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mysafehaneul · 7 months

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AQUAMARINE: EPILOGUE

April Showers (M)

Dedication: For my girls, who like like their men secure and obsessed.

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 14k+

SERIES MASTERLIST

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

FLUFF!FLUFF!AND SMUT (I THINK WE HAD ENOUGH ANGST FOR 8 CHAPTERS)

A/N: So, I guess this is it huh? well Happy Reading!!

4 years ago Zurich, Switzerland KIU

Noella entered the lecture room, a spacious gallery-style classroom with long wooden benches and rows of paintings adorning the walls. The large windows bathed the room in natural light, and it felt more like an art gallery than a typical lecture hall. She quietly pushed the door open and entered, the soft creak of the hinges barely audible over the lecturer's voice.

The professor at the front of the room, Jeonghan, continued with his lecture on the definition of meaning during the Enlightenment era. He stood confidently in front of the class, with a relaxed yet engaging demeanour. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of intelligence.

As Noella found a seat at the back of the room and settled in, her eyes met Jeonghan's for a brief moment. There was a flash of recognition, but he didn't let it disrupt the flow of his lecture. With a warm smile and a nod, he acknowledged her presence before returning to his discourse.

"During the Enlightenment," he began, his voice both soothing and authoritative, "philosophers like Voltaire and Rousseau grappled with the concept of meaning. What does it mean to lead a meaningful life? Is it found in the pursuit of knowledge, happiness, or something more profound?"

The students listened intently as Jeonghan paced gracefully across the front of the room. His words were thought-provoking, encouraging his students to consider the philosophical inquiries of the past and apply them to their own lives.

She couldn't help but be captivated by his lecture, not only because of the subject matter but also because of the way he presented it. She had known Jeonghan for years, and seeing him in his element was both familiar and awe-inspiring.

He continued, "Voltaire famously stated, 'Judge a man by his questions rather than his answers.' This is a profound notion because it encourages us to continuously seek understanding. In an era marked by intellectual growth, philosophers challenged the status quo and sought to unravel the mysteries of existence."

The students absorbed the wisdom he shared, their eyes reflecting the curiosity sparked by his teaching.

Jeonghan, with his usual eloquence, continued his lecture, delving into the void that exists within humanity, a craving for meaning that often goes unnoticed. He cited Nietzsche's concept of this void, the insatiable longing for purpose that some fill immediately with their surroundings and become fervent devotees of a cause, never realizing the hollowness they've concealed. "The process of discovering that void for the first time," he explained, "is a pivotal moment in our lives. It's when we come to the stark realization that something is lacking in that department."

As he spoke, Jeonghan gestured passionately, his words resonating with the students. "Albert Camus presents us with an ultimate example of struggle and suffering, only to have our efforts amount to nothing. This is a metaphor for life, for Camus. We exist in a vast, inconceivably large, and complex universe, and with every step we take, we're battling against a tidal wave of forces that could end our existence at any moment."

He paced back and forth at the front of the class, emphasizing the challenges of human existence. "We live through good times and endure bad ones, all while accepting the reality that the universe, in all its grandeur, couldn't care less about our individual actions. It's true that in a humanistic lens, what we do matters within the microcosm of our lives, but on the universal scale, we're a mere speck on an ordinary galaxy. The sun will eventually explode in 5 billion years, and our existence will come to a definitive end."

Jeonghan's eyes scanned the room, and he implored his students to consider the meaning of all their suffering, effort, and sacrifice. "Where does it all lead? At the end of the day, we're like Sisyphus, condemned to push the rock up the hill only for it to roll back down, forcing us to begin again. But in our condemnation, we should strive not to agonize over the process but to find enjoyment in the act of pushing the boulder as far as we can."

He paused, his gaze intense, and then continued. "The experience and reflection come into play. What we're reflecting upon may appear meaningless to outsiders, but when we are experiencing it, it means the world. Yet, at what point do we realize it's all meaningless? It's the moment we stop being present, take a step back, and question why we're doing this in the first place. We look around and condemn it all as meaningless. This is where the concept of meaning comes into play."

Jeonghan raised a finger, emphasizing the contrast between reflection and lived experience. "When we reflect, we stop doing whatever we're engaged in, and we use our capacity for reason to ask questions. But it's important to recognize how presumptuous this entire process is. We apply this tool of reason to the universe, attempting to derive conclusions, yet what if the reason isn't the right tool for the job?"

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Reflections and reason, as human capacities, may not be the right tools to determine the meaning or meaninglessness of the things we do. What if, instead, we focus on the task at hand, to immerse ourselves fully in what we care about? Reflection is valuable, and a necessary part of life, but it can lead to diminishing returns. If you reflect too much, the only thing it'll do is deteriorate the quality of your lived experience."

As the lecture neared its conclusion, Jeonghan's eyes sparkled with a sense of purpose and resolution. "Embrace the absurdity of the universe, and then immerse yourself fully in the tasks you care about. Just like Sisyphus, who made the rock his own, we should learn to love what we do. Appreciate the grooves in the rock, the hindrances in your path, and the patterns to success. Love what you're doing without constantly pondering if it will have any meaning. After all, if the ultimate doom is inevitable, if everything will cease to exist, why not live and die doing what you love and believe in? Enjoy every moment of pushing your own boulder, and do it with passion and determination."

With a final nod and a warm smile, Jeonghan concluded his lecture on the meaning of life during the Enlightenment era.

As the students packed their bags, Jeonghan left them with a parting comment. "Remember, class, your term papers are due at the end of this week. And my sincere condolences to any grandparents, uncles, and aunts who are going to meet their end at 11:59 on the 29th."

The room filled with a mixture of laughter and groans, the students either appreciating Jeonghan's dark humor or dreading the impending deadline. Noella gathered her belongings, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and made her way down to Jeonghan's desk.

"That was impressive, Dr. Yoon," she complimented him with a warm smile.

"Thank you, but what brings you here?" Jeonghan inquired.

"Oh, the dean just invited me to give a speech for the department," she explained. "Our company is going to join one of the on-campus recruiting events, so I thought I'd see what you've been up to."

Jeonghan nodded in understanding. "Ah, that sounds interesting. Want to catch up over lunch?"

Noella’s laughter rang through the classroom. "Of course, it's not like we didn't meet for dinner last night." The two of them shared a friendly chuckle before leaving the classroom.

........

Present day.

London.

The morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow in the hotel suite. Empty bottles still littered the room, and discarded shirts and pants were strewn across the furniture. Wonwoo slept soundly on the bed, his deep slumber undisturbed even by the honking of cars on the street below. The sound was just background noise until it eventually stirred him. His hand reached out, searching for you, but the spot next to him was empty. A sense of panic rushed through him, and he jolted awake.

He looked around the room, his eyes darting from one corner to another. The droplets of tears on his pillows from the night before served as a painful reminder. "No…" he groaned, his heart sinking as he believed that you had left him.

As the ensuite washroom doors opened, you walked out, dressed in the clothes you had worn to Jeonghan's wedding. Your hair was still damp as you towel-dried it. You stood in front of the mirror, unaware of the emotional turmoil Wonwoo had just experienced.

However, his reaction was quite different from what you expected. Wonwoo dashed from the bed, letting the quilt fall to the floor, and enveloped you in a tight hug from behind. "I thought you left," he confessed.

"Shall I pinch you to make sure I'm still here?" you teased, but he remained mostly silent, holding onto you. As you began to apply moisturizers to your arms and neck, you spoke again. "Babe, I appreciate the affection, but can you please shower? We have to pick up Noel and then head to the airport."

You looked up at the mirror to catch his reflection. His hand was nestled against your neck as if he were sleeping while standing. You couldn't help but question the abundance of bottles in the room, asking, "By the way, why are there so many bottles?"

Wonwoo cleared his throat, a bit flustered. "You're right; I should shower."

With that, he planted a kiss on your clothed shoulder and headed to the shower, leaving you to roll your eyes at his antics. As you got ready for the day ahead, you couldn't help but think about the significant conversation you'd had with him the previous night

The previous day, you had called Jeonghan to assure him that you were safe. After shouting and sobbing at you for 15 minutes finally left for his Honeymoon and left Noel with Leila for the night. You and Wonwoo had spent the evening talking, staring from your whole trajectory of Noella and Joshua to Nikolia's death threats.

Now, in the hotel suite, you finished putting on your shoes when Wonwoo emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He began to dress in a black suit, and as you watched him, your eyes couldn't help but linger on the marks your nails had left on his defined back. You quickly looked away, back to the task at hand.

After buttoning and tucking in his shirt, Wonwoo rolled up his sleeves, leaving his veined forearms exposed. You picked up your earrings when he softly called your name, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

"Hmm," you replied, struggling to clasp the earring lock.

Wonwoo walked closer, stopping beside you. Both of your reflections were visible in the full-length mirror. When you finally managed to clasp the lock, you let out a sigh of relief and reached for the other one when he took your left hand in his and turned you to face him. His thumb traced soothing patterns on your knuckles as he began to speak.

"I know our beginning was far from perfect, but even with its imperfections, it has given me something more than I could wish for. Today, as we walk out of this room, I want us to step into a new beginning—a future where there are no more secrets, no more contracts, just us and Noel. I know I don't deserve you, but I'm willing to humble myself before you."

Wonwoo then got down on one knee, and your eyes widened. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he continued, "I will try every day to prove myself worthy of you if you'll have me."

With trembling hands, he unclenched his fingers to reveal your wedding ring. "Wonu…" you whispered, a lump rising in your throat.

His eyes glistened with tears as he spoke from his heart. "I don't know when it happened, y/n. There were times when I even detested people who changed entirely when they entered a relationship. After Eleanor, I didn't bother seeking that kind of connection. But here I am, on my knees, asking my wife to let me love her, to allow me into her heart. Will you, y/n?"

The tears blurred your vision, but you managed to nod vigorously. Wonwoo carefully slid the ring onto your finger, and as he stood up, he immediately pulled you into a tight hug, overwhelmed with emotions.

As you and Wonwoo walked out of the suite and into the parlor, you were slightly surprised to see four tall, equally buff, and slightly intimidating men standing in the middle of the room. You glanced at your husband with a quizzical expression, and he gave your back a gentle push, saying, "Don't worry, they are your and Noel's new bodyguards."

You blinked in astonishment and turned to look at the four men who were still standing in a respectful bow. "Wonu, I don't need bodyguards," you protested.

Wonwoo gestured to the men to rise and wait outside before addressing your concerns. "Y/n, I am well aware that you're capable of protecting yourself, but I'm not taking any risks or having any discussion on this matter. Please, darling, humor me. You won't even notice them. They've been following you and Noel since the day you arrived."

You hesitated, wanting to argue further, but his words made sense. "But it looks awkward to walk around with guards like…"

"Y/n, although I'm gravely grateful to Noel's grandfather, I can't forget or forgive what his son did," Wonwoo declared with determination. "You have to realize that you're not just an L/N anymore; you're a Jeon now. I'll be damned if I even allow a fly to harm my wife."

Before you could say anything in response, Wonwoo sealed his statement with a tender peck on your lips and began walking toward the exit, your hands clasped together as you followed him.

........

.........

Nikolia found himself in a disorienting darkness, tied securely to a cold, unforgiving chair. He struggled to grasp any sense of time, all memory of the past hours and days escaping him. After his arrest, he had been transported to an undisclosed location, but he had no way of knowing for how long he had been in this inky abyss. The van that brought him here had taken a bizarre turn into the unknown, and that's when the men had covered his face, shrouding him in a suffocating blackness.

His desperate cries and frenzied curses echoed in the void, but they were swallowed by the oppressive silence that clung to him like a shroud. The journey had been a nightmare, a cacophony of fear and dread. When the vehicle finally stopped, his captors grabbed him and dragged him into this unseen space.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and he heard footsteps approach. His heart raced as the men, with hands like steel, grabbed him and removed the blindfold that had been his only connection to the world. A rush of blinding light stabbed at his eyes, and he squinted, disoriented, and dazzled.

Nikolia's first instinct was to struggle against the restraints that bound him to the chair. "Let go of me, you bastard! You're messing with the wrong man here, All I need is one phone call and your whole family is done for" he yelled, the defiance in his voice strained with anger and frustration.

Wonwoo, took a languid drag from his cigarette, his eyes hidden beneath a veneer of cold detachment. "Am I?" He arched one meticulously groomed eyebrow as a henchman in the room landed a brutal punch on Nikolia's face, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through his body. Blood sprayed from his mouth as the impact made his jaw rattle.

As the coppery tang of blood mingled with the acrid scent of tobacco, Wonwoo continued, seemingly unperturbed." you know Nikolia, when I first saw you in the court I understood what a weakling you are, tch, such a waste of a pretty face" Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, as though pondering an intriguing conundrum. "You didn't even have the caliber to fight like a man. If you wanted the money all you had to do was come and beg us"

Nonchalantly, Wonwoo discarded his cigarette and crushed it underfoot, further emphasizing his indifference to Nikolia's suffering. "But no," he continued, rising from his seat with calculated elegance, "you had no go and get yourself get fucked over by your own stupidity"

Wonwoo seized Nikolia by the hair, his grip merciless, and forced him to meet his unrelenting gaze." you should've known your enemy before messing with them, if you get the chance from all the bending, ask who Jeon bo Hyuk was" With those ominous words, Wonwoo swung a heavy fist, striking Nikolia squarely across the cheekbones. The sudden, blinding pain sent white spots dancing before Nikolia's eyes. "That's for even thinking about harming my wife" He gasped as the warmth of blood gushed from his nose.

For a brief moment, Wonwoo stood above him, an imposing figure against the harsh light, before he delivered another devastating blow," and that's on behalf of Noel" he declared, his voice laced with cold fury.

The room filled with the dissonant sounds of Nikolia's choking gasps and labored breathing.

The man in the black suit handed Wonwoo a towel, while behind Nikolia, a maniacal laugh and a series of painful coughs echoed. Nikolia's laughter, punctuated by bloodied gums, grated on the nerves of everyone present, "You're gonna regret this bell boy"

Without turning to face him, Wonwoo retorted, "And what are you going to do, tattle to Yunho?"

Nikolia's eyes widened in alarm as Wonwoo turned to the man in the black suit and commanded, "Return him to Richardson, make sure to tell him to treat him with so much care that he regains his faith in god again"

With a murmured "Yes, boss," the men swiftly began the process of transporting Nikolia out of this nightmarish confrontation.

"And to think," Nikolia sneered, even in his bloodied and beaten state, "that bitch has you wrapped around her finger. I guess her pussy has that effect I still rememb--""

Before he could complete his sentence, Wonwoo's fist struck with unrestrained force, and the chair, still bound to Nikolia's body, fell to the ground. The world swirled into a whirlpool of darkness as Nikolia's consciousness slipped away. Wonwoo gazed down at the battered and broken Nikolia, his voice laced with icy authority. "Rule of the thumb, you keep my wife's name out of your mouth," he declared, the weight of his words bearing down upon the man.

(A/N: Dude why didn't I made wonwoo mafia opens another wip )

........

One Month later

The evening of the 75th Anniversary gala was marked by an air of anticipation as you sat in a plush chair, the skilled hands of your makeup artist, Ashton, expertly crafting your hair into a glamorous masterpiece. You held a phone call with Racheal, going over the final details for the night.

"Make sure no more than five interviews," you instructed, your voice firm.

"That's done," Racheal confirmed promptly. "Each will get 2 minutes, and no personal questions."

"Good," you replied with a nod. "Are you there yet?"

Racheal's voice sounded through the phone, "No, just about to reach."

"Okay, then drive safe," you told her before ending the call. The preparations were in full swing as you adorned a stunning red-plated off-shoulder cape dress with a high slit. The fabric draped elegantly around your form, exuding an air of regal sophistication.

Just as you were getting ready, there came a discreet knock at the door. Chan, who had once stood as a symbol of discord between you and Wonwoo, now entered the room, holding a blue box in his hands. While things had improved between him and Chan, the tension still lingered his presence often an uncomfortable reminder of past misunderstandings. Wonwoo was prepared to go so far as to fire Chan in his act of contrition. However, you intervened, reminding him, "Why should someone else suffer for something you initiated?"

"Mr. Jeon sent you this," Chan explained, "and expressed his desire to see you wear it tonight."

You excused everyone from the room, leaving only Ashton behind, and Chan proceeded to open the box with a sense of reverence. Revealed within was a necklace that bore a stunning piece of history—an emerald and diamond creation that had once belonged to Catalina the Second of Russia. The gem sparkled with a rare, captivating beauty that made even Ashton gasp in awe.

"This is from the Anakami collection, part of the royal vault of Russia," Chan informed you, his tone respectful and impressed.

You nodded, your knowledge of the piece shining through. "From Catalina the Second."

Chan's understanding smile mirrored his acknowledgment of your profound familiarity with the necklace. Your appreciative smile revealed your thanks, and you gestured for Ashton to place the exquisite piece around your neck.

As the necklace adorned your neckline, he couldn't help but compliment, "Indeed, your husband has an eye for a gem."

Thanking Chan for his delivery, you expected him to take his leave, but he remained in place. After Ashton left the room, Chan went into a polite bow. You looked at him and turning back to your reflection with a more somber expression, you addressed him.

"Get up, Chan," you said gently, "the workers should not apologize for their loyalty to their boss. You did what any subordinate would do. I am not angry with you."

Chan's smile returned, and he bowed once more, an expression of gratitude and humility in his eyes. As he prepared to leave the room, you stopped him with a final piece of advice.

"Chan," you began in a soft but firm tone, "next time, try to keep your experiences and advice to yourself. Hmm?"

"Duly noted, madam," Chan replied with an appreciative nod. The understanding between you felt like a small step toward restoring a sense of normalcy to your relationship.

You were nearly ready, as Ashton entered again to finish the final touches.

The grand gala was a spectacle of opulence and glamour. The chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets glistening in the soft, warm light. Servers in impeccable uniforms weaved through the crowd, offering trays of exquisite hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes. The air was filled with the clicks of cameras and the hum of hushed conversations as guests from various elite circles, including A-listers, entrepreneurs, and influential individuals from both sides of your families, mingled and celebrated.

The event's announcer took center stage, standing beside the grand stairs, and her voice resonated through the room as all eyes turned toward her. "Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all to the grand celebration of 75 years of L/N Diamonds and Special Stones. We gather here to honor the visionary who started it all 75 years ago with his hard work, dedication, and passion for a woman's best friend. What makes this evening even more special is that it is also a celebration in honor of the newlyweds, the heiress of the L/Ns, and the prince of JJ Group, Jeon Wonwoo."

The crowd erupted into applause, and Wonwoo, surrounded by business partners, raised his glass, receiving smiles and nods from those around him.

The announcer continued, "Now, without further ado, I would like to call upon the stage the star of the evening, the diamond heiress and the CEO of Fareed Switzerland, Y/n L/N."

All eyes turned to the top of the grand stairs, and the clapping of the guests filled the hall. You descended the stairs gracefully, your red cape trailing behind you, giving you the appearance of a character from a classic film. The necklace adorning your neck, a magnificent royal heirloom from Russia, captured everyone's attention.

Everything seemed to slow down for Wonwoo as he watched you descend the stairs. He was struck by the realization of his incredible luck in being married to such a remarkable woman. His chest swelled with pride and second-guessed his luck.

As you reached the stage and adjusted the microphone, you smiled at the host and began your address, "Thank you, Lana, for that lovely introduction. Although the second half was lost to me because I was busy thinking about how not to trip on the stairs."Laughter rippled through the crowd. "Since I'm not a big fan of long speeches, I'll keep this address short and sweet. This evening is not about celebrating L/N Diamonds and Fareed but about those who dare to dream and the realists who support their dreamers, like Mr. Locke, Mr. Kim, and Mr. Jeong, who are present here this evening."

The spotlight fell upon their table, and you acknowledged them with a nod as they raised their glasses. "They started this journey with my grandfather 75 years ago, and, most importantly, to the backbone of this foundation who are present here—from the miners to the designers." You paused a round of applause resonated through the crowds, "When I was young, my grandfather would often be stuck in his office, spending hours analyzing the diamonds. He talked to me passionately about their history."

You continued, "One day, in my naivete, I asked, 'Grandpa, who do you love more, the diamonds or Grandma?' It might seem like a silly question, but he turned to me and said, 'Your grandma.'"

You recalled his words, "How come? You rarely spend time with her." He laughed and replied, "Because when I make a bracelet she likes, the smile on her face and the pride with which she wears that piece make me feel like she's carrying my love with her everywhere she goes. Love is never constant. Some days can be bad, and some good, but we do not live in days; we live in memories. These diamonds remind us of why we choose to wake up every day and be with the person we love."

You expressed your gratitude for the past 75 years, "For the last 75 years, we have not only been making diamonds but tokens of love that eternalize our memories—resilient, forever cherishable, and bound by legacy. So, let's raise our glasses to the 75 years of trust from our customers and the passion of our designers.

To my parents, who taught me love, to my son, who reminds me of how to love."

Your eyes found Noel standing with your father-in-law, holding his hand just a few feet away from the stage. Your eyes find Wonwoo's across the room when you smile as you address your husband, "And to my husband, who has shown me what it feels like to be loved."

The entire room joined in, raising their glasses and echoing your words, "To love."

Wonwoo mouthed the words, "To love," as he emptied his flute, a contented smile on his face.

(the angel on the left "This is getting too fluffy"

angel on the right "It is an epilogue it is supposed to be fluffy")

The music resumed, and you gracefully stepped down from the stage, leaving Rachel to deal with the waiting media. After about 20 minutes of enduring half-baked sexist questions and borderline invasions of privacy regarding your marriage and the recent conflict, you finally returned to the party and began greeting the guests one by one.

On the other side of the party, Rachel had finished her duties and decided to take a break at the bar. She ordered a drink and was savoring the moment when someone approached her. There was a slight hesitation in his demeanor, but he continued, "Shall I give you my card? I think you're going to need an attorney tonight."

Rachel furrowed her brows in confusion, asking, "Why?" Lowering his voice a bit, he replied, "Because you're dressed to kill." She rolled her eyes and smiled behind her glass. "Come on, it wasn't that bad," he defended.

"I didn't say anything," she replied, looking up at him. Their eyes locked, and Rachel felt hers drifting down to his lips. Unconsciously, she bit her lip and shook her head to snap out of her trance. That's when Jungkook cleared his throat and began, "Listen, Rach, about the other day…"

Rachel cut him off, saying, "It's alright. It doesn't matter. It was just a kiss. We met by chance, had an argument about wines, and then one thing led to another. It was a mistake, so let's forget about it, okay?"

Jungkook felt a pang of rejection, something quite unfamiliar to him in his experiences with women. He clenched his hands inside his pockets and wanted to say he didn't want to forget it, but before he could, a server interjected. "Excuse me, Ms. Lee. Madam Y/n is calling for you." Following the server's indication, Rachel spotted you standing in a group and beckoning her over with a subtle gesture as your eyes met. She got down from the stool, took her drink, and told Jungkook, "It was nice meeting you, Jungkook. Take care," before leaving him.

Jungkook, feeling a strange wave of melancholy, needing some air, took a glass of scotch and walked towards the balcony.

As you saw Rachel approaching, you gently pulled her to your side and introduced her, "Nora, Minny, gentlemen, this is Rachel Lee, currently the Managing Director at L/N's. Rach, this is the board of Fareed." They all exchanged greetings and shook hands, sharing a few words and smiles. You continued, "People, I hope you all treat Rachel well. She's my nomination for the COO candidate for Fareed."

Rachel could feel her eyes widen in astonishment, and her mouth slightly opened, but she quickly schooled her features. Bubbles of excitement tingled through her, just like they did when she kissed Jungkook. She stopped herself from following that train of thought and focused on answering Minny's questions.

.......

You were engrossed in a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Kwon, Joon-hee's in law's, who was complimenting your exquisite necklace Mrs. Kwon, leaning towards you with a sly smile, said, "Thank you, I'm glad you both could make it. I thought you'd be in Japan."

Mr. Kwon nodded in agreement as his wife continued, "We were, but then Sunmi insisted we attend, especially since we didn't get the chance to meet her daughter-in-law due to your wish for a quick and private wedding."

You responded with a thin-lipped smile and a nod, but before you could reply, a familiar arm wrapped around your waist, enveloping you in a comforting scent.“There you are sweetheart, Sorry I am late, I was looking everywhere for you” Wonwoo smiled down at you and planted a soft kiss on the corner of your lips.

"Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kwon. How have you been?" Wonwoo greeted them.

Mrs. Kwon interjected, "We're fine, as much as age allows us to be. I was just telling your wife that her preference for private meetings can sometimes leave a bad impression regarding close relationships."

You were about to respond, but Wonwoo beat you to it. He explained, "Well, it was my wish to have a private wedding. I didn't want to waste plates, where mouths would be busy chatting instead of chewing food."

Mrs. Kwon's expression soured, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth. On the other hand, Mr. Kwon smiled and reached out to shake hands with Wonwoo. "How are you, young man? Why don't I see you around the club anymore? You know, Y/n, he'd give even Matsuyama a run for his money."

Wonwoo gave a humble shake of his head. "Mr. Kwon is too kind. Well, if it's okay with you, may I steal my wife?"

Mr. Kwon let out a hearty laugh and said, "Sure, young man."

Wonwoo swiftly pulled you away from the couple, and as you walked side by side, he leaned in and whispered in your ear, "You look absolutely gorgeous."

You teased back, "You don't look half bad yourself." The subtle flashes of cameras continued as you asked about his interviews. He gave you a tired look that conveyed his reluctance to discuss it at the moment.

As you both approached your parents, Noel ran to you and hugged your legs. "Baby boy, are you having fun?" You asked, and he nodded, pointing towards Somi. "Can Somi and I go to the chocolate fountain?"

"Sure, why not," you gestured for them to follow Tham, As he waved goodbye to your dad.

With the kids occupied, you talked to your parents, complimenting both your mother and mother-in-law on their incredible planning and coordination. Your parents were going to Italy for a bit of business that your father had, followed by a leisure trip to Sicily.

As you were about to move on to greet other guests, Lana took the microphone and said, "Although the average wedding reception occurs within an hour of the ceremony this one took 3 months" subtle chuckle from the guest "upon the suggestion of Mrs. Sunmi Jeon herself, I would like to request Mr. and Mrs. Jeon to bestow the honor of their first dance."

You looked around, a bit surprised, as all eyes were on you, anticipating your dance. You were about to shake your head in refusal when Wonwoo extended his hand towards you, his eyes locked onto yours. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Jeon?" he asked with a charming smile.

You looked at his outstretched hand and then met his gaze. There was a shared understanding, a connection that ran deeper than words could express. With a nod and a graceful curtsy, you accepted his invitation. You placed your hand in his, feeling his strong, warm grasp, and he pulled you gently towards him.

The crowd hushed in anticipation as the first notes of the waltz enveloped the room. You and Wonwoo moved together as if you were the only two people in the world. The dance floor felt like a world of its own, a place where only the two of you existed.

Your red dress swirled around you, its cape fluttering in harmony with the rhythm of the music. Wonwoo's tuxedo looked impeccable, and the soft colors of your outfits complemented each other perfectly. With each step and twirl, you moved as one, your eyes locked, and smiles shared.

On the balcony, Jungkook stood gazing at the night sky, an air of melancholy surrounding him. The soft glow of the stars above painted a serene backdrop to his contemplation. The world seemed to move on around him as he lost himself in his thoughts.

A voice broke through his reverie as Joonhee opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony. She had a teasing tone in her voice as she asked, "Hey, you aren't planning on jumping, are you?"

Jungkook didn't turn to look at her. He replied with a hint of wry humor, "Not without leaving a testimony that if I'm found dead, the first person to look for is you."

She walked over to him and stood by his side, her back against the railing, and her elbows resting on it. Curiosity laced her words as she asked, "You're wearing the same expression you had when we had to put Dora down."

Jungkook offered a rueful smile, reminded of their first horse, and said, "Not really, just thinking about a few things. Where's your husband?"

She glanced towards the hall where you and Wonwoo were dancing. "He's near the chocolate fountain with the kids."

Jungkook let out a dry chuckle. "Do you ever think that you're raising two kids, not just one?"

Joonhee smiled and nodded. "Every day."

A comfortable silence settled between them as they both leaned against the railing, watching the two of you dancing inside the hall. Eventually, Joonhee began to speak, her words filled with wisdom. "I've learned in life that if something doesn't work out, it means something better is waiting around the corner. You just have to be patient."

Jungkook clicked his tongue and voiced his doubts. "Sometimes certain things don't get better with time. They always take a part of you with them, and you're left incomplete, no matter what you do to fill the void."

Joonhee offered her perspective. "Then maybe you're filling that void with the wrong things." Both of them turned their gaze towards you and Wonwoo, who were concluding your dance.

"Remember when Eleanor left, oppa?" Joonhee hummed, her thoughts drifting back. "He was nothing but an empty shell, always working, never laughing, and not even attending the same places as she did. I hated her for what she did." She turned to Jungkook. "But that didn't stop you, did it?"

Jungkook shrugged, nonchalantly. "I can't be bothered about her. Her husband is an important client of my firm, and you know how it works. We don't really have a choice."

Joonhee nodded thoughtfully. "Look at him now. You know, Jungkook, things do get better with time. But if you find something you really want, then you have to fight for it."

Jungkook questioned with a hint of uncertainty, "What if fighting makes it worse?"

"Then let it go," Joonhee advised. "If it's meant to be, it will be." They watched as you and Wonwoo concluded your dance, finding solace in the knowledge that sometimes, life had its own way of bringing better things when least expected.

As the final notes of the music filled the air, you and Wonwoo came to a graceful stop, and the room erupted in applause.

.......

As the night wore on and the party grew livelier, the atmosphere became even more festive after the dinner. You had just sent Noel home and Wonwoo was engrossed in conversation with some old college friends, their laughter echoing from the other side of the room. you found yourself near the bar, waiting for your drink. From amidst the crowd, you spotted a familiar face approaching, and a smile of recognition crossed your lips as he stood in front of you.

"It's been a while," he said as he slid next to you.

You nodded and replied, "Three years, I suppose. How have you been, Mr. Choi?"

Seungcheol grinned, "Y/n, please. I thought we were friends." He tilted his head, and you nodded in agreement.

"I've been good, just returned from Denmark," you told him.

"I see. And how's Mr. and Mrs. Choi?" he asked.

"Same old, playing the Cupid," you replied, and both of you shared a laugh.

"I would say you could relate, but here you are, married, leaving your comrade all alone," he said with a mock frown.

"Oh, come on. You know there was a limit to how far we could keep up the ruse. My mother caught on before the third date," you reminded him.

Wonwoo couldn't help but smile as he took a sip from his glass, listening to his friend's humorous recollection of their past swimming adventures, including the infamous incident where they had stolen his clothes, leaving him standing naked. However, his laughter concealed as His gaze wandered around the room and eventually landed on you, near the bar, sharing a hearty laugh at something Seungcheol had just said. Wonwoo's eyes were fixed on you, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to place where he had seen Seungcheol before.

He watched as you laughed freely with someone else, your joy radiating from you like a warm glow. A tinge of unease settled in his chest as he realized that he couldn't easily divert his attention from the sight of you both having such a good time together.

"That's a cute kid," Seungcheol commented as you showed him pictures of Noel from Jeonghan's wedding. "Wow, so that's Jeonghan and Victor you were telling me about?"

You nodded and locked your phone. He raised an eyebrow, seemingly remembering something. "And what about that friend of yours, what's her name?"

"Noella," you assisted.

"Yes, what about her?"

You cleared your throat and informed him with a sad smile, "She and her husband passed away in a car accident two years ago."

A look of remorse flashed in Seungcheol's deep, dark eyes. "My sincere condolences, Y/n. I didn't know."

You smiled, saying, "It's alright, just life, you know."

He nodded in agreement, and a moment of silence passed between the two of you. Seungcheol then picked up his glass and said, "Well, I wasn't going to make it tonight, but I was curious to meet the man who managed to sweep you off your feet. Where is he?"

Before you could answer, Wonwoo's voice sounded from behind. "Why don't you meet him yourself?" You turned, slightly surprised, to find Wonwoo standing beside you, emitting a slightly intimidating vibe while keeping his eyes trained on Seungcheol.

You tried to break the stare-down, saying, "Seungcheol oppa, meet Jeon Wonwoo, my husband." You grabbed Wonwoo's arm and continued, "Wonwoo, this is Choi Seongcheol, you must have heard of him, Choi Motors and Tyres."

Wonwoo frowned and shook his head, saying, "Nah, doesn't ring a bell." You gave him a wide-eyed look, shocked by his response.

Seungcheol just laughed and reassured, "Y/n, maybe we have to work harder to reach the tall towers," extending his hand for Wonwoo to shake.

Wonwoo's hand was still in his pocket, and you dug your nails into his bicep. He reluctantly took his hand out of his pocket and gave a tight grip and shake. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, saying, "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Jeon."

Wonwoo replied, "Likewise. May I know how you know my wife?"

Seungcheol explained, "Y/n and I go way back. Our mothers are friends, and they decided to set us up together. So, we used to date."

"Fake date," you corrected.

Seungcheol teased, "Really, it was real for me." He felt Wonwoo's grip tighten, but he was enjoying making the man squirm. "Our mothers set us up to save the hassle, so we'd say we were on dates when, in truth, we'd just meet for 4-6 minutes and then part ways."

You chuckled as you continued, "Then, oppa had to leave for Denmark, and that's that."

"Tch, if not, you'd be Mrs. Choi today," he said with feigned remorse, further provoking Wonwoo. Wonwoo's smirk grew as he clenched his jaw.

He took his right hand out of his pocket, which was brushing your side. You released your grip on his arm and rested on your hand side, As he wrapped an arm around your waist, a little lower on the hip. You gave him a quizzical look.

"Then I should treat my mother-in-law better for being so quick-witted," he remarked.

"Wonwoo, did you know—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Y/n, Dad said he was leaving. Do you want to see him off?"

You felt a slight irritation flare within you as he cut you off, but you masked it with a smile, nodded, and turned to Seongcheol.

"It was so nice catching up with you, Oppa. If you're here for a while, why don't you come to our house? I'm sure it would be fun."

"Ah, I wish, but I have to fly back in a few days. But it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Jeon," Seongcheol said.

"Mr. Cho."

"Congratulations on your marriage and 75 years of L/N's."

"Thank you, Oppa."

Seongcheol looked at Wonwoo and advised, "Take care of this one; she can be a little feisty."

Wonwoo responded, "You don't say." With that, Seongcheol turned and left with a smile on his face.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Wonwoo turned to you and said, "Funny man. So, how many more have you fake-dated?"

You gave him a glare. "What was that?"

He looked down at you, confused. "What was what?"

"How many have I fake-dated before Seongcheol oppa?"

"Oh, now he's your oppa," Wonwoo mumbled.

"I can't believe this, Rude bastard" you muttered, shaking your head as you walked away from him. He glanced at your retreating figure and asked Himself, "Was I really that rude?"

.........

It was 2 am by the time you both reached home, your whole body aching from standing all evening. Adding fuel to the fire was Wonwoo, who still lingered around you. You managed to give him a little cold shoulder, still pissed at how he cut you off and treated your guest and asked that question. You never asked him how many women he indulged in, now did you?

As you were about to shut the door, a hand stopped it. "This is my room too," he said matter-of-factly.

"Right," you replied as you picked up the phone you threw on the bed. You were about to leave when he stopped you.

"Y/n, don't be like that. Come on, baby."

"Don't 'baby' me. Why did you have to act like some territorial brute, as if I have—"

"I know, I'm sorry. I just… I don't know, I didn't like seeing you laughing with another man. It pissed me off, okay?"

You raised your brows, pressing your lips into a thin line. "So, can I ask you if I do that as a profession? Fake date people? Do you even know what it feels like to have someone always nagging on top of your head, huh? With another shit-ton of things going on in life?" Your voice fell an octave.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. It's just… fuck, I was just so pissed that I don't know what got over me, and I said that. I was just jealous."

You turned to him. "Would you forgive me if I admit I was?" He looked like a kicked puppy, and your anger radiated off of you.

You both walked back to your bedroom. Wonwoo's knees hit the edge of the bed as he plopped down, looking up at you. You gave him a knowing look, teasing, "How jealous?"

You placed your knees between his legs, pressing your kneecap against his groin. A soft hiss escaped his lips. He admitted, "So jealous that I wanted to take you right there in front of all those people. The moment you walked down those stairs, I couldn't believe my luck, that I am married to you."

You felt your heart quicken, and the familiar fire ignited within you. Slowly, you reached to remove the pin holding your hair in a half updo, letting your hair cascade down. You were about to take off your earrings when he stopped you, saying, "Leave them on."

He grabbed your hips, making you take a step back with one foot on the bed, causing you to fall back down. He pulled you to straddle his lap. Both of you leaned in, and your lips brushed against each other. You grabbed the back of his head and jerked it back, teasingly saying, "Nuh-uh."

You got off his lap and walked to the dressing table, settling down on the plush chair.

You gestured with your fingers in a "come hither" motion. On your command, Wonwoo discarded his suit jacket, tossing it somewhere in the room. He walked over to where you were sitting. When he was just two steps away, you raised your hand to halt him in his tracks, and he stopped.

"On your knees," you ordered.

"Y/N," he warned.

You raised your brows, taunting him. "So you don't want your forgiveness?"

He hesitated. You repeated your command, "Come here to me on your knees, Wonwoo, or I'll leave the room."

Without missing a beat, he dropped to his knees and took the remaining two steps, bringing him between your parted legs. A glimpse of your panties was visible from the slightly hiked slit in your dress. Wonwoo licked his lips and swallowed as he knelt before you.

Once he was on his knees between your legs, his hands reached to touch your thighs.

"Did I say you can touch me?" you asked.

"You're playing with fire," he threatened.

"Why, are you afraid of being extinguished?"

"Open my shoes," you demanded.

His eyes were burning with desire, but equally aroused and dilated. His hands reached your feet, and you raised your feet as the shoes fell with a thud, the relief of finally removing them washing over you.

Wonwoo brought your ankle near his mouth and bit on the Achilles tendon, making you hiss.

"Show me how sorry you are," you breathed out. His hands gripped your thighs to pull you to the edge of the seat.

"Tch, no hands," you commanded.

"How will I?" he asked.

"That's not my problem," you replied.

He removed his hands from your thighs and gripped the sides of the chair's cushion, his knuckles turning white as he slowly kissed his way up from your calves to your inner thighs, biting, kissing, and licking until he reached your panties. He took a whiff, rubbed his nose, and muffled, "How will I remove them?"

Your excitement was building, evident in your soaked panties. You condescended, leering down at him, "Foolish man can't even do this much alone."

Suddenly, he gave a hot lick and a soft bite on your labia, making you jolt and yelp. You grabbed his hair and pulled him away, a smug smile on his lips. "You think you're funny, huh?" Your chest heaved. "Just couldn't resist," he said with feigned innocence. You clenched your jaw and leaned back.

Your back was against the dressing table, and your feet, previously resting next to his thighs, were now pressing against his bulging, aroused crotch. You pressed your heels into him, making him hiss, and rubbed them up and down with slight pressure. Cocking your head to the side, you asked, "Don't you think you were a little out of line just now?"

His eyes slightly shut, enjoying the sensation, he responded with a low hum. You pressed harder for an answer.

"I'm sorry," he admitted.

"But I don't feel like you're sorry, darling."

You halted your actions and slowly bunched the dress around your waist. "Use your teeth."

On your command, Wonwoo leaned in and bit the side hem of your thong as you raised your hips to slide it down your feet.

"Now, here's your chance for redemption. Make it like you mean it."

Without further ado, Wonwoo gripped the cushion in a vice grip and delved into your bundle of nerves, exploring every nook and corner with his tongue and small bites. Your hands grabbed his hair, and you pushed him further in, your labored breaths and gasps echoing in the room.

One of your legs hiked up on his shoulder. "Fuck… ahhh… Won… Wonuuu…"

He continued with an unforgiving pace, your hips automatically trying to ride his face. The familiar tension started building in your womb, and you threw your head back, jaw slack. Your body and senses succumbed to the pleasure as the orgasm finally consumed you, with chants of his name leaving your lips. You came down from your high, panting.

Wonwoo felt a surge of pride course through him. It was his name on your lips, and your release belonged to him. He had been a fool to let a petty thought ruin the mood, but now he understood the beauty of redemption.

After you finally calmed down, he looked up at you and said, "Am I forgiven, baby?"

You nodded and teased, "Can I touch you now?"

"That's not how you ask for permission, Wonu," you playfully chided, "Do I have to give you a special etiquette class?"

He shook his head in response and corrected himself, "Can I please touch you?"

"Yes, you may," you granted him permission.

Without a second thought, he sprang to his feet, pulling you up from your seat. He captured your lips in a feverish kiss as his hands reached for your zipper. The dress pooled at your feet, and your hands were busy undressing him. You threw his coat and belt aside, opened his shirt, and then dealt with his pants as his hands touched and groped every part of you.

He was throbbing painfully as your hands grabbed him, rubbing along his slit. He sat on the bed and pulled you to straddle his lap, raising your hips as you rubbed his head against your lips. You slowly descended down on his length, both of you moaning together. Your hips matched each other's pace as you rode him, and the pleasure was overwhelming.

Your hair was sticking to your back as you reached to gather it into a makeshift ponytail. The earrings and necklace were the only accessories adorning you. He groped and sucked on your nipples, rolling his tongue around them and grazing with his thumb while the other hand played with the other.

You reached your other hand down and gave his balls a squeeze, eliciting a loud moan from him. "FUCK, Y/N," he exclaimed as he looked up at you, an enticing sight for his eyes.

"Not so soon," you panted. But he was desperate and wanted more. You fiddled with his balls, letting go of your hair, and pushed him back onto the bed. You began to ride him vigorously.

Even in the midst of overwhelming pleasure, he couldn't close his eyes. Your hips picked up the pace, and your chests matched the rhythm. He couldn't tear his eyes away from your neck, which was adorned with the expensive necklace he had gifted you, worth every million.

Your hands gave him another squeeze, and his release shot up. "Will you cut me off again?" you commanded.

Wonwoo shook his head in desperation. "No, no, never, never," he declared, his hips chasing the final ropes of pleasure.

He reached for the back of your head and brought your lips to his, your chests pressed tightly against each other. His thrusts chased the climax. "You fuck me like this and then question why I get jealous when another man tries to come close to you? How would you feel if some other woman tried flirting with me?" He gasped against your lips, and you bit down on his lips, tasting a slight tinge of copper.

"That's just wishful thinking, darling," you retorted, "as if you'd even desire another woman after getting fucked by me." You clenched around him, his now softening dick, making him gasp as your pleasure overtook you.

Wonwoo couldn't help but agree, realizing that you couldn't be more right.

.........

2 Months Later

You were sitting in the living area, waiting anxiously for Noel and Wonwoo to return from their baseball game with your father-in-law. The news you had learned that morning had your heart racing and your palms sweaty. You couldn't help but feel jittery as you waited.

Finally, Noel and Wonwoo walked in, and to your shock, they had a puppy with them. You looked at both of them with a puzzled expression, "What is this?"

Wonwoo appeared confused and asked, "What? This little furball?"

You huffed, "Yes, that golden retriever puppy."

"Oh, come on, Y/N, don't be like that. That's Noel," Wonwoo replied, trying to explain.

A chorus of "hey" came from the boy, who was now playing with the little golden retriever pup. You glared at Wonwoo, crossed your arms, and tilted your head to the side, clearly displeased.

Noel began, "On our way back, we saw a woman putting this puppy litter on the road. She was giving them away because her dog died while giving birth, and she couldn't raise them all alone. So she was giving them to whoever wanted to take them."

You scowled at Wonwoo and retorted, "You could have asked me first, you know."

He defended their decision, "Yeah, that would have ruined the surprise."

Wonwoo then took the pup in his hands and held it up in front of his face, using a fake cute voice, "Don't you think I'm cute?"

You looked down at Noel, who was giving you the same puppy-dog eyes as the actual puppy. He pleaded, "I promise I'll take care of him. I'll take him for walks, feed him on time, and even give him a bath, I promise."

Wonwoo chimed in, "He promised."

You sighed and continued to examine the dog, lowering yourself to its eye level. You extended your hand for it to smell, and it automatically started licking your hand. You looked up and inquired, "Did you at least get him checked by the vet and have him registered for vaccines and stuff?" Your tone was laced with a warning.

Wonwoo hesitated, avoiding eye contact, and a sense of guilt washed over him.

But before you could press further, Noel interjected with enthusiasm, "Of course, we did, Dad and I took him to the vet, and I've even named him."

"So, what did you name him?" You looked at Wonwoo and then at Noel, curiosity in your eyes.

Wonwoo began, "Well, I first suggested Tony, you know, after Tony Stark—"

"But then he kind of reminded me of Baden," Noel interrupted. The pup gave a yelp, as if responding, and Noel continued, "He liked it, see? He even responds to it. So I named him Baden."

You and Wonwoo exchanged a knowing glance. You had informed Noel about Baden's passing in an accident and had made sure his funeral was well taken care of. However, you refrained from attending, choosing instead to pay your respects a week later.

You gave Noel a tight smile and reached to take the dog from your husband's arms, raising him to your eye level. "So you are Baden," you mused. The little puppy wagged his tail and stuck out his tongue, letting out a small bark. "But I'm going to call him Denny," Noel innocently added. You silently approved, knowing that you'd likely be calling the dog's name at some point, and you didn't want to summon the spirit of Baden Bulavia inadvertently.

"Then welcome to the family, Baden. I hope you take good care of my son," you said to the puppy. As if understanding every word, the little dog turned his head to the side, listening intently.

With a nod of satisfaction, you sent Noel off to take a shower and asked Ahjumma to buy some milk and puppy diapers. You couldn't deny the cuteness of the new addition, but you had no intentions of cleaning up after his mess on your new carpets and bedding.

"Wonwoo, we need to talk," you said, your voice carrying the weight of seriousness. Wonwoo, who was in the middle of sharing details about the game, immediately stopped speaking. He could sense the gravity in your tone. Following your lead, he walked to his ground-floor office.

Upon entering, you closed the door behind you. adorned with rich mahogany bookshelves, stuffed with leather-bound books, and filled with the intoxicating scent of Paper and Tobacco. Files were meticulously arranged on the desk, and a sleek laptop sat at its center, the flickering screen casting a bluish glow on the polished wooden surface.

"Y/n, if it's about the dog, then I'm sorry. I know I should have informed you, but I couldn't say no to Noel and -"

Your heart was racing, and his rambling only made it worse. You fiddled with your wedding ring, taking quick breaths.

"…and I know you don't like surprises. If you want, then I guess I'll return it back."

"Wonwoo, I'm pregnant!" you blurted out in a quick breath.

As soon as the words left your mouth, all the rambling died in Wonwoo's throat. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and all the switches in his brain seemed to go off. The world slowed down around him, and anxious anticipation coursed through his veins. In a whispered tone, punctuating each word, he asked, "You are what?" His eyes widened, and his eyebrows almost touched his forehead.

"Well, for the past few days, I was feeling kinda queasy, and my periods were late. I went to the doctor earlier when you both were at the game because I wasn't sure, considering the uterine device…"

Wonwoo took a step towards you, and you continued, "The doctor ran some tests, and… I am four weeks pregnant."

You kept your gaze on your hands as you spoke. When you felt Wonwoo's hand on your shoulder, you raised your head to see him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and your eyes welled up as well. "You are pregnant," he said, his voice trembling towards the end. "We are going to have a child, a baby."

A sense of doubt arose in his voice as he asked, "Are you unhappy?"

"Are you kidding me? I am the happiest man on Earth right now," he said and picked you up, spinning you around. You laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. He halted his spinning to look into your eyes.

"We can't tell anyone, at least for the next two months."

"But—"

"No 'buts.' I just don't want to jinx it."

He looked a bit dejected but understood your point. "But we should at least tell the housekeeper to be extra careful and Noel that he's going to be an elder brother now."

A smile faded from your face, and Wonwoo gently put you down, cupping your face in his hands. "What's wrong?"

"It's just… I don't want other people's malice to affect Noel. You know how they talk behind our backs, and what if Noel feels neglected and hates it."

"My love, Noel is a very wise and smart boy who knows that no matter what, your love for him and his place in your heart will always be irreplaceable, okay?"

Bending down to your eye level, Wonwoo kissed your forehead and then your cheeks. "You have no idea how happy I feel right now. I can't wait to hold her."

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him. "How do you know it's a 'her'?"

"Call it a father's instinct," he said, and you rolled your eyes, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "Load of shit."

"What—" He laughed. "You don't believe me. You'll see. The way she managed to dodge the uterine device with her resilience and stubbornness, there are no other arguments but to think it's a girl. Just like her mother." You pinched his hip. "Ouch! Haha."

He embraced you tightly, taking a step back to hold your chin between his thumb, bending down, and getting lost in a heartfelt kiss.

.......

Later that night, after dinner, Wonwoo went and told the housekeeper and Noel's nanny that you were expecting and to be extra careful with you, not even allowing you to step into the kitchen. And signing off that if this information goes outside he will know who leaked it.

The room was painted in shades of red and gold, resembling an Iron Man theme room. Beddings, action figures, and toy cars lined the shelves, creating an exciting atmosphere. The door was left open, and Wonwoo leaned against it, watching as Noel sat on his bed, ready to sleep. He was reading a book to Denny, the pup, who sat on his stomach with a diaper on, listening attentively.

"Hey, bud, got a minute," Wonwoo called.

"Oh, Dad, come in," Noel responded, looking up from his book.

Wonwoo sat on the side of the bed near the bedside table and wrapped his arms around Noel's shoulder. The pup jumped onto Wonwoo's lap, and his hands instinctively started petting the soft fur.

"What are you reading there?" he asked, pointing to the book.

"The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse."

"Hmm, that's deep stuff," Wonwoo remarked.

"So did you have fun today?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was fun. By the way," Noel turned his body to face his dad, "does Grandpa get that excited about every match like that?"

Wonwoo snorted and said, "Pretty much, yeah. He used to be like that when I played in college."

"You played baseball in college?" Noel looked curious.

Wonwoo nodded. "Do you like any sports?" he asked.

"Well," Noel started, thinking for a moment, "I like horse riding, but baseball is cool too."

"Anything else?" Wonwoo suggested.

"Hmm, football. Uncle JJ told me that he and my father used to play football together sometimes."

"Football, huh? If you want, you can play too. JK is really into football. I'll ask him if he knows any good clubs."

"No, it's okay, my school has a team," Noel added.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about something," he cleared his throat and started. "Tante wants me to return Denny."

"What? No, she doesn't. The thing is, you're going to be an older brother."

"How?"

"Please don't make me give you a birds and bees talk right now; I am not prepared."

"Do you mean Tante is going to have a baby?"

"How do you know this?"

"We were taught in Moral and Physical Ed class about good touch and bad touch. They also told us how babies come in their mom's stomach."

Wonwoo felt it was best that he left this conversation to You. "Right."

"Yeah, when a man and a woman come together, and—"

"Got it, bud. Yes, we made a baby." Wonwoo cleared his throat at the end of the sentence.

"But I just wanted to talk about you being an older brother now. So, you're going to have a lot of responsibility and have to look out for your sibling and grow taller and stronger."

He closed his eyes and started again. "Noel," Wonwoo breathed. "There are going to be times when people's opinions grow a vicious voice in our heads and make you feel bad about yourself and other things. I just want you to know that even though we are not related by blood, you will always be a special part of our hearts. So, no matter what people say, you will always be our son. We will always love you, okay? So whenever you feel like that, you can come and talk to us, hmm?"

Wonwoo gave a reassuring squeeze on Noel's shoulder, and the boy wrapped his small arms around his ribs, hugging him and nodding against his chest. Wonwoo smiled and looked down, caressing his back, then kissed him on the top of his head. They realized they were almost squishing the pup between them when a small bark interrupted their moment. Parting, Wonwoo said, "I still think we should've gone with Noel Jr."

"DADDDD!!" Noel whined, making Wonwoo laugh. "Okay, okay."

........

In the cold, sterile jail visitor cell, Nikolia sat on one side of a thick glass partition, separated from his lawyer, who occupied the other side. They conversed through old, scratched telephones affixed to the wall.

Nikolia appeared unkempt and disheveled, with wild, devilish hair, dark eye bags, and an unruly beard. His wrists were encircled by handcuffs, a constant reminder of his current predicament.

“What do you mean my appeal got fucking canceled?” Nikolia growled, his frustration evident in his every word.

His lawyer, a man in his 50s with thinning hair, closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts before explaining, "It hasn't been canceled, Nikolia. It has been taken for further consideration."

“Then how much time will they need for consideration, huh? What do I feed you for? Fifteen years you've worked for me, and this is the best you could do, you pathetic fat pig.”

The lawyer sighed, realizing he had to tread carefully. “Nikolia, I understand your frustration, but you've been charged with four murders—three of your own family members—and other illegal arms trade activities. This led to the cancellation of our license as well. If that were not enough, you gave death threats to Jeon's daughter-in-law. They have everyone in their pockets.”

“I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHO THAT BITCH HAS IN HER POCKETS. I AM NIKOLIA BULAVIA!! WHERE ARE THOSE PIMP-ASS FAMILIAS, HUH? DO THEY WANT ME TO OPEN MY MOUTH?”

The lawyer leaned closer, his voice hushed. “I'd suggest you keep your voice down and mouth shut about the Familia. They are already waiting for you to make a move so they can pull the trigger. If you want to stay alive, then stay put and mind your own business.”

Before Nikolia could unleash another tirade, the line emitted a beep, signaling the end of their call. An officer approached to escort Nikolia back to his cell, but he jerked his hand away defiantly, muttering, “I can walk on my own.”

The lawyer sighed heavily and went to sit in the waiting area. His phone suddenly rang, and his hands trembled as he glanced at the caller ID. Without wasting a second, he brought the phone to his ear.

"Yes, boss."

A deep, gravelly voice came from the other end, inquiring, "How was the meeting? How did that bastard look?"

"Very miserable, sir. He kept whining about how no one would help him, but he threatened to take the Familias down with him."

The man on the other end burst into a hearty laugh. "Let him suffer. That's what he gets when he underestimates the Knoxes. And if he makes even a slight squeak, you know what to do next, don't you?"

"Yes—yes, sir."

As the two men engaged in their conversation, a breaking news story flashed across the television screen.

"ACCORDING TO OUR WITNESSES, DURING THE PRIME MINISTER ELECTION, THE DEVELOPMENT MINISTER AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW OF CANDIDATE LEE HYUN JOON, WIFE OF CONGRESSMAN LEE JOON SUK'S WIFE, ELEANOR LEE WHO WAS ACCOMPANYING HER FATHER-IN-LAW AND HUSBAND DURING THE RALLY WENT INTO LABOR A MONTH EARLY AND NOW HAS BEEN BLESSED WITH A BABY BOY," the news anchor reported.

The old woman nodded approvingly, her fingers interlaced in her lap. "Aigoo, such a considerate young lady," she mused.

The woman next to her, also engrossed in the broadcast, chimed in, "Their party has always been very family-oriented."

"You're right," the old woman replied, her voice filled with admiration. "They hold these values very dear. I guess he is a very promising candidate to vote for."

The two women continued to watch the news, their discussions about the Lee family, and their commitment to their political party.

.........

3 Months later

The morning sun streamed into the lavish living room of your mansion, casting a warm and inviting glow. The day after Christmas had left remnants of the holiday festivities scattered all around. The majestic Christmas tree stood tall and proud, adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments, while the couch was strewn with colorful gift wrappers that had been torn apart in excitement.

You sat comfortably on the couch, legs tucked beneath a cozy blanket, taking in the cheerful chaos of the room. It was around 9 am, and beside you, Noel was still engrossed in unwrapping his birthday and Christmas gifts. This year was extra special as it marked your first Christmas after getting married, and it was also your beloved son's birthday.

You had decided to host a family gathering along with some of Noel's school friends, and the festive spirit lingered. However,. Jeonghan and Victor were celebrating the holidays with Victor's family, and Rachel was settling into her role as the new COO of Fareed in Switzerland.

Surprisingly, Jungkook had also missed the gathering. He had to rush to Zurich due to an emergency meeting with a client, leaving his mother inquisitive.

Noel continued to tear through the gift wrappers with enthusiasm, his excitement evident in the smile on his face. Amidst the chaos of wrapping paper, Denny was indulging in a game of peek-a-boo, occasionally popping out from beneath the torn remnants of gift wrap.

Despite your best efforts to keep your pregnancy a secret from family and friends, your husband Wonwoo seemed to be on high alert at all times. You weren't showing yet, and your choice of loose-fitting clothing helped maintain the illusion. However, subtlety appeared to be a foreign concept to him.

Wonwoo's protective nature was on full display, as he doggedly hovered around you, rarely venturing more than a few meters away. His concern for your well-being was unwavering, and he had a tendency to ask the same questions repeatedly. Whether it was inquiring about your comfort, worrying if someone was pressuring you to do something, or making sure you weren't on your feet too much, Wonwoo's vigilance, love, and care for you were unmistakable, even if his overprotectiveness sometimes bordered on comical.

During a conversation with Sunmi and your mother, Sunmi couldn't resist making a comment. "Have you gained weight?" she inquired, her eyes traveling up and down your figure.

You took a nonchalant sip of your hot chocolate, the smell of meat and eggs making your stomach churn. Even though these foods were essential for the baby's development, they had become almost unbearable. Wonwoo had made it his daily mission to ensure you ate at least one boiled egg before he left for work.

"Maybe I haven't checked," you responded with a hint of indifference.

Sunmi let go of the subject with a simple, "Hmm." However, your mother-in-law continued to eye you for the remainder of the evening, her eyes revealing a knowing glint. It felt like she knew your secret, and you couldn't help but think of her loose-lipped palm tree wannabe son.

"I'm going to tell them next week anyway," you thought, as you and Wonwoo had already confirmed the baby's health, assuring a healthy heartbeat.

Noel was over the moon with excitement ever since you'd shared the news with him. He would often come to the master bedroom to tell stories to the baby and inquire about its current fruit size. Sometimes, he'd fall asleep on your bed while Denny, who had become his inseparable companion, would curl up by your feet.

As Wonwoo entered the living room with two cups in his hands, he handed you the decaffeinated coffee. You offered your gratitude with a mumbled "Thank you, baby," and he leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips. In a hushed tone, he whispered, "No worries, love," against your lips.

He then picked up Denny and settled down on the couch, the dog hopping from his lap to yours. Your nails naturally scratched the top of Denny's head while Noel nestled comfortably between the two of you.

"Noel, who's this from?" you asked as he was eagerly tearing into another gift.

"Nana and Pop's," he replied, his eyes filled with excitement as he managed the last rip of the wrapping paper. When he finally unveiled the gift, he exclaimed, "Cool, a hoverboard!" You and Wonwoo exchanged smiles. "Your parents will spoil him with gifts like these."

