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[cressidagrey]

Bribery remains effective

We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming to celebrate Oscar's 4th career win!

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri thought doing kindergarten drop-off for his daughter would be easy — until Bee negotiates like a Formula 1 strategist and declares that the chickens at home are better friends than her classmates.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar knelt beside Bee at the gate, one hand steadying the tiny bee-shaped backpack on her back, the other gently tucking a rogue curl into her cap. The air smelled like damp grass and crayons, and the sound of squealing toddlers echoed faintly from the building.

Bee was not impressed.

Normally, Felicity did the drop-off. Normally, Bee clung to her mama’s leg until she was gently convinced inside with the promise of a post-kindy snack and a story. 

But Oscar was home for the day…and so he had decided that letting his wife sleep in and doing the drop off would be a simple way to make her week easier. 

So here he was, still bleary-eyed, in his team hoodie, coffee in hand—as the designated parent.

The other parents stared at him, and Oscar wasn’t surprised at all. He was pretty sure that he still looked like half a teenager playing at being a dad. Oh well. They could believe whatever they wanted. 

Bee stared at the school gate like it had personally insulted her.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, in that tiny, serious voice of hers.

Oscar sighed, crouching to her level. “We talked about this. You’re just going to be here until lunch.”

“I know,” Bee muttered, arms crossed. “But it’s so loud, Papa. Everyone is shouting. And they don’t even wash their hands properly.”

Oscar tried not to smile. “You don’t have to shout. You just have to be kind. And listen to Miss Eleanor.”

Bee made a face. “Miss Eleanor made me sit on the carpet. It was sticky. Someone put raisins in their shoes.”

Oscar blinked. “…Why would someone put raisins in their—never mind. Look, I know it’s not your favourite, but Mama and I just want you to spend time with other kids your age. It’s good for you.”

“I’d rather be with the chickens.”

He chuckled. “The chickens don’t teach social skills, Bumblebee.”

“Yes they do,” Bee said seriously. “Vettel always shares the feed. And Lauda only pecks if someone’s rude first.”

Oscar rubbed his face. “You named chickens after F1 legends. That doesn’t count as a peer group.”

Bee scuffed her boot in the gravel. “I just don’t like it here.”

Oscar softened, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I know, sweetheart. I didn’t like school much either. But sometimes we do hard things because they help us grow.”

Bee gave him a withering look. “I’m already growing, Papa. Mama said I grew out of my shoes last week.”

“…Technically not what I meant.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “Are you going to leave?”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Just for a bit. Mama or I will pick you up. She promised mochi if you were brave today.”

Bee’s eyes lit up, but then she narrowed them suspiciously. “With sprinkles?”

“Yes.”

“And chocolate milk?”

“With the bendy straw.”

She considered this. Very seriously.

“…Fine,” she said at last, with the air of a queen making a reluctant royal decree. “But tell Mama the carpet was sticky again and I still think the chickens are better friends.”

Oscar leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Deal. Go be your brilliant self, okay?”

Bee nodded solemnly and allowed herself to be led inside by the cheerful classroom assistant, her boots squeaking slightly as she walked.

Oscar watched until the door shut behind her, then pulled out his phone and texted Felicity.

Drop-off complete. Still prefers chickens over humans. Also, she wants chocolate milk with the bendy straw.

A second later, Felicity replied:

My girl. Bribery remains effective.

Oscar smiled down at the message. 

***

The gravel crunched under Oscar’s tyres as he pulled into the drive of their home, the morning still misty with leftover rain and the gentle clucking of chickens from the coop drifting lazily through the air. He left the car with the windows cracked and the doors unlocked. No one around here stole things, and even if they did, they'd have to face Senna the Chicken first.

He toed off his sneakers at the back door, rubbed the sleep from his face, and called out, “Fliss?”

No answer—just the low hum of music coming from upstairs. The kind Felicity only played when she was home alone and getting things done. Oscar followed the sound of it, yawning as he went, and when he reached their bathroom door, it was fogged from steam and slightly ajar.

The shower was on.

He grinned.

The clothes she'd dropped on the floor were her pyjamas, an oversized cricket shirt of his from their school days, that by now was threadbare and thin, and  had a hole in one sleeve…and also had the name PIASTRI emblazoned over her back whenever she wore it. 

Oscar stripped off his hoodie and pants and quietly stepped inside the steamy bathroom, pushing the door open gently.

Felicity was already halfway through washing her hair, head tilted back under the stream of water, when she felt the shift of air behind her.

She didn’t jump.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice calm and lazy. “You’re late.”

“Bee negotiated hard,” Oscar said, stepping into the shower behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “Full mochi package, plus the chocolate milk. With the bendy straw, or she said the deal was void.”

Felicity laughed, leaning back into him. “She’s terrifying.”

“She said the carpet was sticky again.”

“She always says that.”

Oscar nuzzled into the curve of her neck, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. “She also said she’d rather hang out with Vettel the chicken.”

“I mean,” Felicity said, turning slightly to look at him, “I get it.”

Oscar laughed softly, the sound muffled against her skin. “Hey… I was thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“About Silverstone,” he said, tightening his arms around her. 

Felicity stilled just slightly. “…Oscar.”

“I think you should bring her. For the weekend. She would love the paddock.”

Felicity sighed. “You know what that means, though. If we bring her to a Grand Prix—that Grand Prix—she’s going to start asking the karting question again. And we both know what happens after that.”

Oscar was quiet for a second, his breath warming her spine. “I know. I just… I think we’re kidding ourselves if we pretend she’s not already five steps ahead of us. She’s been watching the telemetry from my onboard and taking notes since last year.”

Felicity groaned. “I know. She told me last week your braking into Turn 4 was ‘too soft.’ Then she decided to write a better strategy for you.”

Oscar smiled against her shoulder. “She’s not wrong.”

Felicity turned around, suds still in her hair, eyes serious now. “Oz, I don’t want her to think she has to be anything just because she’s good at it.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her cheek. “And we won’t let it be like it was for you. No pressure. No proving anything to anyone. Just… if she wants to try karting, we let her. That’s all.”

Felicity studied him for a long moment. “And if she decides she wants to race?”

Oscar’s voice was steady. “Then we’ll make damn sure she’s not alone doing it.”

There was silence, except for the steady stream of water.

Felicity sighed, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “She is going to ask for a kart for her birthday if we bring her to Silverstone.”

“Like Father, like daughter.”

“You’re unreal,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Oscar grinned, pulling her into him again. “So that’s a yes?”

Felicity groaned. “Fine. But you can explain it to our bank account when she wants a sim rig upgrade at seven.”

Oscar pressed a kiss to her wet forehead. “Deal.”

And just like that, she relaxed into him, the water still running, their quiet little world still intact—just with the inevitable reality that their tiny, terrifying genius was about to make her Silverstone debut… and probably ask for race gloves in size XXS.

Felicity was still smiling when Oscar leaned in again, water cascading down over both of them, warm and comforting. She had her hands flat against his chest, fingertips tracing the faint lines of his collarbones, her eyes searching his like she was looking at something she’d never quite get used to having.

He bent slightly, brushing his nose against hers. “I missed you this morning.”

“You were gone for thirty minutes,” she murmured.

“Too long.” His lips ghosted over her cheek, slow and tender. “You smell like my shampoo.”

“You used all of mine,” she countered.

“I regret nothing.”

She let out a breath of a laugh, but the sound caught slightly when his hands slid from her back down to the curve of her waist, thumbs tracing her hips with practiced ease. The tension that had been knotted in her spine slowly started to ease, the hum of the water drowning out everything else.

Oscar kissed her, finally—soft at first, a gentle press of lips that deepened as Felicity responded, curling her fingers into the damp hair at the back of his neck. The kind of kiss that wasn’t rushed or frantic, but warm and familiar, full of the kind of affection that only comes from building a life with someone.

Her back pressed to the cool tiles, the contrast against the heat of his mouth making her shiver. Oscar pulled back just a little, resting his forehead against hers.

“You know I’d do anything to protect her,” he whispered. “You too.”

“I know,” she said softly, voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “That’s why I said yes.”

His hand skimmed up the curve of her spine, drawing a quiet sigh from her lips. She tilted her face toward his again, their kiss deeper this time���slower, surer. They didn’t have to say much anymore. They knew each other’s rhythms. Knew exactly where to touch, where to pause, how to press close and just breathe in each other.

The steam wrapped around them like a cocoon. His hand cupped her cheek, the other still tracing the dip of her lower back, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.

Oscar murmured something into the corner of her mouth—something about how beautiful she was when her eyes softened like this, how she always smelled like motor oil and vanilla, how he loved her more every time she argued with him about torque ratios.

She kissed the words off his lips.

The rest of the morning could wait. The mochi, the chickens, the race prep—all of it could wait.

Because right now, in the steam and the quiet, it was just the two of them. And the water, and the warmth, and the familiar ache of loving someone so deeply it made the whole world feel still.

And Oscar wasn’t going anywhere.

Felicity’s breath hitched as Oscar leaned in again, slower this time—his lips trailing from the corner of her mouth, down the curve of her jaw, to the spot just beneath her ear that made her knees weaken, even after all these years. She held onto his shoulders, grounding herself against the solidity of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest.

“I didn’t expect you back this fast,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

Oscar’s voice was low and warm, his hands firm around her waist. “Bee marched in like a soldier on a mission. She barely looked back. Well, after she remembered to negotiate for mochi.”

Felicity laughed softly, the sound turning breathless as his lips grazed her collarbone. “Our terrifying little extortionist.”

“Our terrifying little genius,” Oscar corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “She’s so much like you.”

“She’d probably rather be here with the chickens and engine parts.”

Oscar smiled against her skin. “She’ll be in her own garage by seven at this rate.”

Felicity ran her fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate, tracing the path of a water droplet down his sternum. “You say that like it doesn’t terrify you.”

“I am terrified,” Oscar admitted, his voice husky now. “But I’m also completely in awe of both of you.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes softer than usual, something unspoken lingering between them.

Oscar leaned in again, this time with more urgency—his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that said everything he hadn’t. One hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, the other gripping her waist as she leaned into him, letting him anchor her against the tile.

Felicity kissed him back, slow and deep and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

Because for now—they did.

The water pounded around them, hot and steady, fogging the glass, fogging the mirrors, wrapping them in the kind of intimacy that didn’t need candlelight or silk sheets. Just warm water, a quiet morning, and the one person who had always chosen her—again and again.

When Oscar finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, they were both breathless.

She smiled lazily, the curve of her mouth soft and familiar. “Are you trying to convince me to bring Bee to Silverstone or seduce me into saying yes?”

He grinned, brushing his nose against hers. “Can’t it be both?”

Felicity hummed. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

Oscar kissed her again, slow and lingering.

“Luck,” he murmured against her lips, “has nothing to do with it.”

Felicity’s laugh was quiet and close, her lips brushing Oscar’s as she whispered, “Mm. Arrogant.”

“Confident,” he corrected with a grin, kissing her again before she could roll her eyes.

She didn’t stop him.

The water kept streaming down over them, warm and constant, soaking her hair, running in rivulets over his shoulders. Felicity’s fingers found their way into his damp curls, and she pulled him closer—like she could anchor herself there. Like maybe she needed to.

Oscar felt it in the way she held him. Not urgent, not rushed—just present. Wanting to be known, held, seen.

And he did. He always did.

His hands slid lower, framing the soft curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. Her skin was warm and slick beneath his palms, and she leaned into him, kissing him like she wasn’t afraid of being vulnerable anymore. Like she trusted him to carry her weight.

“Do you really want her at Silverstone?” she murmured, her breath catching as he kissed her neck again, just beneath her jaw.

“I want her to see me win,” Oscar said against her skin. “I want her to feel what it’s like to be part of this. To know she belongs here if she wants it.”

Felicity’s hands stilled where they’d been trailing down his back.

“She’ll start asking about karts.”

“I know.”

“She’ll want to race.”

Oscar leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes. His thumb brushed a bead of water from her cheek. “Then we get her a kart. And we let her have fun. Not pressure. Not expectations. Just fun. We’ll protect her from the rest.”

Felicity searched his face for a long, quiet moment.

And then she kissed him.

It was slower than before. Deeper. Like a thank-you. Like a surrender. Like she was choosing this life again—messy, chaotic, tender, filled with love and sharp edges and tiny rainboots on kindergarten mornings.

Oscar kissed her back with equal reverence, pulling her fully against him until the water, the steam, and the rest of the world faded away.

Eventually, the water started to cool.

They didn’t notice.

Not for a while.

***

Oscar could tell something was wrong the moment they stepped through the kindergarten gates.

Usually, Bee came barreling toward them like a sugar-powered rocket, her little boots stomping across the yard, curls bouncing, arms outstretched like she might take off. But not today.

Today, she was sitting alone on the edge of the sandbox, clutching her bee-shaped backpack in her lap like it was armor. Her cheeks were flushed—not the sun-kissed kind, but the blotchy, too-still kind. Her mouth was set in a small, tight line. Her curls were messier than usual, and there was a faint smudge of dirt on her elbow.

Felicity saw it too. She didn’t say anything. She just handed Oscar her bag and strode across the yard without hesitation.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, crouching beside Bee. “You okay?”

Bee didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the sand, her tiny fingers clenched tight around the strap of her bag.

Felicity’s chest ached.

Oscar arrived behind her, crouching too. “Bumblebee?”

Bee finally looked up at him, her lip wobbling. “Papa,” she whispered, and then, without warning, she lunged into his arms.

Oscar caught her easily, lifting her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like she was afraid the world might fall apart if she let go.

“What happened?” Felicity asked gently, brushing a damp curl off Bee’s forehead.

Bee didn’t answer at first. Her little voice was muffled in Oscar’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna come back.”

Oscar’s arms tightened around her. “Hey, hey. You don’t have to right now. It’s okay.”

“They were mean,” Bee choked out. “They said I was weird ‘cause I know stuff. One boy pushed me. I fell on my hands.”

Felicity’s face darkened with a fury only a mother could manage. She gently took Bee’s hands and turned them over—her palms were scraped, faint pink scratches just starting to sting.

Oscar looked like he might kill someone. “Who pushed you?”

“Oscar,” Felicity said quickly. “Not here.”

He closed his eyes, jaw tight. “Right.” He kissed Bee’s temple. “Did a teacher help?”

Bee sniffled. “Miss Eleanor said it was an accident. But he pushed me.”

Felicity looked at her husband. “We’ll speak to the school. Tonight.”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. We’re not letting this slide.”

Bee’s grip on his hoodie tightened. “I just wanted to talk about the moon. They said that was boring.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Felicity said softly. “It’s not boring. It’s amazing. You are amazing.”

Bee blinked up at her, bottom lip trembling. “Then why don’t they like me?”

Oscar felt something in his chest splinter.

Felicity stepped in close, wrapping both of them in her arms. “Because sometimes, people are mean to the ones they don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean you have to change.”

Bee buried her face in Oscar’s shoulder again, quiet now. Small.

Oscar looked at Felicity over her head. “No more kindergarten this week.”

Felicity nodded. “Agreed.”

“We’ll fix her hands, give her chocolate milk,” Oscar murmured, rubbing Bee’s back, “and tomorrow we can spend the day in the garage. Just us.”

Bee sniffed. “With the chickens?”

Oscar smiled. “With all the chickens.”

“And Mama?”

Felicity kissed her forehead. “Of course. I’ll even let you polish the headlamps.”

Bee perked up just a little at that, the tiniest glimmer of hope returning to her eyes.

Felicity smoothed her hair back. “Let’s go home, baby.”

Oscar stood, Bee still in his arms, holding on tight.

She didn’t let go the whole way to the car.

***

The kettle was humming on the stove. A mug sat on the counter, waiting for Bee’s chocolate milk. Felicity had already added the whipped cream and sprinkles, just the way she liked it. Bee sat on the kitchen island wrapped in one of Oscar’s oversized hoodies, sleeves dangling past her fingers, a chicken-patterned bandage on each scraped palm.

She was still sniffling occasionally, but the tears had stopped. Oscar leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching his daughter with a familiar ache in his chest.

He glanced at Felicity, who stood on the other side of Bee, gently brushing out her curls with careful fingers.

It was the right moment.

“Hey, Bumblebee,” Oscar said softly.

She looked up, lower lip still pouting slightly. “Yeah?”

Oscar came closer and tapped the tip of her nose. “How do you feel about coming to Silverstone?”

Bee blinked. “Like… the track?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, setting the brush down. “Silverstone. We were thinking… maybe you’d come along.”

Bee’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

Oscar grinned. “Really. You, me, and Mama. In the garage. With the team. You could wear a headset and everything.”

Bee stared at them both, her mouth slightly open. “But—Mama said it was too loud. And too busy. And there’s too many people.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “It is all those things. But… you’re a little older now. And you’ve been very brave lately.” She glanced meaningfully at Oscar. “And we thought maybe it was time.”

Bee’s whole face lit up like the sun had risen behind her eyes. “I get to come to the paddock?” she squeaked.

“Yes, you can come. You’ll be in the garage with me and Mama. You can watch the cars, take notes if you want—” Oscar said with a smile. 

Bee gasped. “Can I bring my whiteboard?”

Felicity smirked. “Only if you don’t correct Papa’s Boss in the middle of a briefing.”

Bee looked between them, her eyes glowing. “Wait, does this mean I get my kart now?”

Felicity groaned, eyes closing. “Called it.”

Oscar pretended to consider. “Maybe. We could go look at some after Silverstone.”

Bee gasped again, dramatic and joyful, and threw herself at Oscar with all the enthusiasm of a sugar-fueled missile.

“You’re the best papa ever!” she cried, hugging him tightly.

Felicity smiled behind her hand, watching the way Oscar wrapped his arms around their daughter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you so much,” Bee added. “But also, I need to design my helmet tonight. It has to be perfect.”

Oscar kissed her head. “Start sketching after dinner. You’ve got some time.”

Bee nodded furiously, then paused. “Can the chickens come too?”

Felicity didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.”

Oscar grinned. “Maybe just a sticker of Senna on your backpack.”

Bee gasped. “YES.”

And just like that, the scraped palms and unkind words from the morning melted into distant memory—replaced with whiteboards, karting dreams, helmet designs, and the quiet, unshakeable safety of being seen.

[stllmnstr]

sure thing – part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part two word count: 10.8k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five

note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

PART TWO

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox. 

Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times. 

This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message. 

From: yangj@vesselsoft.co 

Subject: Printer Issue

Good morning, ___. 

I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience. 

Thank you in advance, 

Jungwon

Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection. 

But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom. 

As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. 

There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room. 

They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose. 

As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came. 

Where he softens, however, you cage up. 

“You have one minute,” you tell him. 

“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion. 

“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”

Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation. 

With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”

He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”

Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”

Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”

“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”

But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know. 

After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”

“You don’t get it–”

“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”

“____…” 

Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well. 

As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message. 

Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead. 

You were right about the apologies, though. 

Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?

Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think. 

It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding. 

You: I’ll plan on Friday.

…..

Friday morning comes with a vengeance. 

Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work. 

Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office. 

But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit. 

Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it. 

“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”

And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too. 

Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon. 

Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers. 

 ___, it reads. 

I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you. 

– J

Frowning, you read it once. Twice. 

Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight. 

You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket. 

Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense. 

Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available

Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry

Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you. 

Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”

You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”

“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”

“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”

Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.” 

“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”

You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.

It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting. 

But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two. 

And your message is still completely unanswered. 

The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time. 

And Jay still hasn’t texted you back. 

That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up. 

You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text. 

Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. 

Sister’s baby shower. 

That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you. 

You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home. 

At his older sister’s baby shower. 

Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie? 

Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be. 

Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight. 

Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint. 

In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines. 

You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week. 

It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment. 

Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out. 

2013.11.13 King Pen

You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is. 

It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search. 

The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city. 

That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007. 

Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant. 

Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area. 

You skip down a few more lines. 

When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”

You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead. 

This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion. 

Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym. 

Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym. 

There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you. 

Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name. 

Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy. 

Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot. 

It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition. 

Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied. 

Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. 

But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car. 

“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere. 

And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him. 

For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards. 

But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one. 

Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight. 

You want answers. 

So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym. 

Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty. 

Eerily so. 

All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence. 

Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense. 

But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago. 

It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch. 

The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym. 

You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door. 

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–

Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound. 

Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again. 

Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp. 

Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.

This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound. 

Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down. 

Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness. 

Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin. 

Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge. 

No. No. 

You’re trapped. Effectively locked in. 

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop. 

Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you. 

What if this is the only entrance?

You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot. 

You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…

Both of their warnings start to come back to you.

“He’s not who you think he is…”

“I just want you to be careful…”

“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”

Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?

The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense. 

Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting. 

Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase. 

After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder. 

On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway. 

You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn. 

Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side. 

Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side. 

Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door. 

The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open. 

You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty. 

But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below. 

There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor. 

And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:

King Pen.

It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen. 

Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”

He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room. 

“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”

But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan. 

No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work. 

The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight. 

The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!” 

The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly. 

Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being. 

But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him. 

It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring. 

“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins. 

“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison. 

Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon. 

Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it. 

Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains. 

It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away. 

This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel. 

One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes. 

As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation. 

Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight. 

“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring. 

“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.

“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. 

“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs. 

“Fight.”

It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to. 

Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening. 

Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer. 

He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next. 

But even dancers stumble sometimes. 

You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring. 

Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red. 

Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place. 

Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter. 

The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine. 

Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus. 

His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern. 

There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct. 

It’s messy, sloppy, angry. 

They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely. 

And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done. 

It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him. 

Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring. 

Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight. 

Anything goes. 

Your stomach twists with nausea. 

Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands. 

You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body. 

Jungwon’s mouth moves again. 

This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough. 

With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again. 

Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair. 

He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction. 

ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give. 

Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring. 

Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn. 

If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence. 

The door opens before you do any of it. 

“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”

…..

Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.” 

“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”

“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”

“What?”

Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”

And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief. 

He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay. 

He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”

“Go away.”

“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”

“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you. 

Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you. 

You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you here?”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter. 

You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either. 

And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it. 

So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really. 

But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him. 

Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you. 

Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room. 

A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it. 

And, of course, there’s the two of you. 

Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look. 

He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath. 

He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin. 

Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement. 

“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”

“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”

“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”

This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down. 

Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room. 

Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop. 

Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you. 

Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago. 

This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him. 

Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream. 

“This might sting,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you. 

Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first. 

As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips. 

“It stings?” You ask him. 

“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips. 

You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. 

It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity. 

Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit. 

With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him. 

Jungwon swallows audibly. 

Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage. 

After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you. 

And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face. 

Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.  

He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up. 

“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe. 

“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across. 

“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”

His thumb stills against your skin. 

“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”

You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”

“But,” Jungwon whispers. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”

Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”

He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.

You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”

You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”

You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.

Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him. 

His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from. 

Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”

“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette. 

Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts. 

“You like him, don’t you?”

The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.

 “Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”

Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”

Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.” 

With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”

It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding. 

It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but– 

“You don’t have to say sorry–”

Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”

“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy. 

Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still. 

It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now. 

Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true. 

Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it. 

But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin. 

Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”

He is. 

“I mean it.”

You do. 

“Thank you, ___.”

He means it too. 

When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high. 

You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure. 

But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them. 

…..

Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread. 

Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him. 

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them. 

So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding. 

Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person. 

Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten. 

“___,” he breathes. 

The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off. 

In the end, you just look at him blankly. 

“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”

The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago. 

But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding. 

It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication. 

But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes. 

So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”

The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look. 

Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”

“What are you–”

“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”

You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue. 

“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”

Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”

He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”

Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”

The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring. 

Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager. 

“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”

Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”

You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears. 

“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”

It makes sense. It does. 

“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”

Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again. 

You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.

“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale. 

“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”

Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.” 

His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow. 

“What are you saying?” you ask him. 

“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.” 

He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom. 

“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by. 

“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”

He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head. 

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”

Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching. 

“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.” 

There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth. 

It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours. 

A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue. 

Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin. 

You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest. 

You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile. 

But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him. 

So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape. 

You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless. 

And for once, it feels like a sure thing. 

…..

epilogue 

Jungwon: SOS

Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy

Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages 

Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help

You: I’m BUSY what do you need

Jungwon: The printer is jammed again

You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance

Jungwon: Oh please 

Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them

Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you

You: Literally what are you talking about

You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks

You: The entire floor was mad at me

You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS

Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE

Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance

Jungwon: I promise

You: …

You: FINE

You: On my way

Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown. 

Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen. 

And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.

You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you. 

Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer. 

Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”

He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray. 

“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss. 

“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”

Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly–”

“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.  

And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there. 

“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”

“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

outtake — seven months ago.

The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work. 

Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper. 

Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees. 

Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind. 

What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?

He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook. 

Twice. 

With annotations. 

Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw. 

It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day. 

Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly. 

He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now. 

And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will. 

To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him. 

He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down. 

But part of him is excited too. 

He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once. 

He actually fucking did it. 

All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity. 

They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world. 

He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his. 

So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door. 

And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch. 

“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before. 

And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh. 

Oh. 

Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking. 

“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly. 

Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal. 

Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –

“Hi, Jungwon.” 

Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land. 

“Hi,” he manages. 

Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”

Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”

___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl. 

“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent. 

“You know the printer in the workroom?”

Terry nods. 

“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”

Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.” 

And then it’s just the two of you. 

“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about. 

Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain. 

“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”

“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words. 

You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels. 

“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”

A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it. 

“Thank you.”

Your brow furrows. “For what.”

“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”

“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”

He hopes you mean it. 

And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath. 

“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡

[specsthesecond]

https://www.tumblr.com/specshroom/752286251279908864/some-rather-unlucky-investments-have-landed-you-in?source=share

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[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[joeshiestyslover]

moth to a flame- m. sturniolo

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader

summary: you and matt have hated each other since you were kids, you two constantly bickering and arguing. however, there has always been an underlying tension, but you and matt have always chosen to ignore it. yet, the unspoken tension begins to break when another guy takes an interest in you.

warnings: language, angst, smut, oral (male receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do that), fluff, cheating (don’t do this either pls), nick once again being a g

masterlist

lowercase intended

a/n: does the smut suck? yes probably but it’s okay 😌

“you have a date? how much did you pay him?” matt asks you, a snark evident in his tone. you roll your eyes at his comment. “guys find me very likable, thank you very much.” you retort. “oh i’m sure.” he scoffs. “can you just shut the hell up?” you snap, looking into the eyes of the boy you’ve hated since freshman year.

you met the triplets when you moved to boston in the ninth grade. you shared a class with nick, and you two quickly hit it off. he then introduced you to his two brothers, matt and chris. chris was super sweet and welcoming towards you, but matt was the complete opposite. he barely spoke to you, and when he did, it was to make some snide remark. at first, you let it slide, thinking he was just uncomfortable around new people, but the mean comments never subsided, so one day, you snapped back at him, much to his surprise. thus began the endless fighting and screaming matches between the both of you. it got so bad that nick and chris wouldn’t allow you two alone in the same room out of fear that you might kill each other. you two found ways to argue about anything, even things as stupid as what the best soda is.

although you hate matt with every fiber in your being, you still love nick and chris as if they were your own brothers, and they obviously felt the same. when their youtube channel first blew up, you were always by their side to support them. eventually, they decided they were going to move to los angeles, and they asked you to go with them. you immediately accepted because the course you wanted to study in college had great programs in los angeles.

you’re currently in the triplets’ apartment, telling them about the most recent development in your life: you got a date. “y/n, just ignore matt.” nick interrupts yours and matt’s squabble. “so, what’s his name? how did you meet him?” nick asks excitedly. “well, his name’s blake and we met at the coffee shop on campus.” you smile. matt rolls his eyes. “blake? the guy sounds like a douchebag.” “and you would know all about douchebags wouldn’t you?” you ask with a false sweetness in your voice. “what the hell is that supposed to mean? you saying i’m a douchebag?” matt narrows his eyes at you. “if the shoe fits.” you shrug. “okay can you guys not for like two seconds?” chris asks. you raise your hands up in surrender, “fine but he started it.” “sure blame me for everything.” matt says sarcastically. “fuck off.” you reply. “guys seriously, stop.” nick tells you sternly. “anyway where are you and blake going?” chris asks, trying to lessen the tension between you and matt. “we’re going to this restaurant down the street from my apartment. it’s pretty nice actually.” you tell him, smiling slightly. you then stand up and grab your car keys. “i’m gonna go get ready, and i’ll tell you guys all about it after.” “you better!” nick yells out after you as you walk out the door towards your car.

nick watches you leave, then turns to matt, “we need to talk.” matt raises an eyebrow, “okay…” he says hesitantly, setting down his phone. “what the fuck is up with you and y/n?” “what do you mean?” matt asks. “you two have been at each other’s throats for years! it’s so exhausting watching you two constantly fight over dumb shit!” nick yells at him. “what about her? why is she not included in this conversation?” he retorts. “because you started this shit! you were awful to her when you first met! this whole situation could have been avoided if you were man enough to tell her you like her!” matt’s taken aback by nick’s outburst. “tell her what?” he asks, hoping he heard his brother wrong. “come on matt, it’s obvious that you like her.” nick deadpans. “you’re kidding right? she’s disgusting, and not to mention, a total bitch. how you guys tolerate her shit, i’ll never know, but i sure as hell won’t.” matt rants. “okay matt, whatever you need to tell yourself.” chris adds, rolling his eyes. “you agree with nick? seriously?” matt turns to the youngest triplet. chris just shrugs, “i mean, yeah. i might be an idiot, but even i can tell that you like her.” matt scoffs, “fuck you guys. i’m going for a drive. i’ll be back later.” he stands up and grabs his keys. he then walks out the front door, making sure to slam it shut.

matt gets into his car and begins to drive, not knowing where to go. during his drive, thoughts of you begin to invade matt’s head. there is absolutely no way he likes you. you’re annoying, you’re stubborn, and you’re just so insufferable to be around. sure, you’re conventionally attractive, but that doesn’t mean anything, it actually pisses matt off more because he doesn’t understand how such a pretty face could have such an awful personality paired with it.

after driving for a while, an idea pops into matt’s head. matt knows you well enough to know which restaurant you would go to because it was always one of your favorites. he begins to drive that way and plots what he’s going to do once he gets there. after a few moments of contemplating, he decides to just sit a couple of tables away from you and your date, just to make you uncomfortable and on edge.

he arrives at the restaurant and walks in through the large glass doors at the front of the building. the moment he walks in, he can spot you and blake in the back. you’re laughing at something he said, and an unfamiliar feeling began to pool in the pit of matt’s stomach. his thoughts are cut off by the hostess coming up to the stand, “how many?” she asks. “umm just one, and is there any way i can get a table back there?” he points to where you’re sitting. “of course. follow me.” she smiles as she begins to walk towards the your table, matt following close behind. “here you are, sir.” the hostess sets the menu down on the table before walking away. he sits down and looks at the menu, waiting for you to notice his presence.

as you’re talking to blake, you notice a familiar head of hair out of the corner of your eye. you look over an see matt sitting diagonally across from your table. your eyes widen when your eyes meet his. what the fuck is he doing here? you try your best to ignore him, but you can see him continuously glancing at you. blake notices you looking over to your right. “are you okay, y/n? is something wrong?” he asks. your eyes snap back to his. “no i thought i saw something, but i didn’t.” blake just shrugs and continues talking. you try to listen to his words, but you can’t. your mind constantly drifts back to the brown-haired boy sitting to your right.

after a couple hours, and some very awkward glances to matt, your date finally ends. you and blake bid each other goodnight before you walk back to your car. you see matt walking to his own car and you send him with a death glare, to which he just responds with a cocky smile. you wait for him to drive out of the parking lot, and once he does, you follow him home, wanting answers as to why he thought it was a good idea to crash your date.

as he pulls into his garage, you park on the street. you turn your engine off and get out of the car, storming through the front door, where you see matt standing in the kitchen. you walk over to him and slam your purse down on the counter.

“why do you feel the need to ruin every good thing that comes my way? what do you have to gain from that?” you ask matt frustratedly. “i don’t ruin every good thing. i just wanted to make sure he’s good for you.” he replies nonchalantly. “that’s not for you to decide matthew!” you yell, moving closer to him. “y/n, you just need to trust me.” his calmness is pissing you off even more. “but i don’t trust you! all you’ve done since we met is berate me and talk shit about me! how can i trust your words when i can’t even trust you?!” you begin to wave your arms frantically. “look,” he begins, “i know guys like that and i just-” “guys like what matt? guys like you?” you ask accusingly. “no. guys that will treat a girl right until they get into her pants and then leave once they get what they want.” you scoff at his words. who does he think he is? “you don’t know what you’re talking about. did he say something to make you believe he’s like that?” matt averts his gaze to the floor. “no, but i have a feeling.” you laugh, not believing the words that are leaving his mouth. “a feeling? so you just made it up.” he looks back up at you. “god, i didn’t make it up y/n! stop being so naive and open your fucking eyes!” matt begins to raise his voice. “you are such a fucking asshole! you have no right to stick your nose in my love life! just because no one wants you doesn’t mean you get project that onto me!” you yell in his face, seething with rage. matt’s face turns cold, his eyes boring into yours with a look you can’t make out. he remains silent for a few seconds. “what no snarky comment? did i hit a sore spot? it’s so pathetic that you’re so insecure that you feel the need to-” you’re cut off by a pair of lips smashing against yours. your eyes widen and you can feel yourself almost melting into the kiss before you realize who it is you’re kissing. you quickly shove him backwards, and matt stumbles a little. you look into his eyes, the both of you saying nothing. you don’t know what comes over you, but before you can think it through, you take a step forward, grab the back of his neck, and press your lips against matt’s once again. the kiss is rough, teeth and tongues clashing together. 

matt’s kisses begin to fall from your lips to your neck, biting and sucking as he goes further and further down. “matt” you moan breathlessly. “what is it baby?” he asks in a husky voice and you could cum from just the sound of his voice. “we should go to your room.” you say between small moans. you can feel him nod against the crook of your neck as he put his hand under your ass to pick you up. you immediately wrap your legs around his waist as he begins to walk towards his room. you get into his room and he sits down on the edge of his bed, so now you’re in his lap.

matt removes his head from your collarbone and he finds your lips again. you subconsciously begin to move your hips against his, a soft groan leaving his lips and you can feel yourself clench at the noise. matt’s hands slowly trail up your back and you can feel his right hand grip your hair. he gives it a quick but firm tug, pulling your head back which gives him the opportunity to attack your jawline. “matt please.” you breathe out, needing his touch. “what do you want, baby?” he asks, knowing damn well what you want. “i need you.” he looks up at you with a smirk on his face. “yeah? then show me how bad you need me.” you feel his grip on you relax slightly, so you get off his lap and drop to your knees. your eyes immediately find the large tent in his sweats. you can feel your mouth water with desire.

you grab his dick through his pants and matt lets out a light gasp. “don’t tease me baby.” you bite your lip and tug his sweatpants down to his thighs, his extremely hard dick slapping against his stomach. you wrap your hand around his base and begin to stroke him up and down. you then bring your lip to his tip, giving it a few kitten licks. matt’s hand finds your hair and forces himself down your throat. you feel your eyes begin to water as you find your rhythm. you continue to bob your head up and down and pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. “fuckkk” matt moans, his hand tightly gripping your hair. “i’m gonna cum baby.” you quicken your pace and you can feel your cunt dripping, making a mess between your thighs. matt’s groans become louder and louder as he feels himself getting closer. his dick twitches in your mouth and you still your movements, feeling his thick ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat. you swallow every drop before pulling off him, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath.

“fuck that was so good.” he praises you as he grabs your hands and leads you back onto the bed. he flips the two of you around so now he’s on top of you. “you’re such a good girl for me.” he says before he kisses you again. he bites your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. you can feel his dick sliding up and down your clothed cunt. “please fuck me matt.” you whine against his lips. “patience baby.” he demands. his hands find the waistband of your pants, yanking them down so your bottom half is only covered by your thin panties. he looks down and sees the wet patch that covers the bottom of them. “holy fuck you’re soaked. you really liked sucking me off that much, huh?” he then gets up on his knees and takes his shirt off, revealing his toned stomach, and you can somehow feel yourself become wetter. “how bad do you want me?” he asks you cockily. “so bad matty. please fuck me.” he chuckles, “so needy.” he then lines himself up to your leaking hole, swiping his tip against your clit a few times before sliding himself inside you slowly. you let out a loud moan and he covers your mouth. “shhh baby. we don’t want nick or chris to hear how good i’m making feel do we?” you shake your head as he continues to rut his hips into yours. he removes his hand from your mouth and it soon finds its place on your throat. “fuck you’re so fucking tight. oh my god.” he throws his head back in pleasure as you moan out his name. “you’re such a little slut for me aren’t you? you like it when i fuck you like this?” he smirks down at you, admiring the way your jaw was slack and your eyes rolled back. he tightens his grip around your neck as a warning, “answer me or i’ll stop.” “fuck yes matt i love it.” you moan out. he takes his hand off your neck and trails it down to your clit. he begins to rub it in small, tight circles and you can feel the coil in your stomach begin to form.

“fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum soon.” he picks up his pace, going harder as his hand rubs your clit faster. you can feel yourself begin to clench around him, matt starting to let out broken moans at the sensation. “you gonna cum baby?” you nod, on the verge of cumming around him. “give it to me baby. cum on my dick.” he urges. at his words, you let go, letting out a loud and long moan as you release around his dick. matt’s pace begins to falter as he feels himself about to fall apart too. “where do you want it baby?” “inside me please.” you beg. he twitches inside of you and you can feel him cumming inside you, painting your swollen walls white as he lets out a groan of your name. he stills inside you for a few seconds before pulling out. he gets up from the bed and walks to his bathroom. you feel the sink run and turn off and he returns to the bed with a damp towel. he begins to clean you up a bit before tossing the towel to the side. he crawls towards you and lies down next you, pulling you into his arms.

you both lie in his bed for a few more minutes before you speak up. “this can’t happen again.” matt turns to look at you, “why not?” he questions. “i don’t want to hurt blake. he’s a good guy.” matt scoffs. “sure he is.” he says, sarcasm evident in his tone. “you don’t even know him matt.” you try to reason. “i don’t need to know the guy to know he’s an asshole. his name’s blake, and that says enough.” you roll your eyes at his childish behavior. “okay matt whatever.” you pull the covers off your body and you begin to put your clothes back on. matt grabs your arms and spins you around to face him. he looks into your eyes for a few moments before crashing his lips against yours. you want to pull away, but you can’t. the kiss becomes more and more heated as he backs you up until you’re both lying on the bed with him on top of you. “this is the last time.” you demand, knowing that’s probably a lie. “no it’s not.” he says against your lips as he begins to trail kisses down your neck.

weeks pass by, and you and matt are still hooking up. because of this, you’ve become more tolerant towards each other. you don’t necessarily like one another, but you can at least go a day without arguing. nick and chris begin to notice the change in dynamic between the both of you. they don’t ask questions because they’re just happy you all can hang out without the two of them being caught in the middle of one of your petty arguments.

much to matt’s dismay however, blake is still in the picture. you haven’t become official with him yet, but you both have gone on many more dates and even kissed a few times. of course, you felt bad for lying to blake, but what are you supposed to do? you just can’t escape matt. you’re a moth to his flame. you’ve come so close to breaking it off with matt, but each time you fail, somehow always ending up naked in his bed.

this is one of those times. you came over to the boys’ apartment to break it off with matt, but of course, you couldn’t. instead, you’re pinned against the wall of his bedroom. “matt we can’t keep doing this.” you breathe out against his lips. “doing what?” he asks, backing away and raising one eyebrow. “hating each other in public and fucking in private. i can’t do that to blake.” you try to reason with him, but matt simply rolls his eyes. “then just end things with him. i told you he isn’t good for you.” “he’s a good guy, matt.” you reply. matt takes a step closer to you, “well, if he’s such a good guy, then why are you here? why aren’t you with him?” he asks, knowing the answer. you look down and shake your head, “i don’t know. i shouldn’t be here. i should go.” you grab your purse from the counter and swing it over your shoulder, but before you can walk towards the door, matt grabs your wrist. “wait, don’t go.” you turn towards him, “why not?” there’s a few seconds of silence before matt answers your question. “i don’t want you to.” “okay.” you concede.

about a week later, you get a text from blake, asking you to go over to his apartment. you get into your car and drive to his place. you get out and walk up to his door, knocking twice. he open the door with a smile on his face, and it fills you with guilt. he invites you in and sits you down on his couch. “so i invited you here because i wanted to ask you something.” he begins. you nod, nervous for what he’s about to say. “i wanted to know if you would be my girlfriend.” he asks hopefully. you sigh softly and look down. you can’t hold it in any longer. you can’t keep lying to the poor guy. “look, you’re an amazing guy, don’t get me wrong, but i can’t” you tell him. his smile drops instantly. “oh. can i ask why. i thought we were doing good.” “i’m just not ready to be in a serious relationship. i thought i was, but now i know i’m not.” it’s not totally a lie. you’re not ready for a relationship with someone that isn’t matt. “okay i understand.” he says sadly. “i think i should leave. i’m so sorry blake, but i know you’ll find someone as great as you are.” you smile to try and lift the mood. he just nods while staring at the ground. you stand up from his couch and walk out the door, wracked with guilt.

you get in your car and drive to the triplets’ apartment, needing to talk to matt. you have to tell him how you feel. you arrive at their apartment and place your car in park. you walk up to the door and knock. you wait for a few seconds before the door opens, revealing matt. “hi.” you break the silence. “what’s up? you need something?” he inquires. “i actually need to talk to you.” you can feel butterflies in your stomach as you rock back and forth on your feet. “ummm okay come in.” he motions for you to enter the apartment. you walk inside and matt closes the door behind you. you both stand in the living room and you set your keys and phone down on their counter. he stands there, waiting for you to speak.

