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mercy-burning · 2 months ago

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Of Bases & Supernovas

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: You’re a bartender whose hookups keep ending up dead, and he’s an FBI agent who goes undercover as your newest fling to catch the culprit. Category: MATURE (18+) Content: Strong language, violence, kissing, groping, allusions to sex. The smut here is not extremely explicit, but still depicted through heavy space metaphors. Word Count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: If there was ever a man who was sooooo pussy-whipped and stupid around a beautiful woman that he completely risked his job just to Get It On, it would be Doctor Spencer Reid. I wholeheartedly believe that 😂 Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover Writing Challenge ❤️

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As your fingers thoroughly comb through his hair, weaving and tugging and eliciting the most pathetic sounds from his mouth, Spencer Reid briefly reflects on how he got himself in this situation.

Two murders in the last two months, and then a third. Escalation. Bruised, bloody faces and shattered glass lodged into the throats of three single men, all of whom no other obvious connections could be found. Until one finally walked into the station...

Until you.

It was clear soon into your questioning that you didn't kill these men—at least not physically. Somebody seemed to be killing them either on your behalf, or merely for the fact that following the pretty bartender back to her house, and then following her suitors back to their homes, was a simple means to an end. Regardless, the BAU was determined to get to the bottom of it.

And so, the plan had taken shape.

Your teeth take a gentle tug at Spencer's bottom lip, pulling him back into the moment as a powerful surge of lightning courses through his veins. Heat pools in his belly and his pants suddenly feel tighter. He's hard and aching for you.

His hand rests firmly at your chest, groping you through your shirt. You're hard, too, he notices, even through layers of fabric.

He revels in the feel of your firm breasts weighted in his palm and remembers something you said only mere minutes ago in vivid detail. The recent memory allows this—your attraction and desperation for him, lethal to the bone—to feel more real and less like a dream.

"We're in the house now. Everything is secure," he says into his tie. The wire.

"Copy that," Morgan says in his ear.

"So... What now?"

Spencer looks over at you and offers a sympathetic smile. "Now we wait."

You can sense the pent-up, nervous tension in his voice, he just knows it; With the way you arch your eyebrow and take a step closer to him, the way you tilt your head...

"And... What do you suppose we do while we wait?"

Derek snickers in Spencer's ear, already having been highly amused at the situation thus far and definitely planning to tease him for it later.

He stands his ground, though, holding his chin high and channeling his authority and professionalism. "You should get some rest."

"Come on," you press, now standing toe-to-toe. His heart is beating wildly, something tugging at his insides when your hand reaches for his. "You wouldn't be a very good undercover agent if you didn't cover all your bases, now, would you?"

The plan... for Spencer to show up at your bar and for you to take him home. To lure out the unsub. You were assured that it would be safe, and to your credit, you went through the whole plan with ease.

Spencer found it mesmerizing watching you work, to say the least.

You made drinks and talked to strangers and friends alike, moving with a grace that put even the most nimble dancers to shame. If it wasn't for the fact that he was supposed to be looking out for you, you were exactly the type of woman he'd avoid at all costs for fear of making himself look stupid.

But alas. To do his job, there was supposed to be something charming enough about Spencer to make you want to go home with him. At least that's how he thought of it. But really, you were putting in all the work anyway, between refilling his soda and sliding it over with a wink, calling him pet names, and giving him plenty more than a fair share of appreciative once-overs with your glittering, curious eyes...

He convinced himself that your attention was all part of the plan, trying desperately to ignore the overwhelming plague of desire that clung to his beating heart and spread through his bloodstream like wildfire, but ultimately failing.

And then, when you stood before him, in the safety of your own home where the act could end, you only fed the fire and shattered every argument he could have conjured with a singular sentence.

"You wouldn't be a very good undercover agent if you didn't cover all your bases, now, would you?"

Spencer releases a giant breath, resisting the urge to damn it all to hell and kiss you right then and there. Still, you didn't actually, in clear enough words, tell him what you wanted. So he would stall until you did or until you dropped the act and went to bed alone.

"So, you know what bases I need to cover, do you?" he muses, keeping his tone even despite the rapid beating of his heart.

"Damn it," Derek huffs behind the scenes, and then directly to Spencer, "Down, Pretty Boy. Focus, please."

Meanwhile, you're smiling, pulling him in by the wired tie, and telling him, "I know what bases I want you to cover..."

And now, ever the giver he is, he's in the midst of fulfilling that want, the wire and ear peace discarded somewhere in the entryway of your home as the bright echoes of your sultry voice call to him more vividly with each second that follows.

Though, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't being a bit selfish in this pursuit; It'd been so long since the opportunity to sleep with someone had fallen so deliciously into his lap. And despite being on the job and the fact that sex isn't necessarily important enough for him to pursue on a regular basis, you were distracting in just about every perfect, possible way. The burning he had for you was rare. All-consuming.

It was not a smart move by any means, and he'll definitely get shit for it later, but now that he's had a taste of you, he knows he won't stop until he's tasted all of you.

The thought alone pulls the most obscene sound from his lips, which draws you impossibly closer to him as you tilt your head and kiss him deeper. His palm tightens around your breast, and your fingers grip at the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. In an instant, you're shifting yourself to straddle his thigh, moaning into his mouth the second he hikes his knee up just a bit higher to give you more friction to work with.

The warm weight of you grinding on his leg is a sensation that has him feeling way more powerful than he'd like to admit. It's usually rare for him to take a more dominant approach in bed, more than happy to let his partner take the wheel, but the desperation that emanates from your every move and every sigh is feeding something deep within himself... something that aches for your submission.

Spencer revels in that feeling for what feels like hours, drinking up every lazy lap of your cherry-coated tongue, soaking in every press of your body into his own, and committing every sound you make to memory. Soon enough it feels like he's drowning in you and refusing to come up for air as your sweetness fills his lungs.

You break away first, resting your forehead to his and catching your breath as his hands come around to dip into the back pockets of your jeans.

"What do you want, baby?" he sighs roughly into your mouth, the words surprising himself as you shiver into his body, rolling your hips again. The way you're reacting to him is agitating that hunger deep inside, pulling out a seductiveness he hadn't really realized he possessed until you existed in his orbit.

Is this what it feels like, he wonders, to be so lust-drunk on somebody that you'd be willing to embrace the parts of yourself that scare you just to get a taste of them?

"I like the way you make me feel," you confess. You brush your nose over his and swallow, shivering as his hands roam back up the length of your body. "I want you to make me feel like this forever, even after you're long gone and you've forgotten all about me..."

Spencer laughs, unable to help it, his lips quirked up into a delicious smirk. "I have an eidetic memory... I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to."

You laugh back, leaning in to kiss him once more. "Mmm, so not the point, G-Man."

As you smile against his lips and let your hands roam down the expanse of his chest, he has a hard time remembering what he's truly here for. Every moment spent in your presence, so inherently and potently beautiful, chips away at his ability to think logically. Gone is the task at large, the looming anxiety of being bait for a vicious murderer, and in its place is the overwhelming simmering of you—deep in the marrow of his bones, threatening to swallow him whole, and he'd gladly allow it.