"My parents? Yours gave him a PS5 and a new tablet," you countered and smiled. When Noel asked, "Mom, can I go and try this out?" you felt a sudden shiver down your spine as if someone had paused you in the moment. "What—" you spluttered, "What did you just call me?"

"Mom," Noel looked a bit confused at your reaction. "Did you not like it? But Somi and my other friends said yesterday that since you're my godmother, I can call you 'Mom' too. I already call Dad 'Dad.' Should I not call you that?" His anxiousness peeked through his nonchalant tone.

Your eyes began to water as an overwhelming feeling washed over you. You set the cup aside and enveloped the boy in your arms. "Of course, you can, baby boy," you assured him, kissing the side of his head. "Go try the new gift." Noel eagerly unboxed the hoverboard and ran out, with Denny following closely behind. You shouted after him, "Don't forget to wear the protective gear! Mrs. Tham, please make sure he does that."

Your tearful eyes met Wonwoo's, and he approached, pulling you into his chest. "How are you feeling?" he asked, gently rubbing your arms in light traces.

"Not sure," you replied. "I feel happy as well as guilty. This was the third birthday without his parents. Every day he grows up, I'm grateful to witness it, but I feel bad that Noella and Joshua aren't able to. I hope wherever they are, they're proud of their boy. I still can't believe that he turned 8 yesterday."

Wonwoo didn't say anything, content in simply listening to you speak your heart.

He set his cup down and gently placed his hand on your now slightly protruding stomach. In the past, when you'd sleep together, his hands were wrapped around your waist or ribs. But now, he would sleep with his hand slipped under your t-shirt or nightdress, his palm resting on your stomach.

"I sometimes think about what would've happened if I'd let you walk out of the office that day," he began, his eyes slightly cloudy as he reminisced the moment.

"What do you conclude from it?" you asked.

"That I would curse myself until the day I die," he replied. He nudged you. "What about you?"

You tightened your grip around him and replied, "I don't know. I don't like to think of a future where you're not with me."

"My goodness, Mrs. Jeon, from where do you conjure these lines of flattery?" he teased. You looked up, your eyes finding his.

"A place different from where you get your corny ones," you retorted.

"Come on, they can't be that bad."

"Have you heard yourself when you speak, old man?"

"You make me sound like I'm ancient."

You just laughed and nuzzled your nose into his chest as he traced light circles on your stomach. Then, you mentioned, "Eleanor had a baby boy. People were talking about it yesterday."

"Yes, I heard. Good for her, I suppose," he replied.

"Hmm, maybe we should send them something."

"No need," he replied quickly, and you fell into a few minutes of silence. Then, you thought out loud, "Yesterday, I feel like your mother caught on to the pregnancy."

"How come? I was sure I was discreet about it." You moved out of his arms and looked at him with slightly raised brows. "Were you? Are you sure?"

"Okay, I may or may not have gone a little overboard with the concern," you confessed.

You moved closer and planted a kiss in the corner of his lips. "It's alright. We'll tell them on Saturday either way. I can't wait for the advice and Mama Bear mode overload."

Wonwoo laughed and leaned down to capture your lips in his. The pecks turned into kisses, and the kisses turned into a full-blown makeout session. Suddenly, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"Too many eyes," he replied, referring to the housekeeper and a staff member moving around in the kitchen, cleaning up the aftermath of yesterday's party. He then carried your bridal style to the master bedroom.

.........

2 years later

Nestled in the outskirts of the city was nothing short of a luxurious paradise. It offered a 5-star experience, with its stunning landscapes that overlooked the entire city. The sprawling pool glistened under the sun, surrounded by lush greenery and pristine gardens, creating an atmosphere of opulence and relaxation.

The gathering was nothing short of grand, with everyone in attendance. The Jeon family, your own family, and all your dear friends had come together to celebrate a special occasion. Jeonghan and Victor joined the festivities, their newly adopted newborn son, Yuri, cradled in their arms.

As you looked at Noel, now a little older, you could see that he was growing more and more into his mother's features and his father's personality. His mischievous grin was reminiscent of the happiness Wonwoo had shown when the doctor revealed that you were expecting a daughter.

Iris, your little girl, was nestled comfortably in Wonwoo's arms. Her bright eyes held a sense of wonder as you held both of the children's hands. Together, you cut the ribbon to Oasis, marking the grand entrance to the celebration. The entrance was a perfect blend of grandeur and hospitality, adorned with an array of paintings representing different cultures.

As the gathering and welcoming ceremony continued inside the grand resort, you decided to take a quiet walk outside. You strolled along a serene pathway near a pond, where you noticed a duck entangled in some branches. Determined to help, you crossed a picturesque bridge and carefully reached out to free the distressed bird.

Lost, you didn't hear Wonwoo approaching. He found you engaged in a scene that felt oddly familiar – much like the first time he saw you. The duck pecked at your hand, and you assured it with a soothing voice, "Just a moment, I'm almost done." With a gentle touch, you managed to free the duck, watching it swim away to safety. As you took a step back, you collided with a sturdy chest, and when you looked up, your eyes met Wonwoo's warm gaze, accompanied by a contented smile.

"When did you get here? I didn't hear any noise," you asked, puzzled by his silent approach.

Wonwoo chuckled softly. "Well, some years ago, a little girl told me I should walk softly or else I might scare them."

Your eyes widened as he continued with a story from your past. "Then I asked her why she was helping them even if they were hurting her."

The girl, it appeared, had a wise reply. "Sometimes people who are hurt say or do harsh things because they don't know how to ask for help."

With realization dawning upon you, you gasped and covered your mouth. "You were that tall boy with the emo fringe haircut."

Wonwoo grinned and admitted, "Ouch, but yes, it was me."

The newfound knowledge left you surprised. "So the first time we met wasn't at my parents' place?"

He shook his head, confirming your suspicions. "And how long have you known this?"

"Since the moment I saw your picture on my desk," he replied, the affection in his eyes evident.

A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, and Wonwoo tucked a loose strand behind your ear. He then looked deep into your eyes and spoke from the heart, "I must have done something good in my life that lead me to you."

Moved by his words, you closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his hand on yours, and let out a contented sigh. "You know, Wonwoo, if someone were to ask me today if I would endure everything all over again if it meant it would lead me to you and our kids, I would say yes a thousand times over. Because you made me believe that maybe I can be loved too, or maybe I was born just to be loved by you."

In the grand tapestry of the universe, where the stars align in intricate patterns and destinies are etched before birth, finding meaning in life's every task may indeed seem like an exercise in futility. But perhaps, it is precisely this realization that can bring a sense of contentment and gratitude for where life has led you at this moment.

You and Wonwoo found yourselves leaning in for a passionate kiss. Lost in the tender moment, you were suddenly interrupted by a cheerful voice.

"There they are," Jungkook's fiancee exclaimed as she approached you, cradling a crying Iris in her arms.

The baby girl was frantically looking for her parents, her babbles pleading for "mama, mama."

With a loving smile, you reached out to take Iris into your arms. "What's wrong, darling ?" Your soothing presence seemed to calm her, but she then began reaching for Wonwoo and switching to his arms with a happy cry of "dada."

With a smile on his face, Wonwoo gently took her into his arms, cradling her close. "Yes, my princess, Daddy is here," he whispered as she nuzzled her head into his neck. The tenderness between them was heartwarming, and Iris continued to babble about her brother, "El no playing."

Assuring her, Wonwoo replied, "El is not playing with you." He continued, "What is he doing?"Iris reached for her headband, as if her speech delay was due to it, and took it out, blinking at you. She threw it to the ground and finally said, "El, Denny, Somi."

"Denny, El, and Somi are playing together and not playing with you," Wonwoo telepathically reasoned with his daughter she nodded at energetically at her father’s comprehensive skills. "It's alright; Dada will play with you. Let's go meet Grandpa."

As he started to walk toward the waiting family, Wonwoo turned to you with a warm smile. He extended his hand, inviting you to join him. "Come on," he said. You took his hand, and together, you walked toward the gathering of loved ones.

Jungkook was engaged in a playful game of frisbee with the kids and Denny. He noticed your approach and waved, acknowledging his fiancee before turning his attention to you and Wonwoo. As you settled down with your family, you couldn't help but look around and bask in the contented atmosphere.

Tham took Iris into her care, where Yuri was playing. Your gaze met Jeonghan's across the space, and he raised his glass with a friendly salute, and you nodded in acknowledgment. He resumed his conversation with Joon-hee and her husband, and you turned to Jungkook's fiancee, who was standing next to you.

You struck up a conversation, asking her, "So, Rach, how's life?"

............................The End..................................................

EXTRA

Noella ascended the stairs, her thoughts meandering as Joshua was away at work. Her steps were reflective of her inner contemplation. When Noella was young, she had never understood why her parents, seemingly always fighting, and her mother, who seemed to resent her father's profession, didn't just leave. It wasn't until she reached the age of 27 that it all became clear. Sometimes, when people are in love, they can become incredibly selfish. So selfish, in fact, that they'll go to any lengths to hold onto their last vestige of hope in the harsh, unrelenting reality of life. Despite her physical resemblance to her mother, at the end of the day, she was her father's daughter, through and through.

She was deep in thought, musing over her own obliviousness to your hesitations, your puffy eyes, and your quiet demeanor when she and Joshua first started dating. Did Joshua know about her feelings or the feelings she once had for him?

Noella had been out drinking with Jeonghan, who had indulged a bit too much in alcohol. In the midst of his inebriation, he confessed that you had been in love with Joshua and proceeded to shed tears for you. It felt like her illusions were crumbling, and her beliefs were disintegrating into the vast expanse of life's infinite possibilities.

She was about to reach her room when a soft, heartwarming "Mama" halted her in her tracks. Warmth enveloped Noella's heart as she bent down and scooped up her 5-year-old son, asking, "What's wrong, honey boo?"

"I can't sleep," he pouted, nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck.

She rubbed his back gently as his small hands clung to his pillow and teddy bear. She asked, "Want to sleep with Mama tonight?" To which he nodded.

Noella entered her and Joshua's bedroom and laid down next to him, "Hey, El."

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever think that if you could have any power in the world, then what would it be?"

"I would love Flash's powers; he can run super fast, you know," Noel replied with a glint of admiration in his eyes.

Noella couldn't help but chuckle at his response. "Flash's powers, huh?"

When Noel turned the question back to her, "What about Mama?"

Noella looked at her son's curious eyes and then up at the ceiling. After a moment of contemplation, she replied, "Time travel."

"Wow, that's so cool, but why that?" Noel inquired.

Noella's thoughts were already racing, formulating an answer when, in the midst of her thoughts, she added with a tinge of melancholy, "There are a lot of regrets to undo."

"But wouldn't that change the future?" Noel asked with innocence.

"Maybe," she shrugged, "maybe that's why we can't travel back in time to fix things."

Noel's eyes were heavy with sleep as slumber finally claimed him. He mumbled, "Tante says that not everything needs fixing. Sometimes time and patience are the best friends, and everything works out for the best."

"My son, when did you become so smart, huh?" Noella whispered, her fingers gently caressing his forehead. She began to sing the lullaby her mother used to sing, a soothing melody that cradled her son into a peaceful slumber.

Que sera, sera

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que sera, sera

What will be, will be

With Love,

MSH

XXX

373 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 2 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Ten (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Hope you like this next instalment! It’s a long one, and it’s a flashback, so it feels like a HUGE RISK to shove this in so far into the story. However, this memory of Santiago’s and reader’s is SO vivid in my mind I feel I could basically use it as a patronus charm. Therefore, if you’re at all invested in these two by now, I do feel like the payoff is worth it, and that it will set you up PERFECTLY for the next, concluding chapter! (Also: ooh, intrigue, as we get to see how they were with each other back in their youth, you know?). Anyway, as always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. ILY :-*

P.s. there’s a timeline goof as a song mentioned in this, although recorded in ‘88, was not released until 2015. But we’re just gonna look past that, okay? 😝 In this world it was released early.

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

Word count: 16.6k for this part. (SORRY!)

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Many years earlier

Santiago is tired. Ready to crawl into the cocoon of his bed and draw the covers over his head, refusing to surface again until he’s dragged feet first outta there. Unfortunately for him though, sleep is not on the cards.

Instead, he has a vitally important mission to attend to. And, in the face of a mission, this particular soldier never settles for anything less than completion. That doctrine is especially true - he has proven time and again - when it comes to taking care of you.

Tonight, Santiago is tasked with making your birthday a memorable one; or, as memorable as he can muster with the $40 he currently has to his name.

“Civilian aircraft, man. Where’s a goddamn helo when you need one?” you fruitlessly complain as he nods along in sympathy.

Evidently, sleep is the last thing on your mind. You’d been looking forward to cutting loose for weeks, with this night touted as “the birthday to end all birthdays”. Serendipitously, this was the first time your birthday had coincided with a period of leave since you signed up to serve and, thwarting all that, your connecting flight was grounded unexpectedly.

Santiago feels crushed - on your behalf - that the plans have gone so pear-shaped.

“One o’ these days, getting shot for the Motherland will gain me some fucking privileges, huh?”

Santiago flinches at that particular addition. He doesn’t like to think about that day. That day’d had him waking up in frequent cold sweats going on a year now. He’d put himself on the line countless times - no problem- but almost losing you had been decidedly different. Had been the single most terrifying moment of his career (and his life) to date, all told. Which sure was saying something considering the hairy situations he routinely found himself in.

Graciously, your present circumstances are considerably less dire. You’ve still been griping, of course. And, your complaints have not succeeded in changing a damn thing. It is now abundantly clear - if it wasn’t already - that the two of you are stranded for the night. So, here you are, holed up in a dingy and characterless airport motel in Philadelphia.

It beats enemy fire, for sure… but even so, Santiago is acutely aware of how much you’ve been looking forward to this. To the rare chance to catch-up with your far flung squad mates, scattered every which way across the globe since graduating basic. He knows too, that the anticipation of this reunion had acted as your glue - had held you together - through what had been a particularly brutal deployment.

“I haven’t seen Miller in months, man. I need to give that bastard some grief soon or I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

“We can call that pendejo tomorrow,” Santiago soothes, popping a stick of gum and beginning to chew obnoxiously. “Hey. We can even pool our insults, huh? Really get him going.”

You raise your palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “Shit. I just miss the fucker, Santiago.” For the first time tonight he hears your voice break, your stoicism cracking apart and revealing your soft middle.

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

Santiago knows how crushed you are. And so, for whatever it’s worth, the man resolves to show you the best night he possibly can, all circumstances considered.

“Come on,” he encourages, kneeling before you as your lower lip quivers. He plants a hand on your thigh and jostles your leg gently. Meanwhile, you sit slumped on the long edge of the lumpy motel bed, beginning to feel rather more sorry for yourself. “You and me, baby. I’ll make this night special, I swear. Just give me a chance, huh?”

“How?” you sound, throwing your palms up and gesturing to your dismal surroundings. “This place is barely even a step-up from the barracks.” You eye a particularly suspect stain on the carpet with disdain. “Actually, I think it might even be a step down.”

Santiago’s face crumples obediently in a measured display of sympathy, but honestly, his first instinct is to chuckle. You look so forlorn in this moment, Santiago has to consciously suppress his smile. You are the most stubborn, ferocious, determined person he’s ever met. You are fucking tough. Hell, he’s seen Staff Sergeants buckle in a crisis before you’ve even come close to breaking - and yet here you are. Almost in tears because you can’t make your birthday party. It’s all a little incongruous to him that out of everything, this would be the thing to take you down.

At the same time though, of course. He understands it perfectly.

Santiago has understood for a long time now that you possess a (well-concealed) softer side. Knows it better than most others do, in fact. As you’ve gradually allowed him to sneak past your militia-guarded perimeter -only a soldier of his calibre capable of making it, he’d wager - he’s begun to catch more and more frequent glimpses of the achingly soft heart you guard within. If your tough exterior had initially magnetised him to you, it was your soft heart which ensured he’d stuck around.

Solemnly then, he pats your thigh in a consolatory gesture. Of course, Santiago gets it. He knows it isn’t the presents or the attention or fuss which you’ll miss tonight - though they would have gone over well too, he’s sure. He knows that it is your brothers (in arms, if not blood) that you are feeling the loss of. The squad mates you love dearly, and to whom you are loyal with a tenacity Santiago has rarely witnessed. A loyalty he too feels blessed -strictly in the lapsed Catholic sense - to be on the receiving end of.

Valiantly fighting back glassy tears, you pop your lower lip in a display of petulance as he rubs reassuring circles into your knee. “Philly sucks ass.”

This time, he can’t quite quash his smile all the way.

“Philly sucks ass, huh?” he repeats, buying himself time to think.

Santiago isn’t sure whether you know that for a fact. He isn’t even sure you’ve ever been to Philly before to assess how much ass it does or does not suck. But, he does know that, irregardless of facts, you seem altogether determined to wallow in your self-pity.

Santiago has noticed this about you. How you always developed an inalienable picture in your head of how you hope things will end up. It’s inspirational at times - your ability to visualise victory, for example, even in the most dire of circumstances, has held missions together. Has held him together. At other times though, it only set you up for disappointment. How could it not, when, through no fault of your own, you cannot reliably manifest the various futures you set your heart on.

It’s not as though you ever ask for a lot; but sometimes, in your profession, even asking for a little is asking far too much.

Still, it is brave, Santiago thinks, to hope for things. For his part, he has learned the hard way not to hope for anything much.

Your shoulders sag in time with his as he exhales a breath and, though your display is dejected, Santiago gathers a soft smile. You are stubborn, that’s for sure, but in him you’ve met your match - or so he likes to think. Santiago is perhaps the only person who could reasonably claim the title of being twice as stubborn as you are, and (while he realises deep down he probably shouldn’t wear that as a badge of honour) he has often pushed his theory to its limit. And so, stubbornly, refusing to give up, Santiago rises to standing. He fishes around in his jeans pocket, yanks out a fistful of dimes and small bills, and brandishes them victoriously.

He waves them enticingly in front of your face then, but you forlornly swat them -and him- away. However, he knows from the dull, reluctant spark in your eyes when he makes his pitch that he is finally on to something. “I saw some peanut butter cups in the hallway vending machine,” he sing-songs, with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. He knows fine well they’re your favourite, and he can’t believe he’d forgotten his secret weapon: chocolate. “We can clean them out, take a cab, find some shitty ass dive bar, and have ourselves a sweet ol’ time. Whaddya say?”

Nothing else had worked, and so Santiago is eminently thankful when a smile finally twitches your mouth. Honestly, he’d been about one attempt away from offering to eat you out all night - and he hadn’t been sure whether that would’ve made you happy, or would’ve resulted in you verbally lambasting him.

On balance, he figured it was probably best that he didn’t risk either kind of tongue-wagging.

“Fine,” you concede whilst swallowing a mischievous grin, not at all eager to let on that Santiago has finally cracked you. “But don’t you be expecting to muscle in on my Reese’s, understood?”

Santiago chuckles warmly, slipping into Spanish. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Birthday Princess.”

You snort at your newly bestowed title, playfully adjusting an invisible crown on your head, and you extend your palm towards his to shake on it. The gesture, as Santiago’s palm over-enthusiastically clasps yours, causes dimes and bills to scatter chaotically to the floor. A shit-eating grin etches itself across his face and meanwhile, your boisterous laugh rings out through the tight space. “Shit, Pope. Don’t drop it on this grim-ass fucking carpet.”

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?”

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

“And you don’t know where the hell he’s been?”

“The opposite. I shared a bunk with that hijo de puta, I know exactly where he’s been.”

With easy laughter eddying between you now, you both crouch, carefully gathering up the spoils of the latest Pope/Catfish wager to change hands.

“I really need to meet that guy.”

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.”

Your hand brushes Santiago’s as you transfer him a mess of coins, sending a trail of goosebumps shivering up his arm. It always surprises him how soft you feel to the touch, accustomed as he has become to his own calloused hands - and to those of even rougher men than him.

“Garcia. I swear to you I’ve never clapped eyes on the bastard.”

“You just don’t remember him.”

“Shit. Well maybe he’s not very fucking memorable. Jog my memory. What did we talk about?”

His shit-eating grin is back. “I dunno. But I bet you talked for the both of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, batting Santiago lightly -more or less- in the upper arm.

“I just mean he’s quiet. Takes a while to warm up, that’s all. But he’s a good guy. You’ll like him, I promise.”

“Okay.” You shove the remaining dime into Santiago’s palm.

“Okay?”

“He’s clearly special to you, so he’s special to me too. Introduce me to him. Again.”

Santiago smiles at you, gentle crinkles forming around his eyes. He’s already told Frankie so much about you, and he really thinks the two of you will get on. “Deal.” You both stand, and Santiago once again extends his cash-filled hand towards you.

With a cheeky grin you chide him, not eager for a repeat calamity, but your tone is fond. “Don’t you dare shake on it, idiota.”

Your smile digresses to your eyes. You extend your palm to pat him on his stubbled cheek - in a gesture weighing heavily with affection. Your lips animate, and Santiago wonders whether something sentimental might actually come to the fore.

You whisper, low. “You have thirty seconds to get me my peanut butter cups.”

He chortles and, for the first time (perhaps since imagining his head between your legs), Santiago is eminently excited to see where the night will lead him.

Safe to say, he might be dog-tired… but he finally feels like staying awake.

***

Despite your very vocal distaste for the music, and the clientele, and…well, just about everything in the first dive bar you and Santiago stumble across, the combination of cheap beers and even cheaper shots has succeeded in getting you efficiently merry. And, despite your earlier reticence, you now seem plenty eager to continue the party.

Considering he could only afford cab fare from the motel to a dead neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t going too badly, he thought. Though, Santiago had hastily steered you outta the first joint when a group of creeps had started leching on you. He knows you can handle yourself and he wouldda been happy to back you; but tonight especially, conflict is the last thing he wants for you. He figures you’ve had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. That you finally deserve a little peace. So, instead, he links your arm in his to keep your tipsy ass steady as he steers you down the main drag, desperately searching his mind - and scanning the unfamiliar streets - for what to do next.

His mission, as it stands, is to satiate your threefold desire - for drinks, dancing, and good music. Tricky, given that he is already down to $10 dollars, give or take - and he’ll need that for the cab ride back to the crummy motel.

Truth is, as he ambles with you for a few blocks, he is running out of ideas for how to show you a good time. What’s more, ever since he first entertained the idea, in his desperation, all his dumb ass can come up with is to offer to eat you out until morning. It’s pretty much becoming an intrusive thought at this point and, as the sordid image of you spread out for him further invades his mind, he quickly tries to blink it away.

He doesn’t want to be that guy. You receive more than enough unwarranted attention as it is. And besides, Santiago would never want you to misinterpret that the reason he hangs around is to -eventually- get in your pants.

You are so much more than that to him. Sometimes, he even has to keep his distance, so that in moments of weakness he doesn’t forget it.

You’d held him at arms length for a while there too.

Soldiers; not friends.

He hadn’t won you over, he knew, because of his sparkling wit and charm. You’d been drawn to him because he was competent. Surprisingly level-headed for someone so baby-faced. You’d wanted people you could work with. People you could trust to get the job done; because you had to trust them with your life.

The two of you have some undeniable chemistry, that’s for sure. At least, on his end, he’d felt something fierce and magnetic right out of the gate. Even so, from the outset, and even as your friendship had deepened, the two of you had seemed to quickly forge a tacit agreement.

Friends; not lovers.

You had made the assessment quickly, jointly, unconsciously. After all, under the rather intense circumstances in which you’d met? You’d each needed a friend - a genuine friend - far more than you’d needed a lay. For you especially, as he understood it, the former had been far more difficult to secure than the latter, especially as a woman in a highly-charged cesspit of toxic masculinity. And for him? Well, as talented as Santiago is at gaining connections, he doesn’t find all too many people he is willing to go deep with. To trust - and he trusts you with his life.

When he’d found you then, he’d grabbed firmly on to you, and had resolved that nothing would get in the way of the friendship you’d forged. Not even - or perhaps especially not - his own… urges.

Still. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Not like you’ve never gotten him a tad… flustered. Indeed, as the rhythm of your steps marching in time beside him lulls him into calmness, feeling safe, his mind wanders in precisely that direction.

So what though? He’s only human, right? Prone to fantasising; like he is now, he supposes, as he thinks vaguely about licking and kissing down your enticing, bare expanse of stomach. About popping the button on those low slung jeans. Shimmying them down over your hips just enough to sink his mouth over the mound of you and suck.

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something.

He swallows then, feeling guilty for being such a horndog, and he turns to you. You seem to be perfectly content. To be enjoying the hit of fresh air, the apples of your cheeks sheened, with a subtle glow, from the exertion of your dance moves back in the dive bar. And honestly? Looking at you? As guilty as he feels for thinking about you like that, Santiago can’t muster a single better idea of what to do with you.

He pushes it down, of course. Chalks it up to being just a tad pent-up following a seemingly endless deployment. That’s all it is, right? His dick is just looking for a little relief, and you are the closest, attractive body capable of providing him a warm welcome?

Sure, he rationalises. That’s all it is. He can find a girl one night soon and take her home, like he’s done plenty of times before to work out his urges. Except for the fact that seeing you out of those (helpfully) modest fatigues is reminding him you are exactly his type.

“You’ve gone quiet, Pope,” you frown as he -no doubt- looks at you dopily. “What are you plotting?”

With your question, Santiago tears himself violently from his thoughts as you interrupt their increasingly feral trajectory. Still, in scrambling for a deflection, all he is able to land on is something else deep and wet. “The Mariana Trench,” he fumbles.

Hell. Maybe he isn’t quite as smart as he gives himself credit for. Or, maybe all the blood is simply rushing to his crotch instead of his brain - for some reason.

Even so. He urges himself to get his mind out of the gutter and to focus up. You deserve so much more than bearing the brunt of his accumulated sexual frustrations. So. Much. More.

You laugh at his response though, oblivious as you are to his inner monologue, even linking your arm into his more tightly - as though he isn’t a huge perv. Your bright, infectious, beer-addled laugh bounces off of the surrounding asphalt and concrete. And, whilst it ricochets off of everything else, it sinks into him, mixing just a little more of you into his generic, rapidly dissolving fantasy. It offers a luminous gilding around the edges of his hazy desire, stirring in a vivid and more golden want than he has strength in this moment to acknowledge - never mind name.

“Okay, weirdo. Sure. You’re thinking about the butt crack of the ocean? Miller been feeding you National Geographic documentaries again? You guys do know pay-per-view exists, right?”

“Fine. You got me,” he confesses, your paces slowing as you gradually halt by the crosswalk, the two of you realising you have no particular destination in mind. “That was bullshit. I was actually thinking about what the hell I’m gonna do with you next.”

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly.

Santiago looks you up and down where you stand, out of habit more than anything - a result of that now familiar “buddy up” system soldiers make use of to check each other for injuries. Sometimes, with the adrenaline and the shock, you don’t even know you’re bleeding out. This time, thankfully, the only ailment Santiago notices is the goose flesh prickling your skin, and he wishes that he had a jacket to offer you to keep you warm.

“Oh?” You turn your body in to face him. Sway just a tad, eyes a little bleary, and Santiago instinctually plants his hands around your waist to keep you stable, touching on the smooth, bare skin where your ratty old band tee fails to meet your waistband - by approximately the width of four thick fingers. You shiver even though his touch must be warm. “Okay. Well what are you going to do with me, Santiago?”

You blink at him then, your eyes wide and - dare he say - hopeful, one eyebrow arcing in idle curiosity.

You are typically the decisive one. You are always clear on what you want. Tonight, however, it is evident that you are counting on him to lead you somewhere.

Even though he doubts his ability to take the lead, rather fortuitously, Santiago does (miraculously) manage to stumble upon one single idea outside of the realm of cunnilingus… “Hey, come here,” he coaxes, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes.” You oblige him, folding your grip around him, firm and sure. His heart swells a little at the instant, implicit trust you exhibit - no hesitation. “Do you hear that?”

Santiago’s eyes remain open, observing you as your eyes blink clumsily shut. You slide your soft hands up his forearms, bracing yourself with a gentle “woah”, no doubt as the closing of your eyes makes your alcohol-saturated world sway and swirl just a little more intensely. “Listen, cariño,” he scolds good-naturedly, cupping his palms at your elbows. “Do you hear it?”

He can’t help but smile as your face scrunches in adorable contemplation. Then, he can’t help smiling even wider, as you begin to tap his arms and jump excitedly up and down on the spot. You hear it too then. The distant thud of music bouncing off of the tall buildings.

“Music!” you exclaim excitedly, opening your eyes and grinning at him, still bouncing on the spot like an excited kid.

The full beam of your unfiltered smile knocks him for six for second. It has been a while, honestly, since he’s seen it glow that bright. Turned all the way up. You’d gone through some shit on this deployment. Blood, horror, pain; rinse and repeat. Some of your spark had understandably dulled, and honestly, he had worried -in part, a little selfishly- that it might never come back to its full strength.

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong.

Santiago had quickly come to learn that you possess a singular combination of character traits - and not only the magical ability to piss him off more than anyone else could. No, in fact, he’d learned quickly that you possess a singular kind of zest for life. One which he’d feared was too pure to survive long in the dark. Honestly, he’d believed your optimism and your joy was naive at first. Something to be knocked out of you in boot camp. But he was wrong so far. At every turn you endure. At every turn, you shine. As he feels increasingly bogged down, saturated with inky, oily shadows, you are bright. His guiding light, always calling him home from the edge of the dark, shadow-coiled path he skirts.

“Do we follow it?” you ask excitedly, the glint of adventure in your bright eyes, and in that moment he could swear he’d follow you anywhere.

“Yeah. Of course we follow it. It’s our goddamn duty to follow it.” Santiago stomps his boot and waves his arm in a sloppy military salute - the kind that would earn him fifty push-ups back at base. You follow suit, even more sloppy, but entirely resolute in your faux seriousness.

“Tonight, I swear my oath and pledge my allegiance to music, so help me God.”

Santiago stomps emphatically again, for effect - an overblown, cheesy action-movie-style salute, his strong jaw set in an overly caricatured display. You beam again, a face-splitting grin, and he…

…realises he is having fun.

In this moment, you are giddy. You are bright. Full of life, and Santiago briefly wonders if this is how things could be. If it could be like this all the time if only you could get out. If you could leave the military behind. God. You are the last person he wants to lose from his side, but a knot twists in his stomach at the thought you should get out while you still can. Before it drags you down like it is him. Before he drags you down with him, since you’ve seemingly tied your fates to his with red bloodied ribbons, wound between your bones and his.

He doesn’t have much time to consider those things though. To let the blood seep into the edges like it always does; because you start running. You take Santiago’s hand in yours and run towards the distant thud of noise, leading him behind you and laughing and whooping as you do. Making a grey night in a grey part of town feel vibrant. Making him feel vibrant by association. He realises only then how numb he’s felt lately. How your buoyant smile had been the only thing to feed his own these past months.

You are so much more than a throwaway fantasy to him.

You truly are the friend he’s needed so desperately, and feels so, so lucky to have found.

He runs with you, and he hopes, silently, selfishly, somewhere in the pit of him, that your paths never wind in different directions.

He’ll follow you anywhere.

***

After a few, giddy, chaotic minutes of tracing the ricocheting sounds, you find yourselves in the lobby of a seedy hotel, breaths sawing in and out of your lungs and mirthful, intermittent giggles spilling out of you.

“I’m on the guest list!” you insist with a hiccough, trying your utmost to blag your way into the wedding party contained beyond the double doors; the established source of the music.

Your assertion is much to the chagrin of the teenaged, stoner-looking kid on the front desk, who is clearly milking his new-found authority for all it’s worth.

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?”

Santiago looks at you expectantly, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his chest already shaking and nose scrunching with a mildly tipsy, sleep-deprived concoction of mischief.

“The name’s Trench,” you deadpan, and the poor fellow actually begins to skim his index finger down the alphabetised list. “Mariana Trench.”

Santiago eyeballs you. Honestly, half of him is awed by your balls, even as the other half is despairing of your chosen (and completely unnecessary) alias. Still, he sees the funny side, of course, and has to swallow a hearty laugh by faux coughing into his fist.

There are not many factors helping your case here; especially the fact your body is already unconsciously bopping along to the music. Santiago has to physically encourage you back to your spot with his arm around your middle, and, as the rhythm continually beckons you forth, he hastily tucks you into his side in a fruitless attempt to subdue you.

By the time Santiago’s gaze flicks back to the kid at the desk, he’s folded his arms over his chest like a stern math teacher, clearly enjoying his upper hand. “Dude,” the kid probes sceptically, perhaps sensing that Santiago is the more sensible (or at least more sober) of the two of you. “What are the names of the bride and groom?”

“Nicole and Dio,” Santiago fires off smugly, causing you to first gasp and - second - to gawk at him like a fish (which is funny, because for all you know he’s made those up too).

“How did you know that?” you hiss-whisper, thinking you are being oh so subtle, and Santiago elbows you discreetly in the ribs for your trouble. This time though, he is unable to stifle his laughter entirely, a throaty chuckle shaking out of him, and the crinkles around his eyes rehearsing deeper future furrows.

Meanwhile, whilst the kid at the desk continues to eye him sceptically, he cannot refute Santiago’s knowledge. The soldier silently praises his undeniable powers of observation - and the fact the kid seems to have entirely forgotten about the huge fuck-off sign standing in the entrance lobby.

“Yeah. Still no.” This kid is a tough nut.

“Shit,” you plead. “Well can I at least use the restroom?”

“I guess that’s fine,” the kid concedes with an eye roll, gesturing towards the left hand side of the lobby.

You saunter off, beelining towards the door with such ferocity that you whack your hip off of the doorframe on the way in there.

Santiago winces in time with your “ouch!”, but as you throw your arms in the air, triumphantly insisting you are fine, he turns his attention back to his mission; to get you whatever you want for your birthday.

Sporting the friendliest smile he can muster in the full knowledge this kid behind the desk hates him already, Santiago mosies up to the counter.

“Come on, buddy. Hook us up,” he reasons. “It’s a Tuesday night and everywhere else is closed by now.”

“Dude, your attempts to get laid are not my issue.”

“No. No, it’s… She’s my friend. It’s her birthday and-”

“-Then take her to a fucking Chilli’s, bro. Still not my problem.”

Santiago huffs, still trying to keep his face neutral. Non-threatening. He needs to step things up before you return from the restroom.

“Listen, buddy.” The kid scowls at him then as if to confirm - I’m emphatically not your buddy. “Do you know what it’s like to be shot in service of your country?”

“What?!”

He nods behind him, in your general direction, his eyebrows pumping up towards his hairline (and reaching for a hasty explanation before the kid presses the under-desk alarm button). “Because she does.” Santiago rests his folded arms up on the counter. Leaning-in. Going all out with the eye contact. “When I tell you she’s had a shitty time of it? Lying on the ground, bleeding out. So, look, man. I just want to give her a good time tonight, alright? Would you please help me out, man? She’s fucking earned this.”

A gulp trails down the kid’s neck, and he tucks his long, straight blonde hair behind his ears. “You’re intense, bro. Anyone ever told you that?”

Santiago opens his mouth again, wishing to further embellish his case; but before he can do so the kid caves, waving his palms in total surrender. “Fuck, man. Do what you want, but for the love of God, would you just stop talking to me?”

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Yep. Whatever. Don’t get paid enough for this shit, bro.”

Santiago hears the door swing behind him, and joins you just in time to lead you further into the building, pleased that he is able to report victory. He’s almost forgotten about the front desk already - until the kid calls after him, growing bolder the further you two retreat, apparently. “This is why I’m a pacifist, dude! You might wanna think about it.”

“Sure thing,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

Then, Santiago gently ushers you into the corridor leading towards the party, taking a moment to celebrate his “smooth-talking”. Before he can even think about bragging though, you throw your arms up in the air in a tada gesture and exclaim “you are welcome!”. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’d had no part in getting past the gate, and so instead, he opts to finally vent his quashed laughter. The fact you’d name-dropped Mariana Trench, specifically, supplies a giggle hearty enough that it makes his abs ache.

“Oh. By the way. How do I look?” you question, when the two of you are just shy of making an entrance to the main hall.

Santiago turns to you and looks you up and down. Notices the fresh application of smeared red over your plush mouth. Surveys your jeans and tee with approval, as though you are outfitted in a gown. “Good, chica.”

“Good!” You step forward then, towards him, and lay your palms flat on his upper chest. “Now. You know what I wanna do?” For a split second, with your proximity, and the husky thrall of your voice, Santiago finds himself imagining what you might want to do to him - if he should be so lucky. “I wanna dance. Will you dance with meeee, Santiaaaaggooo?”

Santiago feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Tries hard to forget that… well… red lipstick and dancing? They are - more often than not - your highly decipherable code for being horny. Shit - he wonders if you are as pent up as he is.

“You got it!” he musters, getting himself quickly in check. Christ, he needs to prioritise getting laid - just as soon as he is no longer wholly dedicated to your birthday.

“Yay!”

You lead him by the hand and, once again, Santiago does not complain. Then, swinging open one of two double doors, plastered with unsightly fire regulations, you enter the fray.

The doors open on a busy room, bathed in beams of chaotic coloured light. In reality, the interior is drab. A sad, grey, carpeted room. A few busted ceiling tiles up top. The circular event tables are flanked by a sorry stage at one side - fronted by a sticky, modest square of dance floor - and a small bar at the other. Finally, the far wall is edged with a rather depleted buffet, and intermittent bowls of greying macaroni. Whilst the room itself is nothing to write home about, however, the jubilation inside makes it feel positively wonderful.

Santiago feels only for a split second like he is intruding. Within moments, he is all wrapped-up in the buzz. Enveloped by it. The band’s amps are turned up far too loud. The dance floor is awash with couples gyrating on each other and groups of singles circling each other, looking for an in. Throngs of friends and family are grouped throughout the room, laughing and chatting, taking photos on disposable cameras and clinking glasses, and when the two of you enter, matching smiles plastered on your faces, no-one even bats an eye.

“We’re really doing this?” Santiago raises his voice above the tremor of the music. “Crashing a fucking wedding?”

“Relax! It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done, Garcia. It’s not even against the Geneva Convention.”

“Jesus! I’m not a fucking war criminal!”

“Relax, Santiago,” you encourage, tone soothing and your hands massaging into his shoulders; and, finally, he lets himself. For once, he lets his guard down. So, as you travel deeper into the room, Santiago begins to move a little less like a soldier on patrol, and allows his gait to loosen up. Allows himself to approach the room not as a soldier on high alert, but simply as some guy with his buddy, looking for a good time. “Attaboy,” you encourage, seeing him visibly unclench - a rare thing. “We’re good, alright? Hey. I’ll even leave a pack of Reese’s on the table. That way, we even brought a gift.”

“And you’ll keep a low profile, right?”

“Of course!” You flash him a faux innocent grin, which he sees right through.

Yeah, figures, he thinks. Honestly, he isn’t sure you are capable of blending in - stealth ops aside, of course. But here? Without your camo and a distinct lack of a gilly suit? Baby, look at you, you’re gonna be noticed.

“Alright. We dance. Just keep it low key or-“

“-Sure, sure,” you dismiss, waving your hand through the air as though to erase his plea. “But first, tequilaaaa!”

Evidently, you are ignoring him completely, and yet the beaming smile on your face is so utterly worth it that Santiago could care less. “Eh. Whatever you say, Princesa.”

You wink at him. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

Santiago watches you skip gracelessly over to the bar, making zero attempt to blend into the crowd (unsurprising). You order up two shots, downing one instantly and handing the other to him with a jubilant, mildly devilish grin. At this stage, Santiago is deliberately a few drinks behind you, having wanted to remain sober enough to take care of you. So, he figures he has a little wiggle room remaining before he reaches the point of no return. Egged on by your encouraging nods, he tips it down the hatch.

“Cheers!” you exclaim, clumsily clinking your little plastic shot glass against his. The remains of the amber liquid still glisten on your mouth, lending an appealing shine to your red lips. As you mop the drips away with the back of your hand, you slightly smear the shade towards your cheek.

Before Santiago can rectify the situation for you though, you’ve once again taken his hand and trailed him behind you, clumsily weaving through the crowd as he interjects “sorry!” each time you bash - either your body or his - into someone else’s. Before long though, the two of you are safely tucked right in the midst of it all, adding to the messy, merry throng on the compact dance floor. The amateurish but jubilantly played rock covers from the band began to vibrate all the way through his chest as you position right next to the speakers.

As the vibrations tickle through him, bass inflating like a balloon in his rib cage, drowning out his thoughts and his heartbeat, you dance. With his thoughts silenced - or, rather, out-volumed- he slips into his body as if it is his own again. As if it belongs to him, and not just to some notion of God and country.

You, for your part, dance as if compelled to. As though, after living for so long with your body following orders, exercising control, being disciplined, staying in line, you can finally let it be free. Can finally let it express itself.

You move well, Santiago notes as he allows his own body to limber, freeing up his arms and his hips and feeling the buzz of the music and the alcohol thrum pleasantly through his body. It all feels somewhat alien to him now, his body stiff and lacking muscle memory for such imprecise, unplanned movements. You though? You move with abandon. With joy, like you never forgot how to feel it, belting the lyrics right from your chest. Jumping and waving your arms when the guitar solo drops.

It makes him deeply happy to see you like this. What’s more, amidst the dance floor of preened, deliberate women encircling your space, their movements seemingly contrived to be appealing, alluring, sexual, your reckless expression is far sexier to him. You feel freed, wild - and it almost feels dangerous to him. This clear absence of regiments and rules and barriers feels dangerous, even the barriers between your body and his disintegrating as you dance closer, the beat shaking you together like sand on a drum skin.

Indeed, your bodies are pushed ever closer and closer as the surprisingly heaving crowd compresses you tighter and tighter in the minimal, sticky-floored maneuver room. And so, after you’ve suffered one too many bumps and restrictions from stray shoulders and elbows, you finally give in to it, looping your arms around his neck and choosing to dance with him.

Instinctually, automatically, Santiago’s hands fall to your hips, gripping you there as your body sways and rolls in time to the music, the raw, dirty hard rock vocals moving through you and bedding down into your body.

At first, when your body presses up against his and the hot breath of your laughter fans over his neck, Santiago thinks about adjusting. About sliding his hands back up to your waist, where -perhaps- the gesture may seem less intimate. May allow for a little more room and a little less contact.

It isn’t as though the two of you are strangers to touching. You are both tactile people, and besides, you’re often in close quarters. You’ve slammed each other to the mat plenty of times. He’s had your sweaty, writhing body all over his. Your grunts of submission sounding in his ear. Huffs of exertion fanning against his neck. Thighs locked with his. His hips pinning you. But this? This is a little different. It isn’t precise, technical touch. It isn’t objective-driven. There are no clear rules, besides friends not lovers, and even that distinction is starting to feel a little blurry.

No, this kinda touch is something else. It is raw. It is instinctual; and that scares him, in truth.

However, it doesn’t scare him nearly enough to want to stop.

He does not move his hands from your rolling, swaying hips. Can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gives in to it. To the music. To the feeling. To you. And, when does, he finds himself surprised by how fluidly your bodies move together. Symbiotically. Like a team. Like you do in battle, sure. In the field. Like it is the most natural thing in the world; but this time, your combining is not at all driven by survival. It is driven by living, and Santiago could swear, in this moment, that he has never felt quite so alive.

The room is getting hot. The undulating crowd of bodies surrounding you is only adding to it. Exertion is glowing on your skin. He can feel it up against him, your sweat bleeding through your damp t-shirt where your breasts press into him. Can feel it beneath his fingers, tacky and slick, as he wraps his hands around that bare flash of skin at your midriff. God, you are smooth, and soft, and slick, and he is momentarily transfixed by a bead of sweat sinking down the centre of your chest, disappearing beneath the “v” of your shirt.

Someone else’s body briefly presses up against his in the crush and he cringes away from the feel of their slick skin… but you? Yours? You feel good to him. He doesn’t mind it.

That scares him too; but still, not enough to stop.

With a joyous, unfettered laugh you claim back some space, spinning Santiago underneath your arm, your dance moves growing increasingly outlandish. Of course, Santiago follows your lead. Always does. And, before long, the two of you can barely dance from laughing and can barely laugh from your insistence to keep dancing.

It feels good. Good to push your respective bodies to their limit on your own terms for once. To be with each other, side by side, in a scenario which could not be further from life or death; but that feels a thousand times more vital and central to being alive.

Seeing your smile strobe as the blue party lights slip and flash over the planes of your face, the beats and riffs pulsing through his body, Santiago feels giddy and he feels bright. With laughter bobbing in his throat and aching in his sides, he feels goddamn luminescent, and so he can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but wonder if this is how he would feel all the time. If he got out. If the two of you could just be people, instead of soldiers.

Santiago holds on to it. He holds on to you. To the feeling of freedom. Of pure, unfettered joy. Of this strange peace amidst the blurry, heavy noise.

He holds on to it while he can. He smiles with you until his face hurts. Laughs with you until his breath wanes. Dances with you longer than he should, song after song. Dances until he is sweating through his t-shirt, a dark “v” of sweat trailing down his chest. Dances, long after that now familiar heat in his newly ailing knees has crossed into discomfort. Dances closer and closer to the speaker until the music is indistinguishable from him, beating through his chest and down into his bones, and still; the two of you move your bodies. The two of you cling to each other like your life depends on it - and perhaps, precisely because of all the times it has.

When you lean forward, cupping his ear, your lips almost pressed right to his skin to be heard over the din, a warm snake travels down his spine. “See! We still haven’t been found out!” You draw back to flash him a mischievous grin, your eyes glinting with a spark far more warming than the heat which already slickens his skin.

You are most definitely up to something. You dip forward again as he strains to hear you. “Wanna be a little bolder?” There is a dark and delicious lilt in your voice. A tempting thing, enticing him into trouble - as per usual.

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder.

He wants to kiss you, in fact. To test the limits of just how well your bodies can move together. But… just like all the other times tonight he lets that desire atrophy. Pushes it outside of his body. You are so much more to him than the tingle in his dick. Offer him so much more than whatever parts of you he could seek out with his hands and his mouth, skin finding skin, finding deep, dark wetness.

If you wanted it, hey, it’s not like he would say no. He isn’t that strong; but he’d decided long ago that when it came to crossing that line, he would simply follow your lead.

“What did you have in mind?” Santiago asks, dipping his own lips towards your ear.

Your response is not quite what he expects. You simply throw both arms up into the air, your eyebrows jumping up with them. “Karaokeeee!”

It is a pleasant surprise, to be honest. He loves to see you like this. To see you have fun. Chasing your whims. Getting to be damn silly. For so long, everything has been so grim and so serious.

However, even if your suggestion - at first - inspires a broad, nose-crinkling smile, Santiago looks up at the freestanding mic in horror next - when he realises exactly what you are about to do. “Shit. Sweetie. It’s not-”

-It is already too late. You are already clambering up on stage and taking your position by the vacant mic spot. “…It’s not karaoke,” Santi mumbles under his breath, mentally readjusting his level on how wasted you are.

“Come with me, Pope!” you shout down to him, making grabby hands towards him. Next, you commandeer the mic pole as the frontman - who had simply stepped out for brief swig of water - looks on in confusion.

Santiago sighs and slides his palm over his face, for he knows, fine well, exactly what is about to go down. That, after all the times you’ve saved his skin, tended his wounds, and -damn- even been shot to keep him safe, he for sure isn’t about to let you make a fool of yourself. At least, not alone.

Cringing already from the forceful embarrassment of commandeering an entire stage at a wedding he’s just crashed, Santiago sets his jaw in resignation and hops semi-gracefully up there, rising to stand right next to you.

“What happens in Philadelphia…” he mumbles, before bracing himself and accepting his fate.

He raises his arm as a shield against the intense spotlight, and can suddenly see that the whole party is looking by now, heads whipping around following your triumphant “woop” into the microphone.

He makes a mental note to explain to you what the words “low profile” mean later, as clearly, you’ve completely failed to grasp that concept.

Santiago gulps as he looks out across the confused sea of faces, his mouth suddenly bone dry as he prays that no-one will actually yell “who the fuck are you?” Then, not for the first time this evening, he desperately attempts to conjure up a plan of action. Once again, he is pretty sure that cunnilingus won’t quite cut it here either.

His goal right now is two-fold. To enable you to sing on stage, like you want to, and to avoid being forcibly removed from the venue. It is unfortunate that the former goal seems to void the latter, but hey. He’s been in stickier situations. And, with luck, Santiago remembers one useful thing. The fact that -according to damn near everyone- he’s a charming little fucker. Now, he supposes, is as good a time as any to put that theory to the test.

“Nicole and Dio.” He gestures to the bride, and motions to gesture towards the groom too. That is, before realising he has no idea who “Dio” is in the crowd, so instead, he lets his arm flop uselessly back to his side. Next, he takes what he feels is a well-earned moment to let the feedback from the microphone die, wincing slightly at the noise, and becoming acutely aware of the sizzle of nervous sweat burning off of his forehead. “I think it’s safe to say,” he ventures with a little more confidence, straining to remember his cousin’s wedding and every platitude he might repeat, “that a love like yours comes around once in a lifetime. I know I speak for both of us when we say we’d like to wish you a lifetime of happiness together to enjoy it.” You helpfully lean forward in that moment and give another celebratory woop. “Thanks for that, sweetie,” he deadpans, wiping his brow just as urgently as he scans the room, searching for something -anything- he can pull from to meet his twinned objectives.

Suddenly though, against all odds, he actually spots his way out. Emphatically, triumphantly, he points towards the Irish flag proudly adorning the far wall, and dearly hopes he is on to something. “A million tiny things had to align for you two to come together. You could even say it was fate. So, in tribute to the miles travelled by your ancestors, here it is. This one is for the Irish-Americans in the house!” Firstly, he is relieved, to say the least, when that statement earns a hearty cheer from the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Metallica; Whiskey in the jar.” Secondly, he is relieved when that statement earns further cheers, particularly from you.

Next, Santiago looks confidently to the band, deciding he will simply stare at them pointedly until the drums kick in. “For Nicole and Dio!” he adds with a flourish after an uncomfortably long moment of inaction; and, as the crowd gets behind Santiago, who on earth are they to deny him?

“Everybody on the dance floor!” you add, with an enthusiasm so overblown it can’t fail to be infectious.

Still, when Santiago finally thinks he has it nailed, you turn to him with a sudden and pronounced wash of horror on your face. “Garcia. Shit. It’s not karaoke!”

“Princesa,” he soothes as the band kicks in, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist to avert your knees buckling in fright. “If it’s not karaoke, why the shit do I have a mic and a backing track, huh?” You still look unsure. “Come on, sing it with me. You’re hot as hell up here, don’t go shy on me.”

Santiago turns, forgetting the crowd entirely as his mission revolves wholly around you.

He begins to sing to you, gaze soft and encouraging until you relax back into it, your broad, electric smile returning. He tugs you closer into him, snug and safe until you grow bold enough to sing along with him into your one shared mic, gradually letting go and -bolstered by him- giving it increasing amounts of gusto.

The pool of guests at your feet are going surprisingly wild for it too, almost every one in the room having now descended on to the dance floor.

“Here,” he encourages, as soon as he feels you’re ready, handing the mic off to you for the remaining verses of the song. “You got this, sweetie.”

He lets you have your moment in the spotlight, cheering you on from the sidelines as you sing and air-guitar your way through the final chorus. You aren’t necessarily singing at your best after belting out lyrics at top volume, but what you lack in vocal ability you sure make up for in spirit. You have bags of that, and you perform it with plenty of showmanship, throwing yourself all over the stage and making Santiago’s face split with joy as he whoops along with you, fist-pumping enthusiastically.

You even end the song by taking a knee and exclaiming “Nicole and Dio!”, raising your mic arm triumphantly in the air like the rock star you are - which is a huge relief to Santiago, as it had looked for a moment like you were about to stage dive into the completely unsuspecting crowd.

You wrap it up to what Santiago will later describe as rapturous applause. You milk it for all it's worth, before relinquishing the mic to the actual band and skipping over to your biggest fan.

“Was I fucking amazing?” you ask, bundling him into an enclosing hug.

“Holy shit. Felt like I was watching Kerrang.”

You punch him playfully in the arm for his shit-eating grin. “Dickhead.”

“What’s next for the Birthday Princess?” Santi asks, hopping off of the stage and guiding you safely down too.

He’s secretly praying you’ll say “back to the motel”, but it doesn’t surprise him at all when you throw your arms jubilantly into the air and yell: “more dancing!”.

Santiago brings the pad of his thumb up to the corner of your mouth, finally smoothing away that damn lipstick smear he wishes he’d gotten to before your impromptu stage show. “Go for it, hermosa,” he insists fondly. “I’ll be with you in a sec, yeah? After pulling that shit, I don’t think we have long before we get busted. You gonna be ready to hustle soon?”

You nod, fist-bump him, and skitter off to the dance floor, your seemingly boundless energy carrying you right the way through towards dawn.

Santiago will give this track a miss, he thinks. His knees need a goddamn time-out; but his eyes still linger on you, shining fondly as you are folded into the crowd.

***

“Touching speech, lad,” a low-timbre voice sounds to Santiago’s left. “But who in the devil are ya?”

Santiago, who is sat blissfully nursing a glass of ice cold tap water, immediately swivels on his barstool. This puts him face-to-face with an older gentleman, of considerable stature.

The man’s crinkled, bushy-eyebrowed face is stern; but not unkind, even as his chin juts up in challenge. Santiago rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. There is no point trying to wriggle out of this one, and he’s already sure of it.

“Okay,” he responds, his voice slow and low and his palms raising defensively in the air. The man might be both older and frailer than Santiago, but he exudes a certain authority which trumps his own youthful confidence. In short, Santiago certainly doesn’t want to piss him off. “You got me. It’s a long story, and we weren’t technically invited… but we don’t mean any trouble, Sir. And, hey, we did bring a gift,” Santiago adds for good measure, not entirely convinced that the mushed up peanut butter cups in your jeans pocket will make any shade of difference now - but hoping.

The man presses his lips together and hums, as if mulling over the guilty party’s fate. After a moment of contemplation though, the older gentleman unceremoniously releases some of the rigidity from his body, slumping down into Santiago’s neighbouring bar stool with a sense of resolution. A gulp trails down Santiago’s neck all the same. “You a military pair, kid?” the man asks casually, making-out like he’s thoroughly absorbed in rolling his cigarette papers, but his sharp eyes still finding time to needle Santiago incisively. “I know the type.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm. Well.” The man licks along the long edge of cigarette paper with the tip of his tongue. “You came clean, I’ll keep quiet. Besides commandeering the stage(!), you two don’t seem like too much trouble.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m Colin, by the way. Nicole’s granddaddy.” The man extends a hand and Santiago shakes it.

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.”

Santiago would’ve allowed some of the tension to seep out of his own rigid body by now; except for the fact he can sense the man is not quite finished with him. He lights the tip of his cigarette with a battered-looking, engraved lighter, smoke swirling around him and becoming one with his white-gray, thinning hair. “Since I’ve been so generous, lad, how’s about you explain to me the circumstances that brought you to crash my granddaughter’s wedding?”

From the man’s unwavering stare, Santiago knows fine well this is a demand and not a suggestion. He rubs his sweaty palms together, finding himself reluctant to spill but with little apparent choice in the matter. Still, as his gaze flicks back in the direction of you, he feels a softness overcome him. “It’s her birthday. We’re on leave. Had a big trip planned to reunite with some buddies but the airport-“

“-ah. All shut down.” Colin nods in partial understanding, taking a long drag on his smoke.

“Yes, sir. So I, uh. Well, I had to improvise.”

Colin’s eyes flutter briefly closed. Then, a small flicker of a smile appears, as he - apparently - achieves a fuller understanding than Santiago’s divulgence should have allowed. An understanding which Santiago isn’t sure he has attained himself, as it stands. Is he missing something? “I see. You wanted to show her a good time.”

“Yeah. Yessir.”

To Santiago’s utter surprise, the man’s hand clasps down on top of his closest shoulder, the cigarette still pinned precariously in between his forefingers, and the smoke tangling around Santiago’s curls like future grays attempting to stick. “What are you drinking, lad?”

“Uh. Water,” Santiago replies simply, recalling the glass sweating on the bar top.

“Not any more.” Colin signals the bartender with a barely perceptible raise of his chin, and manages to convey his order simply by raising two of his fingers in the air.

Santiago watches as a bottle, sporting an affixed yellow post-it note, is grabbed-up from its secret hiding spot under the counter. Must be the good stuff.

When served, Colin slides one glass over to Santiago with the back of his age-spotted palm. “You don’t have to drink it, o’ course - I’ll just think you’re a rude fecker if you don’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two men swivel on their stools to face the bar and Santiago takes a sip, doing his best to hide his reaction to the intensity of it.

Colin guffaws. “Yeah. That’ll put hairs on yer chest.”

Santiago splutters, attempting to quickly smooth himself. “Cheers. To Nicole.” He hoists his glass in the air.

“Aye. Here’s to that.”

Santiago smiles, clinking his glass with Colin’s and hoping against all odds that you might come and rescue him soon.

You don’t, but mercifully the chat is suspended for a moment as the man coiffs his cigarette and his drink, and Santiago even suspects he has been forgotten entirely as another guest draws Colin into niceties and conversation.

Therefore, after a few warming swigs have slipped down his throat, each one followed by a grimace, Santiago turns, realising it has been a minute since he’s had eyes on you. He quickly locates you on the dance floor, boogying with some tall, white guy. A guy who is - with your encouragement - getting rather handsy. Seeing this, all of Santiago’s muscles tighten and he feels the vague urge to leap up off of his bar stool - that is, until Colin interjects.

“Can I give you some advice?”

Santiago’s initial thought is “no”; but he has a feeling Coilin may offer his unsolicited advice regardless. “Don’t crash weddings?” he jests half-heartedly, the lion’s share of his attention still on you and that guy’s damn hands.

“Marry her.”

Santiago’s gaze flips immediately towards Colin, his face the picture of abject confusion. “Sorry. Who?”

Colin chuckles to himself, evidently quite tickled, and nods his head gently in your direction. “Your lady friend.”

Santiago saws his palm over the five-o-clock shadow adorning his jaw. A weak, throaty chuckle bobs in his throat. He finds it funny. Preposterous. “With respect, Sir. That’s not gonna happen.” It is knee-jerk. Santiago had sworn off marriage long ago. Had long ago given up on the prospect of any form of happy ending. Besides, you and him? He doesn’t think so.

“Oh. Boyo,” Colin begins, his tone juuuust condescending enough to make Santiago stiffen. “You find someone who makes you as happy as that, you marry her. Trust me, lad.”

