to be cautious of anyone new coming into their lives.

But perhaps you could answer the question a little differently.

“She’s kind,” you said with a subconscious nod of your head. “And bold, and intelligent - god she’s intelligent - and brave.” You averted Tara’s eyes. “And she’s really pretty too.”

Tara nodded once. “What are your intentions with her?”

Another question that you believed was potentially a trick. You couldn’t very well say you loved Sam just yet; you hadn’t even told Sam that little piece of information. But there were other intentions with her even if you didn’t necessarily use the word “love.” There were other things that were just as important.

“I don’t want to sound overly self-important,” you started off, looking back up to meet Tara’s eyes. “But I would very much like to be the one by Sam’s side as she continues on this path she’s created for herself.”

Tara looked at you; really looked at you. She was so very difficult for you to read. Unlike Sam, Tara did a better job at hiding her emotions. While Sam would give it away with her facial expressions, Tara did not. No, her feelings came out differently, whether in the slight twitch of her fingers or the impatient tapping of her foot on the rug. You hadn’t been around her long enough to know what exactly those feelings were, you simply acknowledged they were feelings.

“I’ll give you a chance,” Tara finally said, her voice far softer than you had ever heard. At least when it was directed at you. “But if you do anything to hurt her, or upset her, or lie to her, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” You gulped. “I’m not afraid to kill again.”

“I forgot you’ve both killed someone before,” you mumbled to yourself before speaking up louder. “Those are acceptable terms.”

“Good,” she said with a single nod of her head. “But don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you.”

You could both hear the other two finally approaching the door, bickering in a way that mimicked biological siblings.

“I would expect nothing less,” you told Tara as the door opened and the moment ended.

—---

The rest of the semester went by without incident. Tara had stayed true to her word and gave you a fair chance to prove that you could be trusted with her sister’s heart, and it wasn’t something you had taken lightly. You knew how important the both of them were to each other, and you had done your best to prove that not only did you care for Sam, but you cared for Tara too.

She had finally eased up during classes, allowing you to properly teach without an ounce of disdain for you personally. In fact, she had even dared to come to office hours on more than one occasion to discuss certain pieces you had offered as optional readings. The Carpenters were immensely intelligent, no matter what the subject matter was.

You and Sam had fallen into a rather comfortable routine, always going for a date night on Thursdays to whatever new place your colleagues had recommended, and movies with Tara and J on Saturdays. You would spend the night at her place Thursday through Monday morning, and she would stay at yours Monday through Thursday morning. It was comfortable, and you were more than content.

But with school finally over for the semester, you could focus on the real gem; Christmas.

Both Carpenters - and J, for that matter - had been nonchalant with their decorations. A minimal Charlie Brown tree that had, at most, four ornaments on it. It was awfully quaint, and if they hadn’t been so blase about it you would have been content to leave it standing. Nevertheless, they had made it clear they didn’t care if there were any decorations, and you had taken that as a cry for help.

Your own apartment had, of course, been decorated since the day after Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful gift from your mother, learning how to decorate for the holidays, and you weren’t keen on squandering the skills and letting them fall off the wagon, so to speak. Sam had made a few comments, though you hadn’t taken her for a non-believer.

“It’s okay, really,” Sam tried to say when you and J finished bringing in what had to have been the seventh box of decorations from your apartment.

“Oh no, I insist,” you said with a smile. “Besides, my mother would be downright dismayed if she knew the decorations were sitting in my apartment unused.”

“Great,” Tara mumbled as she walked by without even offering to help, “we get to live at the North Pole.”

“Isn’t it exciting?” You said with a smile. “These are more neutral, so you shouldn’t feel too out of place, but they still embody the holiday spirit.”

“Well I think it’ll be fun,” J said with their own smile. “Do I get to hang the ornaments?”

“Why-”

“-the ornaments won’t be the only thing hanging this Christmas,” Tara said, tossing a mini marshmallow into the air and catching it in her mouth. “Especially with those blinding lights.”

You looked down at the ones in your hand and frowned. “I thought they were rather tame.”

“And they’re lovely,” Sam tried to cover, even though you could see the fake smile she had on her face. “You’re doing great,” she continued as she left a simple kiss on your cheek.

The decorating ended up being a one person job, you quickly realised when you discovered J could not, for the life of them, listen to instructions. More than once, the lights had been blown and you had to find the faulty one to fix it. Normally you would chalk it down to bad luck, but when it was only the ones that they were installing? You became a little suspicious.

At least they were all eager to help with the snacks and desserts, and that was something you could live with. Surprisingly, Tara was the one who had the most ideas. You knew you weren’t the best cook; you could follow instructions but that didn’t necessarily mean they would turn out nice. But with Tara at the helm? They were almost as good as your mother’s! Though obviously you would never dare to tell her that.

You also rather quickly discovered that they were not gift giving people. Understandable, you supposed, they had much more important things to worry about in life. It was still unacceptable. The moment you had found out, you had called your parents and told them the tragic news.

Gifts for all three of them - plus a gift each for Mindy, Chad, and Anika - had been delivered to your house within the week. Express shipping to be certain they would arrive before Christmas.

Which led to yet another tragedy; they had no stockings.

“It’s really not worth buying,” Sam attempted to persuade you over the phone on one of the rare nights you two weren’t spending together. “Just stay home tonight.”

“It’s no trouble, Sam,” you argued. “I’m heading out for a bit anyway.”

You didn’t admit you were already at the store, trying to decide which one would fit each person best.

“Just stay safe,” she said. You could hear car horns in the background but thought nothing of it. “I mean it.”

“I’ll be safe,” you insisted, “I always am.”

“Call me when you’re back home,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a smile that she couldn’t see.

She hung up first, and you continued your search without any second thoughts. In the end, you had decided on a Santa stocking for J, a reindeer for Tara, and a snowman for Sam. They would look lovely hanging underneath the mounted television in their living room. But with the stockings, you needed things to fill them with.

Santa’s work was never finished.

It was dark by the time you finished buying everything you believed you needed. Stockings, fillers, and some snacks to make for a lovely evening. That should surely be enough to give the three of them a very merry Christmas, would it not? Your mother had already sent their Santa presents, and their other presents were underneath the tree, so as far as you were aware of at the moment, everything was taken care of.

You were still going over your mental checklist when you heard a commotion down one of the alleys on the way home. Every cell in your body told you not to bother looking; people got desperate around the holidays and it would do you no good to go poking your head where it didn’t belong. But if someone was getting hurt, then you needed to attempt to help.

Or at least make enough of a scene that someone else would come help.

“Excuse me?” You called out foolishly as you started down the dark alleyway. “Is everyone alright out there?”

You pulled your coat tighter around you as you continued walking. It hadn’t been raining or snowing recently, and yet something started to soak through your shoes and socks. The shocking cold that normally came from liquids in December wasn’t present; it was warm.

There was another noise. It almost sounded like something solid, but it was overshadowed by something metallic. You did your best to see something in the dark, even as your body continued to tell you to move along. But something didn’t feel right; you were feeling queasy again.

Something hissed in front of you, but it wasn’t a snake. No, you knew what those sounded like and this wasn’t even close. This sounded much more human, though that sound would only ever really happen in dire circumstances like if-

-a large white mask faced you. It was the only thing you could see in the dark, thanks to the lights behind you causing just enough radiance to make the mask almost seem luminescent. You weren’t a movie buff, especially not scary movies, but you weren’t stupid. Everyone knew what that mask was.

Ghostface.

All those cells that had been telling you to run? They were silent. Frozen in fear, just like your mind. The killer wasn’t moving toward you, simply facing you, almost as if it was the very reason you were stationary. Which, it was, but not in the typical way that most would be privy to. You felt like a deer in headlights, and if you moved then you died.

You supposed that was how all the movies went.

“Aren’t you going to run?” Ghostface asked, in that same voicebox that J had had during the movie night.

You swallowed the saliva filling your mouth. “No,” you said in a trembling voice.

“Why not?” He continued. “I like when they run.”

“I’m not very fast,” you said. “You’ll catch me before I get to the street.”

He still didn’t move, and your eyes finally adjusted enough to see the silhouette of a body slumped at his feet. Your throat constricted at the sight; you were going to be sick. The very image started to worm its way into your brain; there was a very simple explanation for what was still soaking through your socks. It wasn’t snow.

“You should get home, Professor,” Ghostface said.

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if he could see you. “Yes I should.”

“Stay on the sidewalk next time,” he said.

“I- I believe that’s sound advice,” you said with more frantic nods of your head. Your palms were starting to get clammy.

Ghostface lifted up a hand - holding a knife - and waved. “Good night, Professor.”

“Good night,” you said with your own shaky wave.

You walked backwards out of the alley, keeping an eye on the figure until it was completely out of sight. Your feet were frozen on the ground once you were under a street light. There were no more sounds coming from the alley, not even the sound of someone leaving. Wherever Ghostface had gone, he hadn’t followed you.

In an incredibly brave moment, you leaned over and vomited directly into a storm grate before going back home. You called Sam the moment you got back into your apartment.

You couldn’t find the courage to inform her of the night’s mystery encounter.

#samantha carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter imagine #sam carpenter imagine

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moonlinos · 3 months

Text

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied.

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense.

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable.

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality.

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together.

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot.

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

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back2bluesidex · 10 months

Text

Monitoring Duty - JJK

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook X Managerial staff!Reader

Theme: Fluff, f2l (kinda), coworkers to lovers (kinda)

Summary: You are tasked with monitoring Jungkook's weverse live tonight, which starts with you trying to shove ramyeon down your throat and ends with Jungkook confessing that he likes you too.

Wordcount: 1.7k+

Warnings: None.

A/N: trust me, I had no plans of writing this one but couldn't really get this idea out of my head... so, please suffer with me. thank you very much. and it's really stupid so please forgive me.

Weverse: 🌟JK started a LIVE - I am tired..

Your phone dinged with the notification. You know what it can be and you are prepared but currently you are struggling to chew and swallow the last bit of cup ramyeon, so that you can finally get into your monitoring duty.

Drinking the water in a breath and debunking choking possibilities, you reach for your work laptop. Opening the application while putting down the password doesn't take you more than 10 seconds.

And finally you are in. Now all you have to do is to monitor Jungkook and take appropriate actions when there is an inappropriate situation such as, he falls asleep, or he spoils his upcoming schedule, or he gets repetitive calls from a sasaeng etc.

You melt on the hotel couch. Your limbs feel like jelly due to all the workload you have been through since 4 am in the morning. Being a managerial staff of a Kpop idol is neither fancy nor pleasant. While thousands of fans dream of being at your place, you want nothing more than a year long break. But then again, the pay is good and you are in need of money as well as a strong professional profile.

And another reason for you pursuing this gruesome job is, the man you are currently monitoring.

