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fillinforlater · 10 months

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Loathing Love: Lavish Lies (Part 4)

Male Reader x Kwon Eunbi + Kang Hyewon x Jo Yuri

Length: 9060 words

Tags: emotional drama, smut, cheating, alcohol, rage, anger issues, bisexuality, girl x girl relationship, girl x girl action, threesome, literal breeding, mating press, face sitting, squirting, clit play, dirty talk, the dumbest, most improbable sex ever, this is NOT real life, very dark ending

TW: includes topics like cheating, alcohol, sex and death

Inspiration: "Look at Me" by XXXTENTACION, Hyewon x Yuri best ship, gay power couple; this had to be released in Pride Mont (glad I could make it lol), also @capslocked ; @iznsfw, I'm sorry.

(A/N: THE FINALE of my L4 Series. It's finally here. The promise is fulfilled. I hope you get the ending and don't hate me. It's all fiction.)

“Look at me, fuck on me / Look at me, fuck on me / Look at me, fuck on me.”

Volume decreased by eighty percent. You don’t need someone screaming in your ears right now. It only makes you want to scream back. The poor guy has been dead for almost five years now, he doesn’t really deserve it. If you’re honest to yourself, he feels way too on point. Better turn the radio off entirely.

His voice still resonates in your mind, as you get out of the car. Combined with Hyewon’s and Yuri’s moans, they form an inglorious, deadly symphony to fuel your hatred. Visuals of you screaming, scratching, beating fragile, pale skin pop up in your mind. This wave of emotions, it’s crashing in on you like a tsunami. Sadly, it doesn’t bury you. It only makes you angrier.

Push open the door and Eunbi gasps. She kneels on the living room floor, right next to the carpet. Her clothes are in tatters, her knees covered in bruises, but worst of all, her face is ruined with scratches, blood and runny mascara. It looks like someone already did the things you imagined in your head: beat her up and left her whimpering on the floor. The punishment for someone who cheats and lies.

Grab Eunbi’s lifeless arm and pull it up. Your fiance begins to cry, she begs not with words but with her eyes. The way she shakes her head is in honest fear. The potential strikes scare her, how your palm will meet her face over and over again in a loveless, hurt beating.

But you sigh.

"I can't," you squeeze out, voice cracking with every word. "I hate seeing you like this. You deserve to be thrown out and beg for money on the street. But I can't, I—"

You pull Eunbi into a hug. Her small frame melts into your arms, her feet unable to support her. She is like a wet sack, surprisingly heavy. You're barely able to drag her to the couch and watch her whimper and cry, face hidden behind her elbow.

"I still love you, Eunbi.

"Let's try again."

"Y-yes," she sobs and tightly grabs your shirt.

"Let's marry, Eunbi."

"Y-yes, th-thank you."

The proposal might have been a mess, but the marriage was not. Everything was meticulously planned, and even the tiniest details went perfectly. No one knew of Eunbi's affair, and you kept it this way.

Even after your marriage, your luck did not run out. Everything was working out. Two promotions in a year, a new, bigger house, two cars, a part time job for Eunbi that she really enjoys. Talking about Eunbi, she became attentive, caring, adoring, loving to the point where your wound began to heal.

Eight months into your marriage, you became an actor.

No, not the type that moves to Hollywood, swims in money and earns fame with every new movie. The type who has to act all day every day. You have to pretend that it's all fine, smile at everyone, always say the right things—

Acting is lying. You lie to them, because you cannot live with her lying to you.

Eunbi does not know about the abundance of security cameras you installed around and inside the house. They are tiny, but very modern and always connected to your phone for constant surveillance of your expensive home.

Not a single criminal has tried to enter your home—but multiple other 'criminals' entered something else.

At first, it was one guy. Tall, handsome, expensive suit. Eunbi greeted him with a smile. You watched the footage quite confused. The two of them sat down in the living room and talked for a bit. It looked like he tried to sell her something, but it also looked fake, like they were—

Role playing.

A minute later, Eunbi's arms and feet were wrapped around him as he drilled his cock deep inside her cunt. There was no sound, but you could see her moan and scream as he went faster.

Three weeks later, another guy. He seemed to not like role playing. Eunbi opened the door and his tongue was in her mouth immediately. They fucked all over the kitchen, on every damn counter. At least this guy was somewhat attractive.

Things got horrible after this. Guy after guy walked into your home and fucked your wife. Hole after hole, day after day. Whenever you were at work and she wasn't, a cock was inside her. One time, someone seemed to comment on her hair and the next day she went to dye it blonde.

That was also the day you decided to not touch her anymore. You stay at work longer, until late at night. Work frees your mind a little, and soon they will promote you to the second highest position. 500k after taxes, seemingly infinite money, yet you still weep and down whiskey each night watching guys go to town on her.

Today, two guys arrived together. They spit roasted her on the bed, which was already covered in her juices and sweat from another guy an hour before.

The video flashes before your dead eyes. You drop another piece of ice into the glass, watch the auburn whiskey sway and cool. Down it goes as Eunbi gets ready to take a cock up her loose asshole. For the first time, you look at the new guy who groans as Eunbi takes his cock.

His smug grin. It's the same motherfucker, the one you caught with Eunbi a bit over a year ago.

For the first time, you stop your mindless staring at the screen. You pause the security footage as rage builds up at this stupid expression on this stupid face. Without hesitation, you reach for the glass and repeatedly smash it into the screen. It breaks in violent sparks and the room goes fully dark.

You tear the screen off the wall, the same way you tear out the self-pity in your sorrow-filled heart. A violent kick sends the monitor into the computer and the thousand dollar set-up is reduced to broken scrap metals and torn wires.

The entire office is suddenly so dark and silent. Not that you were watching with sound, but the vivid pictures produced enough sounds in your head. It's all gone now, together with the dirty light displaying dirty pleasure.

Don't lie to yourself; this was stupid. But as much as it was stupid, it was also necessary and it felt so right. Even though your favorite whiskey glass fell victim to your rampage, you don't regret it. You need more of this.

Throughout the entire night, you continue to mess up your workplace. You stuff bins and trash cans with everything in your office: Semi-important documents, plants, cables, liquor, chairs and especially all the unnecessary, lavish accessoires you gathered here for some reason. At dawn, the only thing that remains is a table, a chair, a laptop with a charger and a bottle of water. A frugal set-up, but more than enough for your job.

At 6:30 am, you arrive at home and jump right into bed, next to your snoring wife. With a quick glance you check her hand; the ruby embellished gold ring sparkles at her finger. A real, absurdly expensive piece of jewelry on a fake piece of shit, you think but smile nonetheless. There is some irony about it that you can't pin down yet, but you'll look for it a bit more.

A knock at your door.

"Come on in," you say without looking up from your screen. It's probably the intern again, asking for help or another task. To your surprise, it's someone far more important.

"Still feels weird, when you remember what this room used to look like." A man, two decades older than you and a decade more work experience in this company carefully scoots into your office and wanders around it. "It's surprisingly vast."

You close your laptop when the man does not watch. It's out of respect, but for some reason, you do not fear him anymore. His name is Sakimoto, member of the board of directors and chairman of the staff council. Usually, there is only one reason for him to come into your office himself—and it's not a good one.

"How can I help you, Mr. Sakimoto?" you say with an insincere smile.

"Tell me," he responds, eyes wide in either insanity or genuine interest, hard to tell with someone like him. "Why did you throw it all away? It looks like a cell."

"It—to be honest, I—

"Well that's the point. None of the stuff is helpful in any way, even worse, it's distracting, unnecessary bullshit that keeps me from focusing. I don't need it, I don't want it anymore."

Sakimoto nods at your words, his expression never changing, not even at the use of your obscene slip. Maybe being a psychopath is a job requirement for Sakimoto's position. You can't bear to look at his slight smile and wide orbs any longer.

"Intriguing," he finally says and turns towards your door again. "You'll be at the board meeting tonight, 8pm flat."

"Yes, Sir," you calmly say, something grinding on your nerves as Sakimoto leaves without saying goodbye or closing the door. That's it, career over.

They’re gonna fire me, fuck.

This thought knocks on your mind the entire day, only getting stronger with every step you take towards the meeting room. Someone must have noticed your indefensible, erratic behavior, but how? Everyone was gone that night like they all are every night. You made sure of it by checking the nearby offices of your subordinates and co-workers. You even made sure to stuff all your furniture and electronics down to the bottom of the waste containers.

Maybe the board had a meeting and someone heard something? Fuck, that can’t be it, can it?

Deep breaths, calm breaths. If they know what happened, your fate is decided. You have enough money anyways. Other companies will still take you. You’re gonna be okay, this is just a small hit, a dent in the fast, unstoppable car that is you. If you’re honest, it’s a lot easier when you don’t care about the passenger or who she is fucking.

Bang the door thrice with confidence. The silence behind it becomes even more quiet, until someone urges you to enter in a strict, booming voice.

“You are a bit early,” the CEO says from the far end of the long table, his back to the setting sun visible through large windows behind him. The other board members look at you, some with a perfect poker face as if they are in serious business talks, others seem amused, maybe even a little tipsy, but what surprises you the most are those who look at you in anger and fear as if you were the grim reaper, coming for their souls.

“Better than being too late,” you respond with charme, your calm heart picking up in pace.

“That is true!” the vice-CEO shouts and most board members fall into a short fit of laughter. They seem so odd, maybe they are making fun of you before forcing you to sign the resignation. You can already see the stack of paper in the CEO’s hand.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the CEO shouts. The laughs evaporate instantly, yet somehow, the positive vibes remain. The vice-CEO is grinning at you, even the CEO himself cracks a smile. He gets up from his chair, the paper firmly in both of his hands, and walks around the table towards you. Your feet seem to grow roots as he stops before you.

“Congratulations, Mr. Kwon,” he says cheerfully and hands you an—

“Official Invitation to the Board of Directors,” you read out loud in utter disbelief.

“Mr. Kwon, why do you sound so shocked?” someone in the back asks and the CEO nods towards them with a sly grin.

“I did not inform him about our vote last week. Even Mr. Sakimoto only told him to be here today.

“Mr. Kwon, do you accept our invitation? You will be the thirteenth member, as Mr. Muentrich-Schleuser will resign next month. We all think that you are physically and mentally capable, have the pedigree and skill and most importantly, the outstanding drive to push this company forward. The growth in your department has been unmatched the past few months.”

The smooth, freshly printed piece of paper is in your hand. The other members gradually rise from their seats, all looking at you intently. They seemed so much bigger, when you entered the room, but now they are just like you. All you have to do is take the CEO’s stretched out hand, and you’ll be atop a mountain you never even dreamed of reaching.

“D-do I have any other choice?” you say cooly, only your stutter betrays your facade. A couple of chuckles, the CEO looks at the ceiling and pretends to think.

“Well, you can’t go back to your apartment, as your successor has already been chosen. You could be transferred to Japan and lead the department there. It’d be the same pay as here but—”

He leans closer to whisper.

“—you’d have to pay more taxes there.

“What will it be, Mr. Kwon?”

You find yourself on the road again. Somehow, fate has you connected to your car. Whenever something big happened or is about to happen, you find yourself sitting in it, music blasting loud and numbing everything out. Tonight however, you purposefully turn the radio off and drive carefully.

Let me celebrate somewhere; but where?

You won’t go home to your wife of course. She is more than undeserving to celebrate this moment with you. Most of your other friends and relatives are either asleep already or would ask stupid questions about Eunbi and why she isn’t celebrating alongside you. No, you need someone to not ask you about anything and just parties the night away.

Ah fuck it; strangers will do.

Park your car at the side of the road, don’t care for a ticket, hell, don’t give a fuck if someone decides to steal it. It’s used and you can easily buy a new one tomorrow if you want to. You wander down the street, busy with party-goers, drunk, high or both, some are a lot more focused and carry their drunk, high or both friends home. You loosen your tie, no need to look formally if everyone around you doesn’t either.

Suddenly, a familiar sight, a wooden structure with warm lights and that unmistakable smell. It’s almost nostalgic, magnetic, unavoidable, you just have to walk in there. As you grab the handle of the door and see the long, smooth, wooden counter, it hits you.

Oh my God.

“Oh, wow, haven’t seen you here in forever,” the bartender says when he sees you. His face hasn’t changed, his smile is the same, but you need a few moments to really recognize him again.

He takes a step back and smirks, firm grasp on a bottle of tequila.

“Well, yes, it has,” you respond and walk up to him. “It has easily been a year since my last visit, how the fuck do you remember me?”

“I have this tendency to remember people, especially because you were the last man to ever take her backstage.”

He winks and you throw your head back. Time flies, it really does, yet you find yourself sitting on the exact same stool on a very similar night with the same bartender. Even your wife is still a whore, fucking the same guys, probably right now as well.

“So I take it that Hyewon is not coming here anymore?” you sigh and point at an expensive bottle of wine. The bartender swiftly uncorks it.

“I did not say that. She is just a lot more, let’s call it, picky. Okay, you know what?”

With an elegant pour he fills you a glass and places the dark ruby liquid on the counter before continuing.

“You can ask her yourself. She’ll be on stage in a couple minutes.”

A waft of wine hits your nostrils, but it’s a lot weaker than the words coming from his mouth. The thought of Hyewon blows you away, stronger than any liquor, no matter how high the amount of alcohol or the years it has matured. Hyewon, the kind stranger, the hot stranger, the stranger to fuck your stress out. Hyewon, the crazy friend, the bisexual friend, the let's-have-a-bar-backstage- threesome-with-this-hot-singer-friend. She was a big reason why you got over Eunbi cheating on you—but it has sadly not led you to the brightest of futures.

Maybe I should have stayed with her.

Take a sip of the wine. It’s delicious, celebratory, a drink for victors who have gained status and wealth beyond imagination, and you are now part of that group. At least you feel like it, even as the bar gets flooded with more and more people from all walks of life. Some look as well-dressed as you are, others clearly struggle to make ends meet in some months, but they're all here for the same thing.

Wait, what is Hyewon going to do on stage? Is she going to sing?

As you still wonder and savor the wine, one of the waitresses moves from light switch to light switch and slowly but surely fills the room in darkness. The crowd goes quiet as tension rises. Everyone is excited for sure, but none of them reach the level of thrill you feel when the spotlight illuminates the stage and a beautifully dressed woman appears behind the curtain.

Resounding cheers, applause, the occasional toast around you, inside you, but all you can do is watch in awe. Hyewon looks angelic, on one hand illegally beautiful, on the other illegally hot. Something about her is distant yet warm, unreachable yet magnetic, strangulating for the heart yet easy for the lunges—she is oxygen, or even better—the breathable air of heaven.

Hyewon.

Confidence in her stance which silences the crowd again, confidence in her hands which raise the mic to her glossy lips, most importantly, confidence in her voice as she starts the song with a powerful low note that almost throws you off the stool.

It shouldn’t be such a shock. Hyewon’s voice is mesmerizing, you should have noticed it when she spoke to you or at least when she moaned, but only now you see the full beauty of it. It’s befitting of her, and you will enjoy every second of it. She carries this song gracefully, giving it a special touch that will keep the listeners yearning for a studio version, which would be an efficient side hustle for her.

Wait, what if Hyewon becomes a musician, with songs on the radio and the first glimmers of fame? What if she is already quite popular, an underground artist on the rise, from covering songs to writing her own? What if there is a whole story happening in her life that you missed entirely, just because you stuck to your whore-wife and mind-numbing job? This fear of having missed out on something this big and beautiful, maybe even life itself, shakes your heart with a strong aching, until—

Another voice. The first verse, the pre-chorus, the build-up, it all leads to another voice coming in with unbridled power and passion. It cannot be contained in the way it booms through the speakers and puts goosebumps on every single person in this room. You’re included in this list, but when you recognize the voice and see the woman step out on stage, those goosebumps turn to a full-on rush of nostalgic emotions.

Back then, her singing was the catalyst for an unforgettable night. Unexpectedly wild, a lot of fun, but the stinging arrow of envy made things bitter-sweet for you. Watching the two of them be so close, intimate and loving had you yearning for more than just enraged sex. You wanted this too, and there was a time where Eunbi provided it. But the veil has been lifted. There is no love, just despair.

Yuri.

It’s certainly a touching thing, seeing that Hyewon and Yuri are still close friends, connected through the language of music. Apparently they were always here, right in this inconspicuous bar, pulling the stress out of people with nothing but their voices, which combine at the end of the second verse and rush ahead into the chorus. It’s an invasion of your ears, low and high, soft and powerful, caring and overwhelming.

This performance is greatness, the best of what humanity has to offer—and you feel like the embodiment of an embittered, wasted life.

Yuri hits the final note with such perfection that the first few people have already jumped up from their seats and cheered without holding back. Thunderous applause is an understatement to how hard everyone claps their hands or stomps the ground. They’re shaking the entire bar, which has the bartender holding onto some of the bottles with a worried smile. You on the other hand are glued to your seat in deep regret. Not enough to make you cry, but enough to keep you from giving the two angels what they deserve.

Take a look at your wine. It has been untouched in your glass for a while now and it’d be a waste to throw it away just because you’re facing the cold, harsh truth again. What even is true at this point? Not the stuff you promise your customers and certainly not your relationship. Fuck it, take a large sip.

“They are awesome,” the bartender gasps. “They should finally do this professionally, this stage is too small for them.”

“Yeah,” you answer with a weak smile. “Imagine an entire stadium full of people being this ecstatic. The world would hear it.”

“Well, I tried my best convincing them,” he says and looks right next to you with a sly grin. “Maybe you have more success than I did.”

Time freezes when you feel the familiar busty body around your own. You did not see Hyewon launching herself at you, don't realize what's happening until she starts talking.

"Oh my God, it has been so long! Wait, is it really you?"

"Hyewon, I, uhm, yeah. I'm me."

"It's so crazy to see you again! How are you, how is life?"

"Well, it's—"

Hyewon squeezes your body tighter. She pouts when you look down at her until you finally get it. Return the embrace and Hyewon squeals in happiness.

"You don't have to say anything," she coos softly. "I'm just happy to see you again."

"Likewise," you respond with a sigh.

You could stand around like this for eternity. Hyewon's deep breaths and her steadily decreasing heart rate start to heal you from within. The pain and suffering caused by Eunbi's constant cheating, it doesn't matter right now. You deserve a break from the mess that is your life—you feel like you can celebrate your promotion for real now.

"Hyewon, I—no, you. You were wonderful on stage. Your singing, it blew me away."

As you gush about her performance, Hyewon blushes and disconnects the hug. You notice that she has this heavenly aura around her, like she is spraying sparks of love and happiness that try to ignite everyone around her. No wonder that she had this excellent stage presence during her duet.

"Thank you so much—

"Oh, babe~ I'm here~"

You jump at Hyewon's sudden call, which is not directed at you of course. Before your eyes can search for the person Hyewon just called babe, they have already arrived. Delicate fingers entwined with Hyewon's, they both go for a quick peck on the lips.

"Yu-Yuri?"

Your shriek makes the duo—the couple?—look at you with wide eyes, glossy and full of love for life—for each other? There is still too much to process for your brain, it can't handle another input.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Yuri asks with concern in her voice and a caring hand on your elbow.

"Ye-yeah, ju-just not up to date at all. Are you two like… a thing?"

Hyewon has this bright smile on her face. She wraps an arm around Yuri's hip and the younger girl leans her head on her collarbone. Yuri raises a hand up to your face. There is a simple silver ring on it, and you see her eyes scintillate when she shows you it.

"We married two months ago," Hyewon giggles. "So much has happened since we met last time. I can’t really sum it up."

"Don't feel forced to explain yourself," you respond with an awkward laugh. "We had a short stint a while back, I only saw you falling for each other—

beyond that, our lives have happened far apart. But not going to lie, I'd love to hear your story if you're down for it."

Hyewon and Yuri share a glance and then start to laugh for seemingly no reason. It turns into a full fit that suddenly has you in a tight, three way hug.

"We'd love to," Yuri says when she catches her breath again. "After all, you somewhat got us together. I told Hye that we should try to invite you to the marriage."

"Nah, it's good. How about I pay for the first round of drinks because of your amazing performance and then for the second round 'cuz I got a big promotion today."

"What if I want a third round though?" Hyewon asks jokingly.

"Babe, you can never handle three rounds," Yuri responds with sass and pulls the two of you to a nearby table.

"Looks like you just qualified yourself to pay for the third round then, Yuri."

"Like I said," Yuri babbles, her pitch high as the love story reaches its conclusion. "Hye was so scared to tell her father, but I had already bought the rings and planned the dresses, the cake—her mom was literally involved in everything—so on a Saturday night I poured her a third tequila shot—look how done she is after only two!"

Yuri points at her wife, whose head rests on her shoulder with heavy eyes and a rosy hue on her cheeks. Hyewon is in a drunk-dazed heaven, smiling stupidly, while trying to disagree with sounds that almost sound like words.

"Anyways, she was loose and so I dragged her over, we told him and—it was a stressful minute, I tell you that—after a minute he hugged us wordlessly. We kinda had no idea what it meant but during the wedding he looked happy, at peace basically."

"Okay, wow that is—"

Even your tenth reaction to Hyewon and Yuri's story, from threesome over dating to coming out to marriage, is cut short, this time by Hyewon groaning out a functioning sentence from her lip stick and alcohol covered lips.

"Babe, you, you forgot the part where, when you had to quit your job then."

"Oh, I'd love to hear about that too!" you quickly add, reminiscing about their amazing vocal performance. "Why did you decide to only sing for a living?"