"And the point is..." he urges, longing for you to beg him— to hear those fatally salacious words tumble from your equally fatal lips.

You grant his wish, a small shaky sigh of desperation exhaling from you before you whisper hotly against his mouth, "I want you to fuck me."

Spencer doesn't waste any more time with pleasantries, lifting you off his lap and flipping you over on the couch. Your wish is to feel him long after he's gone, and in this moment, with your hungry pleading eyes and your wrists pinned above your head at his mercy, he vows it to be so.

His mouth comes down over yours, hovering, teasing you with a grin and a low hum of amusement before he slurs, "'Atta girl..."

He swallows your whimper as soon as it leaves your throat, finally closing the gap and kissing you once more. Your hands become desperate immediately, tugging at his clothes as you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his heart stutter.

Despite the gentle dominance he's physically displaying with you—even now as he takes to pinning your wrists again, this time at your side—you will never truly know the power you're holding over him inside. Every kiss, every touch, every sigh, is slowly transforming him. Everything about you is altering the chemistry in his very being. And because you're a stranger, because you will soon be only a vivid memory and nothing tangible, he cannot tell you that feeling with words.

But, he can make you feel it.

And so, he fulfills your wishes, base by base.

He takes his time. His hands meticulously undress you, lingering on certain sensitive expanses of skin until you're covered in goosebumps from head-to-toe. He handles you limb by limb, peppering you with kisses and caresses, and after you're finally exposed to him in all your angelic glory, he sits up and admires you as he undresses himself.

He watches as your bare chest rises and falls, your curves and valleys calling to him like a longing wind.

Your eyes are watching him, too, following his hands as he slowly but surely exposes himself to the same air, the same universe, as yourself. It's not that Spencer doesn't particularly think he doesn't belong in the same universe as you, just that it doesn't feel real. You simply don't feel real.

That is, at least, until your bodies finally meet in the middle.

Bare and thrumming with life and fire and starlight, the two of you are inevitable. Bright. Hot.

His arms are strong as they hold you, his hips even stronger as they collide with yours. Spencer's name falls like comets from your lips, a spectacle that grounds him and reminds him of his place in the universe. He works his hips expertly to draw it out of you, touches you like you're the sole reason for everything good and pure and beautiful, and then he's burning.

And you're burning right with him.

Your time together is coming to a close, but not before the grand finale; Your bodies are a supernova, the brightest expression of a dying star. Everything is fire. It's sharp thrusts and taut limbs. You're holding onto each other, knowing the end is near but trying to prolong it.

Even long after the explosion has subsided, your lust settles, remnants twinkling in the air like stardust. It lulls you to sleep, your consciousness floating along a river of stars until all that remains is Spencer's head on your chest, your heartbeat thrumming under his ear.

He tries to relax. He focuses on the rhythm of your heart, letting it clear his mind until he knows what he has to do.

It pains him to leave. His clothes go back on, his hand shakes as it searches for his phone, and his chest heaves in disappointment as he reads the texts of concern that flood his screen.

Still, as he quietly covers your bare body and scrawls you a short, hurried apology on the back of a paper towel, it's like you're begging him to stay longer.

As such, mere visions of you aren't the only thing staking their claim. The sound of your voice rings out, carried by the wind as he steps outside. He knows there is possible danger coming for him now that he's left the safety of your home, but he can't bring himself to be alert. And how could he, really, when you've left him so wrecked—so altered by your perfection?

God, I am in so much trouble, he thinks to himself, sighing and turning a corner.

As if the thought had permeated his brain and tempted the universe, suddenly a sharp pain blasts out of nowhere and knocks Spencer to the ground.

All he knows for a split second is panic and the deep sting of glass, the sound almost as loud as the blood rushing to his head. Warmth—blood—pools at his eyebrow and trails down the side of his face, where your kisses had once lived.

The thought of you, of your predicament and the danger at hand, wipes the panic clean from his nervous system and replaces it with preservation. He tries the best he can to toss the pain aside and deflect another blow, but there's a swift kick to his gut that renders him breathless, and it's becoming harder each second to get the upper hand.

Spencer forces his eyes open, to look at his attacker head-on and gather any information that he can.

All he sees is a blur, a rage-filled man with a shattered bottle in his hand as he comes down for a final blow.

And then, the shot fires.

The unsub falls, and Spencer guides him to the side, unwilling to be blanketed by him. He's still alive, squirming and yelling, and looking everywhere for the glass that had fallen and shattered in the echoing aftermath of the gunshot. The pain in Spencer's head is so strong he barely even registers the cuts that mar his palms and knees as he apprehends the man.

Not even a second later, hands are pulling him away and checking him for injuries, Derek's voice cutting through the chaos as he cuffs the unsub.

"Hope she was worth it..." It comes out as a tight, irritated huff, though when he gets the unsub up off the ground and hands him over to someone else—one of the officers from town—he and Spencer lock eyes, and there's a brief pause before Derek breaks out into a small laugh.

"How much trouble am I in?" Spencer asks, and he can hear Emily snicker beside him as she looks at his cut-up hand.

"I think we'll leave that answer up to Boss Man over there," she says, nodding towards Hotch.

Spencer looks at him, his stomach dropping when he sees how pissed he looks.

Still, your phantom touch lingers, calming him through the rest of the evening, through the berating and lecturing and the empty threats of suspension, through the snickers and teasing pats on the shoulder from his friends, and even through his restless attempt of sleep in the motel.

The only thing that puts his mind at ease is you. Your memory offers comfort, especially knowing he will be able to say goodbye to you and follow-up with the end of the case tomorrow morning. And though it pains him to think of leaving you behind, it would pain him more to have left in the middle of the night like he did without seeing you one final time and issuing a proper goodbye.

As pathetic as it sounds, he falls asleep imagining what your goodbye will look like—what it will feel like. He remembers the smell of you, the planes of your body shivering gloriously under his hands, and your arms as they curl over him, drawing him closer and keeping him there.

Before his final breath into slumber, he thinks to himself, Yes, she was entirely worth it. All of it. Every last second.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #mercy after hours #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader smut

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

Note

heyyyy, how are you doing???:)

so I've been seeing a lot of bllk x fem!reader fanfic yk those typical "sneaking in" and "dressing up as a guy" to fit in blue lock. may I request about what the blue lock 11 starters' reaction would be when they found out? i can picture isagi making up different possible scenarios as to how reader hasn't been found and lock off by ego considering he's very VERY meticulous with every player's information? please don't mind this request if you're uncomfortable ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ thank youuuu, have a nice day:)

“𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬”

a/n: heyyy, i'm doing good! i hope you are as well, pretty

thank you for the request, this was more fun to write than i expected!

(art credits go to kaziris_ on x)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, aryuu jyubei, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, niko ikki, gagamaru gin

isagi yoichi

spirals. immediately.

“wait. no. that’s not – wait. how?? ego checks everything. he runs background checks, medical records, locker room rotations –"

cue isagi pacing like a madman at 2 AM trying to piece together how you avoided getting caught.

at one point he’s literally scribbling plays on a whiteboard like it’s match analysis: “okay, so if she never showered when anyone else was around, and faked voice cracks at key points… wait. WAS THAT WHY YOU NEVER CHANGED IN FRONT OF US???”

he’s not mad. he’s actually kind of amazed.