Santiago purses his lips. Tightens them into a thin line. “We’re not… together.” Not that it’s any of this guy’s business what you are to him; but he’s just not getting it.

“You love her,” Colin says softly. Almost gently, as though he’s breaking bad news.

”What?” Santiago shakes his head incredulously, blinking several times in succession.

“I can barely see past my own arm these days, lad, but I can see that much.”

There is that hand, clasping his shoulder again. This time it feels different. “You love her.”

The first time Colin had spoken these words, Santiago had bristled. Felt provoked. He should feel similarly now too - he knows it - but upon hearing them for a second time, a sudden clarity settles over him. In fact, he’s never felt less confused by a statement in his life.

He feels his mouth go dry. A sudden ringing in his ears. He could’ve sworn he had hands and feet earlier in the evening, but right now he can’t feel them.

Of course he loves you, he thinks, reaching for logic. For rationalisations. But it’s not like that. That’s simply what happens when you go through so much together. You bond, intensely. That’s all it is. All it amounts to.

Colin has this all wrong.

Santiago looks at you then. Really looks at you, as you grab your dance partner by the shirt and shove your tongue in his mouth, pulling away from the kiss with a wolfish grin. Some kind of feeling he can’t hope to name tightens like a fist in his stomach when you do that. “She’s…” Santiago wants to protest. Wants to say that no, he doesn’t. But those aren’t quite the words which find their way out. Instead, he says quietly, like he’s delivering bad news now: “she’s my best friend.”

“Ah,” Colin breathes, in a fresh tone of relief. As if satisfied. As if he has now achieved full understanding - even if Santiago has not. The older man stubs out his cig and downs the dregs of his whiskey, cheersing Santiago once more with a clink of his empty glass. “There you go then. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Isn’t that the same thing?

It is a blur from there. A blur as Colin once again outstretches his hand and Santiago obliges by shaking it, his arm feeling limp and useless like a bag of cotton-wool. It is a blur as Colin wishes him well with a jolly “take care, lad,” sauntering away with no concern for the destruction left in his wake.

It is a blur as you sidle over, as though the volume in the room has been turned down all of a sudden. It becomes gradually louder again as you approach.

You.

“Fuck, you okay, Garcia? You look like you’re about to puke.”

There’s nothing here.

Nothing with you.

Nothing he could have with you. No way.

“Seriously! You look queasy as hell.” You place your hand across his brow to see if he’s burning up.

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly.

You nod, still looking sceptical but opting to buy what he’s selling. “You just tired? Too much dancing?”

”Heh. Something like that.” It is a struggle to push the words out, but he surprises himself. Gradually sinks himself back into the room. Back into his body.

Santiago notices the brief spark of an idea fleet over your face as you regard him and, in the next moment, you dip forward to chastely kiss him on the cheek. He feels a deep, blooming heat develop under his skin, his cheeks darkening with a crimson flush, and he resists the urge to clamp his palm over the spot your lips touched. “What was that for?”

A delicate smile dances on your mouth. “Thank you, butthead. I’m having a good birthday.”

It’s what you don’t say. It’s what your eyes are telling him. Your body language. Your touch. You’re telling him things you’ve been saying for a long time now. Things which, thanks to Colin, beg a whole load of new questions.

You slip your hand down his arm, grasping his hand in yours. For a moment he just stares, looking down at your hands clasped there together. He is vaguely aware of the track switching in the background, to a slower, more heartfelt tune, and, by the time he drags his eyes back-up to yours, he figures he’s got a head start already on what you’re about to ask.

He makes it so you don’t even have to. “One more dance?”

He stands, capturing your waist with his wrapped arm, leading you back towards the dance floor. The surprise and relief and glee on your face as he preempts you is almost too bright for him to look at.

“You even know how to slow dance, Garcia?” you ask as he maneuvers the two of you into prime position, right in the beam of a sweeping purple spotlight, the dancefloor filling exclusively with swaying couples as the tender, swooping song resonates through the room.

“Haven’t slow danced since prom,” he admits. “But I’ll follow your lead, Princesa.”

“You a’ways do, asshat.”

“You know? You’re not wrong. Now, come here.”

He holds his arms out and you step into his sturdy circumference, no hesitation. Trust implicit, your bodies moving in sync. You drape the loop of your arms gently around his shoulders, your twined fingers brushing the nape of his neck, sending a warm shudder through him. His hands hover helplessly for a moment, but he eventually settles them on your hips, drawing your body closer, tightening the space between you as you each sway together, cheek to cheek.

“I - I can’t believe you did this for me, you know?” Your voice is lower, dropped in your throat. Heavy with solemnity as though you are thanking him for taking a bullet for you or something. “Tonight. The karaoke. Everything.”

“Well,” he dismisses, against the shell of your ear. It’s not nearly enough.“You got shot for me, so...”

Your light, lilting laugh fans across his check. It isn’t funny at all, wasn’t a joke; except that it’s so tragic it kinda has to come full-circle, he supposes. “Fine,” you offer. “Call it even?”

Even?

It could never get close to even.

Santiago feels a surge of emotion welling in him. Like suddenly there is a mechanism dredging all the settled silt back up to the surface. It rises all the way up - into his chest, into his throat. He pulls back slightly until you are face to face, his expression far more severe than the situation merits; but he can’t help it. It feels barbed, difficult, coming out of his mouth, but it needs to be said. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, you know?” His eyes are glistening, a telltale softness nestled beneath his thick brows, and his thumbs unconsciously rubbing circles into the meat of your hips. “You’re…. I… I mean. You’re… my best friend.”

You gawp back at him for a moment, visibly caught off-guard by his emotional intensity. Then: “oh no,” you whisper-shout into the space between you, as though if you push too much sound out, the emotions might overspill along with it. “Don’t get all soppy on me, you hear? You’re the only fucker who knows I have emotions, and I damn sure wanna keep it that way.”

His gaze flits all over your face. “Secret’s safe with me, Princesa.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiles at you - a smile that only reaches his eyes.

You nestle yourself back into the crook of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his. One hand grasping at his back. The fingers of the other clasping his shorn head, dancing over the prickled hair of his army-issue buzzcut.

He holds you, and in turn you hold him even tighter. You hold each other tightly until you are no longer even dancing. Until you are simply an island in a sea of undulating couples, holding on to each other for dear life.

It scares him.

It scares him to his depths that he never wants to let you go; but not enough to stop.

As he pulls you close to him, buries his face in your neck and embraces you tightly, he thinks about it. He thinks about whether he believes in happy endings. He thinks about whether his, if he could be so lucky, would involve you.

Those thoughts are interrupted when he feels a wetness bloom on his shoulder. Feels you jerking and sniffing against him, and he experiences your sudden outpouring of pain as acutely as though it is his own.

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

”No. It’s…” You sniff. “It’s just been so hard lately. And, you know. Tonight has been so… It’s been so…”

He thinks he knows what you mean. Thinks he understands you completely. “Perfect?” he ventures.

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.”

He holds you as you cry. And there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go.

***

Considering your intoxication level, the sudden onset of tiredness, and your tears, Santiago figures it’s about time to head. He manages to get you in a cab back to the motel eventually - only after you’ve visited the ladies restroom, become fast friends with an equally drunken Nicole, bestowed her with peanut butter cups, and promised to meet-up next time you’re in the city. By this point, you are already dropping, and the soporific movements of the cab have you falling asleep draped over Santiago’s lap.

He pays the driver when you arrive, stirring you with a warm hand smoothing up and down your back. He tries to be calm. Soothes you with his voice; because he knows all too well that for someone in the military, a rude awakening is no small thing.

He walks you to the room and helps you sit down on the bed. Tugs your boots off for you as you opt to bury your nose deep in your own armpit and sniff.

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.”

“Fuck that. You can shower in the morning.”

“I stink.”

“Trust me. You’ve smelled much worse.” He smiles softly as his comment earns an indignant snort from you, but the ire in your face is quickly snuffed as he looks up to you a little too softly. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, alright, birthday girl?”

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.”

He swallows a smile at seeing you in this sleepy state. It’s not often that you allow anyone else to take care of you. In fact, Santiago feels a strange surge of honour - a glow within his chest - that tonight, he is the one who has the privilege.

You unabashedly begin to strip off your jeans and top next, and Santiago quickly scoops up an oversized t-shirt from the gaping mouth of your hold-all. “Here,” he says, swallowing the tremor in his voice as he gathers the fabric up and guides the garment gently over your head to cover you. Gingerly passes your arms through the right holes. “That’s it. Put this on, alright? Can you get your bra out from under there?”

You maneuver the clasp and straps beneath the cover of the shirt until you are pulling the bra out from the confines of your tee, triumphantly flinging it across the room with a soft “woo!”, to which Santiago’s lips twitch in silent amusement.

“Need to brush my teeth at least,” you argue, holding your arms up and out - making grabby hands to signal for his help.

“Alright. Sure. Let’s go together.” Santiago helps you stand. Maneuvers and encourages you onwards. He wraps his closest arm around your waist, and his other hand catches the arm you throw out to him so he can keep you steady. Then, steps in sync, you pad the short distance to the bathroom, Santiago lightly directing you away from bumping your hip on the doorframe (again) as you pass through it. “That’s it. Little off course there,” he chuckles. “Almost as bad as Ironhead’s God-awful driving.”

You turn your head over your shoulder and scold him good-naturedly. “Ouch. Don’t remind me.”

“Yikes, sorry. Too soon?” You’d teased Will for the unfortunate humvee training exercise that had put you in med bay, but Santiago guesses you aren’t quite ready to have him joke about it yet.

“Never getting back in a car with that bastard in the driver’s seat, trust me. Fella takes off-road a little too literally, you know? Still have that goddamn tweak in my back too to prove it.”

“You do, huh?” Shit, you’ve certainly hidden it well enough - had insisted you were unscathed, in fact, when sober - and so Santiago mentally logs that information for later.

With a little bit of wriggling around, you squeeze into the tight bathroom space. When you reach the bathroom sink, Santiago is still behind you, his hands now clamped on your hips and keeping you steady. When you turn on the faucet and bend enthusiastically towards the stream of water however - hinging at the hips and dipping to splash your face with cold water - Santi punches out a strangled note. Which is natural, he thinks, given that your panty-clad, half-bare ass is thrust further into his hands (and his crotch), with decidedly no room in the cramped space for him to back-up. “Woah, Jesus. Keep it vertical, would you?”

“Shit, sorry. Liked that did you?” you mock, with a dirty, chaotic snigger.

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

With a nervous twist in his belly, Santiago flees to the more expansive space of the bedroom, leaving you to complete your task. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he throws open the window, thankful when the relative cool of the night air kisses his skin. The room has grown hot and sticky all of a sudden. Too close. Lord knows why.

He perches himself inside the opened wooden square then, the flung-open frame an awkward perch. He rests with one leg hiked up on the ‘sill and one foot bracing him on the floor, his back reclining against the biting vertical edge.

Only when you reenter does he reluctantly drag his eyes away from the black night and into the soft, shadowed shell of the dreary room. Despite this dimness, he can barely bring himself to look at you in this moment. It is as though you are too bright for him, and so he quickly -and uncharacteristically- averts his eyes.

Still, you’re like a magnet, and his gaze quickly relocates you without much trouble.

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?”

Despite looking bleary-eyed - dead on your feet, even - you nod in response to his proposition and, much unlike earlier, Santiago suddenly feels he wouldn’t dream of sleeping. You perch yourself on the edge of the bed and flick on the lamp, casting a sallow glow throughout the room. It makes you look at once dream-like and infinitely more real to him, as the glare highlights the goose flesh trailing up your arms and thighs. The tired circles under your eyes. He doesn’t know how you make such details attractive, but as far as he is concerned, there is no bad light to cast you in.

You lay down, legs stretched out on the scratchy comforter, and torso propped against the stiff, unforgiving pillows. You make space for him to lie down alongside you, and yet Santiago opts to hover, not ready to relinquish his window seat. It’s as uncomfortable as it probably looks, however, and so he fumbles in his pocket for a smoke, figuring it as good an excuse as any to be sitting up there - instead of lying next to you. He stares out into the blackened parking lot with enough vigour to convince an onlooker it is entirely compelling - instead of looking at you.

You are quiet for a moment following and Santiago lets it hang, exhaling twists of smoke from his mouth to the window. Flicking his spent ash down onto the asphalt below. Then, you expel a blustery sigh.

“Shit,” you grumble. You click your tongue. Santiago turns to see you lying flat on your back now, staring contemplatively up at the dusty, motionless ceiling fan, arms folded behind your head. “That guy I made out with.”

Santiago takes an even deeper drag on his smoke; perhaps unconsciously hoping that if he is occupied long enough, he won’t be required to respond at all.

Your head lollops to the side, your gaze finding his. “Do me a favour and don’t tell Tommy I did that, okay?”

Fuck.

“Wait. Tommy?! You and Tommy?” The words are expelled faster than he would’ve wanted, almost making him choke on a cloak of hot smoke. “Tommy fucking Nelson?”

“Yeahhh. We’ve, um, sorta… been hooking-up lately.”

Santiago quickly inhales another drag, smoke seething out of his nostrils as he flicks the used cigarette butt down to the asphalt below. He is grateful that the lungful gives him a second to think before he speaks - yet apparently, it is not quite long enough. “Shit. The guy’s so stacked I swear he must have abs on his dick.”

You laugh; and Santiago decides that, based on the beauteous sound of it alone, Tommy fucking Nelson doesn’t even remotely deserve you.

“I dunno about abs on his dick… but he’s got enough to work with, know what I mean?”

Santiago continues to peer out of the window, and so you don’t see his face crumple with a frown. “So he’s good, huh?”

You scoff to yourself. “Oh. Fuck. Not really. He doesn’t do much of the work…” Your dirty laugh sounds out. “Fortunately, I’m a goddamn miracle worker when it comes to getting myself off.”

Strike two. Tommy Nelson definitely doesn’t deserve you.

You giggle. Giggle like this is a girls’ fucking sleepover. Like you are revealing some - far more innocent - secret to a best friend.

But… of course. Because that’s precisely what he is to you, right? Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s never bothered him before. Has never bothered him until precisely now.

What exactly has gotten into him tonight, then? Why does some old guy have his head in a spin? Why is he delaying crawling onto his side of the bed? Why can’t he look at you?

Further delaying the inevitable, Santiago pats down his pockets, hoping for another cigarette with which to prolong his diversion by the window. However, he comes up short. Has no other recourse left besides brushing his teeth, kicking off his shoes, stripping down to his boxers, and laying his body out alongside yours. The mattress dips as he settles on top of the covers, and you swivel on to your side to face him.

“Hey.” You prod him in the pec. “What about you anyway?”

“What about me?”

You reach down. Snap the elastic hem of his boxers until it pings back against his toned stomach. “Been getting any lately?”

He makes a vague, non-committal sound, hoping it will be enough; but, of course, you don’t stop there.

“Your dream girl… Let’s see.” Your eyes spark, far too animated considering such a long night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s… nude. Huge breasts.” Santiago had wanted to roll his eyes at you, honestly, but he finds he can’t quite quash his smile. “She’s… I know… draped in the American Flag.” His face splits with mirth. “Reciting the Fifth Amendment.” You prod him emphatically in the pec. “Plus she plays bass in a Pearl Jam cover band and gives next-level blow jobs.” His gaze sweeps over your shit-eating grin like a paintbrush over a canvas. Like fingers down a guitar fret. Like it belongs there. Like he belongs here. “Well?” you’d needled. “Am I warm yet?”

“Wait, I think I know her.” Santiago snaps his fingers. “Hey. Yeah. Didn’t she hook-up with Benny last week?”

You twist as chaotic laugh spills out of you, throwing your arm over him and dipping your head towards his bare chest. It is a small thing. A minute, unconscious action. A brief touch. A single moment. Except… the way it makes his stomach lurch makes it completely undeniable to him. Undeniable that the only girl doing it for him is you.

He realises it all now though, as he looks at you. Realises he’s been seeing you in pieces. In fragments; because of course he has. Of course, because he’s been trying to survive, and if he’d dared to think, instead, about living? Well, then he’d have far too much to lose.

“Come onnn,” you purr, jutting out your bottom lip, entirely oblivious to the way the ground is disappearing from beneath him as you remain curled into his side. “Give me some gossip. It’s my birthday!”

He swallows. Tries to pull himself together. Tries to be exactly what you need him to be.

“Christ.” He nervously scratches at the stubble sprouting along his jaw. “Well. Let’s see. First of all, I’ve spent so long without any action but my own goddamn fist that even Morales is starting to look appealing.”

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”

“He should be so lucky. Anyway. He’s got a girl back home. High school kinda sweetheart deal.”

You scoff. “What? For real?”

“Mm hmm. He’s in it too. His eyes mightta wandered occasionally - but as far as I know his dick never has.”

You pump your eyebrows like that surprises you. “Good for him.” And then: “It won’t last though.”

“Christ. You’re really that cynical already?”

“Something like that,” you smirk. “Guess it comes with the old age.”

“Oh yeah. Speaking of birthdays…” Santiago pushes off his elbow and swivels, reaching to fumble a tiny, square parcel from his jeans pocket. He settles back into position with a grin on his face, extending his gift toward you. You eye it sceptically, but with casual intrigue.

“Fuck me. Something else from your trousers that’s been manhandled to death, Santiago? You know how to treat a lady.”

He can’t explain why he feels nervous as you weigh the package in your palm. “It’s… for protection.”

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?”

You rise up, settling cross-legged on top of the covers, and Santiago shifts to mirror you, with a lopsided, self-conscious smile. You pause, looking between him and the package with a gentle, subdued glee. You gingerly peel the red tissue paper away, revealing the gift nestled within. As soon as you observe what is inside, however, the glee evaporates from your face. You look down at it, for once rendered speechless before you say his name, the sound as thin as the wisps of smoke still eddying up on the ceiling. “Santiago.”

He swallows. Saws his hand across his stubble, suddenly worried that the gesture is all off. “It’s-”

Your eyes snap up to his, your expression raw and soft. “-I know what it is.”

You look back down to the gift now, warmly. Lift them up, a string of black rosary beads unfurling. The beads his mom had gifted him for protection the day before he’d shipped out, clamping her hands over his and reciting a prayer he didn’t believe in, but which he’d felt all the way down to his marrow. The beads that he’d kept on him ever since, usually nestled in the pocket of his tac vest. The beads which his mother had prayed would keep him safe. Would protect him, when it had turned out to be you who had answered her prayer. You who had protected him, at whatever cost.

“But I can’t-“

Stupid. You’re stupid. Of course you can.

“It’s no big deal. I’m just a cheapskate,” he minimises.

You inhale, about to launch a protest, but you must read something altogether too earnest in his face, since any such argument is subdued as soon as you look at him. Instead then, you hold them up once more, your eyes glistening as you admire the cheap, plastic beads for far more than they are worth.

“But won’t your mom-“

“Be mad I gave them away?” You let the beads pool in one palm, the red tissue paper now strewn over your lap like swatches of blood. Santiago clamps his hands over yours, nestling the beads safely within, in a gesture which mirrors his mother’s own plea a little too closely. He empathises with her then. With her fear of being left behind. With her fear for his soul and its fate. “Are you shitting me? You saved her angelito. She’d probably sign the goddamn house over to you. I mean, shit - she’s already been bugging me to bring her new hija over for tamales.”

He hasn’t ever told you that before. Maybe that’s why you do it. Why you gently cup his face and dip to render a light, chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. When you draw back from him, you look almost as surprised by the gesture as he is.

“Santiago.” Your eyes well-up. “It really means a lot.”

He doesn’t have words for a moment. It does. It means a lot to him, and he’s struck with sentimentality when he realises that it means something to you too. He nods once, gaze gently dancing over your face.

“I mean it,” you squeeze out through welling tears. “This is the sweetest thing-“

“-Shh. Oh no. No, no, no,” he captures your tears with the crook of his forefinger just as they spill over, motioning as though he is attempting to restore them to whence they came, a soft yet playful concern dancing over his face. “Quick sharp. Put these back,” he whisper-shouts, faux urgently. “No-one can know you feel things.”

His remark causes you to laugh through your tears, as you hastily lift a balled fist to scrub them away. The sounds dissolve into a pleasant yet taut silence, leaving the two of you simply looking into each other’s eyes.

You are the first to break it, dropping your gaze down towards your lap.

“Listen. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.“

Your expression grows more troubled then, a divot notching in your brow and your head shaking softly side to side. “Santiago. I need to say this. You… you don’t owe me any debt. Okay? And… and don’t you even think -ever- about trying to repay it. You hear me?”

He owes you everything, and he’ll repay it however he can; but he isn’t about to argue with you. Instead, he simply nods. Forces an even, concessionary smile, leaning into a swift topic change. “You tired yet?”

“Yeah. Exhausted.”

“Let’s lie down then, alright?”

“Mmm.” You set the beads down so carefully on your nightstand that it constricts his chest, arranging them in a nest of tissue paper. “It’s just… I…”

“What?”

He flicks off the lamp and you lay down on your back, staring up at the ceiling fan, the room now illuminated only by the distant glow of the motel’s neon sign across the lot. It bathes the room in a purple-tinged dark. When your voice comes back, it is small. “It’s just that I… I don’t want this night to end.”

Santiago lays himself out, right next to you. “Then let’s try and stay awake, huh?”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” You shiver; then, instead of crawling beneath the scratchy comforter like he expects, you curl into his side. Rest your head against his chest. Santiago’s arms hover over you for a moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do. In actual fact though, it comes far too naturally to him.

He wraps you in his arms, and begins to smooth one hand up and down your back - of course, being careful not to venture too low, even as you torque your body into his touch.

You exhale against him. Hum, up against his bare, tan skin. Drape your arm over him, and, reliably, there is that knot again. That fist, tightening inside his chest.

“Hey,” he croaks, voice smaller than it needs to be. “Birthday princess?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?”

“Do I what?”

He hesitates. Stares coldly and contemplatively up at the ceiling fan himself now even as he bundles the warmth of you in his arms. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

He feels your breathy expletive fan over his chest. “Fuck. That’s a big one.”

“Sorry. Forget it, you don’t have to-“

“-No. I do,” you say with certainty. “I do believe in them.”

Santiago hopes that you can’t feel his heart thundering beneath the shell of your ear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Except… not for people like us.”

His brow tightens, mouth turning down at the corners. “Why not?”

“Well,” you muse, wriggling pointedly until his hand - stopped dead with suspense - resumes its ministrations over your back, his fingers obediently seeking out the knots and notches until your airy hum sounds again. “Because our hands are too bloody now to build anything good. Right?”

It’s strange because, right now, caressing you like this, he could almost forget that his hands are blood-soaked. Your touch is the only reminder he’s had in some time that his hands can indeed be loving. In fact, the whole concept of war feels so entirely incongruous to him while he’s holding you. Like it could not be further away, even though -in your lives- it is only ever around the corner. He pushes his response out from the depths of his chest. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bleak?”

“I dunno.” You shrug, and he doesn’t enjoy how sad your voice grows . How old you somehow sound all of a sudden. “It’s just… They told us we’d be heroes, Santi. But… When was the last time you felt like one?”

You’re my hero, he thinks loudly, in the achingly quiet room; but, he catches the words before they make it out of his throat. In the end, nothing more than a small, reined-in grunt manages to escape.

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

Because you deserve one. More so than anyone he’s ever met, you deserve one.

His fingers and the heel of his hand continue to massage the dink in your back, rooting out every source of tension. Learning how to take the pain apart for you like a weapon in his palm. “Dunno,” he lies. “The wedding. All that.”

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.”

“You’re fucking brutal, you know that?”

“And you’re hilarious. Shit. Happy fucking endings? Man. At this point, I think I’d settle for a happy middle, you know? Before I go down in my inevitable blaze of glory.”

“Don’t say that,” Santiago scolds, his voice taut. “I hate when you talk like that.”

He doesn’t blame you. For being cynical or pessimistic - not really. Doesn’t blame you one bit. Not after you’d legitimately looked death in the face. He understands well enough what that can do to a person. How it can change them. How, even someone like you, who always saw a clear, bright path ahead, could begin to doubt the clarity of that vision.

Absent-mindedly, you circle the pad of your forefinger in the valley of his pecs. “What about you, then? Do you believe in all that stuff? Marriage? Happy endings?”

“Meh. Not so much,” he answers honestly, fissures in his voice. Maybe it is his ingrained Catholic guilt talking, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves a happy ending. Not after the things he’s done. Not after all that blood.

“Then how about this, Santiago Garcia,” you begin, tone much more playful, like you’ve had a bright idea. “Would you settle for a lifetime of trouble-making with your ride or die?”

You extend your pinky towards him for the most sacred of all vows, and he curls his own little finger around yours.

He intends his response to feel light-hearted. Equally playful. He really does. But, when the words escape his lips they are heavy. Dripping and weighed with sentimentality. “With you, honestly, it doesn’t really feel like settling.” He suddenly feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Like the air is scarce and sharp with some incendiary cloud - about to ignite and burn everything he’s known to the ground.

“Kiss ass,” you poke lightly, and a wistful smile briefly dances across his features.

“It’s only what you’re due.”

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?”

“Sure. Maybe you can get Tommy-abs-on-his-dick-Nelson right on that.”

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

Santiago jostles you gently in his embrace. “Hey. Speaking of. Sorry you got lumbered with the sideshow tonight, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Pope,” you huff, like he’s just said something which causes deep offence. “Of all the chumps I couldda been stuck with, I’m glad it was you.” Santiago’s heart flutters, his chest blooming with a hazy, metered-out warmth when he hears you say those words. “Now. Wish me happy birthday one more time, and then sing me a damn lullaby, would you?”

Santiago crushes his chin down to his chest to get a better look at you, having decided that you must surely be joking. “Huh?!”

“We all knew about your guitar skills but you have a beautiful set of pipes too? Been holding out on me, Pope. Now, sing!”

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

“It’s only what I’m due, right? Come on, I haven’t got all night, asshat!” Somehow, the derogatory term sounds imbued with a deep fondness somehow, and it blooms through him.

“Alright. Alright. Keep your panties on.” Shit - you had better.

“Thank you.”

Santiago dips his chin so he can reach your hairline. Settles a chaste kiss there, which lingers a touch too long - but which he can’t possibly cut any shorter, his eyes closing as his lips brush your skin. “Happy birthday,” he breathes, completing part one of your demand. With any luck, he thinks, you might fall straight to sleep like this - before he even has to serenade you.

He stills as your eyes flutter closed, listening out for the slowed pace of your breathing. That is, until you open one eye and whisper-hiss up at him. “Sing.”

A resigned amusement twitches his plush lips and he finally obliges you. He begins softly speak-singing, hoping his soporific and sandy tones will lull you towards sweet dreams, his broad palm still sweeping up and down your back.

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…”

A soft smile graces your features as you note his song choice. “Cobain? You’re such an angsty little gremlin, you know that?”

“I can stop at any time,” he threatens, teasingly.

“No. No, please.”

He clears his throat. Lets his voice grow a touch more full and resonant, despite it being scuffed by tiredness and smoke.

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.”

It is a little funny, at first. A little awkward; until suddenly, it isn’t . Until, suddenly, a weight settles in your brow. Until his voice begins to falter, cracking apart with emotion.

He hadn’t been able to say it. Clearly not even to acknowledge it.

He hadn’t been able to find the words to tell you what you mean to him. To explain the pit in him which had opened up when he’d almost lost you. Didn’t have the words to tell you you were the reason he’d prayed for the first time in ten years, pledging loyalty to a God he hadn’t believed in -hadn’t needed - until he was begging Him not to take you. He didn’t know how to describe the way it had felt for him to kneel by your bedside, his mother’s rosary beads clutched in his palm so tightly the cross has drawn blood - even as he’d openly cursed them for protecting him and not you, and had cursed you for the same.

He swallows the hard, tight knot which has gnarled in his throat. Wonders if maybe he can stop, because singing feels like purging himself of far too much of the pain and love he has buried, and fuck, it hurts on the way out.

He does consider stopping. That is, until your small, grief-laden voice sounds out as though it hurts you too; but that you need to hear what he is finally telling you. “Please. Don’t stop?”

It is a question, this time, not a demand; and yet, Santiago couldn’t dream of denying you.

And so, with a weight in his brow, he keeps on singing.

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky.

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

It is at this point his voice cracks wide open. It is at this point a single tear slips across the bridge of his nose as he sings it out loud. Something he’d known for a long time, in truth, but hadn’t quite found the words for:

“And I love her.”

The room seems eerily still as you each hold your breath. He doesn’t know where to go from here - but luckily, you always seem to know the way forward.

“You know,” you say softly, voice wet with emotion. “It’s a real shame. Because if you did believe in happy endings?”

“Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’d look pretty good as somebody’s endgame, butthead.”

An emotion Santiago can’t name twists through his middle, like he is being wrung out. Like his blood-soaked soul is finally being purged. It is no wonder then, that his words come out dripping red. Soaked in cynicism. With a disbelief that anything good -for him - is deserved. “Let’s get each other through the happy middle first,” he says, as hidden tears glitter on his long lashes. “Then maybe we’ll see about endings, huh?”

You don’t speak for a moment. Simply swallow in the near-dark. But, it is not lost on him that you hold him just a shade tighter. Then, when he hears a gentle intake of breath from you, he knows your request before you even utter it.

Please.

He resumes his singing. Slower, more off tempo. Begins to repeat the lines, over and over, softer and softer, until your breathing is deep and soporific. Until your weight on him is heavier. Heavier from sleep, and heavier from this new knowledge he has gained.

And, there it is. The end of the night, and yet Santiago cannot dream of sleeping. Not yet. Can only watch you, hold you, listen to your soft breathing, his heart full with a new understanding. And understanding he didn’t invite, but a welcome guest all the same.

He resolves it then. Resolves that, even if he doesn’t deserve a happy ending, he will do everything in his power to make sure you get yours…

Even if that means letting all hope of you -for him- go.

So, as he cradles you in his arms and stares unsleeping up at the ugly ceiling fan, Santiago contemplates it.

Contemplates in great detail the four days with you that irrevocably changed the course of his life.

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you.

The day he realised he was in love with you.

And the day he started running from that.

The first day had been two years ago, the second had been five months ago, the third had been today, and the fourth?

The fourth will be tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he will start running, because his feelings for you are far too deep and huge for him to handle.

He doesn’t even pause to wonder whether he’ll ever allow himself to stop. After all, once Santiago Garcia has a mission, he accepts nothing less than completion.

Maybe he’s no hero; but he always gets the job done.

#ride or die series #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia

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sarahowritesostucky · 5 months

Text

📖"Who'd You Have to Blow to Get That Part?"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Tags: mild D/s elements, mild degradation, reference to past sexual encounters, slight daddy kink, lovers to enemies

Summary: Ransom won't let you leave the room until you agree to go out with him again.

You’ve been ignoring Ransom’s calls for a week when he finally corners you in your dressing room

“Well well well,” he simpers. “The Lyceum. You’re really making your way up from the chorus line, little girl.” You glare at him and he chuckles, doing a slow walk around your body, appraising you in a way that manages to feel both admiring and ridiculing at the same time. He plucks at the ribboned hoop of one of your panniers as he passes. “Well, la-dee-da,” he mocks. “What on earth is this? I think I like it.”

You swat at his retreating hand with a huff. “Who let you back here, Ransom?”

“Oh didn’t you know I know everybody? The director’s an old friend. He knows I have an interest in … the theater. Said I could poke around backstage if I wanted.”

“Great. I’m sure he didn’t mean in my dressing room.”

“Your very own dressing room, by the way: how fancy.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, instead sauntering along past the couch and then over to the dressing table, feeling free to snoop around. You cringe when his fingers drag across the vanity top and land on the script you’ve left lying there. He picks it up and starts flipping through its pages. “Hmm …”

You fluster at the idea of him seeing all the notes you’ve scribbled in the margins. “Do you mind not touching my stuff?” you gripe. “Ugh.” Looking around for your robe, you spot it draped over the back of the dressing chair but realize that it won’t stretch around when you’re wearing the panniers. You huff and try to plant your hands on your hips assertively—a motion that is likewise hindered. You settle for gripping the sides of your whalebone-stiffened waist. “I don’t have time for this. Why are you here?”

“You’re one of the leads,” Ransom says, feigning impressed as he waves the packet of papers in the air. “So Daddy finally bought you a speaking part, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat, hating him with every fiber of your being. “No,” you grit, hurrying over to snatch the script from his hands and set it back on the table. “I got this part myself, you insufferable piece of shit.”

“Been practicing those blowjob skills, then?”

Your jaw works as you fight not to react. “Why are you here?”

“I tried calling,” he says. “But you’re surprisingly hard to get a hold of these days.”

“Ever consider that I lost your number?”

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s it.” He smirks and leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, can see every detail of that stupid-pretty face, the hair that’s gelled and combed to perfection. He looks good, just like he always does, which only makes you hate him more. “I haven’t seen you twirling in your usual circles, bunny,” purrs. "Not since we parted ways. What’s it been now, three months?”

“Five,” you say tightly. “Though who’s counting?”

“Clearly not you,” he teases, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll admit I’ve hardly thought of you at all, since then, but …” He’s wearing a camel-colored coat and cashmere scarf, and he reaches past said coat’s lapel to produce a single, long-stemmed rose, presenting it to you with an earnest pout. “I heard about the role. Thought I’d stop by and congratulate you, see how you’re doing.” He lets his gaze drag over your half-dressed form again, eyeing you up appreciatively. “I still think about you, you know.”

“I thought you’d hardly thought about me at all."

He looks surprised for a second, before he’s chuckling at you again with that trademark blend of affection and condescension that you wish you hated more than you do. “Oh, bunny,” he coos, nudging your chin with the rose’s fragrant bloom. “You pay attention to what I say. I always liked that about you. That’s just how you are, isn’t it? So attentive, such a good girl.” You color mightily at that, too flustered to think of a waspish response like you want to. He sees this and smirks, dragging the rose’s velvet petals over your lips and humming in satisfaction when you hastily snatch it from his hand. “There we go,” he praises softly. “Pretty flower for a pretty girl. Though I worry how you’re doing when you don’t turn up in public for months on end.”

You force a prim smile. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need you to worry about me, or bring me gifts.” You turn around and stick the rose into a nearby vase, which already has a number of similar blossoms in it. Ransom’s is the biggest and freshest, but you rearrange it into the middle of the pack so that it doesn’t stand out as much. “And I’m doing just fine, if you really want to know.”

“Are you, though?” he presses. He steps closer, close enough that the frame of the panniers presses against his pants, and it’s easy for him to reach up and finger the strap of your stays. “I seem to remember you being quite the social butterfly.”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“You’ve missed the last several big events of the season, and I know you well enough to know that it’s not like you to play the shut-in.” He traces the strap from your shoulder, down to the top of the busk. You see his blond eyelashes lower onto his smug fucking cheeks as he shamelessly leers at the swell of your breasts, his fingers hovering just over the skin. “Who’re you supposed to be?” he asks. “Marie Antoinette?”

You scoff and push past him. “Unlike you, I get busy. I actually work for a living. And yes, that sometimes means that frivolous parties aren’t my number one engagement. So if you’ll excuse me.” You’re supposed to be over in wardrobe, getting fitted for your costumes. Danielle is probably already waiting for you. But Ransom blocks the door when you try to leave, and he does nothing to disguise the way he looks at your body when you stand back to regard him with another huff. “Ransom, move.”

“You should wear corsets more often,” he drawls, ignoring your protests entirely. “It actually makes your waist look tiny.”

You glare at him and try to move around him to grab the door handle, but he leans back against it so that you can’t pull it open. He grins, eyes raking over you from head to toe. You fight not to squirm, feeling more ridiculous than anything else, decked out as you are in your eighteenth century reproduction undergarments. You sigh and stand back, frustrated at how goddamn entitled he is. “What do you want?” you ask, knowing that he wouldn’t be here bugging you right now if he didn’t want something.

“I want to give us another try,” he says.

You wait for the punchline, or for him to crack a mean smile and laugh at how gullible you are, but neither happens and you’re left standing there blinking at him like a dummy, heart in your throat. “What?”

“You heard me.” He pushes off from the door and stares you down as he steps up close. He cups your face in a palm that’s soft from never having seen a day of work in its life. You have to fight not to press your cheek into it, and of course he notices, the overconfident prick. “I think we called things off too soon,” he murmurs. “Don’t you?”

“‘We’? You’re the one who ended it.”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Hhhm, did I though?”

“Yes.”

“Ehh, I don’t know if I remember it that way.”

You purse your lips. “I said I wanted to be exclusive, and you called me clingy.”

“Well that’s hardly ‘ending’ things …”

You scoff. “You said my pussy wasn’t ‘anything to write home about’ and left me at the restaurant.”

“Hmm. Well … maybe I was too hasty.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Hasty’.” More like genetically predisposed to assholery, you think.

“Hey, I mean it.” He grabs you when you try to move around him, holding you still by your upper arms.

“Let me go.”

“Maybe I never gave things between us a real chance, bunny” he says, trying to ply you with his words and sheer proximity. “That’s what I’ve been thinking these past months. That I let you go too soon, didn’t think things through. That I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“More like your dick,” you mutter, but he ignores you.

“After all, we had good times together, didn’t we? And you always look amazing on my arm, and the sex was soo …” he trails off, letting his fingers trace your skin. His mouth twitches when he notices your breathing picking up, your chest heaving visibly against the front of the stays. “Come on, princess. Just think about it,” he coaxes, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “You and I fit so well together. Don’t you remember how it was?”

You shiver instinctively, body reacting to the words he’s murmuring so intimately against you, to the way he’s touching you like he owns you. “Ransom,” you breathe. “I don’t—”

“I miss you, you know. I do. In my life, in my bed. I don’t like waking up alone.”

You ignore the flutter in your belly at hearing him admit that, and force yourself to shrug his hands away. “Well that would be your problem, not mine,” you say. He’s not good for you, and letting him bust in like this and insinuate himself back into your life will only lead to disappointment at best, heartbreak at worst. “Excuse me,” you grit when he walks backwards to block the door again. So fucking entitled. “Seriously, Ransom. I have somewhere to be!”

“I don’t really care. We’re not finished here,” he growls, eyes losing their charming sheen. “You can leave when I’m done talking to you.”

Your core clenches at those domineering words, and you have to square your jaw before you can bring yourself to insist, “Ransom, get out of the way. I’m warning you …”

“No, I’m warning you,” he says darkly, grabbing your arm and yanking you in hard against him. You gasp and catch yourself with a hand against his chest, but he keeps you off balance as his other arm scoops in behind you and holds you tight to him by your lower back. “Mmm, I like this,” he purrs, fingers finding the laces of your stays and grabbing onto them. He grabs you by the back of your neck with one hand while he tugs at the laces with the other. “Makes a nice handle. Good for moving you where I want you.”

“Get your hands off me.”

He tugs the laces again, jostling you forcefully. “Thought you liked it when I handle you.”

“What I’d like is for you to let me go,” you grit.

But he only narrows his eyes and sticks his face closer in yours. When he speaks, his breath fans out warm against your lips. “You’re confused, bunny. I should bend you over that vanity and remind you just how much you like it.”

To your shame, his manhandling and his domineering words turn you on, and you know he can tell—he can always tell what he does to you. That’s part of what makes him so infuriating, and so dangerous. “Let go of me,” you say lowly, surprised (and disappointed) when he actually listens, his hands releasing you so suddenly that you stumble back a step in your heels. His eyes bore into you slyly as you huff and right yourself. “What is your problem?!” you fume at him.

“Come with me to the Governor’s Ball,” he demands, confident and cocky as always, as if the past few minutes and your numerous refusals haven’t even happened. “You have an invitation, I presume?”

You glower at him. “Of course I do, you twat.” Given that your father is the Governor, it’d be odd indeed if you didn’t have an invite. “Awful presumptuous of you that I don’t have plans to go with somebody else,” you snap. “After the way you treated me? I wouldn’t take you as my date to a dive bar.”

He chuckles, and it’s in that low, self-assured way that drives you absolutely bonkers and makes you feel like a “pick me” girl all at the same time. “Oh, bunny. You think I don’t know you better than that?”

You shoulder your way around him to yank open the door. “You don’t know me at all, jerk.”

You inhale sharply when his hand clamps around your wrist and he shoves into you from behind suddenly, pressing you up against the door and slamming it shut with your combined bodyweight. “I know you better than any man alive, princess,” he hisses, grinding his hips against your ass and kissing your cheekbone in gentle counterpoint when you gasp at his audacity. “Shhh shsh,” he hushes. “Don’t worry, now. You’ll have an excellent time, I promise. Now, you go get fitted for your little costume, and I’ll send a car to pick you up Saturday evening. Say nine o’clock?”

You huff, flustered by what an utterly presumptuous asshole he is (and by the way your cunt is clenching on nothing, being pressed up against a surface full-body by him like this). “You know what your problem is, Ransom?”

He drags his nose across your cheek with a chuckle. “What’s that, bunny?”

You can’t get as much leverage as you’d like, pressed up against the door the way you are, but you do your best and jab back into his solar plexus. And his shocked, breathless grunt is a satisfying indicator that your elbow has met its mark. You turn around and take his face between your hands to peck a kiss of your own to his cheek. “It’s that people’ve been paid to make you think you’re better than you are your whole life,” you whisper sweetly. You kiss his cheek and then let him go, leaving the room before he can regain his breath.

Masterlist

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crossrhodez · 17 days

Text

Better Than You (18+) Chapter 4 - Mjf X Fem!Reader

Paring(s): Mjf x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Swearing, smut! 18+ hate Fuck, fingering, protected sex, degrading, hair pulling, choking, spanking,

Genre(s): Smut,enemies-to-lovers au

Word Count: 3506

Better Than You Masterlist

As they made their way back to their hotel room, the tension between Y/n and Max was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Each step seemed to widen the gap between them, burdened by the weight of their unspoken grievances.

Y/n felt a simmering frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior, Britt and Adam had left again to go into town to grab some things we needed. Y/n knew she would have to stay in the room with Max for at least an hour The strained silence between them had become unbearable, a constant reminder of the growing rift. She couldn't shake the sinking feeling that their once-strong connection was slipping away, leaving them adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Meanwhile, Max's brooding silence only served to intensify the tension, his impassive demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within Y/n. His eyes bore into her, a silent challenge that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Finally breaking the stifling silence, Y/n let out a frustrated sigh, her patience wearing thin. "What's on your mind, Max?" she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation.

Max's jaw clenched at her question, his expression a mixture of frustration and hurt. "You really want to know?" he retorted, his tone sharp with emotion. "Maybe if you weren't so damn stubborn—"

Y/n's temper flared at his accusation, her frustration boiling over. "Stubborn? How I literally haven't talked to you almost all day" she shot back, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You're the one who refuses to speak—"

Max's eyes flashed with indignation, his resolve hardening as he stepped closer to Y/n, closing the gap between them with deliberate intent. "Refuses to speak about what, exactly?" he challenged, his voice low and dangerously seductive.

Y/n felt a surge of defiance coursing through her veins, her own resolve matching his as she met his gaze head-on. "The truth on—" he interrupted her once again.

Their proximity ignited a firestorm of emotions, the air crackling with tension as they stood locked in a battle of wills. In that charged moment, there was no denying the magnetic pull drawing them together, a primal attraction that defied reason.

Max's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his steely exterior. "What? You wanna talk about the way you're obsessed with me huh?" He spat. "W-What I'm not obsessed with you, you're so fucking full of yourself that it's suffocating." she stuttered. "Oh come on just stop lying, I can tell by the way you look at me, the way you respond to my touch—" as he started to snake his hands around Y/N's waist.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding erratically as she struggled to maintain her composure. "You wish I would never like a piece of sh—"

With a sudden surge of boldness, Max closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers in a heated kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. It was a kiss fueled by years of pent-up desire, a reckless abandon that left them both reeling with emotion.

Y/n's hands found their way to Max's chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she melted into the kiss, her senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of passion. He started to back Y/n onto the bed. Now he was on top of her and in that moment, there was no past, no future—only the intoxicating present.

Their lips moved in a frantic dance of longing and desire, each touch igniting a wildfire of sensations that consumed them both. The world fell away around them, leaving only the pulsing rhythm of their hearts and the searing heat of their shared passion.

But as they finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy with desire, she couldn't even think Max was the only thing on her mind. As they stared into each other's eyes, Max's hands started traveling down Y/N's body and stopped at the top of her gym shorts.

"I thought you hated me?" He said as he toyed with the top of her shorts. "I do" She whined. "Oh okay, then I'll stop". "No No Please don't stop" He laughed "You're so cute when you beg"

A beat, as Max’s hands continue moving, pulling down her shorts. Y/n lets out a small gasp, her voice trembling with vulnerability. " I bet you're so wet right now just by the way you're reacting"

Max is not fooled though, and his playful smile only grows wider. He pulls her closer, his hands still moving down the hem of her shorts, his lips almost teasingly close to her face. Still staring into her eyes, he whispers playfully. “You really think I’ll let you go that easily?” His hands finally reach the elastic of her shorts, pausing for a split second before he slowly starts to pull them down. Y/N lets out a small whimper as her heart begins to beat louder and faster.

He sticks his hand into her shorts and panties to run his thick fingers through your slick folds making your head throw back in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut as you try and stave off your moans.

“What’d I say? you’re fucking soaked, your pussy is begging to be fucked by me”

A small whimper escapes your lips when Max shoves his index finger into her soaked core, thrusting it in and out of you slowly as his dark eyes stay locked on hers. You could see the enjoyment on his face, he enjoyed watching Y/n fall apart for him, and he loved the control he had over her in the moment.

And as much as she wanted to push him off, tell him to go fuck himself, She was enjoying this too much.

“Max” Y/n breathed out, chest heaving up and down.

He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, shoving another finger into her cunt. He begins harshly thrusting them in and out of her, his palm firmly pressed against her clit.

Y/n feels your orgasm building inside you, the band threatening to snap when he curves his fingers slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you.

“i-i’m gonna cum, Max. fuck, s’close!” She whines, grinding herself against his hand, chasing her high as he pushes his fingers roughly into you. She begins clenching around his fingers,her release threatening to burst out of you.

Max stops, pulling his fingers from inside Y/n and sucking them clean. “Mmm, the princess tastes so good, who knew?”

Y/n throws your head up, eyes narrowed toward him in annoyance. “Max what the fuck, why’d you stop?!”

He chuckles darkly, his hands flying to the back of your hair as he smashes his lips to yours, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She moans against his lips when she tastes herself on his tongue.

He pulls your lips from his, holding your head back as his dark eyes burn into yours. “bratty little sluts like you don’t get to cum that easily”

She pouts. “but-“ you begin but your words die on your tongue, Max’s tight grip on your hair pulling a whine from your lips. he begins pulling you to the couch by your hair, your legs failing to keep up with his long strides causing you to stumble and trip over your own two feet.

“Take your clothes off, now”

She hesitantly pulls her shirt over her head, tossing it onto the floor in front of you before you move to pull your shorts and panties down your legs. you feel your face heating up, feeling a little too exposed in front of Max for your liking.

Max sucks in a sharp breath, his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes scanned the length of Y/N's naked body.

he takes a step toward you, making you flinch and scoot yourself further into the couch. you weren’t afraid of him, but after the way he’s been all night, it was out of instinct to flinch away from him.

“Don’t be scared, gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, and then we can go back to acting like the other doesn’t exist, got it?”

“o-okay”

He pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, shoving them down his legs and kicking them to the side. Her eyes go wide when she sees his impressive length pressed against his thigh through the fabric of his briefs. you’d always heard rumors about Max’s size, but seeing it for herself, he looked much bigger than you’d expected.

Max leans forward, gripping your arms and yanking you upright. he pulls you to your feet, sitting on the couch and patting at his legs, making her cock her head to the side in confusion.

“C’mon, lay across my lap”

ChatGPT

She wasn’t sure what his plan was, but she was too turned on to care. Whatever he had in store for her would be worth it.

She winced, feeling Max's hand land harshly on her ass, making her whimper. “What're you—” Slap! Max’s hand landed another harsh slap against her ass, tears forming in her eyes from the pain left behind.

“Just a little discipline. You need to learn not to talk back all the fucking time, not to have such a fucking attitude,” he growled.

He landed another harsh slap to the other side of her ass, the burn she felt from his hands making tears flow quickly down her face.

Max began rubbing at her ass, his large hands kneading at the flesh. She sighed in relief when she thought he was finally done with the spanking, but her mind went blank when she felt him land yet another rough smack.

He pulled her up, sitting her on the hotel bed and wiping his thumb across her cheek. “Stop fucking crying.”

She sniffled, nodding her head and wiping her tears away.

She watched as Max made his way toward John B's room, returning quickly with a condom in hand. She watched in awe as he slid his briefs down his legs, his large cock springing free and slapping against his stomach.

“Stop staring, princess. S’not nice,” she met his eyes, an amused smirk on his face when he saw the look of fear in her eyes. He stroked himself a few times before ripping the foil packet open with his teeth, sliding the condom down his length and stepping toward her. “It'll fit, don't worry. And if it doesn’t, I’ll make it fit.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding as she watched him fall onto the bed. “Come sit on my cock. Want you to ride me.”

She stood from her spot on the bed so quickly she tripped over her own feet, stumbling forward, hands pressed firmly into Max’s chest. She threw one leg over his waist, straddling him and gripping his cock in one hand. She began grinding her hips over his length, a low groan pulled from him.

“Stop fucking teasing me, I don’t want to have to hurt you again, but I will.”

She nodded her head, reaching behind her and grasping his cock in her hands, stroking him softly and lining him up with her entrance. She pushed the head in slowly, gasping when the thick head pushed into her.

Max groaned. “Fuuuck.”

She fully sank herself onto him, a loud moan falling past her lips. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, resting her head in the crook of his neck as she sat still, trying to adjust to his size.

Max gripped her hips, sliding her up slowly before pushing her back down harshly. Her breath hitched in her throat when the head of his cock hit her g-spot. “Fuck, Max, fuck!”

He landed a slap to her ass, a whimper falling from her lips at the action. “Move, now,” Max demanded, both his hands landing harsh slaps to her ass cheeks again.

She quickly did as he said, bouncing herself up and down his length. The sounds of both their skin slapping together, soft whimpers, and loud moans filled the room.

Max ran his hands from her hips to her ass, gripping at the flesh hard, landing smacks as she continued to bounce herself up and down. “Such a good fucking slut, bouncing yourself on my cock, the cock of the man that fucking hates you.”

She whimpered, Max’s cock pushing into her so deep she could feel it in her stomach. The head of his cock continuously hit at her sweet spot, the band in her belly beginning to tighten, her vision blurred with tears. “Max, I’m gonna cum—fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

She heard Max tsk, his hands making purchase on her hips again as he stopped her movements. “You don’t fucking cum until I say you can, got it? Brats don’t get to cum whenever they fucking want.”

She whined, her hand slithering between the two of them, fingers finding her clit instantly. She began rubbing slow circles around her sensitive bud, trying to chase her orgasm despite Max’s telling her no.

Max’s hand grabbed hers, pulling it from her clit and twisting her arm behind her back. “Are you disobeying me, princess? I would recommend you not do that.”

Max began pounding his hips up into hers, his cock repeatedly hitting her g-spot, a string of curses and moans falling from her lips at his continued abuse to her cunt.

“Such a tight fucking pussy. Who knew the girl I fucking hate would feel so fucking good?” Max groaned, his voice low and raspy.

He began placing sloppy kisses around her neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. She felt his thrusts getting sloppy, letting her know he was close to his orgasm. “Max, can I please cum? Please,” she whined, tears flowing down her face from the pressure she felt between her thighs.

Max sank his teeth into her shoulder, his dick stiffening as he burst into the condom.

“Fuckfuck, go on, cum. Be a good slut and cum all over me.”

His words were all it took to send her flying over the edge, her release bursting from her in body-shaking euphoria.

“Max, shit, feels so fucking good, Max,” she cried out, his hips pounding into her a few more times before he went limp beneath her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to slow her breathing. Max slapped at her ass, making her lift her head as he lifted her from his lap, tossing her to the side.

She wasn’t sure what his plan was, but she was too turned on to care. Whatever he had in store for her would be worth it.

“Just a little discipline. You need to learn not to talk back all the fucking time, not to have such a fucking attitude,” he growled.

He landed another harsh slap to the other side of her ass, the burn she felt from his hands making tears flow quickly down her face.

He pulled her up, sitting her on the hotel bed and wiping his thumb across her cheek. “Stop fucking crying.”

She sniffled, nodding her head and wiping her tears away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding as she watched him fall onto the bed. “Come sit on my cock. Want you to ride me.”

“Stop fucking teasing me, I don’t want to have to hurt you again, but I will.”

Max groaned. “Fuuuck.”

Max gripped her hips, sliding her up slowly before pushing her back down harshly. Her breath hitched in her throat when the head of his cock hit her g-spot. “Fuck, Max, fuck!”

He landed a slap to her ass, a whimper falling from her lips at the action. “Move, now,” Max demanded, both his hands landing harsh slaps to her ass cheeks again.

She quickly did as he said, bouncing herself up and down his length. The sounds of both their skin slapping together, soft whimpers, and loud moans filled the room.

Max’s hand grabbed hers, pulling it from her clit and twisting her arm behind her back. “Are you disobeying me, princess? I would recommend you not do that.”

Max began pounding his hips up into hers, his cock repeatedly hitting her g-spot, a string of curses and moans falling from her lips at his continued abuse to her cunt.

“Such a tight fucking pussy. Who knew the girl I fucking hate would feel so fucking good?” Max groaned, his voice low and raspy.

Max sank his teeth into her shoulder, his dick stiffening as he burst into the condom.

“Fuckfuck, go on, cum. Be a good slut and cum all over me.”

His words were all it took to send her flying over the edge, her release bursting from her in body-shaking euphoria.

“Max, shit, feels so fucking good, Max,” she cried out, his hips pounding into her a few more times before he went limp beneath her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to slow her breathing. Max slapped at her ass, making her lift her head as he lifted her from his lap, tossing her to the side.

Max chuckled, standing from the bed and pulling the condom off of himself, tossing it into the trash. “Thanks for that, I’m gonna sleep good now.”

He opened the mini fridge, pulling out a soda and opening it. He took a long sip as he made his way back into the bathroom, grabbing his underwear and sweatpants from the floor and slipping them back on.

“We don’t talk about this, ever. Got it? It was just...hate sex? Someone had to fuck the attitude out of you. This changes nothing, you mean nothing to me, and I still hate you.”

What the hell just happened.

#mjf #mjf imagine #mjf fic #aew smut #aew fanfiction #aew #mjf x reader #mjf smut #mjf fanfiction #aew dynamite

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cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— guard dog 13 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: paying the blood price for your sins is something you once thought of as futile. but as long as you're with the kamisato clan, you're certain that you'll be able to afford the world's forgiveness someday.

word count: 9.8k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka, kamisato ayato, sayu, kujou sara

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut

warnings: graphic sexual content (minors dni), semi-public sex

notes: this is the end of it! thank you so much for following this series so patiently! i hope you enjoyed reading this just as much as i enjoyed writing it ^^

header art cr: cuppydraws on twt

masterlist

Fortunately, no one had been suffering severe conditions when you and Thoma finally arrived back home. The worst symptom that manifested across the people in the estate was Ayato’s prior show of coughing up blood in front of you the other day. Now, everyone was relatively fine. Nervous for the fate of the Yashiro Commission, but otherwise fine.

You were quick to round up Hina’s help to administer the available doses of the cure to those that needed it first—Ayaka and Ayato, the elderly retainers, and those with existing medical conditions. The other attendants volunteered to brew the next batch of Sango broth following Doctor Naoko’s instructions in his journal and Thoma gladly busied himself by helping out as well—speeding up the boiling process with his Vision and all.

Contrary to your prior assumptions, your abysmal supply of pearls was surprisingly enough to cover all the retainers and attendants in the estate, along with your esteemed visitors.

Given that he was unconscious for the majority of the day, you had to administer Kujou Masahito’s dose intravenously. It’s a good thing Hina had some sterile syringes stashed away in the estate’s first aid kit. When he finally came to, Sara, who was still stuck here as well, gave him a thorough questioning.

However, instead of the merciless man who’d issued your orders to kill Ayaka, you were met with a soldier blinking up at his current audience in confusion.

Turns out, the man was merely another pawn in this convoluted war of ideals. Their father, Kujou Takayuki was the sole mastermind behind the Tatarigami experiments. Masahito explained, in great detail, that their father had been playing his cards quite suspiciously over the past few months.

“I suspected he was onto something, but he wouldn’t tell me what,” he sighed. “I didn’t know why he wanted us to build a base on Yashiori Island, and I was in no place to refuse. The next thing I knew, I felt like I was in a dream all this time. I was awake, but my decisions weren’t my own. I suppose it’s the same for all the men he’d forced me to bring.”

Ayato gaped at him. “So you’re telling me that the guys who attacked us the other day walked from Yashiori to here?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Ayato. My memory is still quite fuzzy, but that might be the case.”

Huh. That explained why your back-up from burning the tengu feather took so long. Once that was made clear, you decided to come clean to Kujou Sara about the contingency plan Masahito presented to you when he was being mind-controlled.

“No wonder I felt a bit off-kilter that day,” she sighed, massaging her temples. “It’s alright. Once we’re all cleared of the infection, Lord Ayato and I will raise this issue directly to the Raiden Shogun herself. Our father’s actions are putting the people in peril.”

“...Did you just say you’re going to work with us on this?” the Yashiro Commissioner asked incredulously.

“I’m not as disagreeable as you think I am,” Sara huffed. “I’ve had my own...reservations about our father’s methods when it comes to war tactics. But this is something that would be a crime to overlook. It’s our word against his.”

To her brother’s side, Ayaka spoke out. “Is it safe to assume that Kujou Takayuki has been colluding with the Kanjou Commission? I think part of the reason they refuse to have the Vision Hunt repealed is because they’re profiting off this war more than we thought…”

Masahito nodded somberly. “It’s true that father has been quite…taken with the wealth he’s made from the war effort. That’s why no matter how many times the Yashiro Commission attempts to raise the concern to Her Excellency, they’re quick to shoot down your attempts despite being the commission closest to the Raiden Shogun.”

“So they’ve been taking advantage of it this whole time…” Sara muttered.

…God. This was way too much information for you to take. Why were you even part of this audience in the first place? You were just one of the many casualties that got caught up in a noble’s greedy endeavors.

Thankfully, it was sorted out faster than you’d anticipated.

You were back to checking up on every member of the house with Hina in no time. Despite having little medical experience of your own, everyone was surprisingly cooperative when you checked their vitals and asked how each one was faring. But you didn’t have the time to appreciate the fact that everything had seemingly returned to normal with how your fellow retainers treated you because of the amount of patients you had to monitor.