Yuri puts on a sad smile as she strokes Hyewon's hair. Her gaze rests upon her empty glass, her orbs turn glassy for a moment then she shakes her head as if to shrug off what's bothering her.

"That's just about, you know, my former job. When I quit because we wanted to focus on music, some were angry because they thought I abandoned the team for childish dreams while others were… not so supportive of us. Ah, just forget it, it's fine."

"Sorry you had to go through it and sorry for bringing it up," you quickly apologize.

"Jeez, I said it's fine, don—"

"Let me make it up to you with a third round and the promise to meet the two of you here again."

Raise your hand to call the waiter while Yuri searches for something in Hyewon's pocket, but the older keeps nuzzling closer and closer as she dozes off. When the drinks arrive, Yuri slips you a phone.

"Put in your numbern" she whispers. "I bet she'll want to hear more from you too."

"Thank you. I assume you don't want to hear from me then?" you chuckle.

"That's right!" Yuri shouts and lifts her glass on high, so the entire bar can hear her. "I'm only here for the drinks. Cheers!"

Even the greatest party needs to come to an end at some point. 3am is when you pay for the drinks and call a cab. You barely find your way up the drive way into your house, which is not that bad, because now you don’t need to go sleep in the same bed as Eunbi and instead have the couch for you alone. It has never been so cozy.

Speaking of Eunbi, her acting is almost great. She apparently was so worried about you last night, and all the other nights the last couple of months. Now she found you on the couch, an obvious hangover by the way you scrunch your forehead. She puts her hand on your shoulder, rubbing it in circles, playing the worried wife like it’s in her script.

“No, this looks wrong, I swear,” you try to laugh it off but Eunbi is just getting closer. God, you can smell all the other people on her. It’s like she showered in a dozen different men’s perfume and deodorant just to taunt you. Ignore the mocking, you’re above this.

“Then what is it supposed to look like, babe?” Eunbi asks, her eyes wide and shimmering. “I’m willing to believe you, but you have to tell me why you got so wasted.”

“Well, I…”

It’s best to mix the lie with some truth to the point where you might believe it yourself.

“I, surprisingly, got a great promotion, and we went out partying for a long ti—”

“Oh my God, babe, that’s awesome!”

Out of nowhere, Eunbi casts aside all her concern and launches herself atop of you. You immediately tense up. Feeling the incredible curves of her body has never felt so wrong, so traumatic. Groan and put a palm to your temple to signal her your distress, but she continues to bounce on your lap.

“All your heart work paid off, I’m so proud!” she shouts gleefully, her arms tight around your throat in what looks like a loving embrace but feels a lot more like someone strangling you. “I almost thought you were out there getting addicted to whiskey every night.”

And you are addicted to men, Eunbi.

Addicted to sex, to being unloyal, to being creamed by other men.

You are the addict, you heartbreaking bitch.

But the words don’t come out. They run circles in your head while Eunbi’s clothed entrance rubs circles over your not-growing, not-aroused dick. You’re not going to surrender to her fuckable body, instead gently pushing her sides and groaning unduly.

“Yeah, no, this was a one time thing. I should sober up, my head fucking hurts.”

“Should I get you some water and painkillers?” Eunbi asks and gets off of your lap to jog to the kitchen.

“Yes, please—”

—and then get out of my life.

The following months brought some drastic changes. Not only is your work harder, it’s also not optional anymore. You started to put up better numbers because of your overtime work, which was due to Eunbi. Now, you can’t escape it anymore. Working from 6am to 10pm is normal, hell, on some days you wish you could sleep three hours.

But everytime you look at your new bank account—can’t let Eunbi have all the access—it all seems worth it. The pay is ungodly, you have way too much money. Even after taxes and buying two new cars to not look ‘broke’ next to all the other board members, you still have no clue what to do with all of it. Two or three more years, and you could retire wealthy beyond belief. Begs the question why these people usually don’t and continue working.

Another change to your life comes through Hyewon and Yuri. By themselves, they installed a new social life in your life. At least two times per month, the three of you meet up in a bar. You get to know new people, entirely different from you, but also basically the same. Everyone is tired from work, so it’s time to drink and party. You almost forgot how good it feels to have a variety of friends—from those that are perfect for loose parties to those that deeply care about you.

Hyewon is the best of those friends. Nothing about your brief yet intense past seems to stick on her. She is chill around you, goofy and not at all awkward. Yuri is quite similar, though a bit more extravagant and flamboyant, which makes them the absolute gay-power couple. They just click, it’s perfect, young love.

“Reminds me of myself.” Your lips betray you.

“What?” Hyewon shouts back, over the obnoxiously loud bass of the rock band on stage.

“Ah, nothing. Just a little envious~” you respond with fake annoyance and raise your glass for a toast. Hyewon hesitates, very out of character.

“Nah, I’m not toasting your glass before you tell me what you mean,” Hyewon says and stares into your soul with her drunk, teary eyes. Maybe she is not that drunk? Maybe you can finally open up about it?

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Nuh-uh, tell me outside.”

And with that, Hyewon walks out the front door, you in tow as your tie becomes completely undone and your shirt is a mess. Outside you do not find privacy, just a lot of strangers talking, laughing, smoking. This time you pull Hyewon further down the street next to your parked Porsche, where it’s less likely for someone to hear you.

“Now you gotta… tell me,” Hyewon babbles.

“You are drunk, you’re not gonna remember it anyways.”

“Nuh-uh,” she says again, hitting your chest with her long, painted nails. “You need to spill it now, I’ll remember. Like I remember you only asking about me and Yuri and never talking about yourself.”

She’s spot on. You never wanted to talk about it. Eunbi’s name is pain, you don’t need to make the newfound pleasure and joy in your life go away because of her. This cheating whore—she should just go away at this point.

“You remember why we met?” you carefully ask Hyewon, testing if she is capable of understanding even though she is under heavy influence.

“Yes, your girl cheated on you.”

“Guess what: I married that girl.”

“Oh,” Hyewon says and after some delay smiles brightly. “So you talked it out and things got better? That’s why you didn’t come back, right?”

“Let’s just say that,” you gulp and your hands form fists. “Some people don’t change.”

“Fuck,” Hyewon’s pointy heels hit the sidewalk hard. “I’m sorry about that. Was it a bad divorce?”

“Huh? She still lives with you? In the same house? You share the same bed?”

“I—I did not divorce her.”

“I-I did not say that!”

“But it’s true!” Hyewon steps closer and grabs your collar. “I can see it in your eyes, you can’t let go. You hate her, but you can’t throw her away, although she deserves it.”

You want to grab Hyewon’s wrist, push her to the side and run away shouting words of denial that you are stronger than this, that she is wrong, that she doesn’t get it. However, Hyewon doesn’t deserve it—even worse, she is absolutely right.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes,” she whispers and lets go. The two of you lean onto the Porsche in silence, watching customers of the bar pass by without worries, without hate, without defeat. The liquor has done wonders, turning a negative week positive. The same can’t be said about you. You feel exposed, utterly defeated by Hyewon’s words.

“Fuck you,” you groan, face hidden in hands. “Fuck you for being right, Hyewon.”

“Sorry, but you had to hear it,” she responds and pats your back. “You need to tear her out of your life, like a terribly written chapter in a book or like awful lyrics that you wrote while high on midnight wine and sex.

“You get me?”

“I think.”

“Good.”

The world might not be good at this moment, yet Hyewon’s reassurance, her slow pats on your shoulder, her strong posture in her stunning red dress and the loving, tipsy smile on her beaming face are enough to show you the light of a better world.

“What about you?” you suddenly ask, wiping away tears you did not weep. “Something you’re hiding or keeping down?”

Hyewon looks away, her smile filling with a hint of agony, though nothing of her stunning beauty fades.

“You got me there. It’s something that’s been bugging me for maybe half a year. I know I shouldn’t but—I can’t get away from the thought, you know?”

“I would know if you would tell me,” you say playfully. Now it’s your turn to massage her shoulder, give reassurance, though you don’t know if you have any.

“It’s just that I—

“I want to have a child—my child. I love Yuri more than anything, I will never regret choosing her and only her, but this longing… it does not go away.”

“And adopting is not an option? S-sorry if that was insensitive…”

“No, it’s fine. I just want to be pregnant and raise my child together with her. You know what, forget that. It has to remain a dream.”

Suddenly, a friend of both you and Hyewon sprints out of the bar and looks around in dramatic panic until he finds the two of you. He takes leaps towards you, almost lands face first on the concrete before catching his small frame and coming to a halt.

“Hyewon,” he gasps out in between huffs and puffs. “Yuri is—she is so full, completely—you know?”

“That girl,” Hyewon sighs.

You return home on the same night. Your chat with Hyewon sucked out all the power the liquor usually has over you. It means that you are able to think about her words and take her seriously, but you’ll also have to live with Eunbi laying next to you, smelling like foreign sweat and cum again. You could choose the couch, but you haven’t gotten around to having it replaced with a couch where it’s better to sleep on.

The moment you open the main door, you hear screams coming from the bedroom. Deja Vu, not the subtle kind, more like a fucking train running you over. You still remember the one time she did it almost two years ago where you caught her. This is basically the same. The same sounds, the same gut wrenching punch to your gut, hell, even the groans by the guy sound the same—

Could it be?

Eunbi, in her brand new bikini, rides the same fucking guy from back then while he has his disgusting, greedy hands all over her skin, spanking it and making her scream even louder.

Like a silent assassin, you sneak towards the slightly ajar bedroom door. Dimmed lights illuminate the room which is filled by the smell of sex and the repetitive sounds of skin on skin. You take out your phone and use it as a mirror to catch a glimpse of what’s happening.

“You like that, you whore?” he growls at her, smiling stupidly dazed.

“Yes, oh God! Hit my tits!”

“I swear to God, your husband must be such a faggot for not immediately fucking you in that outfit. You look like a fucking breeding cow!”

“Yes, I’m cumming!”

“He can’t make you cum!”

The guy squeezes, then twists Eunbi’s breasts as she trembles, screams and squirts to an absolutely ridiculous level, one that even pornography can ot reach. She lets herself fall forward and the guy finishes inside her after a couple of thrusts. His rancid cum leaks out from every corner of Eunbi’s loose pussy.

You almost throw up. You hurry towards the front door and hide in the back of your car. There is rage, embarrassment, pain—you can’t confront her, hell, you can’t even confront him when he leaves the house like a king, the sun slowly rising in the background.

Your mind is empty, empty to the point it’s completely clear. You wait for Eunbi to fall asleep, then collect all the camera’s you have installed and throw them in a public trash bin. Afterwards, you clean up the house, dusting off as quietly as possible while also collecting dirty clothes to wash them (there is fucking leftover cum on some of her clothes and towels).

Lastly, you lay down next to her for a second and check if she has cleaned herself properly.

This fucking whore, I—

“Honey, sorry for not making it last night,” you shout, pretending to come home at 5am. Eunbi shrieks and shoots up, still dressed in the brown bikini, still cum oozing from her cunt. She tries to hide herself underneath a blanket.

“Ba-babe, tha-that’s totally fine,” she responds nervously, looking very puzzled because of your tired yet bright smile.

“I saw you cleaned the house, it looks wonderful!” you compliment her.

“I, uhm.”

“Hey, even the washing machine is running—and did you bring out the trash already?”

“Well, I—”

“God, you look so hot in that bikini,” you lean down to her and cup her bountiful breasts. “I could devour you right now. Did you really wear it just for me?”

“I—

Eunbi hesitates, turns away for a second to look out of the window. She is thinking about it, clearly. This is where her final redemption can start, the way to salvation is to reveal all of her sin, the only way she can come back is to…

“I’m glad you noticed, babe,” she says with the fakest of smiles. “And yes, I would only wear this for you. B-but I’m not feeling it right now, you understand?”

You nod.

“I love you, Eunbi.”

You lying devil.

How did you end up here?

“Are you sure about this, Yuri?”

“Yes, do you really want this, babe?”

Yuri folds her arms and raises both her eyebrows.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, I want this!”

With all doubts seemingly out of the way, the three of you make your way to the bedroom. Hyewon’s and Yuri’s apartment is small, but very cozy, the perfect place to live a relaxed, problem free life.

But they decided to get you involved. You’re a problem here. Sure, you might have helped at starting their relationship in the first place, but now you’re here for chaos.

Hyewon sinks onto the sheets first, Yuri’s fingers entangled with hers. Your fingers find the hem of Hyewon’s short dress. The angelic garment feels incredible, pure even in your hand and so you only hike it up with care, deeply in awe of what you’re about to see.

Meanwhile, Hyewon is a lot less pedantic and awestruck. She yanks Yuri closer, shortly fiddles with the button of her jeans and then quickly starts to undress her wife. The denim is quickly gone and before Hyewon can attack the white lace panties, Yuri shoves her lover's face into them.

“Use your precious tongue, honey~”

Oops, you almost started to stare for too long. Better continue your hike up Hyewon’s beautiful, bountiful legs to her holy sanctuary, covered by the same lace she so greedily licks and nibbles on. Your digits hook into the white fabric and slowly pull it down, making Hyewon melt further into Yuri’s pussy.

“You’re getting so excited, huh~?” Yuri teases and pats Hyewon’s head. The older girl nods while you start to fold her dress to finally see her wet, shaven cunt. You can smell the excitement, the arousal, the anticipation of what is about to happen to her. Now you consider yourself lucky to not have slept with anyone, which potentially avoided any and all STDs.

It lets you create trouble.

How did you end up here?

It’s two days after Hyewon officially asked you to impregnate her. Tomorrow she will ask her wife in what you can only imagine will be the most stressful talk in her entire life. Today however, is not tomorrow. Today is the day you got your STD test back. Hyewon wanted you to take it for if things go her way and Yuri actually agrees to this chaotic proposal.

To no surprise, the results are negative. After all, you haven’t touched Eunbi in forever and by the way she lets seemingly everyone cum inside her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she caught anything. In the end, that was not enough however. You needed to make sure.

A bottle of champagne, neatly placed on the living room table. You put some decorations around it. Eunbi will appear here any minute, you told her you have a surprise waiting, something that will make her speechless, breathless even.

“Hey, honey,” Eunbi announces her return, grocery bags in hands. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Eunbi, I—the reason why I even took a day off is—nah, come on over! Let’s raise a glass first, shall we!”

The glasses are already filled, well prepared. Eunbi seems utterly perplexed. “Champagne in the middle of the day? Honey, what are you planning~?”

Trouble, bitch.

“Oh, yes, eat me, Hye, eat me.”

Yuri has started to tear off her t-shirt, the top underneath as well, to sit on Hyewon’s face completely naked. You on the other hand have only fished out your hard cock, which the incredible display of passion and erotic has surely made harder than ever. The straps of Hyewon’s dress have also started to fall down her shoulders. Finally, the chaos is coming together.

“The two of you are so hot,” you compliment and lean towards them.

“I know,” Yuri responds in between moans and grinds her soaking pussy more and more on Hyewon’s mouth. “Your mouth is so pretty, so go-good.”

“Hyewon, are you ready?” you ask the woman below you, her nipples peeking out from her dress, her legs spread wide and invitingly and her pussy twitching when you rub up and down her labia.

Hyewon finds her way out from in between Yuri’s thighs and rests her head back against her lover’s tight stomach. Deep breaths and eyes of absolute need signal you that yes, she is more than ready. The same goes for Yuri, who is on the one hand very fixated on rubbing and drooling all over Hyewon’s collarbone, while her eyes are focused on your cock.

“Watch him closely,” Yuri whispers. “He is going to give you our child.”

With that, you push inside of Hyewon’s awaiting pussy.

“What are we celebrating? Did you get another promotion?”

Eunbi looks genuinely curious. Strange, she hasn’t asked about your work at any previous point in time, unless it was about when you would be home. Keep the sarcasm to yourself, you don't want to spoil the actual surprise.

"Oh, sweety," you laugh with full bass. "No more promotions needed, we are set for life. Which is why I bought a new house!"

"No, you didn't!" Eunbi shouts and almost drops the glass.

"Careful, careful, don't spill it."

"Oh my God, you are crazy. Where is this house? Still in Korea or…"

You raise your glass towards her and smirk.

"I'll only tell you if you would do me the honor."

Eunbi reciprocates the smirk.

"Of course, darling."

The two of you set the glasses to your lips. Your eyes are wide open, your heart beats in an uncontrollable flurry as you watch Eunbi down the champagne quickly, almost in one go. You're quick to follow, while a new wind of fresh air fills your nostrils.

This should not feel this good.

"Ah!"

Hyewon screeches when you pierce her tight pussy open. She clings onto her wife's thighs, gripping them tightly while blurting her initial, high-pitched moans straight into the pussy above her.

"You take it so well, baby," Yuri groans and rubs Hyewon's breasts with the sweaty palms of her hands. "Squeeze him dry."

Place both hands on Hyewon’s hips and begin to slowly pump into the woman, your cock stretching her walls, filling her whole. When Yuri suddenly starts to play with the small, hidden clit above the entrance, Hyewon becomes noticebly wetter, to the point where you hear the wet sounds of her arousal. It spreads around her crotch, your crotch, her legs, your legs, the bed’s legs, until everything is a glorious mess.

“Oh, I can feel him inside you, baby,” Yuri husks as her hand roams Hyewon’s abdomen. She has gotten off her lover's face and is now gazing at it, her eyes lustful, demanding for Hyewon to be bred. “Soon, I’ll feel something else knock from inside.”

“Yu-Yuri, I’m getting close!” Hyewon screeches, her fingers wrapping around your wrists as you grip her pale body tighter and tighter as she gets tighter and tighter. “I’m about to—”

“Don’t hold back,” Yuri demands and her hand slips down to Hyewon’s clit again and rubs furiously. “I want to see you cum, cum as you finally receive this gift.”

Well, there goes the last shadow of a doubt that Yuri might have something against this crazy idea. Turns out she is even more insane than you or Hyewon. She gets off on you pounding, dominating her wife and she does the same, finally choking Hyewon’s throat gently while bringing her to a loud, splashing orgasm. From the corner of her eye, you see her urging you to not cum yet.

If she just knew how hard this is with Hyewon wringing all over your lubricated, diamond-like cock. Her pussy sucks you in, takes your breath away, yet you are able to make Yuri’s wish come true. Just close your eyes and imagine something normal is happening, a walk in the park, a nice summer breeze, the beautiful green of the leaves—

“You are so hot, baby, eat me~”

Yuri climbs on top of Hyewon’s face again, her subtle ass turned towards you as she slams her pussy on Hyewon’s panting mouth and rubs herself all over the most flushed, most perfect features to ever graze the earth. Hyewon is barely able to stick out her tongue to tickle Yuri’s clit and it’s so endearing, you just have to make it more difficult for her.

Fold Hyewon. It's as easy as folding a piece of paper. Hyewon’s feet dangle in the air, her toes curl frantically, trying to reach the ceiling to find grip, but she is helpless. At first she lost control over her body due to the mind-blowing orgasm, now it’s because Yuri and you use her as you please. Hyewon is a tool for pleasure and she couldn’t feel more pleasure.

“Your tongue, baby, put it in—ah!” Yuri’s climax was predictable. Her small frame trembles throughout, her adorable butt is right in front of you. You take a risk and fold Hyewon further, your lips now right on Yuri’s cheek. Your lick right across it. “N-not you! B-but don’t stop now!”

So you continue. Your tongue travels all over Yuri’s cheeks, an adventure almost as good as the adventure your cock takes inside Hyewon, exploring every single place inside her scorching cunt. You eventually end up in Yuri’s butt, twirling your tongue, getting her addictive taste on your tastebuds. Sadly, you’re unable to go all out on Hyewon in the meantime, so she scrapes your shoulders, probably feeling neglected. When you look down however, she opens her mouth wide and begs in the most adorable, lewd voice:

“Share?”

You drool right into the awaiting Hyewon, transferring the taste of her wife’s asshole, but it’s not enough, you need to dive into her lips and force her tongue around in her mouth. There is no other option, you need to melt into Hyewon to give her the perfect child, a child conceived under the most ridiculous, feverish and unexplainable circumstances possible.

Yuri’s nails dig in your neck.

“Enough fun. Give her your fucking cum!”

Open your eyes a final time to find Hyewon, fucked silly, sweat, tears, girl cum all over her face and hair, eyes barely open, mouth barely closed—why is she more perfect, the messier she gets? You thrust deeply a couple of times and with a final sprint, you finish the race, with Hyewon bred and Yuri rubbing her clit in a daze.

“Don’t pull out yet,” she babbles. “I need to—fuck—I need to get the plug first.”

“It needs to look like champagne, untraceable, no weird smells or anything.

“Yes, I know that that is fucking elaborate and costly, I don’t care.

“Do you want to be on the board or not? I thought so.

“We have a deal then.

“Hm? No, her death does not need to be quick.”

Infact, I want it to be as long and painful as possible.

# 20 years later #

You open the window and watch the wind splash water against the shore of Malta. This view alone is worth thirty million euros apparently—you’re inclined to agree. The blue of the ocean meets the white stones, it’s a perfect match. No matter how rough the wind comes and goes, no matter how high the sea levels may rise, these two will never betray each other.

A knock on your front door. The way she knocks is unmistakable. Ever since moving to this long forgotten, barely reachable island, you have never felt the need to hurry about anything. It’s all calm and quiet out here—you’d need to go back to Korea for your life to be busy again. But if you’d go back again, your need to see her would be too big.

You couldn’t do that to her mothers.