“i broke up with him” you break the silence. “what? why?” matt questions, his head immediately perking up. “you were right. he wasn’t good for me.” he scoffs, “well no shit. what does that have to do with me?” “i also broke up with him because i realized something.” are you really about to do this? are you really about to confess your feelings to the boy you’ve hated for years? matt gives you a look, telling you to go on. “i know we’ve always hated each other, but since we started sleeping together, i realized that i don’t want blake. i want you, and not just in a sexual way. i want to actually be with you.” you take a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, waiting anxiously for his response, but he says nothing. “matt? please say something.” matt looks down at the floor and shakes his head slightly. “i can’t, y/n.” he says softly. “can’t what?” you’re confused now. what the hell does that mean? “i can’t be with you.” your heart drops. “why not?” you ask. “i… i just can’t.” you’re start to become irritated at his words. “what can’t you do matt?!” “i can’t give you what you want. you want to date and do couple-y stuff and i can’t do that.” his gaze remains on the floor. “so i’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to date?” you ask condescendingly. “that’s not what i’m saying, i just-” “you just what matt?! what is so awful about being in a relationship?!” you begin to yell. “i don’t do relationships! the fact that you’re whining and screaming about it is the reason i don’t! you’re being fucking dramatic and i’m sick of it! we’re not dating and we’re never going to so just accept it and stop being so fucking clingy!” he yells back at you. your jaw drops to the floor at his words. “fuck you matthew. don’t text me again.” you walk towards the front door, making sure to bump his shoulder on the way out. you open the door and slam it shut, shaking the walls of the apartment.

hearing the commotion, chris and nick walk downstairs into the living room. “what the hell happened?” nick asks. “nothing happened. she’s just being a bitch as usual.” matt replies, rubbing his temples. “what did you say to her?” nick sighs, knowing you’d never react that way unless matt said something really fucked up. “i don’t wanna talk about it.” nick scoffs. “well too bad. if i just lost my best friend because of you then we’re gonna talk about it.” nick and chris drag matt over to the couch and sit down. matt sighs and begins to explain everything that happened between the two of you. “why would you say something like that to her?” chris asks him, disappointed in his older brother. “i told you, i’m not a relationship guy.” nick looks at him with a look of worry. “but do you like her?” matt looks at him and nods. “then tell her that you dumb fuck! you just broke her heart for no reason!” he yells in matt’s face. “look, i can’t do this right now. i’m going to bed.” matt sighs softly as he walks out of the room.

as soon as matt gets into his room, he shuts the door, lying down in his bed. his mind is racing with thoughts of you. nick was right. he should have told you that he wanted to date you too, but he was too much of a pussy to actually say it, so he hurt you instead. matt knows you’re probably still mad at him and would slam the door in his face if he went over to your house now, so he decides to wait a day or two. after contemplating it, matt walks over to nick’s room and opens the door, knowing he needs help getting you back. “how do i win her back nick?” he sits down on his brother’s bed. “look, i don’t know if she would take you back for sure, but what you need to do is give her a heartfelt apology and tell her how you feel. that’s your best bet.” matt nods, taking in everything he says. “and flowers. get her some flowers.” “i’ll go over there tomorrow.” matt states. “good because if i lose my best friend, i’ll actually kill you.” nick says with a glare.

the next day, matt woke up ready to prove to you that he wants to be your boyfriend. however, the anxiety was pooling in his stomach. what if you didn’t want him? what if you went back to blake? he tried to push those thoughts out of his mind, but they still lingered.

once he gathered the courage, he got up out of bed, throwing on a sweater and some jeans. he looks at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair until it looks presentable enough. matt throws on his shoes and grabbing his keys. he begins to walk towards the front door when he passes by nick on the couch. “good luck matt.” nick tells him. matt just nods and walks out the door towards his minivan.

on the way to your house, he stops by a flower stand and gets you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, hoping that it’s enough for you to forgive him. as he speeds toward your house, matt’s mind is going a million miles a minute. he’s continuously going over what he’s going to say to you in his head. his thoughts are cut off by him arriving at your apartment. matt looks at himself in the mirror once more before grabbing the flowers and stepping out of the car.

matt walked up to your front door and took a deep breath before knocking. he waited a few seconds then the door swung open, revealing you. your hair looks disheveled and your eyes puffy. “what are you doing here?” you cross your arms at the boy. “i’m sorry y/n. i’m so sorry.” he holds out the flowers for you to take. you grab them hesitantly and turn around to put them in a vase. matt follows you inside towards your kitchen. “so are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here or can you leave now?” you ask, a harsh tone in your voice. matt sighs, “you were right. i’m an asshole. i never should have said those things to you. i was just so scared.” you tilt your head to the side. “scared? of what?” “what i feel for you, what i’ve felt for you since i met you, it’s unlike anything i’ve felt before. i’ve been in love with you for years, and i was too fucking stupid to tell you. i’m sorry for everything i’ve done to you over the years. you didn’t deserve any of it.” you can see matt’s eyes start to become glossy as you step towards him. “what changed all of a sudden? last night you were dead set on not being with me, but now you do? that doesn’t make any sense matt.” you tell him, still skeptical. “nick and chris laid into me last night. they made me realize that i hurt you for no reason and that i was being selfish. i told you i didn’t want to be with you, but it was a lie. being with you is all i’ve ever wanted and when it was right in front of me i panicked. i know that i probably fucked everything up, but please, if there’s any part of you that can forgive me, please give me one more chance. let me prove to you that i can be the man you deserve.” you take a deep breath, tears beginning to invade your waterline. you want to tell him off so bad. you want to tell him that you would never take him back, but you can’t. before you can overthink it, you take a few steps towards matt and wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. “do you really mean it?” you ask him softly. “i mean it baby. i promise i’ll never hurt you again.” he pulls away and looks down at you with a small smile on his face. you reciprocate the smile as he begins to lean down. your lips brush against each other before he presses his lips against yours. the kiss isn’t like any other kiss you’ve shared before; it’s soft and sweet instead of hard and rough. you both break away and rest your forehead on his. “you’re so beautiful, y’know that?” you feel your face heat up and a smile forming on your face. “shut up.” you tell him before reaching up and kissing him once more.

[chryblsm24]

Jikook Introduction to New Army

Hello to whoever reads my post. Still new user to Tumblr and figuring things out. This turned out to be a longer post than I anticipated. 

I am new Army (late 2023) and still learning about BTS music and them. I joined Tumblr after watching AYS and wanted to join a community to learn more about Jikook. :) 

Just wanted to share my BTS and interconnected Jikook introduction to give an insight on how people are fed algorithms after being interested in BTS. My first BTS videos on my Instagram (which I joined to follow my son's sports teams!!) were of RM live where Jimin sweetly interrupts him, clips of Hobi's JITB party, Taekook dancing together, Jikook giggling away. I thought JK and Tae looked so cute dancing, Hobi and NJ looked so handsome, Yoongi was so pretty and Jin looked like a model. But once I saw Jimin in a BTS live performance (I think it was Idol), he was my favorite. His voice sounds like crystal bells to me: don't know how else to put it. And the more I found out about him: his dancing, his personality, his jokes, his silliness, his kindness, his attitude he was my bias. My favorite songs of his are Letter, Lie, and Serendipity.

I am older so I do view him more as a cute and super-talented marshmallow rather than an idol to look up to. :) I like all the BTS members and their music which surprised me since their solo work was so different. I enjoyed their albums and songs very much. My first song to binge listen to was "The Astronaut". Love Jin's voice. Everyone’s voice really, and Jimin’s feels ethereal. 

Anyways, my point is as soon as I saw a few clips of BTS clips on IG, I started getting tkk content. A deluge of it! No Jikook content mind you. I was a Taekook believer really (I didn’t know idol shipping was a thing) but with a strong Jimin bias. Ha! I saw the same few clips over and over in my feed. I was happy for Tae and JK and utterly believed the edited tkk clips because why would anyone lie about real people! :) I did eventually see early BTS content and my heart broke for Jimin seeing how much he liked JK and was rejected (or so I thought). He was so young, clumsy, loud, cute but above all earnest and sensitive. Oof, some of the clips are hard to watch. 

What I am trying to say is that somehow tkker reals target new BTS almost immediately, as soon as you show interest in the group. For someone who doesn’t delve any deeper, this becomes the reality and why not: V and JK are friends and interact plenty with each other! Cut and paste works wonders and not everyone will have the time and patience to watch original videos.

I was few months into the BTS fandom and then we had news of the youngest four’s enlistment, Jikook going as companions. That sparked my curiosity about Jikook and after reading some of the comments on some early BTS videos where people were mentioning RB and GCFTokyo, I watched some of original content (slowly). One comment from a tkk account said “The fact that Jimin and JK enlisted together proves that they are not together.” That was so ridiculous and made me do a double take. Because why would you say that? Why so defensive? Why are Jimin and JK going to the military together? Why isn’t JK doing a buddy program with his boyfriend Tae? Could it be that Jikook are closer than the tkk acknowledge?

Watching original content and some Jikook compilations, I was primarily ecstatic for Jimin. Jungkook, the young and shy boy appreciates and loves Jimin. I still have doubts about the true nature of their relationship, because we don’t know them personally. AYS, GCFT and GCFSaipan all seem to indicate something so strong that it's clear whatever the nature of their relationship, they love, value and trust each other the most out of all the members. Having Tae on AYS actually proved to me that there is nothing romantic between JK and him. Tae seems more attached to Jimin than JK. Anyways, these are just my opinions. Nothing more!

I have liked and loved reading all of the Jikook and BTS posts. Thank you! Hope the boys all come back safe and are welcomed back with love (esp. Yoongi) with a more mature fan base. Some of the toxicity in the fandom puts me off but I just don’t engage in those spaces. Kudos to the warriors who fight for decency and common sense!

[bqstqnbruin]

Always the Bridesmaid

I'm interrupting my regularly scheduled programming (again)(please read this series) with a fic that I came up with when I was writing a happy ending for @laurenairay, which, considering that is weird for me, I had to balance out the universe with this fic instead.

This is reader insert and for the most part the reader is gender neutral, but does present societally more feminine (mention of doing their hair and makeup, wearing a dress).

Have fun!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, I was mean to Quinn

WC: 5528

______________

You were always told falling in love with someone would take every part of your heart and have you give it to someone else. Falling in love was supposed to be a whirlwind of joy, sadness, anxiety, excitement, fear, happiness, pain, and bliss. Your parents made you believe that loving someone meant your life would change, hopefully for the better, and you would be able to share your life with someone who wasn’t supposed to leave. 

He told you he was taking you out for dinner, to be ready when he got home. You knew you were going to one of the fancier restaurants in town, taking special care to do your hair so not a strand was out of place, do your makeup just the way you liked it, and wearing your favorite outfit that you took the time to steam the wrinkles out of so that you didn’t look like you had spent the entire day rotting on the couch, even though you did.

You knew what he was going to ask.

____________________

“What are you doing right now?” Quinn’s head pokes through your bedroom window, your boyfriend climbing into your room, trying not to laugh as he struggles to bend the right way to make it through without getting hurt.

You turn the page in your book, not bothering to look up. “I’m in the middle of taking over Poland,” you deadpan as he makes his way over to your bed, plopping himself down at your feet. “One day, you’re going to break your leg or something doing that.”

Quinn’s bedroom in your respective family’s lake house’s was opposite yours, allowing the two of you to see what the other was doing whenever the curtains were open. Since you were younger, that was your signal to each other that they could come over. You thought it would involve using the front doors, but Quinn took it as an excuse to truly act like a twelve year old, despite being older than that, and makeshift a ladder from the tree that was right there. 

He grinned at you, leaning against the wall and starting to fiddle with the fringe of the blanket sitting at the foot of your bed. “I want to go do something.”

“We haven’t even been here for seventy two hours and I’m pretty sure you’ve been active for seventy of them.”

“Please,” he whines, leaning over so that his body is parallel with yours. You try to ignore him as you attempt to focus on your book, feeling his eyes practically pierce your shin. “I want to go for a walk.”

“If you can scale the side of this house, I’m sure you can do that just fine.”

“I want company.”

“You have two brothers.”

“They’re asleep.”

“We both know if either of them wanted something from you, they would not hesitate to wake you up.” 

“But I want you to come with me.” You put your bookmark in to save your space, giving him an unimpressed look. “Please? How often do we get to do things where it’s just us?” He takes your hand in his, the calluses on his hands from using his stick in his driveway back home without his gloves surprisingly soothing to you. You roll your eyes, Quinn nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as you can’t help but smile.

You pull him off the bed, your book all but forgotten, Quinn trailing you like a love-sick puppy.

____________________

You got ready way earlier than you needed to be, anxiously pacing around your apartment you shared with him. You could see him in every corner; it was his apartment first that you had eventually moved into. The furniture was all his, the decorations that were there were chosen by someone he paid rather than the two of you picking it out yourselves like you wanted, even the books in the bookcases weren’t ones you picked; half of them were just for show, those coffee table books on topics you didn’t care about, but looked impressive to those who didn’t know either of you. 

____________________

“This is how you decorate?”

You roll your eyes at him as he flops on your bed. As usual, Quinn was being no help to anything, but it was your first time being with each other since you left for college. “I’m going to be here for a year, why do more?”

“You don’t even have a picture of us in here.” He sits up to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. He kisses the top of your head, you letting your eyes flutter closed as you exhale against him, curled into his chest.

“My roommate keeps bringing guys back,” you tell him. “Four of them would see a picture of you and ask me to send you their highlights.” Quinn burst out laughing, throwing his head back and sending a shiver through your body. You missed hearing him in person, being with him and being able to touch him. 

You missed him. 

You pull away from him slightly to kiss him, his hands tightening, bunching up your shirt in his fists. Thank god your roommate was away this weekend.

“Leave room for Jesus,” one of your friends barges in, Quinn practically launching you off him. You could feel the heat rush to your face, convinced it was visible from space by the smirk on the intruder's face. “Party tonight at Kappa house.”

You exchange a look with Quinn, trying to get a read on his face before looking back at your friend. “Ok?”

“Are you two coming?”

Quinn shrugs, leaning back on your bed, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin that made  your heart race. That stupid smirk on his face told you his answer. “Sure.” 

Your friend squeals, launching into talking about you borrowing clothing, getting ready, making sure all three of you look as fantastic as possible for what was all, apparently, your first college frat party. 

Two hours later, you were in a different room down the hall, pre-gaming, cringing as your friend thrust a shot of rosé wine into your hand, immediately following it up with raspberry vodka. You nearly gagged after downing the combination that never should have existed, looking at the disgusted look on Quinn’s face that mirrored your own. “I wish I never drank that,” he sputters out, sticking his tongue out as if the air around him would get rid of whatever that lingering taste was. 

“I’m never drinking vodka again.”

Quinn shrugs. “You never liked it much anyway.” You look at him for a second, not sure if you were unable to see the connection he was trying to make because you genuinely didn’t know, or if the horrible alcohol was somehow already fogging your brain. “Remember a few summers ago when some of our hockey friends came up to visit? They brought vodka and you hated it.”

“Was that the night I fell asleep in your bed and your parents freaked out when they found us?”

“It was the night you fell asleep in the bathtub with Jack, actually.”

You cringe, biting your bottom lip, wishing that he hadn’t brought that night up. Nothing happened between you and his brother, but it was easy to see why Quinn was annoyed at the sight of the two of you. Actually, you remember telling him nothing happened, because nothing did. So why did he get mad at it? “Why would you bring that up?” 

Quinn shrugs, turning his attention to the group of guys cheering on another as he shotgun a can of beer. “Just made me think of it.” 

____________________

He texted you that he was downstairs, ready to pick you up, just as you agreed he would do that morning. He was late coming back from practice, letting you know that he took the time to get ready at the practice facility so he wouldn’t have to come up and do it. 

You felt yourself exhale, the anxiety in your chest dissipating ever so slightly. Him being downstairs gave you more time before you had to see him.

You didn’t want to see him.

____________________

“I want to see you, though.” 

You roll your eyes, thankful that Quinn called you instead of Facetimed you, knowing he would get upset over your reaction. You were having this conversation for the fifth time now, Quinn begging you to come see him when you told him it wasn’t possible. “I have four exams this week and I have a job interview. I need to be here.” 

“Where’s the job?”

You hesitate for a second, trying to figure out if you should lie or not. “New Jersey.” Quinn doesn’t say anything. “Q?”

“I thought you were applying for jobs here?”

“I am,” you say quickly, “But I need a job after graduation, regardless of where it is. I can’t move to Vancouver if I don’t have a job, too.” 

“I can take care of both of us.” 

You let out a loud sigh, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I don’t want you to have to ‘take care of me,’ Quinn, I can do it myself.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“And what happens if we break up?” you snap. “What happens when you and I aren’t together anymore and I have nothing because you controlled everything? I’ll have no job, no experience, nothing to fall back on and I’m screwed.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything for too long, your heartbeat getting faster with every second he was silent. You didn’t know you were afraid of that. “You think we’re going to break up?” he finally asks, his voice barely audible. 

“Quinn,” you start.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. You don’t want to bank on us being together forever.”

“Quinn,” you try again.

“Hey, I have to head to the arena, and you have to study. I’ll talk to you later.” 

The line goes silent before you can say anything else. You check the time, taking into account the time difference. You knew Quinn’s game-day schedule. He still had two more hours before he had to leave. 

____________________

You get downstairs, seeing your boyfriend leaning against his car. He was in a suit, one you hadn’t seen before. He bought a new one for tonight. It fit him well; you could see the curve of every part of his body, every crevice that you knew by heart, everything that was stashed in his pockets outlined. You could see the box in his pant pocket. 

He was looking down at his phone, a lock of his hair falling into his eye without even hearing you coming towards him. That sight of him used to make your heart skip a beat. 

He finally looks up, the grin on his face growing with every step you took towards him. He shoves his phone in his pocket, pulling you in for a kiss. His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to yours, you praying he doesn’t notice the slight sweat you felt forming over your entire body. 

He opens the car door for you, running around to get into the driver seat and take you into the city.

“You are gorgeous,” he breathes out, his hand resting on your thigh as he drives.

____________________

You stare at your phone, praying that someone would email you or call you. If you watched your phone enough, you could will them into getting back to you, right?

“You’re next,” your cousin’s hand finds your shoulder, making you jump out of your skin. “God, ok.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, putting your phone down and getting in the makeup chair. The person your cousin hired to do the bridal party makeup was talking to you about what you wanted, you barely paying attention while your mind wandered, trying not to be rude and check your notifications every time your phone screen lit up. 

“What’s with you?”

You look to your left, the makeup artist turning your head back toward them. “I’m supposed to be hearing back from that job,” you tell her.

“So why do you look like you want to throw up?”

You hesitate, a text from Quinn showing up on your screen to let you know that he was almost ready to head to the wedding venue. 

“Because it’s my dream job, but,” your voice trails off. She eyes you, the look on her face burning a hole in the side of your face. “It’s not in Vancouver.”

She nods. “So it’s not near Quinn.” 

“It’s in New Jersey.” 

“Are you going to take it if you get it?”

You exhale. The job was everything you wanted; in the field you studied in college, in a great place where you didn’t have to spend what felt like millions on rent, the people seemed great, the benefits were perfect.

It was just in the wrong country. 

“You know what? You’ve just graduated, we’re getting ready for my wedding, and your boyfriend is out there probably thinking about the day that this is the two of you, instead. Relax.” 

Before you could give an answer, it was time for you to get your hair done, your cousin being whisked away by the photographer to start getting some pictures taken. You didn’t even have an answer. 

Your phone buzzes, another text from Quinn, a new email in your inbox. 

You don’t check it, your thoughts lost in the whirlwind that became getting ready to join your cousin to walk down the aisle to who was supposed to be the love of her life. 

The bridal party ahead of you starts to enter, your cousin behind you pacing while the music continues to play. She calmed you down before when she was the one who was supposed to be anxious. What could you do now? 

You walk forward, the aisle seeming much longer than it did during the rehearsal dinner considering you were now in much higher heels, with makeup that you hoped wasn’t running down your face from the heat you felt. 

You catch Quinn sitting by himself, the smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You felt yourself calm down, all the worries you had melting away as you headed toward the altar. 

You wanted to be walking toward him, to see him waiting for you, ready to tell everyone you cared about that you wanted to be together forever.

The entire wedding went by in a blur, your conscience focused entirely on you picturing yourself with Quinn standing at the altar.

When you finally get the chance to check your phone on the way to the reception, the email notification sits on your screen, unanswered. You open the app, your heart racing. 

‘Good morning, we are pleased to offer you the position…” 

____________________

The two of you fall into mundane conversation once you’re seated. He had asked for a table away from everyone, off to the side where the two of you had privacy, just as the two of you had liked it. You felt awkward being in the middle of any restaurant; he hated having people stare at him because they were sure they knew who he was and spent the entire time gaping at him once they realized who he was.

He asks about your day, about your job. 

You relay to him the events of the day, just as you did every single day the two of you had time to sit down and eat together. It was the same conversation every time, yet he seemed to love to hear about it. 

“I remember when I was excited about this job.”

“Do you still want to quit?” 

____________________

“How do we manage this?” Quinn’s voice comes through your phone, an exasperated plea. 

You hesitate, trying to figure out what to say. “I have no clue,” you admit. “Do we try long distance?”

Quinn sighs, the sound of his car starting up in the background. “We’ve been doing that for the last four years. Do we really want to keep doing it like this?”

Silence comes from you again, this conversation going exactly how you thought it would; neither of you sure what you wanted to do. 

Your dream job made you an offer that you couldn’t refuse. Your boyfriend was on the other side of the continent in another country. You couldn’t do both.

“It’s that or we aren’t together anymore.”

“Are you sure you want to take this job?” Quinn’s voice cuts you off before you can say more.

“Quinn.” 