In the process, you got to speak to the retainers more than usual. Especially Hina, since the estate’s resident healer was pretty much your partner-in-crime for this entire operation. She was kind and patient enough to manage everyone’s medical reports alongside you. And she even filled you in on some random bits of trivia for every person you treated.

“Hirano used to be a player from an underground fighting ring,” Hina whispered. “He doesn’t know who his parents are, and the Commissioner suspected he was a victim of child trafficking.”

“That’s awful,” you told her, face scrunching up. “...You told me back then not everyone is as noble as they seemed.”

She nodded. “Yup. Ayame was a notorious pickpocket at Ritou Harbor. Old man Yuuji used to be a slave trader. There’s lots more that everyone in here got in trouble for in their dark days, but Lady Ayaka and the Commissioner gave them a second chance at life. Now here we are.”

You nodded solemnly, a smile finding its way to your lips. “What about you? What did you do for a living before coming here?”

Hina hesitated for a moment but eventually laughed. “I used to manufacture dangerous drugs and poisons for the underground. You know that powdered crystal marrow you used on Ayame? My old master was the one who came up with the formula for it.”

“What?! Huh, small world.”

“By the way, the Commissioner told me that a doctor that’s familiar with the effects of the Tatarigami will arrive in a day or two,” Hina told you once the two of you finally caught a break by the gardens. “He’ll be a great help, I’m sure. And we’ll get to treat the soldiers that have been infected, too.”

You nodded in understanding as you leaned against the fences overlooking the ocean, sighing. “Do you have any news about those guys? Last I heard, Lord Ayato had them shipped off to some containment facility underneath Inazuma City.”

She hummed. “While you and Master Thoma were away, the Commissioner has been sending messenger crows all over the country almost tirelessly. He’s been laying the groundwork all this time. If Lady Ayaka hadn’t scolded him for overworking himself despite the fact that he’s more susceptible to the curse than most, he might still be at it until now.”

“That’s Lord Ayato for you…”

The next day, when the doctor that Ayato had rang up had arrived, you were the first to brief him about the situation—the state of the estate’s denizens, the timeframe of the curse’s onset, and the experimental cure you’ve administered.

“I’m no professional, so I’m not sure if it’s safe for them to go out like usual even if they seem relatively okay now.” You sighed, scratching the back of your head awkwardly. “That’s why I was wondering if you knew any better way to—”

“Tell me…do you know someone called Suzuki Naoko?” he interrupted, looking up from the journal containing Doctor Naoko’s research notes.

You blinked in surprise. “Y-Yes. That notebook belongs to him. The cure we made was also based on his findings when he stayed in Yashiori Island.”

He laughed softly, nodding in earnest. “I see. He and I used to be colleagues at the Sumeru Academia. We both chose the so-called Tatarigami curse as our respective thesis topics, but we’ve had conflicting ideas as to how it can be cured. I think it’s obvious which one of us turned out to be right after all.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. You knew Doctor Naoko was a bit too intelligent for your everyday medical professional, but to think he went to Sumeru Academia, of all places?

The doctor that Ayato had invited eventually introduced himself as Haruno Shinya, and once Doctor Shinya was done with his own routine check-up of everyone in the estate, he gave you the green light to produce more of that Sango broth you cooked up with Doctor Naoko’s recipe.

“It’s a bit odd, though,” he said. “One of the reasons I was against using Sango pearls as a Tatarigami combatant is because of how long it takes for it to work. The pearl itself has special properties, yes. But you have to wield a certain flame to truly access its full potency. Boiling it over regular flames isn't enough.”

The gears slowly clicked into place as you processed his words.

It took months for you to get over the illness because Doctor Naoko had only experimented with ordinary fire when he boiled the pearls. But now, with the use of Thoma’s fervent Pyro Vision, the effect was near instantaneous.

“To think Naoko died trying to save people with his hypothetical cure. What a hero,” Doctor Shinya chuckled, adding a couple of annotations of his own to Doctor Naoko’s notes. “I’ve been observing Tatarigami patients for a chunk of my career, and I’m positive that everyone in this estate is cured. But you mentioned another set of patients in the capital…?”

“Yes. The Commissioner gave strict orders to his men to keep the soldiers isolated from everyone else. But we haven’t been able to procure more Sango pearls to manufacture enough doses to cover them…”

He nodded as he shut Doctor Naoko’s journal, handing it back to you as he patted your shoulder. “You’ve done plenty already, kid. You’re the one who’s been spearheading this whole operation, aren’t you?”

“I… Yeah. I guess you can say that.”

“I expect no less from Naoko’s apprentice,” Doctor Shinya praised. “Leave the patients at the capital to me. I’m actually a native of Watatsumi myself, so I’ll be able to get my hands on all the pearls you’re going to need. However, I have one last question.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Did you do anything special with the experimental procedure?” he asked, one brow raised. “Sango broth isn’t supposed to be this potent, but here we are, with dozens of recovered patients in no less than a few days.”

While Doctor Shinya elaborated on his inquiry, your eyes managed to catch Thoma across the courtyard, speaking animatedly to one of the elderly retainers. Your heart warmed. It’s been a while since you’ve spoken to him. Your hands have been tied with fussing over the patients that you hadn’t exactly found the time to approach him again. Then, your gaze slowly roved over to the red orb gleaming at his side.

“Yeah,” you replied—a knowing smile spreading on your face. “All you need is a bunch of Sango pearls and…someone with a Pyro Vision.”

The following days in the estate have mellowed down as everyone quickly recovered. Migraines were gone, spontaneous bleeding episodes resolved, and you’re elated to find out that only a few retainers had suffered the onset of nightmares. They've begun sleeping more peacefully these days, too.

However, the situation of the power balance in the Tri-Commission only got more and more hectic thereafter.

While you were busy taking care of the patients with Hina, Ayaka and Ayato, together with the Kujou siblings, testified against the Kanjou and Tenryou Commissions’ blatant mismanagement of the war. They were going to try and repeal the Vision Hunt Decree with Kujou Sara’s support as agreed upon as well. Because of this, neither of the two Kamisato heads had been home for nearly two weeks, and the only way you could keep tabs on what was happening was through Thoma himself.

The chief retainer was granted the privilege to attend briefings with the Raiden Shogun but wasn’t required to remain at the Tenshukaku for longer than necessary. It was for that reason that everyday, Thoma went back to the estate to report the situation to everyone before returning to the capital before morning.

You didn’t even have the time for a quick chat with him either. Whenever Thoma was in the estate, he’d update all of you about the state of affairs in the pavilion before promptly passing out in his bedroom. Not a single soul dared to disturb him from those few hours of rest.

It was really kind of him to go through all the trouble, you thought. Everyone in the Yashiro Commission didn’t seem to make too much of a fuss about the whole fiasco. But you guessed it was because of Thoma’s constant reassurance that both retainers and attendants managed to fall back into their old routines without hesitation.

Today was the last day of routine check-ups that Doctor Shinya had advised you to conduct, and you’re glad to know that everyone was pretty much in the clear now. But as the people around you continued going about with life as usual, you found yourself gaining more free time than you knew what to do with.

Technically, you’re no longer a retainer of the Kamisato house, and neither Ayaka nor the Commissioner officially invited you back into their ranks. But with how much they’ve got on their plates, it was normal for you to be a sitting duck now that everyone in the estate was cured.

Being completely aware of that did nothing to quell the agitation, though.

You couldn’t bring yourself to seek some semblance of comfort from Thoma either. You knew he was just as busy as the Kamisato siblings. But another reason why you’re a bit hesitant to approach him alone was because…you’re unsure of what you actually were to the guy.

After that eventful trip to Yashiori Island, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about the way he’d kissed you that day. Of course, you’d snap out of it once you caught yourself daydreaming, but…

What else were you supposed to think about?

Despite having complete freedom to do whatever you wanted, you weren’t the type to go around kissing other people for the hell of it. You could barely stand the idea of receiving affection until recently. So when the man who claimed the rights to your first kiss suddenly became too busy to sit down with you and talk about it properly, you supposed you’re entitled to some degree of senseless overthinking.

One day, Hina came up to you at lunch.

“Doctor Shinya reached out to Madarame this morning,” she told you. “He said he wants you to meet him at the capital.”

For some odd reason, the news filled you with an inexplicable sense of relief. Given that this was the last day your semi-nonexistent medical expertise was needed, you feared that you'd be the only one not doing anything around the estate. And since your status as a retainer was still in question, Madarame decided not to issue any housework for you to do.

“You’ve done plenty for us, Miss Kira. You deserve to rest, too,” he said. You wanted to tell him that keeping your hands busy also kept thoughts of Thoma far away, but you didn’t exactly know how to break it to him at the time.

Now though, you’ve found a much-needed distraction.

“Miss Kira.”

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Hirano, who offered you a ride to the capital on his horse, when Ayame approached you in the courtyard. She met your gaze with a hint of hesitation, like she was embarrassed. But you didn’t let yourself scrutinize her more than you should.

“Miss Ayame,” you greeted in return. “Is anything the matter?”

Ayame opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and sighed. “I… Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure,” you agreed with a smile, turning to Hirano. “I’ll meet you outside after. Thanks again.”

The guard nodded earnestly. “Anytime! This is the least I can do for you, after all.”

Huh? The least he could do…? But weren’t you the one who’s indebted to them for trying to kill one of their leaders? Alas, you couldn’t spare it another thought when you followed Ayame to a less crowded corner in the gardens. She was awfully quick to get to the point.

“I was wrong about you.”

You watched in silence as Ayame traced idle shapes in the sand with the rake in her grasp. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you were going to take advantage of milady’s trust,” she murmured. “For a while, I even blamed you for the Tenryou Commission’s attack on the estate, too.”

A soft breeze wafted through the courtyard, making you sigh. “You’re completely right about that. It was because of me that the mansion got sacked by those soldiers.”

“But you didn’t leave us for dead,” Ayame argued, turning to face you with an insistent look. “You even went to that…that cursed island just to give us a cure you made yourself. Us, the same people who tried to shun you out of the estate.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’m only trying to undo the damage I’ve done. That doesn’t make me any less of the cold-blooded killer you know I am.”

“Real cold-blooded killers won’t try to ‘undo the damage they’ve done’, though.”

Her response was almost petrifying in how sincere it came forth. You stared at Ayame with equal parts confusion and disbelief as you knit your brows together.

“Miss Ayame… What are you trying to say?”

She huffed. “Well, it’s obvious that Lady Ayaka’s kindness has gotten through so there’s no point in antagonizing you. That’s why, I… I wanted to apologize. For the way I acted around you these past few weeks.”

One second passed, then two, before you ended up burying your face in your hands.

“Miss Kira?” Ayame asked, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

Archons. She was so sincere with her apology, and you had the gall to overlook the one thing that made her so hostile with you in the first place.

Slowly, your hands dropped to your sides as you shot her a somber look.

“I still haven’t apologized for drugging you that night.”

Ayame’s lips parted with confusion before she slipped back that mask of hostility that’s grown so familiar to you now. “It took you this long to realize that?! Gods, I knew I shouldn’t have apologized first!”

“Miss Kira!” You suddenly heard Hirano shout from the entrance. “Your ride’s ready! Let me know when we’re leaving!”

Not wanting to receive the brunt of Ayame’s wrath, you ended your exchange with a quick bow. “Apology accepted, Miss Ayame! But I have another pressing matter to attend to, so let’s save the teary make-up embrace for later, yeah?”

“You sneaky little—!”

Without waiting for her to finish, you bolted towards the doorway.

“What?” You scowled. “You sent them all home?”

Doctor Shinya chuckled from where he’s seated beside you at Shimura’s—one of Inazuma City’s up-and-coming outdoor restaurants. When you and Hirano arrived at the entrance to the capital, the doctor was already there, waiting for you. Doctor Shinya even offered to treat you to a late lunch despite the fact that you’ve already eaten.

And now he was telling you about how he’d discharged the Tenryou soldiers to their respective homes today.

“It was just as you’ve said, performing the procedure with the aid of a Pyro Vision increased the broth’s potency tenfold!” Doctor Shinya gushed with a mouthful of tempura. “It was a good thing Mister Naganohara’s daughter was more than willing to cooperate. Oh, and that boy from the Kamisato clan also dropped by from time to time as well. What was his name again? Thoma?”

You were surprised to find out that Doctor Shinya asked for Yoimiya’s help in the matter, but you supposed he couldn’t just ignore that pro-tip you gave him beforehand. But finding out about these detours that Thoma made on top of everything else he was dealing with made you shake your head. He was just the same as the Kamisato siblings—putting their duties first before anything else.

“I’m glad to know the soldiers have all recovered then,” you sighed, sipping the tea you’d ordered. “But what are we going to do with the Tenryou Commission? Didn’t you get any backlash for just ordering those guys to go home or something?”

“Oh? You haven’t heard?” Doctor Shinya blinked, setting down his bowl and chopsticks. “Apparently, the Raiden Shogun has made a definitive ruling for the case filed against the heads of the Tenryou and Kanjou Commissions. They were stripped of their titles this morning, and Kujou Sara was elected as the new head of the Kujou clan. She’s the one who insisted they get some much-needed rest.”

Well. This was definitely news to you.

“I-I see…” you replied dryly. “Um, wait. So what’s going to happen now? Is the war over? Are they putting a stop to the Vision Hunt Decree?”

“The answer to all of that is...yes. Lord Ayato is actually overseeing the return of the confiscated Visions as we speak.” Doctor Shinya smiled, gesturing a set distance away from behind him.You squinted your eyes as you tried to follow his lead until you finally saw it.

Right where the statue of the Electro Archon stood, you saw a flank of scaffolding set-up in front of the stone visage of the Raiden Shogun. It was hard to tell because you were too far away, but you were pretty sure that the men engrossed with it were taking out the colorful orbs once embedded within. Suddenly, you remembered something Thoma said in passing during that one festival on Amakane Island.

Gods, I wish those two would catch a break soon.

You couldn’t even suppress the grin that made it on your face—not minding that Doctor Shinya could see you smiling like an idiot.

They did it. Ayaka and Ayato managed to turn the tides of the war after all.

“Well, that said,” Doctor Shinya spoke again, interrupting your thoughts. “I only called you out here to update you about what’s happening. These past two weeks haven’t been easy on any of us, after all.”

You nodded with a dreary laugh. “I never thought I’d be taking care of so many people after I…”

For a second, you panicked. Right. You hadn’t told Doctor Shinya about the years you spent as an underground assassin. And it’s not like you could break it to him easily when he seemed to take your contributions with high regard. Great, now you were ashamed of your own tragic past. Was this what they called character development?

But from the way his eyes softened, something told you he already knew.

“So, Doctor Shinya…” You decided to shift the topic. “What are your plans after this?”

“I’ll actually be accompanying Lord Ayato for the reparation procedures,” he told you. “Her Excellency put him in charge of maintaining public relations with the people of Watatsumi Island, and he invited me in hopes of gaining their goodwill.”

“Oh, right. You said you were a native, right?”

Doctor Shinya nodded. “Yes. And…we’ll also be doing a thorough inspection on Yashiori Island. The Tatarigami typically takes years to fully set in the human body, but we suspected that Kujou Takayuki must have done something nefarious to get his hands on such a powerful manifestation of the curse.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ve never heard of being able to mind-control others with it…”

“Exactly,” the doctor agreed. “Which reminds me. Would you like to come along when we head to Yashiori for the routine inspections? Lord Ayato informed me that Her Excellency said something about a possibility of the wards being disturbed—causing the rampant spread of the Tatarigami.”

“...Wards?”

He nodded once more. “When the Raiden Shogun slaid the Orobashi hundreds of years ago, the manifestation of its hatred came in the form of the Tatarigami. To keep it from spreading to the nearby islands, Her Excellency put up protective wards all over Yashiori. But…we can speak of it in more detail if you decide to accept my invitation. I’m sure Lord Ayato will be glad to have you on-board.”

Your shoulders slumped at the news. So it wasn’t over just yet after all, huh…

“You know, there’s an onsen somewhere down the road,” Doctor Naoko mentioned, jabbing a thumb behind his shoulder. “Now that I think about it, you look like you could use some rest.”

You shook your head almost too quickly. “Not at all! I’ve actually been feeling…antsy because I had nothing else to do. So please, do take me with you on your trip. I’ll be happy to show you around the island if need be.”

To your disappointment, it seemed like Doctor Shinya was not having it.

“You’ve worked hard enough, kid,” he chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair in that same, infuriating way Doctor Naoko used to do with you. “Now go treat yourself to an afternoon at the bathhouse. We aren’t leaving for another two weeks, so you better make use of the time to relax.”

You wanted to protest—to let him know that you weren’t the only one worked down to the bone by everything that’s happening. Ayaka and Ayato were using all their capabilities to restore peace and order. Doctor Shinya took care of an entire battalion of soldiers by himself. Kujou Sara was busy fixing everything her father had inevitably messed up, and…

Thoma. He was probably out there doing errands in-between for everyone else. Because that’s just who he is as a person—a housekeeper in every sense of the word, even if his duties went beyond the corners of the estate.

But in spite of it all, the buzzing need for a few moments of peace tickled the back of your head. You sighed, succumbing to your not-so subtle desire for a break.

“So just how good is this bathhouse we’re talking about…?”

You stood in front of the doorway to the hot springs with a sigh.

The owner said the bathhouse was reserved for the day by none other than the Kamisato clan, and was about to turn you away. But, in a moment of desperation, you mentioned you were one of the clan’s retainers.

“Hmm… Oh, here you are on the guestlist,” he remarked as he went through his clipboard. “My apologies, Miss Kira. I’ll be preparing your things in a while. Someone already went ahead of you, by the way!”

And now here you are.

The glass on the sliding doorway had fogged over from the steam inside, so you couldn’t really see who you were going to share the hot spring with. And given that this was the mixed bath, there might be men from the estate inside. You weren’t really opposed to being in the company of the opposite sex but…from what you remembered, no one had really left the mansion today aside from yourself.

So who was the person lounging inside the onsen, then?

It couldn’t be Ayato. He was preoccupied with retrieving Visions from the Shogun’s statue. And you couldn’t exactly picture Ayaka just waltzing into a public bath like this either.

“Only one way to find out, I guess…” you muttered.

The interior wasn’t as extravagant as you initially expected. Just a large, closed room with vents in the ceiling to let the steam billow outside. In the middle, the floor was seemingly paved to imitate a naturally occurring hot spring—decorated with ornamental rocks and fake moss. There was a section in the far end where you figured the showers were, if the bamboo shutters were anything to go by.

You glanced over to the hot spring in the middle, squinting through the steam rising from the water. Just as you were told, someone else was already occupying the onsen, but their back was turned to you and they had a towel wrapped around their head and a smaller one draped across their face. It made the person’s identity quite hard to decipher through the steam.

Knowing it’ll be futile to scrutinize from a distance, you decided to take off your robe, folding it by the shelf near the entrance, before finally taking a well-deserved dip.

The stranger(?) didn’t even stir even when the water rippled all around you. You’d decided to occupy the same side of the hot spring out of curiosity, and when you could take a closer look, this person was, in fact, a man.

Or they could be a flat-chested woman. Don’t be so quick to judge!

You shook your head, letting the heat of the water seep into your skin. The effect was near-instantaneous. You found yourself sinking lower into the bath as you pressed your back against the edge. A pleased sigh escaped your lips and you were mindful enough to wrap your hair in a towel to keep the strands from getting wet.

You stayed like that for a few minutes—happily letting the hot water work its magic on your fatigued body as you stared at the ceiling. But the more time passed, the more you found yourself growing concerned for the man just a few feet away. He hadn’t stirred since you got here, and you worried he might have passed out.

And won’t putting a towel on your face in an onsen suffocate you or something?

Hesitantly, you weaved through the hot water with your arms crossed—conscious of the fact that your breasts were on full display. But the moment you reached out in an attempt to remove the towel from his face…

You yelped loudly—the sound echoing throughout the room when you suddenly found yourself with your arms twisted behind you as the man forced your face against the wet rock. What the fuck? How did he—

“...Miss Kira?”

Oh my fucking Archons.

Of course it was Thoma who put you in an instant headlock.

The two of you merely stared at each other in stunned silence. The towel on his face had dropped to the water and was drifting uselessly across the surface, and the one he’d tied around his head began to come loose as well—letting his long, damp hair cascade down his shoulders.

His very naked shoulders, attached to a very naked body he used to press you down in one of the most compromising positions imaginable. Huh. This reminded you of the first night he cornered you in the Kamisato estate’s kitchen…

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, making a show of turning around as if he was trying to give you some privacy. “I thought you were some asshole that’s trying to kill me or something.”

“I can see that,” you scoffed, sinking back into the water with your face redder than his uniform. “Glad to see you’re alive and didn’t die from steam suffocation, though.”

Once you were settled, Thoma decided to scooch a few feet away before lowering himself into the bath once again.

You did not stare at his ass while his back was turned to you. You didn’t!!!!

“So…” you began, still feeling all sorts of awkward. “What brings you here?”

Thoma cleared his throat, and you watched the bob of his neck as he swallowed. “Um. I might’ve been complaining about wanting to go to the onsen for days now, and Lord Ayato made the proper arrangements just to shut me up.”

“And he honored your wishes just like that?” you snorted. “If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought you were the princess of the house.”

The chief retainer shot you a narrow-eyed stare. “I could ask the same for you. Did you just happen to go into the same bathhouse as me at the same time I decided to as well?”

“Maybe it’s fate,” you shrugged, recalling the same train of conversation occurring between the both of you in the past. But when you began to consider his question a bit more seriously…

You know, there’s an onsen somewhere down the road.

The bathhouse has been reserved by the Kamisato clan for the day, my apologies.

Lord Ayato made the proper arrangements just to shut me up.

You blinked. That shouldn’t be possible, right? This was all a coincidence. Surely Ayato and Doctor Shinya wouldn’t deliberately set the two of you up like this, right?

“How are you?”

A jolt ran across your shoulders when Thoma spoke out of the blue again—his voice nearly echoing in the empty room. You stared at him incredulously before forcing yourself to peel your eyes away from the droplets of water that ran tantalizingly across his pectorals.

“I-I’m good,” you replied. “There isn’t much to do back at home anymore so I was just feeling a little antsy. Doctor Shinya told me to relax for a change.” For some reason, Thoma laughed the moment you finished speaking, and your eyes narrowed into slits.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just a bit…happy.”

“With what?”

“You called the estate home.”

“Oh.”

Man, you’ve gotten so soft, it’s embarrassing.

“How about you?” you murmured in return. “You’ve been so busy, I could hardly talk to you.”

Thoma raised an eyebrow, mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. “Did you miss me?”

“So what if I did? Stupid guard dog…”

You startled again when the water rippled all around you once more. Thoma rose out of the bath just enough to make his way to you. And when he leaned down to meet your gaze head-on, you swallowed thickly—face burning hotter than the room itself.

“I think I liked it better when you called me pretty boy.” He pouted.

You groaned, pushing him away, but Thoma refused to budge. “That was one time.”

“Once is enough to have me thinking about it for weeks.” The laugh that left his lips had a familiar sultriness to it that made your thighs clench. Thoma’s wet hand was on your face again, cupping your cheek as the other peeled away the towel in your hair.

“I missed you, too,” he murmured, thumb gently teasing the swell of your lip. His green eyes looked so pretty up close. “So much that I had to hop into a bathhouse just to keep my mind off of it.”

You huffed. “Then why didn’t you just go back? Doctor Shinya said everything was already sorted out with the Shogun.”

“Well, yeah. But I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hold back if I saw you again.”

“Huh?”

You barely had time to process it when Thoma captured your lips with his own—the hand not holding your face immediately resting on your hip. But you didn’t even have any fight left in you when you were so quick to melt into his kiss. You sighed, and Thoma used the opportunity to slither his tongue inside your mouth.

He lifted you onto the edge of the bath, wet bodies sliding past each other as he slotted himself between your legs. Though his lower half was still submerged in the water, the feel of his toned stomach made you more flustered than it should. But Thoma wasn’t exactly giving you a lot of leeway to think.

The chief retainer wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you fervently. You mewled into his mouth as your hands wandered to his hair. You tugged on the strands in a way you remembered he liked, and you couldn’t help the heat that stirred in your stomach at the sound he just made.

“Thoma,” you sighed when he pulled away, lips trailing a fiery path down the column of your neck. “Are we really going to do this? Here?”

For some reason, he tensed. Thoma peeled himself away slightly, eyeing the way you’re presented bare for him to see. You might have blanched and covered yourself if it had been anyone else, but…

“Sorry,” he muttered again, leaning forward to rest your foreheads together as his hands gripped your thighs. “It’s just like I said. I can’t seem to restrain myself when it comes to you… But if you want me to behave, I’ll gladly do so.”

“...Like a dog?”

“You don’t have to put it like that!”

For the first time in a while, you managed a lighthearted laugh, shifting your head a little so you could nuzzle the crook of his neck. You couldn’t find traces of Thoma’s scent given that the steam was making your head swim a little. But the reassuring heat of his body was enough to make you feel safe, in spite of his seemingly ravenous appetite for you.

“I’ll let you do anything you want if you answer my question,” you told him, biting your lip.

He craned his head. “What is it?”

“...How do you feel about me, exactly?”

You instinctively recoiled, fingers tightening around his arms as you braced yourself for an inevitable rejection. You didn’t really have an idea why you expected the worst right off the bat, but… Surely Thoma wouldn’t—

“How I feel about you?” he repeated, chest reverberating with each word.

Thoma forcibly pulled you away from his torso, making you meet his beautiful emerald eyes. The smile he flashed you the next second was so real, you could cry.

“I like you. Can’t you tell?”

Just like that, the disbelief came crashing down on you all over again.

Did people really just admit their feelings like that? Straight to the point, without any hint of hesitation? You had no clues as to how potential couples went about the ‘confession’ stage, but…wasn’t Thoma being a bit too honest? You thought all the best romances started with some degree of denial and pining from both parties.

“I’m…not used to this kind of thing, okay?” you replied, suddenly feeling even more embarrassed. “If it’s normal for you to just admit to someone that you like them, then—”

“You’re the first person I’ve ever liked enough to confess to, though.”

You could have sworn that steam billowed not just from the water but also out of your ears. This was not real. No one could be this fucking honest with himself. You refused to believe it.

…But then again, Thoma had proved himself to be different from every other person you’ve ever met. He had the patience of a saint, a capacity for banter that could keep up with your own, and a deep-rooted understanding that not everyone could afford to spare for people like you.

Whenever you looked at him, he always reminded you of the sun with not a single cloud obscuring his intentions and you started to see why.

(Overlooking the fact that he lied about Ayaka’s plans. You can forgive him for that. Kind of.)

“I don’t deserve you,” you told him with a groan. “Why do you even like me?”

Something shifted in the hot air, and suddenly Thoma’s easygoing smile dropped. He spoke your real name like a prayer in the thick steam, and you could feel your head buzz from the whiplash of it all. When his mouth descended onto yours once again, he lacked the ferocity he’d exhibited in both times you’ve ever kissed him. Thoma merely pecked your lips with the softest of touches before pulling away to meet your eyes.

“You deserve me and more,” he murmured. “And I’ll give you all of that if you’re willing to have me.”

Your first instinct was to argue, but the heat between your legs has festered enough. Instead of debating about what you did and didn’t deserve, you closed your eyes and finally let yourself fall off the edge.

Thoma’s hands were inescapable when you finally gave him a little nudge—that final confirmation. He swallowed up all the sounds you made as he lifted himself out of the water, fingers already making quick work between the growing heat in your thighs. The evidence of your arousal was hard to hide—especially when he’s sliding those thick digits against your glistening seam so tantalizingly, you almost forgot you were in a public bath.

“Thoma,” you mewled. “W-What if…someone comes in?”

You gasped when he eased one finger inside you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he watched your expressions with a sultry smile. “As much as I’d hate to share this view with someone else…” He leaned closer to your ear, and you instinctively clenched your walls around him. “Something tells me the idea of getting caught excites you.”

“Quit projecting! You’re such a weirdo.” The words were meant to hit like an insult, but you ended up moaning them instead as Thoma slipped in a second finger. “F-Fucking pervert…”

“Hmm? Would you like me to stop then?”

You mourned the loss of the friction when his hand became stock still inside you. A throaty groan scratched against your throat as you threw out a fist—hitting his lean chest in the process.

“...No.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous as he let you sink down to the hot spring—flipping you around so your ass was in full display. His fingers never left, though, and the moment he had you bent over the edge of the pool, Thoma resumed his sinful ministrations.

You could barely contain your moans when he pressed his chest against your back, spreading your thighs wider as he fingered you loose. His tongue slithered across the shell of your ear, and he even nibbled on your lobe as he worked you between your legs. You sighed—completely embarrassed by how slick and easy the slide of his fingers had become.

But before you could make another sound, Thoma prodded your mouth with the fingers of his free hand.

“If you don’t want to get caught,” he whispered huskily. “You need to be quiet.”

You would’ve been mortified by how easily you opened your mouth for him had it been any other scenario. But you were so unbelievably aroused by his voice, his heat, and the feel of his strong body caging you underneath his, that your otherwise snarky defenses had been tossed aside. You didn’t want anything else—didn’t need anything else.

All that mattered right now was Thoma.

It didn’t take long for you to notice his hard length rubbing against your ass while he made a mess with your mouth and cunt with his fingers. You couldn’t even fathom the dexterity his multitasking should have required, but you figured that when it came to doing several things at once, he was the man for the job.

You moaned when he curled his fingers inside you, thighs quivering as he continued thrusting in and out. You couldn’t tell if the clouds of vapor emerging with each bated breath was from the steam or not, but when Thoma took his fingers out from both your mouth and cunt, you couldn’t help the whine that got caught in the back of your throat.

“So needy.” A soft chuckle resounded from behind you and your eyes widened when you felt him slide his cock against your slick folds.

“T-Thoma…”

“Tell me you deserve me,” he murmured into your ear, pressing your thighs together as he rocked his length into the space between your legs.

“What are you—”

“Tell me or I won’t fuck you the way you want me to.”

…Gods, he was so hot when he bossed you around.

Each time his hips pressed forward, you could feel the head of his cock catching on your clit. You nearly sobbed, forcing your palms onto the slippery rocks as you desperately attempted to meet his thrusts. But Thoma wasn’t letting you get what you wanted so easily.

“I’m waiting.”

Fuck it. Who needs dignity anyway?

“I deserve it,” you moaned. “I deserve you. I deserve your cock. I deserve to get rammed into the next life, just— please!”

Your vision nearly went dark when he finally pressed himself against your entrance—filling you to the brim with the heat of his length. The burn of his passage was conspicuous but bearable. Although, when he finally sheathed himself to the hilt, Thoma let out another infuriatingly sexy laugh as he pressed a kiss against your neck.

“Tell me you like me, too.”

This fucking guy…

“I like you,” you mumbled, feeling your heart stutter with every word. “I like you so much I can’t imagine going back to a life without you anymore.”

All of a sudden, the possessive grip he had on your hips faltered, making you turn around to sneak a glance. Thoma stared at you with wide, green eyes—flushing so badly even the tips of his ears were red.

In the end, his embarrassment melted with a sigh.

“You know just exactly how to rile me up, don’t you?”

You were about to dish out some crude reply, but Thoma effectively shut you up with a sharp thrust.

He took you against the edge of the hot spring, pawing at every inch of skin his hands could reach. Your stomach, your breasts, your thighs—if he’d taken you somewhere else, you were sure he’d spend hours worshipping your body alone.

Maybe taking a guard dog as a lover wasn’t so bad after all.

“So…good,” you drawled, barely having enough strength to prop yourself upright. Thoma muttered something under his breath before angling his cock a bit differently, hitting a spot inside you that made you melt underneath his touch.

For a moment, he let himself slip out of your cunt—an action met with another whine in protest. But Thoma was quick to flip you over again, making your back dig into the pool’s edge. And when your gazes met, you were completely unprepared for the unadulterated want in his eyes.

“I can’t wait—” he hissed, spreading your thighs wide enough to accommodate him, “—to take you in my bedroom. I’ll love you until morning, I swear it.”

And you believed him. Every single word. Because Thoma was as honest as a man could be, and you wondered if you could learn to be the same way once you’ve been by his side long enough.

You’ve never felt like this before. So whole. So special. So adored. He made it clear with each thrust exactly how much you meant to him, and you’d be a fool to turn away now. With a sigh, you laced your fingers around Thoma’s neck—eyes glazed over with a desire of your own.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

He was sweating all over, lips bitten red with your earlier activities. But Thoma seemed all too willing to heed your every wish as he lowered himself. You leaned upward to meet him halfway—pressing your breasts against his chest as the cadence of his thrusts slowed into a crawl. Thoma canted his hips deep enough to have you moaning into his mouth, and suddenly, you wouldn’t trade any of this, wouldn’t trade any of him for the world.

If this is love, you thought airily as you lost yourself in the sensation.

I want all of it.

A few days later, you and Thoma had gone back to work.

You’d been out all morning, busy with returning confiscated Visions to their rightful owners—something you were more than enthusiastic to get done. After all, it was a job entrusted to the both of you by Ayaka herself.

As a retainer of the Kamisato house, your Lady’s orders were of utmost importance.

However, as the two of you walked back into the estate, your quiet banter with your new lover was momentarily interrupted. In the center of the pavilion, you spotted Ayaka in her lonesome, but you could very much make out the curious eyes of the other retainers encroaching from the sidelines. You couldn’t blame them for their curiosity.

The Shirasagi Himegimi’s fan dance was always a spectacle to behold.

You hung back by the entrance as you bore witness to the sight you’d been dying to see since you’d laid your eyes on her. Ayaka was as graceful as the winds of a winter morning, with every move serving to mesmerize any lucky onlooker. She swayed to the beat of the song in her head, flicking her fan with a show of snowflakes every now and again. And when the breathtaking performance came to a close, she glanced your way with a sweet smile.

“Welcome home,” she greeted kindly. “How was your trip?”

“Tiring,” Thoma yawned as the two of you met her at the center. “But everyone’s happy now I guess. Isn’t that right, Miss Kira?”

You nodded. “But it wouldn’t have been possible without you, milady.”

Ayaka chuckled, taking your hands in hers. “Brother and I only laid the groundwork. Everyone else in the Yashiro Commission did their parts as well. This is a team effort, you know?”

If the you from three months ago saw you right now, you knew she would’ve been mortified. Clutching the hands of the same woman you’d been sworn to kill, what a joke. But then again…maybe your past self wouldn’t have minded the idea of being doted on if it was by the princess herself.

The day you could finally speak to her again, you practically fell to your knees—face splotchy with tears as you spat out every apology you could think of. You were aware of how pathetic you were being. Your crimes had been duly pardoned by Inazuman law, and even if you still harbored some degree of guilt, you swore that you’d right your wrongs in any way or form. And that’s what you were doing now, as an official Kamisato retainer.

But Ayaka, in all her merciful glory, asked you to stand and put your chin up.

“There’s no need for tears, Miss Kira.” She smiled. “To me, you never really left. You just had to find yourself. And we’d always been willing to welcome you home once you did.”

And now here you were.

“Oh, you two! You’re back!”

The sound of the Commissioner’s voice snapped you out of your momentary reminiscing. Ayato emerged from the mansion with a familiar figure curled in his arms, and another familiar figure tailing him from behind.

“Yo, newbie!” Yoimiya greeted with a smile. “So you’re the one who made all those nifty cures, huh? Glad to have supported your cause!”

Blinking up from underneath her hood, Sayu seemingly nuzzled herself further into Ayato’s chest. “So noisy…”

“Aw, Sayu! Don’t go sleeping now! We’re still going to test the fireworks I brought!”

“Are you making preparations for the lunar festival later?” Thoma asked. “We kind of delayed that for a while, huh?”

Ayato nodded with a sigh. “All the more reason to put our backs into it. We’re heading over to Amakane Island to sample Yoimiya’s new inventions. She wanted to make sure there’s no need for fine-tuning. Do you two want to come with?”

“Isn’t it a bit early for testing out fireworks though?” Ayaka wondered, gazing out at the afternoon sky. “But I suppose we could take advantage of the time we have. You and Miss Kira are leaving tomorrow, yes?”

“Unfortunately,” the Commissioner sighed before turning to you and Thoma. “Well, what do you say?”

Before you could even open your mouth, Thoma was already slinging an arm around your shoulder—grinning at Ayato with a confident air.

“We’d love to!”

“So why are you still calling me Kira again? Everyone’s starting to forget I actually have a real name because of you...”

You posed the question to Thoma when you two found a comfortable spot on the cliff, just underneath the cherry blossoms as you watched Yoimiya and the Kamisato siblings set up the fireworks by the beach.

Thoma shrugged, resting his chin on your shoulder as he hugged you from behind. “I kind of got used to it.”

“Liar.”

“What? I’m not lying.”

You snorted, turning to face him with a smirk—the fox mask on your head lightly bumping against his. “It’s not the whole truth either, though,” you said, leaning closer to nuzzle your nose with his. “Come on. I’m leaving tomorrow without any idea when I’ll be back. I won’t get the chance to ask you again for a good while.”

He whined. “Can I really not come along? I’ve been to Yashiori, too, you know… I’m pretty tough.”

“So you’re just going to leave milady alone like that?”

“...How about we all just go on an indefinite field trip to the Orobashi’s graveyard, and Madarame can be the pseudo-Yashiro Commissioner for a while,” Thoma suggested. “I think it would be a win-win for all parties involved.”

“I don’t think milady will last long living in the wild,” you admitted, and Thoma surrendered with a sigh. “But fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t force you.”

For what it’s worth, the thought of leaving Thoma to help investigate the wards on Yashiori left a bitter taste in your mouth, too. It’s only been a few days since the two of you made it official, and now you’re going to have to leave him for a while. But there were things that had to be done, and as a Kamisato retainer, you’re obligated to see them through until the end.

Sometime later, Yoimiya shouted from below to keep your eyes peeled. You and Thoma had been assigned as the official judges for her newest craft, and you were more than happy to humor the lively fireworks-maker. It also gave you an excuse to sit between Thoma’s legs as you watched.

However, as the special fireworks shot up to the sky, you felt Thoma’s breath against your ear.

“It’s because I want to be the only one who calls you by your real name,” he whispered. “Is that so possessive of me?”

Whether the redness of your face was a reflection from the fireworks or plain embarrassment, no one would ever be able to tell.

Yoimiya’s invention was something else—fireworks that changed color right before the sparks shimmered into oblivion. Fiery red morphing into electric blue. Bright gold into luscious green. You watched each one rise into the sky with a dazzled look, chest twisting at the idea that it might take you a while to witness another fireworks show again.

You were completely unaware of the bright emerald eyes that watched you the whole time.

When all the preparations on the island were set, and you’d given Yoimiya your stamp of approval, the visitors had started pouring in. It’s as if Inazuma hadn’t been on the brink of an internal collapse because of the Kanjou and Tenryou Commission’s misdeeds. Everyone who walked beneath the torii gates had smiles splitting their faces as they sampled festival food, tied their wishing charms, and tried their hand at the game booths.

That night, Thoma finally met his match in the form of a rather competitive Kujou Sara—who made a surprising entrance with Masahito despite how busy things were on their end. She ended up beating Thoma’s goldfish-catching record without a sweat, earning herself a new and improved Mister Danuki plush of her own.

Even the kids from Konda Village made it, immediately running towards yours and Ayaka’s direction before they inevitably dragged the two of you all over the place. The princess must have sensed the unease in your posture as Futaba and Takeru told you about how their fathers used to bring them here all the time, too.

There’s a time for you to tell them. Just not now, her eyes seemed to say.

Ayaka had to peel away from your little group to perform her fan-dance to the crowd, enrapturing every single person in attendance without fail. From behind, you could hear Kujou Sara speaking to Ayato about how the princess can finally enjoy a festival like a normal girl. The Commissioner couldn’t help but sigh in agreement.

By the time Yoimiya’s fireworks show was underway, you were already exhausted.

Instead of taking your usual spot by the cliffs, you decided to hang around by the entrance with Thoma, where there were less people crowding the space. This gave you the leeway to breathe, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought your brain’s desire to just go to sleep.

“We can head back now if you want,” he offered, stroking your hair.

“Mmm…” you groaned. “But Yoimiya’s fireworks.”

The chief retainer smiled. “And you’ve already done her a favor by judging her handiwork. You deserve a good night’s rest before you leave, you know?”

Well, it didn’t take much convincing for you to agree, so to speak.

Thoma’s mattress was soft as you landed on the surface, not bothering to change out of your kimono. Your lover let out a soft laugh while he stripped himself of his uniform before joining you on his bed. The dip of the bed under his weight made you crack one eye open, and you could see him holding a familiar toy in front of you.

“Don’t forget to pack Mister Danuki before you leave,” he reminded, setting the plush on top of his nightstand.

“I won’t,” you murmured. “I’ll miss you too much if I do…”

Thoma sighed as he pulled the sheets over your bodies. “You always know what to say, huh?”

You let out a satisfied noise when you felt him nestle you in his strong arms. Turning around, you rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“You’re not going to try anything tonight?” you asked curiously.

“As much as I want to have passionate, unforgettable goodbye sex,” Thoma started with a laugh, pressing his lips against your forehead, “I am completely serious about you getting a good night’s rest, Miss Kira. Now go to bed before I change my mind.”

Though your eyelids were heavy with fatigue, you still managed a soft, almost mischievous laugh. Thoma, of course, didn’t miss the playful lilt in your tone, and immediately groaned when you climbed on top of his lap.

You stared at him from your vantage point, watching the way his ears turned red under your scrutiny. This was the man who made the gears on your stale, unsalvageable life finally turn. If it weren’t for him, you never would’ve changed. If it weren’t for him, you never would have formulated a cure that’s effective enough to save those you cared about.

If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be as happy as you were now.

“I love you,” you told him, fingers toying with the pendant around his throat. “Thoma of the Kamisato House, I love you.”

Thoma smiled, soft and sincere and everything you’ve ever loved. When his hand reached up to caress your cheek, you’re not strong enough to resist his touch.

“I love you, too.”

This was your place in the world. Even if you had to leave for a while, you’ll always come back to him.

Without worry. Without fail.

<- previous | next ->

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #genshin fanfic #thoma smut #thoma fanfic #genshin fanfiction #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin thoma #genshin x reader #thoma x reader #cryoculus #guard dog

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sapphicsafehaven · 9 months

Text

Nippy Evenings | Chapter 2: Too Many Stares

📖 read on Ao3 Rating M to E [minors DNI]

Tess x Reader fic | slow burn, enemies to lovers (if you squint), flirting with Tess, vulnerable Tess, eventual smut, reader insert no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, nblw, bisexual Tess

CW for this chapter - Brief Mention of Past Physical/Emotional Abuse to Reader Character

Chapter 2: Too Many Stares

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

You hear muffled voices speaking in the background as you slowly come to. You’re laying on some form of mattress, one that’s definitely seen better days. Like most things in the QZ.

Am I in their apartment? You think to yourself. No way, they’d never let me know where they live. They’re too careful for that. You inadvertently groan from a throbbing pain in the back of your head and the voices stop. You roll onto your side as a pair of boots approaches you.

“Congratulations,” comes Tess’s sarcastic tone, “You weren’t picked up by FEDRA.”

You raise yourself up to look at her face, it seems like her default is deadpan or smirking and you’re starting to like the look of her smirk.

“Thanks,” you say sincerely. Tess is caught off guard by that, but only for a moment. She huffs before walking back over to Joel.

“So,” Joel’s voice is gruff, “What section do you live in?”

“Nope,” is your immediate reply. You slowly sit up and orient yourself in the room.

“Heh, smart girl. But we can’t draw you a map home if we don’t know the general area. Can we?”

You look over to where they’re sitting to find Tess’s eyes on you. You can’t even begin to read her expression but she certainly doesn’t look away. You shift your attention over to Joel and give a vague approximation of the area you live in. As soon as they hear it they turn to look at each other. They don’t say anything but you’d swear they’re having a full conversation.

“God, that's freaky. It’s like y’all are psychic,” you mutter under your breath. They, of course, hear you. Joel grunts out…a laugh? And Tess just turns her focus back to you.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the room as Joel scribbles on a piece of paper and you sit worriedly holding your head.

Tess breaks the quiet, “You’ll be fine. He didn’t hit you that hard.” Her tone is neutral but you could swear you detected a hint of concern.

You chuckle, “It’s okay. My dad hit harder.”

You’re not sure why that’s coming out of your mouth. Maybe you want to be the one to create the awkward silence. As if it can give you some kind of upper ground.

It’s working, though. Joel stops writing and looks up at you. In his eyes you see a flash of concern masking anger. Ah, he probably was a father before all this.

Tess’s façade falls away completely as she stares at you. She is concerned. She glances over at Joel who’s now looking down.

“Don’t worry, he’s not around anymore.” You feel the need to shift the energy in the room back to what it was before.

“Cordyceps get him?” Joel inquires.

“No,” you make eye contact so they know you’re telling the truth, “I did.”

They look - impressed. There’s almost a half smile on Joel's face and Tess looks proud.

Their eyes are too intense for you though and you desperately need some kind of distraction.

“I don’t suppose you have anything strong to drink huh?”

“You got ration cards?” Joel responds which makes you immediately start laughing. You can’t help it. In present circumstances that feels like the wildest thing he could have asked. Tess cocks her head to the side, watching you.

“Seriously? I feel like taking a blow to the back of the head counts as payment.”

Joel’s back to being serious, distancing himself from the friendliness of the conversation.

“Seriously. You want a shot of whiskey, it's 13 rations.” You stare, mouth agape at the two of them. They’re dead serious. The air of the room has, in fact, shifted back to their favor.

You scoff, “Glad to see LA prices survived the apocalypse.” You stand and reach for your bag at the foot of the mattress.

Joel draws his gun on you, “Stop.” You raise your hands and back up out of instinct. “Jesus, I was just going to get the rations.” Your eyes flit between the two of them. You try to break the tension, “Well, now I definitely deserve a discount.”

At that, Joel cocks the gun and looks back at you.

You back into the wall and slide down, afraid he actually might shoot you for being mouthy.

“Sorry,” you manage to whisper, eyes downcast. He uncocks the pistol and sets it back down on the table. He nods at Tess and she walks over to your bag and rummages around. She pulls out 10 rations, making eye contact with you as she closes your bag back up.

“I didn’t agree to a discount,” Joel huffs.

“C’mon she killed her dad,” Tess says as she turns to look at you, “That’s impressive.”

You let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding and lower your hands. Tess pulls out a thermos and pours golden brown liquid into the lid. Her and Joel have another one of their psychic conversations and she gets up to walk over to you.

She stops in front of you holding the cap. “Well. Are you going to stand up?” You feel your stomach flip flop at the weight of her gaze.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” slips out. You two look at each other and Tess’s eyes darken. She slowly reaches the cap toward your mouth. She stops you as you reach to grab it, “Uh-uh. Can’t have you dropping our cap now, sweetheart .”

“Tess,” comes Joel’s voice from the table. A hint of warning present.

You slightly lower your hand but as she raises the drink to your mouth you gently rest your hand on her wrist.

She stops moving before stepping in closer. Her eyes are hungry, like you’re…prey.

The sound of Joel pushing the chair back to stand up breaks the tension.

She just smirks and tips the drink and you, somehow, manage to take the full shot without choking.

“Thanks,” you say as she walks back to the table. Joel remains standing until she’s sitting back down. He shoots you a look that you can’t read and gets back to the map.

You walk back to the bed and lay down, letting the warmth of the whiskey soothe your achy head and warm your body. You inadvertently let out a small sigh as you get (probably too) comfortable.

As you doze off you don’t notice Tess’s gaze soften nor do you hear her quiet, “Shit Joel.” He just smiles and shakes his head. “Careful.”

#tess servopoulos #tess x reader #tess x fem!reader #eventual smut #18+ blog

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acey-wacey · 2 years

Text

Way Too Late

Pairing - Ruggie Bucchi x Reader

Synopsis - For as long as you can remember, Ruggie Bucchi has been a pain in your neck but will you still feel that way after you find yourself stuck with him?

Genre - enemies to lovers 🥵, hurt/comfort

⚠️TW⚠️ - panic/anxiety attacks

Notes - I've been reading a lot of spicy YA fantasy novels lately so this turned out more suggestive than I expected it, just yk be warned

"Hey, have you seen my pen?"

You spared a glance to your desk partner Silver as you shuffled through your bookbag. He mumbled his indifference with his head on the desk. You lightly tapped his shoulder enough to shake him out of his nap.

"I don't know," Silver muttered, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he shifted to face you. "Where'd you leave it last?"

"That's the problem. I just had it," you lamented, dropping your head to the desk, leveling your gaze with Silver, who was already asleep again. You just had your pen in your hand but the moment you lost track of what you were doing, it disappeared. You huffed at the inconvenience and were about to ask another classmate for something to write with when a very familiar pen dangled in front of your face.

"Shehehe, looking for this, prefect?"

You recognized the hissing laughter before he even spoke, your pouting expression falling into annoyance. You turned around in your seat to face the giggling hyena who was tapping your pen against his cheek.

"Give that back, Ruggie," you growled, glaring at him with all the anger you could muster. He just chuckled again and twirled the pen between his fingers.

"And what are you going to do, Y/N?" he teased, tossing the pen from hand to hand. You really couldn't care less about the cheap ballpoint pen. You could get another one from Sam for almost nothing, but now it was a matter of pride. Ruggie Bucchi had challenged you and even though you knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, you still couldn't help but get riled up at his taunting. "You can chase me all you want but you'll never catch up."

That was definitely a challenge. You slammed your hands on the desk as you stood up, startling poor Silver awake. At the sign of your movement, Ruggie darted for the door. You followed close behind as he led you through the hallways.

Occasionally, he would turn around, running backwards and teasing you by putting the pen just within your reach but pulling away when you swiped at it. Every time you missed, he laughed and smirked provocatively at you.

After running for too long, you had an idea. Your eyes narrowed in mischievousness and you gasped while looking past Ruggie.

"Oh! Professor Trein, what are you doing out here?" you said sweetly. Ruggie froze in his tracks and turned around long enough for you to tackle him.

You pinned his hands above his head as you wrestled for the ballpoint pen. Ruggie struggled in your grip but he was built for agility, not strength. You finally pryed it away from him and looked down at him triumphantly.

"Stop stealing my stuff, Ruggie," you scolded through gritted teeth, recalling his recent increased frequency of mischievous escapades. You expected him to bite back with some witty retort as he usually did but for some reason his gaze was strictly fixed to the side of him. His ears twitched nervously and you narrowed your eyes at him. "What's wrong with you, eh?"

He glanced back at you long enough for you to notice the blush dusting his face. You were confused for a moment before becoming overwhelmingly aware of your position.

You still held both of Ruggie's wrists above his head with your hand and you now realized that you had been straddling his waist as you leaned down to make fun of him. Your face exploded in heat as you pushed yourself off of him, scrambling to stand up.

Ruggie stood up quickly as well, pink still present on his neck, but he now wore a smug smirk.

"Guess you really do have a thing for me, huh, prefect?" he giggled. You threw the pen you had worked so hard to get directly at his face and hit him squarely in the forehead. "Ow! What was that for?"

"I don't have a thing for you, got it?" you turned away from Ruggie so he couldn't see how flushed your face was. He picked up the pen and flipped it in his palm. "That would be stupid."

"I mean, duh," he laughed, attempting to disguise the hurt that just shocked him like a lightning bolt. "I would never like you either."

"Good."

"Great."

You stood there in awkward silence for a few more seconds before you had to break the silence.

"We should go back to class," you remembered, glad to have an excuse to end the painful interaction.

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

You sighed as you walked down the school hallway, struggling to carry all the cleaning supplies you had. Crowley had once again made you clean the entire school for something Grim did. Your feline friend wasn't even helping with the plethora of brooms, rags, and feather dusters you were balancing on a big pile.

When you finally reached the supply closet, you dumped everything on the floor and kicked it to the back of the closet. It was Crowley's problem now. You yawned loudly and leaned against the doorframe.

"Tired?"

You jumped at the voice behind you and assumed a defensive stance. You groaned when you were met with familiar blue-grey eyes.

"Yes, Ruggie, I am tired so if you would please save it, I would appreciate that," you tried to sound snarky but you were so tired, it couldn't even come across. It was so fast you could've hallucinated but you swore you saw a flash of concern in Ruggie's eyes. "Why are you even here?"

"Hiding from angry dormmates," he said without hesitation. Your lips parted in confusion and disgust.

"What did you do this time?"

"Cheated at spelldrive."

You couldn't contain the judgemental laugh that escaped your lips.

"That is so typical of you," you laughed as you pushed off the doorframe so you were standing right in front of Ruggie. You mimicked his voice in mocking. "Oh no, I have to face the consequences of my own actions, boo hoo."

"At least I didn't have to clean the whole school because I can't control my pet."

"Hey! Grim is fully sentient and his actions are not my fault," you grumbled, still upset that Crowley held you accountable for your only dorm member's follies. "It's not fair that I have to do this."

"What was it you said?" Ruggie tapped his chin and batted his eyelashes innocently. "Oh no, I have to face the consequences of my own actions!"

"Why, you little-"

You were cut off by the rumbling sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Ruggie's eyes widened as he spotted the punk-ish Savanaclaw dorm members who were out for his blood. He grabbed your arm and pulled you into the supply closet, closing the door behind you.

You glared at Ruggie, your features illuminated by the small window above. You pulled on the handle, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread when you realized it was stuck. You pulled at the door, frantically jiggling the handle, hoping that somehow it would magically open. Ruggie rolled his eyes at your insistence.

"It's locked, genius," he said sarcastically. You whirled around to stare him down.

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if it wasn't for you!" you yelled, your previous lack of energy overlooked by the angry adrenaline pumping through your veins. "First, you steal my pen, then cheat at spelldrive, and now? You've locked me in a closet with you! Do you just like causing problems?"

"Not saying I'm not a fan of mischief, but I didn't lock us in here on purpose," Ruggie groaned, plopping down on the floor as he accepted his fate. "Why would I want to be stuck in a supply closet? And with you, of all people?"

"I don't know," you scrutinized. "Probably some dumb scheme of yours."

"Not everything I do is for personal gain, you know," he surprised you with the gentleness in his voice. You come almost detect insecurity if you listen hard enough. "You just haven't bothered watching closely."

If only he knew just how closely you had been watching. You were glad for the dark room as you felt your face heat up in embarrassment. You remembered the few times you had been caught staring at Ruggie in class, and the many, many times you hadn't. Your eyes caught on every flick of his ears, every shift in his posture. Too many times had you caught yourself wondering what it would be like just to hold him, to run your fingers through his hair and kiss him. You couldn't describe the sensation, though if it was anyone else, you might've called it love.

You shook off the thought and ignored Ruggie, diverting your attention to yelling for help.

Though you knew it was next to hopeless, you spent the next 10 minutes pounding on the door. Eventually, you gave up and sunk to the floor, burying your face on your knees. At this time of the day, everyone would be gone from the main building, meaning you were stranded until the next day when the janitor unlocked the closet.

You had left your phone at your last class, intending to get it when you were done cleaning but now you regretted it. Grim was probably wondering where you were and even if he came looking, there was no way he would find you. As your breathing quickened, you felt the walls of the cramped closet closing in on you.

You hugged your knees tighter, hoping it would make the feeling go away. Hot tears stained your pants as you scratched at the back of your hand to distract from the looming anxiety.

Before you knew what was happening, Ruggie was in front of you with a concerned look on his face. He gently grabbed your shoulders and began rubbing circles with his thumb.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he assured, not breaking eye contact once. He brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face as he spoke. "It's gonna be okay. Just breathe."

You attempted to take a deep breath but it caught in your throat, causing you to choke on the air. It only made you hyperventilate more as tears streaked down your face.

Ruggie slid his hands up to your face and wiped the tears from your cheek. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

"Laugh with me."

As he cast the spell, you could hear your breath fall into time with his, temporarily out of your control.

Once you were calm enough to breathe of your own volition, you opened your eyes and looked up at Ruggie. His eyes were relaxed and a gentle smile graced his lips. You had never seen him so at peace before, at least not from up close. He has seemed so worried before and you felt a little guilty about how good it felt for his concern to be directed at you.

When he finally opened his eyes, he met your gaze and smiled at you in a way that was far too tender to be reserved for an enemy. His hands still cupped your cheeks as he tilted your head to look straight into his eyes.

Every inch of your body longed to kiss him but you couldn't shake the feeling that he still wanted nothing to do with you. It seemed true enough that he would never be able to like anyone like you. You averted your gaze, not trusting yourself to remain neutral if you stared into his stormy grey eyes for any longer.

He pouted slightly and tilted your head to face him again. You offered no resistance to the touch while your head screamed at you to stop. His eyes flicked down to your lips and you wet them with your tongue instinctually.

"May I?" Ruggie whispered, sending a shiver down your spine as you watched him lean closer to you. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

Your head hit the door as you fell backwards but you could barely feel it. You felt Ruggie melt into the kiss as his body relaxed, pressed against yours in the tight closet. You had taken your sweet time getting to the point of not hating each other but you wasted no time in the present. You could feel Ruggie smiling as he greedily took more and more.

Your hands tangled in his hair, combing through the soft locks you had daydreamed about. Without opening your eyes, you found his ears and stroked behind them.

At your touch, Ruggie yelped and jumped back. Your eyes widened in surprise before you burst into laughter. Even with barely any light, you could practically see the blush that erupted on his face.

"Sensitive spot?" you teased, resting your palms on the floor in front of you. Ruggie gulped and chuckled nervously.

"Just wasn't expecting it."

"I can stop if you'd like."

At your words, he turned towards you and smirked deviously.

"It is way too late for that, angel."

As soon as he spoke, he pounced on you, nuzzling his head into your neck.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #savanaclaw

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fireinmoonshot · 2 years

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CONTAINS SPOILER FOR ETERNALS.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE Summary: In 1521, the Eternals disbanded and Druig left you despite the lengthy past you'd both shared. Now, you're forced back together by the Emergence, but after 500 years apart, neither of you are quite the same as you were. But a love like the one you shared hundreds of years ago never quite goes away. Pairing: Druig x Fem! Reader (slight enemies to lovers) Fandom: Marvel's Eternals Warnings: ETERNALS SPOILERS, mentions of death, implied smut (nothing specific). Word Count: 7740 A/N: So... it's been a while, huh? I had intended to write and post this before the end of 2021, but with all the chaos of working retail at Christmas, it didn't happen, and then somehow work has been crazier at the start of 2022 than it was at Christmas, which is why it's taken me so long to get around to posting the final part now! Thank you to anyone who has stuck around waiting for me to post it and I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for so long! I'm really proud of this fic as a whole, it was a real challenge for me, and I'm happy with how this final chapter panned out. I hope that if you've been waiting since December for this, it doesn't let you down and that you enjoy it as the final part of this fic! Thank you all for the love and support you've given me as I've been writing and posting this and I hope this lives up to your hopes! <3

THE DOMO, PRESENT DAY

Druig isn’t disappointed when you let go of his hand and walk away to try and calm your mind down after Ikaris and Sprite leave. He watches you carefully, though, as the atmosphere in the room gradually simmers down to something resembling normality.