“Hello, dear Godfather,” the beautiful girl says with a smile and playfully bows her head.

“Hello, dear Godchild,” you return the smile and the bow. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to properly bow?”

“Which one?” she asks, not able to contain her laughter. “The one that sings or the one that sings?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Minju.”

I missed you, my daughter.

(A/N: I hope you all had a happy june/Pride month!)

#kpop smut #male reader insert #female idol smut #izone smut #girl group smut #male reader #male reader smut #hyewon smut #yuri smut #eunbi smut

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ageofnations · 2 years

Text

Marigold // jmk // Pt. 8

Summary: After staying behind while Danny goes on tour, you do everything you can to salvage your relationship. Will you be successful? Or will you find refuge elsewhere?

Word Count: ~5.5k

Warnings: slight angst, TONS of fluff, and SMUT(minors dni!), oral(f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it plz!), little praise, tons of sweet talk, cursing, lmk if there’s any i missed!

A/N: i’m surprised i finished this in time but i’m so happy that i could. only tagging those who indicated they wanted to be tagged in NSFW content, so if you’re on my taglist and don’t see your name, that’s why! i hope y’all enjoy

playlist // Chamomile Masterpost // Marigold Masterpost

Part 8

Your previous night’s plan of not drinking too much wine worked. You woke up with no headache, no foggy memories, no jumbled recollections. Absolutely no trouble in remembering exactly what happened between you and Josh, just hours before.

It had been what you wanted. You purposely drank less throughout the night so you could remember the day perfectly. You wanted to recall each and every second of the day, every sweet gesture from Josh, everything he had done for you. And you succeeded. But now you wished you had a reason to go back on what you had done. If you would’ve just had more to drink, you would have something to blame such a careless action on.

Josh hadn’t said anything to you about the kiss, other than his abundant apologies that spilled directly afterward. He was never specific about what exactly he was sorry for, which only made your mind race more. Was he apologizing because he didn’t feel the same? That he had misled you into thinking that’s what he wanted? Or were the apologies just for the pain that he knew he had caused, as soon as he pulled away?

It wasn’t the rejection that hurt you the most. That’s something you had been dealing with for the past month or so, especially within the past few days, with Danny. It wasn’t even the fact that you might’ve made a fool of yourself by pursuing something that you weren’t sure Josh was interested in. Embarrassment and insecurities were the last of your worries.

Truthfully, it was the possibility that you had made him uncomfortable with your efforts. That you had overstepped a boundary that seemed to be clear to everyone but yourself. You were terrified that you’d never be able to be that close to Josh - or any of the band, for that matter - ever again.

There was really no logical reasoning behind your worries, and you knew that. Sure, Josh had pulled away from you, putting an end to your first, and potentially your last, kiss shared with him. But before all of that, he also kissed you back. He had kissed you like his life depended on it, and there was no denying that. He couldn’t blame it on the wine, he wasn’t forced to kiss you back, there were no other factors. There had to have been some sort of meaning behind his reciprocation.

If anything, there were more potential factors in the prolonging of the kiss than there were in its termination. He has a show tomorrow, and he should be flying out today. Maybe he was genuinely tired and knew he needed to sleep before his travels. Either way, he didn’t give you a reason to feel bad about kissing him. It was just hard not to reflect on how hard he had gripped your hips to pull you away. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were bruises from how tightly he had held you, and how his grasp only tightened to disconnect you both.

You decided you’d act as if nothing happened. As if there was absolutely nothing that needed to be discussed or acknowledged. If he was the one who stopped the kiss, he was to be the one who brought it back up. But for now, according to you, you didn’t kiss your best friend.

Although you couldn’t feel his arm around your waist, you knew he was still laying beside you when you woke up. His body heat radiated against you, permeating through the thin tank top you had decided to sleep in. His steady, rhythmic breathing pattern was still audible, just barely, from his place beside you. You debated on moving, scared that if you switched your position, he’d wake up or get out of bed. If you stayed here, maybe you’d be able to stay with him, in this moment with no worries, for longer than you would otherwise.

But the opportunity to get a glimpse of him in his most peaceful state was too great to miss. Especially since you weren’t sure when you’d get to be in this position again.

Slowly, you turned to face him, acting as if you were simply repositioning in your sleep. You kept your eyes closed at first, but you didn’t miss the chance to wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his side as much as possible. He didn’t move, and you would’ve believed he was still asleep until he let out a deep sigh.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were bright and awake. He had been up for a while, but he hadn’t changed out of the clothes he wore to sleep, so you knew he hadn’t gotten out of bed.

He had both of his palms tucked under his head, and he was staring at the ceiling, only blinking when he realized you were awake. The expression on his face was similar to the one he donned right after he pulled away from you last night, conflicted, almost pained. He was holding back.

You forced a smile at him, trying to bring his attention to you and away from whatever was on his mind. But when that wasn’t enough, you decided to break the morning’s silence with a raspy greeting.

“Good morning,” you said softly. You kept a smile on your face and brought your hand to his chest, swiping your thumb over the cotton barrier between you and his skin.

Josh grumbled a low “Mornin’.” in response. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your worrying worse.

“You sleep okay?” You pressed, hoping that conversation would draw something out of him.

At first, he stayed quiet, only responding by shrugging as best as he could in his position. When he realized you were still waiting on a verbal answer, he sighed again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You tried not to become frustrated with him. His tone, the distant phrases, it seemed all too familiar to you. He never was like this with you, but you had been dealing with this demeanor from someone for the past month. It irritated you that he had fallen under the same strides as someone he was helping you heal from.

You pushed it aside, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Again, he was never like this with you. Maybe something was genuinely wrong, something you could help with.

“Why ‘you guess’?” you asked, trying to keep your voice soft enough to make you seem approachable, especially with the circumstances at hand.

This time, he didn’t answer you at all. He didn’t move, he didn’t sigh, he didn’t give much of a hint that he even heard you speak.

You raised from your spot in the bed, positioning yourself where you could look down at him and search his expression. You found nothing, or at least nothing that you hadn’t already heard in his voice. “What’s going on?”

Nothing.

He was avoiding something, desperately trying to bypass a topic that he was afraid to bring up. You could sense it, and he gave himself away by closing his eyes as if you’d disappear if he couldn’t see you.

“Josh, please-“

“Why did you do it?”

You blinked at him, taken aback by his interruption. “What?”

He opened his eyes, at first avoiding your gaze, but he slowly turned to look at you. “Why did you kiss me?”

You hadn’t anticipated the conversation to be brought up at all, much less first thing in the morning. You fully expected Josh to act like it didn’t happen, carry on being friends if anything at all. The accusatory tone made you feel defensive, but the pleading look in his eyes let you know that he desperately needed a truthful response. Instead, you decided to reply with a question of your own. “Why did you let me?”

For the first time all morning, he moved. His palms were pulled from under his head, and he dragged them across his face before letting them rest there. It was muffled when he answered you. “You were drunk. I-”

“I had a couple of glasses of wine. I was not drunk.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” he groaned. He removed his hands from his face, revealing a look of defeat to match his exasperated voice. “Just… why did you do it?”

You tried to sort through your thoughts to answer his question. Of course, you had your reasoning behind kissing him, but what did it matter? It happened, and what is an explanation going to do to change that? If anything, telling him that you had feelings for him would make the situation worse. Everything else seemed to not be enough to properly explain your side of it all, so you just opened your mouth and decided to let words flood out.

You looked away from him and sat up completely, hugging your knees to your chest so you felt some sort of comfort while you spoke. “You’re leaving today, I just-“

“What?”

“-didn’t know when I’d get to see you again or get another chance to, to kiss you again-“

“Wait, hold on.” It was Josh’s turn to sit up now. “What do you mean? I’m not leaving today.”

Somehow, his gentle voice brought you back down from the high of your anxiety. His kind and caring nature was back, making you comfortable to take a breath and look him in the eyes again. “You’re not? But you have a show tomorrow-“

“Tomorrow night,” he finished for you. “I’m flying out tomorrow morning. Unless you want me to leave? I can find a-”

“Oh, no, no, no.” The repeated words came out rushed. Him leaving sooner than he had to was the last thing you wanted. You even found that in your attempts to clarify yourself, you had instinctively placed a hand on his that was placed in his lap. You hesitantly pulled it away before you unintentionally overstepped another boundary. “You’re not mad, are you? about the kiss?”

“No? …god no. It was amazing, Bip.” He grabbed the hand that you had pulled away from him, holding it in both of his and looking at your fingers as he traced them. “Every time you look at me, every time you touch me, I never wish you’d stop. I just… I can’t be your rebound. I wish I could be that for you, but this means so much more to me.”

“What? Josh no that’s not what this is.” You turned your body entirely to him, trying and failing to get his attention back to your face so he understood your sincerity. “The timing is bad, I know, but I promise that this isn’t out of desperation. You’ve been the only one to make me genuinely happy lately. I like who I am with you.”

You surprised yourself with your admission, but you were glad to finally start the conversation you had been dreading. He seemed to rummage through the words, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.

“I can’t, we can’t-“

“And why not?” You pleaded. “We don’t have to put labels on anything, we can figure out the details as we go, and Danny doesn’t even have to know. Not yet at least-”

“He already does!”

The three words made his breathing sound much more labored than it had just seconds before, as if he had been holding his breath to keep from saying them.

“What?“

Josh worked to regain his composure, rubbing his thumb over your hand again to self-soothe. “That day. When he told me to stop talking to you, it wasn’t just because I was ‘too involved’ with you guys. It was because he thought I had feelings for you,” he stated softly, biting his lip out of nervousness before glancing back up at you to gauge your reaction.

You finally began to put the pieces together. “And you listened to him… because he was right.”

Josh closed his eyes once more, soaking in the fact that his biggest, most nerve-wracking secret was finally out in the open. It had been obvious, he knew that, but until now, he was able to deny it. He had an out if things went bad, if Danny had changed his mind about leaving the best thing that had ever happened to him. Now, he was at his most vulnerable. Confessing to years of aching that had been tucked away from you.

“How long?” You looked at him with an expression of bafflement, and it was almost as if you had read his mind. He sighed as he locked his eyes with yours, preparing himself to fully put his heart on the line.

“Bip, this past month has made me realize how deep I actually feel for you, but it’s been for as long as I can remember. You’ve always been my best friend, but now I realize that I’ve always wanted you to be more.” He hesitated before continuing, trying to not bring any more sore subjects to the conversation. “Even when he finally told us that you guys were dating, I didn’t know why it hurt so bad. I convinced myself that the pain was just nostalgia - just the fact that we were growing up, ya know? But now… I realize that I wanted to be him.”

“I’m glad you’re not him,” you said, squeezing his hand as a reminder.

He shrugged. “You guys always clicked more. You were closer. I didn’t have a chance.”

“But you do now,” you prompted. “This is more for me, too. I was a little late figuring it out… but I really like you, Josh.”

The hint of a smile tipped his lips, but he tried to remain calm after your revelation. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it more than you know,” you breathed, thankful to see even the smallest indication that he wasn’t in distress, that this conversation was going just how you both dreamed it would. “But I hope I can prove it to you, if you’d like that.”

He tipped his head back in relief before bringing his attention back to you. “It’s everything I want. I want you. I want us. And every single late night, early morning, glass of wine, FaceTime, all of it. I want it all with you.”

You giggled at the fervor behind his words as your nerves started to dissipate. “Josh-”

“I’m sorry for last night. I really am.” While he spoke, his hands rose from yours to your forearms. “Please believe me when I say that I never wanted to end that kiss. Things just feel so complicated and heavy, and above all things, all I can think about is how fucking in love with you I am. And how much that scares me.”

“It’s okay. We can figure things out as they come. But I don’t think I can risk giving up on such a good thing because of fear. Not again.”

He was quiet for a while, but this time, you could tell he was trying to soak in the moment’s realness. Take it all in so he could remember you telling him that you wanted him. His eyes dropped to where his hands were working against your skin. One had stilled on your forearm, but the other was still tracing up to your bicep. He watched as goosebumps rose across your shoulder and your neck while the digits graced the areas, lightly traversing their way to your jaw so he could cup your cheek. It was then that he finally looked back into your eyes to whisper, “Being with you is the only thing that makes sense to me.”

You blushed with a goofy smile, making him chuckle at you. “Please just fucking kiss me. And don’t pull away this time.”

Josh shook his head, not in a way of denying you, but in a way of warning. “If I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

You grinned. “Then don’t.”

He smiled as he inched closer to kiss you once, just a soft, gentle peck to test the waters. To make sure that this was real, that you were his and he was yours. It was much like the beginning of last night’s kiss, but this time, there were no secrets, no unspoken feelings, nothing left unsaid. It seemed as if you both sighed in remission at the same time, pulling away just barely before reconnecting to ensue a deeper kiss.

Your heads pushed and pulled against one another in hungry affection. The eagerness was contagious, and you smiled against each other’s lips in response to one another.

You thought you’d pick up right where you left off, hoping to straddle him again to get as close as you could, but Josh had other ideas. You couldn’t see him much, but you felt him shifting both of your bodies. Soon enough, he had slotted himself between your legs and was easing you to rest your back on the mattress below you. All while never parting from your lips.

The thin layers of your shorts and his pants allowed you to feel him, all of him, on top of you. With every swipe of your tongue, he was growing harder, and you wanted - you needed - to feel more. You let one hand lace through his hair while the other traveled down to his waist, wrapping around to rest on his lower back. He groaned against your lips as you pushed his hips down, raising yours to allow just a bit of friction against your clothed core.

He took the opportunity to hitch one of your legs up onto his hip, bringing you impossibly closer to the sensation you were craving. You whimpered as he nipped at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth to relieve the pain. He let his mouth wander, just as yours did to him, across your jaw, down your throat, and sucking on the skin in his path. His mouth was euphoric in every way, and you craved his mouth on you at all times.

He tugged at your tank top, asking for permission without taking the time to make the words. You huffed “You too,” before working to peel the fabric off of you. Josh quickly detached from you to rid himself of his own shirt, and when the job was completed, he sucked in a gasp at the sight of your completely exposed chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered in awe, trailing a shaky hand up your stomach to hesitantly cup one of your breasts.

You blushed and sighed as you felt his thumb graze your nipple. Your hand mirrored his actions, traveling from his abdomen to his torso, across his tan shoulder to rest on the back of his neck. You couldn’t make a response before he lowered to attach his mouth to the nub he had just brushed against.

The wet, warm feeling of his tongue on your body made your back arch into him. You held him to you while he worked, looking up at you with wide eyes to make sure you were feeling as good as he hoped. Your legs wrapped around him almost reflexively, and you ground yourself against him, already losing yourself in the feeling of his mouth on you and his cock barely rubbing against you.

While Josh moved to pay equal attention to the opposite breast, you squirmed under him in an attempt to rid yourself of your shorts and underwear, hoping to eliminate another barrier that existed between you. It was a grueling task, but once the pieces of clothing were removed, you snaked a hand to your dripping core to relieve yourself of the ache that Josh had caused.

You had only rubbed a few circles on your clit when you felt him tightly grab your wrist and pull away from you.

“Hey,” he chided, raising your hand to pin above you. “Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You were breathless, unable to make words to explain yourself or relent to his wishes. You settled for an eager nod, awaiting whatever else he had in store for you.

“Let me do the work,” he directed, lowering his hips to meet yours again. He smirked as you shuddered a breath and strained against his hold on your wrists. “What do you want, baby?”

“Your mouth.” The words came out choked and fragmented, but it was the best you could do initially with the desire bubbling in you. “Please, let me have your mouth, Josh.”

Without another word, he released your hands and dropped down to your core, leaving wet kisses in his path. He hovered there briefly, looking up at you and enjoying the sight of your chest heaving as you tried to control your breathing. His warm breath fanned across your skin, and he hooked his arms under your legs. His grip on your hips was firm before he even touched you, but you soon understood why.

As soon as his mouth began to lap at you, you felt as if you’d burst at the seams. He had his hands pressed into your skin because he knew you’d be a squirming mess once you finally got what you wanted. He was holding you down to the mattress, and the restraint only added to your arousal.

Your hands found his hair again, using the curls as reins both to serve as an outlet or source of grounding, and to have an excuse to keep your hands on him in any way possible. With every tug against his locks, you found that he moaned into you, and you used that to your advantage.

His kitten licks turned hungry, not letting you prepare for a new pace before he set it. You felt a finger glide through your folds, gathering your arousal mixed with his saliva, before pressing into your entrance. The combination of his mouth on your clit and his finger inside of you was nearly enough to have you withering immediately, but it was when you looked down at him again that you almost lost yourself.

Josh’s eyes were closed, eyelashes fluttering as he focused on your pleasure. He was groaning even when you weren’t pulling his hair, and you eventually found the reason why. His hips were bucking into the bed, desperately trying to gain some friction while still concentrating on you. The sight made the sensation much more intense, with the addition of his finger curling inside you.

You whimpered, “Josh- fuck - I’m gonna-”

He cut you off with another low moan that vibrated against you and permitted you to let go. You unraveled as he sucked your clit into your mouth, feeling you pulse around his finger and against his tongue. It was different than you had ever experienced, and you knew you would never get enough of him.

He slowed his movements, working you through your orgasm and back to the present. His chin glistened with your release, and he had a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His grin was one of satisfaction, and you could still feel the mattress moving slightly from him slowly fucking himself against it. You felt empty as soon as his finger was removed from you, but he quickly moved to bring it to your lips.

“Taste how sweet you are, mama,” he rasped. His voice matched his fucked out expression, even though you hadn’t touched him yet.

You took his finger into your mouth, sucking on the digit fervently and moaning around it. You watched him, soaking in the admiration he was showing you with the prideful look in his eyes. He smiled down at you while you licked the juices off of him.

“My sweet girl,” he praised. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He removed his hand, and you immediately scrambled to grasp the waistband of his pants. The desire to have him in your mouth was only halfway fulfilled by his finger, and when that was taken away from you, the craving was back with a vengeance.

“Slow down,” he cooed. “Tell me what to do.”

“Can I make you feel good? I want to get you off-”

“And you will,” he promised, stilling your hands and taking over the job of undressing himself. “I want this to be about you.”

It made you blush to see him completely exposed to you. Josh was your best friend, someone you had regrettably never imagined in this way before. But now that you had him, right here in front of you, you wanted him enough to make up for the years lost. It was overwhelming in the best way, and your heart lurched at the thought of having him all to yourself.

He chuckled as he saw you ogling at his form, and he reached down to caress one of your warm cheeks as if he was trying to soothe the blood that had rushed there. He closed the distance, pausing just inches away from your face.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, gazing into your eyes like he’d never be able to again. You nodded, breathing a faint word of compliance before he kissed you again.

Your lips connected again, and you could still taste yourself on him. His hand never left your cheek, but you could feel his other one reach under you to grab a handful of your ass. You lifted yourself to give him better access, but in the process, you rubbed your core against his hard, stiff cock, making both of you groan into each other’s mouths. You repeated the motion a few times, and you even felt Josh’s nails digging into your skin from the sensation. His grip moved from your cheek to cup the bottom of your chin in between his thumb and index finger, tightly grasping the underside of your jaw.

You reached between your bodies, taking him into your hands and lining him with your entrance. He took the hint and, without releasing your lips from his, pushed his hips forward. Your hands returned to the back of his neck, and you whined with the burning stretch of him inside you. He swallowed each of the noises until you had to pull away for air.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered to you while you panted against his lips. He didn’t dare move, but he let his forehead rest against yours while he waited on the go-ahead. You stayed like that until you believed you were ready, nodding once the majority of the stinging had subsided.

Josh started at a gentle pace, but it quickly grew into something more intense, more passionate. He released your jaw from his hand, instead using it to prop himself up and gain better control of his movements. The other was still clutching onto your thigh, keeping it in place on his hip even though you wouldn’t unwrap your legs from him until he told you to. The angle allowed him to reach deeper inside you, and you could already feel yourself climbing that hill all over again.

For a while, he had his head tucked into your neck, his facial hair tickling you slightly as he kissed and sucked on the skin. Eventually, though, he missed seeing your face, so he pulled away to look at you.

His eyebrows were furrowed, his nose scrunched ever so slightly, and his lips were open to sing sweet praises to you. His curls bounced with each thrust. He looked like an angel, one that was speaking the gospel to you in the most sinful way. You held his face in your hands, swiping his parted lips with your thumb before he nuzzled into you to kiss your palm.

“I love you, Bip,” he murmured. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

The saccharine tone mixed with the lewd sounds created from your bodies made you blush even more than his words did. He had longed for this moment, and you were glad to give it to him. You pulled his face back down to give him another kiss.

“I love you, too,” you spoke against his lips.

He gave you another peck before sitting back on his calves, grabbing both of your hips and pulling you to meet his thrusts, which were quickly becoming sloppy. You knew you were getting close, and you brought your hands to play with your nipples to bring yourself even closer

“I can feel you, baby. I’m almost there, too.”

With the angle, the pace, and the delicious friction of his groin rubbing against your clit, you couldn’t imagine any of it getting better.

“P-please, don’t stop,” you stuttered. You threw your hands to his forearms, gripping and clawing at him as the burning ache in your core was growing with each thrust.

“I won’t. Let yourself go. I’m here, I’m not leaving.” He spoke in broken sentences, almost as if he was repeating mantras to you to reassure you of his presence.