It has been more than two years since you joined Hybe. For the first year you worked with the entire team and for the last one year, you have been appointed as one of the managerial staff of the maknae.

You don’t know when in this last one year, you started to grow and harbor some kind of fondness towards Jungkook. Not that you don’t know the rules and regulations of the company (most of which don’t apply in terms of BTS), you can recite those better than your phone number, but still… staying immune to Jungkook’s charms, and especially the way he treats you with all the kindness of the world (which makes you wonder at times whether feelings are mutual or not), wasn’t possible for you.

You know it’s foolish, you know there will be no return to your affection but you still like to enjoy this feeling of liking him, adoring him from afar, praying for him in silence. You will move on someday, but as of now, your focus is trained on him and only on him.

“Oh the festival? The festival was crazy! You know it’s the first time I have performed in a festival all alone without the members, so it was scary and I was nervous. But seeing the other artists enjoying themselves and watching you guys cheering for me helped me a lot. Hope you guys liked it.” Jungkook giggles. You mirror his actions while watching him through your laptop screen.

If you put your ear on the wall, you could probably hear his mellow voice piercing through the thin cement of the overpriced hotel room. You are given the room beside him for handling emergencies quickly and he doesn’t even know that. He doesn’t even care, does he?

You shake off your thoughts as you try to focus on the live.

Jungkook restlessly talks and tries to interact with the fans despite being dead tired. You have been with him all day long and you know how hectic things were. He has hardly got any sleep since the day he landed in the US. Interviews, performances, event invitations, everything was lined up one after another. It all ended with the Summerfest performance today. Just this one live and after that he will get to rest for a couple of days before catching a flight back to Korea.

You roll your eyes as Jungkook starts to sing to comply with the request of a fan.

“He just performed for an hour and twelve minutes! And you people still want him to sing? Even when he is clearly tired?” you groan at the screen. Most of the time you respect fans’ love for Bangtan but sometimes their nonchalant demands really piss you off.

Jungkook finishes signing and starts coughing immediately. You follow the live stream as he leaves his chair and starts looking for water in the refrigerator.

He coughs some more and then with a very choked voice, says, “ah! Guys! I’m running out of water. Should I drink water from the faucet then?”

You grab two bottles from the nightstand as soon as possible and run towards his room.

Within a few moments of ringing the bell, Jungkook appears at the door. At first his eyes go wide seeing you standing there wearing an oversized tshirt and a pair of sweats, then his eyes fall on the bottles you have in your hold. He coughs again and you hastily open the cap of one of the bottles and thrust it towards his lips. He grabs it immediately and drinks until he is satisfied.

You try not to stare at the way his adam’s apple bobs when he chugs water down or the way he wipes his lips to get rid of the remnants of water, but fail miserably and you guess Jungkook notices that too, otherwise there is no apparent reason for him to smile sheepishly.

“Thanks” he says, closing the bottle, “so… you are on monitoring duty tonight?”

“Yeah. Are you okay though? You have been coughing since morning.” You reply, neglecting the way your skin heats up because of Jungkook’s intense stare at your smaller form.

“I am fine, Y/N. Much better now that you are here…” Jungkook pauses, your eyes widen at his statement, “with the water I mean.” both of you chuckle nervously.

“Umm.. I will wrap it up quickly okay? I don’t want to overwork you. Just give me ten more minutes.”

“Jungkook, it’s alright. Take your time. I like to watch you doing silly stuff anyway.” you smile and he giggles.

“It felt nice… hearing you say that.” Jungkook gives you one of his bunny smiles as his dark orbs find yours. You two stay there staring at each other, without giving a damn about the 10 million people that are currently staring at a chair, until reality finally seeps into your veins again.

“Bye. Good night.” you murmur as Jungkook nods.

He is already back at his seat when you come back to your room and sit on the couch.

“Jungkook-ah, I wish I had a better word than love to explain how much I love you.”

Jungkook reads a comment.

“Umm… better word than love? Is there anything like this?” He thinks for a moment, squirting his eyes, placing his index finger on his chin and pretending to think hard, “I watched a drama where the male lead confesses his love for the girl he likes saying something like ‘the moon is beautiful’ and I think that was really romantic. So, from now on if you want to say that you love me beyond explanation, use ‘the moon is beautiful’ and I will understand right away. Okay?”

You see as the comment section goes wild with “moon is beautiful” comments rapidly. Fans really love him a lot and he too, is so dedicated to his fans that sometimes you get jealous.

Within five more minutes, Jungkook is saying bye and turning the live stream off. You leave a sigh of relief, nothing went wrong under your watch and now you can finally sleep.

You hit the bed with a thud, wrap the duvet around your body and close your eyes only to be startled by the vibration of your phone that is kept on the nightstand.

You grab your phone with an annoyed huff, which vanishes when you see it’s a text from Jungkook.

“Do you wanna grab a beer? If you are not asleep yet?”

And the next moment you are bolting towards Jungkook’s room, fucking your sleep and nighttime rest.

You two settle comfortably at the balcony, talking about nothing and everything at the same time, while staring at the night sky. Gradually you forget that you are tired and you haven’t got any sleep for almost 20 hours now. But who cares. If having no sleep exchanges a bit of quality time alone with Jungkook then you would gladly stay awake night after night.

“Jimin hyung texted me earlier, saying I did a great job.” Jungkook says, sipping on his beer.

“See, you were panicking for nothing. You always do a great job.” You reply, he chuckles and then for a minute or so, you two fall into a comfortable silence. Until Jungkook decides to break it.

“The moon is beautiful.” Jungkook whispers and you hear it loud and clear. Your heart stops beating for a moment. You stare at the said moon blankly. You don’t know if it is what you think it is. Maybe you are wrong, the moon is really beautiful tonight and that pact he made, is between him and his fans, it has nothing to do with you. On the top of that there is no way he feels something for you. You are just a nobody, nothing in front of him and his grandiose life.

So you reply, “yes, it is.”

“Y/N… You have been watching the live and you know what I mean right?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly feels closer to your body. You don’t know if it’s really happening or is it just a fragment of your dream, so you stay silent.

Jungkook grabs your arms and turns your body to face him.

And then within a moment you are caged between his muscular body and the balcony railing.

“Don’t I deserve an answer?” Jungkook breathes on your lips.

“Do- do you really..?”

“Yes, I do. And I wonder why you didn't notice it when I am always giving you heart eyes, when I am trying to be as close to you as possible, when I am always looking for chances to converse with you, to spend a little bit of time with you.”

“But- Jungkook..”

“What’s your answer, Y/N?”

“Jungkook, my answer doesn’t matter. Not when I am one of your employees. It’s prohibited for me.” you try to make him understand.

“You just need to say yes, Y/N. I can manage the rest.”

“I will get fired.”

“You won’t. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do.” “Then let me take care of things okay?”

“Okay.” You smile at him, as he connects his forehead with yours. You breathe in him, his scent, his warmth and his affection for you. You don’t know about the future, you don’t have a clue about the struggles you are about to face. But you know you love him and he loves you back. So maybe things will be alright. You will let Jungkook take care of things as he wants, as for now, when he reaches down to lock his lips with yours, you taste euphoria on him.

A/N: The idea of "Moon is beautiful" instead of "I love you" is derived from the KDrama "Romance is a bonus book.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @soraviie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch

#bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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showtoonzfan · 3 months

Text

Ganna rant about Episode 4 of Hazbin again. For starters it has the same issue that Seeing Stars did for Helluva boss, that being Loona giving Octavia advice in comparison to Husk giving Angel advice. While the characters situations are different, both Loona and Husk were the wrong characters to pick to give advice, or simply just comfort the other character. I’ve already seen some people say that Charlie or Vaggie should have been the one to cheer Angel up, and that would have made more sense. They’ve known him longer and it’s in character for them to do that. For it to be Husk, not only does it feel forced as an excuse to just hook Angel up with a boyfriend and get the shipping fuel going, but it doesn’t make sense narratively.

In Loona’s case, her situation was flawed because she just MET Octavia, didn’t know a thing about her struggles and spouts to her about how she should be thankful just because her dad is “trying”, and the show tries comparing both girl’s situations when they’re not the same. This is practically the same situation with Angel and Husk. While Husk is aware of Angel, he barley knows him. He hasn’t been at the hotel that long considering the pilot took place only a week ago. On screen, all that Husk knew about Angel was that he was a porn star who constantly flirts with everyone, him especially, and we as the audience only see that and only that when the two interact. However episode 4 claims that Husk can see right through him and know that this is all part of his persona that he displays. If we had more time with these two characters outside of flirty banter scenes, this would make more sense, but instead it’s all tell and no show, being rushed with the little time we’re given. Husk even says that the hotel residents go to him to rant their sorrows while they’re drunk and even THAT happens off screen and that’s the problem, the audience has no reason to believe that Husk knows Angel deep down or even cares enough to want to help him, in our eyes, all Angel’s been doing is sexually harassing him.

There’s no reason why these two need to have an emotional scene together, it’s unearned and unwarranted because we haven’t had enough time with these characters, just like Loona and Octavia, there’s just no purpose or buildup. I also resort back to what I’ve said before: Husk selling his soul to Alastor is not the same as Angel selling his soul to Valentino. The show tries to compare Angel and Husk’s situations and it’s just not comparable because Alastor isn’t a rapist who’s trapping Husk to sell his body and be used like a rag doll constantly. Had it been something like “you’re a drug abuser and I’m an alcoholic”- THEN that would have worked, but that’s not what we get, and this leads me to talking about why “Loser Baby” isn’t good.

Some people have already misinterpreted my opinion, so here’s a few things. Is the song in character for Husk? Yes. Is the song about Husk telling Angel not to act and just embrace himself? Yes. On its own, the song is fine outside of some distasteful lines. The CONTEXT, execution, and placement of the song is the issue. Episode 4’s whole purpose is to see just how much Angel suffers. He’s forced to work like a dog at the studio day in and day out, and he gets abused and SA’d by his boss and other demons constantly. He doesn’t have a say in anything and can never say no because he’s under contract. He can’t Fizz his way out of this one and just go “I quit”, he’s literally forced to work in the porn industry wether he likes it or not, and we see all of that on screen. We also explore just how much this affects him. They reveal some pretty dark stuff here, how Angel doesn’t even want his position as a famous porn star and is so desperate to be numb from the pain and suffering he endorses that he’ll get high constantly and let people drug him for nefarious reasons, it’s his escape. They dump ALL of that info onto us, only for this bullshit to come up:

So the writers slut shame him, call him a freak and an addict to laugh at because “haha he’s addicted to drugs and a slut”, even though we JUST got done with a scene that confirms HE DOES ALL OF THIS AS A TRUAMA RESPONSE. He said himself he does the drugs and is addicted to numb the pain, and his own flirting (while problematic) is shown to be an act of him hyper sexualizing himself due to what he goes through. It’s not excusable but it’s still a fact, and we’re supposed to LAUGH at him??? That’s what’s wrong with his character and what continues to be wrong, because Viv sees him as the butt of the joke. Every line of dialogue he has is always about sex and how we should laugh because he’s a slut, an it comes off as so distasteful and insensitive to not only people who have been abused/SA’d, but porn actors in general. We’re supposed to laugh when he talks about cock and sex, but the reason he’s doing it is so dark that we shouldn’t be laughing about it at all cause he’s a VICTIM, yet Viv thinks it’s funny. It’s so disgusting and makes my stomach twist. Angel is trapped being in a position he doesn’t even want to be in, yet his entire character revolves around comedic sex jokes, and once you figure out the reason behind said sex jokes, it feels so wrong.