You end up sitting atop a desk, taking some time to revel in the silence before the others all start talking again.

It’s been clear all along to you that Sprite is in love with Ikaris, and you couldn’t blame her. A long time ago, you would have gone to the ends of the earth to be with Druig, you would have done anything for him because of that same love. Love does that to people.

Druig has moved to sit a little behind you on the same desk, resting his arms over his knees as he looks out at everyone talking.

The last thing either of you expect is for Kingo to decide to leave.

“Wait, where the hell are you going?” Phastos looks up at him, just as surprised as the rest of you are.

“I can’t help you guys. I still think Ikaris is right,” Kingo says, and you can’t fault him for being honest, especially when it’s quite clear now that there’s been a lot of lying going on for your entire time on earth.

Phastos, however, isn’t impressed by Kingo’s choice. “So that’s it, huh? Just gonna follow him?”

“I love the people of this planet, but if you stop this Emergence you are preventing so many other worlds like this one from being created.” He pauses and lets the words sink in for the rest of you. “I still have faith in Arishem, but I refuse to hurt any of you for my beliefs.”

You glance across at Druig and he looks at you at the same time, sensing you. He meets your eyes and gives you a small, sad smile. It’s proof that things like this never change, no matter how much time passes, because you can both tell what the other is thinking without saying a word.

Makkari stops Kingo by placing a hand on his shoulder. “We need you,” she signs.

“Even with my help we’re no match,” Kingo shakes his head. “It’s Ikaris.” He pulls away from her and continues to walk to the door. The look of disappointment on Makkari’s face makes you feel awful. “But I hope to see you on the next planet.”

With that, Kingo turns and walks away, leaving the Domo and the rest of you behind. Phastos throws his hands in the air and you let your gaze drop to the floor and sigh, disappointed to have lost someone else.

Karun stops and looks out at all of you before thanking you for everything and telling you that he’ll miss you all. It’s a painful reminder of what you’ve got to lose. Humanity rests in your hands – those students you teach every day, the ones that all of the languages you’d learnt came in handy for, are counting on you without even knowing it.

You all watch him follow Kingo.

There’s a few moments of silence before Druig speaks.

“Look, if I’m gonna get myself killed going up against Ikaris, we’ll need to have a backup plan,” he says, scarily nonchalantly.

You tense up. You don’t like the idea that enters your mind at his words. Druig, getting himself killed going up against Ikaris. Preparing a backup plan for what might happen if he dies. Druig dying… can’t be something that you let happen.

“All of our powers, even if they’re amplified, are not enough to kill a Celestial.”

“Well, Sersi did turn a Deviant into a tree.”

You look up, eyes going straight to Sersi in shock. When the hell did she do that?

“I’m sorry, what? You didn’t wanna tell me that?” Phastos asks at the exact same time that you ask a variation of the same question.

Druig, behind you, answers softly. “My place, the Amazon. You were elsewhere.”

Elsewhere as in passed out, you assume. You give him a nod in thanks and look back at Sersi and the others.

“You’ve never been able to do that before,” Makkari is just as shocked as the rest of you who hadn’t witnessed it happening.

Sersi looks a little alarmed. “I don’t know it happened, okay,” she starts, “and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t do it again.”

“Well, now is the time to try, don’t you think?” It’s clear that Phastos is sick of waiting around.

“Phastos, that Deviant is dead! Our plan is to put Tiamut to sleep, not to kill it,” her voice is full of worry. “I can’t kill a Celestial.”

“Sersi– Sersi–”

“We can’t!” She raises her voice, scaring nearly everyone in the room. Sersi has never been the type to raise her voice or get angry at you all. She’s always been the voice of reason when others were fighting. “We can’t.”

The atmosphere in the room is suddenly uncomfortable again, but it’s not for long. Druig is too quick to put himself into the firing line again, taking the pressure off of Sersi.

“It’s okay, Sersi,” he interjects. “I’ve got this.”

He sounds sure and confident, but there’s something underlying that you recognise immediately upon hearing his words. He’s not sure if he can do this. Truthfully, you’re not too sure if you want him to do this either.

You’ve already lost Gilgamesh and Ajak, and you’ve essentially lost Ikaris, Sprite and Kingo now. Half of you, gone. You can’t even let your mind entertain the idea of losing someone else, let-alone Druig. Let alone the biggest and only love of your life.

Glancing back at Druig, you find him staring down at his hands, knotted together in front of him, and frown to yourself. He can’t die. You won’t lose him. Not again.

When Sersi leaves the room, Phastos sits back down to try and figure out a way to re-create the uni-mind with only the few of you that remain. Thena goes to talk to Sersi and Makkari sits down to prepare herself for the oncoming battle. It leaves you and Druig alone, and eventually you shuffle closer to him, forcing him to look up at you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask him.

He watches as you spin the rings around on your hands in front of you and wonders if he should reach out and take your hand to stop you from fidgeting. You’re anxious. It’s a habit of yours that he’s noticed since you started wearing rings.

Druig had wondered what it would feel like to add one to your ring finger once.

That was after he’d left you, though, when he’d fallen into memories of your time together and found himself pondering his life if he hadn’t walked out of yours. It was his way of torturing himself over his decision.

He wasn’t going to torture himself over his choices any longer.

“No, but I’ve got no choice,” Druig admits with a shrug. “It’s the only way if the uni-mind doesn’t work, and Sersi has been through too much already to have to have all of this riding on her shoulders.”

You glance up at him for only a second before staring down at your rings again. “You could die though,” your voice is smaller than you mean for it to be. “You could die. You’re being stupid and irresponsible and reckless, and you could die because of it.”

Druig smiles to himself. “Not the first time either of us have been reckless, is it?”

You narrow your eyes as you look up at him, frowning. “This is different, Druig. This isn’t just fighting a Deviant. This is putting a Celestial to sleep, all while Ikaris tries to stop you. Ikaris being the most powerful out of all of us. Don’t you see how this could end badly?”

“I do,” he nods. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to give up and not at least try.”

His words are getting on your nerves. How can he be so casual and nonchalant about all of this? About possibly dying? It makes no sense, and you wish you could knock some into him, though you have a feeling it probably wouldn’t even work if you tried.

He can see that you’re getting irritated with him as he speaks more, and it makes him smile a little. It’s cute, the way you’re pouting, the way you’re spinning the rings on your fingers faster. He finds you endearing all of the time, but especially when you’re worried about him.

“You’re finally understanding how I felt all of the times that you were being reckless and risking your life to kill Deviants, are you? Only took you seven thousand years,” he chuckles to himself and shakes his head.

You look up at him, glaring. “This is not the same thing, Druig!”

“Oh, and how isn’t it?” He raises his eyebrows. “That was me being worried that the person I liked was going to die, and this is you being worried that the person you love is going to die. Is that not the same thing?”

“That was Deviants, this is a Celestial! I already covered this. This is more dangerous.”

Druig scoffs. “It’s the same thing, you’re just being stubborn as usual.” He rolls his eyes and slides himself off of the top of the desk, stretching out his legs. “I’m doing this even if you’re worried about me. I’m doing this for you. So you can go back to Japan and teach all of those children that are still counting on you. So you can have your life back.”

He reaches over and places his hand on top of yours, stopping you from fidgeting with your rings. You look down at his hand on yours, and then back up at him.

“Sacrifice comes alongside love, doesn’t it?” He shrugs. “You would have sacrificed this life for me back in 1521 if I’d let you. I think it’s about time I sacrificed something for you, don’t you, my love?”

It feels a little like you’ve fallen into the past as you all stand in the Domo in your suits, ready for the battle that’s awaiting you once you step foot on the ground. Putting a Celestial to sleep isn’t an every day activity, though, and neither is fighting members of your own family. You’re not sure if you’re even ready, but you know you have no choice but to try to be.

You’re unnerved by everything right now.

Especially by the thought that Druig is ready to sacrifice himself.

He’s avoided you ever since your conversation, though it wasn’t all that long ago. Just long enough to create a uni-mind and prepare yourself for the fight of several lifetimes. You can’t blame him, though – he knows you well enough to know you’ll try and get him to change his mind, and you know him well enough to know he never would.

You pull Thena aside not long before your arrival. She’s the one thing you feel you can find certainty in.

“I know you want revenge,” you start, “but please be careful today. We’ve lost too many of us already and… I can’t lose you, too.”

Thena squeezes your shoulder gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s not a promise – none of you can promise anything – but it’s enough.

“And he’s not, either,” she adds on after a moment, nodding towards Druig.

You glance at him, confused. Before you can ask what she means, she walks away from you with a smirk on her lips. It’s as if she knows something that you don’t, which you know is entirely impossible, but it bothers you anyway.

Druig sidles up to you not long before you arrive at Tiamut, surprising you since you’d thought he was going to ignore your existence until he was forced to acknowledge you. He nudges your side as you stare out the window and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Don’t say it,” he says, “I know you want to, but don’t. Please.”

You look up at him. “Who says I was going to say it?”

“Me. I know you too well.”

It’s impossible not to smile at him after that. His way with words, as usual. Words that would make you feel all fuzzy inside without him even trying. You go back to looking out of the window at the scenery passing by as you travel. It’s beautiful, and it makes you all the more determined to save it.

“Can you promise me something?” He asks after a few moments.

“Depends on what it is.”

Druig raises an eyebrow. “Oh, there are promises you won’t make me?”

“There are several things that I won’t promise you, and it’s very likely that one of them is going to be the one that comes out of your mouth soon, but go on. Do tell.”

He smiles at you and shakes his head. He’d never realised how strong love could be until he’d fallen for you. To still love you so deeply, after all this time, to still see you and hear you and feel himself grow warmer inside just because of your presence… would never be something he’d tire of. Even though the reason you were back together now was the possible end of Earth, he was glad that at least something had brought you back into his life when both of you were too stubborn to do anything about it before.

“I’ll try my luck,” Druig continues. “Your powers. I don’t want you to use them when we’re on Tiamut. Don’t use them to sense us, how we are. No matter how worried you are. How much you want to know we’re okay… you need to keep your strength and focus on you at all times.”

You pout and stare out the window. “That was on my list.”

Druig chuckles. “What a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “Can you promise that to me, though? It’ll make me feel less worried if I know you aren’t using your powers on me.”

For a few moments, you simply stare out of the window. You can see where he’s coming from. Your powers do take a lot of strength out of you, and you’ll need as much strength as possible for the uni-mind and any other fighting that might arise. But… not knowing if your family is safe?

But then… Druig will worry more about you if you do use them, which will make him less focused on his own fighting and therefore more susceptible to being hurt…

You sigh. “Fine, I won’t use my powers to sense your feelings.”

He looks down at you just as you look back at him.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. He surprises you, then, by reaching down and taking one of your hands in his, lifting it up so he can press a kiss to the top of it. “I’ll see you when we’ve put this Celestial to sleep, my love.”

You nod, feeling a little lost for words, and watch as he walks away from you, hoping it won’t be the last time you hear the words my love from his lips.

TIAMUT, PRESENT DAY

Upon your arrival to Tiamut, it feels like the world is ending already. Black ash is spewing into the air from the core of the volcano, making the air thick and uncomfortable. You’re worried about Thena, luring Ikaris back into the Domo, and worried about Druig beside you.

He glances at you as you all fix the bracelets onto your wrists for the uni-mind. You try your best to smile at him, though it comes out as more of a grimace, which Druig finds amusing.

The uni-mind forms between you, Druig, Makkari and Sersi, lifting you all into the air. You feel like you’re weightless and it’s the first time you can feel the strength of your power, yet still feel like it’s not taking any strength out of you at all. It’s a strange feeling.

You’ve lived for all these years and still, so much is new.

The uni-mind grows stronger, connecting to the other Eternals, and you allow your powers to flow through you, feeling confident in your plans until Druig, beside you, is knocked out of the uni-mind and carried into the air by Ikaris.

It fades around you, and when your feet hit the ground and you feel like yourself again, the realisation of what’s happening hits you so quickly you feel ill. You watch Ikaris – the man who had once been like a brother to you, a confidant, someone you loved – lifting the love of your life high into the air before throwing him down to the ground, blasting him with his powers into the earth as he does.

Tears spring to your eyes immediately and your knees give out, sending you to the ground. You feel as though a part of you has just died, and you suppose… maybe it has. You cover your mouth with your hand and try to compose yourself, to control your breathing, not wanting your grief to ruin the chance of the uni-mind working. Druig wouldn’t want that.

You want to use your powers. You’ve never wanted to use your powers more than in this moment… but Druig had specifically asked for you not to use them. And even if he’s not here to see you use them, even if he is truly gone… you can’t bring yourself to go back on your promise to him.

Especially when Ikaris uses his powers to send the Domo crashing to the ground.

In a flash, Makkari grabs you and Sersi and pulls you out of the path in time as the Domo crashes into the sand. She leaves you to retrieve Phastos and Thena from inside the Domo before returning to you. There’s no time for you to mourn what you assume is Druig’s death. There’s only two things: your burning desire to see Ikaris suffer and the need to stop Tiamut.

The threat still remains ever present as Ikaris lands on the beach before you all.

“Druig’s gone,” Ikaris says, and you feel another part of you splinter. “It’s over.”

Just as you’re wishing that you had powers that were useful in a fight, Makkari does the job for you, taking the words right out of your mind by running at Ikaris, grabbing him and pushing him across the length of the beach at speed.

And then, perfectly timed for the chaos of the moment, the volcano finally erupts, beginning to spew rocks, ash and lava at you. Phastos, Thena and Sersi use their powers to stop you all from getting hurt, and you wish there was something – anything – you could do to help. But there isn’t.

You’ve never felt more useless.

Your powers had been useful before – when Deviants were around and you could sense them, but now, in a fight like this, where Deviants aren’t around and you’re fighting against your own family to put a Celestial to sleep? This is different. You curse Arishem.

Sersi stops and looks up at the volcano as soon as the debris stops raining down.

“Phastos,” she says, as he puts a hand on her shoulder to show her he’s listening. “I have to try and stop this. I need to get closer to Tiamut. Keep Ikaris busy.”

Phastos nods at her. “We’ve got you. Go.”

The three of you watch as she starts to run towards the volcano, and you turn to Thena as you pull your knives out. She nods at you, giving you a small smile of encouragement, and you close your eyes as you try to focus in on yourself and the others.

You all begin to run across the beach towards where Makkari and Ikaris are fighting, just as he sends Makkari into the sand with a blast of his powers. You launch one of your knives at him, fighting in the only way you know how, missing him just barely, just before Phastos launches his own attack.

You’re about to throw your second knife when your powers appear of their own accord, taking you very much by surprise. Deviant. There’s a Deviant here, they tell you. You stop, eyebrows furrowed, and spin around, looking in all directions to try and find it.

The others are all too busy fighting Ikaris to notice that your mind has drifted away.

For the first time, you actually see the Deviant, Kro, before he sees you. In the past, you’d been able to sense when one was near, but never the exact location. They’d always still surprised you by appearing from wherever you least expected it. It’s still not enough time to warn any of the others, though. They’re all so focused on Ikaris that even when you run up to them, yelling “There’s a deviant!” they can’t hear you.

It appears, then, knocking Ikaris out of the air and into the sand. Thena uses her powers to stop it, to create a momentary break in the fight, as you reach them.

“Why are you helping Ikaris?” She asks it, spinning her weapon in her hand.

“We can’t let it absorb our powers,” Phastos warns her.

The Deviant raises a hand, showing a gauntlet of cosmic energy exactly like Gilgamesh used to use. You can sense the change in the air immediately, the way Thena’s intention changes, the way you understand her pain even more now, having lost the love of your life, too. If you could get revenge like this… you would, too.

“Too late,” the Deviant says.

Thena raises her sword and steps towards him.

“Thena, he’s trying to goad you. Don’t–” Phastos tries.

Makkari is quick to jump into action, running in circles around the Deviant, burrowing him in a cocoon of sand. But the attempt doesn’t last long. He slams his foot into the ground, the power of his strength knocking not only Makkari away and into the ground, but you and Thena, too.

You wince as your body slams against the rocks, pulling yourself up from the ground as you watch the Deviant move to Makkari, attempting to kill her and take her powers like he’d done to Ajak and Gilgamesh. Phastos uses his powers to attack the Deviant, knocking him into the caves at the side of the cliff.

Thena begins to walk after it.

Leaving Phastos to deal with Ikaris and knowing the Deviant will be busy with Thena, you run over to Makkari, falling onto the ground beside her. Your body hurts, but the pain from being thrown into the rocks is fading already.

“Makkari,” you shake her shoulders gently, trying to awaken her, just grateful that Phastos had gotten Kro away from her in time, saving her life. You can only hope that she’ll wake sooner rather than later.

From your spot on the beach, you have a perfect view as Tiamut starts to rise around you. The sea turns rocky, the waves splashing up on the sand as you pull Makkari’s unconscious body further up the shore, away from the water. The ground is shaking and you fall a few times, finally giving up once you reach a spot far enough away.

You collapse onto the ground beside her, shaking her again to try and wake her, just as you see the head of the Celestial begin to rise out of the water. It’s like a sight from your worst nightmares and it terrifies you.

To your left, Thena walks out of the cave and you let out a sigh of relief as you see her. She’s alive, and she’s alone. You close your eyes briefly, reaching for your power, trying to sense the presence of the Deviant, and feel nothing.

Everything happens all at once, then.

Ikaris breaks free of his bonds, using his powers and sending a wave of them across the beach, knocking Phastos down into the sand. Makkari, beside you, wakes up from the feeling of it, and grabs you, as if she’d never passed out in the first place, taking you with her as she hurries to check if Phastos is okay.

He leaves, then, flying away and leaving the beach empty, like he was never here and that your fight had been for nothing since he’d escaped anyway. You clench the sand in your hand, letting out a sigh.

You wish Druig was here.

“What about Sersi?” You ask, glancing at Makkari and Phastos.

“She’s got this,” Phastos says, and you can tell he’s trying to convince himself of that, too.

The four of you wait on the beach, unable to do anything but wait and hope. It’s not too long later when you feel yourself being lifted into the air by the uni-mind, taking over all of you like it had before. You feel the weightless feeling take over your mind and body again and feel it take control of your powers.

And Sersi, though you can’t see her or sense her, does the impossible.

Your feet touch the ground again and your eyes focus in on Tiamut. It’s clear to you that the uni-mind has worked, just not quite in the way you’d all intended for it to work. Before, he’d been golden. Glowing. Alive. Now, he’s marble. Tiamut… is dead. You’ve all just… killed a Celestial.

You turn to Phastos and Makkari.

“Did we just…?”

Makkari nods, looking at you with fear in her eyes.

You turn, running a hand through your hair, and shake your head. What would this cost you all? Surely, surely, things couldn’t go back to normal after this? After what you’d done?

But… Sersi. Was she okay?

The beach is quiet as you wait for her, only hoping that she’ll join you. Soon enough, she does. You see her in the distance, walking towards you all, and sigh in relief. At least she was safe and seemingly okay. She embraces you and Makkari when she reaches you. It’s comforting to have her back with you, and though nothing feels normal, the warmth of family is one that never changes.

“How? How did you do it?” Phastos asks her.

Sersi looks around at all of you. “When I touched Tiamut’s palm, I felt energy surging into me. Tiamut joined our Uni-mind.”

“I always wondered how we survived the destruction of other planets that we were on. By being connected to the Celestial as it emerged,” Phastos seems fascinated by the truth.

Makkari walks a little closer to Thena, and then looks around at the group of you.

“We became one,” she signs, “even Ikaris and Sprite… all because of Tiamut.”

Phastos nods. You look around at the group of them. Family, through it all.

Aren’t you forgetting someone?

A thought enters your mind, and you furrow your eyebrows… that’s not your thought. It feels foreign, yet somehow familiar. You glance around at the others, though none of them are looking at you and you feel strangely certain that the thought could belong to none of them, as well as the fact that none of them could plant it in your mind with their powers alone. Your powers would have to be activated to do so, and they aren’t because of…

Druig.

Your head spins, looking across the beach to see the unmistakable form of Druig walking towards you. He’s backlit by the sunset, but you can still see the smirk on his lips.

There’s not a single moment of hesitation as you take off running towards him. He meets you half way, arms wrapping around you and even lifting you a little off the ground as you hug him, burying your head into his neck.

“How did you do that?” You mutter. “I’ve never let you in my head.”

“Your guard was down,” he explains softly. “From the fight, I assume. Sorry. Didn’t want to do it without your consent, but I could feel that you thought I was dead and I didn’t want you to think I was for any longer.”

“It’s okay,” you hum. “But how are you not dead?”

Druig chuckles at that and pulls away from the hug to look at you. He stares into your eyes for a few moments, pondering his next move, before he decides upon it. “Well, I decided that there was no way I was going to die without doing this at least one more time.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Doing what?”

He gives you no time to really think, instead he leans in and presses his lips to yours. His hands cup your cheeks, holding you like he never wants to let go of you again, and his lips move against yours with such familiarity that it’s almost like the past five hundred years have gone by in the blink of an eye. Nearly like you’re back in the 1500s, still wrapped up in the depth of your love, all over again.

Neither of you care that you’re giving the other Eternals absolutely nothing of what they want to see, and neither of you are aware that Phastos has turned away, disgusted, that Sersi and Thena are smiling sadly at you, and Makkari is amused at the surprising moment.

Things between you and Druig haven’t changed. You’re still wrapped up in one another without little care for anything except each other. Hopelessly, recklessly and absolutely undoubtedly head over heels for one another.

Druig pulls away from the kiss out of breath. “That,” he says, “doing that one more time.”

You rest your forehead against his and try to catch your own breath. “Like hell if you think that’s the last time we’re doing that, Druig.”

He smirks.

“Okay, I think that’s enough PDA for today!” Phastos calls. “Can you guys stop now?”

Both of you can’t help but laugh as Druig reaches down and takes your hand in his again and you walk over to join the others. You lean into his side as you watch Sersi offer to turn Sprite into a human, and feel completely content.

Exhausted, yes. Like you could sleep for a hundred years… yes. But you’ve always been stronger with Druig by your side, and you both know it.

SOUTH DAKOTA, FOUR DAYS LATER

The fact that you’d thought that things would simply go back to normal after you succeeded in stopping Tiamut was, you now realise, a rather silly thought. It’s been four days since you left the island, and Tiamut, in the middle of the Ocean, managing to get the Domo to Ajak’s house in South Dakota for Phastos to fix before you left to find the other Eternals – leaving Earth behind for the first time since you’d arrived here.

You’d come to the decision to join Druig, Thena and Makkari without much thought.

As soon as the idea had been brought up over dinner two days ago, you’d begun toying with the idea of going with them all. For one thing, you didn’t want to leave Druig so quickly after getting him back in your life, and another was that you knew if you went back to life in Japan, you’d spend the whole time wondering about what the others were doing.

Thena joins you in the kitchen on the fifth night. You’d volunteered to wash the dishes, knowing how it could be a good, calming activity sometimes, and thought you’d need it after the stress of the last week.

It hadn’t been that long ago that you’d been living happily alone in Japan, trying your best not to think about Druig even after all these years, and now he was sitting in the living room behind you, watching television with the others.

“Have you made your mind up yet?” Thena asks, leaning against the bench. She has no intentions of helping you wash or dry the dishes, finding such mundane tasks unnecessary.

You glance at her. “Made up my mind about what?”

“Whether you’re coming with us or not,” she says. “It’s obvious that you’ve been thinking about it for the last few days since it was mentioned at dinner. I don’t know if you think you’re being subtle or not, but you’re not. We’ve all noticed.”

With a sigh, you go back to scrubbing the dish in your hands. “I made my choice.”

“Already?” Thena seems surprised.

“Not long after you decided to go. But until we actually leave, my mind is still going to keep playing the ‘what if’ game with me and trying to convince me to stay with what I know,” you shrug and place the plate on the drying rack before grabbing another one.

Thena watches you carefully for a few moments.

“You really love Druig, don’t you? Even after all the time apart?”

“I do.” You don’t hesitate to answer her. “Even after all the time apart.”

She smiles as she notices the fond look on your face. She’d felt the same thing for Gilgamesh for so long and recognised it well. The fondness, the love, the comfort that comes with someone you love like that.

“I said this to Druig before,” she glances at him in the living room, “but you and Druig deserve to live a long life together. And the world hasn’t ended… so what’s stopping you?”

You stop washing the plate, letting it drop into the water, and look at her.

“When did you say that to him? He never told me.”

“It wasn’t long before Ikaris revealed the truth to us,” she explains. “He told me that I needed to be careful because you couldn’t lose me after feeling Gilgamesh die. I don’t think he quite realised that losing him would have hurt you more.”

You look over at him, comfortably sitting on the couch, head resting on his hand, eyes fixed onto the television, and smile at how human he looks. The things you’re used to in every day life now hadn’t been around last time you’d just been with him like this. It feels a little like you’ve got him in your day to day life, even though this isn’t home.

“No, I think he knew that. He just would never admit it to himself,” you tell her. “He’s going with you and Makkari. He told that to me that night. He said he knows we should have probably made the choice together, but that it would be what’s best for him. I haven’t told him that I’m going to come with him, yet. I don’t know how he’ll take it. He wanted me to be able to go back to my life in Japan before we stopped Tiamut.”

Thena shakes her head. “You know him well enough to know that he’s going to accept whatever you choose. You can’t love someone for as long as you’ve loved him and not know that. Don’t kid yourself.”

Her words are so blunt, so completely Thena, that they make you smile. You reach over and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, before turning back to washing the dishes.

THE DOMO, A WEEK AFTER TIAMUT

The warmth of Druig’s body next to yours is a type of warmth you never want to forget. Your head is rest00 ying on his chest, his hand is gently running through your hair and the events of moments before are still fresh in your mind.

It feels a little surreal to be laying with him like this. You’d expected it to feel strange – like the 500 years you’ve spent apart would make a difference – but they haven’t. Things feel as if no time has passed at all. The love you’ve both kept for each other all these years overtaking all of the awkwardness and anxiety that could have been borne of these moments. It’s refreshing.

“Y’know,” Druig starts, “when we were trying to stop Tiamut, when I stopped Sprite from hurting Sersi… I left out a bit of that story when I was telling the others what happened.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Why? What did you leave out?”

“It didn’t feel like something the others should know, in my defense,” he hums. “I told her that this was her fight now and she… she told me to stop being stupid and to tell you that I loved you. That we’ve lost enough time.”

You smile at the thought of Sersi fighting for your love.

“And what did you tell her?”

He smiles, this time. “I told her that you already knew. But when I was waiting for Sprite to wake up, I had time to think about it all, and she was right. That’s why I kissed you on the beach. We’ve lost five hundred years, and we could’ve lost even more of that time if we failed to stop Tiamut. I didn’t want to lose another second with you.”

You look up at him to find him already looking at you.

“You already know what I’m thinking, don’t you?”

Druig nods. “I promise I’m not reading your mind. But I know. I wanted you to be able to go back to teaching but… you’re not going to, are you? You’re going to come with us when we go to find the other Eternals.”

“Those kids I teach… there will be more of them to teach because of what we did. Children will continue to be born on Earth, they’ll continue to learn, and one day… I’ll be able to be there to teach them like I’ve done all these years,” you explain. You’ve had enough time to come to this conclusion, and you’re certain of it. “When we left Ajak, she told us to live for ourselves. I did that, but something was always missing – and that something was you. I love how I’ve spent the past 500 years. But we both know that there are changes we would have made if we could have. I think it’s time I give other Eternals a chance to make those changes, to live a life for themselves like we have.”

He admires you more than anything for your words. Loves you more than he thought possible. Druig leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “You are too good for me, my love,” he smiles. “But is it also because you don’t want to spend time without me so soon?”

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Yeah, that too.” You snuggle back down into his chest. “I was thinking that we could go to Japan together. Since we never actually got to back there and have that mountain home we wanted. Remember?”

Druig nods. “I do remember. That was a nice day.”

“Would you want to do that one day? When we get things sorted with Arishem and the Eternals… would you want to come back to Japan with me? You could find something to while I teach. We could have a life there.”

There’s silence for a few moments, the hand that was stroking your hair stops, and you worry that it’s because Druig is about to tell you that he doesn’t want that anymore. That the future you’d planned out in the past was an impossible one to envision anymore.

But then his hand resumes and he hums. “I would love to have a life with you in Japan. For you to show me around your home, for you to… find a place for me in the life you have now. If that’s what you want… of course I want that, too, beautiful.”

You smile to yourself. “Deal, then. Now, let me lay here for a little bit longer before someone inevitably comes and knocks on your door and tells us they need us.”

Druig smirks. “You sure you wanna spend that time resting?”

“Druig,” you say, not moving from your spot. “When we have our mountain home and it’s just the two of us, I imagine there’ll be plenty of time for doing anything except for resting.”

SOUTH DAKOTA, TWO WEEKS AFTER TIAMUT

Being back in Ajak’s house without Ajak there is a strange feeling, but it’s made more bearable by having the others there with you – even if it isn’t everyone anymore. Phastos has his family there with you, too, and there’s a strange sense of normality alongside them. You’ve spent the past two weeks here, fixing the Domo, overcoming the exhaustion from the fight on the beach, preparing for the future, and it hasn’t been terrible.

You’re sat beside Druig, your legs resting comfortably over his, as you munch on a slice of pizza. Phastos, Makkari and Ben, Phasto’s husband, all sit in the living room with you, watching the television reports on the ‘strange marbleised figure in the middle of the Indian Ocean’ that the news has been talking about for two weeks now.

“Aliens, half the population being wiped out, Gods, and they’re still wondering about what the strange marble figure in the ocean could be?” You shake your head. “Humans are fascinating, but surely they should just accept the strange at some point, right?”

Druig nods with you in agreement.

It’s not long before the calm ends, though, with Phastos making a quick exit from the couch to deal with Thena, who is seemingly scaring his son in the kitchen. You watch on, amused, knowing that Thena means no harm to the boy.

Makkari finishes off her food and goes to join them.

“You ready to head out?” Druig rests a hand on your thigh. “No second thoughts?”

You shake your head and finish your last bite of pizza. “You’ve asked me that at least twice already today, Druig. Are you trying to make me have second thoughts, or are you just being very overly cautious?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I’m just double checking you’re certain. You were asking me if I was sure before Tiamut. It’s my turn now. I didn’t want you to follow me before when I left, so I made sure you wouldn’t. I don’t want you to follow me now just because you think it’s what you need to do to be with me.”

His words are sweet, you have to admit, though they’re entirely unnecessary. You’re sure of your choice, have been ever since you made it. And though a part of you does yearn for the comforts of your home in Japan and the excitement that comes from teaching all of your students, there’s a larger part of you that knows that the comfort that will come from being with Druig, Makkari and Thena and finding other Eternals will eventually fill the yearning for Japan until you can return.

You lean in and kiss him gently. “I’ve never been more certain of anything, Druig.”

He finds comfort in your words, too, and pulls you in for another kiss.

“Now, come on. We’ve got places to be,” you stand up from the couch, taking your plate with you, and wander into the kitchen. Druig follows you, joking with Phastos as he does, and you can’t help but grin to yourself as Phastos tells his son to stay away from Druig.

7000 years, and he’s still the very same.

It’s chilly outside, the sky a cloudy grey and a gentle breeze passing by. The Domo is high in the sky again, looking as normal as it ever has thanks to Phastos’ work in fixing it. Thena heads down towards it, leaving you with Druig, Makkari, Phastos and his son.

She’s never particularly been one for goodbyes. You can’t blame her.

Druig takes lead in starting them, walking down to stand beside Phastos. “Hey, Phastos. Take care,” he says. “This world is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” Phastos seems truly grateful. He extends a hand. “I know you’re not a hugger for anyone but her,” he nods towards you and you grin at him, “so…”

You watch on, amused, as Druig takes Phastos’ hand and then pulls him into a hug, knowing that Phastos is probably hating every second of it, but liking it at the same time.

Makkari smiles at you and you both walk closer to the three of them.

Druig turns to you and Makkari. “You think that when we find the other Eternals out there, that they’ll accept the truth the way we did?”

Makkari nods, completely certain. “Because the truth will set them free.”

She steps towards Phastos and gives him a hug goodbye and then starts to follow Thena down towards the Domo. You give Phastos a hug of your own, then lean down and tell Jack to take care of his dad, which he promises to do.

Druig watches on, smiling fondly as he watches you talk to the young boy so easily.

“You four stay safe, okay?” Phastos says as Druig takes your hand and you start to walk away. “We’ve had enough trouble for a good long while, I think.”

You and Druig both wholeheartedly agree with him.

With a wave, the two of you start to follow Makkari and Thena down towards the Domo.

He squeezes your hand and glances at you.

“If you ask me if I’m sure again, I will push you down the hill, Druig.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t going to ask you,” he says. “I was just thinking about how glad I am that I have to back, and how incredible you are for accepting me back after what I did to you.”

“Incredible or incredibly stupid?” You flash him a playful smile. “I’m a very forgiving person when it comes to the people that I love, Druig. I would have forgiven Ikaris if he’d given me a chance to. I think that the second I saw you again, part of me knew that I would forgive you if I could ever come to terms with the fact that I still loved you.”

Druig nods. “I’m glad you came to terms with it.”

“Me too,” you smile to yourself. “I’m glad you still loved me, too.”