“Is this job this important to you? Did you try to look for something near here?”

“You know that it is and you know that I did,” you reply, your tone getting defensive. “I’m supposed to be meeting my friends tonight and I still need to get ready,” you lie to him, giving yourself the best out you could. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

You pace around your apartment, pulling up the email chain with the offer letter attached. It was everything you could want. It just wasn’t close enough to the person you wanted. 

You end up falling asleep on your couch, waking up in pain from the angle you somehow thought was comfortable the night before, with someone pounding on the door to be let in. Your phone starts buzzing, your brain barely functioning to register anything other than the time, almost noon.

“I’m coming, calm down,” you rasp, hoping the banging would subside. “Quinn?”

“I can’t have this conversation with you over the phone,” he barges in, pushing past you. 

“How did you get here?” 

“I took the first flight out.” He sits down on the couch you were just asleep on, making no comment of your obviously disheveled state. “We can’t break up. I love you and I don’t want us to break up.” 

You sit down next to him. “I love you, too.”

“Do you want to break up?” he asks, panic in his voice. You study him for a second, knowing that the silence you were giving him wasn’t settling him in any way. He was clearly exhausted; his skin was more pale than normal, his hair poking in every direction possible. The bags under his eyes were darker than you had ever seen him, and you’ve seen him after he pulled an all nighter for a final, running only on energy drinks, french fries, and pure hope that he would pass the exam that morning. 

“I don’t want to,” you start, your voice trailing off. “But, Quinn, this job.”

“Marry me.”

You jolt back. “What?”

“Marry me. Don’t worry about the job. You don’t have to worry about anything. I want to be with you and I know you want to be with me.”

“Quinn,” you scoff, a laugh bubbling into your voice. “We can’t get married.”

____________________

“You could easily find a job somewhere else, though, right? If you wanted to?” he asks.

You nod. “But it was already overwhelming trying to figure everything out when I first started. Do I really want to do that again?”

____________________

“How are you settling in?” Quinn’s question made your heart ache, the first time you’re talking to him since you moved only able to be a few minutes over Facetime. “Has Jack helped you?”

You let out a laugh. “You know he’s only helped eat my food.” Quinn’s laugh matches yours, a tightness in your chest at the sound. “I miss you.”

Quinn lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. “I miss you, too.” Both of you stare at each other in silence for a moment, you looking away to pretend to continue unpacking. You were still trying to find everything in the boxes you hastily packed up, the start date your job provided you only giving you a week to pack and find a new place. Everything was in unlabelled boxes and just thrown together, meaning you were finding multiple pairs of underwear mixed into a box of dishes and books. “I wish we didn’t have to break up.”

You feel a sob creeping up your throat, the same sentiment you had being verbalized by the one person you wished didn’t feel the same. If this were a clean break, everything would be so much easier. If it were a clean break it would be easier to get over and move on. If it were a clean break, then you wouldn’t have what you were sure was a permanent pit in your stomach telling you that this was the wrong choice.

Before you can answer, someone knocks on your door. “Um, I’m gonna go. I think that’s Jack or Luke. They said they were going to come and help today.”

“Tell them to behave.”

You force a smirk through the tears that were brimming in your eyes. “We know they won’t.” You say your goodbyes, the tears finally falling down your cheeks when you open your door. “Oh, Nico,” you sniffle, Jack and Luke’s teammate standing in your doorway without the two boys who were supposed to be there. 

Nico’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” he takes a small step towards you, gently resting his hands on your arms. His attempt at comfort sends a shiver through your body, the attempt to hide your physical recoiling at his touch unsuccessful. It wasn’t one of disgust, it was more out of shock. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” you tell him, tugging his sleeve to pull him into your apartment. “I’m just,” you hesitate. Telling an attractive guy that you were crying over your ex seemed like a bad idea. Especially when that ex is the brother of two of this guy's closest friends. “I’m overwhelmed from unpacking.” 

Nico nods, looking around at the mess of boxes that are cluttered in what is supposed to be your living room. “When was the last time you ate?”

You stop and think, checking your phone to see it was closer to dinner than any other normal meal time. “Yesterday?”

  “Come on.” Nico holds out his hand to you, ignoring the uncertain look on your face. “Jack and Luke asked me to come because they’re doing god knows what, and we both know dealing with them when you’re hungry is going to end up with one of them dangling from that window by their sock.”

You can’t help but laugh knowing that you and Quinn have done something like that to Luke when you were younger over the summer. There’s a reason there’s now a small balcony outside Quinn’s window. The thought of you and Quinn makes your heart hurt again, the threat of tears coming back.

“Hey,” Nico’s voice goes soft, pulling you into a hug. You melt into him, the comfort of his cologne making you exhale. “Whatever it is, you’ll be ok.” 

____________________

“Remember that one wedding we went to, one of your college friends?” he reaches across the table to take your hand, his voice shaking as he abruptly changes the subject. He waits for you to nod. “Do you think about what it would be for us to get married?”

As soon as you hear the words starting to form in his mouth, you grab your water with your free hand, gulping it down to give yourself time. “Um, yeah,” you lie.

____________________

“Jack, you fucking idiot,” you scold him, grabbing the napkins and trying to get as much red wine off your white shirt as you could. It’s your fault, really. You’ve known Jack long enough to know how dangerous of a color it is to wear around him. 

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” Nico mumbles, glaring at his teammate. He heads to his room, the base of his neck turning bright red as he walks away. 

Jack looks sorry, giving you a puppy-dog pout that you were all too used to from your childhood. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. Nico comes back with a sweatshirt, a Devils logo and the number 13 on the breast for you to throw on while you’re here. He plants a kiss on the side of your head once you pull it on, sitting down next to you. 

The rest of the night passes by, Jack spilling two more drinks all over Nico’s table that made Nico send his teammate home.

You settle in his bed, letting out an exhale as you sink into the soft mattress. Nico comes into his room, your shirt in hand. He tried his best to get the stain out.

“I think it’s a lost cause,” he tells you, tossing the shirt into his hamper. “I’ll see if the cleaners can get it out when I bring my suits in next time.” 

“I know better than to wear white around a Hughes brother,” you joke, Nico climbing in next to you and pulling you close.

You hear him sigh, tucking his arm under his head as he lays down. “Do you still miss him?”

The silence between you two is palpable. You never talk about your past with Quinn, awkwardly dancing around the subject whenever he inevitably gets brought up. You weren’t completely over him, but how could you tell your boyfriend that? You lived here, Quinn was in Vancouver. “I miss my friendship with him.”

It wasn’t totally a lie. Even before you started dating Quinn, he was your best friend. Now, you could barely talk to each other. 

“I get that,” you hear him say, not without you noticing the strangled tone in his voice.

Your phone buzzes, Jack tagging you and Nico in a story from your dinner, captioning it ‘taken moments before disaster (myself) struck.’ You can’t help by laugh, showing Nico the post. He smiles, the two of you taking in the photo. The way Nico looks at you makes your heart flutter. He loves you. You know he does. And you do love him. 

You look at the time, the late hour making you groan. “Ugh, fuck.” 

“What?”

“I’m only going to get, like, three hours of sleep if I want to make it home in time to get ready for work.”

“Why don’t you move in here?” Your head whips to him, feeling a pain in your neck, trying to hide your wince so that Nico doesn’t think you hate his idea. “I mean, you spend more time sleeping here than you do at your actual place.”

“Are you serious?”

Nico smiles, pulling you in for a kiss. “Of course.”

You mirror his smile. “Yeah.”

You eventually fall asleep, an excited feeling about a new chapter in yours and Nico’s relationship keeping you awake. 

When your alarm finally goes off, you let out a groan, Nico stirring beside you as he wakes up with you, despite not needing to. You see a text on your phone, sent not long after you went to bed.

It was from Quinn.

‘Does he at least make you happy?’

____________________

Nico is clearly nervous, his free hand rubbing against his thigh. You can feel the sweat forming on his hand in yours. “We’ve been together for how many years now? Three?” You nod. “I love you.” 

____________________

Every time Vancouver came to play in New Jersey, Ellen and Jim insist on you joining them to watch the game. They think of you like a daughter, despite the hopes of you actually joining their family dwindling down to nothing with every year that passes by with you staying in New Jersey.

Of you staying with Nico rather than Quinn. 

It doesn’t get easier any time you see Quinn. According to a drunken Jack, Quinn still loves you. You know you love Nico, but can you also still have feelings for Quinn? 

The Hughes parents weren’t there yet, you sitting alone as the two teams come out onto the ice for warmups. You see Quinn, the sight of him making your heart skip a beat, even after all these years of falling in love with Nico. He looks like he’s zoning out while skating in a circle around nothing, his stick in both his hands parallel with the ice. You know him well enough to know that this is how way of focusing, reviewing everything he could remember about the game tapes he had spent the last few days studying, as if this weren’t the third time this season he was playing against his brothers.

Against your boyfriend. 

The three brothers meet at center ice, taking a picture as they did before every game, the tradition somehow never losing its magic and never getting skipped over no matter how many meetings the two teams had. You feel your anxiety go up when Nico skates over and joins them, the smile on Nico’s face not being matched in the slightest by Quinn. 

The last time you saw Quinn, it was like you were two strangers who were forced together by accident, rather than being two people who grew up with each other, who knew everything about each other. His sentences and comments to you were short, his eyes never meeting yours.The only thing he said that really mattered to you was him telling you he wasn’t sure he would ever stop loving you.

You didn’t remember how that even came up.You had been talking about the wedding you were in, one of your friends from college getting married a few months before yours and Quinn’s last meeting. Quinn was invited, but, according to Jack, he couldn’t get himself to go once he saw you were in the wedding party. 

Your phone buzzes, a text from your boss. You can’t help but let out a groan, knowing that nothing good could come of him texting you on a Friday night when he knew you were at the game.

You skim the message, hoping that it was something that you could ignore for a few hours until you and Nico got home that night. One word catches your eye, causing you to choke on the sharp breath you took in. 

‘Vancouver’ is right there, your boss telling you that there was an opening in your company’s office there, that you would be perfect for it, that you would get a higher salary, a relocation fee, the company would take care of everything you needed to have you move to Canada.

You would be near Quinn. 

You let your boss know that you would think about it, reminding him that you were out with your friends at the game, just as you told him that morning. He sends back a simple thumbs up, as if that was a good enough reaction to letting you know that your dream job just got better. 

The Hughes finally join you right as the anthems begin, pulling you in for hugs. The game begins, your attention anywhere by the actual game. You were facing the ice, but your mind was back to your phone. During the intermissions, you’re completely anti-social, looking at the application your boss sent you that you would need to fill out. He was right, you were perfect for the job.

The game ends, you heading down with the parents to see the guys, Quinn the first one out. He talks to his parents, you awkwardly standing off to the side. 

He finally acknowledges you when his brothers come out of their locker room.

“So, how are you?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground. 

“Good. You?”

“Good. How’s the job?”

“Good,” you let out. “There’s an opening in our Vancouver office,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Quinn’s eyes light up, the smile on his face one that you hadn’t seen from him in a while. It made you smile. “Really? Are you going to take it?”

You sigh, the smile melting from your face. “I’m not sure yet. I would have to move. I would have to figure out Visa’s and everything. I would have to figure out things with,” your voice trails off, both of you knowing what you meant without you saying it. “Nico.”

Your boyfriend appears behind Quinn, a sudden panic coursing through you. You remember the idea of being away from Quinn tearing you apart inside, the thought making you sick. The idea of being away from Nico didn’t have that same effect. 

____________________

“Will you marry me?” He asks, the look on his face hopeful and nervous while he waits for your answer. 

You hesitate, knowing that he was panicking, hating that you made him feel that way. Your phone buzzes with a text from your boss before you can answer, your eyes flicking down to the screen. ‘Still interested in Vancouver?’ You hadn’t told Nico you applied for the job. You told yourself you didn’t want it that much but that it wouldn’t hurt to apply. Seeing Quinn keping coming up in your mind each time you lied to yourself, how you would be back in the same city as him. 

You still love Quinn.

“No.” 

[taintandviolent]

Like Right Now? ; Peter Maximoff x Reader

summary: Part 2 of this fic! Peter waited as long as he could - which wasn't very long. He wants round 2 and you do too. Like.... right now.

word count: 3.3K words!

w a r n i n g s: shameless smut, smut with a little plot, unprotected sex, couch sex, sex while parent is in the same vicinity dry humping, kissing, neck kissing.

a/n: not beta-read. by popular request... aaaah I'm still as nervous as I was posting the first part of this! anyway, I hope it's good and satisfies the peter craving! as always, sorry for any clunky weirdo writing!!!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

With a contented sigh, you opened the door to the house you shared with your mother. Even though you were technically an adult now, you had decided to stay with her, helping her around the house. A child of divorce, you’d always been a little overprotective of her, and couldn’t imagine her alone. 

“Did you have a good skate, honey?” Your mother asked, watching from the living room as you hung your skates on the hook by the door. With your thumb, you furiously rubbed off a scuff mark off the shiny surface and nodded. Boy, did you. Best skate you’d ever had. Using your heels to slip your sneakers off, and kicking them towards the rest of the shoes, you laughed. “Yeah, I went real fast tonight and–” 

The phone interrupted your next words, ringing shrilly. You practically stumbled towards it, reaching out for it like a parched man reaches for water. Your insides wound themselves in knots, just knowing that it was Peter on the other end. 

“H-hello?” 

“Hey cutie.” He’d waited. As long as he could without losin’ his ever loving mind. Which, he wondered if he already had, considering how bad he was aching to hear your voice again. Maybe he’d already lost it. 

“Hi,” you hummed, turning away from your mother. You brought your tone lower, hushed. 

“Did you just get home?” 

“Yeah, Peter, I did.” 

“Dang, slow poke. I’ve been home for a while.” 

“Okay, well,” you laughed. “That’s not fair.”

“When do we get to uh… hang out again? Huh? I’m already jonesin’ to see you again. With or without skates.” Peter adjusted the phone against his ear, waiting. 

You peeked around the corner. Your mother was busy with her program, no longer paying attention to your conversation, likely assuming that it was just one of your girlfriends. How wrong she was… 

“Hang out? Is that what we did?” 

“Yea’, er… somethin’ like that.” 

“Whenever you want.” 

“Aw, man, don’t say that…” 

“Why not?” You ducked around the corner and plopped down on the third step of the staircase, winding the cord around your fingers. You knew why. You heard the way that Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, even through the phone. 

“Like… now?” 

“...Right now?” You asked back, almost in a teasing tone. “Like right now?”

“Yeah!” His tone was bright and excited, and it sounded like he was already out of breath.

“My house?” The suggestion was brave, but you knew your mom would be going to sleep within the half-hour. If you stayed quiet, she wouldn’t hear you over her bedroom TV. 

“Yeah! I mean…” He cleared his throat, trying to act casual. Way more casualness was needed - he was acting super lame and way too into you. Maybe you liked that. Maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t risk it. “Sure. If you want.” 

You began whispering your address, your eyes flitting to the living room. Your mother rose from the chair and went to the kitchen, none the wiser. You continued, knowing Peter had already committed it to memory. Your mother leaned down to cup your face as she went up the stairs and mouthed goodnight, and you covered the receiver with your hand.

“Night, mom. Love you.” 

“Be there in a flash.” You heard him say. 

You wanted to tell him to wait, but the line was already dead. As you moved, your hands shook and fumbled the receiver, dropping it once before getting it back on its cradle. Your mother had hardly gotten up the steps, and he’d be there any second, if he wasn’t already. You heard the door click shut and heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Mom?” You said, testingly. She didn’t respond, so you launched your body up the carpeted stairs, running up them like a four-legged animal. Her door was shut, nothing but the dull glow of her bedside table seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. You raced back down the stairs, your socks padding quietly down them, despite the speed.

Your bedroom was down the hall, past the kitchen. You’d never been gladder to be on the bottom floor. You crept into your room, edging the door shut until the latch clicked into place and as it did, paused to laugh at yourself; you were doing everything so sneakily, as though you were a child acting out. You were a grown woman, albeit still in your mom’s house, but the point remained. Pushing aside the curtains, you carefully maneuvered the window up. It was a warm summer evening, there was no reason why you wouldn't open your window - perfectly normal, if your mother heard it. You stuck your head out. No Peter. Surely, he’d have been here by now. You breathed, looking at the base of the tree outside your window. A squirrel skittered up into the branches. Just as you were about to pull your head back inside, Peter’s head comically poked out from the corner of the house. He had clearly been standing by the front door, which horrified you.

“Took so long, I was about to knock – .”

You shushed him, and whispered harshly for him to get inside. He stuck one leg in, climbing in carefully – the last thing he needed was to be a total klutz and eat it on your bedroom floor.

“You’re crazy, you know that? The front door!?” 

“Cool your jets, babe. You didn’t tell me which window was yours. Where’s your mom?” 

“Upstairs, hopefully sleeping.” 

“Good,” he murmured into your lips, suddenly in front of you. He’d caught you off guard with his speed, but like everything he’d done from the moment he’d complimented your skates, he was so frustratingly cute. The kiss was warm and soft, you were in no position to resist it. He kissed you back towards the bed, his hands cupping your breasts, thumb tweaking your nipples over your shirt. Which reminded you… you were still in your skating clothes. There was far too much fabric in between his thumb and your nipple. 

“Lemme’,” you murmured sloppily into his lips, before finally pulling back. “Lemme’ change first, okay? It’ll look less suspicious. Who needs to cool their jets, huh?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Hands up, Peter took a step back, watching you as you sauntered off towards your small closet. Your hips swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. Probably something you’d heard at the skating rink. You could admit it, you were putting on a bit of a show in hopes of arousing him. 

Still though, you hurried, sliding the doors open and pulling your shirt over your head. You reached around and undid your bra, glancing back at him cheekily. Woah, jackpot… he thought, hoping, that at that point, he wasn’t drooling like a cartoon dog. He was watching you intently, a crooked grin plastered on his face. Neck turned, you held his gaze, daring him to look as you slid your shorts and panties down over the curve of your ass. He looked, but it was so fast of a peek that it was impossible for you to notice. Now finished with your impromptu strip tease, you pulled a sleeping shirt from the shelf and threw it on, spinning on your heels to face him. 

Clad in nothing but the oversized t-shirt, you marched back to Peter, who had taken a seat on the edge of your bed. You climbed behind him, sliding your hands up the round muscle of his shoulders. On your knees, you were just taller than him and decided to take advantage of that by kissing his neck, slowly. You nipped here and there, suckling in other places while your hands explored the front of his shirt, ghosting over the faded print. 

Peter started sweating, and the stiffness between his legs got worse. Much worse. There was no hiding it, or ignoring it and he could’ve sworn that he heard you giggle behind him. His expression was a melange of pain and pleasure, and as your hands neared his crotch, he couldn’t really tolerate much more of your tender kissing… 

“Babe,” In a blur of motion, your back was pressed against your mattress, and he was back to tweaking your nipples again, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The action made you squirm. “Your foreplay is bitchin’, but you’re driving me crazy. Loco. I feel like I’m gonna’ bust.”

“Okay, so now what?” 

“Now what?” He repeated, almost mockingly. “It’s my turn.”  

His hand trailed down from your breasts over the curve of your stomach to the soft mound between your legs. You felt a buzzing directly on the sensitive bundle of nerves and looked down, equal parts confused and aroused. It was his hand, and not a vibrator, but instead of seeing his fingers move back and forth, you saw a flesh-coloured blur. Everything you’d learned about fingering… in the span of a few hours, he’d completely shattered. So, he could finger-fuck you at super-speed, and he could literally vibrate your clit. Of course he could. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, an intoxicating lilt to your words. Peter groaned, and ground his hips against the side of your thigh. His finger dipped down, collecting some of your warm, slithery wetness and pulling it back up, smearing it around your folds.

You clapped your hand over your mouth, legs quivering. The pad of his middle finger continued tapping your clit and you felt the very rapid climb of your orgasm. Without warning from him, Peter’s hand drifted away from your pussy, his slick fingers gripping your thigh. “Babe, I’m thirsty.” 

“Wh-what?” Breathless and sweaty, you quirked a brow at him.

“You got a soda or something?” 

“Uh, yeah, in the kitchen. Y-you’re really thirsty right now?” 

Before you could protest, you stood in the kitchen. He had opened the fridge, popped the tab on a can of Coke, guzzled it, and tossed it into the bin. You blinked. “What… Peter…!” You sniggered, covering your mouth to muffle the sound of your own voice. Your mother’s bedroom was right above the living room, and the last thing you wanted was her to wake. 

He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t wait any longer. He’d gotten you downstairs, and now it was time to up the ante. Wrapping his arms around you, Peter zipped to the couch, and could’ve fucked your wet little cunt right there on the sofa. In the span of a few seconds, Peter could’ve drilled his aching cock inside of you, just long enough for you to feel it, just long enough for him to bust inside you and just long enough to make you quiver. Instead, he hovered over you, looking deep into your eyes, chest heaving. 

“What’re you so nervous for, babe? You know that the second I hear footsteps, we’d be back in your room.” 

“Peter, we can’t… my mom is right above us, dude!” 

“You’re no fun, c’mon.” He craned his neck down, pressing a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, babe.”

You whimpered, rolling your lips inward and your eyes upward. For being such a top tier goof ball, he was unnervingly good at making you feel like your entire body was on fire. That electric current that you felt at the roller rink was back, buzzing through you at a high voltage.