And this is why Loser Baby doesn’t work. Aside from everything else I’ve already said, It doesn’t line up with what Angel is going through, it doesn’t line up with the rest of the episode. If you wanted Angel to have this arc about realizing he doesn’t need to stick to his persona, fine, but you should have done it in a different episode. This is why Husk comes off as telling him to just suck it up and stop whining rather than what he’s actually trying to say. It looks bad with how they executed it, it just looks like he’s telling an SA victim to get over it and stop whining and what’s worse is they compare their situations when it’s not the same. You literally have a scene of Angel telling Husk he lets people drug him, and not even a minute later Husk is calling him a loser. That’s the issue. The show doesn’t know how to read the room, build character relationships slower, is just so incredibly tone deaf and is hypocritical. We’re supposed to feel bad for Angel cause he’s sexualized to the maxes and is having trauma responses of that, but then we’re also supposed to laugh at him and his sex jokes while also finding him hot. Pick a fucking side Vivienne, the show wants to have its cake and eat it too and look where that’s gotten us. The writing is a fucking atrocious mess and yet it had so much potential if Viv actually cared enough to take Angel seriously, instead of just desperately wanting to give him a boyfriend, and a rushed arc where he magically feels better in the end.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #hazbin hotel critical #anti vivziepop #Angel dust #Hazbin hotel #Vivziepop #hazbin criticism #hazbin husk

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

Text

This Is What You Deserve (Daemon x Reader)

Look man you don't choose when the smut will come to you, it just does. This was requested by anon and @ladystrongofharrenhall which I feel the need to apologise cause it like barely is what you requested, if you feel like you don’t like it please let me know and we can figure out something else for me to write for you.

“The dowager lady of Harrenhall, (y/n) Strong with her son and heir Arryan Strong”

The man introduced the lady dressed in all black that stood before the iron throne with a toddler holding her hand that was dressed in deep blue, a spitting image of his father, soft curls fell directly on his face and eyes that had stolen the color right out of the deep sea.

The lady bowed before the king that had invited her to court after the incident that had occurred in Harrenhall, within the night she had lost her husband and good father, both of them gave their lives to save her and her son, now she was in kings landing for the first time since her wedding.

“My king, it is very thoughtful of you to invite me to your court”

“Nonsense, your husband was one of the most trusted men within the gold cloaks and his father was a good friend of mine, last time I saw you you were dressed in all white”

“A lot has changed since then I am afraid”

“Indeed, I grief for the loss you have suffered, I summoned you to offer you a place in my court, under my protection, your born family has been an ally since the beginning, your son will be my cupbearer and will receive the same education as every noble boy and you can live within the castle as the queens' companion”

“Your honor me, your grace, it gladdens my heart that you thought of us amongst the countless matters that demand the kings' attention”

(Y/n) had learned from a very young age that a lady was to act a certain way, she had just lost the earth from underneath her feet, left with a son in her arms and a scandal on her back that she had to shield him from, she could feel every pair of eyes on her back, all of them like crows that waited for a sign of weakness, she would not give them that satisfaction, not today, not ever.

“The servants will lead you to your chamber, I believe your travel is quite long”

“Indeed, thank you, my king”

“My king”

Sweet Arryans voice was heard as he bowed in unison with his mother, a boy of 4 years of age, he was (y/n)s sun and moon, anything and everything she did she did it to make sure his future is secured and his present time is as happy as it could be amongst the chaos.

“My boy”

“Mother!”

Little Arryan ran to his mother and hugged her as tightly as his little arms could although he could not completely wrap them around (y/n)s hips since this was the height that he was.

(Y/n) scooped up her son to check for any injuries or some type of harm, (y/n) had attempted to stay calm and calculated in front of the court, however, imagine her surprise when she left her little boy with Baela and Rhaena to play together and when she came back Baela told her that their father Daemon had taken Arryan up on Caraxes.

“You looked tiny from up there”

“I did, didn’t I? Let’s go inside now”

“You are welcome, I am sure that was a moment the child will never forget”

(Y/n) was fuming, Daemon had approached her a few morrows ago to offer his condolences, being a widower himself he could indenting the struggle and pressure she was under, at the time she faintly smiled and curtsied to thank him.

Now (y/n)s eyes threw a dagger and her lips were a thin line, how dare he so arrogantly demand a thank you for putting her child in danger? Arryan wasn't a Targaryen, nor was he a kin to Daemon, the possibility of Caraxes to harm the child was huge.

“Baela, take Arryan inside, I shall be with you in a moment”

Her voice grew cold, and the surroundings were resembling of a cloud closing in and overshadowing the sun, like a warning of a strong that gathered around Daemon's head who seemed clueless of the warning signs that he is daughters picked up so easily that got them almost running away from themselves

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who gave you the authority to take my son up on that beast with you?”

“You should feel flattered, he is one of the few people that get to say that they have gone up on a dragon”

“I know that your family likes to frown down upon us from your mighty dragons but listen to me well, my son is the future lord of Harrenhall and the carries my born name of Featherdall, we were the biggest army Aegon the conqueror had on his side when he took over the seven kingdoms, so the next time you even think of coming around me and my son with your high and mighty attitude I would advise you to think how well would it go for you if you angered the house that put you up on that throne, got it?”

Daemon was stunned, he just stared at the lady that stood before him with her breath heavy and audible enough for everyone to feel her fury, she wasn’t a dragon but Daemon swore he could see fire in her hues, no one had dared to speak to the rogue prince this way, still there she was, commanding him and keeping her head up high, not an ounce of doubt or fear in sight.

“Yes, my lady”

“That’s what I thought”

“Alright my love, let me tuck you in”

“Momma, can I go up to the dragon again?”

“I am not sure sweetling, the prince is a busy man”

“But he said he will find time whenever I want”

“Did you like the dragon that much?”

“Uh-huh, you said Papa is up in the sky, I wanted for him to see me better”

(Y/n) was speechless, tears welling up in her eyes at the doting explanation her son had given her, she could detect the joy the little boy had experienced that day, she had not seen him this happy since Harwin was alive.

“Go to bed now, I will ask Prince Daemon on the morrow”

“Thank you, momma, goodnight”

“Goodnight my love”

Regret took over her body and soul like poison, she lost composure and talked back to a royal, she did not even take a minute to think of how did Arryan end up on the dragon, (y/n) had switched to defense mode the moment she saw the humongous animal land and did not care of anything else besides that her child could have been harmed.

Daemon could not find sleep, he tossed and turned for hours but his mind was occupied with playing (y/n)s speech over again instead of leaving him to rest, she was fuming however there was something in the way she looked at him, at the trembling tone of her voice that Daemon could empathize with… grief.

It was almost like the Gods had orchestrated it, leaving them restless and wandering in the gardens with the encounter that had a sour taste in their mouths.

Daemon was the one that noticed her figure sitting down on the bench, a silk cape covering her as her hair was down instead of a tight undo like it was in the morning, he chose to remain silent as he approached slowly and sat next to her, (y/n) did not turn to look at the prince, something told her exactly whom it was.

“I am sorry, I should have not talked to you that way, it was entirely inappropriate”

“You were defending your child, I should have asked permission to take him with me. I understand why you lost your temper”

“Sometimes I dream of putting him in a bubble, to keep him from… harm”

Her voice cracked once more, at that little word so many emotions were hidden, love, fear, anger, confusion, Daemon looked at her side profile while the moonlight caressed her cheeks, the difference of expression between the lady he met in daylight was tremendous, she had lived every day in agony but painted a smile for her son, now he could see the true cracks.

“Why did you come back to kings Landing? Harrenhal might have been better?”

“The king summoned us, Harwin and I had never presented our son to the court, now I had to make sure he was established as the future lord of the house strong”

“Did you love him? Harwin”

“Deeply, he treated me with kindness and respect”

“I don’t know how much respect did he show to your wedlock, especially with all the whispers that surrounded his name”

“Harwin was a wonderful man, I lost three children before we had Arryan, my father told him that he would understand if Harwin wished to leave our marriage, still he stood by me and loved me”

“Is that what love is to you? A man sticking at your side while he has other children”

“I will not let you taint my dead husbands' name, I have already apologized why are you trying to get me riled up again?”

“I’m not”

(Y/n) scoffed at Daemon's protest and got up so she can get some distance from him, her back was now facing him and Daemon realized he was pressing down on a wound that was still tender, it was not his place to question their marriage since he has two on his back.

“I just, you are a young lady you certainly deserve more than the bare minimum?”

“Bare minimum? Are you even aware of what most women have to put up with when it comes to their husbands? Beatings, embarrassment, constant pregnancies, bastards, public belittling, Harwin treated me with care, he was sweet and offered me much more than any woman could ever wish for”

“He fucked Rhaenyra”

The harsh slap against Daemon's cheek was heard loudly around the garden, even (y/n) was taken back by her action, she did not understand why he kept pressuring her, like a knife that he had stabbed her with and now he kept twisting it around, Harwin was nowhere near perfect but there was a level of understanding between them, he kept her away from the dramatics and carefree enough, why was Daemon kept nitpicking at her?

Daemon's eyes grew wide, it stung but it did not hurt him, was most shocking, they both gawked at one another waiting for someone to do or say something, maybe it was (y/n)s sudden rush of emotion that compelled him to do the same or just him being compulsive, whatever it was that took over it was strong enough to push her against the nearest wall and plant the most passionate kiss (y/n) had ever experienced, at first she froze still the heat that radiated from his hands as they roamed her body and the strength his kiss held sweetened the moment and she closed her eyes, in a way one would say she surrendered.

“This is what you deserve”

Daemon growled as the kisses went down from her lips to the nape of her neck, Harwin was a sweet lover, his touch was soft, and (y/n) was taken care of, however (y/n) could see that it lacked in passion, he did not yearn for her, it was just another way to show her that he loved her.