"you're like... the greatest tactical deception of blue lock."

itoshi rin

“... i knew something was off.”

lies. he did not know anything. he’s just salty that you were better than him in the last scrimmage.

lowkey respects your ability to deceive the system. no one else could’ve pulled it off.

“well, if you're still here, guess it doesn’t matter. just don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you're a girl."

surprisingly neutral, but his eyes linger on you more often now.

nagi seishiro

“oh. huh. that’s why your hands are so soft.”

not phased in the slightest.

honestly thinks it’s kind of cool that you tricked everyone. “that sounds like a pain. but also kinda genius.”

keeps accidentally calling you “dude” out of habit and then awkwardly correcting himself: “uh. dudette? nah that sounds weird…”

karasu tabito

laughs SO HARD he literally cries.

“bro. BRO. you mean to tell me you were out here breaking ankles and gender norms???”

starts making up fake backstories about how you smuggled a fake mustache into the dorms or used voice-changing tech.

100% wants to know how you did it. every detail. for science (and blackmail).

otoya eita

the flirt switch FLIPS IMMEDIATELY.

“so you're saying i wasn't crazy for thinking you were kinda hot?”

annoyingly smooth about it. calls you “princess” just to see you get flustered.

absolutely refuses to stop flirting. even more now.

“if you needed help keeping the secret, you could’ve asked me. i’m great at keeping things under wraps, baby girl.”

yukimiya kenyu

dramatic gasp. glasses off. slow-motion blink.

“you… you’re a her?”

the poetic side of him kicks in: “like a rose blooming in a battlefield…”

would never admit it, but he starts fixing his hair more often around you now.

supportive as hell though. tells you he respects your drive and the risks you took.

aryuu jyubei

strikes a pose and fans himself with his own hand. “mon dieu… the betrayal… you mean to say… all this time… i wasn’t the only icon here???”

says you’ve raised the standard of beauty and elegance in blue lock.

insists on giving you a makeover “to match your true self,” even if you’re like, “bro please no.”

might actually fight otoya for flirting too much.

bachira meguru

gasps in dramatic anime fashion.

“NO WAY! you’re a GIRL?! THIS IS AMAZING!”

he’s totally hype about it. takes it as a challenge, like, “you were able to sneak by the whole blue lock team?? you’re a legend, let’s be best friends forever!”

starts calling you “mystery girl” and constantly refers to you as his “partner in crime.”

“i knew you were special, but this is next-level. no one can keep a secret like that and still play like a monster!!”

chigiri hyoma

goes very still. blinks. stares.

“... wait. you're serious?”

he has a lot of emotions. probably more than he expected.

part of him’s like, “hell yeah. girl power.” and the other part is like “oh no she’s hot.”

quietly covers for you when needed. he gets what it’s like to be underestimated.

niko ikki

poor boy.exe has stopped working.

you tell him and he literally just stares with wide eyes like a deer in headlights.

doesn’t know what to say for the longest time. then mutters, “i... always thought your voice was kinda nice.”

gets super flustered afterward and avoids eye contact for three days straight.

gagamaru gin

“HUH???”

pure confusion. “but… you tackled me last week. and cursed at me. in a super deep voice. i thought you were just… intense?”

he's like a golden retriever trying to understand algebra. but he means well.

“wait does this mean we weren’t supposed to share toothpaste???”

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halsteadlover · 4 months ago

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by @dandelionfairyyy: Where Jay and reader accidentally hook up, but happen to need to work together so he tries to talk with her about what happened, but she just wants to avoid and forget it. That turns out into a fight, until it bursts out of her like “I am terrified you’ll say it was a one time thing!” With lots of fluff in the end?

• Warnings: curse words, sex (there are just few scenes in the flashback but they are descriptive so READ ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+) and I don’t know what else honestly let me know if I missed any lol

• Word count: 3995.

• A/N: I don’t know what to think about this one to be fair 😭 I hope you’ll like it please give em your feedback if you want! I’m trying to get back to writing so I hope to post as many fics as possible. Love you all ❤️

The sun’s rays hit your eyes through the window’s cracks, making you blink several times.

You looked around.

The unfamiliar ceiling made your senses go on high alert, momentarily disoriented and confused about where you were. You sat up in bed, a single sheet covering your naked body and that was enough to bring back all the memories of last night like a raging river.

You froze, afraid to make any kind of movement or even to turn your gaze to the person lying on that bed next to you. But you didn’t need to see that figure lying with his back to you, also naked.

How the hell did that happen?

How did you end up in bed with Jay Halstead?

Memories after memories of the previous night continued to play over and over in your mind. It was a mess, a complete mess but it was the most beautiful night of your life.

You tried not to cry.

How could you go on after this? How could you work with him and pretend like nothing happened? Pretend you weren’t madly in love with your coworker who you happened to have sex with?

You turned to Jay, noticing with relief he was still asleep, since you weren’t able to face him especially at that moment.

A smile appeared on your lips even though you couldn’t see him as you tried to suppress the desire to get closer to him, to caress his hair, leave kisses on his face, to hug him like you always wanted.

For a moment, a single moment, you let yourself wander in the illusion you two were a couple. That he’d soon wake up and pull you into his arms, preventing you from moving and going anywhere, that eventually you’d get out of bed and make breakfast together, you only wearing one of his shirts, and then getting ready and go to work together.

You let out a sigh and got out of bed, still sore and trying to be as quiet as possible. You quickly got dressed and you casted one last glance at the man who had made you lose your mind so much before leaving, not knowing if you’d ever be able to have this sight again.

That night had changed everything.

You didn’t know how you’d manage to keep your feelings at bay from now on, especially since you two worked together and you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You always had feelings for Jay, ever since you had joined the team. You had established a deep relationship from the beginning and, given the nature of your work, you found yourselves working together very often and very close. This had led you to often confiding in each other, spending time together, to establish a friendship that inevitably on your part had transformed into something else.

You never had the courage to confess your love, not wanting to risk losing your beautiful friendship. It was important to you, he was one of the most important people of your life, so you did nothing but look at him from afar and imagine a future with him that would never happen.

You immediately dove into work as soon as you arrived at the Unit, trying to keep your mind occupied and not think about Jay and the amazing night you had.

“I want you so fucking much,” he whispered as his lips captured yours in a breathtaking kiss. His arms wrapped around your hips, pulling you as close to his body as possible while your hands were in his hair.

His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as your lips moved in sync, as if this was always meant to be. He pushed you against the wall as his hands roamed every inch of your body he could reach, hungry, longing to touch your skin.

“Oh my god Jay please…” you sighed with pleasure when his lips moved to your neck, making you arch your back as he started sucking and nibbling on a particular spot that was making you lose your mind.

“Yeah baby, I can’t wait to hear you scream for me…”

“Y/n!”.

Kim’s voice brought you back to reality, making you wake up from the memories of the previous night that were haunting your mind.

How could you move on from that? How could you work when everything reminded you of him?

“Huh? What?”.

