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1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

��is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

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cherienymphe · 3 years

Text

Joke’s On You (Joker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, knife play, blood play, murder, violence,

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: you’re a part time thief who keeps getting in the Joker’s way. What starts out as rivals quickly turns into something hot and heavy, and before you know it, you’re J’s girl. Whether you want to be or not {based off of this headcanon}

The first time you ever come face to face with the Joker, the clown king himself, is during one of the first night’s you first started to execute your grand idea. You went through a klepto phase when you were a kid, but you never expected you’d return to it, and definitely not on a bigger scale like this.

It wasn’t like you were homeless or right on the poverty line. You had money, quite a bit in fact. One of the perks of being a stripper in the most popular club in Gotham, but there came a certain thrill from stealing from the rich in this city. Sure, you took their money on the stage, did everything you could to make them empty their pockets, but taking their money right out from under their nose was different.

You’re not sure when you came up with the bright idea, but you knew that if you wanted to keep this up and stay out of prison, you had to get smart about this. That was where the Joker came in. That clown ran this city, and you knew that with him around, no one would dare to even notice you. If you made your hits the same time as him, you could get in and out to no one’s knowledge.

It was a solid plan.

Until it wasn’t.

You almost ruin his plans to send a bank up into flames, and your eyes briefly meet his cold green ones before you’re taking off. You half expected to hear the sound of gunshots, even expected to get hurt or worse, but you can hear him telling his thugs to stand down. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by your presence, no real threat, and you’re unsure if you should be offended or not.

You had never seen the man himself up close before, and you’re shocked to realize that he’s taller than you imagined. More intimidating than you imagined. Despite the fact that he barely paid you any mind, you can’t help feeling like he’s going to break into your apartment and slit your throat. You’re a petty thief, nothing like the big criminals in this city, and your run in with him spooks you. It takes a long time for you to fall asleep that night.

You quickly put it behind you though and tell yourself that you just have to be more careful from here on out. It soon becomes obvious that that’s easier said than done. You hadn’t meant to get in his way when he was taking the mayor hostage. It was an honest mistake when you almost kept him from breaking some other danger to society out of Arkham, but the nail in your coffin finally comes when you do prevent him from robbing a bank truck.

You barely ducked in time as a bullet came flying past your head. You’re shaken up, but you manage to force yourself to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up and before the Joker took another shot. You should have known that he was going to be expecting you. The Joker was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

You walk right into a trap, and you’re in the bank vault, hands full of money when you feel a sharp tug on your hair. You swallow down a yelp as you’re yanked back into a bare chest, and your eyes widen when a hand curls around your throat. You may not be the best villain in the world, but you’re one that can defend yourself, and the walls of the vault shake as you fight back.

He’s stronger than he looks, but you’re stronger than you look, and you both realize this when he has a gun pressed to your forehead while you have a knife at his throat. Your heart is hammering inside of your chest because not only are you once again face to face with the Joker himself, but he’s seconds away from killing you. You feel like you’re about to throw up, and he’s clearly amused.

He tilts his head at you, red lips parting to reveal a shiny grin, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he presses the barrel of the gun even further into your skin. His purple coat hangs off of him, pale chest heaving and that’s how you know that despite his grin, he’s irritated. Maybe even mad.

“…and what do they call you?”

His voice is deep, and that takes you by surprise. A lot of things about the infamous criminal are taking you by surprise.

“What does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway, right?”

He hums, stepping closer with a sneer.

“I haven’t quite figured that one out yet…maybe I will when you tell me your name…”

“Well, I haven’t quite figured out what I want to be called,” you honestly told him.

No one but him and his goons knew about you, so you had never counted on anyone else knowing about you either. The thought of an alias never crossed your mind.

“Trying to steal my shine or something? You want to be the big dog around here?”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, and if he had eyebrows, you were sure he’d be raising one at you right now with the look he gave you.

He narrowed his eyes, and in one movement, he ripped your mask from your eyes, making them widen. He looked down his nose at you, taking in your all black attire before finally resting his eyes on your face.

“…or don’t tell me…you’re one of those girlies who thinks she can run around with me?”

You frowned at him, and he continued.

“I take it you’re a big fan.”

His tone was mocking, and you had the urge to spit in his face, but you knew that would surely put a bullet in your head, so you simply rolled your eyes.

“Hardly. With you around, no one will even look my way. Your taste for the dramatics allows me to stay below the radar,” you told him.

He hummed at that, tilting his head from side to side as he weighed your explanation in his mind.

“That’s smart, and I gotta hand it to ya, I didn’t think you were smart.”

Your frown deepened at his backhanded compliment, but it was quickly wiped from your face when he tightened his hold on his gun, and your eyes widened.

“Smart, but not smart enough to stay out of my way-.”

He was interrupted as the building shook, and you both turned as gunshots reached your ears. While he was distracted, you slipped out of his grip, ducking in time to miss a bullet before turning the corner. A recognizable shadow passed over the walls, and you ducked into a nearby hallway just as the winged vigilante himself met the Joker as he stepped into the hall.

The air hitting your face reminded you that your mask was gone, and you quietly made your way to the back exit as the sound of fighting and gunshots grew fainter. You released a sigh of relief when you made it outside, and although you didn’t have anything to show for your excursion, at least you had your life.

A thin layer of sweat clings to your skin as you step down off of the stage, feet aching in your heels. A coworker of yours winks at you as she takes your place on the stage, and you wish her luck. Customers were being a bit stingy today, and considering your last heist granted you with nothing, your lack of cashflow today had you more annoyed than usual.

Sure, it was a Tuesday afternoon, but it was still the hottest club in Gotham. Customers of all types of backgrounds frequented the place, and although the old money crowd practically lived here, you had a love hate relationship with their kind. They tended to be the stingiest with their money despite having more than you could ever dream of.

“What time are you off?”

You turned to another girl who worked at the place, Mandy, and threw her a grim look.

“12.”

She grimaced, blue eyes filled with pity as she shook her head.

“Sheesh. Well, that’s what happens when you’re the best dancer in this place,” she said with a shrug. “Your demand is high.”

“High demand and low pay. What a treat,” you sarcastically replied.

She chuckled, but she quickly swallowed it down, eyes glancing past you. The club was already loud, but there seemed to be an uptake in noise, and you turned to find the cause. You froze where you stood, eyes wide and lips parting at the group of people who just stepped into the place.

All of the men varied in size and shape, all dressed in black as they made their way inside like they owned the place. You supposed that in a way they did. Anyone following the footsteps of the Joker probably felt like he could get away with anything. The man in question led the bunch, strutting past patrons with a dark look in his eye, green hair contrasting against his dark red shirt.

You quickly turned back around, squeezing your eyes shut as Mandy let out a low whistle.

“I haven’t seen him step foot in here in forever,” she commented.

You looked to her with a confused frown.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve only been here for what, half a year? The Joker used to come in here all the time. They’d get a bit rowdy but what is that when he’s the highest paying customer?”

She shrugged, reaching for a tray of drinks, completely unaware of your internal dilemma. It was almost time to get back on stage.

“Have fun,” she purred, walking past you.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you stewed over what you should do. Sure, you were a thief in your spare time, but you couldn’t lose this job. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t walk out of here, so you straightened your shoulders and made your way back to your stage.

You kept an eye out for pale skin and green hair, and you were thankful to find him far on the other side of the room. He and his crew were occupied by another dancer, Mandy serving them drinks. You were thankful and carefully stepped onto the stage.

As usual, you attracted a nice sized crowd, and you made sure to keep your face turned away as you moved around the pole. You were pleased to find that this crowd was more generous with their money, but your satisfaction was short lived when your turned to find your boss gesturing for you to come off the stage. You were confused but did so anyway. He nervously scratched his dark beard as you approached, and you had a sinking feeling in your gut for some reason.

“What is it?”

He grumbled and jerked his head towards the other side of the building, and you hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The Joker’s goons were having a good time tossing money at the dancer on stage, a few of them clearly drunk. The green-haired man, however, wasn’t partaking in the festivities. His unreadable gaze was focused on you, and your heart sank when he didn’t break the stare. You were forced to when your boss spoke.

“He wants a private session with you,” the older man mumbled, and you’d be dumb to miss the fear and concern in his voice.

You internally cursed.

“You’re kidding…”

“…’fraid not. He was very clear in his…request,” he responded.

You both knew that it wasn’t a request. The Joker never requested anything, and you briefly closed your eyes, positive that this was going to be your last night on earth. Your boss placed his hand on your shoulder, gaze sympathetic…and pitying.

“Just do what he says, alright?”

He wasn’t just telling you that to make more money, but to keep you from becoming the clown’s next victim. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that your fate was already sealed. With a nod, you strutted past him and made your way to the other side of the room. The Joker’s expression didn’t change as you approached him, and you nervously swallowed. His cold green eyes seemed to follow the gesture, and you took a deep breath.

“Someone request a private room?”

Again, he said nothing, simply tilting his head to the side as his trailed his eyes over your scantily clad form. Some of his posse was still enamored with the dancer before them, but the rest had turned to not so discreetly eye you. They all looked away when the green-haired man stood, and your eyes fell to the sliver of skin that peeked through the top of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze.

“Right this way…”

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you could feel his presence behind you as you led the way to the back where the private rooms were located. The walk was quiet, thick with tension, and you wondered if it was too late for you to start saying your prayers.

You went in first, blinking at the red glow of the room that came from the neon lights. You were shaking, stomach churning as the door clicked shut behind him. You turned to tell him to get it over with when his hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to swallow your words. You let out a pained squeak, eyes watering, but his lips swallowed any other noise you threatened to make.

Your eyes were wide as he roughly kissed you, shock coursing through you while his mouth moved against yours. You stumbled back in your heels, but he quickly followed, teeth nipping at you so violently that you tasted blood. You wanted to tell him that this wasn’t that kind of club. This was not in your job description and was not allowed, but you remembered your boss’ words and wondered if he knew that this was what the man wanted?

Even still, you couldn’t go through with this, but his tattooed hands were ripping at your attire before you had the chance to voice what you wanted to say. Your lips were finally free to tell him off, but the only thing that came out was a yelp when his teeth sank into your shoulder. The pain you felt was quickly overshadowed by the pleasure that warmed your stomach when his fingers brushed over you.

You pushed against his chest, but his other hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so that your back was pressed to his chest. It happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to ponder what was happening until he was already inside of you. One hand was tangled in your hair, face pressed into the seat of the sofa as broken moans escaped your trembling lips.

His free hand was pressed into the skin between your shoulder blades, holding you down while his hips snapped into you over and over again. He was far from gentle, but every harsh stroke only seemed to stroke that fire inside of you. Your lashes were fluttering as he thrust into you, eyes rolling while you tried to make sense of everything.

You could feel his nails pressing into your back as he pinned you down, and your own scraped against the fabric of the couch while choked moans climbed out of your throat. This was far from how you expected your day to go. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that this man was trying to kill you. You fluttered around his unrelenting cock and tried to remember why that was a bad thing.

He let out what sounded like a growl above you, the fabric of his pants pressing into your skin as he ground against you, and his hand in your hair moved to the back of your neck just as the tightening in your stomach snapped. You came around him with an embarrassing scream, going limp beneath him as he fucked you through your climax, diving headfirst into his own.

You collapsed the minute he let you go, vision blurry and throat sore as you heard him zip his pants. You were still shaking, and he was already gathering himself together like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked you delirious. You moved to stand, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but you collapsed back onto the couch.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you heard a low chuckle in his throat. Either way, you didn’t get to ask him because the sound of the door slamming shut reached your ears seconds later.

The next time you ran into that stupid clown, you took great satisfaction in striking him square in the face. You didn’t care that he was surrounded by his band of hired muscle nor that you were currently standing in the middle of a jewelry store, alarm blaring in your ears almost painfully.

He gestured for the men around him to continue looting the place, seeing as they had paused to take in the scene. You knew they would have killed you without hesitation had he told them to. You glared at him as he grinned at you, bat perched on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta stop running into each other like this,” he lowly said.

“That was for the last time we ‘ran into each other’,” you sneered. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to-.”

“Consider it my way of letting you get off easy.”

He chuckled at his play on words, but you weren’t amused in the slightest.

“Get off easy? Are you even crazier than everyone thinks?”

His grin was gone in a flash, and he stepped towards you, tapping his bat against his shoulder as he leaned in. His lips were parted as his eyes bore into your own, and you forced yourself to stand your ground as the scent of him invaded your nose.

“If you recall,” he slowly began. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

You swallowed, jaw clenching as he tapped his finger against your nose.

“The plan was to put a bullet in that pretty little mouth of yours. Does that…ring any bells?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fucking you brought me more satisfaction than killing you ever could,” he deeply said.

You felt heat rise to your face, and he tilted his head, lips brushing against your own as he spoke.

“So…I suggest you keep me satisfied…”

His coat flew behind him as he spun away, stomping towards one of his men to bark orders at them. Anger and humiliation coursed through you as you stomped outside, and you narrowed your eyes as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. With a sneer, you grabbed the knife in your holster before slashing the tires on his van.

That kept you satisfied throughout the rest of the night, but you paid for it dearly the next day at the club. This time, he hadn’t even waited until you were in the room. His hand had curled around the back of your neck as soon as you got to the door, forcing you inside as soon as he opened it.

You had stumbled in your heels, falling to your knees, and he was there before you could even rise. His hand was on your neck the entire time he slammed into you, the carpet scraping against your back. You could hardly breathe, let alone moan as he had his way with you, and you knew that he was genuinely angry this time, and you wondered how he managed to escape the police.

He was punishing you for your little stunt, but God did you love it. Your hands fisted into his bright red button down as he slid into your soaked walls, trying to pull him closer. You heard him hum every time you clenched around his throbbing member, the sound of your arousal reaching your ears. You should have been embarrassed at how wet you were, but the Joker seemed to enjoy it just fine, and besides. You saw no reason to pretend.

Like the last time, he was righting himself as soon as he was done while you lay on the floor, still trying to catch your breath. You let out a soft chuckle as he slammed the door behind him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t even able to talk in the morning.

This little game between the two of you became something of a regular occurrence. You’d make your hits when and where he did his to avoid exposure, and sometimes things would go wrong on his end. Some mishaps were genuine accidents, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the way he’d take out his frustration on you.

He fucked you like an animal, and you loved it because sometimes you couldn’t even form words afterwards. And best of all, he wasn’t trying to kill you anymore…just your vagina.

One day, he didn’t leave as soon as he was done. He stood over you, watching as you fought to control your breathing. When you realized that he wasn’t making any moves to leave, you peeled your eyes open to look up at him from your place on the couch.

“…what?”

You nervously sat up as he dug into his pocket, eyes widening when he pulled out the shiniest bracelet you’d ever seen. He dangled it in front of your face, a low hum escaping him as you admired it.

“Saw this shiny little number in the display. It had my little thief written all over it…”

He jerked it away when you reached for it, so you reached higher, gasping when he closed his free hand around your wrist. You watched as he snapped the expensive piece of jewelry around your arm, and you brushed your fingers over it the minute he let you go.

You were forced to pull your eyes away from it though when he harshly gripped your chin, pulling your head up so that you were looking at him. His green eyes bore into your own, face unreadable as he pressed his red lips together.

“You like it, doll face?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin, and you nodded.

“I love it,” you told him, unaware of the implications behind the gesture.

You started showing up to work with all kinds of new things. A new pair of earrings, a necklace that wasn’t that before, even some new heels that didn’t hurt your feet as much. You figured it was just a perk of fucking the king of Gotham, of keeping him satisfied.

You didn’t know that it went beyond mere satisfaction and thankful gestures.

It was a late night, or early morning depending on how you looked at it. The club was almost at its peak, the early hours of the morning being your busiest. You hadn’t seen J in a few days, but it wasn’t unusual. The man was basically running an empire.

You were servicing a client, a regular who could never stick to one dancer. He had a habit of hopping between the ladies at the club, and it looked like this week, he’d chosen you. The loud music filled your ears as you slid your hands over his shoulder, thighs brushing his as you danced on him. The bass from the music made your body vibrate, and your eyes fell closed as you fisted one of your hands into your hair, chest pushed forwards.

The man had already given you a handsome sum of money, and you knew that if you put on your best show, there was plenty more where that came from. The loud music prevented you from hearing the rise in voices as a new patron entered the club. It also prevented you from taking note of the worried chatter that had only just started to emerge, but it didn’t drown out the sound of a gunshot that you flinching.

However, you didn’t open your eyes because of the gunshot. You opened your eyes at the feel of droplets landing all over your face, hair, and clothes. You faintly registered the sound of screams surrounding you as people fled from the club, tripping over one another. You stumbled back, frozen in place as you stood up straight, hands raised in front of you as you stared at your dead customer in shock.

He was dead.

That much was more than clear, but you were having a hard time wrapping your head around it. Heavy footsteps slowly made their way over to you, and you hesitantly looked over, terrified eyes connecting with familiar green ones. His eyes were wild and crazed, green hair pushed back away from his face, gun swinging back and forth on his finger. He looked good in his all white suit, not a spot of blood on him.

You wished you could say the same.

“Are you insane?” you screamed, legs trembling.

“Well, that’s what they tell me.”

You frowned at him as he threw his head back and cackled, and you shook your head, fighting to clear it.

“Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

He abruptly stopped laughing, slowly lowering his head to gaze at you. His lips parted into a mocking grin.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I leave town on business for a few days, and I come back to find my girl practically screwing some punk for the whole club to see,” he slowly said, voice low and threatening.

Your anger kicked you into gear, and you stomped towards him, a frown on your face.

“I am not your girl, and even if I was…this is my job! You know this is my job-!”

Your words were cut off, and you winced as he tightened his hold on your neck. Your feet were barely grazing the floor as he walked forwards, forcing you back. You dug your fingers into his arm, hitting at him with your free hand, but he acted as if you weren’t even fighting back.

“Those nice earrings you’re wearing says you’re my girl…”

Your stomach churned as you began to realize the serious meaning behind his gifts.

“…that pretty little bracelet on your arm says you’re my girl…”

You looked around in fear, realizing that the club was completely empty save for you, the Joker, and his thugs. You kicked at him as he forced your back onto the stage, his firm body pressing down on yours. His hold was still tight, and you felt tears spring forth as you fought to breathe.

“…and I say you’re my girl. Understand?”

You gave a shaky nod, but it wasn’t enough for him. He lifted you by the neck before slamming you back down, making you wince, and a slow grin spread along his face, revealing his shiny teeth.

“I’ve got a whole lotta toys, sweetheart. I earned those toys. I took those toys. Those toys are mine…”

You watched as he pointed his gun at the dead man still slumped in the chair.

“…and I don’t like people touching my toys.”

You didn’t get a chance to ponder on this turn of events before his lips were harshly pressing against yours. He slammed the gun down next to your head, hands pulling at your attire, and the tears finally spilled over as you fought against him. You weren’t alone, and this was a new level of humiliation that you weren’t okay with.

A man was dead. In fact, you were still covered in his blood, and the Joker’s men were just behind him, intently listening to everything, no doubt. His grip was harsh as he took hold of your wrists, slamming them down beside you. He let one go to grab his gun, pressing it into your lips as you shook.

“You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to use this again?”

His voice was calm despite the violent implications behind his words, and you shakily shook your head.

He was rougher with you than he had ever been before. Biting you, choking you, and holding you far too tight. Part of you felt like it was done on purpose, not only so you’d get the idea, but so that the rest of his crew would get that you were his too. You cried as he pressed your cheek down onto the stage floor, hips snapping against your backside while harsh grunts left his lips.

You couldn’t handle staring at the Joker’s latest victim while he forced himself into you, so you squeezed your eyes shut. His other hand dug into your hip so harshly, you knew it was going to leave a bruise. As the minutes drew on, it seemed like his ministrations were becoming rougher, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the sound of your sobs were egging him on.

His grip on your hair when he came had more tears springing to your eyes, and you flinched when his lips brushed your ear.

“Clean yourself up…”

Having only been half on the stage, you collapsed to the floor when he let you go. Your hair and makeup were a mess, and you miserably stared up at him through tear-filled eyes as he tucked his shirt back into his pants, swiftly pulling on his white suit jacket.

“…the cops will be here soon, and you gotta pull yourself together. Huh, doll face?”

He forced your head back as he gripped your chin, and you reluctantly nodded. He roughly dragged his thumb over your lips, smearing what was left of your lipstick before taking his leave, leaving you alone with one dead body, and one bruised one.

You shuffled upstairs, arms aching and eyes tight as you made your way to your apartment. It had been weeks since you’d been back to the club. Your boss, someone you were ever grateful for, told you to come back when you were ready. After all, you’d had someone’s brains blown out right in front of you…on you.

You were fortunate that no one stuck around to see J’s possessive display of ownership, so no one knew what his impromptu murder was really about. Everyone speculated that the customer had crossed the Joker in some way, a business deal gone wrong, but only you knew the truth. Only you knew that the man’s only crime had been paying for your time.