“We could get caught”

“Not if you are quiet”

That would have been a piece of wonderful advice had he not made it so difficult by thrusting intensely, she whimpered from pleasure while her nails dug deep into his skin and drew blood, she even bit her lip to the point of bleeding to prevent herself from letting the whole keep know how much she was enjoying this, she had never felt what it was like to be craved, wanted, needed even, Harwin loved her still his body did not weaken at the sight of her nakedness nor did his hues darkened during their sacred bedding.

Daemon's eyes were as dark as the deep waters of the ocean, his grip on her waist was ironlike, and his body collided with hers while she hoisted up her leg to his waist for more access and comfortability, the match was resembling the concept of throwing fire to gasoline.

“Please Daemon”

“You sound so pretty when you beg”

Both of them were out of breath but kept pushing, their bodies acted like they knew each other for years, that this was a normal day for them, they instinctively were conscious of how the other liked to be touched, kissed, gazed upon, it was addicting, it was (y/n)s first time of feeling like the queen of the world and Daemons first time that he wanted to over-perform, to fill every need and tend to her every desire.

“Hush”

He shushed her when a yield escaped her lips as she reached her end, he kissed her once more as she moaned in his mouth, his pace slowed and both of their bodies relaxed when they rode the pleasure at the very last wave of it.

“Do you now understand what I meant when I said that you were getting the bare minimum?”

Daemon whispered in her ear before he left a kiss on her cheek, her face glowing and wet from droplets.

“Yes”

“You are burning up”

(Y/n) was sweating profusely, although Daemon wanted to take a good look at her, to remember the moment that a faint smile decorated her lips as she grew tired but her body was relaxed as it was used to the very bit of its powers, Daemon softly blew some air at the side of her neck to cool her, though all it did was compel her body to grow goosebumps and shake.

“Stop, it tickles, you are no better either, you are a sweaty mess”

“The sweat of a champion, anyone that would even glance at you would see how content you are”

“And you are not? You are still inside of me”

“I must admit, it is like a nice warm hug”

(Y/n) pushed him off at the cheeky comparison making him giggle, she fixed her dress to hide most of the damage while Daemon pulled his trousers up and buttoned up the shirt with the few buttons that were left since (y/n) had ripped it open.

“We must go”

“I will collect Arryan on the morrow after I break my fast”

“And who told you you could do that?”

“No one, I assumed I get privileges when you were holding on to me for dear life whilst I-“

“Alright alright, I will see you on the morrow”

Requests are open!

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lesbiandonnanoble · 6 months

Text

ranking torchwood members by how nightmarish the blunt rotation would be. number 6 ultimate least worst is gwen but only because i love drama so much and don’t mind comforting people if they cry. any smoke sesh w gwen you’d walk away knowing the funniest most insane interpersonal drama on the planet. three hits in her eyes would already be getting red and she would lean over and say “SWEAR to me you won’t repeat this to anyone, but” gwen babygirl i am all ears. i would roll for you and just sit and watch you smoke it. at #5 honorary mention for suzie. she would find the perfect music for the vibe. she would roll an immaculate joint. the conversation would be heartfelt, pleasant. real.. by the time i realize i’m slowly dying and she’s gaining strength i wouldn’t even care tbh. ideal joint-sharing experience. #4 would be owen because i know that as long as i laughed at his jokes he would smoke me up indefinitely. his delusion that he’s cool and badass would get more embarrassing and apparent when high like mac it’s always sunny levels . and you might have to suffer some hero complex stories but i just know his very cool-looking bong has crystal clear water the second he knows anyone’s coming over. #3 is easily ianto. high chances of bringing a really uncomfortable weird energy to any smoke sesh. i once met a guy who said he’d been practicing rolling joints since he was a kid with paper and pencil shavings and then rolled the joint that fucked me the hardest i’ve ever experienced and that’s what smoking ianto’s shit would be like. except he’s just sitting there looking at you with wet dog eyes the whole time. his vibe would be still weirdly too professional, like the business major who tries to network at house parties. toshiko my lady.. second worst person to smoke with in torchwood not for any awful reason. her jokes would be the funniest out of all of them. her laugh would be enchanting. but you can tell she’s so nervous and trying too hard and the vibe gets more and more awkward and you desperately want to tell her it’s fine but you worry calling attention to it might make her feel worse and you stare at her and she stares at you, takes a beautiful bong rip, and says something so self deprecating you have to look away. the #1 most nightmarish person to share a joint with in torchwood is obviously jack. he pulls out a bag of purple shit, a strain he informs you is called ‘megacock OG’, and loads it into his 23rd century fucking instant vaporizer and promises it’s “got a hell of a kick” and you blink and it’s 20 minutes later and you’re flinching nearly shitting yourself every time his stupid fucking dinosaur swoops overhead ,sweating buckets, and he’s grinning slapping the table laughing opposite you while his genuinely cringeworthy sex stories, seemingly endless, ring in your ears like churchbells.

#my personal prognosis after rewatching one season of torchwood #torchwood #doctor who #jack harkness #toshiko sato #ianto jones #owen harper #gwen cooper #my stuff

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shanastoryteller · 4 months

Note

Happy holidays! Do you have any zagreus interacting with other gods? Thanks so much

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Other people are learning about Zagreus.

Not that they know it's him, of course. He goes by the moniker prince.

Just enough to direct prayers and pay tributes, but a nameless god standing against Demeter? It's enough to send the whole pantheon in an uproar.

It's enough to send Demeter to heights of rage that Artemis previously thought her incapable of reaching.

There are gardens that her frost can't touch. Fruit she she has no hand in growing.

There are people who will not submit and die as she wishes it, blaming mortals for her daughter's death and so making them pay the price for a lost goddess.

Not even Zeus has rained destruction upon the mortals like Demeter had and not even Zeus can stop her.

It's too much. Too much taken, too much suffering.

Persephone was a sweet girl. But her loss is not worth the life of every mortal upon the earth.

Artemis is with Aphrodite, both of them having been evoked powerfully enough to send shivers down their spine. She leans against her spear and tried to think of any other way to fix this.

It's a town on the edge of collapse, a thick forest between them and the rest of civilization. In spring the journey is long but easy enough, but it hasn't been spring for a long time.

There's no game to hunt. Loved ones are dying. They beg and beg to any god that will listen but while every god can hear them no god can save them.

None but one.

But how would they know? This far out, there only contact is other isolated villages too deep in the world.

"I'm tired," Aphrodite whispers, knees pulled to her chest, something about her coltish in her helplessness.

Artemis has never tried this. She doesn't even know if it will work. But he won't ever find his way here on his own. "Can you keep a secret, Aphrodite?"

She shifts her head enough to look at her with a single garnet eye. "What secret do you have, sister mine?"

"Aphrodite," she says warningly.

She huffs, amusement aging her. "Yes, yes, my silence or my life. What is it?"

Artemis hopes she doesn't regret this. She hopes it works. "Prince Zagreus!"

"What's Zag going to do?" Aphrodite blinks. "He can't even-"

She cuts herself off and Artemis knows she's thinking through the first part, coming to the obvious conclusion and rejecting it out of hand.

"Artemis?"

They both turn and Zagreus is standing there. Not as image or projection like he was the last time they met face to face, but solidly beside her in the flesh.

He grimaces in pain and raises a hand to his side before straightening and forcing his arm down. Whatever it is that keeps him in his father's realm still has some hold on him, it seems.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," he says. There's blood on his teeth. There wasn't any a couple seconds ago. "Oh, hi Aphrodite. Er. Please don't tell anyone."

"It's you?" Aphrodite demands. "You?"

"I am me," he agrees.

Artemis would beat him if they had the time for it. "Can you help them? This village will die. Word of you hasn't reached them and your temples are too far to travel too even if they had."

He grins it's all red. His blood drips down his chin. "It's not going to be pretty."

Artemis has never thought about how exactly the god of life and blood spreads his blessings. She thinks she's regretting that now.

"Pretty's my domain anyway," Aphrodite snaps. "Help them."

Zagreus moves too quickly for Artemis to stop. He grabs her spear and slices down his chest and then there's blood everywhere, pouring out of him, more than should be in any one body.

Aphrodite screams and Artemis wrenches the spear away, horrified. "This is celestial silver! You can't - even gods can't heal from it!"

"Death heals all wounds," he says and there's blood down his chin, spilling out his mouth with his every breath.

Then he's running.

They talk off after him and it's easy to follow his trail, the deluge blood and smell of copper filling her nose as they chase him.

Zagreus is mad. When she wasn't looking he went insane and now she's killed him.

They have to slow him down, have to get him to Hermes. It should be easy, they're goddesses and he's dying, but he stays fast enough to stay just out of their grasps.

He's lose a body's worth of blood a dozen times over and yet still more flows.

He finally trips and falls, giving gurgling breathes.

"Zagreus!" she shouts as she and Aphrodite fall into the snow beside him. "Zagreus, hold on, it's going to be okay."

He laughs and pats her cheek. He's too pale. "Relax. I die all the time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aphrodite demands, trying to put her hands over the wound but it's too long to stem.

Zagreus doesn't answer.

His body goes slack and it takes Artemis several seconds to realize the person screaming is her.

Aphrodite is sitting there shell shocked and bewildered and then Zagreus's body sinks into the earth, not even reacting to Artemis's attempts to hold on.

"Oh."

She looks up and Aphrodite is looking behind them. Artemis slowly follows her gaze.

Every place blood touched the ground, there now grows bushes of bright purple berries, more vibrant than any fruit she's seen grow that shade. They grow thick and fat on every branch and if there anything like the other food in Prince's gardens, it will keep them alive and they'll be able to grow more themselves.

If they're willing to sacrifice the blood.

The next time Artemis sees Zagreus, she's going to kill him.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #cherryblossomshadow #hades game

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lucozadehulahoop · 5 months

Text

A question of time (Astarion x fem! tav/reader) part 1/?

Summary: Cazador gets his hands on the daughter (tav) of the Elven goddess Sehanine and a common mortal, hoping to manipulate the girl over time and obtain the favor of her protection while he prepares for his Ascension, during which he plans to sacrifice her to gain more power than any devil could ever promise him.

Unfortunately, as the plans for his Ascension become more and more concrete, his ward is summoned every night by the sweet cries of the most tortured out of all his slaves, and she cannot bear to leave his side.

Meanwhile, it has become increasingly obvious to Astarion that his Master does in fact have a weakness, a certain someone he keeps locked away and safe... there is nothing Astarion wants more than to snuff that little light out of Cazador's eyes, no matter if it's the last thing he ever does.

tags and TW pre-bg3! Astarion, slave!Astarion, mentions of torture and abuse, demi-goddess!tav, Cazador being all sorts of creepy, eventual NSFW (minors stay away kindly, thank you darlings)

Part 2 here ! Part 3 Part 4

I'll take you under my wing, Somebody should

-A Question of Time, Depeche Mode

Astarion had come to the conclusion that the excruciating torture Cazador imposed on him every night was becoming unbearable to the point he was now hallucinating.