“I asked you if you wanted coffee?” Kim asked again with an amused tone. “What has you so lost in your thoughts today?”

If only you knew, Kim.

You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible, not wanting to give away any clues as to what had happened. The last thing you needed was for the rest of the team to find out you and Jay had sex, since they already didn’t give you a break.

“You two should be together, I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

“You look so cute together such a beautiful couple!”

“How can you say there’s nothing between you and Jay? Have you seen the way that man looks at you? Or the way you look at him? C’mon.”

And this happened almost everyday. Single. Day. And imagine being in love with your coworker and hearing your other coworkers saying this. Let’s just say it wasn’t helpful at all.

You nodded, smiling. “Thanks.”

You got up and went to the break room with her, where you chatted for a bit waiting for the rest of the team to arrive.

When Jay arrived at the Intelligence, a look of disappointment crossed his features as he noticed your jacket hanging on your chair, meaning you were already there.

He couldn’t help but be disappointed and confused, not expecting to not find you the morning after you had sex. He couldn’t suppress the feeling of anxiety that gripped his stomach, having no idea how you’d react and what to expect.

Were you going to pretend nothing happened? Or tell him not to talk to you ever again?

The thought immediately broke his heart and made his insides tighten even more. He didn’t deny what had happened, it had been nothing short of the best night of his life.

He went to the break room, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat as he saw you sipping your coffee and talking to Kim in the meantime. The air suddenly became heavier, almost suffocating as you both pretended the other didn’t exist if it wasn’t for the initial glance you had thrown at each other.

A tight feeling in your stomach made you almost drop the cup from your hands when your eyes fell on him. He was as beautiful as the sun, dressed all in black with a sweater that fit him perfectly and showed off his muscles and a pair of black jeans that fit perfectly around his hips and along his slender legs. Once again, the memory of all the moments spent with him the night before invaded your mind.

Kim was the first to speak to him. “Good morning Jay. There’s some coffee left if you want.”

You used every fiber of your body to divert your attention from him, taking a sip of coffee as you felt your cheeks heat up and get redder with every second that passed.

You were nervous.

You didn’t know how to act and you hated it, you hated not knowing what to do especially with Jay, with one of the closest people to you, the person you were secretly in love with.

But you were just afraid that after sex he’d end it, you were afraid of losing him and your friendship. Because as much as it hurt to just look at him from afar, you would’ve preferred a life of just friendship than not having him in your life at all.

“Oh yeah thanks, I need it after last night,” he replied in a calm tone and hid a smirk when he saw you cough as you choked on your coffee.

Asshole.

Kim chuckled, pouring some coffee into a clean cup and then handing it to Jay, who continued to look at you sideways waiting to get your attention.

“What happened last night?” she asked curiously.

Jay shrugged. “I just didn’t get much sleep,” he replied, skipping over the part where you’d spent most of the night fucking.

“I’m going to finish the case report from yesterday,” you said before putting your cup down and walking out of the break room, suddenly feeling suffocated by Jay’s presence. You knew Kim immediately understood something happened, you blatantly gave it away but you didn’t care, you just wanted to get away.

Your eyes met Jay’s for a second, just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send shivers down your spine and make your stomach twist in a knot.

You let out a sigh and headed towards the bathroom in an attempt to calm yourself down.

As you placed your hands on the sink, you took a few deep breaths. You hadn’t even spoken to him and he’d left you in a whirlwind of emotions you didn’t know which one to listen to first.

The previous night kept replay in your mind over and over again, and you couldn’t help but think how much everything had changed in the span of not even 24 hours.

You couldn’t look at him like he meant nothing, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t crazy in love with him, that just seeing him didn’t make your knees weak and heart race.

You were sure of your feelings but you weren’t sure of his. What did he think? How did he feel?

You didn’t have a chance to talk and it was killing you. Not knowing. The truth, though, was that you were terrified of talking to him. You knew you had to but the possibility of hearing he didn’t feel anything for you besides physical attraction and what had happened between you was only sex, paralyzed you.

You rinsed your face with some cold water before drying yourself with a paper towel, throwing it in the trash. Your breath caught in your throat when you exited the bathroom and your eyes met those green ones you were so obsessed about.

He was looking at you so intensely as if he wanted to read your mind and soul.

“Why are you avoiding me Y/n?” His voice was a mix of amusement and resentment and your stomach dropped at least ten stories.

You looked down at your shoes for a moment before looking at him again. “I’m not, why should I?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” he began, taking a step toward you. You took one back in return. “Maybe because you ran away before I woke up or the fact you haven’t even looked at me since I got here. You didn’t even say good morning.”

“I’m sorry Jay, I’m just busy and Voight will have my head if I don’t finish those case reports in time.”

He took another step forward and you took another step back, until your back hit the wall and there was no way you could run away.

“I don’t give a fuck about those reports,” he spoke and despite his low voice his words ran through your body like a knife. And the way his scent hit you fully didn’t help either.

God, I want him so much.

Jay was so close to you, you had to slowly tilt your head back to look at him. Anyone passing by would’ve seen you but it didn’t seem to matter to him, his attention focused solely on you as his eyes scanned every inch of your face.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, you tried to control your breathing but it was no use, Jay’s presence was too much for you to even form a coherent thought.

“Jay, someone can see us.”

“Why did you leave?” He pressed on, completely ignoring your words. His gaze kept roaming over your face, occasionally lingering on your lips, and it was enough to make your knees weak.

“Why do you care?”

“Excuse me?” He furrowed his brows, looking at you as if you had said something blasphemous. “Why do I care? Are you serious? You’re the one avoiding me and you have the courage to ask me why do I care?”.

“Listen…” you took a deep breath and placed your hands on his chest to push him away, trying to ignore the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago your hands were on his bare chest as you rode him on his bed.

His hands palmed your breasts, squeezing them between, his fingers pinching your nipples as you kept riding his dick, letting him penetrate you so deeply, you could almost feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful, you drive me crazy,” he panted, his expression twisted with pleasure as he looked at you with such intensity it almost made you falter. Your hands were resting on his chest as they helped you gain leverage, your nails pressed hard into his perfect skin.

“Oh my God yes like that… You’re gonna make me come so hard Jay.”

He moved his hands down from your breasts to your ass, squeezing and slapping it so hard the force made you lean forward. His hips moved with yours and his mouth took over yours, in a kiss that left you completely breathless.

The thought alone made you blush and you prayed he wouldn’t notice but from the way he was smirking, you knew he caught you.

You immediately removed your hands, as if you were burned. “We have a job to do okay? We’ll talk later.” You continued before walking away and leaving him standing there, without giving him a chance to reply.

You knew you were being immature. A grown-up would’ve faced it, damn it everyone has sex, but you weren’t ready to hear Jay say it had been a mistake, that last night would never happen again.

The whole day went like this, you looking for any excuse to avoid Jay and him trying to push you at every possible moment. Luckily, a case had come up so you managed to keep yourself busy for most of the day and, above all, stayed away from him.

Despite this, however, he was always there. His eyes were always on you, you felt them whenever you were, trying to read inside you, you felt them on you every time you moved. His presence—even though he was far away from you—was overwhelming, filling every single space and inch of your mind.