You took a break from stealing from the wealthy too. Not only did you lack the energy, but you couldn’t chance running into the Joker. Had you known what all of those gifts had meant, you never would have accepted them. You didn’t want to be the Joker’s. The last girl who got seriously tangled up with him had ended up almost crazier than he was.

Granted, you heard Harley Quinn was doing better these days, but God. Look how long it took her to get there? The thought of telling him to his face that it was over was a scary one, so you settled for just hiding away in your apartment. He was the Joker, a man who had a lot on his plate, and like he’d said, you were a toy to him. There were plenty of toys out there, and he could easily find another.

You dropped the groceries to the floor as soon as you made it inside, and you groaned as you straightened. Your shoes clicked along the floor as you made your way through your dark apartment. You turned on the kitchen light so that it would be on when you returned, and you made your way through your living room, looking forward to getting out of these clothes.

However, when you turned on the light in the living room, you were startled by the sight of a familiar green-haired villain standing in the corner like some statue. You barely swallowed down the scream that bubbled in your throat, and your eyes were wide as you took him in.

He was wearing a tux, a nice one with a white bowtie and a matching boutonniere. His hair was slicked back, and you weren’t sure where he came from, but you wanted him to go right back.

“I was enjoying a night out on the town…taunting Batsy as I like to do…”

He walked away from the wall as he slowly begun, cold eyes roaming over your apartment.

“…when I realized that I hadn’t seen my little thief for days. Weeks even.”

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to make his way around the living room, running his gloved hands over your furniture. You didn’t realize that he was gradually closing the circle, nearing you.

“You haven’t been at work. You haven’t been in my face while you ruin my plans. You’re not hiding from me…are ya, doll face?”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down your fear as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I’m not hiding from you. We’re just through,” you told him.

He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you before continuing to look around.

“Did you hear me? You and I are done. Take your jewelry back, take everything you gave me and leave,” you continued.

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and you stomped towards him.

“I’m serious, J! Do I need to call the police?”

That made him turn, and he wagged his finger at you like you were a misbehaving child.

“Careful,” he purred. “…because I personally know a certain thief they’d love to be informed about.”

You frowned, swallowing before pushing past him.

“I don’t care. At least in jail, I’ll be away from you-.”

You were cut off by your own scream, reaching for his hand as he pulled on your hair, forcing you away from the phone. He pulled you against him, and your eyes widened when he pressed a knife against your cheek, a hair’s width away from your lips.

“You have no agency in this arrangement.”

He threw you to the floor, and you scrambled away from him, nails scraping along the wood as he pulled you back. He cut your clothes away with ease, the torn shreds falling to the floor to leave you bear before him. The knife that grazed along your skin kept you from screaming as he undressed, but you did wince when he pressed it into your thigh, like a warning of what could come.

He took you behind the couch first, holding your thighs so tightly that the skin burned when he finally let go. Your table was next, but unfortunately, it didn’t withstand his rough treatment. The wall shook as he fucked you against it, every thrust rattling the pictures you had hung up to make this place a tad cozier.

Broken glass and broken pieces of wood littered the floor by the time he forced you into your bedroom. His knife remained in between his fingers the whole time he fucked you against your sheets. Your scalp burned from his harsh hold, and your throat hurt every time you swallowed, and you just knew that you’d wake up with finger shaped bruises in the morning. His deep voice was a constant in your ear, calling you ‘his little thief’, tsking at you like you were a confused child, telling you how much he was going to straighten you out.

When you clenched around him for a final time, your legs were thrown over his shoulder while your hands were pinned above your head by one of his. His free hand had fun cutting little nicks into your skin, greedily licking up the blood as tears continued to dampen your cheeks. He continued to push himself into you even after he came, and when he finally pulled out, your legs fell to the bed, chest heaving with shallow sobs.

“Now, wasn’t that a whole lotta fun?”

You glared at him as he sat up, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his fair skin, and your eyes traced the ink that decorated him. His green hair was in disarray, a smug grin on his lips as he pushed the strange colored locks away from his face. You could hardly even move, and you feared that attempting to would hurt worse.

You watched as he leaned over to his discarded pants, pulling out some sparkly piece of jewelry that you couldn’t care less about. You swallowed as he held it up, nearing you.

“…and here I was out shopping for something to compliment those new earrings, and you’re talking about leaving me. That’s a bit rude, but I’m willing to look past it.”

More tears spill over as he slides it around your neck, and it feels more like a noose than a necklace.

“You look like a work of art,” he says, lips brushing your cheek. “…all pretty and marked up by yours truly.”

His hair tickles your face, and he slowly leans away, dragging his fingers over your lips. You wince when he roughly grabs your jaw, pressing his fingers into a tender spot that you know is already forming a bruise.

“Now, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so don’t do anything stupid.”

He tightened his grip at the end of his sentence, and you flinched. He grinned at you as he lightly patted his other hand against your cheek, grin widening when you recoiled.

“Let’s not do anything like that again, alright, sweetheart?” he purrs. “I’d hate to have to really hurt ya.”

tags: @harryspet @sherrybaby14 @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203 @mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy

#joker x reader #dark fic #dc fanfic #dc #dark joker #dark!joker #suicide squad

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

My Youth Is Yours

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

synopsis: in a world where you don’t begin to age until you meet your soulmate, Tom notices you started aging when he hasn’t

Masterlist

“Time to wake up.”

You heard Toms voice right before you felt a pillow hit you in the head.

“Mmmmm. I was dreaming.” You whined as you aimlessly threw the pillow in the direction of his voice. You heard the soft thud of the pillow hitting his body as he caught it and knew you were in for trouble. Before you could move out of the way, Tom jumped on top of you and pressed the pillow against your head.

“Aw. About me?” He teased as he squished your face into the pillow. You groaned and pushed him off of you, hearing him laugh as he rolled onto his back beside you. You propped yourself up on your elbow and took the pillow from him, smacking him lightly over the head with it.

“I said dream, not nightmare.” You sassed him. Tom rolled onto his side and smiled softly as he moved a stray hair off your forehead with his pinky.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who made you coffee.” He drawled before reaching over and retrieving the cup of coffee he had set on your nightstand.

“Coffee?” You groggily sniffed the air as he placed the cup right underneath your nose, making your eyes widen in delight. “Coffee!”

“With almond milk and sugar.” He sang as you gratefully took the cup from him.

“You’re so good to me.” You said before taking a long sip. “No wonder I’ve kept you around all these years.”

“Mm.” He hummed sarcastically. “20 years and counting.”

“Yep. And you don’t look a day over 18.” You teased as you cupped his chin. Tom rolled his eyes at your comment, but he wasn’t really annoyed. The fact that neither of you had started aging yet worried him daily. Sure, it meant you hadn’t met your soulmate yet, but it also meant your soulmate wasn’t Tom. He tried to convince himself that maybe you both had started aging, you just didn’t realize since you saw each other every day. He knew he was a long shot, but it was all he had to hold on to.

“Shut up.” He faked a laugh. “Neither do you, baby face.”

“You’re the one with the baby face.” You shot back as you climbed out of bed.

“This baby face is gonna allow me to play teenagers as long as I want.” He called after you as you waltzed towards the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom.

“Until you meet your soulmate.” You stopped in the doorway and gave him a pointed look. “You know white men age like apples once they meet their soulmates.”

You kept your tone light, but you dreaded the day Toms face would show signs of aging. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about as your youthful appearance told you exactly what you didn’t want to hear; you hadn’t met your soulmate yet.

“Lucky for me, mine seems to be on another planet.” He sat on the edge of the bed and swung his feet as he watched you wash your face.

“Maybe shes off somewhere making coffee for my soulmate.” You chuckled from inside the bathroom.

“That would be funny.” He commented. “Maybe they’ve fallen in love with each other and forgotten all about us.”

“Imagine?” You laughed as you began to apply your makeup. “What would we do then?”

“We’d have to be together, I guess.” Tom forced a laugh as he tried to sound like he was into kidding, when in reality he was completely serious.

“You wish.” You paused applying your mascara and winked at him from the bathroom. He smiled sadly and shrugged, but you missed it entirely.

“Yeah.” He mumbled as you shut the bathroom door to get changed. “I wish.”

Tom pouted and looked at his hands, a sinking feeling finding a home in his tummy. He hated being reminded that you were eventually going to meet someone else and grow old with them. He wanted to stay in your youthful bubble as long as he possibly could. The sound of the door opening brought him out of his thoughts as you walked down the hallway that connected the bathroom to your bedroom. You were in your work clothes now, minus your heels.

“There she is.” Tom smiled at you. “Going for the pencil skirt, I see.”

“I just want to look good in case my soul mate decided to take a desk job.” You shrugged as you slipped into your pumps.

“So that’s what a guy has to do to get your attention?” Tom raised as eyebrow. “Get a desk job?”

“Uh huh.” You bit your tongue between your teeth and rested your hands on his shoulders. “I find actors so boring.”

“I bet you do. How about I take you out tonight? I know your boss has been on your case lately.” Tom asked as he peered up at you from his seated position on the bed. He rested his hands on your hips and drummed his thumbs on your waistline.

“I would like that.” You smiled as combed your fingers through his hair. “It’s a date.”

“A date.” He nodded, leaning into the palm of your hand. You winked at him again and checked your watch, eyes widening at what you saw.

“I’m running late.” You sighed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” He waved at you gently as you slipped your arms away from his neck.

“Muah.” You bent down and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, knowing how much he didn’t like it.

Or so he claimed.

Tom scrunched his nose and wiped the kiss off, really only concerned with getting the lipstick off his cheek.

“Give me a real one, why don’t you.” He jokingly called after you, but once again meant it in it’s entirety.

“Maybe I will.” You called back before shutting the front door.

You arrived at work on time, much to your relief. You greeted the secretary and picked up the paperwork, noticing the pike was a little bigger than expected.

“Is this all for me?” You asked with a tight smile as you collected the stack of files.

“I’m sorry.” The secretary shook her head. “Mr. Brighton dropped them off last night. He specifically asked that you do them.”

“This is the company’s budget.” You realized as you thumbed through the filed. “That’s his job, not mine.”

“Are you surprised?” She laughed sadly. “I haven’t seen him doing his own job since I started here.”

“I better get started if I want to make it home on time.” You sighed. “Have a good one.”

“You too.” She called after you as you made your way to your desk. Along the way, you greeted the girls you worked with.

“Stacey, I called the IT department and told them about the wifi issue. Thanks for letting me know.” You smiled at your coworker.

“Hi Emma.” You waved and set a few folders down in her desk. “Here are the files you need to redo. Don’t worry about messing it up, it happened to me all the time when I first started. Try to have them in my desk by 4, okay?”

“I told the janitor about the paper towels and he said he’ll make a note to restock them more. Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Joslyn.” You thanked your coworker as you walked by.

“Jaiden!” You greeted. “Great work on your proposal yesterday. Just try not to fidget with your hands so much. You had great ideas. There was no need to be nervous.”

You finally got to your desk and set the stack of files down. You blew out an angry breath, already tired before you even started. Right as you were about to sit down when a man in a crisp navy suit appeared at the desk across from you, setting a box of his belongings down on top of it. He looked up briefly and made eye contact with you, smiling politely and stepping around his desk.

“Hi. I’m Chris.” He introduced himself as he held out his hand.

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.” You reached forward to shake his hand. “Is this your first day?”

“Yep. Just transferred.” He nodded towards his desk. “You’re the boss I presume?”

“Nope. Just one of his many victims.” You chuckled. “What made you think I was the boss?”

“I’m not sure.” He realized. “The way you walked in and took charge, I guess I just assumed you were the boss. You seem like you should be.”

“Oh. Well thank you.” You straightened your blazer with a new sense of pride. “I try to be assertive so I don’t get walked all over.”

“Well it’s working.” He laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You had my respect right away.”

“Thank you.” You smiled politely. “I’m not your boss boss, but I am your superior, so you’ll probably be training under me. I’m supposed to tell you no personal calls, but no one really cares. As long as all your work is done by the end of the day, call whoever you want.”

Chris nodded and took a seat in the desk that faced you, nodding in content as he took in his surroundings.

“Hm.” He shrugged as he glanced at you. “Nice view.”

You caught his meaning and gave him a pointed look, to which he held up his hands in defense.

“Come on.” You nodded towards the hallway. “I’ll show you where the break room is.”

“I’m home.” You called as you entered yours and Toms house a few months later. He came to greet you in a tank top and shorts, his glistening arms telling you he was just working out.

“Hey.” He smiled as he wiped his forehead. “How was work?”

“Brutal.” You sighed as you set your bag down. “I don’t know how much longer I can last there.”

“Your boss again?” He smiled sympathetically as he rubbed your arm.

“Yeah.” You shrugged tiredly. “I swear, he has a vendetta against me or something.”

Before Tom could respond, you phone chimed in your bag. You got it out and saw a message from Chris, making a smile tug at your lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Tom chuckled, always a fan of that smile.

“Nothing. Just something dumb the new guy sent me.” You dismissed as you put your phone away.

Toms face faltered momentarily as he wasn’t used to you not telling him things. He let it go, assuming it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“My day wasn’t much better. We couldn’t figure out how to get this one…” He trailed off, his face growing pale and fearful.

“What?” Your eyebrows knit together at his sudden mood change.

“You look different.” He said quietly.

“Bad different?” You worried.

“No, just…you have a gray hair.” Tom admitted, making you let out a shocked laugh.

“What? Let me see.” You ran over to the mirror in the hallway and Tom followed.

“Look. Right on your part.” Tom pointed out a single silver streak on your part.

“Oh. You’re right.” You gulped as a sick feeling sunk into your tummy.

You turned around to face Tom, who looked like he was about to cry.

“You…you aged?” He croaked as he tilted his head to the side.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” You shrugged weakly, trying to calm him and yourself down.

“Oh.” Tom nodded, stepping back from you and adverting his eyes.

“Maybe it’s from stress.” You offered. “My boss has really been kicking my ass lately. Or-“

“Or you met your soulmate.” Tom cut you off. You frowned and reached out to touch him but quickly withdrew your hand.

“Maybe.” You whispered as your eyes searched his face.

“Do you have any idea who it is?” He asked, already knowing he didn’t want to hear the answer. You stared at him for a moment, the urge to tell him how you felt stronger then ever.

“No.” You said flatly. “No, I don’t.”

“I, um…I have to check on something.” Tom said suddenly as he withdrew from you.

“Tom.” You reached out for him but he backed away.

“I really gotta go.” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later.”

Tom practically ran away from you, making you drop your head in your hands as you sobbed.

You gave Tom his space for a few hours before going to look for him, assuming he’d be in his usual spot on the roof.

“Hey.” You called out to Tom once you found him on the roof. He was lying on his back on top of a concrete slab, staring aimlessly at the sky.

“Hey.” Tom said stiffly, without looking at you.

“You’re mad.” You said matter of factly as you slid down beside him.

“I’m not mad at you.” He said quietly.

“I didn’t say you were mad at me.” You answered. “I said you were mad.”

Tom swallowed thickly and stared at the sky as a tear rolled down the side of his face.

“It’s not fair.” He croaked, clearing his throat when his voice came out weaker than he thought it would.

“I know.”

“I wanted it to be me.” He cried, covering his face with his hand as he cried silent tears.

“I know.” You repeated as you fought back your own tears. “I wanted it to be you too.”

“I look at your face everyday. I see every line and wrinkle because right know exactly how they got there. Who else can say that? Who else knows you like I do?”

“No one, Tommy.” You whispered. “No one knows me like you.”

“Then why-“ his voice broke and he stopped talking. You rested your head against his, moving your nose along his cheekbone.

“Then why are you gonna end up with somebody else?” He finished his sentence as he composed himself.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to.” You wiped your tears off your face. “I wanted it to be you. I was so sure it would be.”

“How did this happen?” Tom sniffled. “How is this fates design?”

“I guess we just weren’t meant to be.” You shrugged sadly as you rubbed your face again.

“But how?” He wondered. “How are we not meant to be?”

“I wish I knew.” You told him as you nuzzled your face against his.

“I wish I knew too.” Tom swallowed as he leaned into your touched. You let out a sigh before sitting up on your knees and hovering over his face.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you stroked his cheek. “I loved you just as much when I was 13 as I do at 23.”

“I love you too but what does that matter?” Tom whimpered. “We’re not supposed to be together.”

“One silver hair does nothing determine who I end up with. I don’t care if fate says we’re not supposed to be together. My heart says we are.” You decided. “You’re the one I want. I’m not interesting in anyone else.”

“Really?” Tom calmed down long enough to hear you out.

“My youth is yours.” You told him. “Everything of mine is yours.”

“But you’re going to continue aging and I’m gonna be stuck like this.” He reminded you.

“There are worse faces to be stuck with.” You smiled softly at him as you rubbed your thumb on his cheek.

“You’re not gonna want to be seen with an 18 year old the rest of your life. People will look at you funny.

“I don’t care how it looks.” You shrugged. “I want this. I want us.”

Tom stared at your upside down face for a moment before smiling at you.

“I want us too.”

You returned his smile before leaning down and kissing him, taking a moment to adjust to the awkward position and slot your lips together. Tom brought his hand to the back of your head to pull you closer as you sat up even more. You moved in sync until you pulled away to catch your breath.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” You chuckled as you sat down again.

“Trust me, darling.” Tom laughed as well. “I know exactly how long.”

“Morning!” You chirped as you took a seat at your desk a few weeks later.

“Good morning.” Chris greeted you. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“I did.” You sighed happily. “Did you?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “I spent the weekend in a bit of a panic.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You frowned. “What happened?”

“It’s so weird.” He chuckled. “I look like I’m 18 for the past few years and all the sudden I get laugh lines. I just looked into the mirror on Friday and saw them.”

“Laugh lines?” You laughed nervously as a panic set in.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m aging finally.”

“Good for you.” You faked a smile. “So you’ve met your soulmate?”

“I mean, I must’ve right?” He asked. “I don’t know who it is, I just know I’ve started to age. It’s pretty weird knowing they could be anybody I currently know.”

“Yeah, that’s really weird.” You agreed.

“Sorry, I keep talking about myself.” Chris shook his head. “Have you met your soulmate?”

“Yeah. His names Tom.” You smiled proudly.

“That him?” Chris pointed to a framed photo of you and Tom you had on your desk.

“Yeah.” You nodded and pushed the picture closer to Chris. “I just took that last week.”

“Funny.” Chris commented as he leaned forward to look at the picture. “He looks a little young.”

“Yeah.” You laughed nervously as you quickly withdrew the picture. “Funny.”

part two

Tag List 🏷

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taeescript · 3 years

Text

I Promise (I)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> Some people have the gifted ability of music; others of mathematics; some perhaps as persuasive argumentators. You have a “gift”, if one would like to call it that. It is the ability to know when somebody is telling a lie.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> hoseok x reader; ?? x reader (the whole gang joins at some point)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> mafia!au

𝔴/𝔠 >> 3.1k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mentions of drug use. nothing else much really it’s actually pretty tame right now

𝔞/𝔫: would you believe be if i said this whole thing was inspired by this singular gif? I lost my old account (rip old fics) but here I am starting new and writing again. Nervous, but please show some love

next part

The music is blasting in your room, and the bass rumbles causing your heart to beat to the rhythm of the song. However, your fingers are tapping to their own creation of a tempo while your other hand scribbles a note down on a piece of paper. It is the end of June and that means you have just received your paycheque.

“$9.74,” you repeat after your calculation, “I’ve got an extra $9.74 to spend.” You lean back in your chair and continues to bob your head. The wall behind you thumps to its own tempo; not of the song that is playing but its own rhythmic pattern. Your roommate is at it again. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift. $9.74. You could get an extra meal. Or an extra drink at the bar. Or maybe you could just put that into your bank account. But that’d be useless, just sitting there. In the very distance, you hear the thumping of your roommate stop and its door creaks open. Another set of doors creak a couple of seconds later. You get out of your seat and open the door to your own room.

Seohyun, your roommate, brushes past you wearing only a pair of shorts and her favourite black laced bra. She walks to the door of the apartment and kisses the man on the lips before taking a drag of the cigarette she is holding in the other hand. He stands with a hand in his pocket and the buttons of his shirt undone. You watch as Seohyun bites his lip before ending the kiss.

“You’re the best,” you hear the robust mint-haired female say.

Cue the all too familiar buzzing.

“Love you, babe,” he says, kissing her one last time before leaving.

The buzzing halts.

“Love you too,” Seohyun kisses him one last time before gently pushing him out the door, closing it when he leaves.

And there returns the buzz.

Seohyun turns to walk back to her room and notices you standing there. “Hey,” she greets.