It had happened three times now, always when he felt at his lowest. When he was so desperate and alone in his suffering, that he could only wish for someone to drag him out in the early dawn and leave him to burn alive, she would appear.

A clear figment of his imagination. A soul so ethereal yet warm, soft, and real. It made no sense for a creature like that to be down in the dungeons with the likes of him, her silk dress soaked from his own blood. Cazador was never really done with him until the entire floor was soaked in the thick red liquid.

Astarion had been afraid at first. He had never even seen her enter the room. She was just there, at his side. He'd made a feeble attempt to back away when she'd attempted to reach out for him. She had stopped herself in her tracks, and spoken to him softly. Astarion hadn't understood a word. He only knew this was another trick, another evil sent to punish him.

He'd passed out soon after.

The following night he'd realised he didn’t feel as weak as he usually did after a beating. He'd been healed. Somehow he'd even been granted a lavish pillow to rest his head on instead of the cold hard ground he was used to.

Alarmed, Astarion immediately did his best to hide it, using all of his strength to stuff the pillow behind a loose set of bricks in the walls of the dungeon. His master would not have been very forgiving if he thought one of his spawn had been stealing from him.

..☆..

A few weeks passed before the hallucination presented itself again.

It had been another terrible night and Cazador had decided Astarion needed to be sealed up in a coffin again.

Astarion cried like a babe. He begged his Master, promised to do anything for him, to give him anything he wanted. At some point he even attempted to convince Cazador to simply kill him once and for all. But it was no use, and soon he was sealed back into the darkness.

Astarion wondered how long he'd be left to rot this time. Another year? Two? What if this time Cazador simply... forgot about him? Left him to suffer his bloodlust and paranoia for all of eternity?

The world would move on, new cities would be built above his head and no one would be able to hear his cries—

Astarion almost jumped out of his bones in fear when the coffin was being opened up again. He was more than happy to take this little mercy from his Master in exchange of whatever other punishment he chose.

But it was not Cazador's face he ended up facing in the dark.

It was his angel, once again there to save him. Or more likely , as Astarion had been beginning to suspect, to lead him on to the next life.

This time he could see her more clearly. At first glance she might have been any other noble young lady from the city, the kind that had an array of suitors waiting outside her door. She looked like the type to make someone go mad from love or heartbreak, and Astarion was certain there were many out there already dedicating songs and sonnets to her beauty.

Yet her regal attire, while exquisite and fashionable, did not suit her. In fact, it seemed as if she were completely out of place wearing something so mundane. Something told him she wasn't exactly human, or elven for that matter. Her wide eyes were reading him like an open book, yet she did not say a word.

"Now, I don't know who you are..." Astarion warned, barely finding the strength to speak after an almost constant state of screaming and crying. "...or what you want with me... but I can tell you're not his. Because, if you were... you would know how dead we're both going to be when he catches you trying to get me out of here."

She attempted to speak, reaching out for a cut on Astarion's cheek. "You're —"

"You better get the fuck out of here, if you know what's good for you—" Astarion growled, snatching her wrist and squeezing it so tight, if she had been human it would have snapped in his hand like a twig. "And I trust you know how to board up this coffin again since you've been capable of roaming around a den of starving vampire spawn and making it out alive. Twice."

She gave out a wail of pain and Astarion finally let her go. He wasn't about to rot even longer than he had to in a coffin because of yet another reason that was completely out of his control.

The young woman stood there in front of him, undecided on what to do.

"I can't." She said, finally.

"But you will!" Astarion, roared, panicking about the very real possibility of Cazador assuming he'd managed to break out of his confinements himself. "By the hells! Put me back the way you found me and be on your way—"

"But you were crying—" She interjected.

"E-excuse you?" Astarion smiled uneasily, tilting his head to the side. What did this silly little girl think she knew about him?

"I heard you." The odd little thing in front of him answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You were calling out for help. You said, anything but the dark-"

Astarion's eyes burned with rage and hot tears. Suddenly he was stumbling out of the coffin, grabbing the woman by her frilly bloodstained clothes, and pinning her up against a wall. "You're here to doom me, is that it? You're some kind of faerie pulling a cruel joke on me, are you? Trying to give him even more excuses to hurt me. Is that it?" He panted frantically, straining his ears to pick up any signs of Cazador's return. "Here to feed on my suffering, are you?" Astarion attempted to grill answers out of her.

The supposed faerie did not seem concerned with the fact an unstable bloodthirsty creature currently had her trapped with no way of escape. She slowly reached for a huge gaping wound on Astarion's abdomen, and for a few moments he was transfixed by how quickly the flesh healed itself back together under his very eyes.

"I do not wish to bring you harm." She explained calmly. "I thought you would enjoy the freedom. He is away. And I promise to put you back as you were before his return."

Astarion shook his head and laughed maniacally. Freedom. His prayers had somehow been answered but he didn't trust the situation one bit. "Is that right, princess?" He taunted her. "And who just might you be to know the comings and goings of the Master of this house better than his own spawn?"

"He calls me his daughter."

..☆..

The revelation never left Astarion's head, even in the days that followed. Cazador... his heartless captor, his psychotic jailor, had a weakness. Initially, he'd thought about what it would have been like to take the life of Cazador's precious daughter right there and then, damned by the consequences.

But that would have been too easy. No, Astarion had finally stumbled upon something that gave him an edge over his Master, and his revenge was going to be carefully thought out. Sweet as can be.

Cazador had never mentioned his daughter to any of them so Astarion had no rules or commandments looming over his head. She was the perfect way to get revenge after almost two centuries of suffering. He just needed to be clever about it. He could not squander an opportunity like this.

The prospect of hurting Cazador made the torture much more barerable during the coming weeks. In fact, Astarion didn't know whether he was delirious or if all of that suffering was just feeding the fire burning inside of him more and more.

Once he'd been finally freed to go out and bring a new victim for Cazador to feast on, his plan he been set into action. Going out on a limb, Astarion assumed Cazador had tucked his daughter in the highest room of the tallest tower of his castle, where none could get to her and where she could never see the true horror of who her father truly was.

Under the cover of night, he scaled the side of the castle walls with nothing but some climbing tools and his own blessed agility. And as he did so, his mind was flooded with the same questions he'd been plagued with since the last night he'd seen the young woman. How was it possible that Cazdor had sired a daughter? What was the nature of her powers? They did not seem to have sliver of relation between them. And why, oh why, was she so determined to care for Astarion of all people?

Had Cazador set her on it? Was it all some sick game? Only one thing was for sure. Cazador had hidden the girl from everything and everyone, so at some fundamental level he must have cared for her.

That was all that mattered to Astarion. It was worth risking Cazador's eternal wrath just to see even a tiny sliver of pain in his eyes. A crack in his armor. And there was no doubt in his mind that would soon be true, just as soon as he found his daughter's lifeless body and her blood splattered all across the castle walls on his return.

"Are you stuck?" Her voice called out to him from her bedroom window as she looked down at him. Yes, Astarion had been slightly stalled by his thoughts. He looked up at her. Well, there went the element of surprise. He certainly was not planning on underestimating her. The girl had true power coursing through her veins.

Yet, he had not anticipated the scenario and now he was at a loss for words. A first for him. "No I was just, well I was—"

"Just close the window when you come up, okay? It's getting cold in here." She admonished him, before disappearing back inside. Astarion was a little taken aback. Had she known he was coming?

When he finally stepped into her chambers, he got a full understanding of just how capable Cazador was of spoiling and pampering someone he cared about. The room was lavish and spacious, almost every single item worth more than the average working person in Baldur's Gate could make in their entire lifetimes.

She was there, simply brushing her hair in front of the fireplace, almost completely uncaring about the fact a stranger had just invaded her private quarters.

Astarion let a dagger slip out of his sleeve, and only then did she turn around to look at him. He hated it, wishing he could have gotten the chance to kill her in her sleep or with a stab to the back, so he wouldn't have had to stare into those mesmerizing pools again.

"You won't hurt me, Astarion." She simply stated.

Astarion ground his teeth in anger. It really wasn't fair how perfect his name sounded on her tongue.

"I see his brat is not only spoiled, but entitled too. What makes you think you'll get out of this?" Astarion marched over towards her. "What makes you think your life will be spared against the countless others I've dragged to the grave in your father's name?" He snarled drawing his blade up to her perfect neck.

The sound of her pulse was enchanting and exhilarating at the same time. If he only could have, he would have gorged himself with her blood, sunk his teeth into her perfect flesh.

"Because... you're afraid the next time you call for help you'll be alone. For good." She answered honestly, seeing right through him as if he were made of glass.

The young woman had meant no offense, but Astarion took it nonetheless. In one swift move, he had a dagger to her throat, tears brimming in his eyes. He hated that she was right, but he was going to prove her wrong nonetheless.

"You think you're so smart, don't you love?" He sneered. "What? Were you so bored all couped up in your tower, you thought you could just have a little fun with one of your daddy's toys? That bastard's going to get what's coming to him—"

Suddenly, she was placing a hand over Astarion's mouth and cutting him off mid-speech. For the first time ever, Astarion saw the strange girl display concern in her features. No... it was genuine fear in her eyes.

"He's... he's down the hall." She whispered, more concerned with her father's arrival than the blade at her throat. Astarion dropped the weapon and froze, completely incapable of doing anything except await for his punishment in silence.

"What are you doing?" She fretted over him. "You need to leave!" The girl tried to put some sense into him but it was useless. Her attempts to drag him towards her closet were also fruitless.

Astarion was frozen, his eyes on the door and his ears keenly listening to Cazador's steps as they drew nearer.

___

AN: Let me know if you'd like part 2, comments are appreciated 🤧🥺

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion fluff #bg3 astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader

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flamingpudding · 6 months

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 21 - "Just in case this doesn't work."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

A/N: Inspired by this Post about Danny bullshiting his way by saying he is Tims future kid. Also once again posting this early, cause I need to destress tomorrow and not worry about writing or work or anything.

Edit: Thanks to @kisatamao in the comments I found the post again that inspired this and linked it!

"Chronus"

"Nowadays I go by Clockwork."

"Fine, Clockwork then."

"John Constantine."

The Ancient of Time and Justice League Dark members stared at each other blankly. Until the ruler of time smiled and Constantine sighed. "How is the time baby doing?"

"Very well. Your timeline is safe. There was an incident that could have possibly splittend the timeline again and in a way it did but the destruction timeline was once more prevented, by the child himself like I hoped for. Three times now."

Constantine grunted, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "You know if Bats or any of his kids ever learn about this I will be the one to take the burn right?"