“It would take more than the world ending for me to stop loving you,” Druig admits. “However many lives we’ve lived that we don’t remember, or any lives we might live in the future, I am certain that I’ll have loved you in all of them.”

~~~~

Tag List: @tompetersebbuckyhazleo @freyagallileaevans @dontstopxx @shannon-posts @ln-nell @buckyandlokicanhaveme @alluringshawn @notroxanna @trickylittlewitch @itscheybaby @vampireviel @ivrypetals @measure-in-pain @suraaann @keepingitlokiii @chenlemure @ponyboys-sunsets @nifujiswhore @stubborncap @dangerdolns @binidict @ln-nell @unstableindividual @tiffanypooh @punkdalek @loki-is-loved

#druig #druig x reader #druig x you #marvel #eternals #marvel x reader #eternals x reader #love me harder #eternals x you

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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 years

Text

it will come back (richkid!haz + tom x reader)

"I know who I am when I'm alone; I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need." - Hozier, It Will Come Back

AU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

summary: Harrison insists Y/N is a great shag and nothing more. Tom joins in on the fun and proves him right and wrong at the same time.

pairing: richkid!haz x actor!tom x reader

word count: 4,902

notes: this is.... just a pure mess of filth. this is set before angel of small death, but can be read as a standalone. big thanks to @tommysparker and @shipping-not-sailing for enduring all the pestering and giving me mad ideas and have you seen @uglypastels' AMAZING FANART (open it for a surprise)??? y'all are amazing ilysm <3

warnings: enemies to lovers, past & present fwb dynamics, language, drinking, jealousy, so much yearning holy shit, SMUT (threesome (mmf), oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, rimming, anal sex, protected sex, dirty talk, choking, kiiind of hate sex? it's filthy pls read at your own discretion)

***

Paris, February 2019.

If there's one thing Harrison loves more than Fashion Week, it's the Fashion Week after-parties. After hordes and hordes of luxury pieces to wear, there’s plenty of lavish extravaganza to be had. Right now, he’s treading among marble sculptures in some chateau just outside of Paris, clad in a masterfully crafted suit, mingling with models, fashionistas, and fellow jetsetters of the world.

Except for one.

"Ugh, there she is." he scoffs into his champagne flute.

Next to him, Tom scans around the room. “Who?”

He follows Harrison’s gaze to the woman next to the statue of Persephone eating her pomegranate. She wouldn’t look so out of place next to these sculptures if it weren’t for the colors she’s rocking. Her lips glow red like she’s the one who took a bite of the fruit. The bubbles in her champagne are like specks of gold, and the sequins are specks of stars in her indigo blue dress.

“Ah. The love of your life.” Tom side-eyes him cheekily.

“Fuck off. No, she’s not!” Harrison retorts way too quick and aggressive. Then, he continues, without taking his eyes off of her, “I can’t even stand her. That girl’s a bitch and a half.”

Tom only laughs. "You say that now…”

Harrison lightly shoves him in the arm. "The hell does that mean?”

“Oh, please. I know you guys are fucking around.”

“What?” Harrison tries to play it cool, but he knows there’s no coming back from that. He’s been made.

Tom leans against the bar, now rocking a smug ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk. “You sneak away and she sneaks away and then you guys always come back a little flushed… it’s not that hard to figure out, bro.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I like her. I mean, look at her!” Harrison insists. “With her snooty voice and that fake laugh and her stupid dress…”

Tom shakes his head. "If you hate her so much, why do you keep coming back to her?"

"Honestly?" He takes a deep breath, and for the first time throughout this conversation, something remotely truthful comes out. "She's one hell of a shag."

"Huh..."

Tom goes quiet. Unlike his best friend, he can objectively say that there’s nothing wrong with her voice. She laughs, her whole face lit up, like she’s genuinely having fun, and her dress looks fine on her.

Scratch that.

Her dress looks amazing on her. The tulle is sheer and light around her thighs, making it look like it magically floats around her. But the corset bodice accentuates her curves so well that Tom finds himself somewhat envious of the sequins swirling patterns all over her body.

Harrison turns to see him still staring at her, deep in thought, and he grows suspicious. "What." It sounds more like a demand for explanation than a question.

“That’s it? Great shag, nothing more?” Tom asks, as if for confirmation.

Harrison shrugs.

“So you don’t mind if I chat her up?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, far too cool, too fast for him to catch himself. In the span of three seconds, Harrison manages to go experience the shock, the panic, the confusion.

The regret.

But he’s three seconds too late, and she's already walking over to the bar where they are now, and he can hear Tom stepping up and greeting her in his effortless charm.

"Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!" Tom opens up his arms and she gladly accepts the hug, kissing him on both cheeks.

"I could say the same about you, Spider-Man." she pats him on the chest, finger lingering just a moment too long on his chest. “I almost didn't recognize you for a sec. You look great!"

He chuckles bashfully. He seems to trade in his usual preppy golf chic style with a more ‘bad boy’ look, with his buzzcut and leather jacket over a white t-shirt. "Oh, thanks. It's for Cherry. I just came back from Morocco and then this div right here…" he elbows Harrison, "...told me he's walking the runway! So of course I gotta go."

"I saw. Good job on not tripping," she notes, finally flashing her signature fake smile at Harrison.

He's not sure whether he's more annoyed at her backhanded compliment or the fact that it took her this long to even acknowledge him. He knows she was there at the show. She sat right on the front row, eyeing him up and down with every outfit he came out in.

"Thanks. I'm sure you were really looking forward to that, weren't you, darling?" he smiles back pointedly at her.

"Only thing I came here for," Y/N retorts, quick as lightning. "Actually, I'm hosting this after-party hoping to celebrate that too, but alas…"

"You did this?" Tom pipes up, motioning at the hall around them.

"Mm-hm. I mean, regular clubs are so passé, don’t you think?"

"That's so true. And may I say, this is quite impressive. It’s very… you." Tom's eyebrows rise, playing up his puppy dog eyes as he marvels at the place.

Harrison sees right through his bullshit moves and her bullshit taste, so he simply dismisses, "Eh, it's alright," staring down his empty glass, signaling the bartender for another drink.

"Do you wanna dance?" Tom shifts the conversation with such ease, as if there isn’t a massive elephant in the room-- if said elephant were his best friend cockblocking them.

And to make things worse (or better, depends on who sees it), she matches his frequency, too. "I'd love to. Any reason to get away from Debby Downer here."

Harrison manages a half-hearted, condescending sneer as they make their way to the dance floor, but he knows he's losing. He lets his best friend flirt with his archenemy, and of course she wouldn't miss the opportunity to land a low blow. Her dark eyes flash viciously in the dim light as she shoots him a death glare from across the room.

And he tries to prove her wrong. He tries to mingle with his other friends and acquaintances, but somehow, among a sea of guests, he can always spot Tom and Y/N on the dance floor. Right now, the shorn-haired boy has one hand on hers and the other on her hip. He spins her and dips her, probably saying something swoon-worthy as she hikes up her leg on his waist.

Giggling and getting way too close for Harrison's liking.

And no. He doesn’t have an actual preference for how close Y/N can get with Tom or how much she giggles over his jokes.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

"Mate," Tom lightly slaps his arm, snapping him out of his reverie, "Y/N's showing me around the house. Is that alright?"

"Um, yeah. Why are you asking for my permission?" he laughs it off like it's the most ridiculous question ever-- and in hindsight, it is. He has absolutely no say in who his friend or his enemy fucks.

Tom shrugs. "I don’t know. I mean, you're the one who has history with her--"

"It's really no big deal, Tom. I don't care," he cuts off, more exasperated than anything else.

"...Right. I'll text you later, then?" he pats Harrison's arm once again, this time as a goodbye.

Y/N waits for him by the entrance, and that little shit still has the gall to blow him a kiss before she takes Tom's arm and disappears into the hallway.

Some of his model friends call him out to join them, and as he downs the rest of his whiskey, Harrison comes down to the dance floor to drown in the blaring music and dancing bodies. The question pounds his head: why did he let Tom go for it? Why is he disappointed that Y/N actually plays along? Why is he so bummed about this all?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he’s almost relieved from its distraction.

Well. Until he reads the message.

'Master suite. 2nd floor, East Wing. Last door on the left. Stop sulking and get your shit together asap, or Tom and I will start without you ;)'

It's much easier to simply pull one of these girls who are already grinding all over him and vying for his attention. He could make eyes at any of them and they’d be happy to get cozy with him for the rest of the night. No questions asked. But he hates the idea of leaving these assholes alone more than he craves being alone. He’d lost out twice already tonight-- first to Tom, and then to Y/N for having the last word. The winning strike. He’s not gonna let her win again.

So he sets off. Across the marble floor tiles and past the Greco-Roman statues, up the winding stairs towards the east wing. It's not until he walks in that he considers the possibility of this invitation being nothing but a prank. A sick joke to shit on his miserable evening even more.

"Ugh, I hate you guys so fucking much," Harrison grumbles, fully prepared to walk back out on Tom and Y/N, making out on the gaudy king-sized bed.

But with that, she pulls away from Tom. She walks over to Harrison, hips swaying under her dress. "Took you long enough."

"Thought you weren't gonna start without me, darling." He cups her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Thought you were gonna lose the attitude, Harrison," she chucks his little quip back at him. But then, as quick as pushes his hand away, she pulls him in, "C'mere."

It sounds like a dirty trick, but in it, Harrison finds relief. His lips find their way to hers. Hot and warm and biting and familiar. As it should be.

Finally.

"Fuck…" Tom quietly cusses from the bed, slipping out of it to not miss the action.

Harrison even forgot that he was there for a moment-- and for a moment, he wanted to forget. He's not ready to share her just yet-- especially when said friend so graciously helps himself to unzipping Y/N's dress and peeling it off of her body. So he shoves Tom away from her-- playfully, although with a sliver of truth behind the possessive gesture.

But Tom simply catches it as friendly banter, and he comes up behind the boy and kisses his neck instead. "Just like the good old days, eh, mate?" His hands roam all over his chest, his fingers warm against his sheer lace shirt.

"Wait, you guys have done this before?" Y/N asks, curious at the two boys before her.

"We went to an all-boys boarding school…" Tom shrugs and rests his chin on Harrison's shoulder.

"We've experimented," Harrison finishes.

"Ooh, naughty," she coos, closing the gap to Tom's mouth, this time into a searing kiss. But her hand strokes the back of Harrison's head gently, almost like willing him to stay.

And wrapped up in lust and loathing sounds like enough incentive to do that.

Y/N finally breaks the kiss with Tom to resume her kiss with Harrison. He wonders if she's comparing them in her mind; see who she likes better.

And he hates how much he wants it to be him.

"Well…" she smiles slyly like she could read his mind. "Why don't you boys show me how you do it, hmm?"

It flips a switch in Harrison’s head and activates his competitive side. He pushes Tom into bed, straddles his lap and slips off his suit jacket. He drops it on the floor, revealing the black lace shirt underneath, hugging his biceps and clinging onto his chiseled body like second skin.

Tom whistles low. "You sure know how to dress up, don't ya?"

Meanwhile, Harrison peels off the leather jacket and white t-shirt off of him. "You know how to dress down."

"That's very true," he chuckles, unbuckling his friend's belt and pauses when he pushes down his pants.

The lace shirt, sheer and swirling patterns on his chest, connects to the signature Versace black-and-gold waistband, and an equally sheer and fitting pair of tights, with lace edges like garters.

It's not just a shirt. It's a fucking lingerie.

Y/N couldn't contain her gasp. Nor could she resist joining them and feeling the fabric on his thigh-- a texture she's never felt on him before, and she wishes she had sooner. "Is this for me?"

Harrison scoffs. "You wish, darling."

She looks over his shoulder-- he couldn't see it, but he can feel her knowing smile to Tom. "That means yes," she explains matter-of-factly.

"There's no shame in that, mate. Besides, for what it's worth…" Tom runs his hand all over his lace-clad chest, down the silk button line, "You look damn good in it."

The buttons come undone one by one. The lace scratches against his skin, soothed by kisses from two mouths; one along his neck, the other down his spine. The hand over his hard-on is.. firmer, stranger, but he feels her curves pressed against his back. Soft. Familiar. Inviting.

Soon enough, he lies naked on his back with both Tom and Y/N between his legs. Their tongues dance along his veiny shaft, retracing the lace patterns on his discarded lingerie until they meet right at the tip. They make out right over his cock, clashing and colliding with the pink, leaking head. It floods his senses like no other.

"Um… hello?" Harrison breaks the silence in the room-- and the kiss.

"Jesus Christ, you just can't stand not being the center of attention, can you? Gosh…" she scoffs, slapping his inner thigh lightly.

"Are you always this hard on him?" Tom turns toward her, bemused.

She only stares at him as if saying, duh.

And he stares back at her. "That's hot."

Harrison partly considers smacking his head, but Tom follows it up with taking his entire length in his mouth. Dirty smirk slobbering and swallowing him whole. And just like that, all is forgiven. He doesn't remember Tom being this bold about sucking dick in boarding school, but to be fair, it has been forever since then.

His mind is hazy, and all he could think of is the tension in his core. At this point, he couldn't care less who makes him cum, so long as he does. And just as he gets on edge, in every sense of the word, her hand grips the base of his cock and follows the rhythm of Tom's mouth. Erratic. He only vaguely registers the moans muffled into a kiss as he explodes all over his abs.

"School must've been fun for you guys, huh?" Y/N smirks as she laps up his white hot release all the way to his chiseled chest, making her way next to him.

He really should've been very pissed at her. For raining on his parade. For mocking him and putting him in place in front of Tom. For being more of a bitch than usual, if that's even possible.

But she lays her head next to him and he can see the shimmery makeup on her face and the barely visible trace of lipgloss, and he just… kisses her. Brings his hand between her legs, slipping underneath her panties.

Soaked.

Harrison hums knowingly, "You're having fun, too, it seems," circling his middle finger around her clit.

"Oh, definitely." Her eyes close and breath hitches when his finger enters her-- nearly too calm, too gentle, given everything that's happened.

Well. Up until he hears the clink of a belt buckle dropping to the floor and the shift of weight in the bed as Tom jumps back in sans clothing.

He settles between Y/N's legs and nuzzles Harrison's hand, sucking his slick, salty fingers clean off of her arousal. "Fuck, you taste so good, too."

“I know,” she chuckles, low and lazy and cocky as fuck, not even hiding how attracted she is to this fucking guy.

“May I?” he gazes up at her, fingers hooked into the waistband of her lace panties.

“Fuck yeah.”

Harrison has never wanted to kiss the smug look on her face so bad. He tries to contain her moans as Tom licks up her folds and makes his way to her clit. Distracting her by undoing her bra and putting her pebbled nipple in his mouth, one after the other, never leaving one unattended with his finger pulling and pinching. But the more he tries, the more he finds himself… disappearing from the picture. Her nails scratch into his shorn hair as she gets further and further lost in her bliss.

“Tommy…” she sighs, her back arches as her orgasm draws near.

“Mm?” he barely responds. His eyes are still shut and his mouth buried in her pussy.

She cradles the back of his head, fingernails digging into her scalp. “Make me cum.”

That makes him look up, his nose glistening from her wetness. He flashes his signature boyish smile and dives right back to it.

There’s something about Tom that Y/N is wildly drawn into. He's cheeky and playful and affable in a way that Harrison… isn't. And as much as it pisses him off to see how much she's enjoying this, he understands perfectly why she does.

She grabs his hair, though, as if beckoning him over.

And like a fucking loser, he unlatches himself from her breast and meets her gaze. "Yes, darling?"

She kisses him through her high, messy and broken with moans, and for a second, he thinks maybe whatever they have between them means something. Somehow.

“Harrison…” she calls out his name, sweet and delirious like she's about to say something nice for once. “... I don’t think you’re my favorite anymore.”

She giggles mischievously, playfully, but Harrison just sees red. Even as she bites his lower lip to reel him back in, all he can focus is her hand on Tom’s face. How she hisses when he nips at her hip. How hard she came apart under him. And all his walls build back up.

“Yeah, well. You were never my favorite, so...” he untangles himself from her and sits up, “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

“Harrison--” she reaches out for him when she notices the air thickens between them, but he’s already left the bed.

Tom props himself up on his elbows and watches Harrison disappear into the bathroom. "Mate?"

Five seconds has never felt so long as Y/N faces the possibility that she might have pushed him too far. And when he does return, she fully expects him to curse her (and maybe Tom, but definitely her) out and storm off.

But he kneels behind Tom, seizing him from behind. His kisses are sharp and biting down his back. It's the kind that stings the swell of his ass when he gets there.

He grins back at Harrison. “You guys are so chaotic. Is this what you get up to when-- shit!”

Y/N watches his entire face drop in a blind surge of ecstasy. His jaw goes lax and lets out a lazy moan as Harrison works his tongue around his taut ring of muscles. Teasing. Taming. Taking his time to work the so-called golden boy open.

“I honestly came here to fuck Y/N, but…” Tom admits.

She responds with a light swat to his shoulder. “How presumptuous of you.”

“Did I presume correctly, though?”

“Well…” she rolls her eyes and bites back a smile, which is already an answer in and of itself.

“So go on then. Fuck her,” Harrison comes back up and goads him, and she’s not sure whether he means it as an encouragement for him or an insult against her. Or both.

“You sure you’re okay with that, mate?” Tom turns his head towards him, his tone light but his eyes narrow in concern.

He sticks the tip of his finger into Tom’s ass, just enough to make his arms give, so he can get a better look at the girl laying before them. “I told you, who she fucks is none of my business. Right, darling?”

“I know, but-- fuck me…” he groans, gripping her waist tighter for support.

“While you fuck her? You sure you can handle it?” Harrison simpers devilishly.

Tom tuts. “Don’t underestimate me, bro.”

Harrison finds Y/N’s gaze boring a hole into him, firm and unwavering, like she’s trying to read him. Or make a decision. Whatever he’s doing, he’s not doing it to win her anymore and she’s not sure what to make of it.

“Top drawer, right bedstand,” she tells Harrison, both as an instruction and a sign of consent.

He promptly sets off to the bedstand, convincing himself that he’s not doing this for her with every step. He tosses a condom Tom’s way, keeping one for himself, and the latter wastes no time unwrapping it and rolling it onto his curving cock.

“Hurry up, or Tom and I’ll get started without you…” Y/N teases in a sing-songy tune, but her eyes watch him like a hawk as she gauges his reaction.

He’s calm this time. “By all means, start without me,” he replies nonchalantly as he rummages through the drawer, still looking for that lube.

“Alright then. Let’s see if that cock’s as good as your mouth,” she pulls him in with her legs around his waist.

He leans in to kiss her as he lines himself up against her opening. “Looking forward to proving it to you, darling.”

Harrison finds the lube and turns to them just in time to see them moan in pleasure, and he tries not to break the bottle in his hand. He really shouldn’t be so wound up by Tom calling her darling. It’s an awfully common term of endearment, and he's not the only one who can use it on her. Tom probably didn't mean anything by it.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fuck me eventually?” Tom smoothly calls him out.

For the first time since the three of them stumbled into bed, Harrison is glad that Tom is there and seems to genuinely want him. Y/N’s game has gotten so tangled up that he’s not even sure if she still wants him there. Not really. So he’s gonna make the most of it where he's wanted.

“I thought you would’ve learned a little patience since we last… experimented,” Harrison whispers in his ear, biting at his earlobe.

“Guess I haven’t.” Tom grinds his ass back into Harrison’s cock, finding a new rhythm that makes Y/N moan.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re cute.”

“Why, thank you. I--” his words are cut off with the feel of cold gel on his sensitive spot. “I try to be--”

Harrison interrupts him with his cock this time, entering him in one swift thrust. He welcomes the haze that clouds his mind as Tom locks in on him, so tight and delicious around him. It allows him to forget this whole mess he's lying in.

Meanwhile, Y/N revels in how real everything feels. Tom's dick flexes inside her, pulsing and still all at once. He's thicker than Harrison-- his whole body is. His waist is slightly wider, and his hard chest presses a more solid weight on top of her. Even more so that there's Harrison and the whole weight of his ego piling up atop him…

"You alright?" Harrison checks in with Tom as the latter still lies flopped on Y/N's chest.

"Mm, very," he murmurs into her skin, kissing her lazily across her chest..

She must've seen how cock-drunk he is because the next thing she does is to cup his face and take a good look at him. "Hey… look at me. Are you good to keep going?"

"I am, I am. It's just been a while since I've last done this, Y/N. Chill out," he rambles on, kissing her for reassurance.

"I want you to not cum before I do," she instructs-- slowly, soothingly, as she scratches the back of his head. "Can you do that for me?"

Tom simply hums, so she clenches around his cock to snap him out of it. "Okay! Okay. I won't, baby, I promise."

She grins and finally kisses him back, then. "Good boy."

"You never asked me so nicely," Harrison notes as he starts to move at an unhurried pace. There's no jealousy or resentment in his words… that he intends to.

"You never play nice with me, so…" Y/N shrugs, thrusting up to meet Tom's frantic hips.

"Yeah, I'll show you nice." Harrison laughs, almost coldly so, and starts fucking Tom deeper. Harder.

It makes her head spin. Tom's completely enshrouding her with his biceps and sloppy kisses all over her neck. But she can't help but feel like Harrison's the one fucking her. His mouth is on Tom's shoulder, sucking a hickey like there's no tomorrow, but he keeps his eyes on her. Keeping his pace deliberate, so she feels every impact of his thrust.

His hand finds Tom's neck, and he feels him picking up the pace from underneath him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good…"

"Harder," Tom manages through a strained voice.

"Where?"

He squeezes Harrison's fingers on the sides of his neck, and he's fully aware how acutely she feels it. The sheer sight of Tom blissed out and desperate before her is getting her so close, and he knows it.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs it into Tom's ear, but he's really saying it to her.

The two of them barely hears Tom's needy pleas of 'fuck I'm so close, fucking hell' when they come. Everything's so tight, so intimate, but at the same time, never really close enough. She's feeling his thrusts without even having him inside her. He brings her closer, but it's Tom's hand rubbing down her clit. And God, she falls apart harder than she ever had, but she also comes wishing he was closer.

They sort of stumble back into bed absent-minded, each in their own post-orgasm haze. Each of them wondering what the next move should be, now that this is over.

Tom's phone rings in his trousers pocket-- startling and saving them from another second of this awkward silence. He climbs out of bed, and fishes it out, ass hanging in the air.

"Hello?" He pauses, pulling his pants back on. "Yeah? Alright, cool. I'll be right down. No, I'm just… looking around. Think I got a bit lost," he winks back at them.

Y/N sees Harrison smile, shaking his head at his best friend, and it makes the air a bit lighter in the room.

"Harry and Jacob just arrived, so. I'm gonna head back downstairs and… give you guys a little privacy-- I think you really needed it. But, uh," Tom grins, all bright and cheery, "That was a lot of fun, guys. See ya!"

The door closes and the lighthearted air disappears with him. Right now there's just Y/N and Harrison sitting on opposite ends of the bed, still trying to process what just happened.

Harrison finally opens up, "I--"

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she says at the exact same time, wasting no time to rush off to the ensuite.

When she comes back, Harrison's already buttoning up his bodysuit back on, and she's almost disappointed that she can't admire this look on him a little longer.

"You're leaving," she says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, um." He looks like he's about to say something, but just… studies her face from across the room.

"What?"

"Did you mean that?" He plays it off by glancing down on his shirt buttons. "When you said I wasn't your favorite anymore?"

And there it is. So he was pressed about that, she notes in her mind. In all honesty, she meant it as a joke. But they also don't open up and be vulnerable with each other. So she settles for the next best thing.

"I don't pick favorites," she ultimately answers. "But if I did…"

Harrison looks up, reluctantly resigned with how much he still wants it to be him.

But her words just hang in the air, and eventually she shakes her head. This is simply not the relationship they have. "Nah. Nevermind."

But he gets it. He smiles, for the first time in a while, a genuine smile at her. "Right." It's not quite the answer he's hoping for, and not quite the reaction he wants to give, but it's something.

"Besides," she pipes up, the cheekiness coming back to her pretty features, "I think if I were to decide, I would need to fuck you first."

"Didn't we just--"

"No…" she steps closer, and Harrison has never felt more naked in his life, even though she's the one wearing nothing. "Tom fucked me and you fucked Tom. I think it's hardly fair, isn't it?"

She wraps her arms around his waist and he welcomes it with open arms. "Good point. We'd better go ahead and make it fair, then, darling."

She kisses his jawline, already unbuttoning his shirt again. "Gladly."

***

Tagging my beloved moots who might be interested? @angel-holland @spidey-sophie @worldoftom @cocoamoonmalfoy @thegirlintheswivelchair @lovelytholland @violetlilysunshine @spideyssunshine @spideyspeaches @annathesillyfriend @hotforharrison @kiwi-bitchez @selfcarecap @awkward-darkness @bi-writes @hollandsrecs @hollandsmushroom @kelieah <3

anyway i hope you enjoyed it and i'd love to hear what you think in the comments, reblogs, or asks! thank you so much for reading!

#richkid!haz #dear lord i hope the tags work #harrison osterfield #tom holland #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom x harrison x reader #ava writes

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

rationalizations

rationalizations: a defense mechanism in which one makes up a false but reassuring explanation to explain their behavior and/or feelings to both themselves and others, thus avoiding the reality of why they are really acting or feeling as they do.

summary: You’re the psych evaluation for Spencer. You think he’s full of shit, so you refuse to sign his clearance form until he actually tells the truth.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

category: angst (happy ending)

content warnings: spencer’s canonical trauma, flashbacks, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, swearing

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ enemies to lovers event. it’s not my favorite trope, but one of the prompts sparked inspiration for me. i also took a good amount of inspiration from meredith’s various therapy scenes in grey’s anatomy, so if some of it feels familiar, that’s why! i swear i intended to make this cute and funny, but, well… here we are lmao.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Spencer throws his bag onto his desk with a frustrated huff. It thumps loudly, startling JJ at her desk across from his. She gives him a sympathetic look regardless. “Still not cleared yet?”

“No!” Forgetting that it’s wheeled, he drops himself into his chair. It skids backwards and he has to scramble to grab something to keep from falling out of it.

“Careful there,” JJ says, trying valiantly to suppress a laugh. “That psychologist's got you really worked up, huh?”

“I don’t know what she wants from me!” he complains. “It’s been nearly a month! Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub, but they cleared him. I was only shot in the neck.”

“I mean, that’s still kind of a big deal,” she says. “You could’ve died, from the gunshot, or from the nurse that tried to kill you afterwards.”

“Speaking of that nurse,” he starts, “Garcia is the one who shot him and she’s been a wreck over it. She insisted on going to the guy’s execution. But the therapist cleared her!”

“Penelope’s not in the field,” JJ points out.

He crosses his arms. “Still. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. That possibility is part of the job. It’s not like it came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared for it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spence,” she says. “Just keep all of your appointments and I’m sure you’ll be cleared soon.”

He pulls a stack of papers on his desk towards him. Paperwork—one of the things he’s actually allowed to do. “I better be,” he mutters.

---

“And it was really scary, you know?” Spencer wipes at his eyes with a tissue. “Not knowing if I was going to live or die.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He takes a deep breath. “But… it’s over now. The preacher who shot me died in the same shootout. Owen McGregor, the leader of the corrupt deputies, died later that night, in another shootout. And Greg Baylor, the one who posed as a nurse and tried to kill me, was sentenced to death row and he’s gone now, too.”

His psychologist makes a note on the paper in front of her, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“I… I feel better now, just letting that out.” He takes a new tissue and dries his nose. “I feel ready now. Ready to go back to work.”

She nods slowly, considering him. But she doesn’t even look towards her desk where the clearance form sits, frustrating him to no end. After five minutes of silence, he breaks.

“You can’t be serious.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been coming to these sessions for over a month, and I’m still not cleared to be in the field. I…” He musters up more tears and makes sure his voice wavers during his next words. “I just don’t know what you want? I’ve tried everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says plainly.

He blinks in surprise, sending some of the crocodile tears down his cheeks. “What?”

She crosses her legs. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not being honest with me, and I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself either,” she says. “You’re a great actor. I can see how you’ve gotten clearances easily before. But that stops with me.”

Spencer stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

She moves her notebook to the side. “What happened in Texas isn’t the first time your life’s been in danger. Why do you think that is?”

“Wh—that’s part of my job,” he argues, fake crying long since forgotten.

“Not to the extent that you take it. I’ve read your file,” she says. “You take unnecessary risks with regularity.”

The tissues crumple in his hand as he clenches it. “I do not.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of your career.” Yet she doesn’t take out his file, or look at her notes. She speaks from memory. “2005. The BAU is assisting with a hostage situation. You go into the train, posing as someone who is there to remove a microchip from the unsub, but the first thing you do? You take off your bulletproof vest.”

“Okay, clearly you don’t understand what the situation was,” Spencer cuts in. “Ted Bryar was suffering from a psychotic break. He was somewhat unpredictable, and he told me to take off the vest.”

“And you just listened?”

“He—he had a gun, and was threatening both me and the other passengers with it!” he says. “What was I supposed to do, not listen?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies. “You easily played into his delusions just a few minutes later to distract him. Why not do that to keep yourself safe?”

“I was twenty-four and was running on adrenaline,” he says defensively. “And it was my first time doing something like that. You can’t expect me to think of everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she agrees. “So let’s jump forward a few years. How about the time you approached a teenager who was wielding an assault rifle with no protection, not even your own firearm?” she challenges.

“You mean Owen Savage? That was a unique situation,” he protests. “I knew I could talk him down.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought you had a good chance, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of that. He was volatile, and on a killing spree,” she counters. “You didn’t know if you’d succeed--”

“I did!” He startles himself by unconsciously raising his voice, but he doesn’t apologize. “I did, because….”

“Because you related to him,” she fills in. “And that’s fine. Having empathy for an unsub doesn’t suggest something’s wrong in and of itself. But you still put yourself, and the rest of your team, in danger, didn’t you?”

He crosses his arms. “I got that lecture from Hotch when it happened, okay?”

“So then why’d you confront an unsub alone a few years later in Miami?” she asks. “You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. You left your vest behind and just ran off.”

“I was having a head—wait, how do you even know that happened?” he questions. “It wasn’t in the report.”

“Well, first of all, you just confirmed it,” she points out, and he wants to kick himself. “Secondly, I can read between the lines.”

“I was having a headache,” he repeats. “I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. I just knew Julio’s life was in immediate danger, so I went to help him.”

“Uh-huh. More recently,” she says, brushing past his excuse, “You confronted your girlfriend’s stalker without your vest or gun.”

Spencer’s getting angry now. “I was trying to save Maeve. She asked me to leave them behind.”

“And you simply listened. Do you see the pattern I’m drawing here, Dr. Reid?” she asks. “These are just a few of the instances that stand out. Time and time again, you put yourself in unnecessary danger. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think that is?”

Spencer looks over her—really looks over her, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “Are… are you suggesting that I’m suicidal?” he asks quietly.

She looks him straight in the eye. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

It’s like she set off a bomb in his brain. Memories, and the feelings attached to them, emerge—Elle handcuffed to a seat, a teenager with a rifle, a blinding headache, Maeve and blood on the warehouse floor.

“Here’s what I see,” she says. “I see a man who’s been through so, so much. Your mother is mentally ill, your father left--”

His father is packing a suitcase. Spencer doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, so he falls back on what he knows.

“Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households.”

It doesn’t help. “We’re not statistics, Spencer.”

“Your file says she’s staying at an institution, and with your father out of the picture, I can only assume you were the one who had her admitted--”

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me!” she cries as she’s escorted out of the house by Bennington Sanitarium’s transport staff.

“A few years into your work here at the FBI, you were kidnapped, tortured and drugged--”

He’s tired and cold and his whole body aches. Tobias—the real Tobias—looms over him with a syringe.

“Please. I don’t want it,” he pleads of his captor. “I don’t want it, please.”

The needle punctures his skin regardless.

“—you were held hostage by a cult leader--”

Emily sits across from him on the plane with a black eye. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”

He pretends to agree.

“—you went through the death and reappearance of Agent Prentiss--”

He’s tried to make it clear to Jennifer that he wants to be left alone, but she won’t stop trying to talk about it with him, and he’s had enough.

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“—and your girlfriend was shot in front of you.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane demands, gun pressed against Maeve’s head.

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve replies, and Spencer’s heart drops. Thomas Merton is Maeve’s way of saying goodbye—she’s giving up.

“Wait!” he cries out, but it’s too late.

“This is just some of the more traumatic stuff. And then there’s what happened last month, which is why you’re here. You present a face of not being bothered by all of this, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life, but I think you are bothered. You really, really are. And you don’t want to admit to anyone just how much it all has affected you. Maybe you don’t even want yourself to know.” Her expression and tone of voice are certain.

Spencer can’t take it anymore. The whirlwind of emotions and memories is overwhelming.

“The number of times you’ve almost died is staggering--”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I had!” He glares at her, breathing heavily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

But she doesn’t seem intimidated or alarmed at all. She leans back in her armchair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The response only serves to make him angrier. She questioned him relentlessly and made him admit something he swore in the dark hours of sleepless nights that he’d never think again, never voice, let alone admit to anyone. She forced it out of him, forced. She made him say it against his will.

So why does he feel a sense of relief?

“I…” Tears well up in his eyes—real ones this time. “I’m done,” he chokes out.

He pushes himself off of the couch and out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

---

He storms in Hotch’s office and demands to see a different psychologist. But she was one step ahead of him—a few hours before the appointment, she had emailed Hotch and told him that under no circumstances should Spencer be allowed to get a clearance from someone else.

“And you’re going to believe her?” he cries.

“She’s doing her job, Reid.”

“You barely know her! You’ve known me for a decade!”

“Yes, I have,” Hotch agrees. “And you’ve told me yourself that you’ve fooled psychologists and therapists before. So if this one is saying you’re not ready yet, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Spencer just stares at him, but as usual, Hotch doesn’t blink.

“Unbelievable,” Spencer eventually mutters.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Hotch replies, glancing down at fists Spencer hadn’t realized he was clenching.

“Fine.”

Too agitated to stand in the elevator, he takes the stairs. As he stomps down them, he swears he’ll never go back to her office, even if it means never going into the field again.

A week passes, then two, and he hasn’t seen the psychologist since. But he doesn’t feel any better—he actually feels worse. It’s like her words broke a dam in his mind, in his gut, and feelings of unease and uncertainty won’t pass. It keeps him up at night. Her words echo in his head. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

Spencer’s had yet another sleepless night and is struggling not to doze off at his desk despite the coffee he’s drinking. He stands up with the intention of splashing some water from the bathroom sink on his face, but his feet take him somewhere else.

He stares at the nameplate on the door. He swore he’d never go back, yet he feels compelled to knock.

It only takes her a few moments to answer. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?” she asks.

“I…” He sighs. “Are you busy?”

“No. Come on in.” She steps to the side, opening the door wider to let him pass. He sits down on the couch.

She waits patiently. She doesn’t rush him. She lets him speak first.

He wrings his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Something you said is bothering me.”

“What was it?”

“About… living,” he admits quietly. “I… I think you might have been right.”

When he gets the courage to glance up at her, he finds a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Spencer hadn’t realized he was expecting judgment and disdain until it didn’t happen. His shoulders slump down in relief. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

---

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Spencer looks up from his paperwork, slightly out of it, to find Derek watching him. His coworker had, indeed, caught him thinking about her again. His psychologist. Well, former psychologist. After his second session back with her, she’d handed over a clearance form and a referral to a therapist outside the bureau to see long-term.

“And you better follow up with that,” she’d told him, the corner of her mouth turning up despite her serious tone of voice. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He’d promised that he would, and had followed through. But despite the progress he was making with the new therapist, he was feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see her anymore. He only saw her in passing, sometimes in the elevator or walking down the hallways of the building. They would exchange hellos, she would ask how he was doing, then give him a little wave as she left. Each time his heart would skip a beat, and he’d feel an urge to follow her to wherever she was going.

Yet he hadn’t quite realized why he seemed to be preoccupied with her until a dream he had a few weeks ago—a dream in which he found himself kissing her. Despite being alone in his bedroom, he’d woken up feeling embarrassed. He promised himself that he would put her out of his mind. Having a crush on his psychologist? It was ridiculous.

But then he saw her in the elevator a few days later and he couldn’t help but analyze her body language. It was open, and she twirled her hair around a finger while she looked at him to ask him how he was. A few other people entered the elevator on the next floor, but her attention remained on him. They were subtle signs, but signs that he recognized nonetheless—signs of attraction. And once he started seeing them, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer tells Derek, picking back up the pen he hadn’t noticed he dropped.

“You can’t pull that on me, kid,” he replies. “It’s your psychologist. You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

Spencer sighs. “So what if I can’t?”

“So go ask her out already!” Derek says like it’s obvious.

“You don’t think that’s just a little inappropriate?”

“You’re not seeing her as a client anymore, are you?” he points out. “Go for it, kid. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Spencer takes the advice—as soon as Derek said it, he knew he was right. He would regret not taking a chance on her and the connection he felt. Sure, she’d helped him with therapy, but it went deeper than that. It feels like she knows him.

He leaves the bullpen ten minutes early that evening, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. On her doorstep, he feels just as nervous as he did on the day he admitted that she was right, but it’s a different kind of nervous. An excited nervous. He knocks on the door.

She’s surprised when she seems him. He watches as her pupils dilate, and it boosts his confidence. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?”

“You can. I’d like to talk,” he says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that,” she says. “I thought things were going well with the therapist I referred you to, though.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean I want an appointment.”

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Okay, then, what do you want?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I really like you, and I think we’re meant to be together,” he replies, voice softening a bit.

She pauses before answering. When she does, her voice is gentle. “Dr. Reid, sometimes a medical professional’s care can start to feel like affection over a period of time, but--”

“No one has ever listened to me like you do,” he interrupts.

“That’s my job,” she points out.

“I’ve seen therapists before, but none of them have been like you,” he counters. “You understand me.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m glad I was a good fit and was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean that I see you as anything more than a client.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do feel something more for me,” he says firmly, but then backtracks a little. “Well, I know you’re attracted to me at least.”

She blinks and shakes her head slightly, take aback. “Dr. Reid, this is not appropriate--”

“Please call me Spencer,” he says, then jumps into his explanation. “See, when we’re attracted to someone, our bodies display involuntary signals, and I’ve seen you do some of them when you’re around me. Whenever we run into each other here, your body will turn a little towards me and you’ll play with your hair. Your attention is almost entirely focused on me. And, when you see me, your pupils dilate. They did it when you opened the door just a few minutes ago. Oh, and I’m attracted to you, by the way,” he adds as he realizes how one-sided he’s been. “I imagine my pupils probably dilate when I see you, too.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. She looks flustered, and he wonders if maybe he’s pushed it too far or said too much, but he can’t turn back now. “So, please, let me take you out,” he says quietly. “Just… just give it a chance.”

She bites her lip and looks at the ground. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, which he’s come to learn means she’s thinking. She speaks seriously when she looks back up. “If I go out with you, I can’t treat you anymore. If you ever need another evaluation or session, you’d have to get it from someone else.”

“I know,” he says. “I get along well with the therapist you referred me to, though. And having to get clearance from a different psychologist at the bureau is something I’m willing to give up in favor of getting to know you better.”

She considers him. “You’re serious about this,” she states.

It’s not a question, but he answers it anyways. “I am.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes unfocusing as she ponders the situation. Eventually, she says, “Let me think about it.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

---

It’s only six PM, but Spencer is already exhausted. He unlocks his apartment door, fully intending to collapse onto his bed, but instead receives a pleasant surprise in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him on the couch. He can’t help but smile.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Penelope told me it was a bit of a rough case,” she replies. “And I missed you.”

She holds out her arms and he takes the invitation, joining her on the couch and laying down between her legs, placing his head on her chest. “I missed you, too.”

Her next words are overly familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hey, we agreed to no therapy,” he says. “Something about I can’t be your client anymore?”

She huffs. “This isn’t therapy. This is being a good partner.”

Spencer smiles into the fabric of her shirt, snuggling in closer. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I don’t need to talk about the case,” he says, finally answering her original question. “I feel fine now that I’m here with you.”

She lets out a pleased hum and starts running her fingers through his hair. “I ordered take-out for dinner, by the way.”

“Where from?”

“You know where.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. She must have ordered take-out from the restaurant he took her to on their first date. He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Aren’t you glad you said yes to me all those months ago?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with pretend annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Then she kisses him.

Spencer’s never been so happy to be alive.

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

tell me what you thought here!

please note that i DO NOT ENDORSE asking out your therapist/former therapist. this is fanfiction. thank you.

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #i just cannot stop myself from writing about mental health issues and treatment can i

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

Text

Burn The Witch 12 - Bad Surprise [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Sometimes plans have to change.

Series Masterlist

Every job required something from people, and your job was no different.

Being a spy was not a conventional profession, everyone knew that. You were expected to be on the move all the time, be a good liar, be a good fighter, be whatever the job told you to.

And most important of all; never show fear, which you were usually fine with. You had learned long ago how to keep your calm in times of crisis. You had even managed to keep your calm facade when your last mission required you to play Russian Roulette with a target in order to keep your cover.

But this? This was something else.

Bucky cleared his throat to stifle a laugh as he looked down at you.

“Is it just me or are you using me as a human shield against a peacock right now?”

Your eyes snapped up at his for a moment before you turned your gaze to the peacock again, taking a subtle step to Bucky’s right to keep him between you and the animal.

Coming to the zoo was his idea, and you thought it could be a fun experience. You had never been to a zoo before, and it would count as one of the old times dates, so you were almost giggly by the time you got there.

Right until now.

“I think peacocks don’t have souls.”

“Alright.” Bucky sipped his coffee while you tried to ignore the fear bubbling at the pit of your stomach, eyeing the peacock that walked around the area behind the fences.

“I’m serious,” you insisted “What if it attacks me?”

“It’s not going to attack you Y/N.”

“It could,” you said, “It looks like it wants to attack me.”

The peacock fanned out its feathers all of a sudden and let out a squawk, making you jump out of your skin.

“Fuck!” the curse left your lips and Bucky’s eyebrows rose, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

“Sorry!” you said quickly, “Sorry, I…I don’t trust peacocks.”

“You got mugged in a dark alley and got shot, and a bird is where you draw the line?”

Correction, you were once held at gunpoint by the Italian mafia and peacocks were still where you drew the line.

“That’s not a bird.”

“….Peacocks are birds.”

“No, that’s the devil looking like a bird,” you said, “In-in bird shape. Bird shaped demon.”

“Okay, how about we see some other less threatening animal?”

“Let me check—oh my God Bucky they have sharks, I love sharks!” you said, waving the brochure in his face and he pulled his brows together.

“Sharks fall under the less threatening animal category?”

“Of course they do!” you said, looking at the brochure before looking around, “I think the aquarium is over there, let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand to entwine your fingers with his as you both started walking towards the huge blue structure.

“So I feel like I shouldn’t ask because I know you can’t exactly tell me the details,” you said, “But you’re not going on another mission soon, are you? This week?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Why?”

“I’m kind of planning something.”

He tilted his head, “What are you planning?”

“Not a club, relax.” you said, “Although I find it quite ironic that you’re this unstoppable brave superhero with super strength who gets intimidated by dancing.”

“I’m not intimidated…” he grumbled under his breath, making you giggle.

“Whatever you say,” you sang, and reached the entrance of the huge building and you pulled your hand out of his.

“Excuse me sir, is the aquarium still open?” you asked the security guard by the door and a small smirk appeared on his lips.

“Yes but it is closing in ten minutes sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Jesus Christ….

You smiled politely at him, batting your lashes.

“Oh—“ you took a look at the sign, “I just want to see the killer shark and we’ll be out. In five minutes. Please?”

He eyed you up and down but seemed to snap out of it when Bucky cleared his throat behind you as if warning him, making the guy gawk between you two.

Even you had to admit you seemed like a quite unusual couple. You were wearing a short white sundress with ruffled sleeves and sweetheart neckline with your hair loose while Bucky looked as if he was there to kill someone, a complete opposite of you with his dark jeans and black leather jacket as well as leather gloves.

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know that he was glaring at the guard before the guy shifted his weight, then stepped aside.

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” you said, grabbing Bucky’s hand as you led him inside. He followed you without any objections whatsoever, in complete silence as the sight of blue filled your vision along with many fish swimming behind the glass.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he asked softly and you pulled your brows together.

“Hm?”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

You approached the label by the glass, “You do.”

“Do I?”

“All the time,” you nodded, still reading the label but your head shot up when you felt him tug you by the hand. A giggle escaped from your lips as he turned you around so that you could look up at him, then wrapped his arm around you to scoop you up, making you squeal.

“Bucky!”

“All the time?”

“Put me down!” you said, your laughter echoing in the empty aquarium halls and he tilted his head.

“Not until you explain yourself,” he teased you, “All the time?”

“Sometimes, sometimes!” you said quickly, “Very rare times I might add!”

“Mm hm, I thought so.”

“If you drop me, I swear to God—“ you started but was cut off when he pulled you into a kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck. He took a step with you still in his embrace and you gasped as you felt your back hit the thick glass, but every single protest you could think of seemed to disappear from your mind as you lost yourself in the kiss. You raked your fingernails over the nape of his neck, making his grip around you tighter-

Then someone coughed.

Bucky pulled back instantly and you turned your head to see another rather annoyed technician leaning on her hip, watching you with her brows raised.

“Aquarium is about to close,” she said, pointing at you, “Take it elsewhere.”

Bucky put you down and you tried to fix the skirt of your dress, trying to look presentable.

“Sorry!” you said as Bucky mumbled an apology beside you as well, and the technician shook her head and walked away, talking about how she wasn’t getting paid enough for this. You covered your face and let out a whine but Bucky chuckled, causing you to lower your hands to stare up at him.

“Why is this entertaining for you?” you exclaimed and he held your wrist, gently steering you to the exit.

“Come on.”

“We can never come here again, ever.” you insisted as you followed him outside. It didn’t escape your notice that he bumped his shoulder into the security guard’s quite hard, almost knocking him over on your way out and your jaw dropped.

“That was mean!”

“Nah, he had it coming. Are you hungry?”

“But you could get in trouble. Besides, he was a nice guy—“

“Uh huh, a nice guy who was ogling you.”

You pulled your brows together, pretending to be confused, “Oh I’m sure you misunderstood.”

He tilted his head and pulled you closer to wrap his arm around your waist, then brushed his lips against yours, making you sigh.

“Bucky, it was mean and you can’t just kiss me to distract me—”

“I can try,” he murmured to your lips before kissing you again and you looked up at him when he pulled back with a grin.

“Fine,” you admitted, still pouting. “I’m hungry. Starving actually, let’s eat something.”

***

You were finding it harder and harder to convince yourself it was time to go home after every date with Bucky.

Scratch that, you were finding it harder and harder not to invite him upstairs.

But of course, you would have to report it back to the General and discuss the further strategies with him and for some reason, it felt more of a betrayal than this whole thing.

Surprisingly enough, it was something you wanted and not something you would will yourself to do because of the mission. There was no denying it, he was an attractive guy and you really liked spending time with him and you kept having dreams about him and whenever you were with him you had this lightness in your mind, as if you were a different person.

A better person, maybe.

You shook your head at your thoughts and left your apartment to knock on Keith’s door.

“It’s me, open up.”

You heard footsteps before he opened the door and a boyish smile pulled at his lips at the sight of milkshakes in your hand.

“Jesus, finally!”

“I made it at home, can’t promise it’s good,” you said as you walked past him into his apartment and stepped into the living room, “What are you watching?”

“James Bond,” he grinned at you, “Hey, have you ever tried milkshake with gin?”

“No?”

“Me neither, let’s try it.” He said, taking the big glasses from you to pour gin into them. You sat on the couch and took a look at the screen.

“How many times have you watched this again?”

“Like a hundred,” he handed you your glass and you took a sip.

“Not bad,” you commented, putting your feet up on the coffee table. He sat beside you, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“What did you do today?”

“Had a date.”

“With Barnes?”

“Yeah. At the zoo.”

“He took you to the zoo?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And peacocks are fucking scary,” you muttered, “And hey, we learned that Bucky is the jealous type.”

“The guy was dating people back at 40s, I could tell you that much myself.” He snorted, “Chloe says you went on a mission with Julian?”

You slipped a little on the couch, “He’s an asshole.”

“I know. Is he really that bad in bed?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Nah as much as I hate to admit, he’s pretty good. Unfortunately.”

“So top or bottom?”

“He goes either way to be honest, that comment was more about me.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, I like to be on top.”

“Suddenly everything about you makes sense,” he murmured and you took another sip of your milkshake.

“Don’t try that with Barnes though, the guy is from 1940s. He’s probably used to missionary only, you don’t want to give him a heart attack,” he wiggled his brows, making you scoff.

“Shut up.”

“Chloe is right, maybe you should go full on vintage on that when the time comes.”

You turned to look at him.

“Speaking of Chloe,” you said, “Anything you would like to tell me?”

Keith’s grin faded slightly and he shifted his weight, “Like what?”

“Bringing her coffee, taking her out to the field…” you trailed off, “What gives, man? I thought we had a deal.”

“We never had a deal,” he defended himself, “You slammed me back during training years ago at the academy and told me not to even think about it when you saw me looking at her.”

“No,” you shook your head, “Five years ago, in Ireland. That undercover job, the one that almost got you killed? We made a deal.”

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the milkshake before taking a sip. “Y/N…”

“Keith, you can’t,” you insisted, “She deserves a normal life, a normal family and kids and a dog and stuff.”

“I know,” he ran a hand over his face, “I know.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a spy,” you said, “You said it yourself, spies die like flies.”

“Not all of them,” he said, “General is still alive. He has a family.”

“Yeah, one in a hundred,” you said, “Face it. That’s a very low possibility for us.”

“You don’t think you’ll get to grow old and have a family and all that?”

You pulled your brows together.

“No,” you said, “Of course not. I’m probably going to die in one of these missions.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Keith, I can’t have any of those,” you said, “I can’t. I…it’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you muttered, “I made my choice ages ago.”

“Y/N,” he sat up straighter, “Do you want to?”

With a very bad timing, your imagination went overdrive and a strange scene flashed before your eyes. You laughing in Bucky’s arms, watching two kids playing in the garden-

You shook your head, trying to shake off the thoughts.

“I could never have that,” you stated simply, “You might love Chloe and you might also be lucky enough to have her love you but…it’s not the same with me.”

“I’d say Barnes loves you.”

A bitter smile pulled at your lips and you bit inside your cheek, taking another sip of your milkshake.

“He loves someone who doesn’t exist,” you managed to croak out, “He loves my cover. He could never love me.”

***

Spending the night at Keith’s and drowning your sorrows in gin and milkshake meant that you would have a killer hangover the next day. Unlike Keith, you didn’t have the luxury to sleep until the noon, seeing that you had a cover job to keep so for the whole day until noon, you walked around like a zombie.

Coffee helped though. Just a little.

Thankfully it was a slow day at the shop. After serving a couple of people, you had nothing to do other than seriously considering sticking your head in the freezer to get rid of the hangover.

“Long night?” Tara asked as she walked past you to put the straws into the cup and you nodded, groaning.

“Remind me not to drink, ever.”

“I make that promise to myself every Monday, does not seem to work.”

You chuckled, “Have you ever tried to mix gin into milkshakes?”

“No?”

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you helped her to move an empty milkshake container into the kitchen. “It’s a terrible idea and I’m experiencing the consequences of that mistake right now.”

“That sounds like a fun night though.”

“Fun night, terrible morning,” you let out a laugh as you walked out of the kitchen but as soon as you did, your eyes caught the sight of the man in the shop. Your smile was wiped off your face as the familiar anger filled your system.

Jesus Christ, this day sucks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and Julian had the audacity to shoot you a grin.

“Whoa cute outfit,” he said, eyeing you up and down, “Holy shit I didn’t even know I was into this whole thing, I’m having an epiphany.”

You looked over your shoulder to see if Tara was still in the kitchen, then turned to Julian.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was craving milkshakes,” he stated, “Hey, would you recommend Lavender Macaron?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I think I’m gonna go with Lavender Macaron, makes me think of France,” he said, “Fun times.”

“Fun for you maybe.”

He shot you a look, “Come on Y/N, we didn’t leave the honeymoon suite for two days. That was the greatest-“ he lowered his voice, “Mission I’ve ever had.”

“You’re putting this entire operation in—“ you started but stopped talking as soon as Tara walked out of the kitchen. Julian raised his brows for a moment before smiling at her and you went under the counter to grab his arm.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Just peachy,” you said as you dragged him out of the shop, and he heaved a sigh, following you.

“No I’m serious…” he said with a chuckle as soon as you both stepped outside, then motioned at the uniform, “This is something else.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard that it was good, I did not think it was this good.”

“I’m seriously two seconds away from punching you.”

“How come you never dressed up like this for me when we were dating?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you insisted and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I was around.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” he said, “Your shop has good rating, although I’m beginning to believe it has less to do with milkshakes and more about the waitresses.”

“Julian I swear to God—“ you started but you were cut off when someone cleared his throat, making both you and Julian turn your heads. Your stomach dropped as soon as you saw Bucky watching you two with a frown and you withdrew your hand from Julian’s arm.

“Bucky,” you breathed out, “Um-hi.”

“Hi,” he said without taking his eyes off Julian, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

He was trying to decide whether he was a threat to you.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I figured I could drop by,” he said, crossing his arms, “What’s going on?”

Fuck.

Fuck, you had no idea how to turn this around. Thankfully neither of you had said anything about the mission, so it was more than likely that Bucky just knew you knew each other, but other than that, your cover wasn’t blown.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, he’s just—“ you stammered, trying to come up with an explanation, “He’s um—“

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be one of those secretive people,” Julian said, “You hate secrets. You’re Bucky, right? I heard about you.”

Bucky just raised his brows, his glare on him unwavering but even if it was quite chilling, Julian was a trained assassin just like you were, so he was used to it. Instead he curled his lips, looking between you before offering him his hand.

“I’m Julian,” he introduced himself, shooting you a grin as if you two shared an inside joke “The evil ex-boyfriend who’s gonna take her from you.”

Chapter 13

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #bucky barnes x you #the falcon and the winter soldier

634 notes · View notes

randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - The One Where You Punch Tony Stark - Part II

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Read on AO3 (Complete Work)

Thanks to @gingerbreadcookieforlife for letting me know i did not upload the entire work here.

Summary: When the rumors that you punched Tony Stark in the face spread around your school, some interesting events unfolded. Or enemies to Lovers in high School.

Warnings: 18+; Enemies to Lovers; Angry Sex; Underage Sex; High School AU; Violence; Fights; Inappropriate language; Fluff and Smut; minor mentions of Reader x Carol and Reader x Jessica Jones.

Notes: This work was already finished on AO3, but i forgot to continue this on Tumblr. I hope everyone who thought that was a one shot, enjoy the rest of it.

//-//

Sometimes is just a kiss

The news that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark kissed behind the bleachers spread quickly through the school. And it was only 10 o'clock on a Monday morning.

You had no idea who had spread the rumor around the campus, but knowing your luck, you were just waiting for the bomb to drop in your lap.

Besides, you hadn't spoken to Wanda since you gave her an orgasm against the walls of a locker room. You saw her briefly in the hallway between history and biology class, but she looked away quickly, and you rolled your eyes without patience.

It had been good sex, and you repeated that it was just that. Sex. That it shouldn't have happened, mainly because you were incompatible, and there were too many social barriers between you.

You should have known that Wanda would not break the expectations they had of her, to stay as someone as broken as you.

Closing the locker with more force than necessary, you walked out toward the history room.

Taking your place in the last chair by the window, you sit down as you wait for the class to begin. You have about five minutes of peace before an angry Tony Stark enters the room and walks toward you pointing his finger in your face in a threatening manner.

- I told you to mind your own business.

- What have I done to deserve this, Lord. - You grumble without patience, ignoring Stark completely. He lets out an angry exclamation and punches the table, making you jump with surprise.

- You'll pay for this, bitch. I'm going to-

You cut off his speech by pulling his hair and forcing his head against the table in a blow that makes a loud noise. He staggers back, shocked that he has been hit again. The room erupts in a hubbub and someone holds Tony back to stop him from jumping on you.

You stand up, gathering your notebooks, seeing that the history teacher was already signaling for you to talk to the counselor.

- You never learn, Stark. - You sneer, taking one last look at the boy's bloody nose before you leave the room, most of your classmates laughing.

- I'm so angry with you right now. - said your mother as soon as you both left the school. You didn't respond, walking with your hands in your pockets to the car. She started mumbling to herself, and only when you had been in the car a few minutes did she speak to you again.

- And the worst of it is that you hit my boss's son!

You let out a wry laugh as you looked out the car window at the view.

- I doubt very much that Howard Stark knows any of his employees, Mother.

- It doesn't matter. - she retorted, turning the wheel. You watched the landscape change as you turned the corner.

- At least I didn't get expelled. - You commented, your mother let out a wry laugh.

- Suspension is not a good thing! - she replies in an irritated tone. - And I even had to miss my shift to come get you. I honestly didn't raise you for that.

- That's the point, isn't it? - You retorted angrily, finally turning to face your mother. - Did you ever raise me? Last time I checked, I've been raising myself for a long time.

Your mother assumes a disapproving expression, denying it with her head. You throw yourself back on the seat with your arms crossed.

- You've always been so unfair, you know. - She begins. - Who's picking you up from school now, huh? And who puts a roof over your head? Food on your plate? You raised yourself, that's a joke.

She grumbles again, but you just ignore it, shutting yourself off from your surroundings.

You barely register when the car pulls up in front of your house, startled when your mother slams the car door as you get out. You take off your seat belt, and step out.

- You are grounded, three months. - she says, and you just nod. It's not as if she was present enough to know where you were going anyway. - And you are going to help your aunt in the store while you are suspended.

You let out a protesting grunt.

- Really, there's nothing worse for me to do? - You ask, throwing yourself on the sofa in the living room, your mother giggles.

- Weren't you the one who was thinking that suspension is better than expulsion? Well, you're not going to be sitting around this week. - She said as she left her purse on the kitchen table, and walked towards the small office table in the corner of the room. - Now go to your room, I'm working from home today.

You roll your eyes, getting up. Dragging your feet to your room, you slam the door as you enter, throwing yourself against your bed.

You hope Tony Stark's nose is hurting.

You are very surprised to see Natasha Romanoff enter your aunt's mercenary, shortly after school hours. She smiles at you with amusement, walking over to the counter.

- Wow, interesting look. - She jokes, commenting on the blue uniform combined with a sailor's hat that your aunt makes her three employees wear. You laugh at Nat.

- How can I help you, ma'am? - You asked in an amused tone, she leaned her arms on the counter.

- I'm looking for a fighting dog. Do you sell these here?

You laugh at the insinuation. And then a customer enters the store, Nat moves aside for you to attend to a lady buying tomato sauce and noodles, and then as you check out, she speaks again.

- You caused a fuss at school with your fight. - She remarks, and you just grumble, counting the money. - By the way, how did you find out about Rogers and Stark's secret affair?

You shrug, smiling. - I saw them kissing the night of the game. Stark freaked out, by the way, typical.

Nat laughed, and began to look around the store. - It is nice here. I didn't know you worked.

- It's my aunt's. - You say, finally finishing counting the money in the cash register. - And I worked at the junkyard on Avenue Two until last year.

- Aren't you going to tell me that you were fired for fighting? - Nat teased, making you laugh.

- No, I asked to quit. - So you say. - I wanted a quiet senior year.

Nat nods, and walks around the store, stopping at the magazine section. You see three more customers before she returns.

- I have to get home before my mother freaks out. - She announced as soon as she reached the counter. You nodded. - But I want to know if you want to do something with me?

- I thought you had a boyfriend. - You joked, and Nat rolled her eyes humorously.

- Don't be a smartass.

You laugh.

- I will be helping out in the store during this week. - You say. - Because of the suspension. I leave at seven.

Nat nodded, assuming a contemplative expression for a moment.

- Do you know where Avengers' Bar is? Three blocks past the municipal hospital?

You nod, smiling.

- Sure, Nat. - You say. - I've already driven past it.

- Why haven't you ever gone inside? I'm always there.

- I wasn't in that area to drink. - You remark with a suggestive smile, and Nat just laughs and rolls her eyes.

- Well, I'll be there on Wednesday. Some colleagues from State are playing there. - She says, and writes down a phone number on one of the papers on the counter. - Text me if you're going to show up.

- Are you sure it's not a date? - You joke and Nat just winks at you before you leave. You keep her number in your uniform pocket.

Even from outside, you could hear the music from the bar muffled against the windows.

Avengers's Bar was a popular place in town, but only for a certain kind of people. Mainly frequented by punks, bikers, and artists, it was exactly the kind of place you liked but should avoid. With its history of fights, it wasn't exactly the kind of place you went to anymore.

A dark-haired girl in metal-working attire smiled at you from the doorway, looking at you mischievously as you walked through the door. You just nodded slightly.

Inside, you looked around for Natasha and her friends, but with the amount of people in the bar, it wasn't so easy to find them.

- Y/N! - shouted Thor when he spotted you in the crowd. You smiled, walking over to where he was standing. - We're on the top floor, Nat got a table. Come on, I just came to get some drinks.

You followed him to the bar, and helped him carry the drinks for the others. You didn't recognize any of the drinks they were making there, so you decided to just drink from everyone's glass, which made Thor laugh.

- Look who I found. - announced Thor as soon as you two arrived at the table. The group smiled when they saw you, and you greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek and sat down next to Nat.

- We heard that you were suspended. - commented Clint, but he seemed almost proud. You shrugged awkwardly.

- She wasn't content to just punch Stark, she also slammed the bastard's head against the table! - Said Natasha excitedly, and the group laughed. You laughed half embarrassed, as you took a sip of the pink drink Nat had ordered.

They started talking about some scandal that happened at the federal school, and you did your best to react to it, not really knowing who the people they were talking about were. And then Valkyrie let out an exclamation, as if she had spotted someone, and stood up. A very pretty girl approached, smiling and hugging Valkyrie.

- I'm glad you could make it, Carol. - Valkyrie said the girl who waved to everyone. When you looked closely, you finally recognized her. Carol Danvers was an ex-student of your high school, having graduated last year. She used to be very popular, and you noticed the military silver necklace around her neck.

Carol sat down next to Valkyrie, and the two of them seemed so close that you thought maybe they were dating.

When the show started, everyone exclaimed with excitement, quickly getting up and walking to the stage area. You smiled as Nat dragged you by the hand, liking the feeling of having friends.

The band was surprisingly good, and you danced with excitement, feeling the alcohol make you lively and loose. You were surprised when Carol began to dance with you, her hands on your waist.

She was very attractive, so you didn't mind her kissing you. And you pushed away the feeling that she wasn't the person you wanted. When she pulled you into the bathroom, her hands roaming over you as she tugged off your clothes, you ignored every part of your body screaming that this was wrong. When she made you cum, you bit your lip to keep yourself from screaming Wanda's name.

Your suspension was finally over, and you gave the key to the store back to your aunt before you went to school.

You tried not to think about it too much, about how many college opportunities you had missed with that stain on your record. But if you were honest, you didn't even know if you wanted to go to college anymore. Every day the possibility of buying a motorcycle and traveling aimlessly getting closer to your real calling.

Many people stared at you when you arrived at school. The vast majority didn't even bother to look away. You rolled your eyes impatiently, reaching into your jacket pockets as you walked through the main doors.

You were slightly startled when Jessica Jones approached you in your locker, but you smiled awkwardly, taking off your headphones.

- Girl, you are a legend! - she said excitedly, pushing you lightly by the shoulders against the lockers. She stood close, and you thought maybe that was flirting. - By the way, I didn't have your number to text you.

She took a pen from her bag, and grabbed your hand, writing down her own number while flashing you a mischievous smile.

- Text me, let's do something this week. - She says as she lets go of your hand. You blink slightly, and nod, a little awkwardly. Jessica doesn't seem to notice, and smiles, leaving afterwards.

You hear a whistle, and Nat looks at you with curiosity.

- You are stealing hearts, huh. - She teases, and you feel your face heat up, still surprised by the whole interaction. - By the way, are you and Carol on a real thing?

- What? - you ask in surprise. - No, I don't think so. It was just sex in a concert restroom, Natasha. I don't think she even knew my name. - You remark as you turn toward the redhead. She laughs, finishing putting her books away.

- Actually she asked me for your number. - She says, and you look at her in surprise. - But then I see you with Jones, and I have to admit, it's a tough choice. - Nat teases, making you laugh. You start walking down the hall together, walking towards the classrooms. You think Nat has said something about the show, but your attention is elsewhere. As you walk past Wanda and Peter Maximoff, everything seems to slow down, you notice the slight flush on Wanda's cheeks when her gaze meets yours, and you both hold your breath as you walk past each other. But the next second everything is as it was before, and you sigh, focusing your attention on Nat.

When you arrive in the literature room, you are happy to know that Nat sits next to you.

You hate the cafeterias. So when Nat invites you to join her at the outside tables you think it's the best lunch you have ever had.

The outside courtyard is relatively less crowded than the other places in the school, and you are in the middle of a discussion about the new TV series that launched over the weekend, when Nat signals to something behind you.

Coming out of the school, and heading towards the table where you were standing, was Sharon Carter, accompanied by her pet friend, Pepper Potts. And you really thought you could have a quiet lunch.

- To what do I owe the honor, Carter? - you asked ironically as they reached your table.

- You stay away from my boyfriend. - She spoke in a serious tone, and before you could say anything, she tipped the glass of soda she held over your head.

You felt your whole body boil with irritation and you stood up abruptly, seeing red. But Natasha tugged on your forearm, whispering something about your suspension. Sharon and Pepper seemed to be slightly startled by your posture, but they let out a wry chuckle and went back inside the school.

You tugged on Nat's arm, then left the courtyard and headed for the changing rooms. You needed a cold shower to calm yourself down, or you would do something that would surely cause your expulsion.

Since the athletic games period had not yet started, the gym locker room was empty. You sighed with relief as you found your spare change of clothes in your locker.

Walking toward the bathroom stalls, you quickly undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the cold water wash all the soda and anger from your body.

Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a sigh, thinking about all the shit that was going on in your life in less than two weeks. And then your mind went back to Wanda, and you let out a breathless groan, laughing humorlessly. The cold water didn't help to chill the new heat that settled under your stomach. You turned off the shower, then stepped out to put on your clothes.

On your way out of the locker room, you saw something you would rather not have seen. The universe seemed to be testing your anger today.

Wanda was being pressed against the wall of the indoor bleachers, which at that time was empty and perfect for those who wanted to make out in a secluded spot. It was a tall boy, but you couldn't see his face, which was buried in Wanda's neck, kissing her. And then she opened her eyes, and looked straight at you. You saw him pull down his pants and enter her, and she moaned with her mouth ajar, without taking her eyes off you. She had a gleam in her eyes that made your whole body tremble.

You gripped the strap of your purse tightly, controlling the impulse to go over and beat the boy until he passed out, and spun on your feet, walking out the back door.

Fucking day, you thought as you walked back to school.