“You know, he actually does like you,” you comment, coming out of your room. You rub the back of your neck and rotate it once to get rid of the stress. Seohyun sits down on the brown couch in the small living room and takes out a tin box. She crosses her legs and rummages through its contents. A cigarette leaves its embers on the ashtray in the table in front of her. “Right. And I like him too,” Seohyun replies, taking out what she had been looking for, “Him and his drugs.” She shakes the white packet before opening it up. She sniffs the contents once and sighs. Making a motion towards you, she offers its contents to you.

You shake your head. You return into your room briefly to turn off the music and grab your phone and jacket. When you walk back out, you see that the packet is empty and Seohyun is passed out on the couch, fingers still speckled with white dust. You make a quick stop into Seohyun’s room to grab a blanket for her before locking the keys to the apartment.

Your apartment, technically. You had been the one to pay full payment and was content in living alone until Seohyun showed up one night, begging for a place to sleep. You couldn’t let her sleep outside so you agreed. That one night turned into a week and finally a year, where Seohyun still stays.

It isn’t like you didn’t enjoy Seohyun’s company. She is nice to be around, always engaging in some next level philosophical topic, particularly when she is high. It is, however, slightly annoying whenever she brings her “boyfriend”, or boyfriends at times, to the place, but you have learned to drown out their voices and actions by blasting your music. But what you like about Seohyun the most is that she doesn’t ask questions. The buzzing in your head is also always strangely quieter around the other girl as well.

You trudge up the stairs and immediately brings a hand to shield your eyes from the bright sun. It is about seven in the evening but still way too bright for your liking. You like the darkness night brought with it. Serene. Solemn. Locking the gate to the building behind you, you walk down the streets all the while rolling your neck due to its tense state.

No matter how many times it happened, you’d still feel its pain.

The lingering pain left as a reminder of your unique power; gift; thing. Whatever people wanted to call it.

You knew whenever somebody told a lie.

You would feel this strange buzzing at the base of your neck when a person said anything but the truth around you. The buzzing didn’t come every time you talked to somebody - you couldn’t catch all the lies that came out of people’s mouths - but it occurred often enough to be a nuisance to you. While the buzzing wasn’t painful in itself, it always caused your neck to be in sore pain. The pain was not indicative of how big the lie was, however. A lie that involved so many twists and turns that even its creator could not keep track would give you pain. A small white lie would give you the same pain. To you, it was just pain.

You quickly turn the corner and made your way down the stairs into the subway station. The man at the window gives you a small smile in which you did not return but hastily walk through the gate. One hour. It took 46 minutes to get to the station and another twelve minutes to walk. You had one hour. The subway could not be late.

You were not always a walking human lie detector. In fact, you had only been living like this for the past six years of the total of your twenty-six. At least consciously aware of this ability of yours for that time period.

If you really had to pinpoint when it started, you would connect it to approximately four more years prior to that: first year of high school. The prime time of adolescence.

You could hear the first subway leave, vibrations through the sole of your feet and its wheels screeching on the tracks. That left two minutes for you to make it to the opposite platform which was for the direction you wanted to go. You glance at the elevator you are currently standing in front of. It had not budged from “G” for a while now. You glance at the stairs just a couple of steps away. Sighing, you leave your spot and make your way down the stairs. One and a half minute.

The first year of high school sucked. Your parents had always screaming at each other and your brother was constantly skipping school. You did not want to be a second disappointment to your parents so you spent all her time studying in the library. It was also an excuse to be out of the house. One day, you returned home and found your mother crying on the steps of their house.

“Mom, did you and Dad fight again?”

Your mother did not meet your eyes. “Are you okay?” you had asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, trying to console your mother as best as a fourteen year old could do.

“I’m fine,” your mother answered. That was when you first heard a faint buzzing. It was strange for bees to be around their flowerless yard.

“You don’t look fine,” you had pressed on, “Will you and Dad be okay?”

Your mother shifted her position and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She looked at you with a bruised eye and said, “Your dad will be okay.” The buzzing seemed to fade.

You patted the still damp cheek of your mother and hugged the fragile women. You slowly rubbed your mother’s back in small circles. “Mom, you and Dad will work things out. So promise me you guys won’t leave each other.”

“I promise,” your mother had reassured you. That was when you cried out in pain as the buzzing attacked you. Your mother had been alarmed and you had laughed it off, saying that a bee had probably stung the back of your neck while she wasn’t aware. The duo then got off the floor and held hands as together, you walked back into the house.

Your parents split a week later.

You had never found it in herself to forgive your mother after that. You hadn’t even known that you had been lied to until you really thought about it in your years as an adult. You just hated the fact that your mother had promised something that she had been planning to break. When high school ended, you picked a college as far away from your mother’s house as you could. You poured all of your time into your academics and never bothered making friends. Throughout the four years there, you had occasionally felt the buzzing but did not really associate it with anything around her. It only became prominent when you started working at your first job.

To any fresh graduate, this was a hire that was ever only dreamt of. It was a position with a high status in the company: Assistant Director of Internal Affairs. The company had been extremely impressed with your grades and all the extracurriculars you participated in. You had flown to three different cities outside of your own country as an intern and placed first in multiple conferences. It was no mistake that you had gotten in. You had been ecstatic when they spoke to you. You could finally move out of your mother’s house, in which you had temporarily been staying in while job searching; live in a city a thousand miles away from where she currently was, and was able to be somebody whom nobody knew about. It was your dream come true.

That turned out to be a disaster. Every day you went into work, the buzzing would surround you and send you moaning in pain to the bathroom. You could barely speak to any of your coworkers without wanting to strangle them and tell them to be quiet. You could not attend any of the meetings and you had to call in multiple sick days within her first week there. Needless to say, this affected your work performance and after an agonizing four and a half months, the company fired you.

Being without a job meant that you had no steady income. So, you moved out of the luxurious apartment you had just bought with your new salary and used the remaining money to buy the dank, run down one you were currently living in. You searched everywhere and finally found a waitress for hire at a bar close to the middle of the city. It was an hour from where you lived, but at least there you could dull the buzzing with alcohol. And this was how you lived for the past two years.

You cursed. You missed it. The subway left you in its smoke as you got off the last step of the descending staircase.

...

The other man was slouched against the pillar of the building, blood running freely down the side of his head while his hand tried to keep in the rest of his blood from escaping out of the hole on his side. He panted, gasping for whatever oxygen was available.

“Tell me,” the younger man towered over him, “Where did you hide the stash?” “I didn’t hide it, man. I swear. It’s where they asked me to leave it,” the bleeding man held his remaining hand in front of him in defense. “Please don’t hurt me.” There was a swish and cold metal sliced the air. He was not taller than the man, nor any stronger. But he had youth and a quick mind. More importantly, he had a weapon.

“Trust me. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, so don’t make me do something I don’t want to do,” he crouched and put his face close to the other man’s. He pressed the knife against his throat.

The man whimpered as a thin line of fresh blood was drawn. “Please, I beg you. Don’t hurt me,” he said again, voice barely a whisper.

The two stayed in that position until the younger abruptly stood up. “Fine, I won’t hurt you,” he stepped back, “But it’ll be on you when she gets hurt.” His movement is fast and he grabs the wrist of the single other person in the station.

...

You stand with your back against the man, the knife held against your neck this time.

You dare not to move. You swallow once and glance down at the bleeding stranger. He is staring right back at you.

From movies and dramas, you know not to fight back in scenarios like this. You also know not to scream as this would agitate both parties. You return the strangers stare: “Help me”.

Your capturer’s voice rumbles through his chest and onto your back as he speaks, “Your choice. I can kill this girl and have it pinned on you, or you can just tell me where you put the stash.”

“Please,” the bloody man pleads, “I’m just a carrier. I don’t know where any of the merchandise is. I… I admit it, alright? I disobeyed the instructions this time. I didn’t leave it where they told me.”

You feel yourself being dragged closer to the subway tracks. Maybe you should kick or flail around a little. You try, but the man holds you steady. The blade is dangerously close to cutting your skin.

The bleeding man can only watch in horror as the other man stands precariously on the edge of the tracks. “I’m going to push her down,” he is warned. His mind was frantic. He had been told that his task would be simple. He did not know that it would involve another human being to be hurt in the process. His mind flashes back to his little girl, probably still waiting for her father in their small flat.

“I got another message right before I left,” he starts saying, “Please don’t hurt the girl. Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got a family.”

“Don’t we all,” the voice behind you drawls in sarcasm, “Give me another excuse of why I need to keep listening.”

You kick your assaulter. He grips you tighter. She look back at the bleeding man on the ground. He is still staring at you with wide eyes.

“The message told me that the location had changed. I wasn’t sure if I should trust it, but an hour before the pickup time, another note showed up on my doorstep and said that if I brought it to the second location, I’d get an extra $150, so I did it,” he continues.

You feel the tension in your neck slightly subside amongst the chaos. You kicked your assaulter again.

“Exact location. Now,” the voice demands.

“Corner of 16th and Main,” he stammers.

You kick a little harder this time, trying to wiggle out of the tight grip. It is really starting to hurt you. You feel yourself being pushed towards the bleeding man. Both you and your assaulter get extremely close to the man lying on the ground.

You sniff once and instantly regret it. Mixed with the blood, you can smell the acidity of urine. The man is now crying and you think you could see the pool around him widen ever so slightly.

“Please sir, I’ve told you everything that I know. I followed the instructions and left it there. I did not hide it. Somebody else must’ve used me to get it. I swear, Sir, I swear,” he holds his hands out and rubs them, a symbol of asking for mercy.

The two of you stand up, or rather you are hauled up for the man. The knife nicks your neck and you swear under your breath. You can feel the two men stare at each other for a long time.

“Scram,” the one behind her rasps. It takes a while for the bleeding man to stand, but adrenaline does wonders when the body is in danger. He limps out and up the stairs before he can be told twice. There is a rumbling in the distance to indicate that the next subway is arriving.

“There’s a train coming,” you finally talk, “A train means there’s people.” Your assaulter still does not let go.

“You’re hurting me,” you wiggled in his grasp. He loosens it and you finally get away. You turn and glare through your bangs at the man who has been holding you captive. You touch a finger to where the knife had nicked you, then examined it: there is blood.

The man standing has put his knife away. He is studying you with eyes as intense as yours while bringing the lighter to the cigarette in his mouth. He takes a long drag and blows it in your direction.

Standing only a few inches taller than you, he is of slightly above average height. He wears the iconic baggy shirt and jeans of the common gangsters that prowl the area. Even in the dim light of the subway station, you can make out the tattoo of a dragon spiraling up his arm. He does nothing to hide the fact that he is affiliated with the mafia.

You are not particularly intimidating yourself. You stand at 164cm but wear a constant scowl. With your broken nose from a fall in your childhood, the feature makes your whole facial symmetry shift ever slightly to the left, accentuating the scowl even more. In a black t-shirt, black dress pants and black shoes, you wave her hand to rid herself of the smell of smoke.

“So, was he lying?” the man finally speaks after a period of silence.

“Fuck off, Jung Hoseok,” you growl.

#bts #hoseok #jhope #bts au #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n #jhope x y/n #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #mafia!au #mafia!jhope #mafia!bts #jung hoseok #hoseok au

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

when is anakin going to get his revenge and kiss divorced obi-wan back

yes hello this got out of hand and the best moment would be in the hypothetical part two but here is a KUWSK directly post kiss from Anakin's pov. For context, this snippet and this snippet probablllyyyy should be read?

(2.8k, ffs @ kit)

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself after he drops the kids off at school and starts making the drive back home. His hands are tight on the wheel. He’s been trying to think about something else--anything else ever since it happened, but his mind refuses to let go of that moment.

He’s replayed it so many times in the last hour and a half that it doesn’t even feel like an actual memory anymore, just a combination of sensations.

The chill of the almost winter morning that made the hair on his arms stick up. The tacky feeling in his mouth because he had slept a bit later than he had wanted to and didn’t have time to brush his teeth if he wanted to make breakfast before the kids and Obi-Wan left.

The woodsy-spiced smell of Obi-Wan’s cologne, stronger than normal. They’d been standing closer together than normal too, but it had been so early and Obi-Wan’s mind had obviously been miles away.

Anakin had been saying something stupid, something that didn’t mean anything, and Obi-Wan had replied and then Obi-Wan had leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth. His beard had felt so soft against Anakin’s skin, his lips even softer, if a bit chapped.

Had they been chapped? Now Anakin can’t remember, he’s turned this memory over in his head so often. It had been for less than a handful of seconds. A quick brush of lips, a taste of a life Anakin has dreamt about for well over a year now. And Obi-Wan had just turned and left, as if he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. As if he hadn’t just kissed Anakin on the porch for everyone to see.

Obi-Wan would never be that cruel on purpose. Perhaps to that one profesor who always tries to refute Obi-Wan’s papers, but not to Anakin.

Which means Obi-Wan hadn’t been thinking. He had been perhaps caught up in the domesticity of it all, of having someone wish him luck and see him off. And maybe Anakin has been doing something like that for the last two years, but there’s a person who did that for Obi-Wan for much longer. A person they ran into at the park just two days ago.

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself as he gets out of the car and unlocks the house. He tries desperately to keep the despair and jealousy out of his voice, but at least no one’s around. It’s not that he hates the woman or anything. Really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand her, but that’s a given.

He’d never have Obi-Wan’s heart and soul and throw it away. He’d never get tired of fighting with Obi-Wan if he was fighting to stay with the man. He’d never be able to run into him at a park and then just leave again as if seeing him stirred up nothing inside of him.

Seeing Obi-Wan always stirs things up inside of Anakin. It makes no sense that Satine, who had had Obi-Wan’s love--knew all those things about the man that Anakin did not and could not know as just his housemate--had just been satisfied with saying hello and then just as quickly goodbye.

The same cold sinking feeling that Anakin’s been trying to shake off for the last two and a half days returns, and he has to lean against the countertop in the kitchen for a second to ground himself.

They’re going to get back together. They will.

At the park, they had seemed so in their own world, as if everything else had disappeared except for them. Anakin had had to send Luke over, couldn’t stand watching that reconnection happen without at least trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has a family now, that he’s not alone anymore, that there are people who love him.

Obi-Wan had glared at him for his meddling, which hadn’t admittedly done wonders to his confidence. And when Obi-Wan had deposited Luke--Luke--on the ground to chase after Satine, when he had hugged her, Anakin knew for sure.

They were going to lose him.

Anakin had had his set of chances and had taken none of them, and now Obi-Wan’s going to re-fall in love with his ex-wife and Anakin’s going to have to be the supportive best friend who has to figure out how to tell his children that due to unforeseen and tragic circumstances, their Obi is probably going to elope to Paris and maybe send a postcard once or twice a year addressed solely to the children and Anakin will grow old and die alone and the name Obi-Wan Kenobi will be banned from his small, shadowy apartment, and all Anakin will have is a few memories of the two most important and heart wrenching kisses he’s ever been a part of in his entire life.

“He was thinking about Satine,” he tells himself. “He kissed me but it wasn’t about me. It hasn’t ever been about me.”

There’s no denying that Obi-Wan loves Anakin’s children and also no denying that his children love Obi-Wan. Anakin thinks he wouldn’t love Obi-Wan half as much if he hadn’t absolutely been charmed by the kids and vice versa. But he had been. They had been. Those few weeks when Anakin had thought about leaving a year ago had been absolutely awful because he knew he would be breaking his twins’ hearts, not just his. He’d be hurting Obi-Wan too, he had known that.

But he had had to try. Because he knew that if he didn’t try to leave then he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of Obi-Wan’s life when it came time for the man to grow tired of his presence.

It had been a last ditch attempt at saving his dignity. And it hadn’t taken much argument from everyone else to get him to abandon the idea completely.

Now he can’t help but to think he should have put his foot down, gotten some distance. Because now he’s entrenched in Obi-Wan’s world, the same way Obi-Wan is entrenched in his and the twins’ world. Leaving now will feel like ripping himself in two. He’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night five years from now and wonder about the academic response to Obi-Wan’s most recent publication.

He’ll probably have read it. He’ll probably still be fielding questions from his kids’ friends’ parents about whatever happened to that handsome man that used to come in to help during Show-And-Tell Day? Do you remember who I’m talking about, Anakin?

If he had left then, the idea of leaving now wouldn’t hurt so much. But there’s a ticking clock in his head.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

But he was thinking about Satine.

He calls Padme, because that’s sort of what he does when he doesn’t know what to do. She’s never turned him away--with the rejected marriage proposal being the one glaring exception, of course.

Thankfully, she doesn’t start now, though she does sound a little stressed when she picks up.

“Hey,” he says trying to sound normal and as if he isn’t a few minutes alone with his thoughts away from crying like a baby.

“Ani?”

“Are you--are you busy? Something sort of happened.”

“My flight is boarding,” Padme admits, but there’s a rustle on the other end of the line like she’s just sat down. “But it’s not like I’m not assigned a seat. They won’t leave without me. What happened?”

Anakin smiles in spite of himself. She’s really just such an angel of a person.

“Are the children alright?” she asks, sounding worried the longer it takes for Anakin to respond. “Ani?”

“No, yeah, the children are fine. I dropped them off at school this morning. But. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “Obi-Wankissedme.”

“I’m sorry?” Padme asks.

“Obi-Wan kissed me.”

The other end of the line is silent. “And we’re calling this a problem now?” she asks faintly. “Is he a bad kisser?”

“He’s a great kisser,” Anakin defends, shifting awkwardly on his feet, catching sight of the fridge door and quickly turning away.

“Then I don’t…?” Padme trails off uncertainly. Anakin can understand this confusion. Padme has only had to hear about how much Anakin wants Obi-Wan to kiss him for about two years now.

“I don’t think he realized he did it,” Anakin confesses. “He just did it as he was leaving. Because I said goodbye. It--I don’t think he realized who he was kissing.”

Now Padme sounds a distinct mix of skeptical and sympathetic, a tone Anakin’s only ever heard her use with him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because--because we went to the park the other day and he ran into his ex-wife and they were together for, for years so--so obviously he just--he wasn’t--it wasn’t me he was kissing. He was thinking about Satine.”

The words sound dull and practiced and lifeless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Padme says.

“And they’re probably gonna get back together, and we’re going to have to leave, and he’ll never know that I--” Anakin cuts himself off and thunks his head on the countertop with a groan.

Padme hums disbelievingly. “Anakin, I know you’ve never believed me when I say this, but that man is gone over you. And I think if he kissed you long enough for you to tell me for certain that he’s a good kisser, then he definitely knew he was kissing you.”

Anakin bites his lip and debates the pros and cons of being completely truthful. But he had called Padme for help, and she can’t provide the best advice if she doesn’t know the full story.

“That’s not the first time he’s kissed me,” Anakin finally admits, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck.

“What?” Padme exclaims, probably much louder than appropriate for a public space. “Anakin Skywalker, explain yourself right now.”

He exhales forcefully. “Last New Year’s Eve party.”

“That was almost a year ago! And nothing else ever happened between you two? What? We always thought that once the first kiss was out of the way we’d need to beat you both with sticks to keep you off each other.”

“Well--wait, who’s we?”

Padme tsks. “Myself and Obi-Wan’s coworker.”

“You’ve been gossiping about me?” Anakin asks, torn between being flabbergasted and offended.

“That’s not important right now,” Padme says airily. “What’s important here is the fact that you apparently kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi and never told me?”

“He doesn’t remember, okay?” Anakin snaps. “He. We’d been drinking. A lot. It was after everyone left. And. I was in the kitchen and he was in the kitchen and he--”

--had pinned him to the front of the fridge and just looked at Anakin for a few seconds like he was the most precious, important thing in the entire world, and Anakin had opened his mouth to say something and Obi-Wan had--

“--kissed me,” Anakin says out loud. “And then he--”

He had pressed impossibly closer to Anakin, one hand wrapped around his hip, caressing the thin skin there while his other hand ghosted down Anakin’s hair and back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, as his tongue mapped out Anakin’s mouth for what could have been seconds or minutes, and Anakin could have stayed there forever, but his own hands had grabbed too tightly onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders, must have jerked him forward too roughly, because he had been pushed away and--

“--threw up in the kitchen sink,” he finishes.

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line before Padme bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she says once she’s calmed down. “But how do you know for sure he forgot about that? Sounds like something he might just never want to talk about if it ended up with him vomiting in the kitchen.”

“I just know,” Anakin promises. And he does. Obi-Wan had no idea about that kiss. It was a secret Anakin thought about too often, but one he had kept to himself for nearly a year, too afraid to reveal it to Obi-Wan only for the man to say he hadn’t meant to, it hadn’t meant anything, he’d been much too drunk.

Even the idea of Obi-Wan apologizing for one of the hottest kisses Anakin’s ever experienced in his life has been enough to keep Anakin silent on the matter.

But now he’s been kissed again, this time by a sober Obi-Wan, and it still--it still doesn’t mean anything.