And it worked. You both came together in unison, moaning each other’s names, repeating words of praise and affection, cursing at the overstimulation that caused him to still himself inside you. His lowering himself to catch your lips into another kiss of passion was almost automatic. He didn’t move, he only let the connection say all of the things he wasn’t able to put into words yet.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close until he was ready to detach himself from you. Once your lips separated, he tucked his head back into your neck to complete the embrace.

“I really do love you, Joshua. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” you said into his neck.

You felt him shake his head as he shushed you. “We’re here now. That’s all I need.”

–

The morning came much too soon. You had spent the rest of the previous day wrapped up with him, doing whatever you felt like doing, if anything at all. You should’ve felt as if you had spent forever with him in your bed, but when you woke up with Josh’s alarm, you realized just how fast time with him flew.

Like him, you were sad about the morning coming. You had spent such a short time with his presence, but you had quickly become accustomed to having him around. Domestic wasn’t the right word for it. Everything just felt so right.

Josh had been your rock when things were uncertain, and he quickly became your shelter in a time of storm. Having him near you, being with him in all ways possible, was natural, and you were upset that you had wasted so much time dancing around your emotions.

You had spent the morning working with him to pack his things before he had to fly back to finish the tour. You were grabbing things from your bathroom while he was folding his clothes and stuffing them back into the suitcase, going through your living room and kitchen to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. You only found the marigold candle, which he insisted you keep, telling you to light it when you missed him.

Now you stood outside his Jeep, bags packed and inside, engine running and A/C on to cool. You were in front of him, and he was propped against the car, holding your hands while you both waited for the inevitable.

“When will I get to see you again?” You murmured, tears threatening to spill over. You had done so well with not getting emotional the whole morning, but now, it was hard to hold back.

He shrugged and grazed his thumb on top of your hand. “You could always come to a show or two.”

You had already been tentative about going on tour to begin with, but now, with the budding new relationship - and the old one that was still wilting - you were much too hesitant to go watch them perform, even if just for a single show.

Upon seeing your uncertainty, he released a knowing sigh and squeezed your hands. “I’ll call you. Just like old times.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He released your hands to wrap his arms around your neck, engulfing you into another embrace that would hopefully hold out until the next time you got to see him. You felt him kiss the top of your head before pulling away after what seemed like hours. His brown eyes searched yours with sincerity, and you could see they were filled with tears as well.

You huffed a laugh at yourself, amused that seeing him in an emotional state had your heart aching. You looked away as you felt a single tear slip down your cheek, and you removed one of your hands from around him to wipe it away before he noticed. But he did notice, and he smiled at you in response. He took his fingers and lightly tilted your face back to him so he could continue looking into your eyes. Soon, he brought his lips to yours, sharing another passionate, yet delicate kiss in hopes that he’d get another chance to soon.

part 9>>>

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shyficwriter · 3 years

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Don’t hide Loki’s things

Marvel fanfic | Loki x Reader

Summary: Reader is sassing Loki and hides his stuff, prompting a chase where Loki ends up tickling reader to reveal the location of his things

Author’s Note: Prompt that won first place in the poll (Option: Loki 2). Second place (GOTG 6) will come shortly, and I’m still deciding how I want to go about a tie breaker for 3rd place lol. Based off prompt from @delightfulfics

Word Count: 1,336

“Go away.” Loki said in frustration, rolling his eyes after the second paper ball hit him in the back of the head. He was being a sour puss lately, largely due to boredom of not being trusted to join the other Avengers on missions, and you thought maybe if you could convince him to do an activity that he might start being a little cheerier, or at least a little less sour.

You moved to stand in front of him and put on your best ‘cute and innocent’ face as you lowered the book he was reading. “Aw, you know you'd be bored without me.”

“Boredom would be a most welcome friend compared to your presence at the moment.” Loki said, pulling back his book and turning so his back was facing you again.

You turned with him, grinning. “Well that’s not nice. Why don’t you put down the book and we can do something. We could watch a movie?”

“I’m not interested in your moving pictures. One can only watch the reptilian movie so many times.”

“Hey, Jurassic Park is a classic, Lucky Charms.” You grinned, trying to provoke him, knowing Loki hated it when you called him by that name.

Loki looked up at you with dark eyes. You finally got his attention. Putting down his book his stood, towering over you. “Well if you insist on bothering me, then I suppose I’ll go for a walk.”

“Cool! Let’s go to-”

“Alone.”

The words came from his voice, but the man in front of you did not move his mouth at all. You heard the door shut behind you and watched in confusion as his form shimmered away before your eyes.

Realizing you had been tricked you didn’t bother to chase him down, instead you turned your attention to the book he had been reading, and you got an idea.

***

About an hour later, you heard Loki return. From your place on the couch you could hear his footsteps walking to his room, some shuffling noises, and then slightly angrier footsteps exiting his room and walking in your direction as his called out your name.

His eyes were narrowed as he asked if you had seen his book anywhere.

“What book? Can you be more specific?” you grinned, mostly from nerves than from anything else. You knew you sucked at lying.

He stepped toward you, prompting you to get up from the couch and pretend you needed something from the other side of the room.

“You know very well what book, and I’m not going to entertain the notion that you didn’t take it, now where did you put it?”

You reached the other side of the room and you wasted no time opening the door, hearing him already approaching you. You quickly made your way through it without a word and shut it behind you and took off running, nervous giggles bubbling up your throat as you heard him rip open the door and sternly call your name.

You rounded a corner and ducked into a stairwell. You could hear Loki calling your name as you descended the stairs. You considered camping out there for a little bit until you heard the door above you open just as you reached the bottom of the flight. Startled, you looked up to see Loki, almost surprised that he had such a close tail on you, but you supposed that’s what you got for not looking behind you as you ran. With a squeak you ripped open the door and bolted, nearly knocking into Happy as you did so.

“Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Where’s the fire?” He called.

“No fire,” you panted. Just then Loki shot out of the stairwell, a playful look of murder in eyes. You squeaked out, “Loki!” as the rest of your answer to Happy and took off again.

You know you couldn’t outrun the god, so you ducked into the nearest room, not sticking around long enough to see what happened to Happy, knowing that he’d probably be dumb enough to try and stop Loki. You knew Loki wouldn’t hurt him, but you also knew he wasn’t going to let him stand in the way of his target either.

[Little did you know, Loki just calmly walked up to Happy, who looked at him suspiciously, but after Loki explained that you two “were playing a simple game of tag” and he was “it” Happy simply let him pass. Oh, gullible Happy...]

You didn’t waste time. You were grateful to see that you had ducked into a room with another door, and even luckier, it wasn’t a closet. Before you ran out into the hall, you thought better. Surely Loki saw you run into this room. He’d be there any second. Instead, you left the door wide open and went instead to crouch behind the large drink bar on the right side of the room, suddenly grateful for Tony’s over-abundance of rooms for parties.

Just as you thought, Loki entered the room not long after. Not peeking, as you didn’t want to accidentally be seen, you still heard him chuckle as he no doubt fell for your plan for him to think you ran on through, before he ran though the door himself.

You waited just a bit to make sure he was gone before you quickly got up to walk back out the door you had entered in, intent to run back up to the stairs to gain a larger head start on Loki, maybe hide away in Steve or Nat’s rooms, somewhere Loki might not think to look.

However, the moment you walked out the door and softly closed it behind you, you were startled by a loud “Boo!” shouted behind you. Clutching your heart, your eyes widened in horror as you spun around to find Loki standing there.

Damn! He hadn’t fallen for your trick, you had fallen for his trick!

Before you could take off, Loki caught you by the arm, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I’ll give you one chance, my dear. Where’s my book?”

Nervous giggles poured from your mouth as you said, “Uh... What book?”

Loki tutted, “That was a mistake.” and before you had a chance to think his fingers flew to your ribs, tickling them mercilessly.

You squealed, backing into the door you had just closed, and now very much wishing you hadn’t and foolishly thinking you might have been able to escape your torment if you had left it open. You grasped at his wrists, trying in vain to smack him away as you shrieked for him to stop.

“You had a chance, now you’re learning why it’s not wise to steal from the God of Mischief.” There was laughter in his voice. You apparently had succeeded in your goal to cure him of his sourness, but by god, at what cost?

You slid down to the floor and he only followed you down, laughing with you as you laughed your head off and begged for mercy when his fingers began to attack your stomach.

“You better tell me where you hid my book, and give me an apology for taking it in the first place, otherwise I can just stay here and find all your most sensitive areas to make you laugh and squeal for hours.”

He may have been the god of lies but you had no doubt he’d keep true to his word this time. Breathlessly you cried out, “OKAY! Okay! I give up! Second floor! Coat closet! I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry!”

Loki stopped with a grin, looking down at you as you gasped for air. “Thank you,” he said, but you noticed he didn’t get up, he was still straddling you, looking down at you and grinning that grin of his that he wore when he was up to no good.

He spoke again, “But, to make sure you’ve fully learned your lesson...”

Your eyes widened as he grinned wider. “WAIT-”

But of course, he didn’t.

#loki fanfic #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel fanfic #god of mischief #loki #x reader

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writersrealmbts · 3 years

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Diamond Tears and Little Wings: Part 6

Description: You’re a fairy, taken in by BTS. You need lots of love and care, otherwise your light will fade and you turn to stone. Between the seven of them, you should never feel unloved. Right?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 02/25/2021

Tags: bts x reader, ot7

Fluff: 1,412 words

A/N: One of these days I’ll get back into the swing of Clearwater Springs. Anyway, this is part 6 of 7, so we’re almost done! Yay!

There was some activity inside, but a few moments after you entered the staff started excusing themselves.

At first the boys didn’t seem to notice, gathering their things and talking about nonsense things as though nervous. Anticipating.

Emotional.

Then you heard a gasp.

And Namjoon was whipping around, rushing away from the mirror, and hugging you tightly, his breathing labored but completely wordless.

The others were quick to pull the two of you further into the room so that there was room for all of them in the group hug.

Finally breaking out of the group hug, Namjoon gently kissed you on the lips. “We missed you so much, baby.”

You just sobbed in response, letting yourself be turned into Jin’s firm embrace.

Then Yoongi’s gentle hug.

Hobi’s tight hug, with little kisses pressed into your hair.

Taehyung, with a soft peck to the lips and a promise to never lose you again.

Jungkook, fierce and protective, holding you until Jimin made a desperate sort of choked noise.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Jimin choked out, wrapped completely around you, face nuzzled in.

But when you were out of their embrace, they could see the bruising where the makeup had wiped away.

You stutteringly explained everything that had happened, and that Alena was the family of a fairy friend who had taken you in so that they wouldn’t blame her. You told them about hearing their CD’s and changing Cupcake’s name to Keyowo, the fairies at the market figuring out who you were before you did, and the family you had lived with.

Hobi’s mouth was a triangle.

“Now can we plan murder?” Yoongi asked, glowering at the floor and trying to discretely wipe away his tears.

“Aish,” Jin sighed, closing his eyes.

“That wasn’t a no,” Taehyung commented.

“No murder. Just take me home,” You intervened when you saw Hoseok was contemplating it. You weren’t going to let your sunshine dim himself with that sort of guilt. Or any of your boys for that matter. “Please? I just want to be home.”

Jungkook pulled you back to him, pressing a kiss firmly to your lips, and sighing in relief when he pulled away. “I thought I’d never get to do that.”

Then you were drowning in kisses from the three youngest boys, and you were totally drunk on it.

“Alright, enough, we don’t need her to have a mental implosion like last time,” Jin basically shoved Jungkook onto the couch and elbowed his way between the other two. “Let’s finish getting cleaned up, then she can tell her friend that she’s going back to the hotel with us tonight and we’ll pick up her stuff tomorrow. She’ll stay in Jimin’s room tonight—”

Taehyung and Jungkook and someone else started protesting but Jin quickly cut them off.

“—But only because he’s been doing so poorly and they could both do with some extra cuddles. She’s been gone a while so we can’t overwhelm her with an abundance of love right off the bat. She’s already looking a little overwhelmed.”

“Hyung is right,” Namjoon chimed in, sounding hoarse. “We have another concert tomorrow, too. We should get back and get some rest.”

The boys reluctantly agreed and started gathering their things.

You were usually holding onto one of their hands, not willing to let go for anything.

Alena was completely understanding, and the boys asked a couple of the security guards to walk her to her car for safety.

Then you were in the van with Jimin and Jungkook, and you kept wiping Jungkook’s tears with your coat sleeve so it was quite damp by the time you arrived at the hotel, and your shoulder was damp from Jimin crying on it.

But things were calmer after Jimin had showered, and eaten (something you did with him because you were honestly worried), and then you cuddled up with him in bed much earlier than he probably would have normally gone to sleep.

Jimin sighed shakily as he held you tightly. “I kept thinking I could find you. You couldn’t be far. If I just searched long enough I could find you and bring you home and everything would be okay again. I wasn’t really in my right mind for a lot of it. I had a bad fever for a few weeks and they had to put me on some medicine for a while. I’m better than I was, don’t worry, I just…it took me a while to work through it all.”

You kissed his shoulder since it was all you could kiss in the tight embrace, then gently pushed away, and you blew a little sleep dust at him—just as you had given each of the other boys a little sleep dust to use when they were in bed—to ensure that he would sleep well.

And in the morning, you made sure Jimin ate breakfast, feeding him each bite because he liked that and you completely understood why. But you needed to see him eat because he had felt so bony all through the night.

All of the boys were awake (though the level of awareness varied quite widely), and all of them insisted on going with you back to Frida’s house to get your things.

None of them were very happy about your bruises, especially since they were far more visible without any makeup.

But they were very kind to Alena, Agnar, and Frida, and they cooed over Keyowo, apologizing again that you couldn’t bring him with you.

Agnar didn’t look at all sorry, even though he also apologized about you not being able to take Keyowo. But he also promised to take good care of him, and that was enough for you.

You had your boys back.

Then you were back at the hotel, in pixie form, resting in Yoongi’s room until it was time for their concert, then you were in Jin’s room, playing games because he had his computer and you were not about to subject yourself to a second concert. You’d barely survived the first one.

But it wasn’t bad for them to be gone from you. You knew that their love for you was greater than what a few hours separation would constitute.

That night they were all gathered in Jin’s room, catching you up on everything that had happened since the moment they had taken you away. How the company came around, how badly the boys fared themselves and had to catch each other before they all crumbled. You could tell there were things they were holding back, especially given what Jimin had already told you.

Then they approached the topic of the rest of the tour.

You quickly assured them that you were fine with them finishing it as long as you could be with them. “Home is where the heart is, right? Well, you guys are my heart and you’re here. I couldn’t break your hearts just because you wanted to give me what I asked for and take me back to Korea. Korea is just a place. It just happens to be the place of the people who love me enough that I’m able to love them in return.”

And then Hoseok was crying again.

You flew over to him, in a smaller form because it had honestly been weeks since you were small and now you had to work your way down again.

He cuddled you close and pressed little kisses to your face and hair, upset but not able to voice the reason. Not that there was much mystery regarding the reason.

When he had calmed down some, you cupped his face in your hands and gently kissed him, not missing the way his breath hitched or the tiny sound he made. The last to have a real kiss, your poor sunshine.

And all of you spent the night together, because apparently the boys were out of willpower—though they still needed some magic sleeping dust to get to sleep at a decent time.

Yoongi easily claimed a spot beside you, and Taehyung was quick to claim your other side.

Jimin huffed and ended up laying on top of all three of you.

Jungkook was pressed against Tae’s back.

Hoseok slept next to Jungkook.

Jin backhugged Namjoon and took him down, essentially initially forcing him to cuddle Yoongi, but the two switched places and Jin slept with his back against Yoongi’s, holding onto Namjoon.

Your lovely boys.

–

Previous ~ Next

Masterlist - ot7 Masterpost

Tagging: @alex–awesome–22, @bryvada, @missmoxxiesworld @subzerobts @forvever-ddaeng @vividwoosan @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @minmeowmeowcuddles @kpopfictrash @castlewolfsbane @scatkpoptrash @knjhe @i-dont-even-know-fck @soulphoenix1618 @kerikaaria @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @reinaxans @mcusuperfreak

If you would like to be tagged: DTLW Taglist (please make sure you can be tagged, I’m no longer hunting people down, ALSO PLEASE NOTE THERE’S ONLY ONE PART LEFT)

#fairy au #bts fic #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 #ot7 x reader #fairy!reader #diamond tears and little wings #diamondtearsandlittlewings fic #namjoon #jin #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #suga #jungkook #jimin #taehyung

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 1

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo... a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - mentions of a verbally abusive relationship

Author’s note: Happy November 1st! Here is chapter one of December Magic. I am so so grateful for how many people have asked to be part of a taglist/enjoyed the prologue. It makes me so happy. If you want to be tagged in future parts please let me know! Enjoy x

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ONE - NEXT

Waking up on December 1st, you had no idea what was in store for you. You had no idea how the coming month would change your life forever.

It was that time of the year again. Your favourite time of year, and boy were you a sucker for tradition. Any excuse to light your cinnamon and pinecone scented candles and wear the cosiest wooliest sweaters you could find. The time of year where you would search around in storage for your favourite cashmere gloves, tartan scarf and faux fur hat. It was the time of year where you had to have your car defrosted every morning. The thought of your peppermint mocha warming your hands as you did your Christmas shopping was something to look forward to all year round.

The crisp cool air hung above your shoulders. Washington DC felt bigger than life when you were amongst the bustling December crowds, city life filled with people running around trying to get sorted in time for Christmas. The whole city was painted in thick layers of white snow and an abundance of glittering fairy lights. WHAM’s new Christmas song was a number one hit and the catchy melody filled up the department store on every main street corner. But this year was different to any other.

“You can’t pay, you can’t live here. You have three days to box up your stuff before you’re evicted.” Your landlord, Tristan, said sternly, his voice completely monotone and with no empathy whatsoever. You knew it was coming. You had determined that this was your karma.

“Please, it’s Christmas and I’ve just been laid off from my job. You know my family don’t live in the state and-”

“Not my problem,” Tristan snapped back, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had a habit of interrupting you, but doing so at this very moment irked you like no other time. “You’re a big girl. Figure it out.” And with that, he slammed his door in your face.

You stood there momentarily trying to process the confrontation that had just occurred between not only your landlord, but also ex-boyfriend, Tristan. You consider yourself lucky to have a place as nice as your apartment. It was located right in the centre of Washington DC, a two bedroom, one bathroom, with an outstanding view of the city. You always admired how it looked at night, with eccentric tall buildings lighting up the skyline. But now you were essentially made homeless, and you knew for a fact that Tristan was getting a rise out of making you suffer like this.

That’s exactly why you broke up with him. He liked to have power over you, and everyone else he met. He wanted to be the top man. He wanted to be feared; and by the rest of the people in the building? He was. But by you, not so much. His attempts to make you scared were foolish and you wouldn’t stand for it. You’d think for someone who made a living from robbing people of their hard earned money, they would be able to afford a better anniversary dinner than Pizza Hut— but no. The two of you sat in the restaurant and you were lazily dipping your nachos into the cheese sauce when he came out with something preposterous.

“I’m thinking about upping rent,” Tristan informed you with his signature smile. “By forty percent.”

You almost choked on your food. “Forty percent?!” you gasped, covering your mouth as you coughed slightly. “You can’t do that!” You knew that you could get out of paying it because, girlfriend privilege. But you were also aware of the financial status of your neighbours. The family of five who could barely afford to put food on the table, and the teenage boy who had to drop out of school to work and make an earning so he could provide medication for his sick mother. They were already struggling and with a rent rise, you just knew they wouldn't be able to take it.

“And why not?” Tristan raised an eyebrow quizzically, taking a bite of the floppy slice of pizza. You scrunch your nose up as you watched him eat with his mouth open, bits of cheese falling out and onto the table.

“Because it’s not fair,” You told him. “It’s greedy. If you need extra cash you could always look for another job. Even if it’s just part time! I heard Black Gold Cooperative are hiring and you just know the pay will be good-”

Tristan slammed his fists on the table, making you jump at his sudden movement. A few heads turned to face you both and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Black Gold Cooperative?” He snarled. “And work for that self righteous asshole Maxwell Lord? I don’t think so, sweetie.”

You sighed at his audacity to call anyone else self righteous before giving the chance to check his own behaviour.

“It was just a suggestion.” You mumbled, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Right, because you don’t think being a landlord is a real job.” Tristan said nastily. His tone of voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was doing it again. He was speaking down to you because it was the only way he could exert power over you. “Says the girl who pours coffee all day and only works twenty hours a week and barely makes enough to avoid a goddamn bowl of pasta from Pizza Hut.” He pointed at your bowl of nachos that you had selected from the Starters menu.

You were getting really sick of his attitude. “It’s dishonest work.” You growled back at him. “You overcharge families and people who can barely get by just so they can have a roof over their head! Don’t you see how immoral that is?”

“Someone has to do it.” He shrugged cooly, taking a sip of his red wine.

“But you’re going about it the wrong way!”

“Right.” Tristan stood up and grabbed your arm. He pulled you out of your chair and dragged you outside of the restaurant.

“Let go of me!” You cried out, yanking your arm out of his hard grip. You rubbed where his fingers had dug into your skin and had no doubt it would leave a bruise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is the broke ass barista telling me how to do my job? You’re the one to talk. You’re nothing. And you’d be nothing without me. Look at yourself,” Tristan scoffed, and suddenly he was making you feel very self conscious. “You were foolish enough to think you could move to DC and make something of yourself. You have ambition but you don’t know how to use it. And the way you tried to embarrass me during our anniversary dinner…” He was doing what he always did. Villainsing you.