“Peter…” you begged, hoping he’d change his mind because the reality was that he’d get his way if he didn’t. You were too turned on and too into him to say no. 

“C’moooon.” Another kiss. Internally, he was ripping stuffing. His confidence was outrageous, where did he get the balls? He wished you were holdin’ his – no. Stop right there. You ran your tongue along your teeth, and Peter watched the wet muscle as it swept across the enamel, glistening. 

“You promise?”  you asked. 

He nodded, too eagerly, his silver hair flopping with the motion. “Scout’s honour, or whatever. She won’t know a thing.” 

With a little huff, you spread your legs, allowing him in. Peter wasted no time in letting that wet, aching monster free, immediately pulling his gray boxers down over his balls. You pressed your hips into the couch cushions, backing away from the heat that met your groin and Peter followed them, pressing his hips right back into you. He groaned breathily, rutting his hips. You were soft and warm underneath him, and felt so soo good. The shaft of his cock met your wet folds, and he immediately found a rhythm, humping you in long, steady thrusts that had you curling your toes. Every time the velvet plush head of his cock bumped into your swollen clit, you whimpered. Ecstasy deluded your senses, eyes rolling back in your head.  

“Peter, oh my god…!” His hand clamped over your mouth, his dark eyes widening in a warning. 

“Shhhhhhh –” 

You nodded underneath his grip, remembering the threat of the situation. Peter kept his hand on your mouth, pressing tightly against your soft lips. He reached down, taking hold of his cock and pumped it in and out of his own fist a few times before lining up with your entrance.

“Ready?” 

With lusty, half-lidded eyes, you nodded. 

Peter pushed his leaking tip inside of you, then with a shaky breath, sunk the rest of the way in. The sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock was indescribable; hot, tight pleasure coursed through your body in waves as Peter found his rhythm. Fast. Fast rhythm. He fucked like a teenage boy, and you liked that – his bunny humps were deep and intentional, like the crimson head was trying to find the deepest point inside of you. Peter pressed his lightning-bolt patterned socks against the armrest of the couch, using it as leverage to push himself inside of you.

His cock made slick by your arousal, his hips moved against yours rapidly, hammering your cunt in a way that you physically thought impossible. In the darkness, you saw Peter smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual below him. Your tits bouncing underneath the shirt with each thrust, your eyes wide and lust-blown. His gaze dropped to them, watching, entranced. With your free hand, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to your collarbone and letting your breasts fall free. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. 

Skates fast. Fucks fast. Cums fast. You thought, watching as his face contorted, his eyebrows knitting together, jaw dropping. His breaths came out in hurried little huffs as he pumped inside of you, filling your cunt with sticky, white heat. 

“Honey?” 

He froze. You froze. Stiffly, you turned your head towards the staircase, looking up into the darkness, petrified. 

“YEAH! YEah, mom, just… getting a drink!” You tried to keep your voice level, but there was something so inherently naughty about having a guy on top of you, his dick inside of you while you spoke to your mother. Your stomach was tight, muscles burning with the contraction. 

“Oh, okay! I thought I heard - I don’t know. I love you!”

“I love you too! Goodnight!”

Once the door clicked shut, and your head snapped back in Peter’s direction, who was still panting on top of you. Slapping his pectoral muscle hard, you mouthed go go go go! Naturally, before you’d finished the last ‘go’, Peter had pulled out and you were back in the safety of your bedroom before a drop of cum had time to leak from your swollen cunt. Back on your bed, your hair splayed out on the satin pillowcases. Peter was at your side, drawing circles on the exposed flesh of your stomach. 

“Did you uh -”

“No… I didn’t have a chance.” 

“Oh, uh… sorry about that. That happens a lot, y’know? Part of the whole speedster thing, I can’t always –” 

“Peter… shhh… it’s cute. It means you like me.” 

He pointed a finger at you, pushing his bottom lip into his top. “That… that is true. Hey. I have an idea.”

In the darkness, only illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the window, you saw Peter sink down to his stomach, resting between your legs. He moved both legs atop his shoulders, pulling you forward.

You felt a hot breath against your thighs, and whimpered. When a warm tongue licked between your wet folds, you moaned out, grinding your head back into the pillow. Peter slipped a single digit into your cunt gently, twirling his tongue around your clit as he did. He pumped it in and out a few times, feeling the way your cunt squeezed around him. Your wetness coated his finger, dripping down the length into his palm. 

You felt your cunt clenching, uncontrollably. Peter did too and withdrew his finger. His tongue flicked at your clit rapidly, the wet, slick sounds filling the quietness of the bedroom. His dark eyes flitted up to yours, watching every minute expression that flashed across your face. 

“S-slow down…” you whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. It was more of a desperate breath in the shape of the words. He didn’t hear you, and even if he had, he was far too busy burying his nose in your cunt, tasting your sweet fluids. His tongue lapped at your entrance and curled back towards his throat, swallowing. He groaned into her, the sound resonating through your core. 

“Peter… Peter!” You whispered harshly, gripping his head on either side. He didn’t budge, and his eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. Moving up to take a fistful of silver hair, you yanked him off your cunt, his reddened lips glistening and open, confused. His inky orbs looked up at you, dazed and desperate. 

“Whaaat?” he asked, a hint of annoyance tainting his usually upbeat voice. 

“Slow… down….” 

“Sorry but that’s not really… my…” He paused, looking at your weeping cunt again. “...thing. She doesn’t really look like she wants me to, either.” He reached forward, sweeping a single digit along the length of your pussy. You jerked, sensitive.   

“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna’ cum too quickly.” 

“Quick is in the name, babe.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if telling you that you were shit out of luck.

He dove back in, and picked up licking her again, from bottom to top. He was slightly slower than before – maybe he’d decided to have mercy on you. Or maybe he was just savouring the feeling of your cunt as it practically fluttered on his tongue, your clit throbbing with the sensitivity. You rocked your hips against his mouth, humping his pretty face with reckless abandon. It was the only control you had, because as soon as you started that, his tongue had returned to the speedy flipping of your clit.

You were going to cum – so fast that you hardly had time to process it. 

“Ffffuck… oh god,” you whimpered. Your cunt pulsed over and over again, and Peter was right there to feel it. He speared two fingers into her. Curled them upwards, feeling the clench of your orgasm as it came. He fucked you with his fingers until the throbbing stopped, and the first hint of overstimulation came – you whined, too loudly. 

Peter grinned, his slick fingers slipping from your pussy. With a mischievous little glimmer in his eyes, he observed them, watching as the thick, clear strands strung apart between his digits. 

You wanted to ask him on a date. He wanted to ask you on one. But neither of you said a thing. Neither of you said a thing, and just watched each other breathing, chests heaving, heavy with lust. Lookin’ cuter than she ever has… Peter thought, watching you in your post-coital state; sweaty and blushing. 

You knew you were going to be obsessed with him – were already obsessed with him. The high that you chased with skating was nothing compared to what you felt being around this silver dork, and all his little quirks.  

“So uh… same bat-time, same bat channel?” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, Peter. Yeah.” 

[hellyeahscarleteen]

Funding update: We're still short

Co-director Jacob here, with an update on our current fundraising efforts. We sure appreciate your understanding this interruption to the award-winning sex and relationships education programming we’d much rather be spending our time providing for you! Just over 200 wonderful folks have made a donation or become a recurring donor since we started, but we are still short of our goal! We’re still 171 new recurring donors and 5K short of 15K we need to pay our most basic bills through the end of 2024 to help us avoid cuts to our staffing and services in 2025. We'll need just around as many people as have already pitched in to close the economic gaps we're up against, and help from people who value what we do to close them. You know the drill! If you can pitch in financially, and especially as a recurring donor, we’d love and appreciate your help at any level. If you can’t, or you already have and want to help some more, making your own posts about us, why you value us, and directing your circles to our work and where to donate to support it can go such a long way. Thank you for keeping us trucking, especially to those of you who have donated now or in the past, and those of you loudly banging this drum for us out here! Here's the link to donate for yourself or to direct others to:

[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part 1

Art Donaldson x Pregnant!Reader

Prologue

Possible Warnings: talk of abortion

Disclaimer: I am 100% pro choice and the charectors I write are as well.

You sat on the floor of the bathroom in your dorm looking down at the pregnancy test you held in your hands. Positive. No way. You couldn’t be, you missed one pill like a month ago. You set the test down on the sink along with the five other ones you took that also said positive. You were hoping it was a false positive but it didn’t seem like it now.

“Fuck.” You whispered to yourself. You had no idea what you were going to do. You were eighteen, you were in college you were at the top of your class at Stanford’s nursing school. This cannot be happening to you. Then you thought about Art, you wanted to hate him because he did this to you. But you were the one who missed a pill, and you were certainly not resisting him. Not only was Art the best tennis player at school, he was your friend. Your best friend. You knew him forever, this would totally ruin your friendship. You laughed to yourself because your friendship was probably ruined the first time you hooked up. Surprisingly you weren’t panicked, not yet. You were a nurse failed positives happen, maybe something was wrong, you weren’t going to panic until you knew you were 100% pregnant.

You called one of your closest friends who was also in the nursing program, you needed an ultrasound.

“You think you’re pregnant?” She gasped, you nodded shamefully as she looked at you “what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know okay. Get rid of it. I have too. I don’t even know if I am pregnant though so do the damn ultrasound.” You whisper yelled while getting on the table and lifting your shirt. Your friend nodded with this look in her eye like she felt bad for you, you hated it. She moved the wand around slowly until you saw it

“There.” You said pointing at the grey dot on the screen “shit.” You let your head fall back on the bed. You saw it, now this was real. There was a baby inside of you. A baby that you made with your best friend. Your eyes filled with tears there were so many emotions going through you right now.

“Listen I think there’s a heartbeat” your friend said to you turning the volume up on the machine.

Thud…Thud…Thud

You listened to the sound of your baby’s heartbeat and you knew there was no way you could “get rid of it”.

“I’ll give you a minute” your friend said as you still stared at the screen.

Once you left, you went straight to Arts dorm room. Since he was a student athlete his room was much bigger than yours. It was also private, he didn’t have to share a room.

“Oh hey y/n. I didn’t know you were coming.” Art said opening the door looking happily surprised.

“We have to talk Art.” You came in looking serious

“Of course what’s up?” He asked sitting across from you. You suddenly forgot everything you were going to say. It was like everything was hitting you all at once. You broke down in tears and couldn’t get any words out

“Hey hey what’s wrong y/n?” Art rushed to you wrapping his big arms around you pushing some hair from your face, he kissed your forehead until you calmed down “whatever it is you can tell me I promise” he told you. You felt bad knowing the two words you were about to say would change the course of his entire life completely.

“I’m pregnant.” There was immediate silence, Arts mouth was open and his arms slowly dropped to his sides. It felt like a lifetime before he responded.

“I-Is it mine?” He stuttered going completely pale. You felt offended by his question, of course it was his, there was no one else and he knew that.

“Yes it’s yours.” You scoffed standing up clearly annoyed.

“I’m sorry it’s just… but… you said you were on the pill!” He panicked standing up, his voice came out sounding accusatory

“I am! I missed one! It was forever ago okay I didn’t-“ Art interrupted you before you could finish

“What?! How could you miss one? And not say anything? Oh my god y/n!” He said not yelling but getting close to it. Art had never yelled at you. You didn’t even think he could yell. It brought tears to your eyes again, you felt horrible and angry and just about every other emotion

“I’m sorry okay?! Do you think I wanted this Art! Fuck!” You cried sliding down his wall putting your head in your arms. Art was quiet. He felt guilt come over him for losing his cool. He knew that this wasn’t your fault it was just a mistake, and now your life was changing. He collected himself, he told himself he could think about his feelings later. Right now he had to be there for you, his best friend. He walked to you and sat next to you

“Come here, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry y/n/n” you fell into him, his arm came to your hair . You cried into his chest for a long time before looking up at him.

“This isn’t your fault y/n. It’s going to be okay. Whatever you decide.” He told you holding your face with one hand. He knew that you would think it was your own fault because that’s just how you were. But he was very equally to blame and he knew that.

“I saw it.” You blurted out between sobs

“What?” He questioned

“I saw the baby… I heard the heartbeat. I thought I could get rid of it but I can’t. I just I -I “

“Stop y/n. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m going to support you no matter what okay? This isn’t just on you. If you wanna have the baby, then… we’re gonna be parents.” He slightly smiled looking at you. “We can figure it out together okay, I got you I promise” he whispered kissing your head. You didn’t say anything. You leaned into him again as a thank you, he knew what you meant. You were so thankful that he didn’t hate you or abandon you. This is why you loved him, this is why he is your person.

You and art sat on the floor for a while. You didn’t talk you both sat there in thought. Art carried you to his bed and layed you down, he brushed hair from your face and wrapped his arms around you spooning you. He would do anything for you. Just then he wanted to say it. He wanted to say that he loves you, that he has forever. But that wouldn’t have been fair to you, you were to stressed out. Secretly art was happy about the baby. Mabye now you two would finally become a couple. Art thought about what this could mean

“I got you. It’s okay.” He whispered, settling for that instead of I love you. For now at least.

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Don't Forget You Love Me

[kim seokjin x reader] [3.6k yandere!Jin; non-con smut; graphic violence; angst; allusions to sex]

A/N: I didn't intent this fic to go dark so please read with caution and MDNI.

related fics: Not In The Same Way | Not Warriors | Now That We Don't Talk | High

-

The first thing Seokjin did after coming out of the facility was head to the taco stand you used to frequent during your midnight dates.

Truth be told, he was hoping to run into you when he was dressed better, not when it was obvious where he was these past few months. He even considered, if you were willing, he'd invite you out for a late-night dinner, just like old times. He always smiled at the thought of sharing a meal with you again. A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads in his chest as he daydreamed about your reunion. It was what kept him going, what helped him push through the program.

“Seokjin.” You called his name on a soft, bated breath, making his heart flutter wildly, as if it were trying to escape his ribcage. He echoed your name just as gently, voice laced with disbelief and longing. Then, without hesitation, his feet carried him across the stand, closing the distance between you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says with a grin. He’d always known you were pretty, but after being isolated from the world—and from you—for what felt like forever, it was like being thrown back in time. Back to the first time he met you.

You were his North Star—Seokjin’s reason, his drive to get better. He was going to mend things with you. And just like he promised, he was going to marry you.

You hum in response, lips puckering slightly as you try to form a sentence. A quiet moment passes before you smile at him.

“You’re out,” you say slowly, softly, as if unsure whether it’s even the right thing to ask. “How have you been?”

With a beaming grin still plastered on his face, Seokjin nods. “Just now. I missed this place, you know? They don’t exactly serve tacos on Tuesdays in rehab.” At this, you smile and he can't help but stare. He missed you so much—everything about you.

For a moment, it felt like time stood still. His eyes locked onto yours, both your faces reflecting the same mirthful smile. Seokjin’s confidence grew.

You hadn’t exactly ended things on the best note. He had cowardly left his goodbye in a voicemail—one you never responded to. So, he just assumed you were angry at him. And rightfully so.

He’d spent his days in rehab imagining how to ask for your forgiveness, how to win you back. But now, here you were—smiling at him, like old friends finding each other again.

The bell dinged, snapping you out of the moment as the staff called out your order from the counter. The spell broke, but any second longer and Seokjin was sure he might’ve cried from happiness.

“Here,” you said, offering your food. “I think you deserve to have a bite before I do.”

It was instinct—muscle memory. Seokjin leaned down to your height and took a bite of the taco straight from your hand.

You were startled. And so was he—but not from the bite.

“I—” Seokjin began, standing upright again, suddenly aware of the space between you. “I’m sorry. That was… too familiar. I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

You looked at him, a small airy laugh escaping your lips as you waved it off. “It’s fine, Seokjin. Really.”

But the way you said it—light, casual, like it didn’t matter—made something twist in his chest. Like he’d overstepped. Like he’d read the moment all wrong. You were being kind, but not warm. Not in the way you used to be. And suddenly, he felt like an intruder. Like someone who didn’t belong in the soft, easy moment he thought you shared.

He opened his mouth to say something else, to maybe apologize again, or at least explain himself—but before he could, a voice interrupted.

“I thought I was supposed to have the first bite.”

A familiar figure appeared beside you, arm casually draping over your shoulder. The man hadn’t even noticed him yet—his eyes were on you, grinning like you shared a hundred inside jokes. And for a second, Seokjin wished he could disappear in the night.

“Hoseok,” you said, hastily turning towards the man. “Sorry, got hungry." Hoseok smiled then glanced up—finally noticing Seokjin standing in front of you. His smile faltered, just for a beat. “Oh. Hey.”

Seokjin gave a stiff nod. “Hey.”

The three of you knew each other once—shared laughter over cheap beer and late-night walks, bonded by youth and the comfort of familiarity. Hoseok had been around, the ever-sunny friend with talent that you gushed over and eyes that lingered on you a little too long. Seokjin had noticed the admiration back then, but never worried. He already had you. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Watching Hoseok wrap his arm around your shoulder, so casually, so naturally—it twisted something deep in Seokjin’s gut. You wouldn’t bring just anyone here. This was your place. His and yours. For the longest time, he thought that still meant something, but seeing you standing there with someone else made him dread the thought he hadn’t even let himself entertain until now: maybe you weren’t his anymore.

Seokjin cleared his throat and awkwardly stepped toward the counter, suddenly overly interested in the menu he already knew by heart. The silence between the three of you hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken things.

“It was nice seeing you, Seokjin,” you said gently. “We’ll be going ahead.”

He turned toward you, offering a polite nod. But the moment felt brittle, breakable—so he quickly turned back around, pretending to study the laminated sign above the register. He counted to three, hoping to calm the sudden swell in his chest.

He should’ve counted to ten.

When he looked back, the sight felt like a suckerpunch.

With perfect, cruel timing of fate, Hoseok leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek—soft, familiar, meaningful. That kiss was not a friendly gesture. It clearly meant something. Something Seokjin knew it too well. He had seen that look before—on your face. It was the same expression you used to reserve just for him, in those sweet, sacred moments of first love. When nothing else existed, when the world blurred and it was just the two of you.

But now you were looking at someone else that way.

And Seokjin could only stand there, silent, tasting the bitter afterthought of what used to be, but he insists it was the taco. Besides, he was never one to back down—not when it mattered. Not when it came to you. Not now.

He watched you walk away, laughter mixing with Hoseok’s, sounding like nails on a chalkboard to him. Seokjin didn’t move. Not because he was defeated, but because he was coming to a firm decision.

He hadn’t spent months in rehab just healing; he’d spent them remembering. Planning. Rebuilding himself for you. He’d kept tabs—quietly, through his manager, through whispers from mutual friends—and not once did he hear of you dating anyone. Not officially. Not seriously. He didn't think what you had with Hoseok when he left was something other than a public stunt.

So unless you looked him in the eye and told him it was over—truly over—he wasn’t giving up.

You just needed reminding.

Reminding of who you used to love. Of how you loved him. How your life were and would be laced with him in every corner. He knew you. You were a creature of comfort, of ritual. And Seokjin? He was a habit you’d never quite been able to quit.

Maybe you and Hoseok were in a real relationship. Maybe he was the one walking beside you. But Seokjin had this wicked thought he is ashamed of having, of believing: just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.

He would take his time. He would be patient. He was not about to let you forget how much you love him. He would remind you why you once called him home. And when the time was right, he would prove to you—you and him? You were always meant to be endgame.

-

You're jolted awake by the incessant ringing at your door. Mind still foggy with sleep, you warily climb out of bed. Only two people knew where you lived—your manager and Hoseok—and they’d know better than to show up without texting first.

As you reached the door, you lean toward the wood and peek through the peephole.

A familiar face tilts into view—smiling.

You open the door to find Jin, who immediately lifts his hands, each holding coffee and a small bag of pastries. "Morning!"

He sees your stunned expression but doesn’t hesitate to step inside like he owns the place.

"Seokjin," you mutter, still half-asleep, "what are you doing here? It’s 7 a.m."

"Breakfast," he says plainly. "You’ve got press at ten, right? I remember you always forget to eat when you're busy prepping for interviews." And for the second time, he leaves you stunned. He offers you a paper cup. "I asked them to make it just the way you like it."

You hesitate for a moment before sitting in the chair he pulled out for you. Warm coffee in hand, you slowly start to wake up, sipping between bites of pastry. You're halfway through your drink when the doorbell rings again—followed immediately by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Shit. Hoseok. You panic.

You’d left your phone in your room and missed his text.

The door swings open, and Hoseok steps inside. From across the room, his eyes land on you first, then Seokjin, then the table, now crowded with way too many pastries for just two people.

"Looks like you’ve already had breakfast," he says calmly—too calmly. His tone is cool, detached, but the heat in his eyes betrays him. It’s not the breakfast that bothers him. It’s Seokjin sitting far too close.

As if Hoseok wasn’t already flaming with irritation, he hears Seokjin quip, “So he knows you that well too, huh?”

Of course he did. Hoseok clenches his jaw. He knows everything about you—your past, your present, the things that make you tick and the things you’ll never say out loud. The things Seokjin didn’t get the chance to learn. Petty as it might be, Hoseok clings to the quiet pride of knowing the old and new you.