You thought you had managed to avoid him for the day but when—shortly after you got home—you heard your doorbell ring, you immediately realized you’d claimed victory too soon.

Before you even looked through your peephole, you knew it was Jay and a pang gripped your stomach when you saw him through the peephole, still in his work clothes exactly like you, handsome and breathtaking as always.

You sighed deeply, knowing it’d be no use avoiding the inevitable. You had to be an adult and deal with what was coming your way.

You opened the door, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart that was so loud you could almost feel it leaping out of your chest. Jay’s eyes traveled down your body before landing on yours.

“Are you done avoiding me like the plague?” he asked sarcastically but with a less than happy expression.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you lied through your teeth and he snorted loudly before rolling his eyes and making his way into your house, not even waiting for your invitation.

I guess we really need to talk and he’s not leaving until we do.

“Y/n I’m getting tired of this game,” he snapped, the neutrality of his features now gone, giving way to anger. “You want to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

You sighed and closed the door behind you before walking towards the living room, him following you. “I’m sorry… It’s just…” You took a deep breath again, trying to gather all your thoughts.

“It’s just what? You regret it? You could’ve said that instead of acting like a child and avoiding me!” His voice slightly rose, his breathing quickening. “I’ve lost my mind all day trying to find an answer for your behavior! I—I thought we had a good time…”

“I did have a great time Jay oh my god… And of course I don’t regret it! How could I?! I just needed time to think!”

“Think about what? For fuck’s sake Y/n it’s me! I’m not a stranger you know you can talk to me about everything!”.

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, damn it!” You raised your voice too. “I was scared!”

“Speak up then! For fuck’s sake stop saying these half-assed sentences, you’re driving me crazy!” He went completely nuts, hands waving in the air as he let out all the frustration he was holding in. “Scared of what?! What the hell were you thinking about?!”

“Scared you’d tell me it was just a one time thing!”

Jay’s expression quickly changed to one of confusion and then pure shock.

“I didn’t want to face you because I was afraid it meant nothing to you… Shit, Jay… I wasn’t ready to hear you say it was just sex or… Or a mistake.”

At that point you were a raging river, uncontrollable. You couldn’t control your thoughts and the flow of words that were coming out of your mouth. “Because it wasn’t just sex for me. Fuck, I’m in love with you Jay, I’ve been for years, but I… I don’t want to get hurt and I know that would’ve happened if we had talked, that’s why I was avoiding you. I’m so sorry for how I acted but I… I’m just scared shitless of losing you and I’m not ready for—”

You suddenly stopped talking when he grabbed your face and pressed his lips to yours.

You froze for a moment, in disbelief of what was happening. You would’ve expected anything, shit you were already preparing yourself for the humiliation you’d feel hearing him say he didn’t feel the same for you, but this… This was beyond your imagination.

It was everything you hoped for, everything you desired.

You wrapped your arms around his chest, pressing your fingers into his back in an attempt to pull him closer. Your lips moved spontaneously against his, mimicking the same hunger, longing and frustration. It was messy, desperate, a kiss full of the words and unspoken feelings.

He slightly groaned against your mouth, as if he had been waiting for this moment all his life, deepening the kiss more and more. His slightly trembling fingers continued to cup your face, tilting your head for a better angle. There were no words to describe what you felt in that moment—that moment with him. Him, who tasted like coffee, like something warm and addictive, like the flavor that made you lose your mind and forget all sense of reason.

It was intoxicating. Him, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you, with so much passion and voracity as if he wanted to express what he had not been able to say with words.

When you finally pulled away, Jay rested his forehead on yours, close enough to brush your lips with his again. “Please don’t cry baby,” he whispered, pulling away from you just enough to wipe your tears with his thumbs. You were so emotional you hadn’t even realized it. “I can’t stand it, I don’t want to see you like this, especially because there’s no reason to.” He pressed another kiss to your lips, resting his forehead on yours again. “It wasn’t a mistake, I never thought that for a second,” he continued as his breath tickled your lips. “And it sure as hell wasn’t just a one time thing.”

You slightly pulled your head back, just enough to look into his eyes and you noticed the way his green irises almost obscured by his dilated pupils.

God, he was so breathtaking.

Your heart tightened in your chest. “But… But you—” you stammered like a complete idiot. “You never said anything.”

“Do I have to remind you you were the one avoiding me?” he replied sarcastically. “But to answer your unspoken question, I didn’t do it before because I was scared too. I had no idea how you felt and I was terrified of losing you. You mean everything to me, more than you realize. And the thought of messing this up, of ruining us—” He shook his head, letting out a small, breathless laugh. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you. But if I had known—if I had even guessed you felt the same way—I never would’ve wasted so much time baby.”

You opened your mouth to talk but nothing came out. Your brain was short circuiting, you weren’t able to form a single coherent thought.

Was this really happening? Or was it just a hallucination? It had to be the latter, you must’ve been hit your head.

He chuckled at your reaction before pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, before kissing your nose. “You ruined me,” he whispered before kissing your lips again. He kissed you more slowly this time, with a gentleness that almost made your legs give out.

He kissed you as if it was his first breath of air after so much time underwater, as if you were his lifeline. He held you as if he was truly afraid you’d walk away, his lips moving against yours in a sensual dance that neither of you wanted to end.

His fingers tangled in your hair—while his other hand gripped your jaw—and he pulled your head slightly, tilting it just right and you almost fainted. God, the way that man made you lose your mind, how crazy he drove you, it was something you’ve never experienced in your life.

When you pulled away, you were both breathless, your lips still tingling and longing for his. He looked at you for a moment, with so much intensity and so much adoration you would’ve paid an organ to always see that look in his eyes.

“God…” he whispered as his fingers caressed your face. “I love you.”

Your heart stopped beating for a moment.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, completely in shock. “Huh? What?”

He laughed, and he was so unbelievably and unfairly beautiful it hurt. His thumb continued to caress the side of your jaw, firm but gentle at the same time. “I love you, I’m in love with you. Quite for a while now.”

Something inside you bursts—a relief so overwhelming you could cry. Instead, you laughed—bright, breathless, disbelieving. “I—You… Holy shit… You love me? You?” You pointed your finger at his chest. “Love me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckled, grinning from ear to ear. “I love you. And, man, it’s such a relief to finally say it.”

You barely gave him time to breathe before you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him again, like your life depended on it. He stumbled back with a startled laugh but caught you easily, holding you tight against him as if he’d never meant to let you go.

When you broke apart, you pressed your forehead to his, making him smile so softly it made your chest ache.

“So,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, “Can we finally stop this avoiding crap? We have a lot of time to make up for.”

You giggled, eyes shining from tears as you nodded your head. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

Jay smiled, then kissed you again and again—slow, sweet, like you had all the time in the world.

And for once, you let yourself believe in happy endings.

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chanandlersstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Director and Actor

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Story summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Chapter summary: Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving. They stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, of what they could’ve been.

Word count: 9.464

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and devastation, like someone opened your chest and ripped your heart out.

Author’s note: Hello hello again, thanks a lot for the paitence, again, and the love I've been reciving for the series.