“I never want to see you again.” You spat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your voice was shaky but you didn't want to break down in front of him. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

“That’ll be hard since we live in the same building,” he rolled his eyes and tried grabbing your hand again but you flinched away, fear prevailing in your eyes. “Oh come on baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’m calling a cab. And don’t bother calling me. See you around Tristan.”

And that was the last time you had seen Tristan, until today— talk about bad break-ups.

You shuffled upstairs back to your apartment and slumped against the door trying to figure out how you were going to find a new place to live in three days. Maybe if you found a job you could persuade Tristan to let you stay a little longer. You knew that's what he wanted. Everything he had done, everything he said, was to scare you. But Tristan was attached and despite threatening to evict you, he didn't want to see you leave.

You wanted out. Your apartment was filled with bad memories and maybe this was your opportunity to start fresh. This could be your calling. But judging from your current situation and the time of year, you figured you’d be lucky just finding a roadside motel to spend Christmas day in— and you really didn't want that. You grabbed the phone book from under your coffee table and walked over to the dial up phone hung by the kitchen door. Locating one of the most popular property marketplaces in central DC, you dialled up and found your fingers twirling in the telephone wire.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hello!” an older sounding lady chirped on the other end of the line. “How can I be of service?”

“I um, I gotta find a place to live— and fast. I’m getting evicted and my budget, well, I don’t have a lot-” your eyes scanned the living room as you weighed up possible things you could sell for just a little more cash.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. We’re shut for the holidays and there's no place in DC that will help you find a place before new year,” She said sadly and you couldn't believe your bad luck. No place at all? “It really is a shame that you're being evicted, but if you drop into our store after the new year, I’d love to help you find a place that is suitable for you and your budget!”

You were left rendered speechless. “I- I’m going to be homeless.” you said to yourself, the fact finally dawning on you. You knew that you wouldn't ever be truly homeless and that Tristan would be more than happy to let you stay with him during the holiday season but the thought of having to go back to him knocked you sick. You’d rather freeze on a street corner than feel his embrace once more. You wondered if you could travel back home to see your family. “Hey, are there any train trips or flights to Oregon?” you asked.

“Nope,” the lady popped her p and she sounded far too cheery for your liking. “Tickets have been sold out for months. I could get you a flight for January 12th?”

“No.” you mumbled. “My car broke down… but what are the chances I could get a cabbie to Oregon?”

“You want to get a cab to Oregon?” The woman on the other end laughed in disbelief, and you supposed that could be justified. “You can't be serious. Besides, Astoria bridge has been closed down due to last week's snow storm and I can't see it reopening until after the snow has cleared. Heaven knows when that will be.”

Tristan had really caught you in a loop. “So there is no way I can find a place to stay, nor travel to Oregon, at all, this month?”

“I’m sorry dear.”

“Okay, well thank you for your help.” You said wistfully, feeling dread forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Merry Christmas and have a hap-” You hung up on her.

You weren't ready to give up hope just yet. If there was one thing you always clung on to, it was faith. Your belief that everything happens for a reason and everything is sure to work out for the best in the end. You figured you could go job hunting and then tell Tristan you would be able to pay him double once you got your first paycheck. No, it wasn't ideal but what other choice did you have?

You grabbed your jacket and purse before leaving your apartment. Did you have a plan? No. You didn't even have your resumé with you.

You plodged your feet through the snow, your socks dampening even through your boots but finally made it to the bustling main street. You looked in the windows of all the different department stores and in desperate search for hiring signs, even going inside and inquiring with members of staff— but there were no positions available.

Just then, you found yourself outside of Black Gold Cooperative and you remembered that they were hiring. Granted, you didn't know what the position was, and figured you almost certainly didn't have the qualifications to work for such a prestigious business.

You looked up at the tall building, always feeling like an overwhelmed tiny insect when you stood next to it. It sparkled a sleek black and in a large, gold, cursive font BGC was displayed so high it looked over the whole city. It was certainly the tallest skyscraper you had ever seen with your own pair of eyes. In that moment, you almost backed down. But this wasn't a choice anymore and you had to shoot your shot. Just roll with it. You told yourself.

You were able to take a peek at the lobby in the double door entrance. Everything was marble with gold embellishments. If you hadn't known any better, you would've thought it was a palace. Trodding over the red carpet, you were stopped by a man’s arm, not allowing you to enter. “Name and business?" He asked, his voice rough. You looked up at him. Tall and broad, no hair and dressed in all black. A doorman that looked like a nightclub bodyguard. If you weren't intimidated you would've laughed.

“Sorry?” you asked, trying your best to sound as innocent and polite as could be.

“Name and business.” He repeated, his tone of voice the same. He didn't budge— still standing there with his arms folded against his chest. You weren't even sure if he was looking at you, with his black sunglasses hiding his face.

“Uhm,” you stood on your tip toes and took a glance at the clipboard which was pressed between his forearm and chest. Names that had been typewritten were printed on the page and most of them had been crossed out— bar one. You read out the name. “Barbara Minerva.” you said confidently. He looked at you for sure this time and pulled his glasses off, narrowing his eyes. He took the clipboard and checked for your fake name and sure enough, there it was.

“You’re Barbara Minerva?” he beckoned, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” you lied with a charming smile. “And my business is…. actually I'm here for a job interview.”

“Oh!” the man grinned, like something had clicked in his mind. He scribbled out Barbara's name on your clipboard and ushered you inside. “Mr Lord’s office is on the top floor. Best of luck Ms Minerva.”

When you entered the lobby, warmth washed over your body and you couldn't help but smile. It was all lit up with yellow fairy lights and an enormous twelve foot Christmas tree in the centre. The tree was decorated with red and golden baubles. It was simply magnificent and looked like it was straight out of a catalogue.

You walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. No way would you be walking up 22 flights of stairs to the top floor. You really couldn't believe you were even granted access to the building, nevermind the fact you now had an interview with the self acclaimed and prestigious mutli-billionaire Maxwell Lord. A feeling of dread filled your stomach. What if he caught on? What if he figured out you weren't this Barbara woman? Could you go to jail? You tried your best to shrug the feeling off and remain confident. To be honest, you'd rather spend Christmas locked away in a cell than with Tristan. You promised yourself that this would be worth it.

The top floor was sleek, a long and wide corridor with an office at the very end. Marble statues were dotted around, and the walls were filled with oil paintings bordered with solid gold frames. At the front, not too far from where the elevator had dropped you off, was a help desk. Three women with sleek hair and matching pencil skirts scoped you out, almost glaring at you. You were sure you noticed one of them stifle a laugh. But you were too mesmerised by your surroundings to care. Everywhere you looked was just so magnificent.

"Can I help you?" one of the ladies snapped you out of your thoughts. Your head bolted in their direction.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, pulling off your faux fur hat and sliding the gloves off your fingers. You shoved them hap-hazardly in your coat pocket. "I'm Barbara Minerva," you introduced yourself with the politest smile you could muster. "I have an interview with Maxwell Lord?"

The three girls gawked at you in silence. It was like you had grown a third head. "You have an interview with Mr Lord?" one of the women raised her eyebrows. She flicked her blonde long ponytail and settled a hand on her hip.

You hesitated, considering her rude attitude for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The three girls started at you for just a beat too long before one of them, with the sleekest ebony hair you had ever seen, handed you a document. "You need to sign this NDA." she said simply, rolling a pen over to you.

Your eyes scanned the document which just so happened to be very vague. "Why the need for a non disclosure agreement?" you beckoned. "It's just a job interview."

The blonde girl snorted and the ebony haired girl slapped her arm. "Yeah, just a job interview." The blonde assistant rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. "We don't make the rules, Mr Lord does. And we know better than to question him."

This was really odd. You wondered if it was really worth it but you had already come this far— you couldn't just walk out now. You sighed and signed your name over the NDA. The blonde girl let out a cackle.

"Is there a problem?" you questioned, stone faced and unamused.

Your heart was racing. These ladies were so pushy and you were certain that if it was going to go wrong at some point— it would be now.

"No, not at all," a girl with chestnut hair smiled. "That's just Stephanie being a bitch as per usual." The blonde girl, who you now could identify as Stephanie gasped.

"I am not a bitch!" Stephanie cried.

"You kinda are." The ebony haired girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Shut up Amanda!" Stephanie spat. Amanda rolled her eyes and blew a bubble of gum before analysing her nail beds.

"Brittany started it." Amanda accused and before you knew it, the three girls began to cat fight each other.

"I- I'm just going to take a seat over there." You said, trying to speak over the girls who were shouting at each other.

"Amanda you know Mr Lord hates it when you blow bubbles with your gum!" Stephanie accused, narrowing her eyes.

"She does it because he still won't let her blow him." Brittany cackled.

"That is not true." Amanda gasped again, shaking her head.

You felt yourself waver out of their little argument, truly taken by surprise at how unprofessional they were being. You expected higher standards from people who were employed by Maxwell Lord. You shuffled into the black leather sofa, trying to get cosy when the double doors to his office opened. You adjusted yourself, watching as a young looking girl walked out. She didn't make eye contact with anyone, her movements were almost robotic.

"How do you think she coped?" You heard Stephanie whisper.

"Look at her," Brittany replied. "She's a mess. I better go check on Mr Lord."

"No, I'll check on Mr Lord."

"NO, I'll check on Mr Lord."

Once again, you muffled out their argument and paid close attention to the girl. As she neared you, you saw her lipstick was smeared to one side and her cheeks were tear stained— black kohl eyeliner smudged just as much as her lipstick. Had she been crying? You felt your nerves increase and you picked up on the fact that she was walking with a limp. Noticing the three girls race to Maxwell's office, you took the chance to approach the young girl. You stood up and held your hand out.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked her, taking a compact mirror out of your purse and handing it to her. She shook her head, rejecting your sentiment. "What- uhm, what's he like?" You asked her hesitantly.

"He's just the way you imagine him to be." She told you with a shaky exhale. You rolled your shoulders back as you contemplated her words. You hadn't really thought much of Maxwell Lord. Of course, everyone in the world knew who he was. For generations, the Lord family had shares in the oil drilling enterprise, but Maxwell Lord IV made a name for himself when he bought out 90% of the oil fields around the world; his father only owning a measly and yet still impressive 15% before him. The front page of Forbes magazine three years in a row— practically the face of 80s television with his cheesy infomercials being broadcast on every channel, every time of the day. Everyone knew his face, they knew his voice, they knew Maxwell Lord. Stories about him graced the tabloids, speculating who his latest lover was, whether or not there had been a new strain on his family and what his financial earnings looked like circa 1984. "He's just getting cleaned up now," the girl informed you with hazy eyes. "Maybe do yourself a favour and bring yourself tissue."

"That bad huh?" you bit your finger anxiously.

"No, he's amazing." the girl swooned. "I just hope I get a call back."

Okay, now you were really confused. "Well, good luck." You offered her a warm smile but she just bit her lip and continued limping to the elevator. A few moments later, the three girls who manned the main desk approached you. Stephanie took a step forward, offering you quite possibly the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord will see you know."

Taglists: [comment or drop me an ask if here if you would like to be added]

December Magic: @goth-topic (im so sorry it won’t let me tag you) @kiwi-the-first @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-way

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord #maxwell lord smut #max lord x reader #max lord smut #december magic

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deewithani · 3 years

Text

A clone works overtime

Clone Trooper Toast Stories Volume 2

Pairing: Clone Trooper Toast x GN!Reader

Word count: Approx. 1.1k

Rating: G

Warnings: Very light violence

A/N: I have no idea how many troopers are required to be in the crematorium, but I'm saying it's a minimum of 2, since this is my canon and I can do what I want. This also exists in an AU where Toast survives, Order 66 doesn't happen, and happiness is in abundance, so no worries about Toast biting the big one. Toast and Reader are too pure and sweet for heavy angst. Slice of life/fluff for all time.

It had been a long time, too long, since you had seen your friend Toast. You had spent many months worth of mornings chatting with him over breakfast in the mess before he had been abruptly reassigned to the prison's crematorium. Apparently one of his brothers thought someone was still alive in one of the pods and fainted, busting his head on the console. That left an opening for a technician in the small room, and as it had traditionally been staffed with the some of the newest troopers Toast was picked for the job.

He had been working a strange rotating shift, and so far none of his off-duty time coincided with your own days off. His break and meal times weren't standard anymore either, but you waited in the mess anyway, watching the doors hoping that he would walk through with the bright smile he always had on his face. The main problem was the security procedures that were required for his new post. Standard operating procedure for the crematorium required that at least 2 troopers be on duty at all times, and breaks and meal times must be staggered, to help prevent security incidents. All these things together simply meant that you hadn't seen him in a while, and there was no way to plan any time together.

That didn't mean you didn't still get to talk on occasion, though. Toast didn't have a private comm, but he had your private comm information and he could sneak a comm to you every now and then to catch up, at least for a couple of minutes. He was also able to write you short notes on scraps of flimsi he could get other troopers to carry to you, and he sent you small gifts when he could, mostly cute little loth-cat doodles and folded flimsi trinkets made from the same scraps as the notes he sent.

He was sweet, and he held a special place in your heart.

You missed him terribly.

You were leaving the prison after a particularly long and stressful string of shifts, grateful for having a few days off, when one of the troopers Toast was closest with came to you just as you stepped outside the doors with another small scrap of flimsi. He didn't stop to chat, continuing on his way as you stood and read the scrap. There never was much room on these scraps for many words, but this was the shortest note you had ever received. 'Talk to Ether' was scrawled in Toast's neat, tiny handwriting, and a tiny loth-cat face was smiling in the corner. You couldn't go home now, you absolutely had to talk to Ether. Excitement bloomed in your heart, and you quickly turned on your heel and told the guards you needed to return to your work locker as an excuse to go back in the prison.

You hoped beyond hope that you could find Ether easily. He wasn't your favorite person, but he loved his brothers and was committed to keeping up morale by helping his brothers in any small way he could. You walked down hallway after hallway, peeking in doors and getting quizzical looks from many of the troopers working. There were many places troopers, off duty and on, congregated, so your first stop was the communications room. You opened the door and looked in, but Ether wasn't with this group of brothers. “Hey, has anyone seen Ether? I need to talk to him before I leave.” One trooper out of the group looked up from his work and responded “Yeah, he was here about an hour ago, he was headed to the training room, last I knew.”

As you weaved through the corridors of the prison you were hopeful that Ether had good news to tell you. Most news you heard wasn't, but you were thankful Toast was in a job that less dangerous than working on the floor. At least you hoped it was.

You walked for what felt like hours, in reality only a few minutes, when you reached the door of the training room. You could hear something heavy hit the ground, and the muffled cheers of troopers whose voices you've come to recognize over all others. Opening the door you saw two troopers grappling in the middle of the room, Ether and Happy, a boisterous trooper who was always smacking his brothers on the back and pulling them in to huge bear hugs. Happy had Ether in a bear hug at that moment, but it was not a hug given in love. Suddenly Happy crouched low and picked Ether up with ease, planting him on his back, hard, on the mat. Ether struggled to catch the breath that was knocked out of him as his brothers cheered Happy's win.

With the sparring match over, troopers started filing out of the training room. Ether laid in the middle of the floor for a few moments before he rolled over and stood up, then he walked over to you with an easy smile on his face. “Toast will be off duty in 5 hours and is off all day tomorrow. He'll meet you in the mess.” He followed his brothers out the door, leaving you alone in the room.

It was an easy decision to stay, so you headed to the mess. It was quiet when you arrived, most troopers had a set schedule and it was nearing time for one of the sleep cycles to begin, so you would be unbothered while you waited until he was off duty, and you decided to lay your head down on a table and close your eyes, just to rest for a moment.

You didn't think you had fallen asleep until you were jolted awake by a gentle shake to your shoulder, and you looked up to see the smiling face of the trooper who didn't know he held your heart.

“I'm so sorry I haven't been able to have breakfast with you in a while, cyar'ika. My schedule is a mess, but it's supposed to get a bit better.” Toast promised you. “And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in a note. It's not safe to write down things like that.” You looked up at him and returned his sweet smile. “It's OK,” you said,”you've got a tough job. I'm just glad we can spend some time together again. Let's go get some breakfast now. My treat!”

You left the prison in the early morning hours happy, walking to the greasy spoon down the street with your favorite person. You'll ask him what cyar'ika means later.

———

Taglist:

@latenightsthoughtsnstuff @gummywurme @bobabitch88 @the-empress-strikes-back @tacticalsparkles

If anyone wants added to my taglist, let me know, and if I you asked me to tag you and I forgot please bonk me on the head ☺️

#toast clone x reader #clone trooper toast x reader #toast x reader #gender neutral reader #toast clone is love #toast clone is life

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summonerscenarios · 3 years

Note

hi juno, i just saw sugar cubes with cat motifs that could double as emergency snacks on twitter today and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen!! that being said, how would the feline transients (of your choosing ofc) would react to MC giving them those cat-shaped sugar cubes for their Valentine gift? thank you in advance! (´ ∀ ` *)

sdfghjgf yikes it’s like 1am but IT STILL COUNTS. HAPPY VALENTINES FOLKS hope ya’ll are treating yourselves with the love and appreciation you deserve!! and here’s a lil post for the day, hope ya like it~!

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Durga

With Valentines coming up, Durga wanted to be one of the first to give you a present for the holiday, which means of course she’s gotta be the first to get there and get you something to blow the rest of the competition out of the water. It looks like you had the same idea however, as the pair of you just about barge headfirst into one another right outside of the Yoyogi dorms, sending the pair of you, and your respective gifts, spilling across the floor. It’s a humorous flurry of asking why the other got there so early, apologizing for the collision as the pair of you drop to your knees and check on the packages, and in the mixup Durga ends up picking up your package instead of her own.

Thankfully, the contents haven’t spilled over but the packaging is more than a little ruffled, and as her thumbs move to smooth the wrapping back out she spots the little name scribbled into the top corner. Her name, to be precise.

Durga lifts her head up to look over at you as you hold up her package, and from the expression on your face as you look at the little attached tag that she’d scrawled your name onto, you’re just as surprised as she is. You can’t help but laugh - what are the chances that you both ended up running into each other after looking for the other? Durga finds herself laughing along too at the sight of your grinning, and once it dies down you start urging her to open up her valentines gift; you really wanna see what she thinks of it!

While Durga tries to avoid sugary stuff, she can’t really deny her sweet tooth when you’ve gone out of your way to get her something so sweet, and that, coupled with the cute little cat motifs make her cave before she even sees your face, hopeful that she’ll like them. Plus, it’s valentine's day, right? She can make an exception juuust this once...it’s a stroke of luck that they’re the perfect thing to snack on while watching you open your own valentine’s gift, hiding her face in the box seeing your expression light up once you’ve peeled the wrapping away to look at the present she got you as a show of appreciation (and maybe something more who knows…)

Tezcatlipoca

It was the little cat motifs that sold you on buying the sugar cubes - they were just too cute to pass up! And it didn’t help that as soon as you’d seen them the first person that came to mind is Tezcatlipoca, if anything it’s what convinced you to buy them just for him to enjoy with valentine’s day coming up! Wrapping them all up was fun too - it had taken a while to get the kind of paper you were looking for, along with getting it all wrapped up and looking presentable enough to impress. There was a lot of care taken into getting them all the way over to the base, including having to bribe some of the luchadores with treats to slip the box past with you (which you would have done anyways, it was fun seeing them bristling with excitement when you’d pulled out some chocolate boxes you’d got just for them), but you’re sure it would all be worth it once you actually got the gift handed off to the jaguar therian - he’s all about sacrifice, so maybe giving would be nice for a change~!

That ends up going about as well as one expects, and you realize that once you pull the gift out from behind your back and hold it out to him the moment he whirls around, flashing him a beaming smile as you present it to him. Deadass thinks it’s a trick at first - he stares down at the box like he's waiting for some kind of test as if you’ve got a hidden trick up your sleeve, which unless he’s expecting the trick to be those tiny little cubes of sugar (in which case someone spilled the beans on your gift), is completely unwarranted. In the end you have to explain that because it’s valentines day, a day where you share your affections to others in the form of gifts, you decided you’d get a little something for him, with it being a holiday and all. (that he of course knows...maybe...not.)

That’s when Texcatlipoca takes the box off of your hands, and you’re kind of anxious watching him peel away the wrapping and pull out the small container of treats. He flicks open the lid with ease, and is greeted by rows of small, finely decorated sugar cubes, with cutesy cat faces and small, paw shaped confections for good measure. Adorable is the best way to describe what you’d gifted the feline, and as his eyes flicker over the lid of the container to look at you, you find yourself giggling and sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck as you explain that when you’d seen them you’d thought of him, so who better to give it too, right? You’re quick to add that they serve as great emergency snacks in a pinch too, hoping the double use was as appealing an idea to Tez as it was to you.

He’s not one to be outdone by your gifting gesture, so be warned that upon accepting your gift Tezcatlipoca is going to see this as a chance to outdo the gesture tenfold before valentine’s day has come to a close - you’ve caught him off guard with your small gift, and he’s going to return that sentiment in abundance, excited to see how you’ll react to the surprise.

Sitri

Sitri’s opening up more to valentine's day this time around, though you still thought you’d twist up the gift from the typical chocolate that people give out and think outside the box in terms of valentine’s gifts. The only trouble was picking out what you were actually going to buy - you wanted something that would make for a nice gift, as well as something that Sitri would appreciate and enjoy, so you’d wracked your head thinking of the perfect gift for the upcoming holiday.