His eyes flick to the coffee cup on the table. The one Seokjin brought. Not your usual—not anymore. Without a word, he strides forward, picks up the half-empty cup, and places a new one in its place. A plain black iced Americano. No sugar. No whip.

“Y/N doesn’t drink sweet coffees in the morning,” he says evenly, not even glancing at Seokjin.

Jin only nods, the smile on his face dimming slightly, though it doesn’t completely disappear. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms with casual ease. “Guess some habits change.”

You stay seated, caught between them like some sort of unspoken battle line. You sip the new coffee Hoseok brought without thinking, grateful for the bitter familiarity, but you can feel the tension crackling in the air—quiet, sharp, and inevitable.

"I look forward to your interview, Y/N," Seokjin says, his voice softening as he turns to you.

His eyes linger just a second longer, the corners of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile—one that belongs to an older time, one you used to know well. There's kindness there, a thread of something unspoken, something he doesn't expect you to return, but offers anyway.

Then he straightens, and the chair screeches faintly as he pushes it back. The warmth in his eyes disappears the moment he shifts his gaze to Hoseok.

"Hoseok," he says, with an edge so faint it could be missed—but it isn't. It's a line drawn, quiet and sharp. "See you around."

With that, he walks to the door, doesn’t slam it—just closes it with a precise click that somehow feels louder than it should.

Silence settles for a beat. You don’t move. The scent of coffee and pastries feels suffocating now. The embers of his presence still linger in the air, like smoke that doesn’t belong to any fire currently burning.

Hoseok doesn’t speak right away. He just walks to the chair Seokjin left and slowly pulls it back in, not sitting—just grounding the room again.

"Why was he here?" he finally asks, his voice calm, almost too calm.

You don’t answer immediately, unsure if you want to. He doesn’t press you for it. Instead, he walks over to where you’re still sitting, and crouches just slightly so he’s at eye level. No judgment in his expression. Just understanding.

"He’s still got that effect on you, huh?"

You nod, barely. It’s all you can give.

Hoseok exhales softly and places a steady hand on your arm—not clinging, just anchoring. Like someone standing with you a few feet from a bonfire. Not getting pulled in, but close enough to feel the heat. To know how easily you could still burn.

"You don’t have to explain," he says. "Just… don’t let him keep pulling you back into flames you already walked through."

"I won't," you mumble. At this, Hoseok smiles. He leans towards you and let his lips graze yours. It's comforting, a new familiarity that you allow yourself to sink into. You pull him closer to you, letting his body heat engulf you. But you want more, and you weren't shy to ask—or at least let Hoseok know so. With a moan of his name between the sliver space between your swollen lips, you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against his crotch.

"Need you," you whine. Hoseok carries you away from the kitchen, his strides leading to your bedroom. "I'm here, sweetheart."

-

The lights from the live broadcast flicker across Seokjin’s screen, but his eyes don't move away from you.

His heart stutters a little when you smile at the interviewer—polished, composed, magnetic. So damn pretty it hurts. The kind of pretty that isn’t just about the way you look, but the way you hold yourself. The way you think before you speak. The way your eyes soften at certain questions.

He leans back on his couch, one leg lazily draped over the other, his lips tugging into a quiet, giddy grin.

You were glowing.

But all he could think about was how in an hour or two, you'd be home. You’d walk through your door, probably kick your shoes off the same way you always did, maybe talk to Hoseok—maybe not (he hopes not)—and eventually, you’d make your way into your room.

And there they'd be.

Blue tulips, your favorite. His too, now, because they were yours first.

Arranged neatly in the glass vase you left in your once shared apartment. He’d asked the florist for just the right shade. Not too purple, not too bright. True, midnight blue. Nostalgic and cool and rare.

Just like you.

He wonders what your face will look like when you see them. Will your brows furrow first, cautious? Will your lips part, caught off guard, before curling into something you’ll quickly hide? Will you know immediately it was him?

Of course you will.

Nestled between the stems is the note—handwritten, cocky, sweet, and unapologetically flirty.

He doesn’t regret the card. Not a single word of it.

It was bold, yes. Maybe even reckless.

But it was intentional.

It was meant to provoke you. To stir something inside you that time tried to quiet. He hopes it does more than just bring a smile—he hopes it unravels you just enough to remember.

To remember how good it was. How he was anything you needed: a romantic boyfriend, a supportive friend, a lover who knew every angle of your body and mind like it was his favorite song.

He can be that again. He wants to be that again.

And tonight, as he watches you thank the host with that polite little bow, he finds himself praying—genuinely, silently—that the flowers work. That they reach you in all the ways he can’t right now.

That you’ll see them… and come back to him. For now, he thinks of that moment. The vase you both crafted—inappropriately. The curve of the ceramic meant to imitate your waist and the hole patterned after his girth.

-

By midnight, the irritation had brewed too long, too loud. You couldn’t sleep with the scent of nostalgia blooming in every corner of your room. You moved the vase around your home—from your bedroom to the balcony, only to end up on your living room sill. You decide you'll throw it out first thing in the morning.

You grabbed your phone and dialed the number you told yourself you deleted months ago.

He picked up after the first ring, like he was waiting.

“Y/N,” Seokjin greeted, his voice low and warm—too calm for how you were feeling.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you snapped. “Sending flowers like that—sneaking a damn note into them? You can’t just show up and try to romanticize your way back into my life!”

There was a pause. And then, infuriatingly, a chuckle.

“You called me,” he said, smugly. “So, it worked.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you hissed.

“I knew it would get under your skin,” he went on, completely undeterred. “That’s what you do when you still care—you react.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You grip your phone harder.

“I’m not,” he said softly. “I just… miss you. I want us back. We were good together, Y/N. You know we were. I’ve changed.”

The words landed like stones. He had said them before. In tears. In rage. In apologies.

“No,” you said firmly. “Whatever we were doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t want it. I don’t want you, Seokjin.”

For a moment, the line went silent. You thought he hung up.

Then he whispered, “You’re choosing him over me?”

“I’m choosing me.”

And with that, you ended the call.

-

You had just started to finally doze off when the sound of the door unlocking shot you upright. You froze. Only two people knew where the spare key was kept—and Hoseok never used it without asking.

“Y/N?”

Seokjin.

You scrambled out of bed, heart pounding as he stepped into your room like he still lived here.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, grabbing a long shirt to cover yourself.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair tousled, eyes bloodshot, but burning with purpose.

“You won’t listen to me,” he said. “So I came to make you listen.”

“You can’t just come in—”

“I had to,” he said. “I had to show you. I’m not the same man. I went through rehab, I faced my demons, I came out better. I am better, Y/N. For you. For us.”

“There is no us, Jin.”

He flinched like you slapped him.

“I’m not Hoseok,” he said, voice rising. “I loved you before he even knew who you were. I know your soul, Y/N. I know your habits, your dreams, the way you hate being left in silence after an argument. I know you better than anyone. Even him.”

You backed up instinctively, your voice shaking, “I’m asking you to leave.”

“No.”

“Seokjin—please.” That word—please—unsettled something in him. His face darkened.

“You still look at me like I’m a mistake. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t.” He took another step forward.

And this time, your voice cracked as you repeated, “Get out.”

The silence after that was suffocating. He stared at you for a long, unbearable second. You thought—hoped—he was leaving when he turned toward the door.

But then… you hear a click. Then another. He locked the door. Double-locked it. Your heart sank.

"Jin," you said, voice cautious now, "what are you doing?"

He didn’t turn around right away. Just stood there, hand still on the lock, the tension in his shoulders rising like a tide about to break.

"I didn’t come all this way for you to shut me out again," he said slowly. "Not after everything I’ve done."

You took a step back. “Seokjin. Open the door.”

He finally turned to face you, his eyes searching yours—desperate, manic, and heartbreakingly familiar.

"Why do you keep pushing me away like I’m the villain in your story?" he asked. "I loved you, Y/N. I still do. And I know you felt it too. I know there’s still something here."

“There was something,” you snapped. “But you burned it to the ground, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you try to crawl through the ashes like nothing happened.”

His jaw clenched, the air thick with all the words neither of you wanted to say.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered.

“Then leave,” you said, firm now. “That’s the only way you won’t.”

"No," he insists. "Perhaps you need a better reminder. Something tangible to feel, not just stupid pastries and flowers to woo you."

Your eyes dart around the room, looking for your phone. "Jinnie," you gulp; attempting to appeal to him.

Everything happened so fast—with a few strides, Seokjin was infront of you—his hands gripping your arm. You try to pull back, plead again to the man who claimed to love you but your words were muffled by his mouth on yours—invasive and forceful.

He pushes you roughly, making you land on the carpet. You sob out his name, "Please. Please don't do this."

"You want me to do this, Y/N. It's okay—you only need reminding."

Seokjin didn't bother to lift up the shirt you wore or even pull down your garments. He was impatient—he had to make you remember now. Without care, he sunk his fingers inside you, making you wail. He hovers above your body, his covered crotch grinding against your leg.

It didn't take long before Seokjin pulls out his cock—rigid and weeping. He thrusts inside you—his hands pin yours to the carpet and his face lowers to devour you once again.

"Tell me you love me," Seokjin rasps above you. "Tell me you didn't forget about me."

He sees the tears in your eyes and instead of taking pity on you and stopping his assault, Jin licks up the tears and sealing your eyes with a kiss. "You love me. Tell me you love me, Y/N"

Mustering up the air left in your lungs, you gasp "I love you, Jin." The words like stale bread on your tongue. The room echos with slapping skin and breathy moans as he speeds up his thrusting. Seokjin peppers your face with kisses and you could only move your face to the side.

Your sight lines with something familiar, something bright and vivid.

And yet, to you, the tulips didn’t look so beautiful anymore.

-

[16wolke11]

OBLECTATION - Carlos Sainz

A/N 

OBLECTATION: pleasure/enjoyment

WORDS: 4170  Dont get used to this lenght, I got carried away :D

WARNINGS: NSFW (fingering + oral - female receiving / unprotected sex / kind of public - elevator)

__________

Before I was in a relationship Valentine's Day was never really special for me, being rather annoyed by the display of love and the need to show your partner on this specific day that you love them. And when I entered one I wasn't that interest in celebrating Valentine's Day either. Realising that it is pretty commercial and that I don't need a certain day in the year to show my loved one my feelings. All of this changed when I met Carlos and loved every opportunity we had to share some time, have a date and just show love to each other.

Our first Valentine's Day was probably overboard, but Carlos wanted to go all out as he told me afterwards, because he wasn't sure what I expected from him on that day. I managed to convince him that I didn't need something extra special on that day in February and we made a deal. While I would have been happy with a simple date, going to a restaurant, watching a movie or even having a picnic, Carlos wanted to make it at least a bit special. So, we agreed on staying in a hotel for a few days around Valentine's Day. Enjoying a few days off from taking care of the apartment, food and other stuff while just having the time for us.

Tonight is no different. We checked into the hotel yesterday, slept in this morning and had some breakfast in bed, before enjoying the wellness program of the hotel. Being massaged, relaxed in the sauna and talked a lot without being interrupted by our phones or anything else. Right now, I am making myself ready for our date in a restaurant. Dressing up in a tight knee-length dress, not too much, but nothing too casual as well. and the most important part: Something I feel comfortable in.

"Mi Vida? Are you almost ready?" Carlos asks and knocks softly on the bedroom door. He decided that I get the room for getting ready, while he was comfortable in just using the small living are our room or more apartment has. He insisted on us separating to get ready because he wanted to look at my outfit in complete to, quote "Admire the full beauty."

"Just stepping into my shoes." I tell him while getting my shoes out of my luggage. Simple black heels, which make my legs just a little bit longer.

"Waiting at the door for you." He tells me and I can hear him stepping away. With my shoes on my feet, I look into the floor-length mirror for the last time, fixing my dress, before I decide that I am ready. I grab my purse from the bed where I placed it before and finally leave the bedroom.

My heels click softly on the floor and Carlos looks up when I approach him "Hi." I say with a smile while Carlos looks up and down my appearance. His eyes soften and he holds his hands out for me to take.

"You look breathtaking." He compliments me and pulls me close to his chest, making me smile softly.

"Thank you. Only the best for my man." I smooth out the hem of his shirt before I look him in the eyes. "You look handsome as well." Placing a soft kiss on his cheek is still something that makes my own heart flutter after all this time.

"Let's go and show everyone how pretty we are." Carlos grins and takes my hand again, grabs the key card and then we leave the room. We take the elevator down to the ground level and walk through the lobby to get to the restaurant. It was our decision to eat in the hotel restaurant because we both wanted to drink some wine and didn't want to bother with the way back afterwards.

We greet the waitress at the entrance which leads us to our table which is one of the corners, giving us some privacy, even though the hotel itself is maintaining the privacy of its guests pretty well. It doesn't take long before our table is filled with different food. For today the restaurant has a special menu with shared dishes where both people at the table get an empty plate and you can taste everything you desire in a smaller portion. We share a bottle of wine as well, both like to drink a glass or two from time to time.

Talking, laughing and just spending time with each other makes the time fly by and I couldn't thank Carlos more for making this possible. Even though I do tell him often not to spoil me too much since I have no interest in being called a gold digger just because he has more money and no problem spending it on me.

"Dessert?" Carlos asks, fingers playing softly with mine. The dishes were gone already, and we had let the food sit for a bit before he asked this question. I place one hand on my belly before I sigh.

"I think I am full."

"Want to stay for a bit longer or want to get rid of those shoes?" Carlos tilts his head slightly to the side, gesturing to my shoes. He knows they tend to get painful after some time, but it helped that I wasn't walking much with them tonight.

"Let us finish the wine and leave afterwards." I tell him and Carlos lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles softly.

"As you wish."

We keep talking for a bit, slowly emptying the last bit of wine before we decide to leave. Carlos holds my hand tightly again and his thumb brushing over the back of my hand always gives me a reassuring feeling. Now I feel more than glad that we picked the hotel restaurant option because, with a full stomach, I do feel kind of tired. We wait for the elevator, and I lean against his chest while we wait.

"Thank you for this evening, Carlos." I mumble softly and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close against his body.

"Everything for you." He promises and I know he is honest. Carlos would to everything for me and sometimes this does scare me. Not that I wouldn't do the same for him, but at the same it feels weird to know that someone would go to such great lengths just for me. It does take the elevator a bit to reach the ground level since it is an older model and we enter before we pick our floor.

"Wanted to kiss you properly for the whole night." Carlos mumbles and tilts my head up by the chin to place his lips on mine. I kiss him back and sigh softly against his lips. Tongue dipped between them to deepen the kiss, but I managed to pull away because we were still in public.

"Hm, you still taste like wine." I tell him and with Carlos licking his lips I am sure I taste of the wine as well.

"Good or bad?" He asks and I don't even need to think about the answer because he always tastes like the finest brand of candy for me.

"Good."

Carlos smiles, before kissing my lips again and again, peppering some kisses on my face, making me giggle. When I look on his face there is a cheeky smile on his lips.

"You know what would be fun?" He asks but doesn't wait for me to answer him and instead just drops on his knees. My mouth falls open and I don't know what to say. What is he up to? Carlos looks up to me, while his hands slowly wander up my thighs, under my dress until he reaches the hem of my panties.

"Carlos, what?" I try to ask him but just manage to stutter when his fingers hook under the hem of my panties and he pulls them down my legs. Like controlled I lift my feet when he tugs at them and can only observe when Carlos puts my panties in his pocket. Just when I want to speak up and ask him what he is doing the characteristic ping of the elevator cuts the silence between us.

"Shhh." Carlos mutters and is back on his feet in a split second. His arm wraps around me, making us seem like a normal couple when the door opens and someone from the hotel staff enters the elevator.

"Good evening." She greets us and we politely greet her back "Evening."

She presses the button for the second floor and then there is silence. I can feel Carlos's hand roaming over my back, dipping lower, until he places it on my ass. I look up to him, trying to tell him with my eyes to stop, but he just smiles and squeezes my backside. Needing to hold back the surprised whimper I bite down on the inside of my cheek while glaring at Carlos.

The hotel staff leaves the elevator again, leaving us all to ourselves and I am not sure if this is good. As soon as the door is closed again Carlos drops back to his knees. Hands on my thighs, slowly shoving the hem of my dress upwards while his eyes are fixated on mine. I manage to stop his hands, and he lets me. As much as this situation thrills me, we can't do this here.

"The cameras, it's too risky." I tell Carlos, still holding his hands in mine, but he just smiles up at me, the cheeky one which is reserved for slightly steamy situations he has planned.

"I took care of that." He informs me and detaches my hands from my dress without any struggles. I try to understand what he is saying, mind racing while he still kneels in front of me.

"So, you planned this?" I ask him when I manage to find my voice and get another grin in return.

"Maybe." Carlos gets on his feet and confidently flips a switch at one of the walls making the elevator stop abruptly.

"Calos! You can't do this!" I hiss at him and try to get past him to put the elevator on again. He can't be serious right now, this is not even allowed and we will get in so much trouble were he will not be able to get us out so easily.

"There is no sign telling me that it is illegal." Carlos mumbles and pulls me back, making me lean against his chest. His nose brushes down my neck and I can't stop myself from lulling my head to the side.

"You're unbelievable." I manage to say when he softly bites into the flesh of my shoulder and can feel the vibrations in his chest when he chuckles.

"I know." He lets go of me, turns me around and leads me backwards until I am against one of the walls. Before I can lecture him more, he drops to his knees again and pulls out a small bottle. The click of it opening makes me realises that he is just putting some lube on his fingers.

"And now lean back mi vida." Carlos mumbles before he shuffles his knees between my feet to make my stand wider. I can't even think about stopping him, because just a few heartbeats later one of his fingers slips right into me because of the lube.

"Oh, Carlos!" I whimper, not knowing if I want to scold him or tell him he shouldn't stop. As he told me I lean against the wall and try to relax, trying to trust him in this situation. Slowly Carlos moves the finger, letting the lube-coated finger slip in and out of me, making arousal spike in my body. Just when he slips a second finger inside there is a cracking sound coming from the panel of the elevator. I try to wriggle away from Carlos's hand, but he places his second hand on my belly and presses me against the wall.

"Hello, this is the house security. We got a notification that the elevator got stuck between two floors." A squeaking voice tells us, and my eyes widen. Fuck. While I kind of freak out Carlos just stays seated between my legs, holds his finger in front of his lips to tell me to keep it quiet, while he just slowly keeps moving his fingers.

"Is anyone hurt? The camera is not able to record due to an issue." The voice asks and the bit about the camera almost makes me relaxed if it weren't for the fingers of Carlos hitting the best spots inside of me, making it harder and harder to let no sound slip over my lips.

"No, we are fine." Carlos casually tells them while keeping his eyes on me, fixating me with his gaze, making me not able to look away from him.

"How many people are in the elevator?" They ask another question, and I bite down on my lower lip when Carlos slightly twists his wrist, making his fingers slip in with a different angle.

"Just my girlfriend and I."

"Is she unharmed?" They ask back and I gesture for Carlos to stop his movements for a bit, but he still has this wicked smile on his lips and I need to answer them before they suspect anything.

"Yes..." I manage to say, but need to stop myself because Carlos casually presses his thumb down on my clit. "I am fine." I add with a pressed-sounding voice and then there is silence for a moment.

"Are you sure Mam?" They sound concerned and Carlos lifts his eyebrow in a challenging manner, while I glare at him.

"Just a little tipsy." I tell them quickly which might be a bit of the truth even though it might be tipsy on lust.

"Okay, we will send help as quickly as possible, I come back to you when I have any new information." They tell us and after we say, "Thank you." The speaker is finally silent again.

I let my head lull and try to relax myself with the information that they can't see what we are doing and the fact that I do trust Carlos.

"Think you can keep it quiet for me?" He asks me and I take a deep breath before I nod. We don't know when they will open the connection again and it would be more than hard to explain to them why I am whimpering Carlos's name over and over again.

"Words mi vida." Carlos takes his fingers out, making me snap out of the haze. I lift my head from the wall and look down at Carlos for my answer.

"Yes."

"Good girl." He mutters, before lifting his hand between my thighs again. Slipping both fingers straight back in with no resistance, being lubricated by my slick by now. My teeth nip at my lip to stop the sounds and lean my head back to stop myself from watching Carlos seated between my legs.

He continues his slow movements, dragging his fingertips over my walls, dipping them against every spot he knows which brings me pleasure. I clench on his fingers, knowing he loves it and to make myself feel even more of him. Because I am relaxing more and more under his touch, Carlos adds a third finger. Slowly pushing them inside, waiting for me to get used to the additional stretch. I pat his head, fingers burying in his hair to stop myself from saying his name, pleading for more when he starts to move them with precision.

"Taking my fingers so well." Carlos praises me and I can't stop the whimper being dragged over my lips from his words of approval. But just a second later the pleasure stops because Carlos just pulls out his fingers in one swift movement.

"Tsk, what was that?" He asks me and I let my eyes flutter open to apologize, but Carlos continues speaking before I can say anything.

"Try again." He instructs me and shoves my dress higher up my thighs. I look down, only to see him burying his face between my thighs. My eyes widen and my grip on his hair tightens when his lips meet my middle. Placing open mouth kisses on it, before his tongue slips between my folds. Dragging it from my entrance to my clit, swirling it around the little nub, before getting back to my entrance again where he dips his tongue, before repeating that process over and over again.