“It didn’t mean anything to him then, or he would have remembered,” Anakin tells Padme. “And this one doesn’t mean anything either. The timing is just...it can’t be a coincidence, Padme. He’s never once thought about kissing me, about...about coming home to me like that, and now, a few days after he runs into his ex-wife he’s suddenly planting one on me as he walks out the door? I know--I know you think he...he might...he might have liked me, or...or wanted me, but. There’s no way I can hold a candle to a decades long marriage. I just. I can’t compete with that. He doesn’t want me to.”

Padme’s Anakin is cut off on her end by what sounds like a flight attendant. “Yes, I’m coming,” Padme tells the person, and there’s shuffling and then the distinct sound of the harsh beep of the ticket scanner, before Padme’s heels are clicking on the flight tunnel. “Do not rush me,” Padme tells someone. “What are you going to do, close this thing while I’m in it?”

Anakin has to hide his only sort of watery smile in his hand as he listens quietly on his end.

“Anakin?” Padme asks, and she must be on the plane because there’s a buzz of other people’s noises around her. “Anakin, I know you won’t believe me, and maybe--maybe you’re right and they’ll get back together, maybe you’re going to lose him.” Anakin’s heart hurts quite painfully at these words. “But do you remember what you did the first time you proposed to me and I said no?”

Great, yeah. Just bring up all his biggest failures in love. Sure, why start with Padme? When Anakin had been five he had tried to kiss a boy and been shoved into the mud for his efforts. That’s a fine place to begin, really. Just drag up all the old hurts. He sighs. “I went and got you a bigger ring.”

“And do you remember what you did when I told you that I couldn’t raise the children, but my parents wanted to?”

“I threatened to take them to court if they didn’t let me have them,” Anakin says. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, of course, but Padme’s parents had never really liked him. They still don’t.

Someone’s trying to talk to Padme on the other end of the line. “Yes, fine,” she snaps. “Anakin. Anakin, what I’m trying to say is I’ve never seen you give up on anything without at least trying to fight for it. And I don’t know why this should be different. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you have to watch him get back together with his ex-wife and know you never even tried to tell him he had other options.”

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, speechless. “Then what--”

“So go,” Padme cuts him off. “Go tell him he has other options! For fuck’s sake, yes, alright I’m getting off the phone. Anakin, when I land I expect to have a very detailed account of events waiting for me on my email. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. Anakin stares at the phone in his hand for a handful of seconds, thinking over what she’s said. What she’s implied.

She’s right, of course. Anakin never gives in this easily. He doesn’t fully understand why he’s so ready to capitulate now. Maybe he knows full-well he can’t compete with whatever Obi-Wan had with his ex-wife. They have history. They grew up together, became adults together. Anakin’s just this weird twenty-eight year old man with a pair of kids too old for his age who crashed at Obi-Wan’s house during the lowest moment of his life. Of maybe both of their lives.

Love can’t bloom from that. Not really. Not...not the sort of love that turns into a lifelong marriage.

But. Padme’s right. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t know for sure.

So either he could putter around the house all day waiting for Obi-Wan to text or call or come home, talking himself into and out of confessing every emotion he’s harbored for the man for the past two years, or….or he could drive to his campus and confront him in his office, put himself on the execution block and hand Obi-Wan the axe. At least it would be a quick death.

He glances at the digital clock on the oven. 9:38. The idea of waiting ten hours for a resolution makes his skin crawl.

And besides.

Obi-Wan hadn’t packed a lunch.

#this is unread through #because i have housework i have put off in order to type this #i think we all know where this is going though #anakins gonna Do Something Ill-Advised #asks #KUWSK #poor anakin :'(#i imagine obi-wan was probably very pensive for the rest of the day after the park #and anakins just panicking and thinking that he's thinking about his ex wife #and obi-wan kind of is but he's mostly thinking about his new family #and he's thinking a lot about anakin #if only they c o m m u n i c a t e d

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leighistired · 3 years

Text

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jonathan sims #I wrote a fic #this was supposed to be posted on valentines day

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azucanela · 3 years

Text

interlude

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader. CAN BE READ AS A ONE SHOT.

warnings: cursing. otherwise, fluff kinda.

word count: 3k

summary: the history of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki. or at least, the beginning of their history.

series masterlist

IT SMELLS OF COFFEE AND PASTRIES, it’s a smell Y/N greets each day with joy. Everytime, she found herself grateful that she had elected to work at the café, seeing as it did have a few added benefits— like a free drink and pastry each time she worked, and the salary. And in Y/N’s eyes, baking was a pretty valuable skill, seeing as she couldn’t cook without destroying a kitchen. Though she had tried in the past, most of her attempts hadn’t really ended well, which is why she stuck with baking.

Of course, it was a tad difficult rushing to the café each day after school, especially since it was on the opposite part of her area, but Y/N had found that the cash she made was worth it. And though the walk home could be considered dangerous— well, with a quirk like hers that wasn’t necessarily a huge worry. Although Y/N didn’t really enjoy using her quirk for such things seeing as that would likely result in jail.

She actually intended to apply to UA this year, though if she did get in,Y/N wasn’t necessarily sure she was prepared to give up her job at the café. She’d made friends with a lot of the employees, and the owners as well. It was a nice, local business, and everyone that worked there was kind(for the most part, sometimes the teasing she recieved was a bit annoying). Most of the regulars were fairly sweet as well. Now that Y/N had switched shifts though, she wasn’t necessarily sure what to expect.

Which is why this blond boy had caught her off guard.

“Medium hot chocolate and,” he places one of few bags of chips the café sells, onto the counter, “this please.” He grumbles out. All the chips are lined up on a small rack, and Y/N can’t help but find it a tad odd that he’d selected the spicy variant. Or the fact that he’d selected chips in general seeing as that was odd to pair was with hot chocolate in the first place.

Looking between the chips and him, her brows furrowed temporarily as she said, “odd combination but alright. Your total is $7.02.”

The boy looks to her incredulously, and looking at him now Y/N realizes he seems around her age. “Odd? You’re odd.” Comes his response, tone rather accusatory. It’s an elementary insult, and Y/N probably would’ve laughed at the fact had she not been extremely confused as to why he had even taken offense to her statement. Who has a sweet drink with spicy food? That was just plain abnormal.

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, watching as he practically glared holes into the cash he placed onto the counter.

Rolling his eyes, the blond looked to her with his eyes narrowed, “aren’t you a little young to be working?” His eyes dart around the shop, and Y/N elects not to tell him that her coworkers are currently in the back finishing up some of their more popular pastries as she straightens her posture from behind the counter.

“Aren’t you a little old to be drinking hot chocolate?” Granted they were probably the same age and Y/N drank hot chocolate frequently herself, but Y/N was starting to get annoyed. And if he wanted to pester her, why shouldn’t she do the same?

Stupid gremlin. The customer is not always right, and Y/N would be damned if she let him believe that.

His mouth gapes open at her words, and she can feel the warm of his hands as she drops the change into the palm of them— his gloves seem to have holes, causing her brows to furrow as he replies, “anyone can have hot chocolate, you heathen.”

Y/N is suddenly reminded that the customer is always right before offering him a sarcastic smile and saying, “well, your hot chocolate will be done soon.” Picking up one of the cups to her side and grabbing a marker, she goes to write his name only to realize she hadn’t asked for one. Meaning she would be forced to interact with the boy again, much to her dismay.

Cursing under her breath Y/N calls out, “hey— hey? Hey blondie!”

The boy has barely made his way to the waiting area of the café, but Y/N is grateful that this isn’t one of their busy hours and nobody else is inside as he whips his head around, practically fuming as he asks, “the hell you call me?”

“I need to know your name, blondie.” Comes Y/N’s response, gesturing to the cup in her hand. He seems to get the message, and Y/N has a feeling he’s questioning her ability as a barista as he looks between her and the cup.

The boy scowls, huffing in annoyance as he replies, “Bakugou.” Scrunching up his nose, he looks away, settling at one of the tables and adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. His foot tapping rather rapidly at the floor, Y/N imagines he wants to leave as soon as possible.

Of course, Y/N finds herself calling out for blondie rather than Bakugou, just to spite him. The boy likely would’ve snatched the drink out of her hand had it not been for the fact that boiling hot liquids tended to be dangerous.

Evidently, the hot chocolate was about as hot as his temper at this point. Y/N wonders if she would feel that same rage by touching him, though she quickly pushes that thought to the back of her mind when she realizes she doesn’t really want to feel angry, nor does she want to touch the hot headed boy.

That would probably prove fatal for her.

APPARENTLY BAKUGOU COMES OFTEN for his hot chocolate. Sometimes he sits by the window of the café, eating his stupid chips. And yet, Y/N is intrigued by his presence, he seems interesting and from the looks of his textbook, he’s trying to get into UA too. Studying hard to ensure he passes the academic aspects of the exam. Y/N had done the same, and there was no denying that UA was a prestigious school from the looks of their courses. And well, attending UA was practically guaranteed success.

Maybe it’s because Bakugou is a questionable person, or because she wants to know more about her possible competitor, but Y/N finds herself coming to his lonesome table by the window, two plates in hand that she places— a lot more roughly than necessary— onto the table, before plopping down into the seat opposite of him. This seems to startle him, as he jumps in his seat, brows furrowing together at the sight of her as he asks, “the hell you want?”

Y/N simply shrugs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m on break and I’m bored.”

“So you decided to bother me?”

Okay, maybe the boy had been working a bit too much and Y/N had become a little concerned, but that didn’t matter because he was still annoying. It’s just that in the past two months she’d seen him more frequently, and learnt a bit more about him so… Bakugou had become tolerable. So Y/N finds herself replying, “yes.” She pushes the plate towards him, “now try something other than those chips.”

He looks between her and the pastry she’s set before him, a simple muffin, and Y/N wonders if he thinks she’s poisoned it. Although, with their track record, it’s a reasonable assumption. That doesn’t stop her from gesturing to it, looking to him expectantly. In response, Bakugou looks at her dully, though he picks up the muffin and takes a bite of it. His eyes seem to widen and Y/N finds herself grinning.

“Shocked I didn’t poison you?” She sits up in her seat, leaning forwards, “was it good?”

His cheeks seem to redden as he looks away, “it was alright.” Comes Bakugou’s response, though he takes another bite of the pastry.

“I like to think my pastries are better than alright.”

Bakugou looks to her, tilting his head as he asks, “you cook?”

Y/N shakes her head, laughing slightly as she replies, “absolutely not. I would probably burn down the kitchen. Baking is a necessary skill here though.” That much was definitely true, she had never been the best when it came to cooking, and it was certainly a downfall of hers seeing as Y/N could not live off pastries.

“Well, I do.”

Y/N tilts her head at him, confusion clear in her face as she asks, “you what?”

“I cook, idiot.” Bakugou replies, clearly frustrated— or more accurately, flustered— that he’d had to clarify.

Y/N simply grins before saying, “perhaps I could judge your cooking sometime then.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, simply glancing to her momentarily before his eyes return to the textbook before him. Though he doesn’t make any attempts to shoo her from the area, causing Y/N to smile as she takes her own plate of food and looks out the window.

It becomes a more frequent thing, Bakugou doesn’t bother to look up from his textbook anymore, though he does eat the pastries Y/N brings along with her as the pair sits in silence. It’s a peaceful thing that Y/N finds herself adoring despite their first interaction. This certainly isn’t how she expected her relationship with the boy to go. But hey, friendship comes from the weirdest of places, right? And Bakugou makes good company when he’s not yelling and screaming at you with a variety of— empty— threats.

It’s quite a curious friendship indeed.

Even the rest of her co-workers take notice of the pair, leading them to ask her… equally curious questions. Or more accurately— nosy questions. Embarrassing ones like those that your relatives ask when they see you after a long while.

“I’m not even in high school yet!” Y/N cried out, scrunching her nose in disgust as she swats away the hand of Lily, she’s a bit older than Y/N. “I do not want to date Bakugou you hag.” Y/N almost cringes at the fact that Bakugou’s language has begun to rub off on her, though she simply inhales deeply as she glares at Lily. Though she seems to be rather pleased ith Y/N’s reaction.

Rosalyn, one of the full time and adult employees, steps in at this. Laughing at her words as she rests a hand on her shoulder, “be kind to Lily. She’s just curious. After all, you do spend quite a bit of time together.” She raises a brow, eyes drifting towards Bakugou, who is seated at his usual spot, “are you sure you don’t—”

Y/N can feel her cheeks warm, gently pushing Rosalyn’s hand from her shoulder as she looks away from the pair. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.” She grumbled out, “if anything he’s more of a rival.”

“Have you ever tried to touch him and find out how he feels about you?” Lily asks, a cruel grin on her face. Y/N suddenly finds herself upset that she had ever explained her quirk to Lily in the first place, looking away from Lily as she swatted at her. It wasn’t the first time she’d made such a comment regarding Y/N’s quirk, Lily had even asked for quite a few favors, not that Y/N had ever indulged in her wishes.

“Absolutely not.” It’s an invasion of privacy, similar to if someone with a telepathy quirk searched your mind for your darkest secrets. Y/N wasn’t one to invade the privacy of others, much less Bakugou of all people. And she’d found that even if she swore she’d never do such a thing, there was always that underlying fear that she would in a person’s mind. Y/N could feel the anxiety even if she wasn’t touching them.

Sometimes Y/N wonders what Bakugou would do if he knew the semantics of her quirk. He’d seemed to have caught onto some aspects at least, but he’d never asked. Y/N was grateful for it, but she’d caught his curious glances at the gloves she’d worn since long before they’d met. And if she was honest, she was mainly attending UA to learn how to control her quirk. Being a hero had never really interested her.

And Y/N doesn’t need to look at Rosalyn to know she probably didn’t believe her words, but she decides this doesn’t matter, Y/N doesn’t have to prove anything, to anyone. After all, who’s to say she’ll even see Bakugou after the UA exam. Maybe she gets in and he doesn’t, or vice versa. And suddenly neither of them have the time to see one another.

Not that it mattered.

BAKUGOU DOESN’T EXPECT TO SEE Y/N entering UA, she’s actually speaking to Deku, helping him with his things alongside some other girl when he nearly trips and falls. Offering him a smile, Y/N picks up his journal— that had fallen from his bag— and hands it back to him. Bakugou finds himself observing the interaction in pure shock, his mind skipping right past the fact that Izuku was here because what the hell was Y/N doing here?

He watches as Izuku extends a hand to Y/N, though she simply waves him off as they continue to speak. So Bakugou’s eyes fell on her gloved hands, he’d never seen her without them. They seemed specifically made for her, and he had a feeling that it had to do with her quirk. Which was apparently good enough for her to get into UA High School. Bakugou had never asked about them, scared of crossing the invisible lines they’d drawn in the sand, but he’d always been curious.

Bakugou is still deep in thought when he realizes he doesn’t really have a chance to decide his next course of action, seeing as Izuku seems to notice him first, calling out— “Kacchan! Hi!” He’s waving rather enthusiastically beaming at him. And now Bakugou is left with dozens of questions because somehow Deku was here too.

His head whips over to Izuku, and Bakugou finds himself shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks away. Though Y/N seems to take note of this as she smiles, “Bakugou! I didn’t realize you had other friends.” Her words are teasing, which isn’t uncommon between them, but right now he’s not really sure about what to do because he was kind of hoping Y/N would never meet Izuku or vice versa.

So, Bakugou elects not to correct her, to tell her Deku is definitely not his friend, and instead looks to her incredulously, “why the hell didn’t you tell me you were applying to UA?” She’d definitely noticed after months of joining him in his corner of the café— where he had chosen to study since his mother could be a tad loud, which was rather distracting. Y/N had undoubtedly seen his textbook regarding the UA entrance exam so why hadn’t she mentioned she would be applying too?

Y/N simply shrugs, and she doesn’t seem to notice the look of shock on Izuku’s face as she responds, “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Bakugou is left speechless, and does nothing but watch as Y/N gently taps his nose with a smile, all the while Izuku stands in complete and utter shock, because somehow this girl was still alive.

“Y/N how did you do that? Is it your quirk? What is your quirk—”

Looking back to him, Y/N nearly jumps at the number of questions he’s bombarding her with, stumbling back and bumping into Bakugou, “shut it Deku.” He grumbles out, hand pressing against the boys head and shoving him away. While his other arm braces Y/N.

He’d noticed a while back that she had never been the type for physical contact of any kind, coupled with the gloves, he was fairly sure her quirk had something to do with such contact at this point. Which is why he moves to give her space, only for her to grab his wrist.

Bakugou pauses, meeting Y/N’s eyes momentarily before pressing his lips together into a tight lipped smile. She blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and looking back to Izuku with an awkward smile.

“Sorry about that. My quirk makes physical contact a tad…” She inhales deeply, “overwhelming.” Y/N looks back to Bakugou, “sorry.” She repeats, lips pressing together to form a thin line.

Y/N can’t help but be grateful that she touched Bakugou, his emotions— his confidence especially— being a refreshing feeling in comparison to those around them that reeked of anxiety. Although it was their first day at one of the most prestigious schools in the world. That didn’t mean she wanted to feel the anxiety of every damn student around. It provides her with solace, something to ground her, even if only for a moment.

He simply shrugs, looking away from her. But he doesn’t move.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N turned back to Izuku, tilting her head in confusion, “but I didn’t use my quirk? What do you mean by—”

“Nothing. He means nothing.” Bakugou interjects almost instantly, eyes locking with Izuku’s. As though this entire interaction couldn’t have shocked him more, Izuku suddenly seems to understand what’s going on. It hits him like a pound of bricks as he looks between Y/N and Bakugou.

Izuku cannot believe his eyes. Bakugou Katsuki has a crush.

note: and so the past begins to unravel ;)

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo x you #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x you #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #this is not the end series

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troubatrain · 3 years

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four times matthew was a fuckboy + one time he wasn’t

a/n: a repost from my old blog!

You didn’t hate Matthew Tkachuk. Hate is a strong word and you were too polite to hate anyone. But you definitely weren’t keen on the new company your friend had been keeping since she started seeing Matthew’s teammate, Noah. You were just different. You liked safety and rules, and Matthew put most of his energy into breaking every rule possible. He was a rat, and he didn’t give a damn who knew. You were a romantic, and you’d watch Matthew take a different girl home frequently, and you could only imagine what he was like on the road. He was a straight up fuckboy, and you’d just prefer to be as far away from him as possible. Besides the strong differences between each other, you really didn’t hate him - until, maybe, right now.

“I would never date Y/N,” Matthew scoffs at your best friend, Hannah, “She’s got a stick up her ass, all the time.” “I don’t have a stick up my ass Matthew,” You bark back, “You’re just a shitty person, and I don’t want to date you either.”

“Why? Am I not your type?” Matthew snarks back, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“No Matthew, egotistical professional athletes who don’t know anything besides hit and skate aren’t my type,” You say, “Hold an intellectual conversation with anyone and I’ll be impressed.”

“You know what, forget I mentioned it,” Hannah tries to interfere, but the way Matthew’s blue eyes were narrowed at you, his nostrils flaring out just a little bit meant it was too late and you were well on your way to spending the rest of the night arguing with Matthew.

“I don’t need to hold bullshit intellectual conversations to get laid Y/N,” Matthew grumbles, “I’m sure that’s only what terrible guys you probably date do.”

“I don’t date terrible guys,” You defend, but deep down, he was actually right about that. You were nearing the end of six months of being single since your last relationship ended and dating wasn’t going - well.

“Oh, I forgot, you probably only date boring guys,” Matthew huffs, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find someone who isn’t boring.”

Matthew stomps away, looking back to give you one more smirk that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t stand his smug smile, or the fact that he constantly gave you grief for being a good person. Or the time he accused you of thinking you were better than everyone because you were smarter than them.

“I can’t believe there was a point in my life where I thought you guys could be friends,” Noah says, shaking his head at the verbal battle you and Matthew just had, “I thought I could set you guys up - to date.”

“Why do you all think that?” You ask, looking at your friend and her boyfriend with actual concern.

“I don’t know, you’re sweet and nice and he’s not,” Noah shrugs, “It’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, like imagine if you were the one to tame him,” Hannah says, wrapping her arm around her boyfriend's bicep while he pressed a kiss to her head - a reminder that you didn’t have that. Your eyes move to Matthew at the bar, while a girl was under his arm in less than five minutes.

“I don’t think anyone’s taming that monster,” You say, pointing to the man in question.

II.

When the weekend finally came around, you found yourself in the same situation you were in the week before. Matthew gave you daggers across the table while Noah and Hannah tried to convince the two of you to put your differences aside and be friends. Except, you didn’t want to be friends with Matthew, because you knew exactly how he treated his “friends”. In the past week alone, you’d watched him while he escaped a morning after with someone who happened to live in your building. You had the worst morning of your life when you stepped on the elevator only to meet with the face of the devil himself. You halted, stepping into the elevator and shaking your head at Matthew - asking him if he was leaving or your worst nightmare of him moving into your building was happening. He told you he was escaping from a booty call, his words not yours, and then joked about moving in just to bother you. You started bickering in the elevator, and then it made you late for work. That snowballed into missing an important meeting and you were cursing Matthew internally for the rest of the day.