It's been a while, since...I actually don't remember, almost a year I think, but better late than never I guess (?.

As I said before, I strugle a lot with writing when I don't have the right motivation and I start and left fics, I finished one in my native language, I picked up fics that were long forgotten and two days ago all the inspiration in the world hit me all at once and I finished this part and gave enought fuel to start the next one.

With that being said, enjoy, don't hate me too much, nor them, hehe. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part // Next Part →

Beginning of August 2021. The show must go on.

The air on set was electric, but no in the way it used to be. It was heavier now. Dense. Suffocating. Every word spoken felt too loud. Every silence lingered too long.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a lightsaber and everyone felt it. The director and the star didn’t speak anymore. Not like before.

There was no more coffee waiting on her desk, nor tea waiting to be brewed in the kitchen. No shared breakfast. No jasmine scent wafting from his coat after he dropped by to say hi. No quiet laughs between takes, no whispered “Bubble” or “Starboy” in the quiet spaces between chaos.

Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving.

They hadn’t spoken properly since the training session in the stunt room, the one where she almost kissed him. Or he almost kissed her. Or maybe they both did. It didn’t matter, because he pulled away.

Since then, everything has been different. But it wasn’t like they didn’t see each other, because they did. Every day. Every take. Every meeting. Every briefing. They were professionals after all.

He showed up on time, hit his marks, delivered every line. And she directed with surgical precision, addressing him only when it was absolutely necessary.

Hayden looked at her. All the time. Even when she wasn’t looking at him. Especially then. His eyes found her without thinking, searching for something familiar, some sign that she was still there, that she hadn’t completely closed herself off.

But she had. Not out of cruelty. Or pride.

She avoided him because it hurt too much to not avoid him. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, not since that day, the day she felt everything shift.

The day she let herself believe that maybe… maybe he felt it too. Maybe it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the late-night talks and the thoughtful gifts. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was something worth risking.

And then he pulled away.

Not violently. Not harshly. Just gently. Like a door softly clicking shut.

And he hadn’t said a word since.

She tried to hold on to her pride. To the professionalism she’d worked so hard to master. She was the youngest director Lucasfilm had ever trusted with a project this big. She was a woman in a world where that still meant fighting harder to be heard. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

But her heart was broken.

And worst of all, she was ashamed of it.

Ashamed that she let it happen. Ashamed that she cared so deeply. Ashamed that despite everything, a part of her still wanted him to look at her like he used to. Still wanted to hear his voice say her name, soft and warm like tea on a cold day.

And he did look at her.

That was the worst part.

She could feel it.

Across the set, in the silence of production meetings, during takes, his eyes found her, heavy with guilt and something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

But he kept his distance. Because she did. Because her silence was sharp, and her avoidance louder than any confrontation. And he honored that space, even if it killed him.

The crew noticed. Of course they did.

It wasn’t just the absence of laughter or private jokes. It was the way she stood a little straighter when he walked into the room, how his eyes tracked her every move with sadness on them. The static electricity that sparked when they were accidentally forced into the same space. Everyone tiptoed around them now, like something fragile was about to break.

“You two good?” Ewan asked one afternoon, voice low, brows raised as he stood beside Hayden after a particularly quiet rehearsal.

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He watched her across the room, where she was giving the DOP some notes, her voice soft but her shoulders tight. “We’re fine,” he muttered eventually, jaw clenched.

Ewan didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did anyone else because it was a lie, one he told too easily now.

The day had been heavy for her, everything that could go wrong that day, it did. So as she sat in front of her screen, her headset buzzed with feedback, and her clipboard was shaking slightly in her hands.

She just needed to sleep, to properly sleep, which she had not been doing lately. Because every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that training room, heart pounding, lips parted, breathless, right before it all fell apart.

The AD called, the actors took their places, her eyes glued themselves to the monitor and his on her.

“Rolling.”

She took a deep breath. “Action.”

But moments later, she had to call it.

“Cut,” she called sharply. “Let’s go again.”

Again. And again. And again.

They did six takes. Each one more unbearable than the next. By the fourth the actors started to feel it. Her voice cracked a little by the fifth. By the sixth, the cinematographer glanced her way with a quiet, almost pitying look.

“Let’s take five,” she said, spinning on her heel before anyone could speak.

She disappeared into the narrow corridor beside the soundstage. Bracing herself against the wall, her head hung low and her breathing was shallow, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months. She wouldn’t cry now. Not for a scene that didn’t seem to work. Not for the wrong delivery of lunch for the crew. Not for the fucking cold bitter coffee she drank in the morning. And definitely not for a man who pulled away.

Not for a man who looked at her like she meant everything, then acted like she was nothing.

No matter how hard she tried to act like she didn’t care, she did. She cared too much. Still. And that infuriated her.

Her heart was bruised and swollen with everything she didn’t say.

Why did you pull away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe in something you weren’t ready for?

Her hands trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go back where they came from.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, quiet. Hesitant.

She froze. Her shoulders tensed.

“You need something?” she said, voice sharper than she meant, brittle like glass. But she couldn’t help it. She was too full.

Of sadness. Of anger. Of everything.

Hayden exhaled. “We need to talk.”

She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “Now you want to talk?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

Silence stretched between them. He looked at her like she was the only thing he saw and she…she glared at him.

The coldness in her eyes stopped him mid-breath, freezing every word in his throat. Because whatever he had come there to say, whatever apology, confession, excuse, died on his lips the moment her eyes found his.

She didn’t have to say a thing. He felt it.

The hurt. The betrayal. The disappointment.

And still, she didn’t look away.

She held his gaze like the lightsaber he taught her to wield.

And somewhere beneath the ache in her chest, beneath the heat rising to her cheeks and the storm of emotions fighting to spill from behind her ribs, she reminded herself of something.

Of him, actually.

Of one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever received, wrapped in silence and sincerity months ago when everything was still soft and new between them. The perfectly placed frame in her bookshelf.

"The show must go on. Come rain, come shine, Come snow, come sleet. The show must go on."

And so it would.

She blinked once, and the emotion in her eyes vanished like smoke.

He watched, helpless, as the woman he missed, the one who laughed with him over tea, who tucked pens in her hair and called him Starboy and Moose, was replaced by her again.

The director. Professional. Precise. Unshakable.

“The five minutes are up,” she said, tone clipped and unreadable. And without another glance, she stepped past him, steps firm on the floor, head high, spine straight.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t stop her.

Because how could he, when she was doing exactly what he reminded her to do? Putting the show first. Carrying on. Even when it broke her.

Even when it broke him.

He turned to watch her disappear down the hall, swallowed by shadows and silence. Not being close to her was punishment, one he knew he deserved every second of it.

Mid of August 2021. How did it end? I can’t pretend I understand.

The set was stripped bare, props cleared, lights off, the chaos of production long gone for the day. Only the golden spill of late afternoon sun filtered in from the open bay doors, warming the edges of the metal scaffolding and stretching shadows across the concrete floor.

She was still there. Alone in her chair.

Her legs were curled underneath her, hands resting in her lap, a red pen twirling idly between her fingers. The black canvas of the director's chair framed her like a quiet portrait, serene on the outside, storming on the inside.