That’s when you’d come across the sugar cubes - you’d actually heard about them from Ryota when he’d gushed about a store specializing in cat themed treats and how they were coming out with a valentine’s line. It was the perfect place to start looking for a gift, and so as soon as you had a free moment, you’d stopped by and managed to snag yourself a box of the cute little cubes before they’d gone out of stock. You had the option to get them pre-packaged, but you’d instead opted to hand-wrap them yourself so that you could include one or two other little goodies that you’d gotten for the occasion. It took a bit longer than you thought it would have, but by the time you’ve got it packaged up and tucked neatly away in a little gift bag, it’s right in time for valentines day, so you’re eager to head out and deliver your gift to the feline transient first thing after school.

Even though you’ve gotten him valentines gifts in the past, Sitri’s still surprised and a little flustered when you come up to him, holding out the gift bag to him with a warm smile and greeting of “Happy valentines, Sitri!” as you present him with the gift you’d picked out. That reaction is only amplified once he opens the lid and looks down at the cute cat cubes looking back up at him with adorable faces and whiskers decals to really seal the feline look the treats have got going on. Admittedly, they’re not usually the kind of thing Sitri goes for, mostly thanks to those years chasing the ‘cool cat’ ideal, but as he’s opened up more, as well as with your expression anxiously waiting for his response, he finds himself not minding the gift in the slightest. If anything, he’s more worried about the gift that he got you - you’ve put so much thought into his gifts, he hopes that your gifts can hold a candle to them as he fishes out his own gift to give to you.

Nomad

With valentine’s coming around once again, you were determined to get Nomad something this time around. Sure, you’d gotten him things in the past, but those had mostly been in the form of time spent together going out to eat places and such; this time you wanted to go out of you way to get him a gift from the heart, something that would help convey your appreciation for the gruff tiger therian. Even if it was just a small little gift, you were set on going out and getting him something, which is exactly what you do the moment the shops start setting up for the holiday in question...you just really wish you had a better idea of the kind of thing that Nomad would like to receive.

You don’t really peg him as the chocolates for valentines kind of guy - he’s worked enough valentine’s gigs you’re sure he’d like an alternative gift for a change - so you’d sought out something you wouldn’t normally have picked. Which is what led to you finding those sugary treats, and the moment you looked at them in the little decorative boxes on the display stand, you just knew that those were the treats you were going to gift Nomad with.

You don’t end up giving Nomad his ‘gift’ face-to-face however. Something came up that pulled you away from being able to give them to him in person (because seriously, what is with you getting dragged into other people’s problems during the holidays? You need a break), so you ended up having to leave them back at his office. By the time that he finally returns to the office he finds the small, cutely decorated box perched precariously right in the middle of his desk, with a small note attached to the top. Confused, but interest peaked enough to approach, the therian plucks the note off with one hand and picks up the box as he settles into his desk chair, reading over your hastily scrawled message.

‘Sorry I couldn’t give this in person but I hope you like em! Apparently they double as emergency snacks, that’s neat,huh? - call me later and tell me what you think! xx’

Popping open the lid of the box, Nomad soon finds out what your message was talking about, and he plucks up one of the cubes between his claws as he holds it up, brows quirking as he takes in the cutesy cat motifs that have been meticulously molded with the sugar cubes to make an undeniably adorable design. He shakes his head a little at the thought of how much bother you must have put yourself through getting so worked up trying to find these little sugar cubes. With that being said he definitely ends up keeping them - after all, imagining how excited you’ll get is enough to make him pluck a few out to try as he fishes out his phone to give you a call.

#Anonymous #housamo #housamo imagine #housamo headcanon #tokyo afterschool summoners #imagine #headcanons #durga #housamo durga #tezcatlipoca #housamo tezcatlipoca #sitri #housamo sitri #nomad #housamo nomad #request #ask

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outerbankslut · 4 years

Text

Listen Before I Go... Draco Malfoy

Summary • Based on the song ‘Listen Before I Go’ by Billie Eilish. At the final battle at hogwarts, Draco realises something too late.

Warnings • death, sadness etc. Swearing.

Word Count • 1.2k (Blurb)

Masterlist

(GIF isn’t mine, let me know if it’s yours)

Take me to the rooftop

I wanna see the world when I stop breathing, turnin' blue

Tell me love is endless, don't be so pretentious

Leave me like you do

DRACO SAW IT all. It was all so sudden. He saw the eruption of light that emitted from in front of him, like blue electricity that blinded him until it was too late. He saw it shoot forward. He saw you in the line of fire. Your eyes turned to him almost in slow motion as you both knew what was happened and then a second later you were gone. Draco moved to do something. Save you, sacrifice himself but instead he felt your limp body fall into his arms as he fell to the floor barely holding you up. Your eyes no longer begging him, pleading for him to be okay, to not do anything. Your eyes were empty, lifeless. Skin cold as ice and unforgivingly colourless and hollow. A single tear trickled down your cheek as you breathed your final breath. The life was sucked out of you.

Taste me, the salty tears on my cheek

That's what a year long headache does to you

I'm not okay, I feel so scattered

Don't say I'm all that matters

Leave me, deja vu

YOU SAT UP confused as you looked around, sure that you were meant to be dead. But you felt fine. Your eyes scanned the chaos around you and saw the back of the blond boy you were looking for.

“Draco!” You shouted scrambling to your feet and across all the rubble towards the boy. “Draco...”

Confusion set in as soon as you saw the body laid across his lap. The tears in your eyes weren’t falling. Somehow you felt at peace with this revelation. Your heart aches seeing the boy you loved.

His tear stained face sobbing and scrunched up in pain.

You were everything. The one person who chose to love him despite his flaws. Understanding and kind. You helped him realise how wrong he was about everything. Or at least how wrong his parents were.

But apparently you were too late. If only he’d chosen the right path and not let his misguided upbringing stray him towards the dark side. It was out of pure necessity. Survival. But if he knew this was going to happen to you because of his mistakes he’d go back and choose the right path a hundred times no matter where it leaves him.

His hands curled tightly around the ripped and worn fabric covering you as he sobbed into the crook of your neck. His cries begging you to come back. But the blond knew it wouldn’t work. You were dead and only the darkest and most dangerous of magic could ever bring you back. But the boy knew you wouldn’t want that. You’d curse him for even thinking about it at all. As the boy sat up he kissed your forehead softly, “I love you, Y/N.”

If you need me, wanna see me

You better hurry, I'm leavin' soon

Sorry can't save me now

Sorry I don't know how

Sorry there's no way out

But down

HE SHOOK HIS head as a lump formed in his throat choking him. Not allowing him to breath as he thought about you. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His blue eyes cast towards the wand still grasped loosely in your outstretched hand that Draco remembered holding. Feeling your reassuring squeeze as you have him a smile. There was nothing now. The Malfoy hesitantly moved a shaking hand towards the wood in your hand seeing its intricate features you had loved about it so much.

His hand grazed one of your fingers wincing at its icy cold harshness. He felt his jaw clench. You’d never be able to go where you wanted in life. Never be able to become the amazing wizard you were. He choked back a sob that could shatter worlds as he thought about everything he already missed. It had all become something he looked forward to when seeing you. He craved the sound of you laughing, laughter that he had caused and the smile that appeared on your face. He missed seeing you excited over what class you were going to that day or new things you learnt. You’d always tell Draco about them and he’d listen despite already hearing it in that class before, just because it was you.

Call my friends and tell them that I love them

And I'll miss them

But I'm not sorry

Call my friends and tell them that I love them

And I'll miss them

Sorry

HE CLOSED YOUR eyes slowly saying goodbye to the the very things that looked toward him in adoration instead of disgust and hate and that held a comforting gaze as he felt footsteps wander behind him.

“What happened?” The stern but quick and distant voice Hermione Granger appeared behind him as he felt all the world falling around him. White noise and chaos. Would he be able to be without you.

You watched from afar as he cradled you no ounce of him ready to let go of you and Hermione approached from behind. You walked up to him your ghostly hand setting on his shoulder.

He could feel comfort surge through him. He felt the weight of your hand there. It almost felt like he could feel your breath on his neck. And almost as if he heard you murmur the words in his ear, your voice soft and sultry. He already craved the feeling of you again.

“Draco. It’s okay. You can let go now. I have to go now,” You turned seeing the ever growing white light around you. You were ready. Never ready to leave him. But you were ready to wait for him. You’d always wait for him. “But be strong for me. I’ll always be here. I’ll always be waiting. And when you’re ready, we can see each other again. Be happy and please tell everyone I’ll—I’ll miss them. Please live your life, okay? I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

You kissed the boys forehead and you saw the pain flash on his face. He heard every word. And it hurt even worse. He wouldn’t hear you singing in the halls or ever feel your presence around him again. He could only imagine. He let out small sputter. Burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulled you closer to his body. And suddenly he felt a hand in his shoulder, just as you walked away from him. Towards the light.

He turned quickly only to see the Granger girl there an abundance of tears gathering in her eyes as she let out a small gasp inaudible to Draco as he sobbed. He didn’t know when he’d stopped but eventually he laid you down on the ground and stood up with his wand. His eyes were free of tears and his face monotone as he looked at everything falling down scattered around him. Giants were destroying structures of Hogwarts. Flashes of magic were everywhere. The setting was dusty and filled with debris. It was all falling apart. But Draco was glad you weren’t at the centre of it now. And if he needed to, he’d sacrifice himself. For everyone who’d lost someone, for you, for Hogwarts. For anyoen he hurt.

And then maybe he’d see you again. Maybe he could finally make the right choice.

Note • I literally came up with this like two hours ago and it was meant to be a blurb but then I realised how similar it was to this song so I put some of the lyrics in and then edited it after and obviously it was a lot longer than before. I did only roughly edit so please excuse the bad grammar and spelling mistakes :) anyway so yeah finally fricking posted. Hoping to finish a stiles imagine for bricks’ writing thing but it finishes in two days so idk whether it’ll be finished but anyway I have to go revise for a psychology test that’s in like 7 hours oop.

Join My Tag List Here • @rae131415 @joshy-obx @ilovejjmaybank @thegreatestofheck @jiaraendgame @stfukie @bolaurel @starlightstarkey @drewswannabegirl @popeheywards @arianabrashierstuff@rafecameron @jjbanks @poguesinablanket

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: Flash Flood

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female!reader

Prompt: After everything that took place with you and Maeve and Diane, with you and Spencer, you were truly lost. After a quick phone call, however, you realized you weren’t the only one who was lost.

Warnings: pretty much angst, some fluff, language, mentions of sex, mentions of violence and gore, mentions of death

Word Count: 7079

A/N: And on to chapter four! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I would love to hear your feedback! As always, tag lists and requests are open!

Tags: @tclaerh, @jemimah-b99

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

“Do you ever think that if our lives were different, we wouldn’t be where we are now?”

You woke up with a start, the incessant ringing of your phone getting on your every last nerve. Once you had untangled it from your sheets, you answered it and held it to your ear. “Hello?” you grumbled, slouching in your bed.

“Morning buttercup,” Penelope’s saccharine voice hummed through the receiver.

You let out a sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Sorry, I thought you were work. What’s up?”

“Have you spoken to Spencer recently?”

His name made your heart stand still in your chest, a sharp pain ebbing in your abdomen that was wrapped with gauze that you needed to replace.

With a small sigh, you responded. “No, I haven’t. How come?”

Penelope repeated your sigh, even matching the same level of pain and desperation that spilled through. “We... We can’t get ahold of him. JJ and I have gone by his apartment every day this week and we haven’t seen him once. He hasn't even brought in any of the gift baskets I got for him.”

Though you wanted to deny it, you had to admit that Penelope’s words made your heart ache for Spencer. He was suffering, possibly even more than you.

You cleared your throat. “Why are you telling me this, Pen?”

“Can... Can you go over and see if he’ll talk to you? Just make sure he’s okay?”

You wanted to argue, to tell her that you didn’t give a fuck if he was okay or not, that he hurt you far too much for you to be able to even be near him.

But you knew that those were all lies. That no matter how hard you tried to hate him, you just couldn't.

So, with panic welling in your chest, you spoke, “Okay. I can do that.”

***

The chill in the air, the heavy overcast sky that covered the sun, and the sharp gusts of wind that nearly knocked you over were all too fitting for that day.

With your black overcoat held tight around your body, you pushed open the door that led to the foyer of Spencer’s apartment complex. The sweet musty smell of old wood and cinnamon hit you like a ton of bricks, quickly blinking back your tears as you walked up the carpeted wooden steps.

One, two, three...

Fifteen steps. Just like you remembered.

Out of habit, you dodged the loose floorboard that creaked, your heart wrenching in your chest when you realized what you had just done.

It’s all too familiar.

As you turned right, the large abundance of baskets gifted by Penelope still laid untouched on Spencer’s doorstep. You sighed, weaving around the baskets before hovering your knuckles over the wooden door.

With a moment of contemplation, you rapped on the door, your lungs storing a heavy breath that you didn’t dare take.

There was only silence on the other side.

Finally letting that breath shudder from your lungs, you began working up the courage to speak.

“Spencer?” you spoke, only coming out as a whisper.

Again, silence.

“Spencer?” your voice was more solid this time, loud enough to echo softly through the halls. You knew that if he was there, he could hear you.

Still, there was no response.

Your lower lip was caught between your teeth, eyes cast down at the floor for a moment.

“Spencer, it’s Y/N. I... I know you probably don’t want to see me right now. Honestly, I’m probably the last person you want to see. I just... I just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re all worried about you. I’m worried about you. Just... Please open the door?”

For a moment, you could’ve sworn you had heard a faint rustle, but it ceased as soon as it started.

A sigh left your lips, your hand fishing into your pocket to find your keys. Your fingers found the key ring, slowly flipping through the metal pieces until you found the one familiar key.

You had never given him his apartment key back.

You had told yourself that it was just because you never had the chance to, but that argument was quickly refuted every time heaviness would well in your chest.

When the familiar stirrings of fear, panic, whatever made your stomach churn and your heart race, your fingers would immediately seek out the smooth metal patterned with jagged, purposeful ridges.

Silently, you pulled the key from your pocket and examined it, lips pressed together.

“Spencer, please just answer me. I... I really don’t want to do this.”

You knew he probably had no idea what you were talking about (hell, if he was even listening to you), but you were growing desperate. Any sign not to break in and destroy any semblance of privacy that he had was a sign you would gratefully take.

But there wasn't a sign. Just the settling of the building as the wind rocked its foundation.

Your jaw clenched and unclenched a few times as you stared down the rusting doorknob, fingers gripping the key so tightly that they went numb.

“Okay Spencer, I’m coming in,” you spoke finally, shoving the key into the lock and turning.

You hesitated to twist the doorknob.

One, two, three.

You quickly turned the knob and, with a deep breath, pushed the door open.

Your heart immediately sank to your feet.

Books and papers and random knick knacks were strewn about the living room, laying abused on the wooden floor.

“Spencer? Spencer?!” you shouted, hurrying forward into the living room.

Of all the possible scenarios that you could’ve walked into, the remnants of him fighting an intruder was not on your list.

A soft rustling sounded from his bedroom, and you froze in place. Your mind worked a mile a moment to process what to do next before finally alerting you to grab the heaviest object in your immediate vicinity.

With a book end in your hand, you slowly walked towards the bedroom, bile crawling up your throat.

But the moment you saw a mess of curls walk through the door, all the tension immediately fled your body with a relieved sigh.

“Oh thank god, you’re okay,” you whispered, setting the book end on a side table before examining his face.

You couldn’t even think of a time that he looked this distraught, this hurt.

Before you could say anything else, he let out a small scoff. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he huffed, pursing his lips. “How... How did you get in?”

Your face flushed. “Oh, I uh- I still... I still have the key,” you choked out, worrying on your lower lip as you looked around his apartment. After a second inspection (and a clear mind now that you knew he was alive), you noticed the multiple takeout containers and half-drunk mugs of coffee that sat on the coffee table. “What happened?”

He stood silently for a moment, responding once you turned back to face him. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “I-I’m sorry you had to come over, I mean. You- You don’t have to be here.”

His words pulled at the stitches in your heart, the stitches you had worked so hard at maintaining. The stitches that were there because of him.

Instead of speaking, you turned on your heel and walked over to the door. However, instead of walking away, you began to gather the gift baskets and bring them inside. Lugging them in two at a time, you kept your gaze on the ground as you diligently worked to bring them all into the apartment. Once they were all brought inside, you pulled your keys from the doorknob and closed the door.

“Y/N-” he began.

“When was the last time you ate something other than takeout?” you pondered, looking over at him. “Or taken a shower?”

He was silent, eyes flickering over the gift baskets with a crease between his brows.

He hadn’t even noticed your shift over to the fridge until you spoke again. “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna run to the store and get you some groceries, and you’re gonna shower and put on some clean clothes,” you instructed, rushing around the apartment and creating a quick list on your hand of the things you needed.

With a sigh, he reached out, catching you by your wrist. “Y/N, hold on-”

You huffed, looking him in the eye for the first time in two weeks. He returned the gaze for a moment before glancing away, his jaw clenching. “Spence, please. I’ll be back in like 20 minutes. Just... You gotta get out of this rut. I’m worried.”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off once more.

“It’s not up for debate. Now go shower. I’ll be right back.” With a brief nod, you turned on your heel and walked back over to the door. As you pulled it open, you glanced back over to Spencer, who still had yet to move from where he had been standing. “Banana pancakes or French toast?”

His lips pursed, but there was a small quirk at the corners for a split second. “French toast,” he hummed, succumbing to one last glance at you before turning and retreating to his bathroom.

***

You were back quicker than you had expected, both of your arms stuffed with groceries as you made your way back up to Spencer’s apartment. Gently shifting some bags around, you twisted the doorknob and pushed the door the rest of the way open with your foot. “Spence, I’m back!” you announced, walking blindly through the apartment and into the kitchen.

You heard footsteps padding up to you, followed by a warm presence standing right behind you.

“You didn’t have to buy all that for me,” Spencer sighed, the furrow in his brow returning once more.

“Spencer, you have nothing to eat here. I just got you the essentials so you don’t starve.” You turned and gave him a quick glance before working to get everything unloaded and put away, making sure to keep the ingredients you needed out on the table. “I didn’t know if you wanted strawberries or blueberries so I got both-”

“Why are you doing all of this?” his voice bellowed, a mix of desperation and anger in his tone. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You froze, staring at him in shock as tears began to well in your eyes. “Spencer-” you spoke finally, your voice soft and wavering as you slowly reached out to him.

“Goddammit, Y/N!” His voice made you flinch as he stepped away from your touch. “Be mean to me! Cuss me out! Fucking scream at me! Hate me!”

You shook your head, searching his face for a moment before moving your hands to grip the table, bowing your head as you cast your eyes to the floor beneath your feet. “Don’t... Don’t you think I want to? Don’t you think I want to hate you? To scream at you and call you a cheating son-of-a-bitch? T-To not even be here and try and fucking heal from all the pain you’ve caused me?” You let out a shuddering sigh, white-knuckling the table as you returned your gaze to his face. “I’ve tried so goddamn hard to hate you, to tell myself that I can’t love you because you could never love me. I... I just can’t. And it’s bullshit, because I know I’m gonna be the one hurting over you while you forget I even exist. But I can’t make myself hate you. No matter how hard I try.”

By now, tears were streaming down your face, smothered sobs shaking your body.

But he was stoic, staring at you with a blank face, his lips pressed together.

“Now,” you sighed, scrubbing the tears off your face. “I’m gonna get started on the French toast, and you can do whatever you want.”

As you turned to the stove to turn it on, you could still feel his gaze on your body, stock still where he stood. You ignored him, though, instead trying to stay focused on the meal so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed with emotion.

“I could never forget you,” Spencer whispered, his voice hoarse.

His words finally made you look him fully in the eye. You realized that he had listened to your instruction, his hair damp from the shower and a new pair of pajamas on his body. His signature puppy dog eye-gaze was in full effect.

“It didn’t seem that hard for you to forget me during those ten months,” you choked out, biting down on the inside of your cheek.

You almost regretted your words when you saw how much they pained him. Almost.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, letting the words settle in the space between. Afterwards, he turned on his heel and walked into the living room, his head hung low.

***

By the time you had finished preparing the meal, a word still had not been spoken between you two. So, silently, you prepared two plates of French toast and eggs before carrying them both into the living room.

You noticed out of your peripheral that Spencer had lifted his head up and was following your movements.

Gently, you placed your plate down on the coffee table before holding out the second towards Spencer, staring down at him as he looked up at you. “Eat,” you stated simply, waiting until he took the plate from you to turn back into the kitchen to retrieve the water glasses and silverware.

You placed everything else on the table before sitting down next to Spencer on the couch, tucking your feet under you and placing your plate on your lap. You began to eat immediately, knowing that if your mouth was full of food you couldn’t say something you’d regret.

After taking a few bites you allowed yourself to glance over at Spencer’s plate, which still laid untouched. You let out a sigh, setting your plate back on the coffee table before shifting your body to face him. “Spence,” you sighed. “You have to eat some-”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his voice nearly washed out by the wind howling outside.

But you heard it.

“Spence-” “I broke you to a point that I can’t fix, and I hate it. I hate myself that I... I did all of this. I’m so selfish and I already had all that I ever wanted, all that I ever needed, but it still wasn’t enough for me.” He sniffled, his shoulders shaking. “And now I’m wallowing in my own pity while you’re stuck with having to take care of me because I can’t function without you.”