“I just don’t understand why you both keep pushing this,” you shout, gesturing between Matthew and yourself, “We are not friends.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Matthew agrees, for the first time since you’d been introduced to each other.

“Why is that the only thing you’ve ever agreed on?” Hannah asks, looking sincerely concerned at the two of you.

“Because his opinions on everything else are terrible,” You say, walking over to the bar to go get yourself a drink. You can feel a large presence behind you and you turn around to be met with Matthew’s smug smile again, “You can’t just leave me alone.”

“I’m getting another drink, not everything is about you,” Matthew remarks, flagging down the bartender far easier than you could have. He orders you both a drink, and you decide to just take it - too tired to argue. While you were waiting you scanned the bar, only to spot your ex boyfriend across the bar.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing Matthew’s attention.

“God what did I do now?” Matthew groans, and then he follows your eyes, “Do you know that guy?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s my ex,” You say, dropping your drink, “Can you tell Hannah I left.”

“Wait no-,” Matthew says, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to him, “I’m going to leave after this, I’ll take an Uber with you.”

“Are you going to drop me off then go hook up with whoever lives in my building?” You ask, crossing your arms and looking at him.

“I’m going to get you home safely and whether or not I leave the building is none of your business,” Matthew argues back, his eyes flickering up to look behind you and a protective arm snakes around your waist.

“Is that Y/N?” You hear your ex’s familiar voice, and suddenly Matthew’s arm made more sense.

“Oh, Alex, hi,” You say, trying to ignore the burning sensation you felt under Matthew’s touch, but your anxiety about seeing your ex disappeared almost immediately, like with Matthew there nothing could hurt you.

“How are you?” Alex asks, “Is this your boyfriend? I didn’t think you’d move on after me.”

“Yeah,” Matthew cuts you off before you could deny it, “We were just heading out, you know we’ve got plans for the night.”

Matthew gave Alex a wink and a look that said not to fuck with him and grabbed your hand, pulling you out the bar. A part of you was pissed, like he’d just told your ex boyfriend that not only were you dating you were leaving your night out early to fuck. But a part you didn’t care about it, Alex was the worst, and even in that second he reminded you why you broke up in the first place, because he never stopped talking down to you.

“I can’t believe you dated someone who talks to you like that,” Matthew says, pulling out his phone to call an Uber, “Your taste in men is terrible.”

“Well he thinks I’m dating you, so my taste is terrible,” You say, sliding into the car once Matthew opens the door for you.

Matthew slides into the other side of the car, getting your Uber driving and asking him how his night is before turning to you, “Do you really think I’m that awful?”

Okay, yes, it was sweet that he protected you. Yes, it felt nice to have his arm around your waist. Yes, it was great to have your ex think you’re currently seeing a member of the Flames. Yes, it was nice that he’s taking you home. And yes, the way he spoke to the Uber driver when you got in was actually more polite than you assumed he was to strangers. But, none of that meant he was a decent human being - at least not to you.

“I mean you’ve never given me a reason to think otherwise,” You say, shrugging.

“I’ll give you a reason,” You heard him mutter, but his face said he didn’t want to talk about it, so you let it go until you rode up the elevator to your floor in silence.

“Hey Matthew,” You say, voice small, “Thanks for getting me home, and for before, I owe you one.”

“I don’t think you want to be indebted to me,” Matthew says, his signature smirk gracing his face.

“One favor, nothing sexual,” You wave your finger at him while the elevator closes, sending him to whoever he was meeting on a floor above you.

III.

You were swearing off men. That was it. You were sitting in a restaurant in the city, in a dress that made you look straight up hot, across from someone who made Matthew look like a saint. Paul was a friend of one of your coworkers, who raved about her friend who was intelligent and kind. Intelligent, yes definitely. But kind? At the moment that seemed far fetched. He’d spent the entire dinner talking about himself, and when you finally got to talk about yourself, he was just condescending and rude. You’d suffered through dinner, declining his invitation home. You heard his hollers about much of a tease and how uptight you were. You walked home, on a mission to get home and pretend this date never happened. Then you’d pass a bar you’d been to with Hannah a few times and decide to stop in - in need of a well deserved drink.

“There’s no way you should be here alone, dressed like that,” You can hear a familiar voice behind you and you turn around to meet Matthew’s face who was currently checking out your ass while you leaned against the bar.

“You’re not in charge of me,” You bark back, sipping on the drink you’d gotten, “What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to meet Noah out for a drink, but he canceled on me when I walked in,” Matthew says, “Why are you here?”

“I was on a date,” You frown.

You really, really, really, didn’t want to admit to Matthew that you’d had a bad date. You were pretty sure he got laid more than anyone you knew and there was no way he wasn’t going to make fun of you for having a terrible date.

“Was it that bad?” Matthew asks, “Or are your standards just way too high?”

“There’s nothing wrong with having standards for yourself, you should try it sometime,” You defend, “But, he spent the entire date talking about himself.”

You bite your lip, looking at Matthew in front of you. Sometimes, when the light caught him just right and he wasn’t being a total douche you could be reminded why he was such a fuckboy in the first place, he was cute as hell. You hated how attracted you were to him sometimes, especially after the way he had protected you from Alex the other night. He didn’t know why you didn’t want to see him, but he was there regardless.

“You should stay,” You declare, biting your lip and looking at Matthew.

You swore there was a twinkle in his eye, he grabbed himself a drink and hopped onto a barstool while you sat next to him. It started with small talk, you confessing that you were sure Hannah made Noah stay in because she told you he wasn’t spending enough time with her. To which Matthew said that was the exact reason he didn’t do relationships. Then you moved to bickering about how you loved the idea of love and the fact that Matthew turned himself off to it actually made you sad.

“You just need to see it from my perspective,” Matthew tries to explain, “No one sees past all of this NHL bullshit anyways, so, I’m just taking advantage of it. Admit it, you thought I was a dick when before you met me?”

“You are a dick,” You joke, “But yes, I may have passed judgement, that doesn’t mean everyone else thinks that.”

“Trust me, they do,” Matthew takes a sip of his beer, “Girls, fans, even my family sometimes, they just can’t see past the whole rat thing.”

You bite your tongue from telling him that if he stopped playing like a rat, people probably wouldn’t say that. Mainly because he was playing in the NHL and I’m sure your opinion on his play didn’t matter much. But also because whatever he was telling you sounded like something he didn’t talk about very much, it intrigued you. You don’t talk much about it further, a couple of people who were fans coming over and insisting you took shots with them. A few rounds of drinks later, you were drunk and Matthew’s hand had found a permanent place on your lower back.

“Ready to go?” Matthew asks, a chill running up your spine when he whispered in your ear.

Maybe you were lonely. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. Maybe you’d found the one part vulnerable part of Matthew and it made you soft. But something possessed to look him in the eyes and demand he took you home. And after asking you four times if you were sure, you were on your way to Matthew’s apartment with him, his lips on yours.

IV.

You slipped out of Matthew’s apartment after that night long before he woke up. Your walk of shame took you back to your apartment and that was that. You’d only seen Matthew once since, and while you were sitting next to Hannah in the stands at the Saddledome, he’d sent you over a wink and you thanked your lucky stars that Hannah wasn’t paying attention. You knew Matthew wasn’t going to let your moment of weakness be forgotten, you just hoped he didn’t embarrass you. You shook your head at the thought, which had been taking up your brain for most of the week. Your thoughts were broken by a heavy knock on the door, and you opened to reveal the person who’d been taking up most of your thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, but you knew the answer was whichever one of his girlfriends, and you meant it to be plural, lived in your building.

“I was on my way to see someone but I thought I’d stop by,” Matthew smirks at you, “I have a favor to cash in.”

“I told you nothing sexual,” You counter back, despite the fact that you’d been under just a few nights ago.

“As much as I want to relive the events of the other night,” Matthew says, looking your body up and down, “I need an actual favor.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I need you to be my date to this event the Flames are doing,” Matthew sighs, as if he really didn’t want to ask.

“I’m sure there’s a line of girls who want to do that,” You say, wondering why Matthew needs you to go.

“I need to bring someone I can trust not to embarass me,” Matthew grumbles, “You’re smart, and you can hold a conversation with a bunch of our front office guys.”

“You want me to go and make you good?” You ask, trying to get exactly what he was asking you to do.

“Yes,” Matthew says, “I need you to make me look good. Can you do it?”

You should have said no. You should have said no. But, you said yes. You knew it was a bad idea, but the bright smile that graced Matthew’s face when you said yes almost made you forget that he was headed up to a booty call when he left your apartment. Something you realized he could only get away with.

Matthew wasn’t a bad date. He’d gotten to your apartment on time. Fed you with way too many compliments while his hand was rested on your thigh on the ride to the hotel ballroom the gala was at. Now, his hand had found its place on your back, while you wooed his coach into thinking Matthew was a decent human being. Really you should have paid overtime for how good you were doing. You’d met the entire Flames front office, charming each of them into thinking their player wasn’t sleeping around when he most definitely was.

You finally pull away from the conversation, latching on Hannah once she was finally in reach.

“You’re working like doubletime,” Hannah jokes, “How’d he convince you to do this?”

“He didn’t tell you what happened?” You ask, assuming his big mouth spilled the beans to Noah, at the very least.

“He never said anything,” Noah shrugs.

“I ran into my ex, and he pretended to be my boyfriend so he’d go away,” You admit, “Then he took me home and I told him I owe him one.”

“See? I knew he wasn’t all bad,” Hannah muses. You thought about what Matthew had said that night you slept together, about how people had presumptions about him he could never change so it didn’t matter. You’d actually thought about it frequently since, and it really made your heart ache for him. It bothered him, it had to.

“He’s not all bad,” You admit, outloud, really just so you could convince Hannah not to pass judgement on him without telling her what he’d told you.

“Hey, we can head out if you want?” Matthew asks, coming behind you. You nod, excited to be going home at a decent hour after a long week of work.

You were silent for the entire car ride home, your eyes constantly on Matthew for the entire ride.

“Would you stop staring at me?” Matthew asks, his eyes not leaving the road, but somehow his hand found your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“Do you think you’re a bad person?” You ask, it was something you couldn’t stop thinking about. You didn’t understand Matthew, you didn’t think anyone actually did, but you wanted to figure him out so badly.

“Is this about what I said the other night? It wasn’t that deep Y/N,” Matthew sighs, “I’m not that deep.”

“Do you think that or have you been told that?” You ask, and you knew you were getting somewhere because you could feel his hand tense up.

“Are you always this annoying?” Matthew deflects.

“No,” You sigh, “It’s just, Hannah said something about you not being all bad and it bothered me.”

“A little criticism isn’t going to hurt me,” Matthew says, throwing his car into park so he could walk you to your door, “I’m not really a good guy either.”

You pout, leaning against the elevator. You were close to getting him to just open to you. His walls were tall and they were definitely thick but you might have been slowly chipping away at him.

“Thank you for doing this tonight, it meant a lot to me,” Matthew says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck while you stood in your doorway. A part you wanted to pull him inside by his collar and have your way with him, but you knew once was one thing but twice was going to be another. You bite your lip, debating it for a second, “Thinking about inviting me inside.”

“How did you-?” You start to ask before Matthew immediately cuts you off.

“You’re practically eye-fucking me,” Matthew jokes, “You won’t invite me inside though, because you know if you sleep with me twice you won’t be able to stop.”

You jaw drops, because he was right, “That’s hardly true.”

“I can read you Y/N, you’re like an open book,” Matthew smirks, “For the record, I don’t know if I’d be able to shake you either if we did this again.”

With that sentiment Matthew was headed down the hallway, turning just one more time before he hit the elevator button.

“Matthew?” You call out, “Are you going up or down?”

The question was burning. You just wanted to know why he was frequenting your building. Whoever was up there and why she could get Matthew to keep coming back. You were a little jealous, that he’d rejected you to go see her.

“That’s none of your business,” Matthew muses, giving you a wink and stepping into the elevator.

You were annoyed, and you thought about walking back outside to see if Matthew’s car was still there. That would make you a crazy person so you laid in bed while it ate you alive. That was, until you’d received a text from Matthew of his bedroom, and a sly comment about how you might have recognized his place. While it was smug and irritating, it did make you happy that he was home and he was alone.

plus one

You felt like an idiot. You stood at the bar next to Hannah, listening to her rant and rave about something Noah did while you watched Matthew flirt with some girl by the bar. You didn’t know why you thought maybe he could turn over a new leaf. That maybe you were getting somewhere with him. But, everything went out the window the second your eyes were on him. You decided he was dead to you, he had to be. You excuse yourself from Hannah, giving Matthew one more look before stomping out of the bar. You could hear his shouts behind you while you walked down the street, your apartment too far to walk but if you stopped you’d be forced to speak to him.

“Y/N! Where are you even going?” Matthew finally catches up to you, and you curse your shorter legs for stopping you from outrunning him.

“Away from you,” You say, “You can go back to your little friend, that’s your life Matthew, I get that now.”

“Come back to my place, I need to talk to you,” Matthew pleads, and you knew you were only a block away from his place. You sigh, nodding and following him down the street.

Matthew’s apartment felt different than it did the night you’d slept together. You were tossing off your clothes in a drunken haze and you never realized how empty his place felt. It was cold, and in some serious need a curtain and throw pillow. It was a metaphor for the current state of it’s resident.

“Okay talk,” You cross your arms, “Explain to me how you do this to every girl, make them think there’s a part of you that’s decent to only be an asshole to them in the end.”

“I’ve never told anyone what I told you,” Matthew confesses, “I thought, maybe, you’d be into me. Then I realized if you were, I was only going to hurt you. You don’t deserve that, so if I push you away, you’ll be happy.”

“Clearly, I’m not happy,” You say, pointing to the frown that was very present on your face, “Listen, I like you, I don’t know why or how you crawled into my life but I want to be with you - the real you. I want that vulnerable man that told me he thought everyone judged him. I want you to prove to me you are that man.”

“I can do that,” Matthew nods, his hands resting on your cheeks. He captures your lips in his for the most tender kiss you’d been given. It was full of love, and full of feeling.

“I want you to prove it,” You say when you finally pull away, your forehead resting on his.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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the-modernmary · 3 years

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my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 8)

Chapter summary: When Aaron gets stuck at work late and Jess has to go help out her dad, Aaron has nobody else to turn to but you to watch Jack. The only problem? Up until now, Aaron has been keeping his home life completely separate from you, and you have no clue how this will effect your already precarious relationship with Aaron.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This was not part of the original plan at all for this story, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