Clockwork only smiled a knowing smile and Constantine paled. "When?"

"Where is the fun if you knew. The little Drake has been quite unpredictable and entertaining." The Ancient mused floating around the room and Constantine's eyes narrowed.

"There won't be a paradox?"

Clockworks tilted his head with a mischievous smile on his face. "Well the timeline in which he was born no longer exists and his father of this time line has ceased his efforts in cloning. He never even got to the point of trying to combine his own DNA with the one he so desperately wanted to clone."

"I feel like I am hearing secrets I definitely do not want to know. Just tell me if this timeline is safe or not now."

"It is safe. Your timeline has now a true Ancient of Balance in the making and just in case this doesn't work, I have anchored Daniel's existence in this timeline with several means one of which was his own time clone created from a split of destruction line."

Constantine's eyes twitched. "For all of our sakes I hope Bats never finds out about this. If he ever learns that I replaced a still born with a grandson of his from a different destruction timeline… You know what, I am not nearly drunk enough for any of this mate!"

Clockwork chuckled, his eyes glinting with unhidden amusement. "Well John Constantine, would you like a word of advice?"

The JLD member took another long drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt of it somewhere to the side. "No riddle."

"When 17 turns to 4 it is not the grandfathers, you should fear."

"I said no riddles!" Constantine huffed as clockwork disappeared from his side. He brushed his hair with one hand, glaring at the spot where the Ancient of Time had been. He should have never agreed to help that damned being 15 years ago, having been somewhat of a beginner then John did not realize what kind of deal he had agreed on.

Now he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or fearful of the consequences. Especially now that he had worked with the Bat Family a couple of times already.

Exactly one year later Constantine decided he was fucking fearful!

Unknown to the Brite a lot of things can happen in three years. Like Parents turning on their child after accidentally learning about a truth. A teenager that was already hurt trying to salvage whatever peace he could.

—--

"Mom! Dad! I swear it's still me, Danny!"

"Give me back my baby boy you monster!"

—--

A governmental organisation committing mass genocide on an interdimensional species.

—--

"Ember, get out of here! Now!"

"Baby Pop! What about the others?!"

"Dan already released them! Get out of here! I will hold them off and keep them busy!"

—----

The interdimensional species try to convince said teenager fighting for them to forgo humanity.

—--

"Welp, this can't go on. No hunt is worth this much."

"Give it up already. The humans made their decision."

"They broke too many rules, it is time they suffer the consequences."

—--

A heavy conflicted ending with the teenager receding into its core and getting picked up by one of his papa from a different timeline.

—--

"What kind of crystal is that? It radiates a pretty strange but familiar energy."

"I wanna see! I wanna see!"

"If it's not dangerous, why not keep it?"

"It looks like there are snowflakes in it."

—--

The kid then reformed out of his core in his ghost age instead of human age with a green note appearing on his forehead. Said note confusing the kids papa making him contact the kids dad.

—--

"Tim you won't believe this…"

"Kon you sound weird, what is going on?"

"Remember that shiny crystal I picked up at the end of our last case?"

"The one with the snowflakes in it, yes."

"I think I just became a dad."

"WHAT?!"

—--

Which then led to the dad overanalyzing the note while the kid insisted that a certain ghost was involved. The child's grandparents then getting tipped off through the grandchild of the Ancient Constantine still curses in his mind.

—--

"So Pandora mentioned something to me."

"Hn."

"Have you tried asking Constantine about it? He is apparently in contact with a being that likes to write cryptic messages on green notes, or that's what Pandora told me at least."

"..."

"And your new grandchild came with such a note right?"

—--

And now John Constantine was fearing for his life, because Batman had tried to contact him several times now. Several times Constantine had found reasons to ignore. Only for the Bat to come knocking on his door -well more like rudely kicking it down- with fucking Super too! He was cursing up a storm internally and thinking of how best he could get out of whatever had crawled up the two hero's asses when right behind the two hero's stood another set of hero's he did not want to face especially when he noticed one of them holding a four years old toddler in his arms.

"Chronus you fucking asshole!" The Brite muttered to himself as the four hero's plus time baby stood before him demanding answers.

That was when the toddler piped up, eyes glowing a bright green. "So Clockwork does have something to do with this! I knew it!"

"Danny, sweetheart not now. You can tell us you were right after we figured out what timeline you are from and if we need to send you back or can keep you." Red Robin calmed the now pouting toddler Super Boy was holding and petting with a small chuckle. While Batman and Superman turned on Constantine.

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writeforfandoms · 6 months

Text

Let the Sparks Fly

Find my Ghost masterlist

For @glitterypirateduck 1-4-1 challenge! I used thunderstorm/rain, power outage, neighbors, and forced proximity!

You meet one of your neighbors in the elevator, and a storm knocks out the power at the worst possible time. At least your neighbor is nice.

Warnings: Power outage, total darkness, brief moment of panic, swearing, soft Simon, brief jumpscare.

Simon Riley x f!reader

Word count: 2k

The rain had chosen the worst possible moment to come, getting you before you could get inside. Your groceries were undoubtedly wet as well now. But you were almost to your building, walking as close to buildings as possible in hopes that they’d help block some of the rain.

Someone ahead of you turned and opened the door to your building, and your foot caught the door before it could close. He paused, glancing back at you over one massive shoulder. You didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t exactly unusual.

You’d only moved in a couple months ago, you hardly knew all your neighbors.

Offering him a shy smile, you shuffled inside with your groceries, shoes squeaking slightly against the floor. You eyed the stairs for a moment and then shook your head. Nope. No way. You were taking the lift.

The man got to the lift before you, stepping in and moving aside. He was big, taking up a good portion of the space, but you still stepped in next to him.

The button for your floor was already pushed.

Your heart clenched. Okay. No big deal. He just lived on the same floor. That was perfectly reasonable, really. Trying to be sneaky, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

Tall, broad. Black face mask, black beanie. Plain gray shirt and jeans. Seemingly paying you no attention at all, hands stuffed in his pockets.

The lift shuddered to a stop, and you tensed, hands gripping your bags tightly. You had just enough time to wonder if the lift had died (again).

The lights went out.

You froze. You’d never been overly scared of the dark. Cautious, yes. You’d suffered enough stubbed toes and barked shins to be aware of where you put your feet. But not usually scared.

This, though. This made you scared. Between the small space, the sudden darkness, and the stranger, you were scared.

Sudden light made you flinch, nails digging into your skin. But it was just the man’s phone, flashlight function on and pointed consciously down at the floor.

Oh. Of course. You didn’t have to stand here in the dark. Well, now you just felt foolish.

“You alright?” Dark eyes focused on you over the mask, though he kept his body half angled away from you, keeping the light from pointing directly at you.

“Yeah,” you agreed quickly, shifting your weight and rolling your shoulders. “Think the lift died?”

He grunted softly, looking back down at his phone. A few moments of silence, then he shook his head. “Power’s down,” he murmured.

“Great,” you muttered with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Well. Might as well put your groceries down. No telling how long this would take. You set the bags against one wall, stretching out your fingers. “Suppose if worse comes to worst, I can always eat the ice cream.”

A soft huff of amusement caught your attention, and you looked at your quiet companion. He glanced at you before looking back down at his phone, big fingers nimble as he typed something. Even in the relatively tight confines of the lift, he kept to his own space, conscious in a way so few men were.

“How long do you think this will take?” You couldn’t help asking. You knew he had no idea, same as you. You just… had to ask. Had to do something with the almost-jittery feeling. You weren’t claustrophobic, never had been, but this situation still grated at your nerves.

His gaze lifted to you again, dark eyes assessing, before he shrugged one shoulder. (One rather giant shoulder, you realized. He truly was massive, which made his self-containment all the more impressive.) “Got somewhere you need to be?” His voice was low, a little rough. Pleasant.

You blew out a breath, letting it puff out your cheeks along the way. “Just laundry,” you admitted dryly. “Very exciting, you know.”

He chuffed, not quite laughter but something close to it. “Only if you spot rats.”

“In this basement? There’s more than one kind of rodent down there.” You made a face.

He raised one eyebrow at you, wordlessly inviting you to go on.

“There’s this guy that lives on the third floor,” you started, leaning back against the nearest wall. “He’s kind of a rat. Fortunately I don’t see him often.”

He nodded once, seemingly amused. “I’ll keep an eye out for him,” he agreed, glancing back down at his phone. “Battery’s getting low.” The way his gaze flicked to you made you blink.

He was telling you specifically. So you had warning.

“Let me turn mine on.” You scrambled for a moment, fishing your phone out and flipping the flashlight on. His turned off a moment later. With a soft sigh, you gave up and sat on the floor. “Somehow all the stories about getting stuck places forget the sheer boredom aspect.”

He puffed out another not-quite laugh, crouching slowly across from you. Still careful to give you your space. “Lotta hurry up and wait,” he agreed blandly.

With a sigh, you gave up and started playing on your phone. There was nothing else to do, after all. The two of you were trapped until the power came back.

“How long have you lived here?” You chanced a glance up at him to find he’d sat down properly, back against the wall.

He shrugged, dark eyes once again focused on you, surgical mask obscuring most of his expression. “Why?”

“Haven’t seen you around before. Not that I know all the neighbors, or even everyone on our floor, I’m just curious.” You wrinkled your nose at yourself. Great conversational skills, there.

But he surprised you. “Not around often,” he offered, in lieu of an answer, apparently.

“Got it.” You forced yourself to straighten your back and shoulders, knowing from experience that you’d be sore later if you stayed slumped over. It had been nearly half an hour already, so you twisted a little to grab your groceries and check them.

The ice cream was definitely melting, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. Actually, now that you thought about it, you were cold too. Still damp from the rain, stuck holding still in this enclosed space… Damn. You were gonna catch a cold from this.

“Melting?”

You blinked, jolting back to yourself at the question, and nodded with a wry smile. “Seems that way,” you agreed, looking at the carton regretfully. “You want some?”

He shook his head. “Keep it,” he urged you softly.

You poked the carton once more and huffed, giving up on it. You’d have to get more ice cream later. The shiver caught you by surprise, making you huff again.

“Alright?” The question was careful.

“Just cold,” you admitted wryly. “I’m fine. Not dying of boredom yet.”

He snorted softly, head tipping away from you again.

Time passed slowly, dripping by, interspersed with your shivering and very quiet swearing as you distracted yourself. Your ice cream was definitely never going to be the same after this. Fortunately everything else should be fine.

Unless you died of boredom first.

Your head jerked up suddenly, eyes wide as you fixed your gaze on your neighbor. He looked back at you, alert, almost wary.

“So I just realized how rude I’ve been,” you said, embarrassment creeping through your chest and up your neck. “Haven’t even introduced myself yet.” You gave him your name, fingers tapping anxiously against your phone.