Carlos's mouth on me always makes me like wax in his hands and I need to really concentrate to keep my knees from buckling. He holds me up just below my ass and softly kneads the flesh in addition to the pleasure from his mouth. When he softly sucks my clit into his mouth my knees almost buckle from the almost instant orgasm, but he keeps me up on my feet and lifts his head for a moment.

"Still okay on your feet?" Carlos asks me, kisses my thigh, and looks up to me until I nod. Even though I do feel a bit weak, I don't want to stop him just yet. He takes his time like he is discussing with himself if he should continue or change our position before he decides.

"Tap my head three times if you think you fall down okay." Carlos tells me and after another nod from me, I am not sure if I am allowed to say something out loud, his head is back between my thighs. I lift my hand and cover my mouth with it, muffling every little sound that might try to slip past my lips.

Just when I relax under Carlos's tongue, he adds his fingers back in, making my breath hitch in my throat. This combination usually sends me over the edge quickly, especially when Carlos already teased me before, but he is altering his movements, not letting the pleasure build up to its climax, before changing his pattern again. Inpatient I pull his hair, but he isn't bothered by it, just continues with the swirls of his tongue and the thrusts of his fingers.

"Sir?" The speaker squeaks and immediately the pleasure decreases with Carlos freezing in his movements. Couldn't they wait for just a few more minutes? My thighs tremble and I feel on the verge of tears when they continue speaking. "We were able to find the issue. The elevator will move in just a few moments."

"Thank you for your work." Carlos says while slipping his fingers out of me, before licking his fingers clean, eyes focused on mine, making me gulp.

"No problem. We are very sorry for the issue." They say, but I barely hear them, with being fixated on Carlos.

"I am sure a nice breakfast for room 415 will help with it." He doesn't hesitate to say this and there is a pause at the other end, they probably just figured out who their old elevator trapped.

"Of course, Mr. Sainz." Then the line is dead again and just a few seconds later the elevator keeps moving.

"Looks like you have to wait a bit longer." Carlos says, before biting gently down on my thigh. I whimper at the contact of his teeth, not realising that he pulls the dress back down, only when he supportively wraps his arm around me, I come back into reality.

"Please, no more teasing." I practically beg just before the door opens and I can hear Carlos's chuckle beside me. He leans his head down just to whisper into my ear.

"Don't worry, I'll bend you over as soon as we enter our room."

I clench my thighs together, feeling how they stick slightly due to the wetness between them. Certain that Carlos will have no issue in just sliding his entire length in after the preparation he has put into it. He has his arm wrapped around me on the way to the hotel room his other already searching in his pocket for our key card. Luckily, he doesn't need more than one try to open the door and as quickly as it opens it closes behind us.

Without waiting any longer Carlos pushes me in the direction of the dresser. Positioning me on the short side, so that I could lay my full upper body on it. For now, I lean on my elbows, but I don't know for how long I will be able to keep myself up. Behind me, Carlos just shoves my dress back up, freeing the lower part of my body, before his belt clicks, showing me that he is undressing himself.

Carlos groans when he lets his slacks fall to the ground, not even bothering to step out of them. "It feels so good to finally do this." He mutters, shuffling his boxershorts down to free his erection. I can feel him step closer, one hand on my back to hold me in place before his feet shove mine wider apart. There is not much teasing involved when Carlos brings his cock between my folds and just pushes in with one swift movement of his hips.

"Carlos!" I moan his name, now being able to do it without the fear of being in a kind of public place.

"Fuck, you're soaked." He groans and doesn't move his hips like he has to feel it for a moment. Carlos's hands find their place on my hips and then he offers me the first thrust. My hips bang against the dresser, probably getting bruised by the harsh contact, but I don't care. With every thrust Carlos shoves his cock deep inside, groaning and moaning himself while I can't do anything but whimper his name over and over again.

"Please don't stop." I whine when his movements get a bit slower, and I fear he is going to tease me again. "Don't worry." Carlos mumbles, leans down and presses a kiss onto my back before he adjusts his stand a bit. Fingers digging into my skin when he pulls me back with every thrust, skin slapping onto each other while the sweat builds up. My eyes roll up when the tip of Carlos's cock nudges against my g-spot over and over again until my thighs tremble. The orgasm which has built up several times already finally crashes down on me, bringing a few tears to my eyes.

"Oh yes, yes." I whimper, fingers clenching around the edge of the dresser, trying to hold onto something while I come around Carlos who pulls my hips back a couple of times before coming inside of me with a low grunt. We stay in this position for a bit, both needing to catch our breath until Carlos carefully pulls his length out.

"Happy Valentines." He mutters and helps me onto my feet. I just lean against him, not trusting my legs anymore and not caring about the fact that we both are a bit sweaty.

"Let's make you ready for bed." Carlos walks me to the bathroom with me, kicking his slacks and boxershorts away from his feet, before he places me on the edge of the bathtub. He helps me to undress and then gets rid of his last pieces of clothing. Together we stand under the shower for a few minutes, cuddling and sharing a kiss or two while washing off the stains of the evening.

"Thank you." I mutter when Carlos wraps me into a large towel. "Everything for you." He promises and pecks my lips. We both get ready for bed, brush our teeth and put some fresh clothes on, before cuddling under the blanket.

"How long did you plan this little thing in the elevator for." I ask him after a few minutes because this is what I asked myself before. It does take him a bit to answer, and I almost think he is asleep before he answers.

"A bit."

Then he adds "Fantasized on doing it and managed to find a way to make it safe for us without any witnesses."

"It was hot." I tell him, even though now I blush. This could have been such a scandal.

"Glad you liked it mi vida." Carlos says and kisses my shoulder before he leans close to my ear, and I am sure he is up to no good.

"Hopefully I will be able to fuck you in one someday. Maybe even without shutting it off." His teeth bite down on my earlobe, and I whimper when he is soothing the pain with his tongue.

"Let the thrill be with us the whole time." And with that, I know that I will have to expect him to go overboard, not only with his love for me, but also with the amount of thrill he is comfortable to feel outside of his racing life.

[theambitiouswoman]

I just realized I have never even spoken about NLP on here so let me share for those who don't know

NLP stands for Neuro Linguistic Programming. It’s a psychological framework that explores how your thoughts (neuro) language, (linguistic) and patterns of behavior (programming) all work together to shape your reality. In simple words it's about changing how you think, speak and act to get better results in life

NLP was developed in the 1970s by Richard Bandler and John Grinder. They studied the most effective therapists of their time. Their goal was to understand what made these communicators so powerful and model their language and behavior so others could replicate their success. They published their findings in books which became core texts in the world of NLP. The one I read is called "Frogs into Princes" for anyone curious

So NLP helps you understand how you brain stores and interprets experiences, recognize and change emotional or behavioral patterns and use language more intentionally to influence yourself and others

For example, if you always procrastinate, sabotage relationships, or replay past failures, NLP gives you tools to interrupt that loop and reprogram how you respond

How it works is first you create a mental or physical trigger to access an emotional state, then you change the meaning of a situation and replace it by creating a new mental image until your brain defaults to the new image. Think "change your mind, change your life"

NLP helps you break limiting patterns and install new ones that move you toward your goals. And the same works when dealing with others

Everyone processes information differently and this affects how we learn, behave and relate to others

It dictates that we experience the world through our five senses, but most of us tend to favor one or two. Visual, Auditory, Kinesthetic and Auditory Digital which means you think in words, logic and internal dialogue

Once you understand how someone represents and filters information, you can tailor your communication to match their learning style, which makes learning, coaching, selling, communicating etc overall much more effective

So for example:

A visual learner could say “I see what you mean”

A kinesthetic person might say “That feels right to me”

By using NLP, you learn to speak people’s internal language, making your message land more clearly

[call-me-strega]

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: chp. 7 (Interlude: Life According to Ellie)

first, prev, next, lore, ao3

~~~

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for a peak at the world through Ellie's eyes.

Or

In which I take liberties with canon and give you a peak at Ellie's backstory.

~~~

Her earliest memories include floating.

Back when she couldn't open her eyes just yet and understand she was in a vat of liquid.

Those days are hazy. She doesn't remember much from them. Not that there was much to remember in the first place.

The most she has of that time are these cloudy impressions of a man's voice, disappointed and begrudging.

Awareness slowly crept into her, her mind filled with basic data copied over from her blueprint. Although she didn't know it at the time, her barely functioning mind wondered if that floating feeling was how it felt to fly.

She knows now that the freeing sensation of flying is not quite the same.

But a small part of her loves taking baths and going swimming. She likes to lean back, her ears submerged muffling the world, and her limbs slightly fanned out.

Sometimes, if she closes her eyes and slows her breath, she can call back that floating sensation from when everything was easy because she wasn't enough of a person to know how hard the world could be.

~

She remembers how nice he'd been at first.

He held her by the shoulders and gave her first name: Danielle.

He taught her everything she knew about the world: science, mechanics, ecto-biology, and all the things in her head she couldn't explain like NASA or school.

He told her place in the world: by his side. Her role was to be there for him. She was to support him, and in turn, he'd take care of her.

She was meant to be his family.

He said she was his daughter. Told her to call him dad.

And she did.

She believed it when he said he cared. She thought it was like those impressions of emotions that carried over from her blueprint. (A man who made mistakes, who was scary at times, but ultimately, who cared.)

In hindsight, maybe that's why it hurt so much when she realized it was a lie.

~

She remembers her intimate familiarity with death.

It was more than just a part of her nature. It was a constant presence.

She remembers how he used to invite her to help him in the lab. How he'd trust her to push buttons or hold important materials. She remembers how she watched helplessly as he spent countless nights in frustration, trying and failing again and again to create another clone.

A brother for her, he claimed.

She watched him face loss after loss. Growing increasingly desperate after each new attempt dissolved away in bubbles of green. The first time she'd seen it happen she'd felt sick to her stomach. She'd wanted to cry, but he had needed her more then. So she let him train her, get his frustrations out with a spar.

It would reassure him, he had said, if he could ensure she could protect herself. That she was stronger than her brothers. That she could beat anyone who got in his their way.

She remembers sitting in front of the cloning chambers after he'd gone back up for the night and finally crying. Letting herself silently grieve all the brothers she would never know.

Perhaps it was that frustration that led her to believe that the panic he had shown the first time she began destabilizing was genuine concern.

Perhaps that's why she believed him when he said the only way to save her was with DNA samples from her blueprint: Daniel.

~

Danielle remembers meeting Daniel, or rather Danny, for the first time. At first, he'd been confused, troubled, by her presence. But despite his frustrations, he was kind. He listened to her. They shared a kinship she'd only imagined having before with her brothers.

He gave her a nickname to match his own: Dani

She remembers thinking how he was everything.

Danny was her cure. Her blueprint. Her namesake. Her key to finally having a stable brother. The origin of all the thoughts and feelings she didn't quite understand. The embodiment of all that he had wanted her to be and a reminder of everything she wasn't.

And after being double-crossed and tossed aside, Danny somehow became even more.

Her "cousin".

Her savior.

Her liberator.

Her protector.

Perhaps one of the only two people in the world who genuinely cared for her at the time.

She remembers how much he cared. All the ways he tried to protect her.

The way he let her go.

Let her fly off into the night because he knew she needed to find herself. To be untethered. To experience the world and learn. To never be chained or used like that again because something deep within her would not allow it. He wanted her to stay but let her go.

She remembers his promise to always be there for her.

And she believed him.

She's glad she did.

~

Dani has memories of traveling the world.

Of exotic locales and exciting adventures.

She remembers the hunger and loneliness that came with independence. The nights she sought out shelter or aid and the cruelty of those who denied it to her. She remembers the faces of strangers who'd lean on each other because they had to but would leave in an instant for something better.

But she also remembers the joy of freedom. The kindness of strangers whose hearts were bigger than their budgets. Those who gave freely without expecting anything in return. Of families forged by experience who often offered her a place to return to.

She often turned them down. She already had a place to return to if she ever wished.

Danny reached out to check on her from time to time. So did Val and the others. They kept her updated. She remembers feeling a surging warmth in her chest each time they assured Dani they kept space for her in their lives.

She remembers visiting on the day they assigned her birthday (Danny's half birthday). She recalls getting a phone to stay in touch and a camera to take photos. She remembers getting hugs, and cake, and an offer to live with Jazz or Danny at one of their places.

She remembers feeling loved.

She remembers when she stopped hearing from Danny briefly. She decided to go back for a visit. To check on her family them.

She remembers that's when things changed.

~

She remembers being angry.

The Idiots in White had been bothering Danny for a while now. He'd been successfully avoiding them at every turn, undermining their operations, and keeping both civilians and ghosts safe. Ugh- why did these guys have to plague them so much?

She remembers being disappointed in herself.

How could she have let them get a jump on her? Those two-bit losers weren't good for much except destruction. Figures they'd resorted to ambushing her in a forest. Another thing she'd inherited from Danny was his inability to let things lie, so when she heard a cry from the forest she decided to check it out.

It had been a trap.

The wails had been from some poor ectopus they'd been torturing with a ghost trap. When she'd gone to free it, they jumped out and hit her from behind with their weapons. She recalls one of them saying they'd been hoping to catch Phantom, but she'd do. Through all her anger and annoyance a small part of her was relieved.

'At least Danny was safe' she remembered thinking.

When she woke up, Dani was in a small box of a containment unit that was keeping her in ghost form.

~

She remembers being scared.

She couldn't turn back. She was stuck. They refused to give her food. Dani was dead, they said. An ectoplasmic being that wasn't even truly sentient. What was the use of wasting food on her when she should be able to sustain herself with ectoplasm?

But she's not a full ghost.

Heck- she's not even a proper halfa!

She's a clone, a Mirrorborn.

She can't generate enough ecto without supplemental energy from an outside source. Usually, that'd be food, another ecto-entity, heck even a particularly ecto-dense area like Amity. But she didn't have any of those things right now.

She only had herself.

She remembers cursing her faulty biology. Danny wouldn't have these problems, nor would any full ghost. Staying in her ghost form ate up her energy faster than she could create ectoplasm to sustain herself while trapped in this cell. She couldn't even use her powers to try and escape it would drain her too fast. At this rate she'd- she'd destabilize again.

She remembered trying to reassure herself. Val knew she had been coming, she'd know something was up when Dani didn't check in. She'd tell the others. Her family Danny and his friends would come looking for her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself, the way she used to on those nights alone in the lab, muttering to herself that they would come.

She remembers growing weaker. Feeling sluggish and heavy as her body began to droop. Her sagging skin turned gray and green as she slowly lost sensation in her limbs. Then, just as the panic and despair began to set in, she heard the alarms and loud crashes.

She remembers the surge of emotion that coursed through her as voices approached. Two unknowns, one that belonged to him, and one more.

She remembers the flood of relief she felt.

It was Danny.

He had come for her. He'd teamed up with whoever he needed to in order to come get her. He was there.

She remembered his voice: Hard with an icy rage, trembling with fear for her, yet confident and reassuring, telling her it would be alright.

She had believed him.

Perhaps that's why even as his eyes grew wild, even as he desperately called her name Dani? Dani! Danielle, come on! Keep your eyes open! Just keep them open Dani- please! Please, Dani! DANIELLE! ELLIE! she still let her eyes fall closed.

Because she trusted him.

She remembers thinking how, even with an ice core, Danny's arms were so warm.

She remembers trying to reach out a melting hand, her destabilization only partially slowed thanks to ecto-dejecto, to caress his cheek. Using the last of her energy to pry her eyes open and give him her patented mischievous smile. She had tried to comfort him.

Dani remembers her last words to him: "Thank you."

Thank you for coming. Thank you for being so warm. Thank you for crying for me. Thank you for caring.

Thank you.

For allowing Dani's last moments to be filled with love.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Danny held a small orb weakly glowing a pale blue color. He clutched it to his torso as tears burned down his skin like acid. He phased the orb into his chest, nestling it close to his heart. He turned in a feral rage towards the agents rushing up behind him. His grief-filled eyes were glowing a toxic green. His canines elongated into fangs that curled into a snarl. His aching hands willed his gloves to become gauntlets that accommodated piercingly sharp claws. His aura grew cold enough to burn. He tilted his head back(this wasn't the first time he'd done it). He took a deep breath, (and he'd do it a thousand more for her). And then, Phantom Wailed.

~

She doesn't remember retreating into her core.

But she does remember being inside of it.

She remembers calloused hands that held her close.

She remembers a gentle voice singing her lullabies.

She remembers soft lips that kiss her carefully.

She remembers a familiar warm embrace, their cores vibrating in harmony.

She remembers the whispers that give her her next name: Ellie.

She's Ellie now.

She slowly grew stronger and she remembered all the things Dani knew. She looked over her knowledge and memories and then thought back to the man who cared for her so diligently. Maybe Dani hadn't known. Or maybe she had and had been scared to acknowledge it.

But she was Ellie now.

Dani knew that Danny could be scary. That Danny made mistakes. That Danny tried to be there for her in whatever ways he could. That he undeniably cared for her.

And as Ellie mulled over this knowledge, she came to a conclusion.

'This,' she realized. 'This is what a real father is like.'

And when she had finally regained enough strength to emerge from her core, albeit with her mind and body now matching the age of her core, the first thing she did was seek him.

The first word she spoke as Ellie, her arms out stretched toward him, unmistakable glee in her voice, had been,

"Daddy!"

.

.

.

Danny held her the young girl who'd called out to him. She was so small. Smaller than she'd been before. Her mind was younger too. But, Danny? He was older now. He had some money now. He had independence from his parents and had reliable allies, both in the Realms and in the mortal plane now. So as he held this young girl in his arms, one who reach for him and called him her daddy, he made a resolution. 'This time,' he promised himself. 'This time I'll take care of you.'

~

Ellie's father had a lot to do even after she woke up. She stayed with Frosty in the Far Frozen while he, Sammy, Tuck, Jazz, and Val dealt with some legal matters in the mortal plane.

Ellie would sometimes get visitors, like the young-old boy-man who smelled like ozone and the old guy with the smokey aura that helped her dad rescue her. When she was a little better her father would take her with him. Sometimes they'd go back to Amity, other times he'd leave her with a sitter while he was off doing some sort of research. She spent time learning about the realms with them. Pandy, Dora, Frosty, and Clockpa were her favorites.

Then one day her dad introduced her to a new ghost, someone she'd never met before.

She was a Neverborn.

A City Spirit.

She was a tall woman. Her hair was an inky black bob that just brushed the string of pearls around her neck. Her skin was a splattery mix of black and white. She wore leather armor around her chest with a bat emblazoned on it. Attached to her shoulders was a short asymmetric cape that's right side ended near her thigh while the left stopped just below her hip. On her lower half, she wore a black sheath skirt with a slit in the side coming just above her knee. It's fabric had a slight multicolored sheen to it, almost reminiscent of an oil spill or a crow's feathers. These were joined at her hips by an art deco belt of interlocking diamonds attached to a buckle with a beautiful geometric design, that had numerous firearms attached to it. In her hands, she held a pike, one longer than Pandora's xyston spear. Her aura was one that was old and well acquainted with misery, yet she felt almost motherly.

She introduced herself as Lady Gotham and offered them tea.

Dad explained that he wanted them to live in Lady Gotham's city. Gotham was rich in both ectoplasm and magic, which would help sustain her even when did wasn't around. Her aura was near ancient and could mask theirs for at least a decade or two. She could protect them, hide them. She could offer them a safe place to live their lives.

She told them her qualifications. She was a well-established spirit in the realms with centuries of experience governing her haunt and exerting power over the mortal plane while still in the Realms. She had layers of protections, including a reputation most mortals wouldn't dare trifle with. Additionally, she had several Knights protecting her mortal haunt, all of varying liminality. Her greatest pride resting in one of the legends Ellie had grown fond of. (Ghosts were prolific storytellers and notorious gossips.)

The tale of Gotham's Red Prince was well known within the realms. One of her knights, whom she loved like a son, resurrected a revenant. As an Avenger. Gotham's claim on him was the strongest among her knights and her love for him was just as great. Many a denizen of the realms has heard of his drive to avenge the unavenged, to bring justice and peace. Many admire him greatly. In fact, Ellie's pretty sure Sidney and GW are part of his fan club.

Danny had also done his own research on the city, he explained to her. Once he had deemed it acceptable and shared his findings with the others. After receiving a seal of approval from the rest of Team Phantom he had come to her.

It would be her home too, her dad said. She deserved a say in it.

Ellie looked back at Lady Gotham once. Then, at the research and photos. And then, she looked back to her dad and nodded.

She believed Gotham could become a home, she told him.

~

Ellie remembers that the first few days were hectic.

Dad was running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything in order. They went shopping, Dad got his job, they moved in with help from Auntie Jazz and Uncle Tuck. Auntie Sammy and Auntie Val couldn't leave Amity unprotected so only the two of them had been there. Auntie Jazz had helped Dad organize and Uncle Tuck set up their documents and security system. They both had to go back after a few days though, each having their own respective internships to get back to.

Ellie was happy though. She got her own room, she already made friends with a nice girl named Sasha, and the air here tasted a bit spicy with all the magic and ecto mixing together.

It was nice. She and her dad finally felt normal.

~

Ellie remembers meeting Jason for the first time.