masterlist || read on ao3

In between What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine Love is so confusing, there's no peace of mind If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good You teasing like you do - Blondie, “Heart of Glass”

~~~~~~~

You were on your couch doing homework when you got the call from Aaron, and you frowned in confusion when you saw his name flash across your cell phone screen. Aaron never called you while he was working, and you especially didn’t expect a call from him today. He was doing a custodial interview with an inmate sentenced to death somewhere in Virginia, and you figured prison didn’t have the greatest cell service.

“Hey there, jailbird,” you greeted. “Are you inviting me to the dance?”

“Very cute, Elvis,” Aaron joked, but it was half hearted. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I need to ask you for a favor, and I want you to know that I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other options.”

“Mhm, I love being the last choice,” you mused sarcastically. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Aaron.”

Aaron elected to ignore your last comment. “The prison just went on lockdown, so I’m going to be stuck here for at least a few more hours,” he explained, and there was an unnatural nervousness to his voice. “And Jessica has to go deal with an emergency with her father.”

You frowned to yourself, unsure of where Aaron was going with his explanation, and even more unsure of who this Jessica person was. A pang of jealousy shot through you, but you quickly bottled that feeling.

Aaron took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Would you be willing to watch Jack for a few hours? I know it’s not ideal, but it would just be for a little while until either I get out of here or somebody else from the BAU gets off of work. I would even be willing to compensate you for your time.”

Oh.

OH.

Silence crackled through the phone as you took in his request, and you could practically feel Aaron’s nervousness. It shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it was. It had been two months since you’ve been with Aaron, you slept over at his house enough, and you worked in the same building as him. It was pretty inevitable that of course you were going to meet Jack at some point, but you always figured it would be with Aaron there to mediate. You had pictured that it would probably be accidental, maybe Jack would wake up early and would catch you sneaking out of Aaron’s house. Or you would be invited to one of Rossi’s famous dinners and the kids would be there and then there would be no questions asked. You definitely didn’t expect to babysit.

“Yeah, of course, I can watch him,” you said finally, and you heard Aaron let out a sigh of relief. “And you don’t have to pay me… or worry about finding a replacement. He can hang out with me for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Aaron told you, still sounding completely drained. “I will send your address to Jessica, and she will drop Jack off at your place in about half an hour. I really owe you, Y/N. I have to go talk to the warden now, but please call me if you need anything, okay? Bye.” Before you could even answer, Aaron hung up.

You took a deep breath as dread settled in the pit of your stomach. How hard would babysitting be, really? You’ve babysat before - Aly had a little brother who basically became your little brother. However, a weird part of you was nervous that Jack wouldn’t like you, which was ridiculous. It didn’t matter whether or not Jack liked you.

Right?

Deciding that you couldn’t just sit there and panic, you chose to use the time to tidy up your apartment, just to make it extra presentable. The organized mess that was your homework space was quickly arranged so that all of your notebooks and papers were in a neat pile. You took down the half empty tequila bottle from forever ago that was sitting on the top of your fridge and shoved it into a cabinet somewhere. The throw blanket that you had been wrapped up in was refolded and placed on the arm of your couch. You wanted to at least give the illusion that you were prepared to babysit Aaron’s son, and not completely freaking out inside.

Right on schedule, knocking came from your door, and you rushed to open it. You were greeted by a blonde woman, probably a few years younger than Aaron, who you assumed to be Jessica. Next to her was the elusive Jack, with his blonde hair and missing front tooth. You had seen a few photos of Jack in passing, hanging up around Aaron’s house and whatnot, but you never got a good look at the photos.

“Y/N?” Jessica asked cautiously, and you nodded slowly. “Hi, I’m Jessica, Jack’s aunt.”

Jack’s aunt. A million emotions hit you at once. Oh god, she was Haley’s sister. Your stomach started to feel queasy, and it took you a second to realize that it was guilt, although you weren’t quite sure what you felt guilty about.

Logically, you knew Aaron had a life outside of you. Hell, you had slowly become part of that outside life now that you were friends with his coworkers, but you really tried to avoid thinking about Aaron’s home life. When he wasn’t with you, it was out of sight, out of mind. He was his own individual entity.

Now you were face-to-face with just how insignificant you were in the grand scheme of Aaron’s life. The fact was that you were probably no more than a side storyline in his life, a character created just for Aaron’s own development. He had a life and a family that you barely knew about. There was evidence of his home life everywhere - the bins of toys at his house, drawings on his fridge, family photos in matching frames in the hallway, even a small jewelry box on his dresser that looked like it had been collecting dust for a few years - but you had gotten good at averting your eyes.

“Hi, yes, that’s me,” you replied, shaking Jessica’s hand. Then you bent down so you were closer to Jack’s height. “Hey dude, I’m Y/N,” you introduced, giving him a small wave.

Jessica took the backpack she was carrying and helped Jack slip it onto his shoulders. “Thank you again for doing this on such short notice. Aaron should have sent over my phone number if you need anything, but Jack’s a good kid. He just has some homework that he needs to get done,” she explained.

“It’s no problem,” you told her, giving her your best reassuring smile. “He’s in good hands here.”

Jessica smiled gratefully at you before kneeling down to say goodbye to Jack. You stood in the doorway awkwardly as you watched the interaction curiously. It was as normal as it could get, Jessica telling Jack to behave and that she loves him, but it also fascinated you, like you were watching a movie and all of the characters had popped out of the screen.

Jack gave his aunt a hug before she left, and the two of you stepped into your apartment. That same nervousness came back in full force. What kind of games did he like to play? You didn’t have any toys for him. What if you couldn’t help him with his homework? Do kids his age learn fractions yet, because you did not remember fractions. What if-

“Woah!” came Jack’s voice, breaking you out of your spiraling. “Can I please sit on the bean bag chair?”

Well, Jack certainly wasn’t nervous, which offered you more relief than you thought it would. “Yeah, of course, you can. It’s my favorite place to do my homework.”

Jack flopped onto the bean bag chair, his tiny frame almost completely consumed by it. You could see the confusion growing on Jack’s face. “You have to do homework?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” you told him. “And I know you do, too, so we can do homework together.”

Jack jutted out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will I have to still do homework when I’m old?”

At that, you let out a genuine laugh, even if you were a little shocked. The kid had personality, you had to admit. “I’m not that old,” you halfheartedly protested, “And maybe. It depends on what you want to be when you grow up.”

“I want to be a superhero,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Like Spiderman.”

You nodded, the movement playfully exaggerated. “Oh, well Spiderman is really smart. I’m sure he does a lot of homework, so you better get to work. Let me know if you need any help, okay?” You chuckled again at Jack’s increased pout, obviously disappointed in the fact that even superheroes had to focus on school.

Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out a pencil and a brightly colored folder with papers sticking out of it every which way. He started on his worksheets, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration, and it hit you just how much he looked like Aaron. The blonde hair threw you off, but you had seen that exact look on Aaron’s face many times, eyebrows together and lips pursed ever so slightly. Like father, like son. You had to resist the urge to audibly coo at the sight. You were only human, after all.

You tore your eyes away from the boy and glanced over at your laptop, which was sitting open on your coffee table, the cursor blinking back at you teasingly, reminding you that you also had to get to work. You had essays to write and practice contracts to draft up. The two of you did your work in comfortable silence for a while, Jack occasionally asking you to help him read the instructions of his worksheet.

“Done!” Jack exclaimed proudly after a while, holding his packet of papers high in the air.

Just in time, too, because if you had to do any more criminal tax litigation work, you were going to pull out your hair from boredom. There was only so much corporate fraud you could read about in one sitting.

“With all of your homework?” you clarified, and he nodded so fast that he looked like a full-on bobblehead. “Good job, dude!”

“Did you finish your homework so that we can play?” he asked you.

“Yup, I’m all done,” you lied. Your paper wasn’t due for another week, anyway. “So what do you want to play?”

Jack tapped his finger on his chin as he thought about it. You were aware that you didn’t have much in the way of kid’s toys, but you had stuff to color or paint or play board games, and you were confident enough in your imagination to come up with a game if it came down to that. Jack looked around and suddenly his eyes got wide and he pointed to your Switch.

“Do you have Mario Kart?” he asked hopefully. “Can we play that?”

“That sounds like fun, let’s do that,” you told him, making your way to set up the console. “I’ll even let you be player one.”

Jack was practically bouncing up and down in his seat now. “I’m really good at this game. I can even beat my uncle Dave!”

You laughed as the two of you picked your characters. Jack chose Yoshi, a solid choice, and you went with Toad. “You can beat your Uncle Dave? Wow, that’s impressive. I have to warn you, though, I’m also very good at this game. Do you think you can beat me?” you teased.

“Definitely,” Jack challenged, and the game began.

The two of you played for a little while, and Jack’s mind was blown when you told him about the shortcuts on each track. After about three cups and you telling him where every shortcut you knew was, the 7-year-old was starting to get antsy just sitting, so you decided to switch gears.

You brought out some leftover paints and canvases you had from a paint night with your friends, and you and Jack laid on the floor and did some painting, although you were not prepared for how messy it would get. Somehow, Jack ended up with his fingertips covered in blue paint, and you had a streak of green on your cheek from where you mindlessly brushed hair from out of your face. As you placed the artwork to the side to dry, Jack had already decided on the next game - the floor is lava.

Before you even realized it, three hours had passed and it was time to make dinner. Jack chose pizza, which you luckily already had in your freezer. The game was still going, but you and Jack agreed that the kitchen was the only safe place without lava, considering there were too many dangerous things in that vicinity.

Babysitting Jack was easier than you expected, and much more fun. Even in his more playful moments, Aaron was always a little bit guarded and on edge, so you had a hard time imagining what his child would be like. A weird part of you almost imagined a mini adult in a child-sized suit and a briefcase full of fruit snacks and crackers, as ridiculous as it sounded. But Jack was just like any other 7-year-old - goofy, a little loud, and excited about the world.

You wondered if Aaron was like that as a kid, or if that part of Jack’s personality came from his mom. Maybe Jack was a mini version of his mom. Now that you had gotten the tiniest taste of Aaron’s home life, you found yourself craving to know more, to see Aaron in dad-mode.

Selfishly, you also wanted Aaron to watch you interact with Jack, just to see his reaction. It was a gamble and you realized it. Best case scenario, Aaron would be able to breathe a little bit easier. There wouldn’t be that half second of awkward silence between the two of you every time he mentioned Jack’s name. That stupid guilt you felt so often would dissipate because, hey, you met Jack and now that was out of the way.

On the other hand, everything could come crashing down. Aaron could walk in, see you with Jack, and immediately regret his decision and regret you. It would solidify in both of your minds that you were no more than somebody he could call and fuck when he felt himself on the verge of breaking down. Any self-imposed importance you had placed on yourself in Aaron’s life, no matter how small it was (and it was pretty small), would be a lie. He had a shorter temper now than before, and maybe this would be the exact thing that would set him off.

You didn’t want that, of course, but you really did want to know what would happen, to see where you stood with him. Call it morbid curiosity.

You were pulling the pizza out of the oven when you heard the knock on the door. “Coming!” you called.

“Don’t touch the lava!” Jack reminded you from his spot on the coffee table, just as you were about to leave the kitchen. Your method of movement to and from the kitchen was the rolling chair from your desk and a broom so that you could push yourself where you needed to go, which you had to justify to Jack as being a lava boat.

You “rowed” yourself over the door and looked in the peephole. Aaron was on the other side, nervously rubbing his thumb over the rest of his fingers. It took some work, but you were able to open the door without falling off the chair.

“Hey, I know you,” you greeted Aaron, but your smile fell when you took in his appearance. His whole body was tensed up, like a rubberband about to snap. He didn’t have his tie or blazer on, and the cuffs of his shirt were undone.

“Dad!” Jack shouted, waving excitedly.

“Hi, buddy.” Aaron smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was scanning the room, studying the scene in front of him. Aaron’s expression slowly shifted to confusion as Jack bounded across your furniture to get closer to his dad. “Jack, what are you doing on the table?” Aaron’s eyes shifted to where you were, noticing for the first time that you were kneeling on a rolling chair, holding onto the broom like a trident. “And why do you two have paint on you?”

“The floor is lava,” you explained nonchalantly.

“And you’re going to get burned!” Jack pointed out.

You chuckled and swiveled your chair so that you could get a better look at Jack. “How about we give your dad a minute to find a spot, okay dude?” You turned back to Aaron, lowering your voice. “The kitchen is a safe zone, if you don’t want to have to crawl around on furniture.”

Aaron frowned, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain. “No, I should take Jack home anyways,” he finally said. “You’ve helped enough today and I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you insisted. “Besides, we just made a pizza that I’m not going to be able to eat by myself. Come in, have dinner. You look like you need it.”

He really did. You were certain that he hadn’t eaten anything the entire time he was at the jail. He looked exhausted, too, and it was taking every bit of his energy to keep his usual stoic and stony composure.

Aaron wanted to argue, but instead, let out a resigned sigh. “Thank you. You, uh, said that the kitchen was a safe zone?”

“Mhm, and you might want to hurry because Jack is in it to win. Already tried to sabotage my chair boat.”

While Aaron’s face remained emotionless, his gaze softened as he stepped into your apartment. “Jack, did you have fun with Y/N?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

Jack hopped from the coffee table to the couch and onto a trail of pillows he had made. “Yeah! She taught me how to cheat in Mario Kart!”

You rolled your way back to the kitchen, chuckling sheepishly. “Shortcuts aren’t cheating, it’s playing smart,” you defended.

Jack just giggled and continued to animatedly tell Aaron about his day at school as you each started to dig into dinner. Well, Jack and you dug into the pizza, while Aaron took all off two bites and pushed his plate to the side. You had originally thought that it was the interview that caused Aaron’s tenseness, but you realized with a start that Aaron was completely focused on you. He was watching you curiously, like you had subtly changed your appearance and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different.

He was just intrigued by your interaction with Jack as you had been with Jack and Jessica’s interactions. You had thought that he was going to make a snap judgment and decide if he was ever going to want to see you again the second he saw you with Jack, but he was taking his time. He was profiling you.

“Hey Jack,” you interjected once he finished eating. “Your dad and I are going to do dishes, but I need you to do me a big favor. I can’t win Bowser’s Castle no matter how hard I try. Do you think you could do that race for me while we clean up?”

Aaron looked at you in confusion, but you kept your eyes on Jack, who was all too happy to have an excuse to get out of cleaning and go back to playing video games. He practically bounced back into the living room, leaving you and Aaron alone.

“Do you want something to drink?” you offered. Aaron was watching your every movement, studying you carefully. “I have tea, coffee… Irish coffee, if it’s that kind of night.” You added the last part as an afterthought, only partially joking.

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched upwards so subtly that if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have even noticed. “No thank you,” he answered formally.

You mindlessly traced circles on the tabletop with your finger, keeping your eyes downcast. You knew you couldn’t just outright ask what was on his mind, he’d never answer truthfully. “Do I want to know what that creep did to be put on death row?” you asked, keeping your voice as indifferent as possible..

Aaron shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell you even if you did,” he admitted and the two of you fell into silence again. It was the answer you had pretty much come to expect from him.

Despite the fact that, as a lawyer, you’d have to hear about all these awful things and see the evidence, Aaron tried to shield you from his work. He didn’t talk about cases, didn’t glamorize the work he did the way some younger agents would. In all the time you’ve known him, you could count the number of criminals you knew he took down on your fingers, and some of those were only because you learned about them in class.

That was fine. You didn’t want Aaron to have to bring that to your bed, not when you were supposed to be his distraction from all that mess. And what a fun distraction you were.

Aaron looked at his watch, effectively ending the conversation. “We should go, it’s getting late. Thank you for watching Jack. And for dinner.”

You paused, debating your next move. “It’s no problem,” you said sincerely. “And if you need anything else from me… I’ll be awake for a while.” You let your offer hang in the air for a few moments, watching as Aaron seemed to be weighing options in his head, you just didn’t know what those options were.

You were just about to rescind your offer when he opened his mouth to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want any compensation?”

You waved off his offer. “I’m positive.”

Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Then let me buy you dinner sometime this week. It’s the least I can do.”

You paused, trying to keep your expression as neutral as possible. Aaron had never made an offer like this before, never took steps towards anything that could push this into something even remotely considered a relationship. It was easy to explain the constant sex. You could even justify the lingering morning-afters or the nights spent hunched over your textbooks while Aaron wordlessly refilled your coffee cup without you having to even ask by claiming that it all happened organically. It’s not like the two of you planned to stay up and debate the lost history of the term “beyond a reasonable doubt”. It just sort of happened, and who were you to turn down free coffee?

Anything more would complicate the carefully curated system, and neither of you had the time or energy for complicated.

Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to walk away and leave while you were ahead, you couldn’t help the soft “Yeah, I’d really like that,” that slipped past your lips.

You could have sworn Aaron smiled at your answer, but he didn’t say anything more.

The two of you walked back to your living room in silence. “Alright buddy,” Aaron called, ruffling Jack’s hair. “It’s time for us to head home. Say thank you to Y/N.”

Jack pouted as he exited the game. “Can Y/N watch me again soon? Please? It was fun!”

“We’ll have to see, she might be busy,” Aaron mused, looking at you so that he could gauge your reaction. It was enough of an answer to not crush Jack’s hopes, but vague enough that it gave you room to deny the offer. He was letting you choose how much you wanted to be around Jack, if you wanted to be around him at all.

You grinned down at Jack and held out your hand for a high five, which he took as an invitation to try and slap your hand as hard as he could. How could you say no to him? “Of course I can watch you again. I’ll even have Legos next time.”

For the first time that night, Aaron gave you a real smile, one that you could actually see. It was small, but it was genuine. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Y/N,” he told you and Jack echoed the sentiment, waving at you as they walked out the door.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #jack hotchner #my writing #my best habit

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petri808 · 3 years

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Inukag AU

There was a genuine smile on Kagome’s face as she sat on her bed quietly while her family and friends did what they could to try and jog her memory. It was about 3 months since the accident and today the bed was littered with photo albums, old letters, newspapers from her college days that Sango had saved, or her mother pulled from her old bedroom, really anything they could think of to provide visuals. She didn’t want them to feel bad for her predicament, so thought it best to go along with it. They probably knew— she didn’t recognize any of it but bless them for playing along as she nodded or chuckled at appropriate times or patiently waited as she stared at certain items longer than she should have. Because Kagome really wanted to remember.

But in reality, all the words and images were viewed through a strangers lens. Yes, she recognized certain people, but not everyone or the situation in the photos. For Kagome, her last recollections end shortly after graduating college. She knew Sango since they’d been friends, but barely remembered Miroku. To her Miroku was still the boyfriend of less than a year, not a husband and certainly not a father to the couples 1 year old twin girls. Sango was her best friend, so to not remember the wedding or the birth of the twins who based on the photos were precious to her... hurt. There she was in those pictures holding one newborn in each arm, beaming at becoming an aunty, and no recollection of it.

“Tomorrow is the weekend, so we can video chat with Sota,” Mrs. Higurashi reminded her daughter. “I’ve been keeping him updated by text.”

“Where is he again?” Kagome asked.

“In Hawaii, at the University of Hilo.”

“Oh... right,” Kagome chuckled. “I forgot.”

“That’s okay, dear. Sota is in his senior year now and will be coming home in December after graduation.”

“I hope I’m well enough to fly there for the graduation.”

“I think you will be,” her mother smiled softly. “There’s always hope.”

Yeah... hope. It was the only thing keeping Kagome from breaking down. Each night as she drifted to sleep, she’d remind herself of the temporary nature of her condition. Truth or not, it was worth clinging to. Earlier her mother told her of how she’d flown to Hawaii to help Sota settle into his dorm. As the big sister, she was so proud of him, but again Kagome had no recollection of this event and only Hawaiian vacation pictures to prove its truth. Still, she was happy that her brother had grown up so much. The sense of pride she must have felt at the time was renewed in the new knowledge.

She didn’t remember a lot, but there were moments that brought tears to her eyes for more than one reason. Take the other day when Sango and Miroku brought the twins for a visit. The children remembered their Aunty Kagome and quickly reached out with their small hands to her. It brought out tears from the happy emotions such adorable faces could provoke in anyone, yet also tears of frustration for not knowing them at all. Clearly, they loved her, and she wanted to love them too. Bless them, showing concern for her tears, reaching out to Kagome’s face as if to soothe the adult. So, realizing her effect, she quickly smiled and told them she was just happy to see them.

“It’s still a little weird,” Kagome confided to Sango one day, “because my only memory of Miroku is of an annoying guy following you around while still checking out other girls.”

Sango laughed, “he still an annoying guy at times, but it’s true, he has settled down since those days.”

“What was it that finally changed your mind about Miroku?”

“Oh, um actually we’d had a fight... a really big fight over his behavior and I put my foot down. It was me or them because I wasn’t gonna put up with it anymore. I guess the proverbial slap to his face woke him up.”

Kagome chuckled. “It does appear to have worked. But it was obvious how much he loved you despite the stupid things he did.”

Sango nodded. “True. If I didn’t think so too, I would have just walked away and not looked back. Sometimes guys literally need a harsh wake up a call to realize what they’re about to lose.”

That made Kagome think about the supposed fight with Inuyasha on the night of her accident, because it resembled the predicament Sango went through. She frowned. “Why are guys like that?”

Sango shrugged. “If we ever found an answer to that question, we’d be rich.”

Kagome snorted a laugh. “Agreed. We could make money writing self-help books.”

The girls shared a laugh before moving on to other subjects, but as the day grew late, Kagome suddenly sank down on the bed. There was a question she’d been wanting to ask, and though Inuyasha would be the better one to ask, he was still a strangers in her eyes. At least with Sango, she knew she could trust her friend to tell her the truth.

“Before you go, Sango, I have something to ask about.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Could you tell me how I met Inuyasha? Tell me what you know about our relationship?”

Sango’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hasn’t Inu told you anything?”

Kagome looked down. “He has told me things, but I— I still don’t know if I should trust him. I mean... I know my mom loves him and that tells me a lot, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s just a stranger at this point for me— it’s,” she shrugged, “awkward.”

“Oh... Guess I never thought of it that way.” Sango reached out and took her Kagome’s hand. “I’d be happy to answer your questions. It’s okay that it’s awkward, that’s understandable so don’t push yourself to accept things just to accept them, but even I would agree with your mom, he’s probably told you the truth.”

“You think so?”

Sango squeezed her friends hand and chuckled. “Yeah. I didn’t like him at first, but the guy really grew on me. Try it, test me,” she coaxed Kagome. “Ask me about something he told you and let’s see if my answers are the same.”

Kagome smiled and sat back for a moment in thought. “What’s something questionable...” she tapped her chin. “The first date he took me on was to a ramen restaurant. Which is not very romantic if you’re trying to woo someone. So, it sounds true and preposterous at the same time. He said he was so nervous that he accidentally spilled a drink on me. I wondered if he told me that just to be funny and endearing, but it never actually happened.”

“Oh,” Sango burst out laughing, “it definitely did happen! You’d told him to pick somewhere he loved to go and Inu’s favorite meal is ramen, so that’s what he picked. And the drink. It was a pink cocktail that stained your dress. You were so annoyed!” She giggled again. “But it was obvious how nervous he was, and I remember how you told me it was cute to see him get all flustered.”

“Oh, wow,” Kagome laughed too. “I guess I have to believe it now. Tell me more.”

“Hmm,” Sango pondered. “He was so nervous to even ask you out, Miroku had to ask you for him.”

“What?!” Kagome gasped and snorted a laugh. “And I’d still said yes?!”

“Yeah, because by then you liked him too. It took... if I remember correctly a year of interactions just for him to gain that much courage.” At that point Sango’s voice quieted. “I don’t know if he’s told you this part yet but, Inu was a broken person when you’d first met.”

“No, he hasn’t.” Kagome leaned forward with interest. “What do you mean?”

“At the time he’d already been broken up with Kikyo for 4 or 5 years I think, but he hadn’t fully moved on yet. I can’t say he still loved her. I think it was more just loneliness. His mother died when he was young as well. So, I think the combination of losing the two most important women in his life left him depressed.”

“Wow...”

“I knew him as Miroku’s brooding coworker, how my husband tolerated that I have no idea, but they were close friends. When we’d introduced you to him, things slowly began to change. You almost made it a mission to help him get out of it.” Sango chuckled lightly. “You know how you are, always trying to help people. At first, Inu resisted, but you didn’t let up and slowly but surely broke through his defenses. He became a puppy dog around you, totally head over heels in love.” She smiled. “It was fun and so cute for us to watch it all happen.”

“I wish I remembered any of this,” Kagome sighed.

“You will. You’ve never been a quitter, so I truly believe you will get your memory back.”

“Thanks, Sango. All of your guys help really means a lot to me.”

Sango reached out and hugged her friend. “I know you’d do the same for me.” She sat back in her chair. “It’s tough now, and I know you described Inuyasha as a stranger, but treat it as if you’re dating a new guy with all those heart racing, excitements that come with it. I see how you look at him.” She teased. “You must at least thinks he’s cute?”

Kagomes cheeks flushed pink. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sango giggled and squeezed her friends hand. “If all you do is focus on this situation, you won’t start to live again. They’re releasing you to go home in a couple weeks, so have a little fun with him. Create some new memories.”

“Maybe you’re right... maybe I will try to think about it that way.” Kagome tips her head slightly. “It is kinda fun to feel those giddy girly emotions when I see him.”

Speaking of. The girls hear a knock at the door and turn to see Inuyasha walking in with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of take-out food. “Hey gorgeous and Sango.”

It set off another rush of heat to Kagome’s face. “Hi,” she squeaked out.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Sango stood up with a wink. “See you tomorrow.” She hugged her best friend and left the room.

Inuyasha took the seat beside Kagome and handed her the flowers. “How are you feeling today?”

“Mmm, it was good chatting with Sango.” She held the flowers up to her nose to smell them while keeping her eyes on him. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful women deserve beautiful flowers,” he smiled back and held up a bag. “Hope you’re hungry. I brought dinner since hospital food must be getting boring by now.”

“Aww, that’s thoughtful of you, cause yes,” Kagome sighed, “it is.”

Inuyasha chuckled, then pulled out the containers of food. He handed Kagome a plate. “It’s salmon nitsuke.”

“Oh, yes!” Kagome almost moaned in delight as she opened the container and surveyed the food. “And it smells so delicious!” But before Inuyasha opened his container. “Wait! Let me guess what you got.”

“Okay?” Inuyasha chuckled.

“Ramen.”

Inuyasha’s eyes widened. “How?!”

Kagome giggled. “Sango told me it was your favorite.”

To her guessing was funny, but she didn’t expect the pained expression that instantly fell over Inuyasha’s face. It didn’t take her long to realize. “Oh my, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you think I got my memory back!”

“I-It’s okay, really,” he tried to reassure her. Yes, it hurt, but, “it’s nice to see you smiling and happy.”

“Are you sure? I’m really sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Kagome, it’s really okay.” He smiled with eyes clouded over. “You’ve been... stand-offish till now, so it makes me feel a lot better that you’re comfortable enough to joke with me again.”

“Yeah... about that... I’ve been talking with Sango and she’s been encouraging me to give you a chance. I do want... to take her advice, but...” her voice softened, “could I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“For me, this is all like meeting a new guy and, you know, the whole crush, dating steps, and such whereas for you, it’s different and must be frustrating.”

“If I’m being honest, yeah,” Inuyasha scratched his head, “it is, but I don’t know, also a bit exciting too, like a challenge, but a fun one if that makes any sense. I get to date you all over again— I-I mean if you’ll let me.”

“They’re releasing me soon, so I think...” Kagome’s cheeks flushed. “I’d love to go out on a date with you Inuyasha.”

“Whoo Hoo!” He pumped his fists in the air. “I feel like a teenager again,” Inuyasha laughed.

At that, Kagome giggled, her mood significantly lightened, and a weight lifted. It was the first step towards a sense of normalcy. Forget the fact she couldn’t remember a chunk of her past and live in the now where a handsome hanyo sat waiting.

#inukag #inuyasha #inukag au #Kagome higurashi #inuyasha x kagome #angst with fluff and happy ending #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction

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sometimesiwritebadly · 4 years

Text

Carter (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: You’re a single mother, and your 12-year-old daughter, Carter, decided to track down her father.

Warnings: Mentions unsupportive asshole parents. Also language. References sex (between two underage kids) and teen pregnancy.

Notes: ....so i kinda disappeared for almost a month...and instead of updating my series i have decided to write a whole new fic... sorry? :) in my defence it says right there in my user that i only write SOMETIMES

also this is kinda an au where Spencer graduated high school at 16 instead of 12 yet somehow gets all his doctorates and joins the fbi at the same time. does the math work out? no. do i care? no.

also sorry if your name is Carter. maybe you can pretend you pulled a Lorelai Gilmore and named your kid after yourself

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist

“Carter!” You ran through the hallways, paying no attention to the various government agents staring as you made your way to your 12-year-old daughter. About an hour ago, you’d gotten a call from her school because she hadn’t shown up to her classes that morning, even though you’d watched her get on the bus yourself. After the longest 15 minutes of your life, you got a call that freaked you out even more; Carter had gone all the way to Quantico and was now with the FBI. You drove like a madwoman from work, especially since all the FBI Agent, Jareau, had told you over the phone call was that your daughter was safe. Now, that same agent was trying to keep up with you as you marched towards your daughter, who was sitting at a desk in the middle of a busy office.

“Miss Y/L/N, maybe we can take you guys somewhere private to-”

“Carter Rose Y/L/N, what on earth possessed you to skip school and take a field trip to the FBI?” You interrupted the agent, talking to your daughter, whose eyes were now wide in fear. You two don’t fight often- or at all, really. You’d had her when you were only 16, so sometimes your relationship danced the line around the line between mother/daughter and two sisters. This was the first, and hopefully only, time she’d done anything to make you truly angry. Instead of answering you, Carter just looked down at her hands, mumbling something. “Carter, the longer you don’t answer me, the longer you’ll be grounded.” Your voice softened just slightly, but it was enough for Carter to know how worried you’d been.

“I found dad.” Her words made your heart stop. You hadn’t thought about her dad in a long time, you wouldn’t let yourself.

“What?” Carter only looked over to the man that had been standing next to her. You hadn’t even glanced at him, you were too worried and mad at Carter. You looked up at him, and he looked at you, and you felt like your world was crashing down. Spencer Reid. You hadn’t seen him since you were 15, when he’d left to go to CalTech. He was just a couple months older than you, 16 years old, but he was already graduating high school with enough college credit to put him halfway through an undergrad degree. He was set to become one of the youngest doctors in the country. And now here he was, 12 years later. He looked at you with the same wide eyes he had all those years ago, the same look your daughter had on her face.

“Agent Jareau?” The blonde woman came back into your line of sight, but you only glanced at her before looking back to Spencer. “Can you watch Carter for a while?”

“Yeah, of course.” Carter stood up to follow Agent Jareau, but before she could walk away, your hand stopped her.

“You’re grounding starts now, C. Hand it over.” Carter begrudgingly pulled her backpack off her shoulder and opened it. First she placed her phone in your hand, then pulled out a book and handed it over as well. You glanced at the cover. You know for a fact that she finished this book yesterday, so you tucked it under your arm and held out your hand again, and waited for her to place her second book in it. A moment later, another book was in your hand, and you nodded at Agent Jareau, allowing her to take your daughter out of sight to what you assumed to be her office. Finally, you turned back to Reid.

“Hi.” You started, avoiding eye contact. You weren’t sure how to start this conversation. You never thought you’d have to have this conversation.

“Hi.” Awkward silence. Instead of looking at Spencer, you looked around the office space, and noticed that some people were staring at you and Spencer. Spencer followed your gaze, and turned back to you. “Um, those are my coworkers. We have a conference room, do you wanna talk there?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” You followed Spencer across the office and into a small conference room. You both sat down at the circular table, and Spencer opened his mouth to speak first.

“Is it true?” You only nodded in response, still not able to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You took a deep breath before looking up at him to answer. Spencer had tears developing in his eyes, and he was leaning towards you. Raising Carter on your own had been hard, but you’d never even considered how missing out on so much of her life would affect him. “You...you were going to college. You had this insane future ahead of you, and I didn’t want to ruin it. By the time I found out, you were already gone, so…”

“You left Vegas.” Spencer interrupted. “When I came home for Thanksgiving, I stopped by your parent’s house. They refused to talk to me, and said that you transferred to a boarding school.” You scoffed at your parent’s lie. Your parents were pretentious, upper-class people. They’d wanted you to “take a semester abroad,” and quietly give up the baby for adoption. You refused, so you emptied your savings account and booked a ticket to DC, where your cousin was willing to take you and the baby in. There, you finished up your GED online, got a part time job, and began to raise Carter.

“Yeah.” You paused. “She was born May 19th. She’s 12 now.” Spencer was hanging on to every word that came out of your mouth. “She reminds me a lot of you. She’s always reading, and she loves school. I would say I’m surprised that she found you, but she’s way smarter than I am.”

“You never told her about me?”

“I told her some stuff. She knows that we dated in high school, and that you went to college early. I didn’t want her to feel abandoned, so I told her that you left before I could tell you I was pregnant.”

“You could’ve told me.” Spencer didn’t seem angry, but it was very clear how upset he was.

“I know I could’ve. But I was 16, and the only person in my life that was willing to accept me and Carter was my cousin, and she was only 22 at the time. I didn’t want to reach out to you only for you to reject me too.” Your response didn’t appear to make Spencer feel much better. “Look, Spencer, you can be mad at me all you want, but it’s obvious Carter wants to get to know you. I won’t force you to be a part of her life now, but don’t cut her out because you’re mad at me.”

Before Spencer could respond, there was a knock at the door, and a brunette woman poked her head in. “Sorry, I know this is important, but we have a case. Spence, Hotch said you can stay back, work this case from here with Garcia.”

“No, I don’t want to take you away from work.” You saw a stray piece of paper on the table, and reached into your purse to grab a pen. You quickly wrote your number and address on the paper, before pushing it towards Spencer. “Work your case, and when it’s over, we can talk more. It’ll give you some time to think things through.” Spencer looked at your words on the paper, and only nodded in response.

“You daughter is in JJ’s office, I’ll walk you over.” The brunette agent said, so you followed her out to pick up Carter.