“Spencer,” you spoke up, reaching out and cupping his jaw with a feather-light touch.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I-I know that there’s nothing I can do to repair what I broke but I just... I just wish I'd never lost you. I wish I’d never broken you.”

“Spence, I’m not broken.” You chewed on your lower lip, searching his eyes. “I’m a big girl. I’ve had to learn how to put myself back together more times than I can count. I... I’m cracked, but I’m not broken. Not just yet. Though I’m probably keeping myself together with scotch tape and Elmer’s glue, I haven’t fallen apart yet.” A small wave of regret washes over you when your attempt at a joke just deepened the pained look in his eyes. “And... And I’m really sorry for what I said earlier.”

He shook his head. “Why are you sorry? You’re right. Maybe I did forget you during those ten months. I forgot about all the hurt I was causing you for my own selfish purposes. I forgot your pain, but... but I couldn’t forget you.”

“I know,” you whispered, letting your hand settle on his forearm. “You should eat, Spence. I'm serious.”

He glanced down at your hand, at the gentle touch he didn’t feel that he deserved. With a nod, he locked eyes with you for the briefest of moments before turning to his plate in front of him.

Once he took a bite of his food, you rose to your feet and wandered around the familiar layout of the apartment, careful to dodge the debris scattered along the floor.

After a moment of walking on autopilot, you found yourself stood in a familiar area: right in front of the record player you had gifted Spencer for his birthday. You grinned at the memory before kneeling down to sift through the box of records the two of you had collected over the months.

A specific record caught between your fingers, and you gently pulled it from the box, letting your eyes scan over the dustcover. The cover art was one you instantly fell in love with, not even knowing who the band was when you bought it because the picture on the record’s sheath had drawn you in. The gorgeous crescent moon shining over the black water, casting a bright reflection on the dim waves.

Silently, you slid it from its dust cover and laid it on the track, carrying the needle over to the record and placing it down.

Without even having to look behind you, you could tell Spence had sat up a little straighter, listening along to the first track.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get rid of this record,” you teased, pushing yourself to your feet. “You swore you’d throw it away if I played it one more time, it drove you insane how much I listened to it.”

“I didn’t get rid of any of your stuff,” he voiced behind you, his voice wavering slightly. “I couldn’t even touch your stuff, honestly.”

“Me either,” you whispered, voice nearly drowned out by the music.

You listened to the lyrics, the soft and melancholy voice pondering if there was a ghost in his house while he was alone.

You wondered the same thing, wondered if every creak in the floorboards in the middle of the night was the man you loved or his ghost that persistently haunted you.

By the time you gained the courage to turn and look at Spencer, the song had already changed. Your fingers trembled, gripping onto the hem of your top and pulling it into your fists. “Spencer?” you forced out.

“Yeah?” he answered, eyes scanning over your furrowed brow.

“Do you think... Do you ever think that if our lives were different, we wouldn’t be where we are now?” You cleared your throat, turning back to face the record player. “That if we were different people, we wouldn’t have broken how we did? Or that we could still fix everything?”

“If we consider the multiverse theory, all of that is already true.” You could hear his footsteps growing close. “There’s a universe that we’ve never met, one that none of this ever happened, one that everything is okay.”

“So we’re just stuck in the shitty one? The one where everything goes wrong?”

“... I guess so, yes.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you tried to blink away the tears that brimmed at your waterline. “I hate this fucking timeline, Spencer. I fucking hate it.”

The warmth of his presence radiated against your back, letting your eyes flutter shut as his hand gently rested on your shoulder. “Me too.”

Quickly, you spun around and hooking your arms around the back of his neck, burying your head in his shoulder and letting out a sob. His arms wrapped around your waist just as quick, finger gripping onto the fabric of your shirt as his forehead rested atop your head. “I can’t do this, Spence. I can’t let you go.”

“I know. You don’t have to. I’m right here.”

The next song began to play, and the sobs that wracked your body grew harsher and heavier.

It's looking like a limb torn off Or all together just taken apart We're reeling through an endless fall We are the ever-living ghost of what once was

“Every night I dreamt about you. I couldn’t fucking stop,” you wailed, hands slowly sliding down his shoulders and settling on his chest, feeling his heart beat under your fingertips. “Why did this have to happen?”

“Because I’m selfish,” he choked out, tears streaking down his face. “Because I didn’t deserve you.”

But no one is ever gonna love you more than I do No one's gonna love you more than I do

Your fingers gripped onto his shirt, hands shaking with the sheer force that you were holding onto his shirt with. “I hate you so much. I hate you.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

And anything to make you smile It is a better side of you to admire But they should never take so long Just to be over there, then back to another one

“I just wanted to be the one to make you happy, to make you smile. I wanted to be the one you loved because I loved you with my whole goddamn being. I still do.”

“I love you too. So much. A-And I hate myself that I did all of this to you. To us.” His fingers carded through your hair, the two of you slowly beginning to sway to the music.

And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do No one's gonna love you more than I do

“But I’m gonna fix this,” Spencer spoke up, prompting you to glance up at him with watery eyes. “I’m gonna fix all of this. I’m gonna fix us. We’re gonna be okay.”

“Spencer,” you hiccuped, tentatively lifting your hand up to cup his cheek. “I don’t know if you can.”

But someone, they could have warned you When things start splitting at the seams and now The whole thing's tumbling down Things start splitting at the seams and now When things start splitting at the seams and now It's tumbling down hard

His brow furrowed, taking your hand from his face and lacing his fingers with yours. “I have to. I can’t live without you.”

“You can’t fix everything. Trust me.”

And anything to make you smile You are the ever-living ghost of what once was I never want to hear you say That you'd be better off or you liked it that way

He raised your linked hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles and caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. “I’m gonna try.”

Just as you opened your mouth to argue, an alarm went off on your phone. With a huff, you pulled away from Spencer’s touch and hurried over to your phone, turning off the alarm before slinging your purse over your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Spencer spoke up, making you freeze in your tracks. “What are you doing?”

You glanced between him and your purse. “I, uh...” you stuttered, panic filling your lungs. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

His brows furrowed, taking note of your shaking hands and your tight grip on your purse. “Why?”

“Why do you need to know?” You pursed your lips, breaking eye contact so you could direct your gaze to the floor before attempting to rush past him.

It was to no avail, however, as he gently gripped your arm and held you in place. “Y/N, please just tell me.”

With a soft sigh, you let your gaze flutter to the light grip Spencer held your arm with. “I... I need to change my bandages.”

You couldn’t bear looking up at him in that moment, knowing from the sharp intake of breath he took that he was processing quite a lot.

You doubted he had even realized that you still had a hole in your stomach until that very moment, and he seemed to be reeling from it.

“I’ll be back,” you stated abruptly, both trying to remove yourself from the situation and attempting to pull him from his spiraling thoughts.

Your words effectively shocked him out of his stupor, his footsteps following closely behind yours as you rushed to the bathroom. “Y/N-” he began, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, I’m fine,” you argued. “You don’t need to follow me in here-”

“Let me help you.”

You slowed your speed, taking a few steps into the bathroom with clear trepidation and worry. “Spencer, I can do it myself.”

“Please. I just... I need to.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I-I don’t know what seeing it will do to you. I...” You placed your purse on the ground before standing up straight, keeping your back facing him as you gripped onto the edge of the sink. “I still can’t bear to look at it.”

He audibly gulped, and as you glanced up at the mirror, you could see the reflection of his face riddled with guilt.

“Let me help you with something. Something I caused,” he pleaded, a small shake in his voice.

Silently, you reached into your purse and pulled out the small first aid kit you had made put together. You cleared your throat. “There’s gauze, tape, antiseptic wash, cotton pads, and Neosporin in there.”

His head moved up and down, appearing to be absorbing what you were saying, but his mind was clearly a million miles away.

With a sigh, you began undoing the buttons of your shirt, unable to help but think about how you’ve done this so many times in front of him, but it felt so foreign now. You hated it.

After lifting yourself up onto the bathroom counter, you slid your shirt off your shoulders, bunching it up into a haphazard ball before setting it to the side. Spencer’s eyes haven’t left your form the entire time, a deep line set in his brow as he did so.

“Do you want me to take it off, or do you?” you spoke up, shifting awkwardly.

“What?” he hummed, seemingly pulling himself back into the matter at hand.

“My bandage. Do you wan-”

“I-I can do it. It’s okay.”

You nodded, your gaze now lingering on him as he slowly crouched down until he was eye-level with your stomach. His hands gently skirted over your stomach, a touch that you questioned was intentional or not, before he slowly gripped on to the medical tape and peeled away the bandage.

As he did so, you shifted your gaze to the wall behind him, not wanting to see his reaction when he saw the wound.

But you could feel it. The way his whole body tensed, the way his hands faltered as he revealed more and more of the wound.

It had been quiet the whole time, but at that moment, it was smothering. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach churning.

“Y/N-” Spencer began, his voice wavering.

“They had to cut me open to take out the bullet,” you interrupted, your voice meek and low. “They said it would be too dangerous to keep it in, it was too close to my spine and other necessary organs.” Your hands were balled up into fists. “That’s... That’s why the-the wound is so big.”

He let out a long breath through his nose, getting to work without another word. The wound was cleaned and bandaged within minutes, all while your gaze lingered on the beige walls.

Once he placed the last strip of medical tape against your skin, you released the breath you weren’t aware that you were holding. Both of you sat there, unmoving, waiting for someone to do something.

With a touch of his hand on your side, the dam broke.

Spencer let out a sob, his head bowing as his shoulders shook. “I'm so sorry,” he cried. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

Silently, with tears swimming in your eyes, you slid off the counter and dropped to your knees in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and propped your head up atop his, letting him bury his face in your chest and wrap his arms around your waist.

And the two of you cried.

***

Your entire being was exhausted from the complete breakdown you and Spencer had, your hands trembling as you wiped the tears off your cheeks. And then you reached out, drying Spencer’s cheeks as well, an impulsive act that you were too weak to resist.

Slowly, you retracted your hands from his cheeks before pushing yourself off the floor. You packed away your small first aid kit in silence, lower lip quivering as you attempted to gasp in some deep breaths.

After tucking away the kit, you pulled your phone from your purse, muttering curses under your breath when you saw the multiple texts and missed calls from Penelope.

“Penelope’s gonna kill me,” you grumbled, quickly opening the messages and starting to formulate a reply. That was cut short, however, when Spencer’s landline began to ring.

You and Spencer exchanged a look as he let the phone ring, his gaze cast to the floor. After a few rings, his recorded voice echoed through the apartment.

“Hey, Reid, it’s Derek. Listen, I’ve got a work question for you.”

His head lifted at the voice, eyes locking with yours. You two exchanged a silent conversation before he pushed himself up off the floor.

“The unsub’s exsanguinating and removing their eyelids ante-mortem,” Derek continued, his voice coming through tinny. “Does that mean anything to you? Call me back.”

You followed Spencer out into the living room, watching as he hovered over the phone.

“Spence?” you spoke up, stepping over to him. “What are you thinking?”

He pursed his lips, turning his gaze to you. “They need my help,” he whispered, his voice still quivering slightly.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Call him.”

He gave you a nod and a smile in return before quickly dialing the number, holding the handset to his ear. You could hear the phone ring twice before Derek’s muffled voice came through. “have the cornea or pupils been damaged in any way?” Spencer asked, that line between his brows returning.

You walked over to the large grouping of gift baskets, carrying two over to the couch and beginning to undo the wrapping, listening on the conversation while doing so.

“If he’s taking care not to damage the eyes, then line of sight is probably what’s important to him,” Spencer continued, and you noticed out of your peripheral that his gaze was constantly flickering between you and the floor.

Absentmindedly, you rifled through the contents, trying to seem busy as you strained to listen in on the conversation. You could hear something along the lines of “How are you” before Spencer rushed out a quick goodbye, hanging up the phone. You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly.

He wandered off, and you heard the kitchen sink running a few moments later. Your brow furrowed as you looked up, watching him scrub the dishes clean with a blank look on his face. Silently, you picked up the half-eaten plates of French toast and carried them over to the kitchen. After scraping the contents into the garbage, you set the plates on the side of the sink.

“What did Derek say?” you asked, pulling a dishrag from a drawer and beginning to dry the pan he had just cleaned.

“He said that the unsub was taking his victims’ eyes,” Spencer stated bluntly, his eyes never wandering from the dish in his hands.

You nodded, moving onto the next dish. This all felt so familiar, cleaning up after a meal and discussing the day’s events while you two stood side by side. But now there was a barrier, a brick wall that you both worked so hard on building.

“Well,” you sighed, “hopefully that will be enough of a lead to be able to pin someone down. And I bet your idea about him keeping the eyes intact will be enough for them too.”

“I’m gonna call Anderson, see if he can bring me some files for the case,” Spencer spoke, cleaning the last dish before moving over to the phone.

“Spencer.” He stopped, turning to look at you. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He furrowed his brows. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

You pursed your lips, setting the rag down on the counter. “I just... I don’t want you to try and push yourself into work so quickly. You...” You cleared your throat. “You went through a traumatic event, and you’re still coping and working through everything. I don't know if interrupting that process with a case is a good idea.”

His jaw clenched. “I went through a traumatic event? You got kidnapped and shot, and you’re still going to work!”

“Spencer, I have people who depend on me-” “Yeah, so do I!” You sighed, chewing on your lower lip. “Just because I’m working doesn’t mean I’m doing okay. And I've got a lot more I need to forget than you do right now.”

That pit in your stomach grew exponentially bigger the moment your words left your mouth, and the way his face fell made your breath catch in your throat.

Before he could say anything, you cleared your throat. “Call Anderson,” you choked out before brushing past him, returning to the gift baskets.

***

Anderson had left about 20 minutes ago, only chatting with you for a few moments before fleeing, clearly sensing the tension between you and Spencer.

Spencer had tacked up the map on the wall, marking significant points that he found in the files with sticky notes and thumb tacks. Along the side were multiple photos of the victims, along with a few crime scene photos.

Meanwhile, you had sorted through all of the gift baskets, putting away almost everything except for a few items that you and Spencer were snacking on.

However, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the case and the peculiar acts that were taking place. You had taken the abandoned file into your hands, skimming through the contents and examining all of the visual aides on the wall.

“You’re thinking that the eyes have something to do with line of sight?” you spoke up, rising from the couch with the file in your hands.

Spencer seemed slightly startled by the suddenness of your voice. “Yeah, I think so,” he agreed, turning his gaze to the photos.

“And it has something to do with these weird art pieces?”

He nodded.

“Do you think that it could be someone who wants someone to look at his art? Someone who feels that he isn’t getting the attention he deserves?”

“That’s the idea we’re working with, yeah.”

“Well, maybe he isn’t just being pushed away. He’s being ignored. He’s there, seeing everyone else succeed, but he can’t succeed himself, and he has to deal with everyone else’s success while he has to witness it.”

“So he’s working in an art gallery?”

“That’s what it seems like, at least.”

He nodded, examining the map once more. Silently, he hurried over to the phone and punched in a series of numbers, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“If it is about the art, then it’s clear the disposal sites are scattered around the mission district area,” Spencer explained, encircling all of the disposal points on the map that were in that area. He paused for a moment. “I had Anderson bring over some of the files.”

You could hear the faint whisper of Derek’s voice coming through the phone as Spencer walked past you to sit down on the couch. You followed suit, sitting down next to him and setting the file on the coffee table.

“Garcia, you should pull a list of all the art galleries in San Fransisco.”

Penelope’s voice came through, and your shoulders tensed slightly when she asked “How are you?”

That tension released, however, when Spencer let a small smile rest on his lips. “Better. Thanks for asking. And thanks for the baskets. You know, nuts have magnesium which helps produce-”

“Serotonin,” you and Penelope stated at the same time.

“And thanks for the cinnamon almonds, too, Pen,” you hummed, leaning close to the receiver.

“Y/N?” Derek’s voice sounded. “Why didn't I know you were there?”

“It wasn’t important.” You pursed your lips. “Penelope, where are we on the art galleries?”

It was silent for a moment. “Ok, galleries. I’ve got a lot.”

“Focus on the mission district,” Spencer informed her, and before anyone could respond, he hung up the phone.

At that moment, you realized just how close you and Spencer were. Spencer seemed to realize that, too, as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he locked eyes with you. You could feel his gentle breath fanning over your skin, like it had so many times before.

Fighting against your urges, you pulled back, pushing yourself to your feet and walking over to the map. You didn’t even know what you were looking for, or what you were going to say.

A small yawn fell from your lips as your eyes lazily scanned over the map, your body slouching slightly.

“Are you tired?” Spencer asked, making you jump slightly.

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Kinda. I just... I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Nightmares?”

You nodded. “Feels like that’s all I have nowadays.”

“Me too.”

“I can put on a pot of coffee-”

“Why don’t we take a nap?”

You furrowed your brows, looking at him confusedly. “You’re turning down coffee?”

He smiled at that, letting out a small chuckle. “I just think it might be a better idea if we rested for a few hours. Maybe...”

“Maybe we can fall asleep better if we’re together.”

He nodded, those puppy dog eyes resting on his features once more. “But you don’t have to if-”

You shook your head, walking over to him and taking his hands in yours. You pulled him over to the couch and laid the two of you down, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapping around your torso. You tugged the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch onto the two of you, pulling it up to your chin and snuggling in.

As your breathing slowly began to even out, and you could hear Spencer’s heartrate decrease as his eyelids fluttered closed, your mind began to wander back to all of the times the two of you had laid like this. Sometimes it was after he had gotten back home from a rough case, his whole being riddled with guilt and sorrow and the only thing he wanted was to be in the arms of the one he loved. Sometimes it was after you two had shown the other just how much you loved them, covered in hickeys and scratches with your bare and sweat-dampened skin pressed to each other. Or in the mornings, when the sun shone upon your faces, both of you clinging to each other like vices.

“I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt the airy brush of his breath on the crown of your head, his words echoing in your mind.

He probably thought you were asleep. So, to avoid any conflict, you calmed your breathing and let your body slip into sleep. One more happy moment with the man you still love.

***

A big yawn woke you from your slumber, one hand reaching up to cover your mouth while the other rubbed at your eyes.

“Spencer?” you mumbled, realizing that his form wasn’t next to you.

You heard his shuffling footsteps behind you, and you craned your neck to see that he was dressed and holding his satchel.

“Spencer?” You sat up, watching as he pulled his converse onto his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna head to the airport. I’m getting on the next flight to meet up with the team,” he rushed out, avoiding your gaze.

You nodded, pursing your lips as you looked down at the floor.

You felt stupid for honestly believing that he was going to stay with you, to try and work things out. he was just going to leave you again, leave you to pick up all the pieces and make everything better.

Tears pricked at your eyes and you sniffled. “Got it,” you whispered, pushing yourself to your feet.

There was a beat of silence, the air still as you both debated your next moves.

“Y/N,” Spencer spoke finally, stepping over to you. “I’ll be back by tonight. I just... I need to go. Can you stay here until I get back, and then we can talk?”

No. Just say no.

“Okay,” you choked out, blinking back tears and forcing a smile.

“I promise you, I’m gonna fix it. I have to.”

You just nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Okay.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, taking a step forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before hurrying out the door.

The moment his footfalls faded away, a sob ripped through your chest. You covered your mouth with your hand, falling onto the couch as tears slid down your cheeks.

You scolded yourself for giving in so easily, just like you had done before all of this had even happened.

You would do anything for him, no matter what.

You were so stupid.

After somewhat catching your breath, you stood and walked into the bedroom you and Spencer once shared. You went through each of the drawers in his dresser, pulling out all of your clothes that you had abandoned at his apartment.

Draping the articles of clothing over your forearms, you looked over the bedroom one last time. Then you looked down at the shirt that laid on the top of your stack, the tee shirt you would wear to bed.

Silently, you pulled it from the stack and laid it on the sheets, turning and walking away before you could take it back. You grabbed your coat from off the coat stand, pulling it over your shoulders and stepping out the front door.

With the hand that wasn’t full of clothes, you retrieved the spare key from your pocket and locked the door.

You pulled the key from the lock and slid it under the door, into the apartment.

#Spencer reid #Spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid angst #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid series #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #cm x reader #Penelope Garcia #Derek Morgan #bau x reader #criminal minds writing #series #Spencer x you

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

BAD BUSINESS

3: NOW IT’S TIME FOR ME TO GO

pairing: Rafe Cameron x John B’s Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Breakups are never an easy thing, and this one is no different. The only thing that makes it worse is that when you finally think you’re done with the situation, Rafe sends you a text.

word count: 5k

warnings: mild cursing, cheating

additional: it’s a big one, it features two original characters, and some very tense car situation (like, angst tense).

masterlist | tag list

previous part | next part

Shelley is a good friend.

Well, mostly.

Upon hearing that not only did you sleep with Rafe, but he also gave you food and drove you to her place in the morning, she started to laugh. She called it absurd, and you had to agree. It is absurd. But it’s the truth, anyway, so you told her you needed her help on figuring out what the fuck to do.

That’s when she asked the question: ‘What about John B?’

And this is how, a couple of hours later, you find yourself walking to the Chateau, with no idea what you’re going to say.

Shelley tried to tell you that you needed a plan to do this whole thing, but you’ve fucked up enough already – you didn’t want John B to think you rehearsed telling him how you fucked someone the night before breaking up with him. You’re going to tell the truth, because John B deserves to know it, and it’ll come out one way or another.