Hayden had only come back to grab a script he’d left behind. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the second he spotted her, still and soft in the quiet, something in him shifted.

He shouldn’t but he did.

His feet moved on instinct, slowly across the floor. Easy, careful. His steps were light, like approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if startled. He didn’t want to spook her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain.

He just wanted to be near her.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low enough to not echo. “You alright?”

She startled slightly, lifting her head from the open binder in her lap. Her expression was tired, guarded. “What? Why?”

“You’re scrunching your nose.”

Her hand moved before she could stop it, fingers tracing the slight curve between her brows. “So?”

He gave a soft, almost sheepish smile. “That usually means you don’t like something.”

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

With a slight shrug, he said, "I notice things about you."

That silenced her.

The pen in her hand stilled. Her eyes dropped to the binder again, but the blush rose to her cheeks anyway, subtle, but real. She hated that her body still reacted to him like that. Hated that after everything, he still saw her so clearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she finally admitted. “I stayed late working… and just ended up crashing here.”

“You didn’t go home?” His brow creased, concern breaking through the soft edge of his voice.

“No. I had a lot to do,” she shrugged, brushing it off. “Got up early, too, to finish.”

This woman. Taking a few steps closer to her, his hand hovered over her back and quietly, decisively, he said, “Come on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her laugh was dry. “I can take an Uber, don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping closer now, voice firmer. “I’m taking you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Hayden…” she started, already shaking her head.

Oh how much I missed you saying my name.

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Go home, get some rest. I’m fine.”

“Please.” His tone softened again. “For my sake. I’d like to know you got home safe and sound.”

That got her.

Her lips parted as if to argue, but she sighed instead, and with a defeated smile she nodded. “Fine.”

The drive was quiet.

The soft hum of the radio filled the space between them, some soft song playing faintly as they glided down empty streets. The city was winding down for the weekend, orange light casting long shadows over the dashboard.

But all Hayden could focus on was her.

The jasmine. It was back, her scent, delicate and intoxicating, curling through the air like memory. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it hit him all at once, warm and bittersweet and so her it almost hurt.

She was tired, he could tell. Her head leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, but she wasn’t asleep. Just still. And maybe that’s why she accepted the ride. Maybe exhaustion had lowered the wall just enough for him to slip in.

There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he said none of it.

When he finally pulled up to her house and shifted into park, she reached for the door, but paused, hand frozen on the handle.

She exhaled deeply, like she was making a decision. “You wanna stay and eat?” she asked, not looking at him. “We can order something.”

“Nono—” he said, almost too quickly.

She still.

The silence that followed felt sharp.

Nodding slowly, she opened the door. “Okay, thank you for the ride” she said, but her voice had gone small, her mouth twitching in a quiet, disappointed smile.

“No—I mean,” he backtracked fast, eyes wide, leaning in slightly. “No to the ordering part. I would love to eat with you.”

She looked at him again then. Really looked. And her lips twitched again, this time upward. “Oh. Okay.” A beat. “Come in.”

He opened his door, already grinning, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “With one condition.”

She looked at their hands and then at him. “Which is…?”

“Let me cook for you.” A smile drew itself on his lips. “I owe you a pizza date, if I recall correctly.”

How much he was cherishing her hand in his could not be explained, and when her eyes softened, just a little, and he caught a glimpse of Bubble, his heart almost exploded

“You do,” she said, smiling a little. “And pizza sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, smile blooming too.

And for the first time in months, something in his chest breathed.

She opened the door, stepping inside first, and he followed close behind. Her place was quiet and warm, not in temperature but in feeling, lived-in, loved, her. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old paper and something sweet lingering from the morning.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, tossing her keys into a bowl near the door and slipping off her shoes. Her voice was still careful, but there was something softer in it now. Something that sounded a little like hope.

While she disappeared down the hall to change, he wandered quietly through the space.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream, scattered with paintings, some abstract, others dreamy watercolors. On a side table, a small stack of Polaroids showed her with her niece and nephew: one of her with icing on her nose, another where the kids clung to her like koalas. There were little drawings pinned to the fridge too, crayon portraits signed with crooked handwriting. "The best aunt in the whole wide world."

Next to the bookshelf stood a low cabinet filled with records and candles. But it was the tall bookshelf in the corner that drew him in.

He wandered over to it, his fingers skimming over spines and worn scripts and film biographies. Tucked among them, pieces of her, real pieces.

Her world was here, tangible and intimate.

There stood the frame with the Singing in the Rain phrase he’d given her for Christmas. And next to it, still perfectly intact and neatly displayed, was the little card he’d attached to the bouquet of jasmine flowers for her birthday.

He reached for it carefully, his heart slowing and then racing all at once.

Happy birthday, Miss Director. I wish you the best and hope you are utterly and incandescently happy in your day.

He remembered writing those words. Remembered how long he stared at the card before daring to write incandescently. It sounded like her. They were her words.

She’d kept it and his chest ached.

And he wished he could reach back in time and change that day in the training room. God, he wished.

“You found my treasure trove,” her voice said gently from the doorway.

He turned. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, bare-faced, hair tied up messily. She looked tired. And beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he said quickly, placing the card back exactly where it had been.

“You weren’t snooping.” She stepped forward. “You were looking.”

He swallowed. “You kept it.”

“I keep things that matter,” she said simply, then added, “Do you need anything? I can—”

“No,” he cut in, smiling gently. “Let me cook for you.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

The kitchen felt like a dream. A fragile, aching dream.

He stood at the counter, chopping tomatoes with quiet concentration while she leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a look she couldn’t quite name, part disbelief, part yearning, part self-defense.

She watched the way his hands moved, the precise rhythm of his knife, the absentminded way he whistled under his breath like it didn’t break her a little to hear it. Like it hadn’t haunted her in the silence these past few weeks.

He stirred the sauce slowly, the scent of garlic and tomato winding around them, as he murmured something about her not owning a garlic press. He found basil, crushed red pepper, her dwindling olive oil supply. She had three kinds of hot sauce and none of them were what he needed, but he made do anyway.

She watched in silence, hardly breathing. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And while he rolled the dough, glancing at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there, she stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, what they could’ve been.

She couldn’t believe how natural it felt. How domestic. How easy. And it shouldn’t have felt easy. Not after everything. But it did.

Something bruised and tightly coiled inside her chest began to slowly, painfully unwind.

They laughed, quietly, carefully, as the scent of bubbling sauce and browning dough filled the air, as melted cheese hissed in the oven. Her laughter wasn’t as open as it used to be and his was laced with nerves. But still, it was laughter.

For a moment, it was like the cracks between them didn’t exist. Like they were still them.

When they sat down to eat at her small table, knees almost brushing beneath it, the silence between them wasn’t cold or tense, it was warm, comfortable. Safe but tentative.

But it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with everything unsaid, humming between them like a wire pulled too tight.

She watched him take a bite, eyes closing with exaggerated delight. He said it was good. She said it was better than expected. They smiled. Softly. Carefully. Like holding a glass heart between them that could shatter with one wrong word.