They'd been living in Gotham for about a week so far. Daddy was on the phone, talking to him, while trying to open the door when they both sense an ecto-entity enter the hall. A prominent aura filled the hall. It's presence was commanding, but it felt comforting too like fire and wood smoke. It held a sense of rightness and Ellie could tell it was probably whatever ecto-entity had claimed the Haunt nearby.

She looked down the hall and her eyes met a pair of blue-green eyes. She looked curiously at the man, quickly realizing he was at the center of the aura that fluctuated with emotion in reaction to her dad's conversation.

A revenant, she concluded. A tad surprised they had run into one so quickly.

And then they kept running into him.

And Ellie couldn't help but think he was pretty great.

Jason always made yummy food for them. He was strong and picked her up easily. He always listened when she was talking and even asked questions. He played with her and read to her and made her feel better when she was sad.

~

Ellie remembered the day her dad had collapsed and how scared she'd been. She remembers the scary look on his face when he had come to get them. But he wanted to help, he had come. So she called him her uncle, that way Sasha's mom would let him through. She remembers how he'd taken them home and looked after her and her dad. She remembers feeling something warm grow in her chest as he awkwardly agreed to her claims that she'd move in with him.

~

She remembers how he sat next to her in the hall the day she locked herself out. How he comforted her and told her about the mistakes he made too. It had made her feel better. If someone as cool and nice as Jason made mistakes, then maybe it was okay. Maybe she wasn't a failure.

~

Now, as Ellie lays in her bed, she thinks back to tonight. She thinks about the gift Jason gave her.

Maybe he thought it was just a pencil case but to Ellie it was proof.

Proof of how nice Jason was. Proof he listened and knew she liked aircrafts. Proof he thought of them even when they weren't around. Proof the he cared. Cared enough to do something like this without needing to be asked.

She smiled into her pillow and thought back to her dad's smile. Recently she noticed the different smiles she barely saw before making their way onto her dad's face. She saw them a lot more now when Jason was around. If Jason made her dad happy, then she was glad to keep seeing more of him. She was happy to be able to claim him as family.

She clutched her blanket tight, and she allowed herself to drift off, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't mind if one day she could call him something other than her uncle.

~~~

That all for now folks! No pressing notices but please feel free to hit me up in the comments. I welcome feedback and constructive criticism!

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 23.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

-

A/n: The scene that is in this chapter is a bit dark and may be a bit ooc, but I think it would be cathartic for Bucky to do this. I personally don't think that Bucky would make many rash decisions like this, but i DO think it kinda fits the character profile of Bucky for this particular moment. Let me know what you guys think!! Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

-

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 22

In the dungeons of the Wakandan Kingdom, Wanda, Clint, T'Challa, and Steve were all standing in front of Jack Rollins. The man was still out of it, his eyes still glowing red as Wanda kept him catatonic, and T'Challa glanced over at Steve as he spoke.

"Isithunzi almost completely destroyed the heart-shaped herb garden, Mr. Rogers."

Steve winced gently, opening his mouth to begin listing off every apology he knew in the book, but was stopped by T'Challa raising his hand to signal for Steve to just listen.

"She is not in trouble...but we have moved her back to the labs for the time-being with Shuri and Mr. Stark. I aim to have the bill sent directly to Stark Industries."

Clint chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he spoke.

"I bet he didn't see that coming."

T'Challa, however, was the one who smiled smugly as he regarded Clint with an 'i-told-you-so' look on his face.

"He was the one who offered to pay."

Clint's smile fell from his face, and they were both interrupted by Wanda humming softly.

"Shall we get started?"

Steve's frown deepened, nodding to Wanda, and she released Jack Rollins from his controlled stupor. His eyes blinked heavily, trying to gather his bearings, and when Jack Rollins was present, his gaze landed on Steve and a sneer spread across his lips and cheeks.

"It seems that we meet again, Captain Rogers."

Steve's body bristled at the man's voice, his blue eyes steeling as he gazed long and hard at him. At first, Steve wasn't sure if he wanted to grace the man with a response, but Steve swallowed his pride to reply back curtly.

"So it seems."

Rollins grinned before glancing around and asking with a cocky tone to his voice.

"I see that Barnes is not with us...couldn't handle seeing his favorite Handler, could he?"

Clint shared a look with Wanda as Wanda's finger crackled with power, her anger rising with his arrogant demeanor and words, and with a gentle touch of his hand on her wrist, Clint calmed Wanda before she took a deep breath to center herself again. T'Challa, however, stayed emotionless the whole time Rollins spoke. Steve replied sharply, shaking his head slightly.

"We're not here to talk about Barnes."

Rollins laughed cruelly, raising his brow a bit.

"Right, right, we're here to talk about my favorite asset, aren't we? That's why you've been hunting me...to make me pay for training and enforcing HYDRA's greatest creation, isn't it?"

Clint quipped, his gaze becoming stern as the softness immediately left his face.

"Don't think so highly of yourself just yet. Makes you look arrogant."

Although Rollins didn't show it, there was a flash of confusion that flickered within his eyes before leaving, and T'Challa finally spoke.

"Where are your operatives hiding within my kingdom? Seeing as you planted someone within, there must be something more that you are wanting other than the woman, no?"

Rollins chuckled, shaking his head as he kicked back the best he could in the chair that he was tied to.

"Now, why would I ever tell you that? I promise you, there's not a single thing that you will know: not now, not ever, and not even with the help of your little witch."

Rollins closed his mouth, his tongue subtly fiddling within the orifice for the false tooth that held a hidden pill of cyanide, but when Rollins found that the tooth was missing, his smirk completely vanished as a sense of dread filled him.

"Look familiar?"

A hand came from around him, a subtle chill going through Rollins as Natasha peeked her head around from behind him, a smirk on her face as she showed the false tooth and cyanide pill that was pinched between her two fingers.

"Oldest trick in the book, but unlucky for you, the most well-known. You're not getting out of this one so easily, Rollins. I'm almost sad you wanted to leave so soon."

Although he didn't show it, Rollins was beginning to grow anxious. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he glared up at them all as Natasha crushed both the tooth and the pill, rendering his final escape useless. T'Challa's face contorted into one of annoyance, repeating.

"I will not be so nice this one final time: Where are your operatives hiding?"

"Fuck you."

Rollins spat out, and T'Challa's eyes flicked to Wanda, who immediately raised her hands. Rollins tried to resist, growling and hissing as he thrashed in his seat, but he was no match for the Avenger's telepathic abilities. His eyes glowed red, and he mumbled out almost robotically as his body relaxed.

"We have a unit hiding within the Serpent's Valley awaiting orders...three are within the kingdom disguised as scientists."

Steve then asked before T'Challa could ask another question.

"Where is the rest of HYDRA?"

Rollins, even though he was under the influence of Wanda's power, smirked just the slightest.

"Spread throughout the globe."

"Exact locations. Now."

Clint ordered, and Rollins' face contorted into pain as he tried to resist. However, Wanda wasn't having any of it. A frown came across her face as her fingers twitched and curled, red tendrils exiting and entering his head repeatedly, and Rollins' whined slightly before he began to list off every location that he knew.

The moment that he finished, Steve waved his hand, and Wanda immediately stopped controlling him. There was a slight bead of sweat running down Rollins' temple, and when Wanda backed away, Rollins immediately began to go on a tirade.

"Just what do you think you will accomplish, huh? You can try all that you want, but HYDRA will always prevail! The Winter Soldiers belong to us, and when they remember, it will be over!"

Steve just turned around and stomped out, unable to listen to Rollins anymore, but his echoing voice made Steve pause for a moment.

"It will never end, Steven Rogers! You can kill all of HYDRA, but you will never kill what we have accomplished! We will be reborn again and again, and there's nothing that you can do to stop it!"

Jack's voice was abruptly cut short, and it was only then that Steve began to walk away again. When Steve finally exited the dungeon, the handle to the door was bent into an imprint of his hand and a crack appeared in the wall from the force of him slamming the door shut.

-BUCKY-

The air around him was cold; freezing him to his core, but nothing like the cold of cryostasis. Snow covered the ground around him, thick and slushed and colored brown from dirt beneath his boots as he stood in the middle of the road.

Although it was nighttime, the moonlight heavy upon him, there was a bright and fiery orange light that flickered before him as Bucky stood in front of a car that was flipped and raging with fire.

He remembered how it happened.

Bucky remembered the order given to follow Doris, to sit and wait for her to pass, to do whatever it took to get the asset back. He remembered how he had stepped behind the rushing car, watching the way Doris' eyes had widened within the rearview mirror at seeing him before the explosive he had shot at the car exploded. He could hear the crunching of metal as the car flipped harshly onto its hood and was set ablaze.

The smell of burning rubber and flesh was impalpable, filling the air like a rotten perfume as the wind blew gently, and Bucky could only watch; trapped in his own mind, his dream, his memory.

The screams of pain were unmistakable; cries of horror and fear echoing around the emptiness of the night, and Bucky remembered that he did not feel anything but empty.

His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, the black smoke blending in with the darkness of the night as it rose to the heavens that neither he nor the asset would ever reach. When the Soldier approached the car, he could hear the woman's sobs clearly as if he was truly here in this moment as if it wasn't a memory but real life.

'Mom?! Mom, wake up! Mom, please! I...I can't feel my legs...I can't breathe!'

The woman was hyperventilating, her legs crushed beneath the dashboard that had caved in from the fragility of the frame of the car, blood gushing around her from the extremity of her wounds. She was folded almost completely, her ability to breathe compromised, and the woman did not seem to notice that he was there. The asset was crying harder, pleading.

"Momma, please wake up! We...we gotta get out!"

The traitor would not respond. The Soldier knew that the second that the car had exploded and flipped that the woman was dead upon impact. Now, all that she had become was a pile of putrid burning flesh, her skin beginning to grow blistered and black as the fire slowly consumed her.

His metal hand grabbed the passenger door, ripping it clean off of its hinges before he grabbed the asset by the back of her neck. Despite her alertness, the bloodloss and pain was making her delirious.

Bucky remembered how she had screamed when he forcefully pulled her from the car, not giving any mind or sympathy for her broken legs. Her screams echoed around him, but the Soldier paid no mind.

Nobody would hear her. Just as it was supposed to be.

In order to ensure the asset was not dead, the Soldier spun her onto her back, her eyes unfocused and wild as she choked and cried.

"Momma...Momma...!"

She would not survive very long, and it would not be acceptable if he failed in his mission. Allowing the woman to drop carelessly onto the ground, the Soldier turned to the car to ensure that the traitor was, in fact, dead before the Soldier grabbed the asset by the scruff of her neck and began to drag her down the street to the waiting vehicle.

He was not sympathetic. He felt nothing for the woman as he carelessly shoved her into the backseat, her moans and whines inciting nothing but indifference to the Soldier who only cared about fulfilling his mission.

Once she was secured, the Soldier slid into the front seat of the vehicle and began to drive to the extraction point, passing the car and never giving it another glance.

He remembered how (Y/n) became sick, choking on her own vomit before she was able to spit it out, but the Soldier did not care, even as the light of the fire disappeared from the rearview mirror.

"Well done, soldier. Bring her inside."

He remembered the emotionless agent gesturing for him to get out when he arrived to the (L/n) residence, his enforcer waiting to escort him to the basement where the lab was situated. The Soldier was carrying the woman, her eyes fluttering as she glanced around tiredly before he placed her upon the table where scientists began to surround her.

He stood by, watching as she became coherent slightly, her voice filled with fear as she whimpered.

'What's happening? Where's my mom?'

One of the doctor's who hadn't been on the project long had looked perturbed when he looked down at the woman, asking the main surgeon who looked annoyed to be in the lab.

'Isn't this Robert's kid?'

The surgeon had waved him off, Bucky watching quietly as he stood against the wall; still and awaiting his next order.

'Go page him. Administer the sedative and begin operation.'

As the doctor prepared, Bucky remembered the way the woman had looked at him finally, asking with desperation.

'Who are you?'

That was when the surgeon became upset, demanding the asset be quieted, and Bucky remembered how he had done nothing; could do nothing but watch the whole time they operated upon her. He watched the whole time they administered the super soldier serum that was specifically tailored just for her; watched the way her legs painfully snapped back into place and healed as they worked.

Yes, Bucky remembered it all.

When Bucky woke up, he woke up with a gasp. His heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through him, and though Bucky wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep; the exhaustion of the last few days catching up with him, Bucky couldn't help but to cry and clutch at his head.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry...I'm so fucking sorry."

He was inconsolable, sobbing hard into the darkness of the room he had taken refuge in before a tendril of red light found him. Bucky glanced down, watching as it brushed against his leg, and the feeling of gentle calmness filled him.

It did not completely wash everything away, the tears still falling, but Bucky was no longer panicking. Wanda's gentle voice within his mind uttered a single word.

"Dungeons."

Bucky knew immediately. His resolve slowly came back, his body tensing, and the man stood up from the harsh cold of the floor. His shoulders were squared, his long hair hanging in front of his eyes before he glared at the door; an inexorable and deep-rooted anger filling his body.

If Rollins wanted HYDRA and the Winter Soldier, then Bucky would give it to him one-last time.

His steps were silent; moving like a ghost through the quiet kingdom as he made his way to the dungeons, and when he entered, it was silent. With Bucky's enhanced hearing, however, he could hear Rollins breathing; his beating heart that was slow as the man dozed.

Bucky's vibranium hand was clenched, his breath muffled by the mask upon his face, and when he arrived at Rollins' cell, he watched as Rollins slowly opened his eyes. A smirk filled his face, his eyes arrogant as the man greeted him.

"Привет, Зимний Солдат." (hello, winter soldier)

Bucky didn't respond. Instead, his hand gripped the door and tugged with enough force to break through; his anger unshakeable and the adrenaline enhancing his pre-existing inhuman strength. Once inside, Bucky tugged the door shut, and turned back to Rollins. Standing before him, Bucky delivered to the man a single statement.

"Пришло время твоего наказания, товарищ." (it is time for your punishment, comrade.)

Rollins' arrogant look was wiped from his face. Instead, an expression of anger came over him, his words hissed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Bucky stated firmly before rearing his fist back.

"Завершаю свою миссию." (I am completing my mission.)

His first connected with Rollins' stomach, the man letting out a gag as he doubled over, and Bucky could not capitulate his assault. In truth, Bucky's mind became empty and quiet as he beat the man; blood covering his knuckles and bones shattering beneath the weight of his fist.

If Rollins shouted in pain, Bucky silenced him swiftly. If Rollins cried, Bucky delivered more blows. If Rollins made a single sound, Bucky was quick to make Rollins remember how silence was the only thing acceptable.

When the man was completely beaten and broken and teetering on the edge of consciousness and passing out, Bucky finally stopped and stood. Tearing his mask off, Bucky's lips were curled back in a sneer, his teeth clenched and nostrils flaring. Rollins, however, let out a weak chuckle as he looked in Bucky's general direction despite not being able to see him due to both of his eyes being swollen completely shut.

"What...makes you think...you can save her?"

Bucky stayed silent, his fists clenching harder and his metal arm whirring and clicking loudly as the plates shifted into a tighter formation.

"You...are no better than we are...you...you dirty slut."

With a swift kick to Rollins jaw, the man was out cold, his jaw broken and hanging limply. His muscles were taut, tightened almost painfully from his anger, and Bucky took a moment to calm his hyperventilated breaths.

"I never said that I was."

Bucky quietly exited the cell, forcing it closed again, and he froze when he felt a presence within the hall with him. Turning his gaze, he found Tony staring at him.

Bucky was silent, regarding Tony cautiously, and Tony slowly stepped towards him and stopped to look into the cell. After a moment of observing the scene, Tony finally looked at Bucky and asked him.

"Did you get it out of your system?"

His tone was flat-no mockery or anger detected. It caught Bucky off guard for a second before the man looked away, muttering after a pregnant pause.

"Yeah....for now."

Tony sighed, but there was no gravity behind it. Rubbing his jaw, Tony hummed.

"Guess it was gonna happen at some point or another."

Bucky shook his head, his voice low as he replied, a strange feeling of being cornered coming over him.

"He deserves worse."

Tony's voice became quiet, agreeing.

"Yeah. Maybe he did."

There was a silence that came between them and stretched for a long moment; heavy, like old scars that hadn’t quite faded. It went on for another minute before Tony glanced at Bucky and forewarned him.

"Listen, Barnes, I get it, but you don't get to lose yourself again. Not now."

Bucky clenched his teeth, offended as he glared at Tony.

"I didn't lose myself. I chose this."

"Yeah, well, that's the part that worries me."

Tony shot back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glared right back at Bucky. Bucky scoffed before spinning around toward the entrance of the dungeons, hissing.

"If you have something to say, Stark, then just say it."

Tony was quiet, ruminating over what to say. After a moment of staring back into the cell, his voice became soft again, stating.

“He said you can’t save her.”

Bucky tensed from his words, his steps towards the door faltering just the slightest.

“You think you can?”

Bucky stopped in his tracks, but didn't dare to turn around to look at the man.

“I have to...if only to amend the things that I've done.”

Tony nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That’s the answer I was hoping for.”

There was no judgement nor venom within Tony's voice, but instead a strange sound of almost understanding and exhaustion, and it made Bucky confused. Staring down at the ground, Bucky didn't know how to respond.

Bucky lingered a moment longer—letting the echo of the past fade before he made his way back to the surface and left Tony standing in front of the cell.

-

STORY NOTES: Wanda, Clint, T'Challa, and Steve are in the dungeons with Jack Rollins. While Wanda continues to keep Rollins under her control, T'Challa informs Steve that (Y/n) almost completely destroyed the heart-shaped herb garden. Steve, feeling guilting, tries to apologize but it rendered quiet by T'Challa. T'Challa informs Steve that (Y/n) is not in trouble, but has been moved to Shuri's lab with Tony. He reveals that Tony offered to pay for the damages himself after Clint tries to make a joke, which makes Clint's jab backfire.

Before the man can become even more distracted, Wanda asks if they would like to begin the interrogation. She releases Rollins from her control, and once he is oriented, he directly addresses Steve. He asks where Bucky is, but Steve is firm in telling Rollins that Bucky is not the point of the conversation. Rollins agrees, instead making a jab at (Y/n), which Clint quickly responds to. Before Rollins can say anything else, T'Challa asks Rollins where his operatives are hiding. Rollins refuses to tell him, and in order not to compromise HYDRA, tries to take the cyanide pill that is within a false tooth. However, he is dumbfounded when the tooth and pill are missing. Natasha reveals that she took the tooth and pill out, remarking that Rollins wasn't going to get out of interrogation so easily.

T'Challa tries to ask him again, but this time, Rollins curses at the king. T'Challa gestures to Wanda, who uses her telepathic ability to force Rollins to tell everyone where his operatives are hiding. Rollins reveals where his unit has hidden themselves, as well as where the planted agents are, and Steve immediately asks where the rest of HYDRA is. When Rollins gives a vague answer, Clint demands the exact locations, and Rollins is forced to answer every location that he knows. When Wanda relinquishes her control, Rollins becomes angry, propagating that HYDRA will never cease to exist and will prevail. Jack is abruptly cut short by unknown means, and the scene changes.

Bucky is having a dream of the memory of him retrieving (Y/n) when he was the Winter Soldier the night Doris and (Y/n) tried to leave for Baltimore. It is revealed that the car they were driving was bombed and flipped, Doris dying almost immediately. (Y/n), however, somehow survived despite both of her legs being crushed from the accident. He remembers how (Y/n) begged for her mother to wake up, and how the fire had already begun to consume Doris' body. He remembers transporting (Y/n) back to her home where Robert's lab was situated, hidden within the basement where many HYDRA agents are waiting. Bucky remembers being present for the whole operation before he finally wakes up from the dream. Bucky immediately begins to cry, apologizing quietly before Wanda reaches out to him with her power, calming him before telling him exactly where Rollins is.

In a moment of rage, Bucky decides to go to the dungeons to confront Rollins, slipping into his Winter Soldier mindset easily (although not truly becoming the Winter Soldier and maintaining his conscious). When Rollins greets him, Bucky asks if he is ready for his punishment, which Rollins immediately becomes enraged. When he asks what Bucky was doing, the man responds by telling Rollins he is completing his mission before beginning to beat Rollins unconscious. It is alluded that this cathartic act of violence goes on for a while, and when Rollins taunts Bucky for one last time, Bucky knocks the man out before leaving the cell. Waiting for him, however, is Tony.

Tony asks if Bucky 'got it out of his system,' and when Bucky flatly replies, Tony subtly dismisses him. Instead, he tells Bucky that while he understands where Bucky is coming from, he doesn't get to turn into the Winter Soldier and 'lose himself'. Bucky denies this, stating that he chose to do this to Rollins, and Tony is quick to respond. The moment becomes heated, Bucky snapping at Tony to say what it is that he wanted to say, but Tony deflects. He asks Bucky if he wants to save (Y/n), in which Bucky confirms. Tony simply responds by saying that he was hoping for that answer before ending the conversation, and Bucky leaves the dungeon, leaving Tony standing in front of the aftermath of his encounter with Rollins. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Isithunzi - Xhosa for [the] shadow/shade

Привет, Зимний Солдат - Hello, Winter Soldier

Пришло время твоего наказания, товарищ. - It's time for your punishment, comrade.

Завершаю свою миссию - I am completing my mission.

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99