It’s not like you trust Rafe to keep it secret, really. A boy like him has got to spread the news of his achievements, and you’d rather it comes from you than some rando.

Then again, maybe you should’ve thought this through, you realise as the road you’re walking on takes a turn and the Chateau peaks from the abundance of trees. The sole sight of the place where you slept with John B so many times makes you squirm.

am i a monster?

Your thoughts travel back to the morning, and your and Shelley’s conversation replays in your mind. Once Shelley recovered from her initial shock of you having slept with none other than Rafe Cameron, she asked you tons of questions, most of which you didn’t have an answer to.

John B was never going to be the one for you and yes, deep down, you’ve known it from the very start. No, you didn’t go there intending on sleeping with Rafe, but it certainly set in stone any doubts you had about breaking up with your boyfriend. You didn’t know if Rafe had intended it happening any more than you did; you didn’t know what that meant for the two of you; you didn’t know what that meant for the half of your time that you spend not only on the Cut, but with John B’s friends, too.

But one thing Shelley never said is that she was surprised with the events. Not with you wanting to break up with John B—a blind man could’ve seen it coming—but not you ending up with Rafe, either.

Not even with you not having any regrets.

‘Does that make me a monster?’ you voiced your concerns to your best friend, your legs draped over her sofa.

‘A little bit.’ Shelley had never been the one to hold back; it stung a little. ‘But you weren’t happy with John B. Rafe was there. You got your frustrations out. You were going to break up with him anyway.’ She slung her legs over yours and sipped her mojito. ‘I’d say it was worth it.’

You frowned at her words, unable to understand how you truly felt about the whole situation. ‘I know I should feel guilty. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.’

Shelley shrugged with such ease you would’ve thought the two of you were talking about picking one dress over the other. ‘It happened. Mulling over it won’t help. Besides, hooking up with Rafe Cameron on a whim is more like you than being serious with John B.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s not a coincidence that the moment you stop thinking about John B and his shitty friends, you do whatever the fuck you want.’

It was one of those things that Shelley says that sound smart, but she kept sipping on her mojito at eleven in the morning in her mini-mansion, looking like the basic girl who had too much money and too little attention. You couldn’t take her seriously, even if you somehow understood exactly what she meant.

Not enough to be able to decipher it, but enough for it to hit something in your conscience – the same part that told you whatever happened last night, was okay.

John B deserves to know, and whatever comes of it, you deserve it.

The Chateau appears ominous as you approach it. It’s a simple house, built the way all beach houses on the Cut were, and there’s more than a fair share of memories tying you to it.

Your steps are heavy.

This is a moment you’ve thought about more than once, yet it feels as if nothing could’ve prepared you for the unsettling feeling in your gut. It’s like an open, never-ending hole that’s gaping wide open with its own gravity, suck in everything that gives you courage. To say you feel sick would be an understatement, but you push one leg in front of the other, until your knuckles are tapping against the door.

‘Get out and be a boss bitch,’ Shelley told you.

‘Easier said than done,’ you retorted, and now the words ring truer than ever.

John B opens the door with a smile on his face. His hair is shaggy and chin-length, a lighter shade of brown this time of the year, with more texture to it from the sea salt. He’s got the smile that makes him seem reliable and kind, and the dimples and the curve of his Cupid’s bow have always been what made your knees go weak.

Now, your knees go weak for a different reason.

He goes in for a hug and a kiss, but you turn your head and he kisses your cheek, instead.

‘Hi,’ you say.

‘Hey.’ John B’s hands are still on your shoulders, even when he pulls back with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. ‘Everything okay?’

You nod. Over his shoulder, the Chateau appears to be empty. ‘Is anyone else here?’

‘Not yet. They’re supposed to come over in an hour or so, I think.’

‘Okay.’ You pull your lips in your mouth, scratching your neck. ‘Can I come in?’

John B tells you ‘of course,’ then steps aside as he lets you into the house. As you pass him, you’re overflown by his scent – sweat and salt and sandalwood, hastily buried under a cheap cologne.

The pullout couch, the floor in front of it, the kitchen counters, the bench on the porch, the hammocks, the beds – John B and you have marked each of these spots. A dozen memories rush to your mind, each more painful than the last.

As you take a seat on the couch, you try not to think of the last time you were here. But John B sits down next to you, close enough for your knees to be touching, and the memory is all you can see.

It was the whole group, that night. It must’ve been a Tuesday, because Kiara was off her shift and so was Pope, and JJ was nearly always here, anyway. The five of you had leftovers from the Wreck, each of you chipping in a small amount of money for Kiara’s dad. John B’s arm was slung over your shoulders and your back was against his chest.

JJ cracked jokes as you stuffed your mouth with fries. Pope kept commenting on the jokes, getting JJ all worked up, which made Kiara laugh to the point where she would snort every so often.

It was a good time. You like the Pogues, even if you don’t have much in common with them. You might be from the Cut, officially, but your area is somewhere in the middle, close enough to Kooklandia that your family’s financial situation is more similar to Kiara’s than any of the boys’. And you aren’t like Kiara – you aren’t a Pogue at heart.

Later that night, John B and you had another fight. It was about something you can’t even recall – maybe about how you were too snappy with his friends, or maybe how Kiara’s gaze lingers on him and he’s not exactly opposed. It could be anything; you’ve had enough arguments for them all to blend into one another. They always end the same, anyway – with both of you at least partly naked, panting, and not having resolved anything.

This one was no different. In the morning, you left the Chateau without really acknowledging the boy asleep at your side.

Come think of it, you can’t remember the last time you even spoke to him in the mornings, let alone kissed him, or cuddled up to him.

You cover your eyes with a hand, running it over your face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not really having a good day.’

John B takes this as his cue to put a hand on your back, rubbing what are probably supposed to be soothing circles into it. ‘I can tell you’re hungover. How was the party?’

‘It was okay.’

i need to tell him.

The memory of John B at the other side of bed blends with the one from this morning, of Rafe, and a shudder runs through you. You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, and your boyfriend’s hand disappears.

‘Hey,’ you hear him say. ‘It’s okay. You can talk to me.’

The truth behind his words might be the worst part.

‘I’m fine.’

You lean back against the couch. A moment later, you pull your legs up instead, cross them, and lean against the armrest, instead.

John B is looking at you the way he looks at everyone else. Innocent eyes, gullible face, and a kind smile. It’s the kind of face that you used to think could give you the safety and comfort you thought you needed.

The face blends with another, blonde hair slick with sheen sweat; eyes full of mischief, lips crooked with bad intentions, and bone structure made for boarding school posters.

You blink it away.

‘You’re a great guy, John B.’ Your voice is dry and empty, and somehow that is even worse than if it were laced with emotion. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re, like, an angel or some shit. It’s not even fair.’

He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s because of the odd smile on your face that he seems a little unsure of what to do with himself – his hand twitches as if it’s about to rest on your knee, but he puts it in his lap, instead.

He doesn’t know where this is going, you realise. Or maybe he does – but he’s not letting himself believe it.

It makes you sigh, because it makes you feel all the worse.

just fucking say it

You gaze straight into your eyes, despite the heaviness in the pit of your stomach, despite your heart racing inside your ribcage, despite the room starting to spin a little. You’re going to be honest because John Booker Routledge does not deserve to be lied to.

You may not love him the way you’re supposed to, but your respect and admiration for him are endless.

So you begin. ‘Last night, I…’

It’s supposed to be easy, because you know what you need to say, but your brain freezes and the words drift from your tongue, your lips tremble and your eyes can’t detach from John B’s. They’re kind, and caring, and even though he’s probably starting to catch on to what’s happening, he still looks at you as if you matter – as if he’s saying it’s okay, i’m here for you. The corners of his lips tug to the side and you see the earnesty in their curve, and the dimple in his cheek reminds you of all the times he stood by your side when you needed him, when he lent his shoulder for you to cry on, and the softness of his hand that’s now on your knee reminds you of how innocent and gullible he is and you can’t ruin it.

Maybe John B was the person you needed at the time because he’s all these things, and maybe you’ve been drifting away from each other for a while, but he doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to him. You see trust in his eyes, despite everything, and in that moment, you hate yourself.

You don’t have the right to kill that innocence.

So you put his hand away from your knee as softly as you can, and clear your throat. ‘Last night I was thinking about us. I don’t think we’re happy anymore. Not together, at least.’

The wrinkle between his eyebrows is back. ‘Are you— What are you trying to say?’

His name is soft on your lips, your head tilted to the side. ‘You know what I’m trying to say.’

He takes a moment and you give it to him.

‘Is it because you don’t trust me?’

‘No,’ you tell him honestly. ‘I just don’t think this is working. I don’t really belong with your friends and you don’t belong with mine.’ You don’t acknowledge you’re the one who doesn’t deserve trust. ‘All we do is argue.’

‘We have good times.’

‘We have good times, but it’s not enough to just have them. Spending time shouldn’t be something we both feel like it’s required of us – stop, you know it’s true. Look, you’re honestly a great guy and I wish it could’ve worked out, but it hasn’t and it won’t.’

You breathe out, for the first time in what feels like forever. The corners of John B’s lips fall as he turns his head away; you watch his Adam’s apple bobble, hear him quietly sigh. His skin is flushed and lips shaking, but he doesn’t look too rattled. You’ve seen him rattled when his dad went missing for a few days – this isn’t it.

All it looks like is John B taking a moment for your words to sink in, is all.

At last he nods. He glances at you and his face is still flushed, but his eyes are dry. ‘You’re right. This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it has.’

It’s quiet, but it’s comfortable, too. The tension that’s been between you two for a while has been lifted.

You want to pull him into a hug, but it’s selfish – he’s not the one who needs it, and he’s not the one who should give it to you.

‘Friends?’

John B looks hopeful when he asks the question.

It’s something you’ve thought about before, and maybe if you hadn’t fucked shit up last night, it could’ve been a possibility. Now, you just give him a shake of head and a smile that you hope is soft enough. ‘I don’t think we can go back there again.’

He understands. Of course he would – he’s John fucking B.

You’re out of the Chateau five minutes later, for good. Some part of you wants to bid goodbyes to the Pogues, too, except you know that’s the part of you that made itself believe that you’re one of them. A clean slate is better.

The walk home takes you through the woods around the Chateau and you walk next to the beach a little, opting for a detour. The combinated scent of fresh air, trees, and the sea has always had the ability to calm you down – one of the reasons why being around John B used to feel good. Sand glides underneath your feet and you glance at the kids playing in it a few feet away, not a care in the world.

It’s not that you’re dishevelled or rattled or upset. Okay, upset might be applicable, but overall you’re fine. Like the two of you agreed, the breakup has been a long time coming.

the only problem, you think as you kick a red solo cup that’s on the sand, is last night’s fuckup.

With John B out of the way, the only thing left to think about is what the fuck am i going to do with rafe? It’s not like you see the guy often, but the idea that he’ll spread rumours about you makes your skin shiver.

You fumble with your purse and finally text Shelley it’s been done. She wants to call, naturally, but you make a promise you’d call once you’ve taken a shower, had some time to think, and stuffed some food into your mouth.

Miss Dollinger [7:32pm]: fine bitch hmu once you’ve got your priorities sorted

That’s as sweet as Shelley is going to get.

The same solitude offered by the beach that usually calms you, is daunting now. Your home is a little over an hour’s walk from where you are right now, and it’s an hour during which you plan to deafen your thoughts by listening to music, or a podcast, or anything.

Like always, the plan is to leave the thinking to tomorrow.

It’s about half an hour later that your earbuds are blasting an old Bon Jovi album and you almost miss the vibration from your phone. You take it out of your pocket, click the unlock button, and glance over the text message.

Unknown Number [7:59pm]: one of your friends left her phone at Coopers. text me your location and I’ll come give it to you. Rafe

Moments later, you get another message: a picture of a phone screen with you, Shelley, and your other Kook friend Siobhan on it. Some random guy took this at a party a few months back, during spring break, and you didn’t even know that’s Siobhan’s screen saver. It has to be, though – both Shelley and you have your phones.

You sigh, because as much as you don’t want to deal with Rafe anymore, it is important.

Throwing a quick glance at your surroundings, you realise you’re almost halfway to your home, currently in the very middle of the Cut. It’s the place with tiny streets, small houses that are all in different stages of falling apart, and a few small local shops that somehow sell the best things you could ever find.

Me [8:02pm]: Lincoln St., Danny’s Bakery. Be quick.

It’s a little past eight and you’ve been to Danny’s enough times to know that he both is open till eight thirty, and sells something you’d manage to find money for in your purse.

Rafe texts you that he’ll meet you in fifteen, so you kill time by eating what could easily be one of the best croissants you’ve ever had. It might have something to do with the atmosphere, too – you’re hungover, just back on the singles market, having managed to do a really bad thing the night before, and are currently waiting for the said bad thing to come meet you.

this croissant really is the highlight of my last twenty-four hours.

You’ve got music in your ears loud enough to drown out both the sound of people and whatever thoughts might want to be running through your head, so it’s not a surprise it takes you a while to notice your name being called. It’s accompanied with a hand hitting the car door with an open palm, accidentally—or on purpose—to the beat of Jon Bon Jovi singing ‘i never knew i had a dream/ until that dream was you’.

The moment you glance to the right, you grunt.

‘Y/N,’ the blond says instead of a greeting.

One earbud pops out of your ear. ‘Rafe.’

The car that’s parked so close it’s almost behind you is an older Ford pickup truck, black and a little beat-up. In the driver’s seat, a little too close for your liking, is Rafe Cameron, with one of his hands hanging out of the window, definitely tapping along to the beat.

‘You’ve got a good taste,’ he tells you. ‘But you should probably turn that down if you want to be able to hear in ten years’ time.’

It’s not something you dignify with a response, but you do turn the volume down quite a bit. You look around, and people are giving the two of you odd looks – you don’t know whether it’s because of the fact that you’re sitting and talking to a guy in a car next to you, or because the car is very prominently not owned by someone from the Cut.

‘You shouldn’t have come in that,’ you say, only for him to hear. ‘You stick out. People are noticing.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘I do. Just give me the damn phone, Rafe.’

He presses his lips together, sighing as he reaches into the car. He hands you the phone and you confirm it’s Siobhan’s, as her password is the same one she’s had for years now.

‘Thanks.’

It’s getting quite late and walking to Siobhan’s would be quite a trek. The girl lives even deeper within Figure Eight than Shelley does, so you decide you’ll just give it to her tomorrow morning. She’s got a backup phone, anyway.

You notice Rafe’s still parked next to you. He’s still tapping, out of beat now that he can’t hear it anymore. He looks different than he did in the morning – his hair is slicked back the way he usually styles it, the polo shirt he’s now wearing is baby blue, and he looks fresh, somehow.

He isn’t looking at you, but it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to leave anytime soon, so you get up from the bench you’ve been sitting on for the past ten minutes and start walking.

Rafe catches up with you almost immediately, driving his car at the speed of your walking.

‘Are you walking home?’ he asks. His tone is a little shaky and he sounds a little uncertain, which you find ridiculous.

It doesn’t make you slow down. ‘Why does it matter? You’ve given me the phone, you can go now.’

‘Let me give you a ride.’

‘Again?’ you scoff. ‘I’m not your charity case, Cameron.’

‘I know, Y/L/N. You’re on my way home, anyway. Don’t be difficult about this.’

‘Go away.’

You speed up a little, fumbling with the earphones’ wire. Rafe speeds up, too, but he’s adamant at staying at your pace, even if his car makes it difficult. At this point, it’s a given people are staring. It’s the Cut – everybody’s up in everybody’s business if it’s out in the open for everybody to see.

It’s what Rafe doesn’t understand.

‘Shit,’ you mumble, because the earphones won’t untangle, and your hands are starting to shake.

‘It would be ridiculous if I let you walk all the way home when I can give you a lift.’

You don’t see it, but you know the Cut well enough to be able to tell that the eyes you feel watching you aren’t just a figment of your imagination. ‘People are staring.’

Rafe sighs. ‘Then get in the car.’

You’re in the middle of the street, but you stop in place anyway and turn to him, hands balled in fists. ‘Why do you give a damn?’

To give him credit, it’s enough to make him hesitate. Both of his hands are resting on the wheel and the whole situation must appear so absurd that you can’t even piece together how the last twenty-four hours even happened.

When Rafe finally looks at you, his face is indecipherable. When he speaks, he doesn’t tell you why he gives a damn. ‘Please, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but at least just let me give you a lift. Please.’

fine, you think. i’ll be your charity case. ‘Will you stop bothering me, then?’

He hesitates again and you see his Adam’s apple bobble. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

You march over to the other side of the car, agonizingly aware of all the people treating this as their daily dose of Drama From the Cut. True to his words, Rafe is quiet when you enter. He drives slowly, glancing at you ever so often, finding his way around the Cut even if you still haven’t told him where to drive you to.

‘Are you trying to be my chauffeur?’

A half-smile for a half-joke; Rafe knows he’s threading on thin ice. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’

With resignation, you give him Siobhan’s address. He puts it in the GPS on his phone and places it on the holder propped up on the dashboard.

This time, being in a car with him feels different. You’re more sober and more present, and so is he – the tension between you two is palpable, even though he doesn’t glance at you once. His sole focus is the road in front of him, and you hate the fact that yours isn’t.

It’s this car that makes Rafe not resemble the Rafe Cameron that’s the prince of Figure Eight. It’s not the newest brand—he has to connect his phone to it with an AUX cord—and it’s not the sleek, shiny, sports car or something like a Range Rover that you see most boys of his calibre drive. It’s big, yes, nothing you’d see around the Cut, but there’s something about seeing Rafe so relaxed behind its wheel that looks beaten up; depressing, almost.

There’s no question about this being his car. In the holder, there’s the sunglasses you’ve seen him wear, a bottle of water, some receipts, and loads of empty candy wrappers. Even the music that’s playing is old rock, not songs like rap or whatever it is that rich boys listen to.

He begins humming along to the song that’s playing (you’re not sure, but it could be Led Zeppelin). It’s the first sound he’s made since you left Lincoln St. behind.

why are you doing this?

Looking at him doesn’t give you an answer, only more questions. His left arm is resting on the plastic part of the door beneath the window, supporting his head leaning against it. His fingers are tapping along to the beat of the song, light but confident in the way they hold the wheel.

You have to look away.

Fifteen minutes later, you place the phone in Siohan’s hands. She thanks you for getting it to her and asks a few questions about last night, most of which you don’t answer. She asks if you walked all the way here, but doesn’t inquire when you say a friend gave you a ride.

Calling Rafe a friend is more of a way to prevent Siobhan from raising any suspicions, because Siobhan doesn’t really care about your friends that aren’t hers, too.

Damage prevention that’s damage control, really.

When you enter Rafe’s car again, he’s looking at you with a calm face, waiting for you to say something.

Another old rock song plays from his phone. You’re starting to think that might actually be the music he likes, and that doesn’t sit well with the image of him you have in your head. Nothing he’s done today does.

You lock in your seatbelt, glancing at him. ‘I’m guessing you’re going to insist on giving me a ride home, still, so I’m sparing us both from the argument.’

Rafe turns the key and starts the engine, pulling out of Siobhan’s driveway. It seems as if he’s trying to hide it, but you can see the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. ‘I was going to make sure you’d get home safe.’

‘I would’ve been fine.’

‘It’s the Cut,’ he counters. ‘Not the safest place.’

‘I live there.’

At this point, you’re tired of arguing. It’s whatever. You’re in the same position that Rafe’s still in, only you’re looking out of the window, watching the Figure Eight pass by.

He must notice something’s up, because he lowers the music. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘The Cut?’

‘If it’s the Cut that’s bothering you.’ The car takes a turn, onto the main road. Rafe glances at you. ‘It’ll be easier to get it off your chest than keep it in. I’m going back to college in three days, anyway, so you don’t need to worry about me spilling the beans.’

You sigh and, for a moment, wonder if trying to understand his motivation is worth it. The concern on his face seems as genuine as you’d get from a person you kinda know.

Besides, he’s kind of got a point.

You look into your lap, feeling your shoulders hunch as you finally admit what’s happened aloud. ‘I broke up with my boyfriend today.’

Rafe doesn’t acknowledge your words. His face is distorted in a frown and his shoulder high and tense. ‘Is it because of last—’

‘No. I was going to end it anyway.’

He nods, still unable to look at you. ‘Okay.’

‘It doesn’t— It doesn’t make what we did okay,’ you say. It’s the first time it feels as if you’re truly acknowledging that you slept together. You feel the breeze on your face, already starting to feel like summer’s warm air, and it makes you feel uneasy. ‘It wasn’t okay.’

‘I know,’ says Rafe quietly.

When you turn into your street, five minutes later, he still doesn’t look at you. The ease is gone from his face and you’re glad you’ve arrived – the tension is starting to become unbearable.

He pulls up at the beginning of the street. ‘Which one’s yours?’

‘I’m getting off here.’ You click the seatbelt and it snaps off loudly, plastic against plastic. The music is still too quiet.

‘Okay.’

You expect him to insist on driving you straight in front of your driveway, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

It’s something you should be grateful for, because you can only imagine what these houses must look like in his eyes, now that he’s been to two of your friends’ houses. Yours is modest, even if on the high end of the Cut design and architecture.

This is the part of you that doesn’t come along with you to parties.

‘Well, um. Thanks,’ you say; you don’t even know what you’re thanking him for.

‘Yeah.’

You get out of the car without another word. When he drives away, and when you finally arrive at your front porch, all you can think about is his face when you told him you’d broken up with John B.

★

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