He was silent for a long moment, still looking at you. Then he nodded, just once. “Simon.”

You nodded to him and looked back at your phone. The battery was getting low, and you didn’t want to run it down entirely, just in case. So you sighed softly, resigning yourself to suffering in the dark for a while.

“Have to turn off my light,” you warned him, waiting for the nod of acknowledgement to actually do it.

The darkness was total, almost heavy with how instant it was. You couldn’t see a single thing. You blinked rapidly, knowing it wouldn’t help, but still needing to anyway. Right. This was fine. No problem. No big deal. You closed your eyes, since you couldn’t see anyway, and focused on breathing. Though muffled, you could still hear the rain very faintly, the constant patter soothing.

Now if only you weren’t so damn cold.

Time was weird and slippery as you sat there in the dark, huddled into yourself. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed without checking your phone, which you tried not to do. It wouldn’t help or change anything.

“Doin’ alright?”

The soft question nearly made you jump. Your head turned a little towards him, though you couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”

He paused, and something made you think he was weighing his words, rather than simply going silent. “Can practically hear you shivering, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well.” You clenched your jaw against another shiver, harder than before. “Not exactly warm in here.”

He huffed softly. Sudden light from him checking his phone made you blink, the light extra bright now. “Still working on getting power back,” he reported. “Going back up around the city, so it’s only a matter of time.”

You blew out a slow breath, oddly touched. Had he checked that just for you? “Right. Thanks.”

Silence and darkness fell between the two of you again, and you curled tighter in on yourself. You were tired and cold and you really just wanted to be in your flat by now. Even if the power was still off, at least you could change into dry clothes and wrap yourself in blankets.

The lights in the elevator flickered a few times before turning on properly. “Finally,” you muttered, pushing quickly up to your feet, leaving your groceries on the floor for the moment. You’d grab them when the elevator started moving again. You noticed Simon getting to his feet as well, a little more slowly.

The elevator groaned, an odd noise you’d never heard it make before. You tensed, eyes going wide, darting to Simon for some reason. He was just as still as you.

The elevator dropped. Just a few inches.

But it was enough to make you shriek, curling in on yourself. A moment later arms curled around you, helping steady you even as the elevator car jolted, and then stilled.

“‘S alright,” Simon murmured, quiet and soothing, though he didn’t let go of you. Your shaking wasn’t entirely from cold.

You breathed in raggedly, fingers curling into his shirt, still shaking. “What…?” You couldn’t even finish your question.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, still soft, still gentle. He didn’t release you, his body heat bleeding into you, the security of his arms lending you courage. The elevator had stopped again, the lights weak but on. You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing.

The elevator started again, moving up, and you jumped. Simon didn’t say a word, just held you a little tighter. Normally, someone getting this close that you didn’t know would be alarming.

But it wasn’t. He wasn’t. You just felt… safe. And finally less cold.

“D’you want a cuppa tea?” you offered. Well. Blurted, more like. When he looked down at you, one eyebrow raised, embarrassment flushed hot up your chest and face. “Just tea! Really! I mean, I just got a new box, and you’ve been so nice, and I might still be a little bit freaked out right now and I’m rambling please tell me to stop–” You cut yourself off at his soft huff of laughter. This close, you could see the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

“You need to warm up first,” he said, only releasing you when the doors opened. He scooped up your bags before you could and stepped out, you trailing in his wake.

“Right,” you muttered, chagrined. Of course he didn’t want to come hang out in your apartment. He hadn’t known you for long. Wow. Way to go, self.

“Which one’s yours?” He looked back at you, pausing in the hallway.

You considered him for a moment before you stepped in front of him, going to your door and unlocking it before you held out a hand for your groceries. “Thanks.”

He considered you for a long moment, not relinquishing your bags. Then he nodded once. “Give me ten minutes,” was all he said, bags changing hands before he strode down the hall.

You blinked after him. Ten minutes? Why…?

Oh. Oh.

He was saying yes!

…Shit you had to clean.

#141challenge #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #f!reader

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mamsieur · 6 months

Text

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell.

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best. She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable.

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really.

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls. Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle. Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world. The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left. Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight.

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley.

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him. He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole.

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible. As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay. You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest . It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun .

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits. Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you. You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details. Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him.

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much. You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you. Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you?

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away .

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me."

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly.

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room.

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene.

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted.

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again. You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table.

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..."

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down. "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..."

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan.

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back."

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down. You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face.

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission. Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them.

You stopped breathing.

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on.

The enemy fired.

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile. Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house.

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?"

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !"

They were dead.

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead . And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom. You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy.

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him . Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it.

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?”

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.”

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you. Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red.

You should tell him. But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..."

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed.

And you could easily get used to it .

#top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #dad pete mitchell #reader is pete daughter #jake seresin #bob floyd #penny benjamin #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #angst with a happy ending #pov second person

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magics-neptunes-things · 2 months

Text

Good 4 U (2)

Hello everyone!

Some of you asked for a second part for Good 4 U, so here it is! I will have the song running in my head for days again, but it's ok.

Tumblr was a pain in my ass today, I had to repost this like four time, so I hope everything is ok!

Enjoy ♥

TW : Menstrual pain, loss of consciousness, suggestive mention

PART 1 | PART 3

______________________________________________________________

After your first kisses, you and Katie kept seeing each other every day. Your departure from London having been rejected for the beautiful eyes of the Irish, you decided to find yourself a job, not wishing to live off your sister any longer. You could have taken a hotel, but Lia seemed so hurt when you made that suggestion that you quickly backed off. And because you love spending time with your sister, you decided to keep you two days a week just for the two of you, with no one around. Including her girlfriend and your… maybe girlfriend?

Katie never officially offered you to be, but your dates are punctuated with affectionate gestures, looks that you would qualify yourself as sappy and kisses. Katie regularly takes you to look at the stars in different places in London and you strongly suspect her of doing research of the best spots for it in London. But you think it’s really cute.

Just like the fact that Katie always finds a time to come see you in the cafe where you work when she is not far from London for her football matches. This morning is no exception. You automatically raise your eyes towards the front door when the bell rings and you smile when Katie appears. Dressed in Arsenal training, ready for training.

"It’s for you I think"

Liam, your colleague with whom you are almost always in doubles during your schedules, gives you a playful elbow in the ribs, making you roll your eyes. But you don’t hesitate to approach the counter with a little smile.

"Good morning Ma'am. What can I serve you today?"

"It’s Miss for the moment, thank you very much. And I will gladly have a mango-strawberry-banana smoothie."

Her eyes sparkle with malice and her smile is to die for. Your smile expands as you grab the ingredients you need to prepare Katie’s order.

"What time are you done?" Katie asked while you cut the banana into pieces.

"At 4:00. What about you?"

"Almost the same. I’ll pick you up and we’ll spend the evening together, is it ok?"

You glance at her with a little smile, finishing her order before placing it on the counter.

"With pleasure"

Katie gives you a satisfied smile before carrying the straw of her drink to her lips to drink, looking at you straight in your eyes. Sometimes you feel like she knows how overwhelmed you are by your own attraction to her and that she loves to play with it. But it amuses you as much as it does for her, once the heat waves she gives you have passed.

Peeking around to make sure no client or staff members are looking at you, Katie leans over you to drop a quick kiss on your lips as goodbye. Her lips smell like strawberries and you almost mechanically say goodbye to her hand when she leaves the establishment.

***

The rest of your day has been more complicated. As long as you can remember, your menstrual period has always been complicated for you. Over time, you have discovered that you suffer from endometriosis and sometimes the treatment you have been given is not really strong enough to relieve you. This is the case today, even though you took your treatment on time.

As time passes and the hour of the end of your service approaches, you are mixed between relief and anxiety. The pain is escalating and you’re glad you can get out of there, but you don’t have the guts to tell Katie that you need to cancel your date.

You really want to see her and you cross your fingers so that the pain disappears throughout the day.

Katie is smiling when you join her and you let her pass her arms around your shoulders to squeeze you against her, as you pass yours around her waist. Closing your eyes briefly, you bury your face in the hollow of her neck before releasing her. You then realize that Katie is studying you carefully, her eyebrows slightly gathered.

"You look tired"

You smile at her and shrug your shoulders, trying to adopt a light tone so as not to attract her suspicions any longer.

"A little, but it’s okay. I’m glad to see you"

"I’m glad to see you too" Katie smile back, kissing your cheek.

Taking you by the waist, Katie trains you to her car in which you settle with relief. Standing up when you have your cramps is always particularly difficult. You ask Katie about her day to keep her busy, discreetly massaging your upper thighs with your hands, hoping to relieve your pain. But we cannot say that it works very well.

You feel guilty when Katie announces that she has planned a walk in a park near you. A walk is probably the worst thing possible for you right now, but you didn’t tell Katie about your situation when you found her so you don’t dare to do it now either.

You manage not to attract the attention of Katie during the first part of the walk, clinging to her arm who probably took your behavior for affection. But the pain begins to be unmanageable. You can’t even focus on what Katie is telling you, her voice and accent making you feel like she’s away from you and not just by your side.

"Y/N?"

You try to shake yourself mentally, but you can’t. Your vision is black and you feel yourself falling. It’s only thanks to Katie’s arms that you don’t crash on the floor. When you regained consciousness a few seconds later, the Irish woman made you sit on a bench.

"Y/N what’s going on?"

The worry is audible in Katie’s voice and you feel uncomfortable having imposed this vision on her. You who hoped to continue to make her addicted to you, we cannot say that this is the best way to do it. You are embarrassed when you answer her, not finding the courage to look into her eyes.

"I… It’s nothing, I just have my period. Cramps are bad sometimes. I better go home"

You try to get up but Katie imitates you, her arm instantly finding place in the hollow of your back.

"I’ll take you home"

You don’t know if it’s a good idea, not sure Lia enjoys seeing you go home with Katie, but the tone of the latter clearly lets you understand that you have no choice. And you still have to admit that walking with Katie half-carrying you is a lot easier than walking alone.

"Thank you" you mumble to Katie when she parks in front of your home. "I’m sorry about our date. Can I still call you tomorrow?"

Katie doesn’t answer your question right away, which makes you look up at her. Again, she’s watching you carefully and you feel a little uncomfortable, writhing in your seat.

"I thought I’d stay with you"

You bite your lip briefly, hesitating between accepting and enjoying her comforting presence or refusing and keeping some of your pride. But you end up nodding and Katie literally jumps out of the vehicle to help you get out in turn.

On your way home, you come across a post-it note from Lia, informing you that she and Caitlin will be home late and that they went to the cinema and the restaurant. It’s probably better this way, so that Katie will have time to go home without getting anyone into trouble. You didn’t hide from your sister that you see Katie regularly and Lia always seems a little suspicious, but without judging or trying to forbid you anything. You know that there is only the desire to protect you there-behind and anyway the most wicked look of Lia is probably equivalent to that of a kitten.