~~~

A week later, you hadn’t received any calls from Spencer. Carter asked for updates practically every hour. You were tempted to give her back her phone and books just to get her off your back about him, but she’s grounded. That means the only books she’s allowed to read are for school, but right now it feels like you’re being punished just as much as she is. You were in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you when you heard a knock on the door. “C? Can you get the door? Check the peephole first-”

“I know, I know, never open the door for strangers.” Carter interrupted you, pausing her studying in the living room to walk out of your sight and to the door. You faintly heard the sound of the door opening before Carter spoke again. “Mom? Can Dad stay for dinner?” The mention of Spencer shocked you, and caused you to trip over your own feet and hit your knee against one of the cabinets.

“Shit!” You said loudly, reaching down to rub your hand against what would quickly become a bruise. Just as this happened, Carter and Spencer entered the room. Carter with a large smile on her face.

“That’s a dollar in my jar!” She said happily, grabbing your wallet from the counter and handing it to you.

“Yeah, I know.” You rolled your eyes, pulling a dollar out and handing it to her so she could put it in her jar.

“Mom and I each have a jar, and at the end of the month we go shopping with whatever money we have. Whenever she swears, I get a dollar, and whenever I do, she gets a dollar.” Carter explained for Spencer, then lowered her voice to a whisper, that you still easily hear, “I always have more money to spend.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” You defended yourself, even though you know she’s right. While the swear jar had easily stopped your daughter from using foul language (that she’d picked up from you), you had a lot more trouble holding your tongue.

“If your language is anything like it was in high school, then Carter is probably right.” Spencer joked, causing Carter to laugh.

“You know I don’t have to feed you two, I can eat all of this myself.” You responded, turning back to your stove.

“You wouldn’t!” Carter gasped, which caused you to laugh, giving yourself away.

“Ok, ok, you’re right. This time.” You paused for a moment, “Hey C, Spencer likes reading almost as much as you do. Why don’t you grab one of your favorites from the shelf for him to read?” Carter clearly liked this idea, because she was running to her room in an instant, yelling facts about her favorite book from her room. You knew you’d only have a minute alone with Spencer, so you turned away from the food and back to him. “Are you sure?” You asked.

You could tell from the look on Spencer’s face that he understood exactly what you meant. Once he decides to be Carter’s dad, he can’t go back. You were giving him an out.

“Yes.” He answered, with more confidence than you’d ever seen from him.

“Good.” You said, with a small smile ghosting your face. Just as quickly as she left, Carter came bounding back into the room, carrying 5 books instead of the one you’d suggested.

“I couldn’t choose a favorite book. I read kind of fast, but you can borrow these for as long as you want! I don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh yeah? How fast did you read these?” Spencer asked, looking over the book descriptions on the back.

“I usually read a book a day. Sometimes I finish books in a few hours if they’re interesting enough.”