Eventually, you thanked Nat for keeping you from hitting Sharon. She shrugged, saying that she didn't want you to be expelled now that you were becoming friends, and you tried not to be too happy about it.

On Wednesday, Carol Danvers showed up at the door of the school on a motorcycle. This is sure to be a long-lasting gossip, you thought as you and Nat greeted her on the way out. Several students looked at you, many of them impressed by Carol's motorcycle, others impressed to see her back at school, but the vast majority trying to ask how you knew her.

- What's up, Danvers? - You say to her with a slight nod. Carol looks at you as if she wants to undress you right there, but you have your gaze on her motorcycle, attentive to the details of the vehicle.

- Hey, pretty girl. - She answers while leaning against the vehicle.

- Jesus, you are not even seeing me. - Nat teases and Carol just laughs, giving her a kiss on the cheek. - Tell me, what brings you back to your beloved school?

- I came to say hello. - says Carol. - And to invite you both to a concert on Saturday.

- And you didn't text me because you missed me. - Nat rebuts in a provocative tone, Carol smiles, and then looks at you, before confirming. You don't really know what to say.

- If the music is good, I'm in. - You joke and Nat agrees. Carol takes two tickets out of her pocket and hands them to you.

- I'll pick you up, okay? - She offers it to you. You think about refusing, without really knowing why. But you nod in agreement before you can think about it too much.

- Okay, lovebirds. I'll leave you two alone because I'm starting to get the urge to puke. - Nat jokes one last time, before heading out toward the parking lot. You imagine that she will use the break time to smoke a bit.

You shift your weight between your feet before turning your gaze back to Carol.

- I was surprised to hear that you asked Nat for my number. - You comment, and Carol smiles.

- I like to talk to pretty girls. - She says, and you roll your eyes humorously at the flirtation. She laughs, biting her lips, and you allow her to rest her hands on your waist, perhaps too low.

- Are you looking for something serious, Danvers? - you ask with a slight irony. Carol looks at you in mild surprise.

- You don't think it has anything to do with me, do you?

- Sorry, the motorcycle and the leather jacket gave you away. - You respond humorously. - I get it, because it's my game.

Carol laughs.

- I'm enjoying our time together. - she confesses. - But I'll be back at the station in a few weeks. I can't make any promises.

You nod, without really being bothered by it. Carol is not the one you wanted to be with. And to push those thoughts away, you kiss her. She smiles, deepening the kiss slightly. You think she squeezed your ass, but you're not really paying attention.

And then you break apart, and she smiles at you.

- I'll see you Saturday, right? - she asks, and you nod, letting her kiss you one last time.

When she finally starts the motorcycle and drives away, you notice the mischievous and suggestive looks you receive.

And you try not to let your anger peak, but then you notice Stark's group in the corner of the school, laughing openly. You'll need to walk past them to get inside, and you really hope that none of them will test your patience.

- Hey weirdo, who was your girlfriend? - shouts Tony Stark. You know, you really think maybe he is brain damaged. His friends laugh at the joke, and you think you will ignore it, but then he shouts again. - I'm talking to you, dyke!

He throws something at you, missing you by inches. You watch the red liquid run down in front of your feet.

You think, this is it. This is how I'm going to get expelled. By sticking a straw in Tony Stark's eye. You wondered if prison life was worth it.

But then the laughter died down in the next second, and you watched Tony turn pale.

- Mr. Stark, please come with me. - A male voice sounded behind you. The school principal was a scary man, and he was hardly ever seen outside his classroom. He never witnessed his students' conflicts, and Fury never bothered him with such matters. Tony's paleness was understandable.

- P-Professor Thanos, I don't...

- Now. - says the man finally, and Tony stiffens his jaw as he follows him. He gave you an angry look before leaving.

The buzz started as soon as they entered the school, but you didn't really pay attention to anyone. Ignoring the middle finger Steve Rogers threw at you, you went back inside the school.

Tony Stark was punished with detention. You rolled your eyes when the rumor reached you. They had also said that his father refused to pick him up and that the driver was the one who talked to Fury. You would have sympathy for Stark if he wasn't a complete imbecile.

You had chemistry again, and you really weren't in the mood to see Wanda, but you had no choice.

And then Professor Agatha was feeling particularly inspired today, and decided to switch lab partners. You ended up on the same bench as Darcy Lewis and Pietro Maximoff, you being the only trio due to the odd number of students. You sighed against your bad luck.

The experiment that Mrs. Harkness performed was not difficult, but it could be dangerous if you didn't pay attention. So you just listened to Darcy's instructions, and everything was working out fine. Then Pietro Maximoff decided that his attention was better placed on a girl sitting behind him, and started flirting. Darcy rolled her eyes, smiling at you.

In the blink of an eye, you heard a scream of pain. Pietro had forgotten the limits of the counter itself, and stretching his arms most likely to impress the girl behind you, he slammed his hand against the chemical glass jar behind him. Darcy stepped back to avoid being hit, but you were quick to help Pietro, pulling his arm into the sink on the counter, turning on the faucet as you hurried to get as much of the acidic liquid off his skin as possible.

Pietro sighed with relief, probably feeling the pain disappear as you rubbed the soap into his skin. He was extremely surprised, as was the rest of the room.

- Very efficient reaction, Miss Y/L/N. - commented Ms. Harkness as she approached you, holding a cloth to dry Pietro. - I'll add an extra point to your average for that. Mr. Maximoff, please go to the infirmary.

Pietro wrapped the cloth around his injured hand, and looked at you with a mixture of hesitation and confusion in his eyes, but he nodded in thanks.

Harkness asked someone to call the janitor to clean up the shards, and then continued the class. You found it hard to concentrate when you noticed Wanda's gaze on you.

Jessica Jones kisses you against the wall of the second floor locker room.

You exchanged a few messages, mostly innocent jokes. And then Jessica said she had something amazing to show you, and when you met her after third period, in the not-so-isolated locker room, she pushed you up against the wall and kissed you on the mouth.

Jessica tasted like coke and something sweet, and she likes to bite.You had to remind yourself that you were kissing someone while you were doing it, not feeling connected to her really.

And then two girls came into the bathroom giggling and she let you go.

- Sorry for the scare. - She joked, her lips swollen. You shrugged, smiling slightly.

- What inspired you to do this? - you teased, putting your hands on her waist.

- You of course. Punching assholes and saving people. It's hot. - She says and then she checks her cell phone. - Damn, I have chemistry now. I can't be late.

She steals a kiss from you and quickly leaves. You blink, not really understanding what has happened.

As you go downstairs, you realize that the cheerleading squad is coming out of the locker room, and Sharon and Potts give you a death stare as you walk past them. And then, as you pass through the door to the women's dressing room, you hesitate. All your logic tells you to go on your way, but then your feet are turning and you walk into the dressing room, looking around.

You let out a sigh as you find who you were looking for. Wanda is changing clothes, wearing only her cheer skirt, and a bra. Your intimacy pulsates with the image. Wanda lets out a surprised exclamation at seeing you there, but then she lets out a mischievous smile, and continues undressing.

Slowly, she lets the skirt slide down her thighs. You bite your lower lip hard as it falls to the floor.

And then two other cheerleaders come out of one of the aisles behind you, and the giggles die down when they see you. One of the girls turns to Wanda:

- Is this girl bothering you, Wandy? - she asks in a honeyed voice.

- And what are you, a watchdog? - You retort before Wanda can answer. The girl gives you a death glare. - Mind your own business, nosy.

The other girl approaches you, looking at you with disdain. - We don't like street trash here. Why don't you go back to your junkyard?

You swallowed dryly, trying to control your anger. The smaller girl giggled, and you looked at Wanda, who looked in shock, before you stormed out of the dressing room slamming the door.

You knew you shouldn't do that, but your feet dragged you out into the field of trailers.

You walked a long way until you arrived. And when you entered the courtyards, many of the residents looked at you with a frown. But you ignore them, as you walk between the houses. You knock hard on the door of one of the trailers farthest away. It takes a moment before a tall, muscular boy answers it.

He lets out a wry laugh when he sees you.

- Visiting old friends? - He teases, you don't smile.

- I need to break something, Erik. - You say simply, and he sighs. And then he closes the door, and you walk together in the opposite direction, out of the trailer park.

You have known Erik Killmonger since kindergarten. His life wasn't exactly the easiest. You used to hang out together in high school, but then Erik started getting into a lot of fights, and it was rumored that he joined a gang. He didn't tell you anything, and when you asked, he told you to mind your own business. And then, in the second year, he was expelled for breaking the jaw of Johann Schmidt, one of the seniors at the school. You remember never seeing Erik so angry. But you never knew the reason for the fight. And then he drifted away, and even though you missed him, you didn't push him.

- Here it is. - Erik said as you reached an abandoned area a few feet beyond the trailers. He handed you a wooden stick, and you took a deep breath before you started smashing through the abandoned objects there, most of them junk.

- Fuck that fucking school. - You shouted as you hit a bottle, the glass splattering through the air. Erik just stood at a safe distance, his hands in his pockets. - Fuck Tony Stark. - You shouted, a wooden box shattering with the blow of your bat. And then you noticed a tall dead tree trunk a few yards away, and you stepped forward, aggressively slamming your bat several times against the tree. - Fuck Wanda Maximoff. - And the staff shattered with the force of your blow. You let out a sigh, throwing the object to the ground, as you sat down down on the grass.

Erik walked over to you, and he said nothing about the tears streaming down your face.

- Do you want to talk about it? - he asked as he sat down beside you. You nodded in denial.

- I want you to tell me something about yourself. - You said, wiping your face.

- Um, let me think. - He says, putting his arms behind him and leaning back, he looks relaxed. - My mother is in town.

You turn your head to him in surprise. He smiles.

- Yes, I know, that's nice. - He comments. - But I won't get my hopes up. She could leave at any moment.

- I hope she stays. - You say.

- So do I.

You stand there in silence for a moment, then Erik stands up, then offers his hand to help you stand. You sigh and accept.

- Let's get something to eat, you're paying. - He says, causing you to smile ironically.

You end up at one of the dinner stands across the main road from the trailer park. You buy Erik a hamburger and fries, but you decide to just have a milkshake.

- This is all about a girl, isn't it? - he asks after a while, and you almost deny it. But you just shrug your shoulders in agreement, taking a sip of your milkshake. - Is it someone I know?

- Maybe. - you say, and Erik frowns humorously. He eats some chips, assuming a thoughtful expression.

- That's hard, I've never seen you paying attention to anyone at school. - he says. - What about that redheaded girl in the locker next to yours?

You laugh and nod your head in denial. Erik smiles, thinking again.

- What about that girl in your chemistry class? The one you said was smart?

- Darcy? - You ask and he confirms, you just smile. - No, I wish. Darcy would be less complicated.

Erik laughs, and then pushes the rest of the potatoes to you.

- Why don't you just tell me? - he asks, but his tone is not accusatory, just provocative.

- Because I don't want to admit it. - You confess, accepting the potatoes. It takes a moment, and then you speak. - I think I'm falling in love with Wanda Maximoff.

You don't look at Erik, fearing his reaction. But then he lets out a sigh, and drags his hand across the table, offering it to you. You accept, and he holds your hand warmly.

- You, my friend, are totally screwed. - He teases, making you laugh. - But keep calm. Passions go away as fast as they come.

You nod, squeezing his hand before letting go. You eat in silence, and you can't help but think how much you missed him.

Debates test your patience. And as if that weren't irritating enough, you still share this class with Wanda.

You don't look at her when you enter the room, but you feel her gaze on you. Throwing yourself on the last chair in the room, you stand with your headphones on and sink your head into your arms on the desk, wishing for the school year to end soon.

When Professor Hill enters the room, you are surprised that one of your classmates nudges you to warn you, and you smile in appreciation as you straighten your posture and put your cell phone away.

- I hope you have read the book I asked for, children. - She announces as she puts her bag on the table, and walks to the front of the cabinet, leaning against the wood as she looks around the room. - We will discuss it in class today.

The room lets out a chorus of displeasure, but the teacher lets out a chuckle. Her debates were famous for ending up in heated discussions, plus they made up about fifty percent of the grade. If you didn't say anything, you had to write a report of the discussions.

The teacher took a copy of the book from her purse, and held it with both hands.

- "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, possessing a good fortune, must be in need of a wife." - She read, walking around the room. - Who can tell me what the line implies about women?

- It's the old-fashioned way of saying that women prefer rich guys. - Steve Rogers sneered, drawing giggles from his teammates in the room. Mrs. Hill, however, just sighed with disappointment.

- No, Mr. Rogers. - she said, cutting off the laughter immediately. - If you have no intention of participating seriously in the debate, I suggest you remain silent.

Steve let out a lame laugh, shrugged, and whispered something to his tablemate. You rolled your eyes impatiently, resting your face in your hand. And then you watched Wanda Maximoff raise her arm up.

- Yes, Wanda? - nodded Mrs. Hill waiting for the answer.

- I think it's about a reaffirmation of the status of the man. As if the woman is a trophy to prove his status and position. - She says. - It objectifies women completely.

You blinked, slightly impressed. Wanda was always smart, after all. But then the boys in class giggled, and the redhead seemed to shrug her shoulders. Professor Hill, however, smiled at her.

- Interesting position, Miss Maximoff. - she said, and walked back around the room. - Let's talk a little about the main romance of the book. - She says, and looks reproachfully quickly at two boys who are whispering, and they fall silent. - I'd like to know what you think about Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship, and how we can bring the book's issues into our current society. Do you believe that the same prejudices are faced today?

The room explodes into excitement, and you feel like going home. Mrs. Hill looks around, and waves to calm the students.

- Please, class. Raise your hand who believes that Elizabeth and Darcy would easily marry today?

The vast majority of the students raise their hands. And someone makes a comment that they would get laid on the first date, and many laugh. You play with your pencil, twirling it on your finger, and then feel a light elbow on your arm. Your classmate nods her head forward, and you blink in confusion, realizing that Ms. Hill has called your attention.

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Hill. What is it? - you ask, straightening your posture. She smiles tenderly.

- I asked why you didn't raise your hand. - She repeats. - Could you share with the class your position?

You let out a sigh, thinking about it. And then you lean back in your chair, putting your hands in your pockets, and trying not to get intimate with the stares in the room.

- I really don't understand how everyone here can say that we no longer have social rules for relationships. - You say. - If Darcy and Elizabeth were from the present day, the prejudices portrayed in the books would only be different, but they would still be there. We have many ways of forbidding people to relate to each other, even in this school.

- Interesting. Please continue. - the teacher said, leaning back against her desk. You let out a sigh, trying to organize your opinion into words.

- I can give an example of how we divide the social groups around here. - you say. - It's not like the jocks are seen hanging out with the kids in the theater. Elizabeth would definitely be one of the smart girls, and Darcy would be the dumb brat. Sort of like a Tony Stark.

The room erupted in giggles, and you watched Steve Rogers lock his jaw, commenting something to his classmate. Professor Hill gave you a warning look, beckoning the class to be quiet.

- So you believe that Darcy and Elizabeth would not be together in the present days? - she asks you, and you shrug.

- I don't think Darcy would break the expectations people have of him for Elizabeth. - You state. - And besides, she can do better than that.

Some students laughed at your comment, and Mrs. Hill smiled at you. And then she asked if anyone had a different opinion, and you were slightly surprised to see Wanda raise her hand again.

- I think they would end up together. - She says. - They are really in love, and just like in the book, I think Darcy just needs time to understand everything, and to build up some courage.

- And Elizabeth should expect him to have some guts, then? - You cut Wanda off. The room looks at you in surprise, and Wanda turns in her chair, a look of mixed defiance and surprise, but you don't back away. - While he decides whether she is worth it, should she just wait around?

- Elizabeth needs to understand that Darcy also has his own issues. - Wanda retorts. - That it's not easy to let go of all the expectations people place on you.

You laugh lightly with irony.

- Of course Darcy would be quite comfortable keeping Elizabeth waiting. - You say with mild irritation. - Besides, Elizabeth is also going through a lot. She deserves to have someone who chooses her.

- That's not what we're arguing about. - Wanda replies. - No one is questioning Elizabeth's worth. I'm saying that they would be together, but that they need time.

- And I'm saying that Darcy has to stop being such a gutless pussy and make a decision soon. Elizabeth is not going to pause her life just to wait for him.

- She would do that if she really liked Darcy. - Retorts the redhead, you blink in disbelief.

You think the room held its breath with your debate with Wanda, and you would have continued if the teacher hadn't interrupted.

- Okay, I think we're getting a little nervous. - She cut in, and you blinked awkwardly, stopping to look at Wanda. The room murmured quietly again as Wanda turned back to face the front. - Thank you for your opinions, ladies. Now let's move on, who can offer a reflection on marriage in the book?

The class continued for a while, but you completely disconnected. Your heart was racing and you realized that the discussion you had was not about Darcy or Elizabeth. Wanda was asking you to wait for her. And you felt a strong urge to punch something. And then you focused your attention completely on the literature report, ignoring the debate completely.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wandamaximoffxreader #wandavision #wanda #wandamaximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x dom!reader #The One Where You Punch Tony Stark #enemies to lovers #high school

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floraljae · 3 years

Text

THE ART OF LOVING A VILLAIN | One

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x female reader

Themes: Hero x Villain dynamics, enemies to lovers, Hero!Taeyong, Villain! Reader, secret relationship, angst, fluff, Top tier (shitty) anime betrayals you people are going to beat me up for

Warnings: profanity, the villain is dumb, mention if a minor injury, blowing things up for funsies

Wc: 1.1k

Taglist : @jenophilia @sassyong @tenhyuckie @moanwalk @sicluvz @yutaalove @bluejaem @fullsunfluff @a10vely-yutazen @hhyungsuk @mirohtron @cupidtaes @adoreateez @at-the-end-of-your-letter @junglewoos @heephoriia @cofhees

Networks: @/ficscafe @neoturtles @kpopscape @whipped-kpop-creators @nct-writers @czennienet @kokonomi

Summary: Yet another forbidden rendezvous and you are try to figure out what you exactly feel about your lifelong nemesis.

Alternatively, illustrated band-aids from Taeyong make you feel questionable things.

A/N: I just hate how I love and hate this fic so much. @mirohtron is to blame, the reason I am stuck in my eternal hero x villain feels. I love writing this more than anything. It's quite personal as it reflects a lot of things I personally felt about the world around me haha.

This entire series is dedicated to @lebrookestore, a simp I l*ve with all my heart (even after what she does to me with all her fics ;-;)

The breath you were holding in for what seemed like ages escaped your lips. It was long, exhausted- a little frustrated, even. You hated waiting. And if it were the roof of just one of the thousands of skyscrapers in Seoul, the annoyance was definitely a little more. Waiting alone in those uneventful places was nothing but a mere waste of your time. There was nothing small enough to ruin or blowup for funsies, and you weren't heartless enough to blow up a whole building just out of sheer boredom.

It had been a tiresome day already. You'd attended classes, fed some cats on the way back to your lair and put up yet another power show to let people know they still had something to be afraid of. The air was unnervingly humid today, and your suit had stuck to your torso as if it were a drowning person who didn't know how to swim- holding onto a log of wood for dear life. Weird comparison (or metaphor, you couldn’t be arsed to even get it right), but you weren't the most poetic person.

You wondered how Taeyong would describe it. Sticky? Ew? You didn't know. He was one unpredictable being, well at least when he wasn't in his superhero suit (figuratively, he was just dumb and tended to miss a lot of shots when he puts on the crimson and black piece of clothing). Maybe he would just come up with a random word and try to make you believe it was real. He couldn't possibly lose to a villain! And especially not after what you did today. You could bet that the first thing he was going to do was sulk about you almost burning his perfect eyebrows to ashes during today's face-off.

You loved to see your enemy getting all riled up more than you'd admit. Maybe it was the villain inside you speaking. But his desperate attempts at winning an argument or the pout when he complained about causing the least damage to you were just too serotonin inducing.

When did he become such a big part of my life- you smile to yourself.

Truth to be told, he always had been one of the biggest parts of it. Whether you wanted to admit it or not.

"I'm sorry," a voice trails off right behind you, breathless, "I got-"

"Stuck in a bad traffic," you complete his sentence, your tone mocking and eyes trained on the night sky. The statement was his go-to excuse for when he’d show up late- which was almost every other day.

"Too busy trying to pick out a nice bandaid for you."

He corrects, leaning against the railing. You almost scoff at how cocky the hero sounded. You were supposed to be the cocky one here.

"Whatever."

And with that, for what seemed like an entire eternity, the both of you spent the time together in silence. He didn’t dare to mouth a single word- and neither did you. There was no malice behind what any of you wanted to say; but you didn’t even know what was holding you both back. It was becoming a habit, to be honest. Well, not in general because you still were very vocal about your own opinions everywhere else-- but not in the (almost regular) meetings with your arch nemesis.

Ironic how the both of you had so much to say when the cameras were flashing and the world he tried to protect watched. So many curses, insults, edgy slash extremely cocky remarks and frustrated warnings. But at times such as right now, your mind felt like a blank slate that had never been touched. It was comfortable though, no malice, no screaming- just comfort and some sort of warmth you hadn’t felt in ages.

Well, you were always the kind of person who thought, thinking before speaking was highly overrated (that too, was a product of capitalism in your opinion). And thus, you figured staying quiet at the forbidden rendezvous with your arch nemesis would be the best thing. He was a servant of the so-called good, after all. Righteous, sophisticated, well known and way too fragile for your own good.

“Everything’s okay,” you hear him break the silence.

“Huh?”

The hero smiles, spinning around on his heels to point at your surroundings.

“Intact, not a scratch!”

And as if the small toothy grin he’d been sporting was infectious, you felt a sudden urge to break into one as well. Anyone would mistake him for just another college student if they saw him like this, in a pair of washed denim and a shirt that he must've been wearing for the past ten days. More so, it would've been terribly difficult to believe that the otherwise calm and composed public charmer Onyxate talked like a kindergartener, always fumbling or just too excited to even properly finish his sentences at times.

“What is that supposed to mean, mr. onyxate?” you ask, biting back a smile.

Disappointed, the hero clicks his tongue. He grabs hold of your wrist, spinning your frame around as well. The brunet scans the surroundings again, “You actually didn’t blow out a single thing! That is some progress, I say.”

You scoff at his remark, “I am not that heartless, mr. hero.” But deep inside, you did know it was some kind of a progress, and of course, you wouldn't tell him that.

He chuckles, but doesn’t remind you of the time you did, as a matter of fact, had blown up a nearby water tank while waiting. He was like that, Taeyong loved believing in a better present- rather than an awful past.

The comfortable arms of silence yet again engulfs you into a warm hug. Taeyong silently studies the cuts on your hand, his slender fingers carefully caressing them. You almost let out a sound of sheer amusement as he finally takes out a few strips of band-aids he took so long to buy, the infamous printed medigrip ones for kids (that too the ones with spongebob on them), rips the adhesive, and focuses on nursing the now dry cuts.

You then look up to catch a glimpse of Taeyong’s face, just to find the moonlight washing his features in all its grace. Faint neon lights from the buildings surrounding blending with the moonlight to create hues across his profiles.You stop to admire his countenance and insides alike, thinking how someone could be so kind even to their enemy.

He was so pure, so charming. He had those beautiful brown eyes. The ones that were like a mirror which knew nothing but to reflect his innermost emotions, the ones that knew to see the best in everyone- including you, a villain who had spent more than half of her life cursing all things good. His trained hands were still gentle and soft unlike any other hero you had ever known. Tears well up in your eyes. And for once what seemed like a lifetime- you decided to let yourself get overcome with emotions.

He was the kind of person anyone, including you, couldn’t help but fall for, the kind of person you’d want to hold close to yourself, no matter what.

And it was at that moment that you realised that it wasn’t hate that you felt towards him, but admiration.

133 notes · View notes

cupofteaguk · 4 years

Text

battle of brains (m)

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

summary: when it comes to academics, everyone knows not to disrupt Park Jimin with his high-standing reputation. but how is a transfer student from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry supposed to know about maintaining his reputation? spoiler alert: they don’t care.

pairing: jimin x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, nerd!jimin, enemies to lovers au | smut

warnings: jimin and yn are arrogant idiots, inappropriate usage of Head Student/prefect equipment, alcohol consumption, the story sort of rushes towards the end because I was (and am) so tired of writing this lmao

smut present in the form of: sexual tension, slight dirty talk maybe idk what i’m doing, light bratty and dom vibes, fingering, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, bondage, one (1) spank, dry humping, slight voyeurism (they have sex in a bathroom, it’s not as gross as it sounds i promise), yeah idk there’s a lot of filth i lost control lol

word count: 25k

a/n: I have poured my blood sweat and tears (by bts) into this fic and appreciate the patience of everyone on this site. hope you enjoy it xx

Park Jimin enters the school grounds the same way he has for the past six years: smirk on his face, books in his bag, and a knowledge in his heart that he is the smartest student standing within these castle walls.

After all, ever since stepping off the train of platform nine and three-quarters all those years ago, Park Jimin has never slipped below an O on his test grades, on his assignments, and overall grades in his classes. Six years have seen Park Jimin on a first name basis with all of his professors, every conversation plagued with his natural talent and natural inclination to do well on essays and exams. And none of them are overgeneralizations about Jimin either—if those aforementioned Outstanding marks on his report cards are anything to go off of. It’s a good position to be in, one that Park Jimin acknowledges and is proud of. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s spent years buried in the library, combing through as many books as his mind would allow him to, using his knowledge to lead discussions and tests and basically set himself as one of brightest wizards in Hogwarts.

So, pair that intelligence with his charming smile and his highly capable social skills to last in plenty of social interactions—and you get Park Jimin. He’s proud, smart, smug, and currently raising his hand. It’s a normal sight for any student in Hogwarts who has the pleasure (or misfortune, or annoyance) of attending class with Park Jimin or attending class with the same house as Park Jimin. His quick-wit and fast processing brain earned him lots of points towards the Slytherin house. But for every point he earned Slytherin, he took away the opportunity for another house to earn points—hence, where the annoyance from his peers probably comes into play.

But Park Jimin doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to look out for anyone other than himself. That’s why as soon as Professor Binns opened class with his usual first question: “Can anyone tell me what followed the Soap Blizzard of 1378?”, he lifts his hand up.

He waits for Professor Binns to look up and call his name, as it usually goes. Jimin’s usual plan, however, is halted when an unfamiliar voice sounds from the back of the classroom. “I believe it was the Wizarding Economic Bubble Burst, professor.”

A different kind of silence takes over the classroom, one that is plagued with a weight of questions and surprise. Who was talking? Who would answer a question without raising their hand?

But above all: Who would try to overstep Park Jimin?

Jimin overcomes the momentary flood of confusion that pour through him as he lowers his hand. As soon as his hand is back on his desk, he follows what his peers are doing in turning around in his seat, to see who the voice belongs to. At the doorway stands a student Jimin has never seen in his life, dressed in what looks to be new Hogwarts robes. Behind you is Professor McGonagall, displaying no expression to give away who you are or what you’re doing here.

You’ve got your hands in the pocket of your robes, head tilted to the side, looking as if answering Professor Binns question had required no extra mental effort, as if you had the answer ready on the tip of your tongue.

At your response, Professor Binns looks up from his podium. “You are correct. Normally, I require students wait to be called on first before answering my question. But you provided a full answer, which is impressive. Especially for an event that hasn’t been covered for you students in a few years. But no matter. To what do I owe the pleasure, Professor McGonagall?”

“My apologies, Professor Binns,” She says, holding up a slip of paper. “But we have a new transfer student—someone from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The professor directs her attention to the rest of the class. “I know we rarely get transfer students, especially so late in the student’s life, so I expect you all to be welcoming to help Ms. Y/N get adjusted.”

The room is immediately enveloped in a blanket of whispers. Professor McGonagall is right—it’s not just rare to get transfer students, it’s practically unheard of. Especially during a student’s last year in school. The questions start coming up. Who are you? What type of situation are you in that would call for a transfer across the world? And again, the biggest question of all, how could you overstep Park Jimin?

Professor Binns stares at the two at the door for a moment longer, before he looks back down at the podium. “Very well. Ms. Y/N, was it? Take a seat. Contrary to my previous question, today’s lecture isn’t going to be about the Soap Blizzard, but it is a vaguely entertaining topic to engage in…”

He starts to drone on about something else. Maybe goblins or something? Park Jimin isn’t very sure anymore. The only thing he’s conscious of right now is the whispering exchanges between you and the professor. Professor McGonagall hands you the transfer papers. She asks you a few more questions before turning around and heading back down the hallway she had entered from. This leaves you alone in the doorway, lingering for a moment, before you start to move.

Even though Professor Binns is still going on about the topic for today, it’s clear hardly anyone is paying attention. The weight of their gaze falls solely on you as you enter the classroom. You aren’t doing anything to earn their attention, but questions about you largely outweighs any questions anyone might have about class.

People continue to watch as you brush behind Jimin’s seat, before settling yourself in the only vacant chair in the classroom—a place that also so happens to be Jimin’s desk partner. Jimin watches out of the corner of his eye as you settle yourself in, taking out your notebook, quill, and ink. He thinks about the possibility of you saying something to him—maybe an apology for answering a question he had already raised his hand for. Maybe an introduction. Maybe you would ask him how he knew about the Soap Blizzard. Yet, the longer the pair of you sit there, listening but not really listening to Professor Binns go on and on, the longer Jimin feels himself turn red with irritation. You remain quiet.

The class time goes a lot slower than Jimin is used to, as his mind is reeling too much with questions about his new desk partner to pay any attention to class material. It isn’t until Professor Binns is dismissing the class in his usual deadpan tone, does Jimin turn to look at you.

He pastes on a friendly expression. “Hey there,” He greets, just as you’re screwing on the cap of your ink bottle. “That was really impressive when you knew the answer to the question at the beginning of class. Did you guys over at Ilvermorny just go over the Bubble Burst before you transferred?”

You do look over at Jimin this time, eying him up for a moment before you smile. “No, not really. We went over that shit the same time as you guys.” You turn back to gathering your quill and ink. You flip your hair over your shoulder when it starts to get into your face. “I just have better memory than most.”

Jimin blinks, having not expected such an answer from you. You didn’t even thank him for the compliment, nevermind that you weren’t giving him anything to make a conversation from.

You flash him one last glance before you straighten up from your seat, making your way to the front of the room. It’s probably to ask Professor Binns about bringing you up to speed with any potential assignments or readings you need to fulfill in order to do well in the class. But just like with the whole encounter the pair of you experienced thus far, it further continues to rub Jimin the wrong way. As far as first impressions go, the one you leave behind is absolutely—!

“Terrible,” Jimin reports as he sits himself down in the courtyard, book bag thrown onto the ground and catching the attention of the other boys who are already situated around the area. He plops down next to Jungkook, running a hand through his hair and looking irritated enough that it halts any outside conversation that may have occurred before his appearance.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at Jimin’s arrival. “You doing okay there?”

Jimin gives a heavy sigh. “You should have been in class with me today. We have a new transfer student from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and she is—!”

“A new student at this time of year?” Yoongi interrupts, already proving to be uninterested with the direction of the conversation as he’s writing something down in his notebook. “During our last year?”

Jungkook perks up at the mention of ‘new’ and ‘student’. “Is she cute?”

Hoseok giggles, elbowing the boy. “Trying to find someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked over by you, huh, JK?”

Jimin shrugs a shoulder, raising an arm into the air with the palm of his hand upturned, furrowing his eyebrows at the question. “I don’t know. Our conversation didn’t exactly highlight the charming aspects of her personality.”

Namjoon whistles. “She must have really done something for you to be annoyed.”

“She was just…” Jimin trails off, trying to find the right word to describe the current feeling setting with him. “She just—she answered Professor Binn’s beginning of class question without raising her hand. She didn’t even wait for Professor Binns to call on her! Can you believe that?”

There’s a lapse of silence as his friends take a moment to take in Jimin’s explanation of his day.

Jungkook is the first to realize that Jimin is finished, and is the first to speak up. “Is that it?”

Yoongi looks up from his notebook. “But you hardly ever wait for the professors to call your name.”

“Hey!” Jimin calls, pointing a finger at the Head Boy. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course,” Yoongi says, brushing the hair from his forehead. “But you seem to be upset for a minor reason. Even from my perspective, it doesn’t seem like she did anything wrong. She knew the question, so she answered it.”

Jimin pouts slightly. “Doesn’t seem like you’re on my side though! How can you say something like that? For a Head Boy, you’re not good at paying attention to rules.”

“Maybe participation is measured differently at Ilvermorny—you expect me to write up detention to someone because they broke rules they didn’t even know existed in the first place?” Yoongi asks. The corner of his lips turn up. “I admit I can be a little harsh with giving out detentions, but the students I target have known about the Hogwarts rules their entire life. They should know better. The expectation on that transfer student is a little much, especially coming from you. Are you sure you’re not just mad that someone who wasn’t you got to show off?

Jimin glares. “Of course not,” He protests, done in a way that is overly exaggerated and implies that he’s definitely mad he didn’t get to show off.

“Of course he is,” Namjoon grumbles under his breath. “The spotlight is taken away from him for two seconds and he’s already pouting like a baby.”

“I’m not pouting,” Jimin scowls. “I can’t believe you guys aren’t on my side. Someone answering a question before me is like someone catching a Golden Snitch before Jeon.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “You trying to compare us or something, Park? Besides, a question given at the beginning of class is different from a whole Quidditch game. I guess it’s more like someone doing better than me during Quidditch practices? I’m not at my best, just like how you aren’t at your best during questions asked in class that, frankly, don’t mean shit.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of bread he had taken from the Great Hall earlier that morning. No one questions it. Jungkook is known to sneak snacks around. He takes a bite of the bread. “And just like how I’m at my best during Quidditch games, you’re at your best when you’re prepared and focused.”

“Jungkook is right,” Namjoon says, slinging an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “So what if a transfer student gets one question right? You’ve gotten six years worth of questions correct. When the tests start coming around and the professors congratulate you on another high score, I think you’ll realize how much you’re overreacting.” He holds up a finger when Jimin opens his mouth. “You are, but that’s fine.”

Jimin sighs. “Okay, okay, you’re right. It was just one question. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re right. I’m fine.”

His friends exchange glances, but Jimin pretends he doesn’t see them because he’s too busy trying to engrave the previous reassurances into his mind. He was totally fine. He could brush past this minor irritation. It’s not like other students never got to answer questions delivered by a professor over his student career, because they had. This was just another person, and you are just another student—a new student, but a student nonetheless. In a few weeks, you’ll just become someone he’ll pass by in the hallway.

The mental note that in the long run, your small interaction would become a hazy memory, relaxes Jimin. After all, it’s not a big deal. It was fine.

Spoiler alert: It was not fine.

Rumors have a habit of flying around Hogwarts quickly. After all, when students are more-or-less trapped in a castle for nine months of a year, the amount of entertainment available becomes limited to homework, friends, a handful of outdoor activities, and participating in the creation and distribution of gossip. Kim Namjoon knows all about gossip—he’s part of the foundation that creates that business.

And it’s all driving Park Jimin crazy, not because of the act of gossip itself, but because the rumors are circling around an individual he thought would have been pushed to the backburner by now. That individual, as could be guessed, is you. And he can’t believe it.

In all honesty, he should have known better. A student from the Ilvermorny school comes in during the final year, answers a question seamlessly right off the bat, and makes no attempts to befriend any students. What kind of person wouldn’t be curious about that?

The answer is no one. Everyone is curious about you, and it shows.

After all, it just takes one week for everyone to know about your quick response to Professor Binns question, and even less time for assumptions about your education level to come into discussion.

“I hear she was the top student at Ilvermorny,” Namjoon says by way of greeting as he slides across from Jimin in the library.

Jimin barely looks up from his textbook. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better because…?” He trails off.

Namjoon blinks. “It wasn’t.”

Jimin scowls. “Fuck off.”

It’s hard to pretend someone doesn’t exist when their mere presence can cause so much discussion and debate. Besides, he already had an inkling that you weren’t just any normal student from Ilvermorny. Your knowledge of the material being taught in class has shed a light to two things: one, it highlights your ability to retain topics from years ago and two, it shows how quickly you can follow your professors advice on readings or essays needed in order to be up to date with the curriculum.

Conclusion: you are smart. Really smart, actually. Smart enough to be the top student at Ilvermorny. And the seeming lack of effort on your end to accomplish so much with little work is what Jimin realizes is the most irritating aspect of this whole thing. That may have slid by at Ilvermorny, but this is different. Because you being the top student at Ilvermorny is equivalent to Jimin being the top student at Hogwarts. And if you took over his spot, where would that leave Jimin? The second best student at Hogwarts?

Yeah, he doesn’t think so.

The feelings only dig themselves in deeper when the first few weeks pass and test dates start being scheduled, announced, and distributed. Jimin studies the way he has for years: he buries himself in his notebooks and holes up in the library for as long as physically possible. He smiles at some pretty girls that walk by, that park themselves in a table just a few rows down from his own. They giggle at the smiles he sends and the glances he steals with them. He doesn’t start a conversation with any of those girls, however, he continues to keep to himself as he rummages through his notes to stay on top of his study schedule.

After a few minutes of organizing and filling out study guides, Jimin realizes that there is a question he hadn’t taken note of during his previous classes. With a sigh, he straightens up out of his desk, heading towards the aisle filled with Charms textbooks. His eyes narrow on the spines of the books, already having a vivid image in his mind of what he was looking for.

His fingers reach out, hovering, until a movement next to the corner of his eye stops him. He lowers his hand, and glares. “I’m a little surprised to see you here,” He notes by way of greeting.

You give Jimin a smile with no teeth. “Is that anyway to speak to your seat partner, Park Jimin?”

“I was just making an observation.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t comment about him answering your question with a question. After all, this kind of conversation is a normal occurrence between the two of you—as it has been ever since your first encounter.

“Just grabbing a book,” You say, reaching into the shelf and sliding out a copy of an advanced seventh year Charms textbook. “Those bonus questions on the charms study guide are a real bitch, am I right?”

He stares at you. “I can’t say for sure. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Wow.” You grin. “And I thought you were one of the smart ones, Park Jimin.” You bring the book to your chest. “I should get back to my seat.”

He hums, about to let you slip past his fingers, but a thought stops him. “Hey,” He calls out, watching as you turn back around. Your eyes study him—gaze observant and unwavering.

His own eyes momentarily flicker down below your face. From the collar of your school shirt to your waist, to the line where the fabric of your skirt meets the skin of your leg. He swallows, dragging his eyes back up to you. You raise an eyebrow, a corner of your lips turning up, as if you know what he’s thinking. “Yes?” You ask, making yourself comfortable again against the shelf.

“Listen,” He starts, trying to mentally form his words. “I know you’re new, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. But ranking first on tests and grades is sort of my thing. I’ve been here since I turned eleven, so I think as a newcomer you should learn your place now before rumors get spread and your life here as a student gets very complicated.”

You huff in disbelief, taking a step towards him. “Is that a threat, Park Jimin?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” He returns.

You’re standing at an arm’s length away from him. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re trying to play. Trying to enforce something that only benefits you, because it seems like you can’t handle when someone is smarter than you are.” You smile again, no teeth. “I’m not scared of you. You think I give a fuck about what your little gang of friends have to spread about me? Yeah, I know about your group. If you think bullshit like that is going to stop me from doing my best, then you better start doing some actual research about me. I think you’re in over your head. I was the best at my school, so don’t think I don’t have what it takes to be the best here.”

Jimin remains unwavering, choosing to keep his gaze on you. “We’ll see about that.”

You raise an eyebrow at the challenge, looking amused rather than annoyed. For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your gaze switches between his eyes.

And down at his lips.

They flash back up just as fast as they had looked down.

Your tongue quickly darts across your lower lip. “I guess we will,” You say, taking a step back. “I’ll see you around, Park Jimin.”

His gaze trails down your backside as you leave.

The Charms exam is the first test of Jimin’s final year at Hogwarts, and he goes in with high expectations for himself—as he always does. He answers all the questions, recalling them from the study guides or various readings he had done in preparation. All in all, it’s a regular Charms exam in all its short answers and detailed explanations, but one he has full confidence in doing the best in once again.

So imagine his surprise when Professor Flitwick stops in front of your desk, produces your test from the collection in his arms, and utters the following words: “Congratulations to Ms. Y/N for making the top score in the class. She went above and beyond for all the questions, including the extra credit, and is therefore very well deserving of her Outstanding score!” He claps. “Yes, yes, very good Ms. Y/N! Keep up the good work!”

You smile, looking down at your practically unmarked test, taking in the O at the top of the paper.

The way you slide your eyes towards Park Jimin does not go unnoticed by him, who looks down at his own test. There is a single mark on his test, a -½ at the top, with points marked off from one of his last extra credit questions. Missing a half mark on a test isn’t unheard of with a Charms exam, which can be long and tedious and requires thorough paragraph-length responses.

However, Park Jimin not scoring the highest score in the class is unheard of.

And now you know it, as the students looking around the classroom is anything to go off on. You are not looking at the students around you. You are looking right at Park Jimin, with the corner of your lips turned up, a look of pride written all across your face.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, but maybe he’ll try to take a note from Jung Hoseok’s book about putting a damper on someone’s day—he wonders if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea.

Park Jimin never gets to find out if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea, because he gets called into Professor McGonagall’s office before he can figure out the best way to give you a taste of how rough he could make your life.

Not only does he get called into the Headmistress’ office, he gets called in with you.

He sees you about to pull open the office door, and cannot seem to help his impatience. He rushes towards you, brushing past you in an attempt to reach the handle first. “Excuse me sweetheart, I have an appointment with Professor McGonagall so if you could let me go ahead, I’d appreciate it…”

You move forward to block him from opening the door. You give him an eyebrow raise, thoroughly unimpressed. “Sweetheart?” You inquire, referring to his nickname.

He blinks. Normally, his peers would be flustered at being cornered in such a way and he cannot help his further frustration—because just what is your problem? Do you not have any weaknesses?

Since people are usually flustered following his whole ‘sweetheart’ role, he doesn’t know how to respond to someone who isn’t flustered by his role. Which, in turn, leaves him slightly flustered. “Well…” He starts.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I have a name, Park Jimin, and I’d appreciate it if you called me that instead of whatever bullshit you think I’ll bend over for.”

“Duly noted,” He grumbles, deciding to let you have this one. “I wasn’t trying to be difficult though, sweet—Y/N.” He corrects himself upon seeing your glare. If he thought you weren’t serious with your threats, he definitely doesn’t think that now. The glare you give him makes him wonder if maybe you’ll slip hiccough sweet into his morning tea. “I do have an appointment with Professor McGonagall right now.”

That makes you furrow your eyebrows, but not in a way that’s directed at him. “Huh,” You say, mostly to yourself. “I do too. That’s weird. Does she want to see both of us at the same time?”

Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking me? I’m just here to get this meeting over with.”

“So am I, I’m just trying to figure out what this means! Don’t be an ass about this,” You snap back. You swear you’re about to go for the neck before the office door opens of its own accord.

“Y/N! Jimin! Please come in.” It’s Professor McGonagall.

You sharply turn to Jimin. “Great, she heard your squawking.”

Jimin glares at you. “You’re the one who’s talking about bending over for me!”

You flush deeply at that. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Y/N? Jimin?” Professor McGonagall appears at the office door. “You may come in, that’s why I opened the door for you.”

“P-Professor,” You say, stammering slightly and Jimin blinks at the sight—having never seen you look nervous before. “Whatever you heard outside, it’s not a reflection of our actual conversations…”

“As if we ever have any actual conversations,” Jimin grumbles under his breath, and you give him a look that could cut glass.

Before you can continue, the professor holds up a hand. “I just happened to open the door because it’s the time both of you should be here for your meeting anyways.” She shifts her gaze between the two of you. “Regardless of who is offering to bend over for whom.”

Even Jimin has to admit the hotness on his cheeks. Neither of you say anything to that, although you kick Jimin in the shin before entering the office. The pair of you are gestured to take a seat in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“I do apologize for the last minute call,” She says as she laces her fingers together and places them on the desk. “But an assignment has come up that requires attention from both of you. It’s something that the top senior students are asked to do every year, but I wanted to make sure Y/N got adjusted before assigning her with a new project.”

“Forgive my bluntness, professor,” Jimin speaks, hands on his lap. “But is asking the transfer student really necessary for what project you have for me? Since I’m the top student, I’m sure I can shoulder this by myself—!”

“The project requires the top male and female student,” Professor McGonagall interrupts carefully, but she’s giving Jimin a look. “And since Y/N was the top student at Ilvermorny, her involvement in the project was requested by a member of the Ministry.”

Jimin notices the way you stiffen at that—he sees it in the tightness of your jaw, the way you sit a little straighter. The scoff overpower his curiosity, seeing your reaction as nothing more than a student trying to land a job with the aforementioned Ministry of Magic, and he hates it.

Neither you nor Professor McGonagall comment on his reaction, you just nod at her words with the kind of eyes that say you know exactly which member she’s referring to. Jimin decides not to ponder too deeply over it regardless. Any question, sarcastic or not, would not be received well by you.

“And what exactly is the project about, professor?” You ask after a moment.

Professor McGonagall readies herself at that. “It’s a project created by the Ministry of Magic,” She starts. “The project basically asks the top two students at Hogwarts to present a report about their time at the school—anything you two may have learned, from your classes to the extra curricular activities you might have enjoyed. We like to keep a good relationship with the Ministry of Magic, mainly to maintain career opportunities and internships open to the students here. The Ministry also likes to learn about what we’re teaching to either help fund programs and also keep other schools up to date with curriculum. Of course, the students who complete the project are allowed to opt out of their NEWT exams and are offered careers for those specific NEWTS. The project is given as an incentive for the top students to take advantage of the opportunity to jump start their careers—it’s also meant to serve as a reward for working so hard.”

“So, we have to…” Jimin trails off, looking at you. “Work together?”

“Yes, Mr. Park,” Professor McGonagall says. “The two of you will need to work together to come up with something cohesive, and professional. Y/N is still getting adjusted to life at Hogwarts, so I’m sure you’ll do well in showing her around the castle.”

“Yeah, Mr. Park,” You add in, wearing a smile across your lips. “Guess this means you have to accept me as your equal, huh?”

“When would we have to give this presentation?” Jimin cuts in, ignoring you completely and seeing the way you exhale through your nose in amusement.

“It’s after the fall quarter,” The professor answers, eyes flickering between the two of you. “If there’s any problems that come up, or if either of you have any questions—I am available to answer them. Although I hope you both will be able to sort through most problems, like adults.”

“I’m sure Mr. Park and I can figure something out,” You say, voice sugar sweet and eyes bright with attention. There’s a teasing tone, something you always seem to have during your encounters with Jimin. The boy merely sighs, mostly to himself, with the knowledge that this is something that has been handed to him. And therefore, it’s something he cannot outsmart.

“Wonderful,” Professor McGonagall replies, looking relieved. “You both may go if you don’t have any further questions.”

You straighten up, bowing to the professor, and purposely allowing your skirt to brush Jimin’s arm as you leave the room. His jaw sets further, because he could have sworn the skin of your leg touched his shoulder and the thought only annoys him more. Did you have to be such a brat—?

“Do you have anymore concerns, Mr. Park?” Professor McGonagall asks, beady eyes looking right through him. She seems to be challenging him. The Headmistress is, after all, no stranger to Jimin’s constant hustle to be the top student at the school. Jimin wonders if his nerves and him feeling threatened by a new student is showing. If it is, she doesn’t say anything.

Jimin slowly gets up out of his chair. “No, professor,” He says, tilting his head slightly. “No concerns, no problems.”

“Alright, well, you better get going,” Professor McGonagall says, picking up her quill. “I assume you have meetings to arrange with Y/N.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything to that. He just watches the professor for a second longer before turning around and exiting the same way he had entered. A lot of thoughts enter his mind in that moment, mainly thoughts circling around what in the ever fuck was he going to do about being confined to working with someone he honestly could not stand—!

“Just to let you know, I’m just as excited about this project as you are.”

He stops short, lingering just outside the door to the office. “What are you doing?”

You uncross your arms, remove yourself from your position against the wall. “I’m just expressing my excitement for this assignment.”

“You’re sticking around just to spite me.”

“Contrary to popular belief, not everything is about you. You’re just upset because you have to acknowledge that I’m smart enough to challenge you. Not only that, but smart enough to warrant a request for someone at the Ministry of Magic,” You say. “But that’s okay. I don’t need your acknowledgment—I’ve been doing fine all on my own.”

He turns to look at you. “Hey, what was all that bullshit about being requested anyways?”

You readjust the bag at your shoulder. “Hm, let me see… oh yeah. It’s none of your business.”

“Does that specific member at the Ministry have something to do with your transfer?”

You meet his gaze, eyes narrowing. “What part of ‘it’s none of your business’ do you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand it completely.” He takes a step towards you, hands in his pocket. “Since, you know, you’re all excited about us working together, I think the least you can do is give me some answers so I have a good idea of who I’m working with.”

You eye him up. “This is a presentation, Park Jimin, not a date.”

“What’s not a date?” Kim Taehyung slides up to the pair of you. He looks between the two of you glaring at each other. “Hold on, is that code for something? Are you guys planning a rendezvous? Either way, this is a really weird way to flirt…”

“We’re not flirting,” Jimin cuts in, sighing again when he seems to process who is next to him. He runs a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

Taehyung blinks. “I saw you and thought I’d say hello. If I had known I’d be walking into this very angry form of eye-fucking then I’d—!”

“Do you have selective hearing?” You cut in. “Your friend already said we weren’t flirting. Which is true, we definitely aren’t.”

Taehyung looks at you, seeming to realize who you are right off the bat. This is probably because Taehyung is popular and charming and generally knows all the students who reside in this castle. Not being able to identify you gives him an exact answer to your name. “Hey, you’re—!”

“Leaving.” You turn around. Damn you, for twirling in a way that makes your skirt spin around. And damn Jimin, for watching that.

“... the new girl,” Taehyung says to nobody, voice lowering considerably as soon as you gave both boys your back. Knowing he won’t get his answer from you, he turns to Jimin. “That was the new girl, right?”

“Yes, Taehyung,” Jimin answers. “That was the new girl. And my life is officially over.”

Jimin hadn’t been exaggerating when he delivered the news to Taehyung. The universe setting you and Jimin up to be partners on an assignment that circled around being on the same page and constructing something cohesive? That in itself, especially with two individuals with such strong opinions, is just a recipe for disaster.

To be fair, the first meeting you and Jimin have isn’t a disaster.

Not immediately, at least.

“For the last time,” You say, rubbing at your temples. “We’re not going to do a presentation about your study habits and the grades you’ve received since your first year. Actually, not only are we not going to do that, I refuse to follow along in something that stupid.”

Jimin feigns an innocent pout. “But the assignment is to talk about our experience at Hogwarts—and I really think my own history is the only thing we can go off of! And my experience is getting good grades, so it seems like the shoe fits pretty well on that one.”

“Because you have nothing else better to talk about,” You grumble underneath your breath, straightening up and leaning back slightly when Jimin turns to glare at you. You hold up your hands in mock defense.

“Ha, ha, very funny. At least I would have something to talk about. You’ve been at Hogwarts for, what, a few weeks? What would you talk about? Interrupting class lectures and bending over for the smartest student at school, like what’s that about—?”

The flat of your palm goes straight for his collarbone. “Will you shut up about that?” You hiss.

“Ouch!” Jimin whines, running his own hand over the place you hit him. “What the fuck—!”

“Excuse me,” Madam Pince interjects from behind both of you. “Mr. Park, I’m surprised that I need to remind you of all people that the library is not a place for noise!”

Jimin winces. “Sorry Madam Pince.” He waits until aforementioned Madam Pince is out of earshot before whipping back around to face you. “Nice going, fucker. You’re lucky I’m not a mean person otherwise I’d make your life a living hell for that stunt.”

“‘I’m not a mean person’ he says,” You quote. “While he yells at me and calls me a fucker.”

Jimin leans forward to rest his head into the palm of his hands. “We’re never going to get anything done, are we?”

“And, by the way, what is your obsession with talking about me bending over for you?” You bring up, shoving one of your textbooks out of the way. You are able to turn more comfortably this time, resting your elbow on the table with your body facing towards Jimin. “You like watching people squirm or something?”

At that, he peeks out through the gaps of his fingers to look at you. Immediately, his eyes land on your bare knees, where your skirt probably would have been had you not been moving around previously in a way that caused the fabric to rise up. The fabric is now at your thigh, with your legs spread enough due to your quick movements. His eyes flicker down to the junction, darkened by the shadow casted by your skirt, leaving enough to the imagination.

He shuts his eyes, the previous flickers undetectable because of his hands blocking the way, but he cannot help the racing of his heart. He feels as if he just did something risky, thrilling, dirty.

Although who is he kidding. He did, in fact, do something risky, thrilling, and dirty all in one subtle glance. The knowledge of this only frustrates him further. Did you position your legs like that on purpose? Did you know that he would notice—just as he’s noticed you since your very first day in class? Today, though, it feels different. Beyond just the normal bounds of frustration, there’s a curiosity. More than curiosity, there’s a flashing image behind his eyes.

One of what it would feel like to have your thighs around his waist.

There’s a twitch between his legs.

“Not just anyone,” He returns instead.

You’re looking at him, legs still parted. “You wanna give me an idea of what that’s like, Park Jimin?”

Jimin continues to look at you, taking in your amused, curious, serious expression and the realization pings through his mind. You are doing this on purpose. You’re trying to test him, mess with him, and you are enjoying it—as you have been since he threatened you in the library. Just as you’ve done with staring at his mouth, when you brushed the hem of your skirt over his arm, and especially now. You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen his lingering eyes in the same way he’s noticed yours. You’re trying to see how far you can push him before he snaps.

He decides to ignore the fleeting distraction between his legs as he turns back to the opened textbook on his desk. “Unfortunately for you, you don’t fall in that category. Your curiosity is cute, though.”

“Hm.” You hum, finally turning back towards the desk and finally closing your legs and finally removing the distraction from his line of sight. “That’s a pity.”

He shrugs. “Since it seems like you do enjoy the thought of squirming around for me, maybe stay out of my way and I’ll consider showing you what that could be about.”

You actually laugh at that, a soft sound—appropriate, considering both of you were in a library, but something almost… whimsy? And pretty? What was happening?

At that, Jimin cannot help his own exhale of air, as he looks at you with eyebrows furrowed. “What’s so funny?”

You hum again, shrugging as you pull your school bag forward to stuff it with parchment and books. “Oh, nothing.” You straighten out of the seat, shouldering your bag. “You just admitted that I’m in your way. And that’s exactly where I intend to stay.”

He flickers his gaze down to your bag. “Hold on, where do you think you’re going? We still have a whole presentation to draft.”��

“Oh, I’m just doing some extra credit for Professor Binns,” You answer. “Besides, we basically have a whole fall quarter to work on it. Besides, your ideas aren’t exactly thought-provoking as they are. More than that, they suck. Come up with something better.”

“What, so it’s my job to come up with the different topics we’ll have to cover?” Jimin huffs.

You give him a vaguely surprised look. “You’re the one who said you were the only one with relevant ideas.” You glance down at your watch. “Listen, I really have to go. Come up with something better. Or ask me for my opinion next time and actually be willing to listen to it.” You deliver a sickly sweet smile, one that he wishes to wipe off. Maybe with some harsh words.

Or maybe his mouth—!

He tells himself it’s not creepy to watch your hips sway side to side as you leave the library.

Once you are gone, this leaves Jimin by himself, surrounded by people but alone in his thoughts. The banter has left him with a racing heart and, quite frankly, a semi in his slacks that he doesn’t think is going away anytime soon. Everytime he thinks he has a handle on what just happened, he gets a flash of your skirt or your lips or your hips and the memory of you being an absolute fucking brat—and that feeling comes back.

That feeling is one of pure frustration, a desire to just shove you against a wall, to see if he could swallow up all those words that do such a good job of riling him up.

He grits his teeth before moving to collect his own items of books and paperwork. Stuffing them into his bag, he begins to exit the library, hoping that each step he took would be a step away from that terrible idea. He couldn’t let you win—he couldn’t let you get to him.

The second meeting he has with you couldn’t entirely be defined as an actual meeting. But it’s an encounter, and it involves a conversation about the project—which fits the requirements of what a meeting technically could entail.

It happens a week after the first meeting, of seeing each other in classes but both of you making an active attempt to ignore each other. Both doing it for different reasons, but doing it nonetheless.

However, this changes when Jimin gets an idea for the project that he knows he needs to run by you. Assuming you don’t bark at him for lacking originality and assuming he could get through a proper interaction without shoving you against the wall. That latter thought has been getting increasingly more difficult as the week dragged on. You, with your stupid mini skirts and tucked in button-ups, your stupider display of legs that has piqued his interest more than any other member of the female population prior—a feat that is unbelievably stupid given that legs in itself isn’t a novel thing—along with your even stupidest strut down the hallways. Whether those things have been intentional or not, he honestly feels as if one wrong move could crack this facade he’s spent the week putting together.

He decides to pursue you after the shared Muggle Studies class you have together, when you’re out in the hallway and he’s following close behind. He doesn’t know your next destination, assuming you have one—because honestly, it’s been a few weeks since your official enrollment and he has yet to see you with a group of friends.

Instead, he elects to just ignore that internal question, and make his way towards you.

He matches stride with you. “Hear me out.”

You groan immediately. “Haven’t I heard enough of you already?”

That is true. The lesson in Muggle Studies had involved watching and talking about a muggle film and, naturally, Jimin had a lot to say.

Jimin grins. “Are you saying that none of my discussions were enticing enough for you, sweetheart?”

You glare at him. “What did I say about the sweetheart thing?”

You had warned him plenty. However, it’s worth seeing the angry flush along your cheeks. He tries at an answer too. “That you would bend over for me if I kept calling you by it?”

Your eyes narrow. “I’d choose your next words carefully, Park Jimin.”

“So serious,” He remarks, tearing his gaze from you.

You sigh. “Anyways, what are you even doing right now? Talking to me once a week to pick a fight seems desperate, especially for you.”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight—!” He cuts himself off. “I really did have a reason for catching up to you.” He stills. He really did forget what he had approached you for. “Shit, okay, give me a second.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He ignores you. “Oh! Right! For the project. Actually here, let’s talk somewhere else.” Without a warning, he grabs your arm and practically drags you into one of the empty classrooms. It’s a room for astronomy labs—an open-spaced classroom with a high ceiling in case Professor Sinistra needed to recreate certain astronomical events not available during specific quarters or times of day. The ceiling is a navy color, dusted with tiny stars and constellations at the top, and rows of desks and empty seats around.

You and Jimin settle yourselves near the front of the classroom—close to the door but not close enough where a wrong move would send you out into the hallway.

When Jimin closes the door, you’re still watching him warily with arms over your chest. “Is your idea that good that you have to pull me into an empty classroom for it?”

“Well, I’m just saving you the embarrassment in case my idea happens to be good, you start cheering me on.”

You sigh. “Well, try me then, Park Jimin.”

“Alright,” He starts. “I hear you when you tell me just talking about my grades isn’t enough.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t enough, I said that idea was dumb as shit—!”

He ignores you again. “So how about we talk about different aspects of Hogwarts. We can talk about things like the classes, Quidditch, spell-casting, the newspaper, and the role of the Head Boy.”

You do actually ponder this for a moment, but you’re extremely observant. He knows immediately that you’re about to spit something from the way you narrow your eyebrows. “Why be so specific? And what am I supposed to talk about from that limited pool of topics?”

He gives you a straightforward look. “I thought we already established that you would have nothing to talk about.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“Well, as you should know sweetheart, I’m very serious all of the time.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” You’re glaring now. “Do you not remember Professor McGonagall telling us that this was a team project? We have to work together. If the Ministry comes to the realization that, no, we did not put together a cohesive presentation highlighting our own personal journeys and no, contrary to your pea brain, the presentation should never have centered around you in the first place, we’re going to be in deep shit. Professor McGonagall will probably have us shunned for the rest of the school year, we’ll definitely lose that internship opportunity with the Ministry and my father would—!” You cut yourself off immediately, wide-eyed at your own slip of the mouth.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at that. What does your father have to do with acing the presentation at the Ministry? The realization hits him pretty quick at that. “Oh, okay I see. So daddy was the one who requested your involvement on this team—?”

Your eyes, once wide with emotion and tinged with vaguely defined fear, harden. “How about you mind your own business and not resort to asking really inappropriate questions about my family life?” You snap.

“Woah, alright, I’ll stop,” Jimin interjects, raising both hands up. “If this is what I get for trying to be your friend.”

“For the last time,” You grit between your teeth, stepping closer to him, getting all up in his face and completely distracting him with the wash of lavender that overcomes his nostrils. There’s that delicious flush along your cheeks once again. “We are not friends. And don’t hold your breath because we’ll never be friends. I would never associate myself with anyone at this school, much less a vile, arrogant, disrespectful, terribly overrated individual like you—!”

Jimin doesn’t have an explanation for what he does next. He almost doesn’t even have control over his actions, like his body has a mind of his mind. One moment, he’s staring at you, far enough to still see your entire face but close enough to see the fire in your eyes.

And then the next moment, his eyes are closed and there’s something soft and warm against his lips. He’s kissing you.

The following seconds feel like minutes or hours, ticking slowly in contrast to Jimin’s thrumming heart. His fingers curl around something soft and textured: your hair. His lips, on his own unawareness, are moving frantically against yours—either to get his frustration out or get you to respond, he isn’t too sure.

It isn’t until his tongue pushes against your lips that he hears a whimper from the back of your throat that stirs up his insides like nothing else you’ve done to him before. He feels your fingers at the back of his neck, in his hair, nails digging into the skin, all before you part your lips. His boldness increases at the gesture, pressing harder against you.

The weight of him makes you take steps back, until both of you are moving about the classroom completely unaware of your surroundings. But Jimin doesn’t care, hardly even notices that you’re backing up. Every step you take back is matched with a step forward by him as he continues his attack on your mouth.

That is, until you hit one of the desks and the legs of the table scrap against the floor. The noise is like a bell that sets off in Jimin’s head. It goes off in your mind as well, actually, because you’re both quick to separate and push each other off. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and face flushed for entirely different reasons in comparison to a few seconds ago. Your lips are a deeper shade of red, and wet, and you look shocked. The expression is so opposite of the usual stern and stark that paints your face, so you appear surprisingly vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You simply stand there, taking in each other, as Jimin asks himself the same question over and over again. What the fuck just happened?

Unable to conjure up an answer to that, Jimin draws in a shaky breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” He whispers, immediately turning around and shoving open the door to the classroom and letting it slam shut behind him. He doesn’t look back, refuses to picture your expression in his mind because picturing it would make him second guess his decision.

Instead, he maintains his quick pace down the hallway, ignoring the calls of his name by peers and friends. His gaze is hyper focused on being somewhere other than here. So much so that he ends up shouldering his way into the boy’s bathroom, pacing past the row of toilet doors until he reaches the sinks and mirrors along the edge. He goes to one of the sinks as his palms come up to grip both sides of the sink. His eyes flint up, gazing at his reflection and taking it all in: from the flush of his own cheeks, the deeper red tint of his lips, the craze look in his eyes—like he wants more. Like he wanted more of you.

With a scoff, he rips his gaze away from the mirror and instead turns around to lean against the edge of the sink.

It’s not like he’s never kissed girls before. He has. Just never anyone who makes him as annoyed as you make him. This type of dynamic is new and involves unsure elements, a new game that he doesn’t know how to play.

Apparently, it’s one you don’t know how to play either.

It’s another three weeks of awkward stares, no eye contact, and one of you dashing out of classrooms first to avoid having to see each other in the hallway, until Professor McGonagall calls you back into her office. The space is naturally very reminiscent of the first meeting the three of you had together, but the tone is weighed down by tension and the obvious fact that you and Jimin are avoiding each other and have been avoiding each other for weeks.

The fact that the two of you refuse to look at each other is the first sign of this emotional conflict. Pair that with the lack of snappy banter, and all that contributes to the raised eyebrow Professor McGonagall gives both of you.

You look at Jimin out of the corner of your eye and seem to come to the conclusion that he isn’t going to participate. Which you are right, he has no intention of opening his mouth.

“Is something the matter, Professor?”

“I just thought I would have a little meeting to touch base with the both of you,” Professor McGonagall answers, shifting her gaze thoughtfully between you and Jimin. “I was seeing you hold meetings in the library on a few occasions, but there’s been an absence of that recently. During classes, I notice that neither of you engage in discussion and one of you is always the first to leave the room. Has there been a conflict of interest going on regarding the project?”

Jimin exhales a breath, wondering if you were going to spill the beans. Not explicitly, but you’ll probably start talking about how recent developments made you feel too nervous or too cautious to continue working with him—that you’d rather stop, or that you’d rather have Jimin step down. The kiss had been his fault, after all.

You take a few seconds to come up with your answer. “We were having some disagreements about the direction of the project,” You say at last, saying the words slowly and carefully and surprising Jimin. “So we haven’t talked for a little while, I think we just needed to collect our thoughts and come up with individual ideas, and then actually meet up and discuss rather than trying to grow something together.”

Professor McGonagall nods at that. “I understand. Well, if that’s the case. It seems the only advice I could give you both is to work through your problems. In other words, figure it out. There’s a lot riding on this project.”

The pair of you are then dismissed with a finality in her words. A warning.

Unlike previous interactions like sharing class together or running into one another in the halls, neither of you make a move to separate to run away. You linger near each other, awkward still, knowing that you both need to make amends and move past the incident but not sure how to do so.

“We should probably talk about this,” You say after a moment. You aren’t looking at him.

Jimin thinks about this. He sighs. “You’re right. I know a spot we can talk.” Turning around, he starts down the hallway. Your shoes echo against the castle walls, the high ceilings and long hallways that twist and turn. It’s much later into the night—the dinner crowd has dispersed back to respected common rooms or to the library for last minute studies. As a result, most of the hallways are devoid of students. The hallway routes around Professor McGonagall’s office are even more empty, given that a lot of classes are not in this corner of the castle and most places don’t invite loiters.

Jimin continues past closed doors, tall stained glass windows that bring in the moonlight. There’s a silence between you, not as awkward as it had been, but definitely filled with a veil of tension and lots of unanswered questions.

Finally, Jimin stops at a door not unlike the several other doors the pair of you had passed in your quest to get here. You’re about to ask what he’s doing and where he’s leading you and if he plans to kidnap you—because this kind of location in this kind of space would be perfect—before he’s muttering a password under his breath and opening the door. He keeps it open for you to enter the space first.

It’s a small classroom, only big enough to house a whiteboard at the end of the room, a long table right in front of the board, and a few desks in the middle for students. There’s a long window along the other side of the wall, and curtains draped in front of the glass.

You turn to look at him. This place is too suspiciously perfect for private conversations. “What is this place?”