"Tell me what I can do for you" Katie asks after accompanying you to your bed.

"This wasn’t how I imagined bringing you in my room for the first time" you point out while lying on your bed, watching Katie.

The Irish girl rolls her eyes with an amused smile but seems determined not to move until she has had a task. You stand up to rummage through your bedside table and get out your treatment.

"Water" finally decides Katie, leaving your room to go to the kitchen.

Katie knows Lia’s house pretty well, before you started dating Lia and Katie were friends for a while.

When you hear the characteristic noise of the kettle, you imagine that Katie decided to make you hot tea. So you take the opportunity to undress, putting on clothes much more comfortable than those you wore until now. When you lie down, Katie joins you and you quickly realize that it is not with a tea that she returns, but bottles of hot water.

"To ease the pain" informs Katie by giving them to you and you finally wonder if you will not propose to her.

"Thank you" you say however simply, hoping that the gratitude you feel is audible in your voice.

You pat the bed next to you, inviting Katie to lay down next to you.

The latter does not beg, getting rid of their shoes before settling next to you. Taking care to wrap you in your down, she then attracts you against her and you take advantage of the situation by burying your face in the hollow of her neck.

Her caresses on the back help you relax and you close your eyes for a few moments. You feel like you hear Katie’s brain smoking and you try to get out of your torpor to speak again.

"You don’t have to stay, you know?"

"I know. But I want to, if you agree, obviously"

You answer only with a vague throat noise, trying to get a little closer physically to her, in search of comfort. Katie is sweet and hot against you and this brings you a form of relief that you did not expect.

"You’re soft" you mumble

Katie laughs when she hears you and you open an eye so you can look at her.

"I’m not sure anyone called me soft before"

You smile despite yourself, moving slightly to be even more glued against her. Katie willingly lets you do it, tightening her arms around your waist.

"You're soft, and warm, and comfy"

"I'm a little hot" Katie confess. "Is it ok if I take my shirt off?"

You open an eye and nod, sitting in your bed to let Katie making herself comfortable. Deciding to get rid of her pants too, the Irish slips under the sheets and takes you against her. You seem to have read somewhere that the heat helps relieve cramps and you do not know if it is true or if it is also the case for menstrual cramps, but you enjoy feeling her skin against yours.

"Are you feeling better?"

"A little" you mumble

Your eyes are suddenly heavy, which is not surprising because you just took your medication and it make you feel sleepy. You still want to stay awake to be with Katie anyway, but it seems like she knows better.

"Sleep, Beautiful. You need to rest"

You mumble something about not wanting to sleep, but four seconds later and you're dead asleep. Katie stayed with you every single second of the time of your nap.

But you wake up an hour later, the pain starting again even stronger than before. You wake up wincing, your agitation having already attracted Katie’s concerns. Her caresses in your hair and on your face are pleasant and you appreciate the freshness of her hands, but it does not work to remove all the pain.

"I hate to see you hurt like that. What can I do?"

You don’t know, but you feel like that answer is definitely not going to work for Katie.

"Maybe a little more hot water for the bottles?"

"I'll be right back"

Katie slips out of bed, not without gently kissing you before, and you follow her with the look when she leaves the room. Katie lost in her thoughts and you fell asleep, you didn’t hear Caitlin and Lia coming home. If that were the case you probably wouldn’t have sent Katie dressed only in a t-shirt and her underwear to warm you up a little water.

Moreover, when she arrives in the kitchen, Katie almost makes a seizure by falling face to face with Lia. Under the surprise, Katie drops one of the bottles on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Lia asks, frowning.

"The question I ask myself is more like why is she half dressed" laughs Caitlin, enjoying a yogurt, sitting on the stool next to the central island.

Your big sister’s gaze slips on the lower part of Katie, then suddenly rising to the height of her eyes, ready to shoot at the Irish woman.

"It’s not what you think" Katie immediately says, passing next to her to access the kettle. "We were walking in the park when Y/N started to feel bad"

"What’s wrong with her?" Lia immediately gets alarmed. "Why didn’t she write to me?"

"It’s her period" explains the Irish, filling the bottles with hot water.

Lia makes a grimace when hearing the information, she too is aware of the pain of your menstruation. She saw you struggling all your life with it.

"I brought her back here and stayed with her, but I don’t know what else I can do" the Irishwoman confesses before looking up at Lia. "Is there something that could help?"

"No, sometimes her medicine just doesn't work" made Lia sadly shrugging her shoulders while Caitlin makes a grimace as a sign of compassion "Hot water is a good idea"

Lia's voice is soft when she looks at her and Katie nods before apologizing to her teammates to come back to you quickly. Still in the same position, you watch her enter the room and look with a sigh of relief at the newly hot bottles.

"Thank you" you whisper with gratitude

You were going to take it, but Katie makes you lie on your back, gently pushing you by the shoulder, gently rolling the bottles on the different painful parts of your body.

"Oh god" you mumble, feeling the contraction of your muscles relax a little bit.

Katie answers nothing, content to smile softly when seeing that what she imagined seems to work. Her hands sometimes replace bottles and you find yourself being much more relaxed than you’ve been all day.

"It may be that your sister saw me leave the room in this outfit" informs you Katie

You can’t help but smile when you hear the information, trying to imagine Lia’s face. Katie seems worried about your reaction, but if things keep going the way you want, chances are the Irish girl will spend a lot of time at your home.

"It doesn’t matter" you assure nicely

Katie gives you a smile and now that she has managed to relax you a little, you are dying to feel her skin against yours. Your eyes cross and Katie’s movements with her bottle are interrupted.

"Can you hold me?" you whisper shyly.

"Of course"

You don't let her get back on her back, drawing her against you so that she feels pressed against you. Between that and the hot water bottles, the pain is almost tolerable. Head right next to yours, Katie looks at you a few moments before she resumes talking.

"I wanted to ask you something today"

"What is it?" you ask curiously.

You turn your eyes towards her when she puts one of your strands of hair back, trying to imagine what she might want to ask you. But she seems to hesitate and you bite your lower lip before talking again.

"Have you changed your mind?"

"No" quickly answers Katie "But first, I have another question to ask you"

"Go ahead?"

Looking at you carefully, Katie takes a small breath. You can feel the tension emanating from her body, even if it seems to be related to stress and not to pain, like yours.

"You said you weren’t planning on leaving London yet" Katie starts as you nod "But… Does that mean you’re going leave at some point?"

After you kissed in the halls of Meadow Park, you had a little chat. Deciding to see where your story will take you, you pushed back your departure to an unknown date.

You open your mouth to answer her, but Katie puts a finger on your lips, intimating you silence.

"Because the first question I wanted to ask you was whether you wanted to be my girlfriend. But I’m not sure I want a long-distance relationship. But I really like you and I need to know if the time we have together is short or if I, we, can hope for more"

Your heart accelerated when you heard Katie’s confessions, and you feel a little bad about not being clear enough with her. When Lia spoke to you briefly about Katie, she always described the young woman as being attentive to her friends and very loyal. You are happy to see that she was right and that there is a difference between Katie the hothead that can be seen on the football fields and the Katie outside.

"I’m sorry to talk about it now, I know this may not be the best timing"

"No, no, it’s fine" you say, finally speaking. "I’m sorry I misspoke. When I told you I didn’t know when I would leave London, it was because I didn’t plan to. I don’t know where our story is going, but I really want to explore it"

A wave of relief passes over Katie’s face as she looks at you with a new ray of hope in her eyes. You didn’t answer the rest of her sentence, the girlfriend part, because you don’t really know if it’s an official question or not. You don’t have to wait long though.

"Then would you agree to be my girlfriend?"

A smile on your lips, you bite your lower lip before answering.

"I would love to"

With a big smile on her lips, Katie gently puts her hand on your cheek and gently draws your face against hers. This is clearly not the first time you kiss, but this kiss has another flavor. Katie is your girlfriend. You are Katie McCabe's girlfriend.

***

"Y/N we're leaving in ten, you better being dressed and not naked in your bed making disgusting business!"

Groaning, you roll off your girlfriend, on which you were still deep asleep.

"I don’t know how Cait stand her" you grumble as you rub your eyes

"Stop it, you know you love her. And we were right to do our disgusting business last night" Katie comments, stretching before yawning.

You smile softly as you get out of bed, digging through your cupboard to choose your clothes. This year, your parents decided to leave your native Switzerland to celebrate Christmas with Lia and you in London. Katie and Caitlin are also there, as are some of Katie’s family members and Caitlin’s mother and sister. All this little world cannot fit in one house, so Caitlin’s family will sleep in her house, yours in Lia’s and yours, and Katie’s in her house as well.

In order to enjoy yourself longer, your parents are already arriving today and it has been agreed that you will pick them up at the airport.

"Do you really have to go in ten minutes?"

You turn towards Katie who looks at your almost naked body without the slightest bit of shame and discretion, making you laugh softly. You put on a t-shirt and pants and climb on four leg on the bed to put a kiss on your girlfriend’s lips. You knew before your lips touched that you wouldn’t come out of bed so soon, but you laugh when Katie’s arms wrap around your waist to draw you against her.

"Oh for the love of God"

Your sister’s voice sounds behind you and you roll on your back to get rid of Katie’s embrace, with whom you were always exchanging kisses. You may have lost track of time. The cushion that Lia throws at you bounces off your hands when you place them in front of your face to protect you, landing on Katie’s legs. You’re both very amused.

Even Lia cannot hold back her amused smile when she speaks again.

"Let’s go. Now."

Lia wait for you to get out of bed before leaving your room again. You hear her saying goodbye to Caitlin in the kitchen when you put on a sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to you.

"Hey, it’s mine! I’ve been looking for it for weeks!"

"Oops" you smile maliciously at Katie

You make a quick journey through the bathroom to refresh yourself and you are tying your hair in a messy bun when you return to your bedroom. Meanwhile, Katie stands up and doesn’t seem disturbed by your hands in your hair when she grabs you by the waist to draw you against her. Sometimes you wonder if she has Spanish origins, between her easy tanning and how tactile she can be with you.

"Will you still be here when we get back?" you ask Katie while she kisses your cheek and you finish to do your hair.

"You want me to?"

"Yes, but no pressure. You’ll have time to meet my parents later, if you prefer."

Now that your hair is tied properly, you gently put your arms around Katie’s neck.

"Then I’ll be there" Katie replies before kissing you affectionately.

"Y/N!"

Lia’s voice, although usually sweet, sounds from the front door, making you both laugh softly. That’s when Caitlin's head goes through your door frame.

"Although I like to take the time to relax after you annoy her, Y/N, out."

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #katie mccabe #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe x reader #woso one shot

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