“Impressive! Maybe one day you’ll be on my level.” Spencer bragged. You tuned out of the conversation as Spencer began talking about how fast he reads, and how Carter could learn to read faster. You just watched them, enjoying the fact that for the first time ever, Carter could have a dad. And maybe, with time, you’ll end up being some kind of family.

~~~

taglist: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid au

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twink-appreciation-posts · 4 years

Text

Lashing Out - Spencer Reid x Reader

chapter nine of “all bets are off”

the first rule of sleeping with a coworker is DONT FUCKING SLEEP WITH YOUR COWORKER

warnings: ANGST, plot-heavy set up for next chapter which will have zero plot, seriously this chapter is important to the plot but the next one is gonna be very nsfw and pretty much skippable if it’s too much for u guys but THIS CHAPTER IS IMPORTANT and also kinda short sorry

“What the fuck were you talking to Rossi about?”

The words may have come out a bit more aggressively than you had intended, and maybe a bit too loud, but you were barely keeping it together. You were standing at Spencer’s desk, foot-tapping nervously, eyes darting around the room to your coworkers.

“What? Nothing,” Spencer replied quickly. “Just typical Rossi stuff.”

“What does the even mean?” You whisper-yelled. “Did he…. did he hear something?”

Spencer let out a sigh. “I… I don’t know. All he asked was where we had gone. I told him we were looking for old files. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Perfect. Yeah, you were sure that Rossi totally bought his story, right? No way. He knew. He had to have known. “You think he believes that? Spencer, how can you be so nonchalant about this? What we did was totally unprofessional. We could be fired.”

Spencer finally looked up at you and met your eyes. “We’re not going to be fired. Even if Rossi does know, he’s not going to tell anyone, and he wouldn’t get us fired over it. You’re right, what we did was risky, but it was a calculated risk and nothing bad is going to come of it. You trust me, don’t you?” He spoke methodically, without much emotion, like he would have explained any other random fact or statistic. You hated it. How could he be so calm? How could he not care?

“Nothing bad?” You quoted back at him, rolling your eyes. “Best case scenario is that Rossi knows and doesn’t say anything about it. That still means that someone on our team that I trust and look up to knows that I fucked someone in a backroom during work. I don’t wanna even think about the lack of respect he must have for me now. Do you really not care what he thinks?”

He considered your point for a moment. You weren’t even sure what you wanted him to say. An apology would mean nothing and empathy wouldn’t help your situation either. “Sexual relationships with coworkers are more common than you’d think, according to some studies up to 40 percent of people reported having some form of intimate relationship with a coworker in their life. Plus, it’s Rossi. I’m sure he’s done wilder things-“

“I don’t care what Rossi has done! I don’t care what 40 percent of people have done. I care what I’ve done. I care what we’ve done. Sleeping with you is one thing, but doing it repeatedly and doing it at work is crossing a line. This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake. I don’t know why the hell I let you drag me into this… whatever this is. I feel so fucking stupid.” Your emotions were getting the better of you, you knew that. It was as much your own fault as it was Spencer’s and crying about it wouldn’t help. But you did feel dumb. You felt dumb for a lot of reasons.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by Hotch calling a team meeting. Great. Just what you needed. You walked away from his desk, making a promise to yourself:

’I’m never having sex with Spencer Reid ever again.’

The rest of the day was typical other than the fact that you couldn’t find it in you to speak to or make eye contact with Spencer or Rossi.

It was definitely obvious to everyone else that something was up. That was the downside of working with profilers: even the smallest change of behavior was enough of a tip for them to notice.

As you packed up your stuff for the day Rossi approached you. You forced your best ‘nothing is wrong’ smile as he spoke.

“I’m having dinner party at my place this Saturday,” he explained. “Everyone’s invited. It’s my duty to teach you folks how to make a real carbonara.”

“Ah, yeah!” You nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be there.”

“Great! See you then.”

The rest of the work week was miserable at best, but it’s not like you were particularly looking forward to the weekend either. Dinner at Rossi’s sounded peachy keen until you considered the fact that it meant awkwardly avoiding friends for an extra day. You would’ve felt bad not showing up, though, so Saturday evening you were sitting in Rossi’s kitchen watching him cook. Everyone but Spencer was there, but you were assured he’d be showing up. You secretly hoped he wouldn’t.

30 minutes into your cooking class there was a knock at the door.

“I got it!” JJ left the kitchen and returned with Spencer at her side.

“Sorry I’m late,” he smiled sheepishly.

“What was more important than this? You have a date or something?” Derek teased him. Spencer shook his head and turned red.

Wait. Had he…? No. No way. And even if he had, what did it matter to you?

“If Spencer had a lady friend I’d expect we’d never know, anyway.” Emily chuckled. “He’s not the bragging type unlike some of us here.” She elbowed Derek playfully. You frowned. Why did this upset you?

You dared to glance towards Spencer only to see that he had already been looking at you. Oh fuck. You turned your head back towards Rossi immediately, sighing. Spence took the only free seat, which was conveniently next to yours, and put down his bag.

“Well now that we’re all here,” Rossi popped open a bottle of wine, “let’s toast!”

You had a surprisingly fun night. You even talked to Spencer and Rossi a bit, forcing down any embarrassment. At the end of the night you had mostly resolved your issues internally, and you realized that you might’ve been a bit too cold to Spencer during the week. So you made the adult decision that you were going to apologize. As you walked out of Rossi’s house, sorry mansion, you pulled Spencer to the side. “Can we talk?” You asked quietly.

“Of course,”

So you went on a bit of a walk.

“I, um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you this week. And before you say I wasn’t, it’s okay. I know I was. It was just as much my fault as it was yours that everything went down the way it did. It was a two-way street and I just didn’t wanna take responsibility for my own actions.” Your eyes were glued to the ground, twiddling your fingers nervously.

“It’s okay,” Spencer reassured you with a smile. “You were under a lot of stress and I understand why you’d lash out.”

You nodded, relieved that he wasn’t upset with you, though you knew he probably wouldn’t be. He wasn’t the type to get mad about stuff like this.

“Well, if that’s what you were worried about, don’t sweat it.” He told you when you stayed silent. He began to walk back towards his car.

“There was something else, actually…” You stuttered out. Spencer paused, turning on his heel and locking eyes with you.

You opened your mouth to speak but the words caught in your throat. You took a moment. Composed yourself. This was stupid. Why were you even asking? But now if you didn’t say anything it would be even weirder. Fuck. You really were a dumbass. “Did you uh, actually come late because you were on a date?” You mentally face-palmed. What a stupid fucking question.

Spencer chuckled. “No. I didn’t. I was writing a letter to my mom.” He explained, and for some reason, you felt relief wash over you. You laughed a bit. You had gotten all worked up over nothing. “Why do you ask?”

Your face fell. How were you supposed to answer that when you weren’t fully sure of the answer yourself? I mean, you could guess, sure, but in the end, you were lost. The question had just been plaguing you all night. That’s why you asked. “I don’t know. I guess I was just curious.” You shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. You had been curious.

“Fair enough. I’ll see you Monday.” Spencer began to walk away again and your brain began to buzz with too many thoughts to keep track of, but one was repeating at top volume, a desperate reminder of the rule you had set.

I’m never having sex with Spencer Reid ever again. I’m never having sex with Spencer Reid ever again. I’m never having sex with Spencer Reid ever again.

But despite the voice in your head screaming at you, besides your attempts to be reasonable about things, even though every inch of your rational brain was saying let him walk away, you spoke. Words flying out of your mouth before you could catch them. “Or maybe I was jealous.”

You thought maybe he didn’t hear you because he didn’t react at first. Maybe that was for the best. But your hopes were soon shattered when he turned around, looking at you with a mix of desire and confusion. Regret washed over you. God, you wished he hadn’t heard.

You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, both plotting your next move, weighing your options. How much weight did your words carry? How would he take them?

You took a step towards him, and he did the same, and you were close enough to lean forward and put your lips on his and fuck did you want to but you shouldn’t and you knew that it would only make things worse in the end but at the moment you didn’t care and now it was too late because his lips were on yours before you could find the strength to walk away.

You didn’t know who leaned in. You didn’t care. It had been less than a week since your last encounter with him but you were starved and so was he. Whatever fucked up toxic thing that kept you two coming back to each other was too strong to fight and god the feeling of being with him like this was intoxicating. You pulled back eventually, needing to breathe, and you hated it. You wanted more.

“Where are you headed after this?” You asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know. Where do you want me to go?” He replied, eyes searching yours.

You gulped, swallowing down your self-respect and pride. Maybe Spencer had always been right. You needed him. You needed whatever this mess was. “I’ll see you at my place, then?”

“I’ll see you at your place.”

You parted ways with Spencer and walked to your car in silence, your mantra still ringing in your ears.

’I’m never having sex with Spencer Reid ever again.’

taglist <3

@101donuts @annestine @spideyboix @babybloomer @welcome-to-hoeville @eldahae @brokenanxiety @andiebeaword @spencerwaltergubler @la-vie-en-amour1 @rainsong01 @taekwinkle @dreamer7black @guessthatswhyiliveinhell @creepingfromthecorners @joyousreid @slutforthegubes @cluelessnitwhit @idfkijustneedafuckinguser @downondilaudid @screeching-student-unknown @gretaamyk @thegingerfairchild

#all bets are off #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst

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timerainseternal · 3 years

Text

I know I probably haven't been really looking in the right place to see it, but I haven't found anyone talking about the Commission goons from the Griddy's shootout in episode 1. Like, what was up with them? Why on Earth were they there (besides to showcase Five being a badass to an amazing song, and to set up some plot points for later)?

First, here's what we know about them:

They were hired by the Commission, as shown by the fact that they had and used the tracker to find Five, and also that they were looking for Five at all, since he had been gone for seventeen years and only showed up that very day. That much is pretty clear, but it makes the rest of it super strange.

These guys are native to 2019, since in the next episode when Patch and Beaman are talking, they found the records for these "not-so-gentle gentlemen." Five's fingerprints raise questions, but these guys don't raise any red flags besides the situation itself, so they're probably not Commission proper. The goons also obviously don't have any clue about who Five is--at least, who Five is to the Commission-- since the leader also says "you think I want to shoot a kid?" and isn't surprised or confused that the target looks like a child instead of the old man Hazel and Cha-Cha were expecting. They weren't prepared for the teleporting, though Hazel and Cha-Cha weren't either, but it also seems like they weren't expecting any competence at all, which Hazel and Cha-Cha were. Their presence also alerted/reminded Five about the tracker in his arm, which he then removed and made finding him more difficult. Basically, they were ineffective at their job and actually made things worse for their successors.

That leads me to believe that the Commission, besides having their agents, also has a fund and set-up for in-timeline hires, and that it must be somewhat automated to go down the way it did. My headcanon for this headcanon is that whenever a Commission agent defects, it gets logged into the system and an in-time mercenary (or mercenaries) gets automatically or very quickly hired to hunt them down based on the competency rating of the agent. With the Handler's interest in Five, there's no way she would have approved those normal mercenaries before Hazel and Cha-Cha, so the only way I can see it happening is if it were an oversight on the Handler's part because it didn't have to get her sign-off.

Given the track record of Commission agents that we've seen, they can and do defect (maybe even often), and since we've also seen the importance of butterfly effect, it makes sense to have a system that acts quickly to eliminate them. It also works as a fear tactic to keep agents in line, since while you can form bonds with coworkers or maybe figure out a way to steal their briefcase (which you know how to use correctly, unlike civilians like Klaus), you can never be sure where danger is coming from with an in-time hire, and the Commission can always afford to hire more. It's only the out-of-time agents that get the insurance and pensions and retirement plans that are so expensive.

And, honestly? I'd love to see that side of the Commission, the kind where maybe delicacy isn't necessary in the same way, maybe the deaths can't be performed by someone random and untraceable or engineered quite right, and where maybe most defecting agents will eventually be hunted down by these kinds of hires because time usually isn't of the essence with them. I'm imagining a sort of accountant/assassin-based sitcom around dealing with the intricacies of being outside of time and trying to work with different currencies and hiring methods, as well as the technological difficulties of having a tracker on someone in, say, the 1100s. There's also an AU in there where they didn't exist, Hazel and Cha-Cha had the tracker, and they showed up at Vanya's and basically proved that there really was a time-travelling assassin agency, and that Five had worked there. That probably would have changed a few things plot-wise, lmao.

Anyway, that's just some thoughts on something I had never really figured out about S1, and I'd love to know if people have other insights that I've skipped over, since maybe there's an obvious answer that I'm just missing! (Even if I did miss something obvious, though, I will continue to think about my new pet AU, which features a rogue Commission agent who tries to go live as a medieval shepherd, and a Commission accountant who continually tries to hire an in-time assassin with the currency, language, and technology from the wrong century.)

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #the commission #the commission agents #hazel and cha cha #seriously tho why were they there #I'm not complaining since I like Istanbul (not Constantinople) a whole lot #but whyyyyy did they exist #i suppose it also plays into hazel's complaints about bureaucracy #good for hazel being right #and dont @ me about the infinite switchboard #i KNOW it exists and that fact has me seething with every mistake the commission makes #you dont even need a tracker if you have the switchboard!#and if you have a tracker and the switchboard you should definitely know what five looks like when he gets to 2019!#im fully steamed about what i know to be a simple plot device #absolutely miffed about it #the commission looks at the opportunity to be competent and politely declines

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hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

kiss it better | four

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn

word count: 4k

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hellloooooo my loves! thanks for your patience with this update! please let me know what you think about the update :)

✩ index here ✩

The last time you went bowling, you were eight years old.

It was your birthday, and you’d declared that the one thing you’d wanted was for the whole family to spend the day together. Lately, Taehyung had been focused on graduating and you’d barely seen him around the house. Your dad was always working, and your mom offered little to no comfort.

So it had been your birthday wish to have just one day that you could be a family.

For the first time in your life, you’d had a perfect day. Even Taehyung had put his responsibilities aside and come along, which had been the best part.

You didn’t win, of course. You had little to no hand-eye coordination - but you’d had more fun than you could ever remember having with your family. The one time you bowled a strike, Taehyung grabbed you and put you on his shoulders, doing laps up and down the lane while you giggled until your cheeks hurt.

When you entered the bowling alley, you tried not to remember that day. It would only bring you sadness and make you long for something you could never have again.

Instead, you honed in on a different feeling in your bones. You were meeting Mark’s friends for the first time, and it had been a long time since you’d been in such a large group. You couldn’t help but feel nervous. It made you want to steal the leather jacket Mark was wearing and let yourself be swallowed up by the heavy material.

College had been a learning experience, to say the least, and one of the most prominent lessons had been that it was easy to lose yourself in situations like these. When drinks were flowing, music was blasting, and people were laughing - you didn’t have a great track record.

Nonetheless, you let Mark lead you back to his friends after grabbing the right shoes, anxiously shoving your hands into the pockets of your shorts.

“Look who showed up!” Dahyun exclaimed once you joined their group, standing up from the cushioned seats in front of the alley.

She brushed right past Mark to embrace you in a tight hug, squeezing your shoulders and briefly rocking you back and forth.

“Damn, hello to you too,” Mark murmured. He shook his head and greeted the rest of his friends, exchanging one of those dude handshakes with a tall, lean guy with shaggy black hair.

When Dahyun let you go, she linked her arm through yours and brought you over to the group. “Everybody, this is Y/N.”

“Hi,” you responded with a shy wave.

The tall guy reached out his hand. “Hi, I’m Yugyeom.”

He had a face that made you feel like you could trust him, a smile that seemed more innocent than anything else. You couldn’t help but to return his smile and grasp his hand.

“Hi,” you said again, before Dahyun was pointing to the next person.

“This is Jackson,” she said, gesturing to a guy leaning coolly against the booth, chestnut brown hair swooped away from his face to reveal his sparkling smile.

You recognized him as the male you’d seen on that first day, the one that asked Dahyun for napkins. He was wearing a muscle shirt again, revealing the sleeves of swirling lines on both of his toned arms.

After shaking his hand, Dahyun led you to the next person. Instead of pointing at her, Dahyun wrapped her arms around the short haired blonde and slapped a kiss on her cheek.

“This is my other half, my bae, my lady. Or, you may call her Chaeyoung.”

Chaeyoung crinkled her nose and wriggled out of her girlfriend’s grasp with a giggle, reaching forward to shake your hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Although they were all older than you, you didn’t quite feel the age gap as you thought you would. Yugyeom had a young soul and you felt comfortable as he helped you choose a bowling ball with the right weight.

Jackson was friendly, too, claiming you for his team before anyone else could get the chance. He said he got a good feeling from you, that you’d be his lucky charm. All you could do was blush and send Mark a shrug.

While Mark typed in everybody’s name into the machine, transferring them up onto the screen above your heads to show the scores, you accepted the cider that Dahyun slipped into your hands. If anything, perhaps it would loosen you up.

-- -- --

“If looks could kill,” Dahyun said as she slid into the booth next to Mark.

Mark brought his beer bottle to his lips, sending a side glance to his friend. “Huh?”

Dahyun just laughed, tipping her own beer back as she followed Mark’s line of sight. There was Jackson, dancing with you to the techno song playing over the speakers. You were laughing so hard your cheeks were pink.

“If looks could kill, Jackson would be six feet under,” she finished, nudging his shoulder. “You got a thing for Y/N?”

Mark scoffed, a bit too quick, and shook his head. “No. No, she’s my friend’s sister.”

Dahyun snorted. “Okay, and? Chaeyoung was my coworker. Are we just stating facts?”

She didn’t get it. Mark didn’t blame her - she didn’t know the full story. When he was younger, your parents and Tae were the closest things he’d had to family. It would have been downright betrayal to look at you as anything more than a friend.

But he couldn’t help staring, narrowing his eyes as he watched Jackson adjust your shoulders and hips before you bowled your first shot. He was sure that whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t jealousy. Something curled in his gut, though, when he watched Jackson’s fingers brush against the flower on your shoulder blade, the tattoo Mark had given you himself.

And for fuck’s sake, did you have to be wearing shorts? It was hot outside, sure, but…

He shook the thoughts out of his head, realizing that he was the one staring at your legs, not Jackson. Dahyun must have noticed as well, because she nudged him once again and giggled.

“You’re screwed, dude.”

I’m aware, Mark wanted to say. Instead, he knocked back the rest of his beer. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from you, half out of protectiveness, the other half was something else entirely, something he couldn’t identify.

-- -- --

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, watching as your bright pink bowling ball knocked down six pins. It was the most you’d gotten in one turn in the whole duration of the game. You were really bad at this, somehow even worse than you had been when you were eight.

“You did it!” Jackson yelled happily, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet. You’d had a couple of ciders already, making you feel light and happy as the older man spun you around.

Jackson was cute. More than just cute - he was handsome enough to be a Disney prince. And he was funny, too. You could tell he was kind. He made you feel special when he laughed at your little quirks during the game, but you knew it was dangerous.

It wouldn’t be the first time you fell for a hot guy with a charming smile and kind eyes, and you’d told yourself you never would again. So even though he made you laugh and you liked the way he placed his hand on the small of your back, you were cautious.

Mark was quiet. When it wasn’t his turn, he was mostly brooding in the corner nursing a beer or chatting quietly with Dahyun. You wondered why he wasn’t talking to you, or even looking at you.

For a moment, you wondered if he was angry with you. He hadn’t spoken to you much, not that he was a man of many words, but you had been getting along so well lately. And he’d wanted you to come, right?

It occurred to you that maybe he hadn’t, really, and he’d just invited you to be polite. The thought made an unpleasant feeling coil in your gut.

“Last turn, you know what that means!”

A female voice called from behind you and you turned to see Chaeyoung carrying a tray of shots - at least a dozen, probably more - to your table. Your eyes widened. This wasn’t for one person, was it?!

“Yes!” Dahyun pumped her fist into the air and skipped over to her girlfriend, helping her set the tray down on the table.

“Shit, we’re still doing that?” Mark asked, his voice full of annoyance.

The girls ignored him and Dahyun turned to you. “The rule is, on your last turn, however many pins you leave standing - you take that many shots. It’s a tradition.”

You blinked a few times, staring down at the tiny shot glasses which were full of a caramelly brown liquid - probably whiskey or bourbon. Not that you had experience with either, but your old roommates always had half empty bottles laying around.

“You don’t have to,” Mark said low in your ear. You jumped, not knowing he was next to you. When you turned to him, he was giving you a dark look, like he was trying to tell you not to do it.

Suddenly, you were reminded of your brother. Taehyung was still texting you every day, telling you to go home to your parents, to grow up. He meant well, deep down, but you hated the way he thought he had a right to give you orders.

Instead of giving in, being the obedient naive girl your brother wanted you to be, you turned from Mark to Dahyun.

“Oh, no. I’m definitely doing it.”

-- -- --

“Ohhh, look at your grumpy face. You look like an old man,” you said, poking your fingertip into Mark’s cheek. “Silly.”

He should have stopped you. Mark had watched as you took five shots, one after the other. In all honesty, you’d knocked them back like a champ with hardly a grimace. But it was a quick downward spiral from there.

After tearing you away from Chaeyoung and Dahyun, who you were claiming to be your new sisters, Mark led you out of the bowling alley. With your arm around his neck and his arm stabilizing your waist, he felt like he was dragging a dead body with how helpful you were being.

Now that you were in the backseat of the Uber, you seemed to be gaining a second wind. You were leaning towards him, batting your eyelashes at him with the most infuriating, adorable smile he’d ever seen.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, grin dropping into a pout.

Mark sighed. He was used to being the one to take care of his drunk friends - Jackson wasn’t always as good at holding his liquor as he was now. Not to mention all the trouble he and Taehyung used to get into in their teen years.

“I’m not mad.”

You blinked a few times, scrutinizing his features. “It feels like you’re mad.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, licking his lips. “I just feel like I should have been more responsible.”

You furrowed your brow and huffed, deflating back against the seat. “I’m not your responsibility, Mark. You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Yes, I do,” Mark replied. “Someone has to.”

It appeared you didn’t like his answer. You crossed your arms over your chest, tearing your eyes away from him to stare out the window.

“I’m not a kid,” you said, almost a mutter under your breath, but Mark heard you. He chewed at his lip, staring at you for a moment before he exhaled.

“I know,” Mark admitted, voice low. “I know. Look, I’m sorry, I know you’re an adult. I just…”

How could he put it into words? Something about you made him want to protect you, and it wasn’t just that you were younger, that you’d been so sheltered growing up and deserved to have someone shield you from the scary world. There was something else pulling him, and he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet.

“We’re friends, Y/N. So I wanna make sure you’re safe, okay? And I should have been looking out for you tonight, and I feel like I wasn’t,” he said.

Mark had been so broody, sitting beside himself while he watched you drink cider after cider that was handed to you, his eyes following every move you made. Until, of course, you looked at him, and he made sure to appear as uninterested as possible.

He watched you swallow and consider his words before you turned back to him. Thick silence hung between the two of you and he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d said you were friends or because he’d admitted that he had been a dick.

“I wanna live,” you said, and Mark almost thought you were sobering up, but your eyes still appeared glassy and unfocused. “I moved here to live. And… and I felt like I could, tonight, because you were there.”

Mark ignored the way he felt his heart pound in his chest, hard against his ribs.

Luckily, he didn’t need to form a response because the driver had pulled up to the apartment building. Mark thanked him and helped you out of the car, noticing the way you shivered once the cool night air hit your bare skin.

“Here,” Mark said, shrugging his leather jacket off of his shoulders and draping it over yours. “You have goosebumps.”

“Thank you,” you said. Your cheeks turned pink, radiating all the way up to your ears.

With a steadying breath, Mark led you back into the building, his hand placed on the small of your back the whole way.

Once you finally made it into the apartment, you’d seemed to regain some of your wits. Though you stumbled once or twice on thin air, your intoxication at least seemed to be at a steady level.

With Milo on his heels, Mark grabbed a bottle of water for you, handing it to you with strict instructions to sip it slowly, but to finish the whole thing before you went to bed. You pouted and saluted him sarcastically before giving Milo a goodnight kiss and heading off to your room.

Mark watched as you disappeared down the hallway, each step careful as if you were trying not to appear drunk. You’d had five shots and god only knows how many ciders, you were definitely still drunk. But he admired your effort, at least.

“What am I gonna do with her,” Mark said to Milo, shaking his head and picking the tiny dog up. Milo offered no wisdom in return, just kissed his face until Mark had to cut him off and set him down.

Despite Mark’s worries, he attempted to go about his night just as he normally would. He heard you opening and closing dresser drawers, probably a bit louder than you intended, signaling to him that you were at least capable of getting yourself changed for bed on your own. Thank god for that.

Mark himself changed into his usual sleepwear, a pair of basketball shorts and a muscle shirt, then proceeded to wash his face and brush his teeth. He felt like his ears were perked, waiting for any sign of trouble so that he could come to your rescue. It was a strange, pathetic feeling.

He glimpsed your figure out of the corner of his eye while he was mid-brush, purple toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. You had your toiletry bag in your arms, your previous outfit swapped out for a pair of leggings and an oversized college shirt.

“Can I?” you asked, nodding with your chin to the empty space at the sink.

“Mm,” he murmured in response, holding up one finger to signal you to wait a moment. He quickly finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth, then took a sidestep to make room for you at the sink.

He tried not to stare at you and instead pretended like he was checking the shelf above the toilet for something, though he paid attention to the way you sat your bag down and unzipped it, sifting through it until you pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and a cotton pad.

You seemed a bit unsteady, wobbling a on your feet just standing still. You were holding the cotton pad and makeup remover in each hand, biting hard onto your lip.

“Y/N?” Mark asked. “You good?”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Don’t feel good.”

“Well, that might have something to do with the liter of alcohol you drank,” he remarked with a smirk.

You whined and turned to Mark, surprising him by holding the items in your hands out to him. “Help. If I have to stare at myself in the mirror, I’m going to throw up.”

All he could do for a moment was stare down at your hands, the objects that were basically foreign to him. He’d never touched a bottle of makeup remover in his life, and the only time he used cotton swabs were for sterilization at the shop.

“I… what?” he stuttered.

“Just pour this on this, then wipe my makeup away. It’s easy.”

Mark blinked a few times, torn between telling you to do it yourself or just walking away. But the way you were gazing up at him with glassy eyes and the most pathetic frown was what made him reach for the cotton pad and makeup remover.

“Okay, just, close your eyes. And you can’t be mad at me if I do it wrong.”

You smiled, then, turning your body to lean back against the sink. Mark stood in front of you, popping open the cap of liquid and pouring some onto the cotton round. You gave him a nod of approval at the amount he used, then closed your eyes.

He slid the cotton pad over your eyes, overly gentle at first to a point where nothing was removed. So he went over again, until he was sure that he got the hang of it. He watched as all your mascara and eyeliner was wiped away, not that you’d had very heavy makeup on to start with.

“Mark,” you whispered, after he’d gotten your eye makeup off. You opened your eyes and Mark realized just how close to you he was standing, but he didn’t make any effort to move away.

“Yeah?” he replied, just as quietly.

“Why haven’t you asked why I’m not talking to my parents?”

Mark swallowed, his hand dropping from your face. “I figured you would tell me when you felt comfortable.”

You nodded. “I feel like I should tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied, shaking his head. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Your bodies were so close together, he could smell the lingering perfume on your skin and he tried so hard not to inhale too deep, not to notice how good you smelled.

“I dropped out of school,” you blurted out. “When I told my parents, they…” you blew out an exhale, your eyes staring out over Mark’s shoulder as if you were remembering how it all happened. “They told me I could go back to school or get out of their house. They didn’t ask why I dropped out, or if I was okay, they just wanted me gone.”

Mark didn’t respond, although he had a thousand questions begging to be answered. But he wanted to give you the time, the space to share more if you wanted.

“I hated school. My grades were fine, they were excellent really, but I was miserable. I ended up… doing something really stupid, and it was the last straw.”

When you didn’t continue, instead locking eyes with Mark again, he swallowed and chose his words carefully.

“I’m sorry. No matter how I feel about your parents, that’s… it’s messed up. You deserve to have their support,” he said quietly, slowly bringing his hand back up to your face.

He swiped the cotton pad across your cheek, taking your makeup and a stray tear with it. You nodded and sniffed once.

“It’s okay. But that’s why I’m here,” you told him, voice quiet. “They forced me out. And I wanted to have a life, so I came to the city.”

“And?” Mark asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”

You laughed, soft and breathy. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got good company.”

When your eyes met, Mark felt that grip on his heart again. The way you looked at him made his mind foggy, like he had been the one to take five shots of whiskey. He hadn’t been looked at like this in a long time, maybe ever.

“Close your eyes,” Mark said. His voice came out deeper, more gravelly than he intended.

After you obeyed, he slid the cotton pad over your other eye to remove the makeup there, at least grateful to be free of your overwhelming gaze.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” you whispered, catching him off guard.

Mark was used to this question. At the age of thirty, he was expected to be in a serious relationship, if not already married. So when people found out he’d been single for years, they were shocked.

“Uh, well-” Mark stuttered, his fingers pausing as they brushed against your cheek. “I… I don’t go out a lot. And I guess I like being alone. I’m comfortable like this.”

“What about me?”

There it was again, that thumping in his chest.

“You’re different,” he whispered. He didn’t even notice he had dropped the cotton pad, leaving nothing between the soft skin of your cheek and his hand.

Your eyes fluttered open - clear, and so, so close. It stirred something in him, a feeling that had remained dormant for what felt like his entire life.

Then your lips were against his. It happened so fast, he didn’t even know who leaned in first. He was pretty sure you’d kissed him, but he had felt so drawn to you in that moment that he couldn’t be sure.

It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough. Enough for you to tilt your head, slip your tongue past his lips. God, it’d been so long…

Mark surged back a step, his shins colliding with the tub behind him. He inhaled sharply, his lips tingling from your kiss.

“Oh, god,” you said, your eyes flying open. “Oh my god. Mark, I…” Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you stared at him.

“Shit,” Mark muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “Shit. It’s okay.”

He couldn’t look at you. He was looking anywhere but at your face as he rubbed his neck, trying to process the last ten seconds.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You turned from him, grabbing your bag from the sink and scurrying out of the room.

Mark watched you leave, listening for the sound of your bedroom door shutting behind you. He groaned quietly to himself, leaning his palms onto the sink.

“Fuck. Shit. You’re so fucking stupid,” he told himself in the mirror.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Once, twice, three times. He had no explanation, no excuse for what had just happened. You’d been the one to initiate the kiss, but he’d kissed you back.

He knew better. Despite the circumstances, he knew better than to look at you like that, as anything other than a friend. A little sister, even.

With one deep inhale and a long exhale, Mark made up his mind. He would do the right thing, no matter how hard it was or how much you’d hate him for it.

He grabbed his phone off of the sink, browsing his contacts until he found the name he’d been looking for. It was his new number, but he hoped he would answer.

Holding the phone up to his ear, Mark listened as the phone rang three times. He almost hung up, deciding that maybe it wasn’t worth it. Tomorrow, he could tell you to call him yourself.

The ringing stopped. “Hello?”

He cleared his throat. “Taehyung? Hey, man. It’s Mark.”

“Mark? Shit, it’s been a while. What’s up?”

Mark kept his eyes on the mirror, making sure he got a good look at himself as he flipped your world upside down.

“Look, this is probably unexpected, but… I need to talk to you. It’s about your sister.”

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