“It’s a space for the Head Boy,” Jimin explains, closing the door behind him. “It kind of doubles as a private study and a place for Yoongi to run detentions. But he lets me come here sometimes when I need more privacy.”

“So not only do you have professors up your ass, but the school’s Head Boy too?” You ask, whirling around to give him a judgmental glance.

“Don’t come in here just to insult me,” Jimin snaps back. “You’re pretty dead set on putting up walls; that doesn’t mean I’m not either. So, not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been friends with Yoongi for years. No ass kissing in that.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before turning back to look at the room. “You’re right.”

He figures it’s the best apology he’ll get from you.

“Alright,” He says after a moment. He watches the way you turn around to face him. “I’m just gonna put this out here, because we need to get our shit together. I do apologize for kissing you. It was rash and inappropriate. If you want me to step down from the project, I’ll understand.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “By you understanding, does that mean you would step down?”

Jimin stares at you. “Well, I mean, no, but it would be more of an incentive to talk about this.”

“Of course,” You grumble, running a hand through your head. “Well, you’re in luck. I have no intention in asking you to step down from the project. I might even go as far to say that I think you’re mildly attractive, which is why I didn’t have a problem with you doing that.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I think you’re vaguely attractive too.”

You nod. “Always reassuring to hear it like that.”

“But see, this is good. We’re getting this out here,” Jimin says, gesturing between the two of you. “I kissed you because of this tension between us, but because it ended abruptly that tension never got any closure. We’re still in this limbo phase.”

You keep your gaze on Jimin. You seem to be pondering his words. Somehow, he’s able to tell that you’re not entirely turned off by his conclusion—probably because you’re still standing close enough to him that your Hogwarts ropes were touching. “You make a good point.”

“Mm, well of course I do,” He says, keeping his gaze on you. “I’m Park Jimin.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirks, still looking at you, and shrugs a shoulder. “I should be able to flatter myself a little. I kissed you, didn’t get snapped out by you, so I’d consider it a worthy endeavor.”

“Well, you shouldn’t waste your breath just yet,” You interrupt, voice growing progressively softer given the proximity. “I’m not sure if that should really count as a kiss considering the inappropriate and abrupt nature of it all.”

At that, Jimin turns hot. “I already apologized for that.”

You smile, a mere curl of your lips, as your hands find their place on his shoulders. At the gesture, his hands automatically go to your waist—a natural place, given the memory of the last time you had your hands around his neck. “And how about you ask to kiss me the way a normal person who is attracted to another person would ask—?”

Your voice cuts off when Jimin shoves you even closer to him, bodies pressed against one another. “You really know how to be a brat, don’t you?”

Your smile widens. You lean towards him, nose brushing against his. “I don’t see you asking, Park Jimin—!”

He shuts you up by slamming his lips against yours. Fingers curl around the back of your neck to keep you in place. He kisses you roughly, lips pushing against yours and sucking the air from your lungs. He pulls away moments later, lips still brushing against one another, heavy breathing filling his ears. “For someone claiming I needed permission to kiss you, you definitely know how to keep your mouth shut to help me get what I want.”

You groan. “You really have to have the last word in everything, don’t you?”

“Not true.”

You sigh, digging your nails into the nape of his neck. You kiss him this time, parting your lips right away as Jimin becomes distracted with sliding his tongue into your mouth. His desire for control comes up again, stepping forward and continuing to move with every step backwards you take.

Hitting the teacher’s desk at the front of the room is so unlike the last time. The scrap of the metal against the floor had awoken Jimin from the reality of what could have happened—but now it heightens his senses, leaves his heart racing because he knows what will happen next and he desires nothing more.

Eyes still closed, he uses his hand to leave your waist and feel down the length of your skirt. He confirms that he’s reached the hem by tugging at the end of the fabric. “I hate this thing,” He growls. “You’re always making it sway when you walk, always drawing attention to this damn piece of clothing.”

You smirk against his lips. “I made you look, though…” You trail off, voice pitching into a sigh when Jimin pulls away from your mouth. Immediately, he kisses at your jawline, down your neck. “Jimin—ee!” You squeal as Jimin’s hands go from on top of your skirt to underneath, fingers dancing up your bare thigh. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”

The actual four letter word makes Jimin groan, makes his blood boil, makes his slacks feel a little tighter. “What happened to asking?”

“Oh, because you were so good at that—!” You choke, the breath catching in your throat as you jump at the sensation of Jimin’s fingers pressing against your clothed clit. Your eyes develop a foggy complexion.

“What was that?” Jimin asks, smirking at the dazed look across your features. Seeing you look like this is so different and intriguing, considering the rarity of seeing you off your guard. He wonders how far he can take it, how much he can do to make sure it’s not words of insult that are passing lips.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. The whimper comes back as Jimin starts drawing circles against the bundle of nerves, slow paced but small movements. The fabric of your panties are thin, enough so that he can feel your clit, and enough to come to the realization that you’re—!

“Wet,” Jimin grumbles.

Your cheeks heat at the realization, something you hadn’t even been entirely sure of yourself.

Jimin leans forward to peck your lips once, twice. “It’s hot.” He deepens the kiss, distracting you as his finger curls around the underside of your panties.

You suck in a breath as he runs a finger up and down your slit before sinking a finger into your heat. “Nn—Jimin,” You whisper, moving one of your arms to curl the fingers around his bicep. It’s a shallow thrusting of his finger, more about preparation and feeling than actually trying to make you cum. But the sensation floods your nerves all the same.

“You’re so hot, I can only just imagine what this’ll feel like wrapped around my cock,” Jimin comments hoarsely, pulling his one finger out. The next time he slides in, it’s two fingers and the slight stretch makes your eyes squeeze together.

“J-Jimin,” You choke out. The wet sounds of friction between your legs begins to fill the room. “That feels so good, fuck…”

“Mm, does it now?” Jimin inquires softly. With every upward movement of his fingers into your pussy, the sensation of your walls tightening against his digits goes entirely to his head. It feels like he’s making mental notes of your reactions. You’re a sensitive little thing, and it’s a fact he really wouldn’t mind testing out more. “You still want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, come here,” You urge softly, bringing him forward to kiss you again.

Slowly, his fingers slide out of you, and you whimper at the emptiness he’s leaving you behind with. His hands leave from in between your thighs, traveling out of your skirt and resting at your waist. Without a warning, he hoists you up onto the desk. He moves you back just enough to give you instructions:

“Put your feet on the table for me.”

Legs twitching slightly, you do as you’re told. Your heels rest on the edge of the desk. At the gesture, the hem of your skirt moves downwards, flashing your panties right at Jimin. He has a momentary flashback to that first meeting in the library—your legs spread atop a chair, the skirt casting a shadow between your legs.

Now, he no longer has to wallow in that curiosity. Black panties flash right in his line of sight, and his dick feels even more constrained as he steps forward and reaches out to tuck his fingers underneath the waistband. With a nod from you, he pulls the fabric up and down your legs, and past your shoes. He pockets the material.

You notice the action immediately. “Need a spank bank collection, Park?”

At that, he shrugs, even though both of you know the answer to that. “Depends on how good this is,” He says casually. You and Jimin know this is a lie. He already knows this is going to be good. Above anything, the tent in his pants is a clear giveaway to that. You watch as he pulls his belt from out of the belt loops, tugs the leather off of his waist. He barely brings his pants down, he just reaches in and comes back out with his cock, pretty and leaking at the tip. His thumb brushes at it, spreading the pre-cum across his length.

You whine at the sight, tossing your head back slightly as your legs come out to drag Jimin towards you by the waist. “I’ve seen enough, please fuck me, please—!” You whimper as Jimin pulls your legs off his waist. He brings his arms underneath your legs, bending it at the knees as he inches forward to rest his hands on the table. Untouched, his dick hovers right where you want him the most, and you whine again.

“I’m just preparing, baby,” He explains softly, almost patronizingly, but you don’t seem to mind the tone. “Don’t want to hurt you before I even get the chance to fuck you.”

“You’ll never know until you put—it—in—oh!” You gasp, the tip of Jimin’s dick hovering at your entrance. One of Jimin’s hands moves from underneath your leg to wrap around the base of his cock, running it up and down your folds. He takes one last look at your expression: wide eyes and parted lips, before he looks back down between your legs. He watches as his cock disappears between your folds, immediately enveloping him in your hot, tight walls, a pressure that increases when you clench around him.

Jimin grunts, tilting his head back. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You’re breathing heavily now. Your arms are resting behind you to keep you level, allowing your fingers to tighten around the edges of the desk. Your toes curl in your shoes. “Jimin—shit.” You jolt slightly when Jimin’s hand moves from the base of his dick to your clit. His thumb rests on the nub, immediately drawing circles against the nerves to relax you through the stretch. You whine, a noise from the back of your throat that makes the blood rush even quicker through Jimin’s body. It fills him with a desire to fill you up, to make you scream.

He continues to push in until he reaches the hilt, the feeling of you around him is so snug and warm that he cannot help his own groan. His finger moves from your clit and curls around the knee of your unoccupied leg. Using his arm to keep your knee bent, his hand travels back to its original position on the desk, allowing both of your legs to be spread apart for him.

Jimin looks up towards you, leaning forward to kiss you. “You still with me?”

You nod. “Yes, fuck, you can fuck me now.”

The permission makes his head spin as he nods. “Fuck, okay.” He begins to pull away until all that’s left inside you is his tip. With a snap of his hips, he drives himself back into you.

The full sensation against your walls lights up your nerves, allowing it to pass through your entire body as your legs twitch and you throw your head back. “Fuck,” You whisper, mostly to yourself as your walls start to tighten and untighten at the sensation.

This, in turn, drives a choke from Jimin’s throat. “Stop clenching around me!”

You level your gaze with Jimin’s once more, but you have a hazy look in your eyes. “Gonna prove to me that you’re a one dump pump or something, Park?”

He stares at you, long and hard. “I’m gonna make you regret saying that.” He pulls out again, all the way to the tip, and thrusts back in sharply. You gasp. But it doesn’t stop this time. He picks a pace, not too fast but he goes deep. The snark in your eyes is gone. The noises in your throat are no longer words but noises instead: whimpers and whines.

The coil starts to tighten in your belly. “J-Jimin,” You wail, using what little strength you have in your arms to push yourself into a straighten sitting position. This brings you closer to Jimin. Without a warning, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the collar of his robes. It seems like this is to muffle the sounds coming from your throat. “Ngh, Jimin, feels so good, fuck…”

His fingers curl around the edges of the desk as he picks up the pace. Your knees start to twitch above his arms. “You trying to escape me, sweetheart?” He asks right in your ear, breath against your neck. “Look at you. You just have to take what I give you.” That’s true. He’s keeping your legs spread, leaving you unable to escape or move away.

You’re gasping now. “Jimin, I’m gonna come.”

Jimin hums, pulling his hand away from your arm once again and returning his fingers to your clit. When he rubs at you this time, it’s quicker and faster and you clamp up immediately. “Then come.”

“Mmmm,” You sob, arching your back right into his body. For a brief moment, everything is tight, hot, and overwhelming, before the coil snaps and you wither in his arms. One of your own hands slam down onto the desk, as you try to grip onto the smooth surface of the table either to give you a new sense of bearings or pull away from him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t acknowledge it either, too focused on thrusting into you until he’s finding his own release.

He grunts, pushing into you until he’s at the hilt as he spills himself into you. The blood is no longer in Jimin’s ear, no longer drowning up the sounds of pleasure and desperation. Instead, it fills the air with the sounds: the gasps and heavy breathing. You, halfway lying on the desk. And Jimin, hovering closely over you, still joined together.

“Shit,” You whisper, untangling your other hand from Jimin’s neck and freeing you to lie entirely on the surface of the table. Jimin watches you carefully, gently putting down your legs so they can rest against the table.

“Lift your bottom for me,” Jimin instructs, lifting the hem of your skirt up to bunch the fabric at your waist. With your entire bottom exposed, he’s able to see himself inside you all over again. Slowly, he pulls himself out. You whimper at that. But Jimin doesn’t say anything. He watches, throat dry, as he watches the white substance of his cum spill out of you. He reaches out, collecting it around his finger, before going back up to your slit and pushing his finger into you.

You arch your back at that, crying out softly at the overstimulation. You push yourself to your elbows, watching him sink his finger back into you. “What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly.

“Trying to make as small a mess as possible,” Jimin explains, pushing his finger in as far as it could go. “You wanna go back to the common room with stains over your robes?”

You stare at him, some of that haziness gone and replaced with your usual thoughtful expression. “You make a good point.”

Jimin is able to wipe the rest of the stains on the sleeves of his white polo, something that will be hidden underneath his robes. He watches as you hop off the desk, smoothing down your skirt and down your hair.

You look over at him. “How do I look?”

He gives a careful once-over. “How about this: if I saw you in the hallway, I wouldn’t have assumed you just got fucked.”

The corner of your lips curl up. “Well, that’s probably as good as it’ll get—!”

“Plus I’m sure other people don’t have the same observational skills as I do, so you’re probably fine.”

“There it is.”

“And how was it?” Jimin asks as he opens the door to the classroom and allows you to walk back into the hallway of the castle first. “Do you think we got that closure to the tension?”

“We are talking,” You point out as you walk side-by-side with Jimin. “And you don’t have that look in your eyes anymore.”

He stops at that. “What look?”

You stop alongside him and give him a smirk. “That strained look, like the one you gave me before you kissed me.”

Allowing your eyes to linger on each other for a moment longer, you break that connection by turning your head and continuing down the hallway.

For someone so good at calculating and organizing his life, Park Jimin missed out a whole factor in his equation to success at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

That factor is you.

Now, he’s had his fair share of flings, makeout sessions, and sexual encounters with members of the female population. Of course he has. He isn’t friends with jocks like Jeon Jungkook or pranksters like Jung Hoseok for nothing—he’s been to those parties in the Room of Requirement and has held up his own in conversations with flirtatious qualms. As someone who trumps logic over emotion, it has never been hard for Jimin to set aside his emotions when something is meant to be a one time thing.

But you. You. You. He really hasn’t accounted for you to linger about in his life the way you have. Mostly, he hasn’t accounted to think about your insults, your sighs, and your whimpers the way he actually has.

It’s hard to tell if you’re feeling the same way. When you’re in study labs together for any class such as charms, muggle studies, or astronomy, he could always swear that your gaze would linger on him for moments too long before switching away. When you two are paired up for potions, the conversations are vague and pertain to the lessons, but it all feels layered with something new. A new unspoken desire, perhaps?

He can’t really get a read on the situation, and that’s the most frustrating aspect of it all.

“Park Jimin?” It’s Professor McGonagall’s voice, one that startles Jimin out of his trance. Jung Jaehyun ducks to hide his laughter.

Jimin blinks, looking up to realize that Professor McGonagall is standing right in front of him, a stack of parchment in her arms and a curious look in her eyes. He’s currently in the middle of his transfiguration lesson. The professor raises an eyebrow, but still pulls a parchment from the stack and passes it down to him. A -1 stares him back up at him, and Jimin feels his heart beat. Although this score is for a mere homework assignment, the grade seems like a weight on his shoulders.

“Is that a minus one, Park?” Jaehyun asks, leaning over and getting into Jimin’s space. “On a homework assignment? What happened there?”

Jimin looks over the assignment. “I guess I didn’t add enough detail to one of my answers.” He looks back at Jaehyun, watching Professor McGonagall hand him his graded assignment. The corner of his lips quirk up. “You’re one to talk, Jung. Minus five? You better keep your grades up if you want to stay on the House Team.”

“Hey, you should see JK’s grades,” Jaehyun retorts. “I swear, that boy was hanging by a thread on some of the recent assignments. Did you know he didn’t even realize he had an astronomy essay due for class until that waitress at the Three Broomsticks had to remind him?”

Jimin grins. “That I remember. You’ve done good keeping an eye on your competition.” Almost unconsciously, he finds himself flinting his gaze towards you only to find that you’re staring right back at him.

You raise an eyebrow at him. Just from a look, Jimin knows what you’re asking him. What did you get?

Feeling vaguely embarrassed about his score, he shrugs. Instead of answering, he jerks his chin towards you. What about you?

You seem to know the reason behind his desire to keep his score a secret from you. You smirk, turning over your parchment and flashing it towards him. A -0 reads at the top. “Pretty good, huh?” You mouth to him.

Jimin flicks his wand underneath the desk. A gust of wind comes out and the parchment flies forward to smack you on the face.

A burst of laughter rings through the classroom as Professor McGonagall whirls around. Having not seen the events leading up to the smack, she narrows her eyes at you. “Miss. Y/N, I don’t believe your perfect grade called for a hit to the face.”

You sink into your seat just enough. “Sorry professor,” You grumble, turning to give the side eye to Jimin.

He is wrong to think that you wouldn’t do anything about his little spell.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You ask as soon as you catch up to Jimin after class is dismissed. Ever since the “Tension-Easing Experiment”, as Jimin liked to label it and no it wasn’t something he had run by you since you’re both not really eager to brush on that topic in detail ever since it had happened, you’ve both been pleasant enough to each other. This conversation starter falls under that list. “Casting spells on me, I thought that task belonged to Jung Hoseok.”

“Perhaps I have learned a thing or two from him.”

You hum at that. “Guess there are some things you can’t fully grasp just from reading textbooks all day.”

He glares at you. “Did you need something today?”

You look back at him. “We have our weekly project meet-up.”

He blinks. “What weekly project meet-up?”

“Well, when Professor McGonagall gave us the assignment, we were meeting up once a week to exchange ideas,” You say slowly. “We stopped because…”

Oh right, I kissed you in the astronomy lab room, Jimin thinks when you trail off.

You clear your throat. “But since we’re talking again…”

Because we had sex.

“I figured it was as good a time as ever to get back into it. Besides, I do have an idea I’d figure I should bounce off of you.”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. Takes in your eyes, your lips, your robe and the clothes you’ve gone on underneath the thick material. You’ve got your hair up into a half-up-half-down ponytail today. Dare he say, you look nice today. “Alright then. Should we go to the library?”

“Actually…” You cut in, shrugging and not meeting Jimin’s eye this time around. “I was thinking we could go back to your friend’s private study room? Since we are talking, and it is exam season. You know, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the other students trying to go over their class material.”

This is true. Midterm season at Hogwarts is underway and lots of peers are starting to lose the light in their eyes. There seems to be a hidden weight in your words, plagued with an idea of ulterior motives, but Jimin is suddenly taken by curiosity to mind. “Uh—right. Sure. Pretty sure Yoongi isn’t running a detention today.”

Even if Yoongi had assigned a detention, which he probably did considering this was Min Yoongi, it was unlikely he’d use his private study. In fact, Jimin vaguely recalls Yoongi saying he had a meeting. So he leads the way down the hallways and past the large windows. The pathway is familiar to him, given how many times he’s taken this route, and it’s not long before he’s uttering the password under his breath and entering the space.

It’s empty when he enters. Actually, it’s hard to tell if Yoongi had even used this office during the days between the “Tension-Easing Experiment” and today. Not that it matters, as you and Jimin push two desks together and take a seat. You slide your robe off this time and rest it at the back of your chair.

“Alright, so what’s this idea of yours?”

You lean back in the chair. “It’s brilliant, if you ask me.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You smile slightly at that, turning back towards your desk and curling a finger around your hair. “I thought we might as well keep it simple and play to our strengths.” You look at him. “You’re known being this really charming guy, and from what I understand you’re friends with lots of different guys who are talented in their own unique ways. I think we need to split our presentation into two parts. Your section would be talking about growing up at Hogwarts—how you’ve made your group of friends and how you’ve centered yourself in activities and conversations. Then I’ll come in and talk about how despite transferring during the last year of school, everyone and everything is really adjustable and nice about being a new student.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders this. You’ve figured out a way to take what he had mentioned, albeit jokingly, and organize a way for you to be involved yet still be connected to his original topic. “It’s not bad, you can be smart sometimes when you want to be.”

“I’m always smart—a lot smarter than you, so it seems,” You return back. You angle the chair towards Jimin and sit back. “Speaking of, what happened with your homework assignment today? Didn’t want to show off your own -0? Or perhaps did you get extra credit out of thin air?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jimin snaps. “Contrary to that, I actually got marked off a point. Forgot to add some details to one of my answers, so it was a minor thing.”

“The Park Jimin I know doesn’t forget to add minor details to his answers,” You point out. “What’s up with you? Does Professor McGonagall have to pull you from the project, and leave me as the sole smartest and brightest student at Hogwarts despite only being here for a month and a half?”

“I think your critical thinking skills have to be checked,” He retorts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt to start an argument. You’re much more observant than you let on, if you’ve taken note of his behavior despite not really being his friend. Getting marked off points for minor details is something both of you have been guilty of on rare occasions, so the fact that you still notice something off leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.

Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, only to find you staring back. Should he indulge you on the thoughts floating around in his head? Would it be worth it?

When you raise an eyebrow, it gives him enough courage to open his mouth.

“Actually, I have a hypothetical situation I’d like to go over with you.”

You don’t say anything to that. It’s a sign to keep talking.

“Say you’ve just slept with someone because you thought it would quell that seemingly moment’s sparks of attraction,” He starts. “But it’s been a few days, and you, hypothetically, can’t stop thinking about that moment. As in, you wouldn’t find sleeping with that person again. Do you indulge that curiosity? Or just leave it be, assuming that the person doesn’t feel the same about you?”

Something flickers in your eyes. “Hm, I’m not sure, you’re being so vague it’s really hard to tell who you’re talking about.”

He groans at that. “You’re being a brat again.”

“You must enjoy that, don’t you?” You say back right away. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be thinking about trying to sleep with me again. Unless you ‘quell momentary sparks of attraction’ with other girls on a daily basis.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He retorts. “You like to think you have all this control over this situation and my feelings, but who was it that was begging me to fuck them just a few nights ago?”

You laugh a little. “You got a point. But who still fucked me after that begging?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really want to play that game, sweetheart?”

You keep your gaze on him. “What game am I playing, Park Jimin?”

Jimin looks right back at you. After a moment, he wraps his fingers underneath his chair and angles himself so that he can face you. He reaches forward until his hand rests on your thigh, right above the hem of your skirt. “Well, I have something in mind, if you’re willing to hear it.” When you don’t pull back, he continues. “Since you seem set on this idea that you’re in charge, I think I should prove to you otherwise.”

He watches the way your jaw clenches at that.

“First, I would ask you to slide off your panties and your skirt this time, so there’s nothing in the way of me fucking you this time,” He spells out, keeping his eyes on you for signs of slippage. The slight twitch of your thigh is the first tell. “Then, I’d get behind you, turn you around, and press you against this very desk.” He taps the desk you’re sitting in front of. “Depending on how bratty you decide to be, I’ll find a way to keep you where I want you to be. If you’re still a brat, only one of us will be finishing today—and I will tell you right now that it won’t be you.” He leans forward towards you, your eyes flickering towards his lips. “Just tell me no. Tell me you’re not interested and that you don’t look at me the same way. I’ll back off.”

You swallow thickly at that. “What if I don’t want you to back off?”

Things happen very quickly after the question leaves your lips. You’re the one who leans forward, you’re the one who kisses Jimin first. He responds immediately after, pulling you up by your waist until you’re straddling his lap. Gently biting at your lower lip, Jimin still has enough wit to kick the chair you were sitting on away from the desk. It scraps against the classroom floor, a noise that goes loudly unheard of over the roaring of blood in Jimin’s ears.

Jimin pushes you off his lap, forcing you back onto your feet with Jimin following behind shortly after. You barely have time to adjust before his hands are on your waist to spin you around and pin you onto the desk in front of you.

Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. “Look at you, little girl,” He says. The nickname brings color to your cheeks. “You talk a big game but I think when it comes to it, you like being told what to do.” After he’s gotten you settled into position, his hands leave its original position to reach the zipper of the skirt at the small of your back. “Well, since I’ve riled you up this much, we might as well follow through on one of my check-ins, huh?”

His fingers slowly drag down the zipper of your skirt, each movement downwards rings like a bell. Jimin is so close behind you that you can feel his warmth radiating into your body, your legs. He doesn’t take his time. He pulls down the skirt and your panties until they drop at your ankles.

A finger lingers at your entrance, checking. Jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Looks like me spelling out what I was going to do to you was more effective than I thought.”

You whine, pressing your cheek into the wood of the desk. “You don’t always have to report it like that!”

Jimin stills at that. For a moment, the tense silence makes you think that you’ve said something wrong. But all thoughts fly out of the window when Jimin brings his hand down to slap against the back of your thigh. The gesture isn’t too hard or too loud, but it’s enough to make you whimper. “You trying to out-smart me again?”

“N-No, I’m sorry,” You stammer, probably having a brief flashback to his threat about not letting you finish off.

Still, Jimin scoffs. “You seem to think today will end up just like the first time: where you tell me what to do and I’ll do it—would you agree with me?”

You clench and Jimin feels it with his fingers. “Not intentionally.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders, both of his hands leaving your frame to tug at the tie around his neck. He loosens it and brings the thin fabric down towards you. “I think we should really establish that I’m the one in charge today. Give me your hands.”

Your neck turns slightly to try and catch his eye. “Jimin—!”

“Hands, c’mon little girl, I thought you could follow directions.” Nevermind that this is probably the first time you’ve said his first name as a standalone and there’s something really intimate about that.

You don’t say anything to that, you merely shift your body weight so you are able to rest your hands on your back. Jimin takes your wrists, bringing them together, and loops the fabric of his tie around them. Tight enough that there’s no way you could escape from it, but loose enough to provide some wiggle room. Once your wrists are secure in the tie, Jimin tugs on it to ensure it won’t undo itself.

“This okay?” Jimin asks, albeit a little softly, but his question brings the ghost of a smile across your lips.

You nod. “Yes.”

“Alright then.” There’s the sound of his belt becoming undone, his fingers pulling his cock out of his pants. He lines himself up, his fingers guiding the way before he’s pushing in. The stretch is a little tighter than it had been the last time due to lack of proper foreplay. But there’s enough to get by.

The stretch makes you feel him all the way in your gut, making your head spin as a groan emits from your throat. Your fingers curl into fists at the small of your back. “Fuck,” You let out between teeth as you shut your eyes, knowing that you just have to take what Jimin is giving you.

Soon, the room fills with the softest grunts and groans, the desk rocking in time with his thrusts. His hands stay on his tie, on your wrists, where your fingers curl around his hand—whether for reassurance or to hold onto something solid, it’s hard to tell.

All that matters is that Jimin notices and his heart races for something other than the physicality of what is going on.

That day in the classroom seems to create a new label in Jimin’s relationship with you. Given that both of you have seen the other person naked (twice), it brings a new level of casualness between the two of you.

It shows in how Jimin slides rather gracefully into the library, rolls of parchment in his bag and a smirk across his features. He finds you rather quickly, right by the window in a secluded part of the space, and has no problem approaching you and slapping the top of his parchment on your desk. It lands right on top of your books and your own roll of parchment.

There’s a pause. “If the ink on my roll wasn’t dry, I will honestly not hesitant to stab your eye out,” You say right away.

“Charming,” Jimin returns, sitting in the vacant chair next to you. “But I just wanted to show you something. We got our grades back for that Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. As you can see, here’s my plus two extra credit score at the top.”

“What?” You react immediately, leaning over your desk to catch a glimpse of the score. “Damn, what the fuck. How’d you get two extra credit points?”

Jimin is grinning. “What’d you get then?”

You give him a side glare. “One point five?”

“Wow.” Jimin places a hand on his heart. “Did I beat you on an assignment?”

Your side glare has evolved into a full glare.. “As classy as that brag was, beating me on one assignment doesn’t reclaim your place as the smartest student at this school.” You brush some of the hair out of your face as you turn in your seat. “But I guess there’s no harm in congratulating you for this one. Do you want a celebratory blow job?”

Jimin’s heart stutters in his chest at the words. He does whiplash at your question. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

You grin. “A little nervous there, Park Jimin?”

“W-Well no, I just…” He trails off, trying to collect his bearings, trying to make sure that he hadn’t misheard you. “I-I think I wasn’t able to catch what you said…”

“No, I think you heard me pretty clearly.” You’re right. He had heard you perfectly. After all, there’s no reason for him to have not heard you clearly. You’re both in the library for goodness sake—not just the library but a quiet section of the library. “I just figured you want some sort of congratulatory gesture on my part, since we have a little competition going on between the two of us. You scored better today, so I’ll blow you.” You pause for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me to blow you, and you asking questions like this is just you trying to deflect…”

“No! I mean…” He sets his teeth when your grin widens. “Shut up, you’re so annoying.”

“You’re not saying no,” You point out.

“Of course I’m not. Get your stuff, we’re going.” He grabs your wrist as soon as you’ve packed up your school supplies, and he doesn’t let go.

Your laughter echoes all the way down the hallway.

It continues like this. In terms of your social relationship with Jimin, it turns into a rivalry boosted by sexual encounters. Depending on who scored better on tests, essays, or homework would get to lead the sex in the empty Head Boy classroom near the abandoned corners of the castle. The atmosphere between you two, while still plagued with banter, has turned into something more light-hearted and conversations have lower defenses.

That’s what one gets after seeing the other person naked for weeks on end.

The improvement in your relationship leads to more open conversations about the project, something that Professor McGonagall has noticed an improvement in.

She says this after calling you and Jimin in for a meeting. It’s the beginning of November now, and the weather has cooled down and the sky reflects the bleeker tone in its dark shades of gray. You and Jimin have been in this strange relationship for about a month and a half now, and you didn’t think there would be any physical changes, until the professor opens her mouth.

“I have to say, Ms. Y/N and Mr. Park, that I’ve noticed you two taking more enjoyment in each other’s company. It’s rather refreshing to look at, considering the way you guys used to always be at each other’s throats beforehand.”

“Definitely agree, in more ways than one,” Jimin says, and you kick him under the table.

The meeting with the professor is short. It’s more of a touching base encounter if anything, where you’re explaining the details of your presentation and continue going more into detail about what each of you will be covering. It ends soon after, with a parting ‘just keep going with what you’re doing’ before both of you are dismissed from the office.

“That went well,” You report as you’re exiting the office together. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a considerably bright Thursday morning, so the castle is a little more alive today with activity. Most students are outside, taking advantage of the sunny weather to sit around in the courtyard or have a picnic or study session with friends on the grass. These are the options that are available to you and Jimin, considering your classes are done for the day and you have nothing else scheduled. Except to study and keep working on essays and study guides.

“I’m glad it’s going well for her, at the very least,” Jimin grunts, rolling his shoulder as he tilts his neck back. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

You shrug. “Not sure.” You narrow your eyes at him. He never really asks you this question unless—“Do we have a meeting in Yoongi’s office?”

‘Meeting in Yoongi’s office’ is the key phrase the pair of you coined to replace the much more lewd question: “Did you want to fuck?” Not only is the former much safer, but it keeps away those unsafe, unwanted, dangerous questions. All of which are things that neither of you want to answer. Neither of you would probably know the answer to them anyways.

Normally, Jimin isn’t shameless about what he wants. When he’s straightforward, he’s eager and demanding and doesn’t like to beat around the bush. You’ve walked out of that classroom with bruises on your neck and a wobble in your knees to prove that. This time, however, feels different. He smirks. “Sweetheart, we had a meeting yesterday.” Translation: we fucked yesterday.

You raise an eyebrow, not acknowledging the nickname. It’s normal in your conversations together, anyways. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Touche.” He pauses, and runs a hand through his hair. “But we shouldn’t today. I have an essay for our History of Magic class that I haven’t started.”

“Isn’t that due tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” Jimin protests. “Listen, I’ve been helping JK with that waitress.”

You bite your lip, vaguely aware of the aforementioned Jungkook and that waitress from the Three Broomsticks. Jimin refuses to spill any details to you. “How’s that going?”

He adjusts the strap of his bag. “She showed up to his Quidditch practice yesterday, which was a plus.”

“Not entirely a plus, it seems. You have a whole ass essay to work on. At this point, it seems like I’ll be in charge of the agenda for the upcoming meeting.” The quirk at the corner of your lips grows slightly.

Jimin smirks, reaching over to tap your nose. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the gesture. He’s been getting more handsy with you, ever since he pinned you down on the desk and tied your hands at your back. You look away from him. “Well, regarding what my plans are,” You start. “I should get started on the upcoming Transfiguration report.”

He nods. “Seems like we’re both in for rough afternoons.” He pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture he only does when he’s pondering something. “How about we suffer together?”

You blink, having not expected that question from him. You did spend a lot of time together, provided all the hours that go into planning the big project and ‘attending Yoongi’s meetings’, as Jimin liked to say, but studying with each other was never on that list. “Do you mean, like, we study together?”

“Hey, if it was such a stupid idea then you should have stopped me immediately,” Jimin retorts, turning red with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say it was a stupid idea!” You say back, eyes wide. “I don’t mind us studying together.”

“Well, that’s really great because I—!” Jimin cuts himself off, clearly not having processed your last sentence before opening his mouth. He looks at you, as it sinks in that you’ve accepted his offer to study together. “Alright, okay, cool. You wanna go to the library?”

You laugh. “Sure, but I gotta ask something. How could I even stop you, since I didn’t know you were trying to ask me on a date?”

He surprises you with a step forward, as he wraps an arm around you and pinches your waist. “I’m not asking you on a date. You’re annoying.”

“And what of it?” You shoot back. You aren’t really expecting an answer, and Jimin doesn’t give you one. Yet, there’s no awkward pause because of it. It’s still just you and Jimin, and it stays that way as you both walk to the library and maintain a casual conversation about your assignments and outside activities.

It’s the middle of December when you scribble on the final flashcard and practically slam your quill onto the table. Jimin jumps slightly, but his startled expression eases into a slight smile when you hunch over and press your head into the desk. “Finished?”

“Finished,” You repeat, lifting your head back up and looking at the array of notes and organized flashcards that are scattered across the table. Each flashcard is covered from top to bottom in your handwriting, all meant to help guide your speech for the project you have spent months agonizing over. No stone is left unturned, every single aspect of your experience is covered upon, per the request of Professor McGonagall.

Immediately, you move to collect your flashcards and ensure that they are in the proper order. The little numbers you have written in the top of the parchment help with that.

There’s another silence that overtakes the air, but it’s a comfortable one. It’s filled with the scratches of Jimin’s quill against his own parchment, it’s filled with the crumbling sound of papers stacking atop one another as you organize your flashcards. Once they’re all together, you look at the top piece of parchment. “Even with a late enrollment that brings you to Hogwarts in your last year, the welcoming environment makes the transition to different classes, social groups, and activities extremely easy and exciting…” You read quietly to yourself.

After a few minutes, Jimin puts his own quill down. It’s much gentler than what you had done a few seconds ago, but it’s still more than enough to fix your attention on him.

“Finished?” You ask him.

He nods, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. The locks are slightly overgrown by now, which leaves his hair in strands that stick up all over the place.

“Is it perfect?” You ask.

Jimin tilts his head back. Your eyes linger on the column of his throat before returning back to your notes. “Honestly, we’ve gone through so much editing and revisions that I would just throw myself off the astronomy tower if it wasn’t perfect.”

You laugh slightly. “That’s true…”

“You look nervous,” Jimin notes, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head in the palm. “Worried about impressing daddy at the Ministry?”

You close your eyes and let out a huff. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Am I wrong?”

You sigh. “I mean technically you’re not.”

He feigns an over dramatic gasp that earns him the attention of some other students littered around the library. “So I was right this whole time! What the fuck!”

“Jimin, keep your voice down,” You hiss. “Why don’t you ask that Namjoon friend of yours to publish a whole article about it while you’re at it?”

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea—OW!” Jimin jumps when you suddenly reach over to pinch his thigh. He flashes a guilty look to the other students around him who shoot glares that could kill. After a moment of apologetic expressions and mouthing ‘sorry’ to anyone who would listen, he turns back to you. “You’re really going to get it tonight.”

“During our meeting with Yoongi, you mean?” You ask back, giggling into your palm.

He shakes his head and goes back to his flashcards. “You better watch yourself, sweetheart.” He pauses for a second, watching you out of the corner of his eye before he resumes his attention back on you. “So what does your dad do at the Ministry?”

You look at him, thinking about how you’re going to answer for a second before you sigh. It’s probably because Jimin actually addressed your father as ‘your dad’ as opposed to ‘daddy’. “He works in the Department of Magical Education. That’s why he asked that I be a part of the presentation group. It helped that I was one of the top students at my old school.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment.

It’s long enough for you to kick him underneath the table. “Why ask me if you’re not going to ask anything?”

He looks away. “It’s not that—I guess I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”

“Oh.” You stop, turning red. “W-Well,” You continue, staring holes into the table in front of you. “I-I guess we’re f-friends?”

Jimin smirks. “Friends, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that!”

“Hm.” Jimin hums. “So, your dad works in the Magical Education Department. Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts?”

“You could say that…”

He whines your name, scooting closer to you to wrap his arms around you. “Hey, you can give me a straight answer. I thought we were friends.”

You make a noise of protest in the back of your throat, nevermind the way he’s so natural about his physical touches with you. “Fine, fine, yes, his new job is the reason why we transferred. Now let go of me, you’re going to get us kicked out of here!”

“Let Madam Pince kick us out, we’re basically done with our project anyways.” But he does let go of you, the finality of your words probably that pusher. He does not, however, move away from you. He keeps an arm curled around the back of your chair. “You going home for Christmas break?”

“Yeah,” You say, not saying anything about his still close proximity. “I do miss my parents—plus I’m sure my father would want to hear about how the presentation will go.”

He nods. “Sounds like it’ll be a stressful Christmas.”

You look at him. “What will you be up to, Park Jimin? Sneaking through the restricted section?”

He pouts. “I don’t need to sneak through it—I’m not a first-year. I can actually get a note from a professor. Dark Arts is cool to read about.”

“If you say so,” You tease back. “Anything else?”

“Well, there’s actually a party I’m throwing with my friends to celebrate making it up to this point. It’ll be in the Room of Requirements.” He ponders the next thought for a moment. “You should come.”

You blink. “I’m going home for the holidays?”

“No, you dork.” Jimin flicks your forehead. “The party will be before the holiday break starts—so everyone who wants to go can enjoy one fun thing before going back home.”

You tilt your head. “That sounds exciting. But, well, I’m not a huge drinker. It should be fun for you, though.”

He pouts again. “What if I wanted you to come? What do I have to do to convince you?”

You give him a look. “Nothing, Park Jimin, I’m not a party person.”

“You really are,” Jimin agrees, sliding away, looking disappointed in your answer. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing you just crushed all my dreams.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Park Jimin. What’s this about?”

He shrugs. “I thought it’d be cool to see you do something fun for once in your life.”

“Wow, he’s dramatic and rude,” You say, watching as he smiles a little at your usage of his pronoun despite the fact that he is right here in front of you.

“Well, I guess I just have to accept your answer,” Jimin says after a moment, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be missing out. I think Hoseok is pulling out all the stops. Alcoholic butterbeer galore.”

“And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, no matter if I want to hear it or not,” You return, looking at your water. “Oh shit, I gotta go.”

Jimin watches you collect your parchment and books, and the way you stuff them into your bag. “Where are you going?”

You look at him, blinking. “Uh—Actually, I don’t think I should tell you.”

He pouts, again. “What? Why not?” His curiosity only grows when you just give him a meek smile, and turn to rush out of the library. He calls your name. “Shit, hold on!” He doesn’t bother to organize anything, he just throws everything into his bag before he’s dashing to catch up to you. He also doesn’t bother to check around him before he’s throwing his arms out to encircle you around the waist.

“Jimin!” You exclaim, both of you slowing to a time. “You’re needy today.”

“Where are you going?” He tightens his hold. “I took some workout advice from Jungkook, I won’t hesitate.”

You still at that. “What the fuck? Are you implying that you’ll crush me otherwise?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

You sigh, reaching into the pocket of your robe. “I may or may not have gotten an offer to get extra credit from Professor Flitwick for Charms.”

He pauses. “Aren’t you and I having a bet about who can get the higher grade in that class?”

“Uh, perhaps?” Suddenly, you bend your wrist slightly to poke your wand in his stomach. “Rictusempra.”

A silver light beams from the end of your wand, and Jimin bursts out into laughter. He releases his hold on you immediately, falling to his knees as the giggling that escapes his lips fills the air and takes the energy out of his knees. “A—giggling—charm?” He manages in between breaths.

You whirl around to face him, twirling your wand. “Sorry Park. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Hopefully one of your friends can help you—preferably after I’ve made my way down this hallway.” You turn back towards your original direction and actually run away from him.

Jung Hoseok is eventually the one to find Jimin on the floor, laughing, crowded by students who were intrigued to see the great Park Jimin at his wits end. Although those same students help him onto his feet, there’s still the mark of amusement in their eyes, and Jimin’s cheek heat nonetheless.

The next time he sees you, he’ll get you back for this.

Jimin’s party is the night before the winter holiday begins. All the classes are done, all the essays and tests are submitted. The snow has become a permanent decoration to the school, all compact white blanketing the grass and exterior castle walls. The chill has settled more deeply in the air, bringing up the heavy scarfs and heavier coats. Breaths come out in puffs of air. And you are near the fireplace.

Actually, more specifically, you are finishing up a last minute extra credit report for Astronomy. Not that your grades need the extra boost—Professor Sinistra had offered to provide you with the assignment that allowed you to indulge a little deeper in star placement and you weren’t going to waste away that chance. It’s due tomorrow morning, right before you take the train back home, so you are wasting away, scribbling all the research that you can recall onto the parchment.

You’re finishing up your conclusion paragraph when you hear the door to the common room slide open, announcing the presence of a student. You don’t pay attention to this. Judging by the darkness clouding the sky, it’s getting late and you assume that the students who had gone to Jimin’s party should be heading back by now. When it gets too late, even though classes and henceforth school are paused, there are still certain punishments on the line.

You don’t pay much attention to the student, until you notice that figure now standing right in front of your table near the fireplace. You look up. It’s Jung Jaehyun—Seeker for the Slytherin team. And, as you are aware of, an attendee to Jimin’s party.

The thing is, however, that you and Jaehyun have interacted a grand total of exactly zero times. Neither of you ran in the same social circle—if the friend you’ve made that spends more time in the greenhouse than in class could be considered a social circle.

Jaehyun looks just as uneasy as you do, with the way he’s shifting back and forth on his feet. “Y-You’re Y/N, right?”

You straighten slightly. That is, obviously the first time Jaehyun has ever said your name. “Y-Yes. And you’re Jaehyun?”

“Yeah…” Jaehyun starts, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I know this is totally out of line for me. But would it be too much if I asked you to come with me to the Room of Requirement?”

“Uh…” You trail off. You hadn’t been expecting much upon seeing Jung Jaehyun standing right in front of you. But you really hadn’t been expecting this. “Is… there a reason why…?”

“Well…” Jaehyun tries again, but trails off. He seems to be having trouble figuring out how to explain his story. “I think you know that Jimin and his friends were having a party down there, right?”

You keep staring at Jaehyun. “Did something happen to Jimin?”

“N-No, not really, it’s just, he drank a bit and he’s refusing to leave until he sees someone…”

You press your lips together, having a vague idea of where this could be going but refusing to make assumptions. “Was I that someone?”

“Well, okay, he didn’t mention a specific name. He just kept saying he wanted to see his girlfriend before he left…”

“Okay, then why don’t you take his girlfriend down there?”

Jaehyun looks pained for a second. “Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend. His friends and I were trying to figure it out. You’re the only person he spends all this time with besides his core group. We figured asking you to come down would be a good place to start.”

You swallow at the thought. You’ve never really set foot into Jimin’s world, it wasn’t really your scene. Even back at Ilvermorny, you were well known because of your grades, but you weren’t a popular student. But more than that, Park Jimin calling you his girlfriend? The thought seemed highly unlikely. You aren’t even sure that he feels that deeply for you—rather, your relationship was formed as a byproduct of forced participation. Without that presentation to the Ministry, you’re sure you would never have had a proper conversation with Jimin.

Still, Jaehyun looks like he’s about to fling himself off the Astronomy tower. The more time goes by, the higher the chances of Jimin and the rest of his friends getting caught and getting saddled with detention. You figure: what’s the harm?

“W-Well, uh, sure.” You straighten up, placing your items into your bag and taking a second to drop that bag off on your dorm bed. Jaehyun is still in the common room when you get down, and leads the way to the Room of Requirement. The walk there is another maze of walls and windows and firelit pathways.

But instead of the Room of Requirement entrance you see, you notice a group of boys lingering outside the blank wall Jaehyun had told you let to the party. For a moment, you wonder if the group were attendees of the party. But the closer you get, and the more you start to hear voices that sound vaguely familiar saying names that sound even more so, you realize that this group is The group—Jimin’s group.

“Taehyung!” Jaehyun calls as soon as the two of you are in hearing range.

The boy, you assume is Taehyung, looks up towards the source of the noise. His eyes land on you and he visibly looks relieved. “Hey, you must be Y/N.” He nods towards you, and tilts his head towards the boy leaning heavily against him. “Hey Jimin.” He calls for the boy, but he looks unsure. Probably because he too isn’t sure if you’re who Jimin is describing as his girlfriend. “Uh, we brought your girlfriend?”

It sounds more like a question than an actual statement. But Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. He lifts his head up from Taehyung’s shoulder and locks his gaze onto you. At once, his eyes turn into half moons with how brightly he is smiling at you. It’s like the sun has come out, with the light glimmering in his eyes and his cheeks rounding out. He calls out your name. “Baby, you showed up!” He cries, managing to untangle himself from Taehyung and latch immediately onto you. You might have stumbled, had Jaehyun not helped catch some of Jimin’s weight. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Uh…” You trail off, mind going haywire. How could it not? Jimin, someone who is definitely not your boyfriend, is calling you his girlfriend, calling you baby, and hugging you like his life depends on it. The two of you just have sex! Under unestablished rules, sure, but that type of situation calls for an actual discussion beforehand. “Well, your friends said you wouldn’t leave the party unless I showed up. Why don’t we all head back to our Houses, before we all get detention?”

Jimin nods, cheek against your cheek. “That sounds good. Look at my Y/N—so smart and wonderful.”

“Y/N… didn’t he want to rip her neck off at the beginning of the year?” One of the boys whispers. You, of course, hear it, because Jimin’s friends lack indoor voices and it shows. “And now he’s admitting that she’s smart? What the fuck?”

“Shut up, Hoseok.”

Another boy turns to you, an appreciative smile on his lips. It’s Min Yoongi—Head Boy, and fellow Slytherin. “Just ignore Hoseok. And I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting you—from what Jimin says you’re super smart and it drives him crazy, so naturally I’m your biggest fan. I’m Yoongi.”

You nod, trying for a smile. “I know. I would shake your hand, but…”

“You’ve got a Jimin attached to you, I got it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively, whirling around to face his group. “Alright, you bitches. You better be in your Houses before I finish my first round of the castle otherwise you’re all getting detention.” There’s a momentary wave of protests before Yoongi interrupts it. “Or I don’t have to do a round and can just give you all detention right now…”

“No, no, okay, we’re going.” It’s the boy who had called Hoseok out, telling him to shut up. He winks at you as he brushes past you, and flashes some finger guns at Jaehyun.

“Fuck you too, JK,” Jaehyun returns, before leveling you with a gaze. “We should get going, huh?”

“Yeah,” You manage, adjusting Jimin on your shoulder before you and Jaehyun practically drag Jimin down to the Slytherin common room. As soon as you enter, you dump Jimin onto the couch, where he slumps backwards and remains unmoving. He laughs, eyes wide as they gaze up at you.

He brings his arms up, bringing his fingers together in a grabby motion. “Y/N, come sit with me.”

Jaehyun coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh, leave the two of you alone. Thanks for coming out with me, you really saved us.”

You nod. “No problem, although it seemed like Yoongi could have handled it.”

“Nah, that punk is a Head Boy through and through. Loves his friends to death, but wouldn’t hesitate to give detention. Anyways, I’m off to bed. It was nice to meet you.”

You smile. “You too.” You watch Jaehyun and he disappears up the stairs, into the boys room.

A tug on the hem of your skirt pulls you back. Jimin is still gazing up at you. “Come here!” He pouts, pulling a little too hard and sending you stumbling forward right onto him. Your legs end up on either side of him, effectively straddling his waist. His arms curl around your body. “Isn’t this better? This reminds me where we were just a few weeks ago—!”

“Jimin,” You cut in, flushing at the thought of aforementioned few weeks ago. “What are you doing?”

He blinks, the haziness from his drinking still glimmering in his eyes. “I’m just hugging you.”

“No, Jimin.” Your hands find a place on his shoulders. “What are you doing? I’m not your girlfriend, so why would you say that down there in front of your friends?”

“Wait, you’re not my girlfriend?” He’s still looking like a deer in the headlights. “But… I really like you, so I thought that something was going on…” He looks lost.

A lot is pinging through your head—did Jimin just confess to you? “Jimin, you like me?”

He nods. “I do, I really do.” His nod is lagging, it’s a little slow as he probably doesn’t want to make himself sick with movement too fast. “You’re so funny. And smart. And mean. But I like it. It’s not too mean, but mean enough to make me laugh.”

You laugh a little. “You’re drunk, Jimin, you don’t know what you’re saying. You would never admit that I’m smart.”

He sighs, tilting his head back until it rests on the back of the couch. “I would never say it out loud, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Fuck, my head hurts…”

“You should get some sleep,” You say, instead of trying to push the topic further. “Do you need help getting into the boys dorm room?”

“I don’t think I can make it up there,” He retorts softly. “I might have to crash down here.” He gazes up at you. “Will you stay down here with me?”

You waver slightly, lots of questions running through your mind. If you slept down here with Jimin, surely someone would wake up and catch the two of you. Rumors would fly, questions would be asked.

Still, Jimin looks so cozy and vulnerable—an absolute rarity. And who knows, perhaps if things don’t go the way you want them to, you could use this moment against him. A reminder of when the great Park Jimin, a rock of stubbornness and arrogance, looked at you like you were the stars.

So you sigh. “Sure, I’ll stay down here with you.”

You don’t need to tell anyone that the smile flashing across his face makes your answer worth it.

You awake rather abruptly to the movement that happens next to you. Every muscle in your body is aching, so completely sore from the position you’ve rolled into. You open your eyes to a collarbone, a flash of the Slytherin green tie. You blink sleepily, disorientated, as your gaze slides up—!

To see Jimin staring down at you.

You jump slightly. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries.” Jimin groans, stretching. Or, trying to stretch. The couch you’re both on top of offers very little space for movement. It also explains your sore neck. “Ugh, fuck.”

You sit up, rolling your neck and hearing the satisfying crack of bones. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” He answers, sitting up as well. You’re sitting between his legs, the close proximity allowing you to see the tiredness in his eyes. That isn’t surprising. The sun has barely started to rise over the mountains. Given that the sky is a very vague shade of orange, you can only assume it’s five or six o’clock in the morning.

You look up at him. “You hungover too?”

He presses fingers to his temple. “A little headache, but it’s not too bad.” He lowers his hand, and looks over at you. “I wasn’t that drunk, Y/N, I do remember what happened last night. Maybe I was a little more transparent than normal, but…”

You raise an eyebrow, egging him on. “But?”

He stares at you for a moment longer, before he laughs a little, tilting his head backwards. “Aw, Y/N, don’t make me say it!”

You can’t help but smile back. “No, I think I want you to say it. Otherwise I’ll think you’re pulling my leg.”

He lifts his head towards you, pouting. “I would never pull your leg.”

“Then say it,” You say leaning towards him.

As soon as you’re close enough, Jimin’s hand comes up to trap your chin in between his thumb and index finger. The gesture is done to keep you close, to keep your eyes fixated on his, all so he can gauge your expression. He seems to be debating on how truthful he wants to be for this. “But… I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you.” His eyes flicker between your own. “Even though you’re annoying all of the time.”

You can’t help it. You start to laugh. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

He brings you forward, shifting your center of gravity and bringing you forward towards him. You gasp as your hands come out to rest on the arms of the couch, on either side of Jimin. The gesture, however, brings you closer to him, so that your lips are hovering right over one another. “You’re being a brat again. Shut up.”

You quirk an eyebrow, although he’s too close to see it properly. “Make me, Park Jimin.”

He groans. “Don’t say that. I’m too gross to fuck you right now. And aren’t you going back home today after you submit that report to Professor Sinistra?”

You smile a little, touched that he remembers your report. “I finished the report. And…” You trail off, pulling back enough to look at your watch. You were right: the current time reads 6:15AM. “There’s still five hours before the train leaves…”

Jimin looks up at you. “I’ve got an idea. You have to be quiet though.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism, Park, but if that’s what you want…” You start to unbutton the polo of your shirt.

Jimin’s eyes widen. “H-Hey, stop, I didn’t mean here! Button that back up!”

You gaze over at him, two buttons on your blouse undone, more than enough to expose your collarbone. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do I like you so much, you’re nothing but a brat,” Jimin grunts, mostly to himself as he reaches out to button back your shirt. “I meant somewhere else. You have to be quiet on the way to the place, you idiot. Come on.”

He takes your head, lacing the fingers together, and making your heart jump in your throat as Jimin guides the pair of you out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs. Making your way up to the fifth floor, he turns into a corridor with statues along the wall. He finally stops at one, the statue you recognize to be Boris the Bewildered.

“Pine Fresh,” Jimin whispers to the statue, which moves to the side and allows Jimin to drag both you and himself into the hidden room. At the detection of movement, the candlelights along the walls light up which further heightens the place Jimin has just taken you into.

It’s a large bathroom. The first thing you notice are the stained glass windows that surround the entirety of the room. Each window paints a different picture of mermaids across the surface, all of which are moving around the space much like every other piece of artwork in this castle. Some of them wave to the pair of you, but most of them continue to mind their own business of looking out the window and enjoying the view of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts.

The moving pictures of mermaids, however, isn’t where your attention has fallen. Your eyes flicker all over the place, trying to take in more of this place Jimin has taken you to.

Located on the left side of the room is a row of squeaky clean, polished and shiny toilets in stalls with a row of sinks, mirrors, and makeup counters on the other side. Located on the right side of the room is a lounging area, couches and cushions in the space and a row of bathrobes along the wall.

The middle of the room houses the main attraction of the space—it’s a large bathtub, as big as a swimming pool with how wide and deeply the hole has been cut into the ground. The tapping for the bath surrounds the tub, each tap with a different colored jewel atop the metal piping. Along the edge of the tub are different baskets, each basket holding a different shaped container and bath product.

“Shampoo, conditioner, soaps, bath oils, and bath salts,” Jimin explains, seeming to notice your lingering gaze upon the baskets.

“Cool, uh…” You pause, trying to gather your thoughts properly enough to ask the biggest question of them all. “What is this place?”

“Oh! Right.” He gestures to the entire room. “Welcome to the Prefects’ Bathroom.”

You turn your gaze towards him, eyes wide. “The Prefects’ Bathroom? Shouldn’t we not be here then?” You’ve heard of this place before back at Ilvermorny. It’s considered a secret location that only Head Boys, Head Girls, Prefects, and Quidditich captains. Definitely not a place for you or Jimin to be in.

He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, baby. I got the password from Yoongi. And it’s six in the morning on the first day of winter holiday. I doubt any of the people allowed in there wouldn’t think to come in right now.”

You exhale, unable to ignore the quickening of your heart race. It was one thing to fool around in Yoongi’s private study. But being in this type of place that increased the chances of getting caught makes you nervous.

Jimin can see that, because he steps closer to you and rests a hand on your waist. “Hey,” He says, not speaking again until you’re looking up at him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to suggest anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. I just thought of this place because it’s, for the most part, secluded and unused. We’re both tired and groggy, so I thought we could use the bath.”

You take in a breath, before making your decision and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Alright, I’ll decide to trust you on this. So what’s your plan, Park Jimin? What are you gonna do to me?”

He laughs at that, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Well, sweetheart, we can go about this in two ways. Number one: we’ll go right on that couch and we’ll have a celebratory fuck on some actual cushions for once. Then, after that, we’ll take a bath. Or number two: we skip the fuck and take the bath instead.”

You feign a gasp. “You would skip a fuck for me?”

He mirrors your gasp. “Of course. That’s what you get for making me fall for you.”

“Charming,” You say with a smile. “Lucky for us, I like you too. In fact, I like you so much, I can feel your boner against my leg so I’ll even have sex with you just for that.”

His smile widens. He sighs dreamily, which makes you laugh. “Wow, are you the girl of my dreams or something?”

“Hm, what happened to trying to skip my neck off?”

“You really know how to keep up a mood,” Jimin mumbles. “I’m just gonna kiss you before you ruin this any further for us.” So he does, covering his lips with yours.

There’s something different about this kiss. Normally, with your escapees or ‘meetings with Yoongi’, the kisses you share are frantic and haphazard and not really the main purpose of your interaction. The kisses are short-lived and bruising. But this kiss is different. It’s softer and slow-paced enough that it allows for exploration. It’s a kiss where your fingers gently brush over Jimin’s collarbone, where his own fingers settle at your jawline in order to trace over your cheeks and your neck. The sensation as light as it is makes your head spin.

You aren’t even aware the pair of you are moving throughout the room until you feel Jimin hit something in front of you, and behind him. The back of his knees hit one of the cushions on the right side of the room, and he falls back. You fall on top of him, straddling him. It’s a similar position to where you were less than a day ago, but the intent is different. You hardly register any potential pain or jolts. Jimin just brings you back to kissing him, fingers moving down to curl around your waist instead.

Only when it feels like it takes too much energy to kiss and breathe properly at the same time does Jimin pull away to dust kisses along your cheek, before moving down to kiss along your jawline, down your neck. Your tilt your head back, eyes closed as you let out a breathy sigh. Your hips start to move of its own accord, grinding down on the already stiff junction between his legs.

Jimin groans at that, tightening his hold on your waist and guiding you to move deeper and faster. The bathroom fills with the noises escaping between your lips and the rustle of clothing.

You and Jimin seem set on fixing that problem right away. Being in this position on a couch is so much more different than sex in a classroom on top of tables and chairs. It brings a comfort neither of you have experienced before. With that comfort comes this desire to just go all the way, to feel skin beneath fingertips. It happens too. First the sweater vests go, then the ties and the shirts.

Jimin goes quiet at the sight of your chest, hands encircling your breast and thumb running over the nipple. His mouth replaces his hand, circling the nip with his tongue. The warmth of it brings chills that hit every nerve in your body. You arch your back, as Jimin’s hands at your waist keep you rooted to the spot.

You start to claw at the waistband of his slacks, one thought pinging through your mind—and that was to see this through to the end. “J-Jimin,” You whine, already filling to wet and foggy. Jimin pays you no attention, merely switching to your other breast to wrap your nipple in his mouth. You whimper, grinding a little faster. Your fingers make their way up to his hair, curling the digits around his locks. You pull him away just enough for him to look up and make eye contact with you, but not enough. His mouth is still around your nipple.

He hums, and the vibration sends through your body.

He pulls away from you. “What is it?”

You look down at him, pouting and whining.

He cups your face with one of his hands. “You have to use your words, baby.”

You let out a sigh to calm your nerves. “N-Nothing,” You manage. “I just, I really want you right now. And I’m glad you like me too.”

Jimin quirks the corner of his lips, before his fingers are curling under the waistband of your skirt. “C’mon, let’s get you out of this.”

A few tugs and shift adjustments later, you’re both naked atop the cushions. Hands are running over skin, and Jimin’s hands remain at your sides to lift you up just enough until you’re hovering over his cock—long and hard.

At this, Jimin brings your upper body closer until your ear is hovering near his lips. He kisses below, a spot that makes the shiver travel up your spine, before he goes back to hovering at your lobe. “You wanna show me how good you take dick?”

You nod, brain still fuzzy as Jimin starts kissing down your neck again. It’s a very distracting sensation, the feeling of his pillowy lips against your skin. Your toes curl on the couch when his cock hovers right above your slit, right where you want him.

With the guidance of Jimin’s hands, he starts to push you down, the stretching sensation forcing a sigh past your lips. Even though you and Jimin have had sex for awhile—even the most recent ‘meeting with Yoongi’ had occured a week ago—something about this feels different. There’s a deep rooted passion in his kisses, in the bites he’s littering across his neck. Almost as if Jimin had been holding back for that month and a half of casual sex, and now has let his full love and admiration of you loose.

Every inch of Jimin inside of you is another euphoric wave that washes over you. You had thought today wouldn’t be too different from previous encounters, but the shaking of your knees tells you otherwise. “J-Jimin—!” You whine. “Fffuck…”

“Look at you go,” He praises, eyes fixed on your spot of connection until you’re filled to the hilt. You feel so impossibly full. “Made just for me.”

He waits for you. He waits until you stop clenching around him, until you relax. Only then does he hold onto your waist again and slowly start bouncing you on his cock. Your grip around his shoulders start to tighten as the friction makes your head spin. You let yourself be led, breathy moans turn to gasps. “Nn, fuck, feels so good…”

He feels you start to randomly clench around him again. Having spent so many late evenings and early afternoons with you, he knows your signs perfectly. You’re close.

He finishes you off with a thumb at your clit, circling at the bundle of nerves just right until your gasps turn into cries and you’re spazzing around his cock. The sensation is tight and warm, and Jimin chokes as his fingers dig into your skin to keep him grounded as he spills up into you.

The blood-rushing physicality of what had just happened starts to settle in, leaving the two of you against the couch with mismatched breaths and his dick still inside of you. “Oh shit…” He whines. “You like me too.”

You lift yourself off of him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the only thing you got from that?”

His hands on your hips keep you from moving around. His cock is softening around your walls, all helping his heart rate return to a comfortable pace. “Well, had I know us liking each other meant mind-blowing sex, yeah, I get to be a little salty I didn’t say anything earlier.”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirks. “That’s right.” He readjusts, helping you up and off of his dick. His cum, white liquid, spills out of you.

You cup yourself immediately. “Oh shit, that’s gonna get on this cushion.”

“Oh shit.” Jimin cups your pussy too. Extra barrier, he would say. He turns towards the long bathtub. “How about a bath now?” He flashes you a grin when you nod.

Keeping one arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans down to dig through the pile of his clothes until he produces his wand. Turning towards the tub, he waves his wand. At once, the water from the tabs go off, each flow of water a different color. Some emit a string of bubbles, giving a formy texture to the bathwater currently in the tub.

Given the size of the bathtub, one might have assumed it would take a long time to fill the space, so it’s a surprise to see water nearing the top after only a matter of minutes. Jimin waves his wand again to stop the water coming out of the tabs.

Jimin removes his hand from you and allows you to straighten into a standing position. He stands too, guiding you to the edge of the bathtub where he lets you step into the water first.

The water is the perfect temperature, warm and wonderful as it envelops your body. As you sink down, you sigh as you feel your muscles relaxing, where you don’t stop adjusting until your butt hits the appropriate step to sit on. Jimin follows in after you, not stopping until he’s sitting right behind you.

“Ahhhhh, shit, this is perfect,” He says quietly, wrapping his arms around you. The only sound in the room is the rustle of water that splashes around softly in time to the movements both of you make.

You move your head slightly to dip strands of your hair into the water. “Wow, no wonder Yoongi takes his job so seriously. I’d hate to lose out on this.”

“Well, just stick with me, baby, and we’ll keep sneaking around for the rest of the school year.”

You turn slightly to look at him. “Do you mean… sneaking around Head Boy equipment, or sneaking around the school?” There’s an implication in your question. Do you plan to keep me a secret?

However, Jimin quells that worry rather quickly. “Sweetheart, I’ve been chasing you around for a month and a half—emotionally and physically. Do you really think I’d be able to keep my feelings a secret in front of other people?”

You smile, relaxing back into his arms. “I’m glad to hear that…”

“Plus when I kick your ass in our classes, I think that it’s more satisfying to hear that I beat my girlfriend instead of that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Makes it more personal. Just how I like it.”

“There it is.”

He laughs, nudging himself further into you. It stays like this for a little bit, both of making conversation, but mostly just done in the privacy of this space you’ve carved for yourselves. You aren’t too sure of how much time has gone by until you’re hearing the statue behind the entrance to the bathroom move, followed immediately by a voice. It’s Min Yoongi.

“Hey, who the fuck is in here—oh shit, Jimin?” A pause, both of you immediately spinning around to look towards the source of the noise. Yoongi notices you immediately, eyes widening as he turns around to face the wall. “Is that Y/N? What the fuck are you doing here? This is the Prefects’ Bathroom!” Another pause. “Wait, hold the fuck up—are you guys together?”

You, however, don’t hear any of those questions. You’re too busy squealing in surprise, immediately dipping your body lower into the water to avoid having Yoongi’s eyes wander to places they don’t belong. You cover your breasts to further avoid that.

Jimin shifts towards you to block your body. “What the fuck? What are you doing here? It’s Saturday morning!”

“Hey!” Yoongi whirls around, red-faced, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “Don’t answer my question with a question! And I’m Head Boy, I’m allowed in here!”

“You gave me the password!”

“Yes, in the case of an emergency! Is snuggling up to your girlfriend really an emergency?”

“Well, in that case no, but having a celebratory bath with my new girlfriend could be classified as an emergency?”

“JIMIN.” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, whirling around. “Holy fuck, if Flinch saw you in here… if he knows that you’re in here thanks to me…”

“Uh…” You say from behind Jimin. Only your neck is visible above the water, so your voice and arm raising are extremely meek. “Yoongi? I’m sorry… we were both tired and gross, and Jimin had a hangover…”

“No, uh, Y/N…” Yoongi cuts in, albeit more gently. “I don’t blame you.” He looks down at his watch. “I should probably let you know, however, that it’s almost eight o’clock and I’m aware that you have a report to submit to Professor Sinistra before the train leaves back for home?”

“Oh shit!” You startle at that news. “I have to go do that now…”

Yoongi glares at Jimin, then looks back at you, and sighs heavily. “Okay,” He starts slowly. “I’m just gonna stand outside and pretend that I didn’t see any of this. You guys better be out there in five minutes though. Both of you.” Without another look at either of you, Yoongi exits the room.

Immediately, you and Jimin scramble to dry yourselves off. Both of you decide to just leave your hairs damp and wet, electing that just getting the basics of your attire on is more important. In the end, you’re both just in your appropriate bottoms, and messily put together blouses and tops. Yours isn’t even buttoned all the way, leaving your collarbone exposed and littered with Jimin’s marks from earlier.

Jimin grabs your waist before both of you could make it out. “I’ll be able to see you before you get on the train, right?”

You hum, arm around his neck. “Aw, will the baby miss me?”

He glares, pushing you away slightly. “I’m just asking.”

You laugh. “Most likely, I just need to submit the report. And pack—I didn’t really get to do that yesterday.”

“Okay, okay.” Jimin lets you go. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Flashing him one more smile, you lead both you and Jimin out of the room. True to Yoongi’s word, he’s waiting outside with his hands in his pockets and his eyes averted. They, however, fix themselves on you as soon as you emerge from behind the statue with Jimin.

“I was this close to tipping you off to Mr. Flinch…” Yoongi trails off, studying the two of you. His eyes settle on the hickies at your throat. He freezes. “Wait, did you guys fuck in there?”

“Uh…” Jimin looks at you, the realization settling in both of your gazes. “WELL, Y/N, the love of my life, it was great knowing you, how about you run off to Professor Sinistra while I try to outrun Yoongi’s rage.”

Yoongi pales, looking like his soul has just departed from his body. “So that means…”

You nod, corner of your lips smiling despite the potential outcome of the situation. “I’ll write to you once a week.” You look back at Yoongi’s increasingly stony expression. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” You say this before turning around and practically running down the hallway.

Just before you turn to go down the stairs to collect your report, you make out one last sentence: “JIMIN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

#jimin scenario #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x y/n #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts smut #traci writes #hp reputation series #i..... am so tired #i want to be freed from this fic

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