She placed her crust down and looked at him, the smile on her lips fading into something quieter. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“That day…” Her voice caught. “In the training room. Did you…” She stopped herself, shaking her head, backing out of it. “You know what, never mind.”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Say it.”

She looked down at the table, at her empty plate, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I thought you felt something. That day.” She swallowed hard. “In the training room. I thought we were… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I did,” he said instantly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “I wanted it, more than anything.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then why?” she asked, her voice cracking wide open. “Why did you pull away?”

He looked at her like the question physically hurt. His jaw clenched. His eyes softened. And still, he struggled to speak.

“Because I felt too much,” he said finally. And that was the truth of it.

Her breath hitched, her chest clenched and her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair.

“I panicked,” he admitted, voice low. “I shouldn’t have. I knew what I wanted. I wanted you. But… I was terrified.” He looked down at his hands, useless now, aching to touch her but too afraid she’d flinch away.

“You’re younger. I’m… me. This industry, this set, it’s yours. It’s your dream. And I didn’t want to be the one to take that away.”

“You wouldn’t have taken anything away,” she whispered. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I know,” he said, broken. “And that’s on me.”

He finally looked up, and she nearly lost her breath at the way he looked at her, eyes full of regret, of love, of everything he never said.

“Loads of things could go wrong, Bubble,” he said softly. “But what I cared about the most is your career.” His gaze was heavy, pained. “People would twist it, me and you, eleven years between us, director and actor, favoritism, headlines. If it ended badly, if anything happened… your name would be the one they dragged. Not mine. You’d become hers, not the director who built something incredible.”

“You didn’t let me decide if I was willing to risk it,” she said, her voice cracking.

His heart broke. “I couldn’t do that to you,” he said, voice firmer now. “You’re too good. Too talented. You deserve to be praised for your work, not whispered about in back rooms. This is your dream. You earned the place you are in.”

“I love this job,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I love what I’m doing. But I loved being near you, too. And you made me feel like I imagined all of it when you pulled away. Like it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t imaginate anything, but…I was scared,” he admitted. “Of how much I felt. How fast. Of how deep it ran.” He wanted her to look at him. “It matters so much it’s killing me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. And despite everything, despite the pain, the hurt, the silence, her eyes were soft. Full of longing.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even when I was angry. Especially then.”

“I missed you too,” he breathed, shifting closer, his knee brushing hers. And then, because he couldn’t help it, Hayden reached for her, his hands cupping her face like she was something holy. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I miss you so much. Every day. I miss talking to you. Laughing with you. Seeing you smile.” A shaky breath. “I miss us, whatever that was becoming.”

Her hands didn’t push him away. But they didn’t move to touch him either.

She was still caught in the in-between.“You looked like you belonged here tonight,” she said, barely audible. “Like this was where you were meant to be. In my kitchen. Cooking for me. Laughing with me. And it felt so right it scared me.”

His throat closed and his heart thundered in his chest, because it felt right to him too. So painfully, impossibly right and that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t fleeting, or temporary. It was deeper than anything he’d felt before, profound and terrifying. It hit him like an avalanche, an elephant sitting on his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him with the weight of it.

But still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let it live.

Because if he did, and it went wrong, like the rest of his relationships did, she would pay the price. Because what if it ruined her? What if it tarnished her?

And he couldn't live with that, couldn’t risk that. Not her. Not her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “For all of it. For not being brave enough.”

She didn’t answer.

She just nodded, tears clinging to her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek like it was the only thing keeping her together.

He stood slowly, gathered the plates like a man trying to delay the inevitable. “Let me help you clean.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… leave them.”

A beat passed.

And then she added, “I’m tired.”

He nodded, already backing away. Like he seemed to always do with her.

She walked him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she was already hugging herself, like she was trying to keep from falling apart.

“I had a nice time,” she said, and her voice broke with words. It sounded like goodbye.

She didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, not with that quiet ache, not with that finality, but the moment felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She could already feel the after of it pressing in.

She watched him nod, his posture tight, his expression unreadable.

“So did I,” he replied softly, the hollowness in his chest echoing with every syllable, like saying them was a lie.

Because how could it be a nice time when all he’d done was want her, and still choose to walk away?

She turned to open the door, fingers brushing the lock, but before she could twist it, his hand found hers. Warm. Firm. Desperate.

She froze. Her breath hitched. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

Don’t do it. Don’t look at him. Don’t make this harder.

Slowly, gently, he stepped closer, his presence a quiet force and her body betrayed her, turning to look at him in those ocean eyes that she wanted nothing more to drown into.

And when she turned to look at him, something cracked between them, something soft and tragic and too full to hold.

His gaze was glassy, and she could see it now, the grief. The love. The regret. It gutted her.

He reached up with both hands, cradling her face with aching care, as though she were something rare and fragile and slipping through his fingers.

I’m going to remember this. This moment. This version of her, tired, beautiful, sad as hell, and still the strongest person I’ve ever met.

His fingers were gentle against her cheeks. She could feel them trembling. His thumbs hovered by her jaw like they wanted to memorize the shape of her, like he was trying to hold on just a little longer.

She wanted to lean into him so badly her body ached with it, but she stayed still because she knew this wasn’t a beginning. This was the end.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Devastating. Full of everything he didn’t have the right to say aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. A confession. A promise. A goodbye disguised as something tender.

I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, breath caught in her throat like she was afraid to let it out.

Please stay. Please choose me. Please be brave.

He gave her one last look, gentle, devastated, and then stepped back.

Hayden didn’t want to go. God, he didn’t want to go, but staying meant risking her and he’d rather lose her than be the reason the world tried to take her down.

She opened the door. Neither of them said another word.

And when the door closed between them, neither of them moved for a long, long time, the silence it left behind felt unbearable.

Because now she knew for certain, Hayden loved her, but he wasn’t going to choose her.

Because they knew, they had shared something real. Something that still lived in the air around them, but they had no idea how to hold it without letting it destroy everything else.

Beginning of September 2021. The looming end.

The set was a controlled storm.

Stage lights blazed. Wind machines whirred. Crew members darted like shadows in a well-oiled dance. Sparks flew, literally, from props and visual cues, casting brief flashes of light on every surface.

Today, they were filming the final scene between Vader and Obi-Wan.

The scene.

The one that would break fans apart. The one that would define decades of conflict. The one she’d spent sleepless nights fine-tuning, scribbling notes on the margins of scripts, fighting for silence in moments where words weren’t enough.

And now it was here.

But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She paced the perimeter of the set, headset looped around her neck, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the chatter through the comms. Every corner of her body buzzed with static. The kind of anxiety that didn’t ask permission. The kind that gripped you and whispered, You’re not ready.

She should’ve been thrilled. The little girl in her, the Star Wars fan who grew up drawing lightsabers in the margins of school notebooks, was ready to explode.

But the grown woman, the broken-hearted one, was holding too much.

Because he was here. Because they were a week away from goodbye. Because this scene wasn’t just the end of an arc. It was the end.

And the thought of not seeing him like this again, half-lost behind the Vader suit but still him, tightened something so deeply inside her, she had to excuse herself before she lost it completely.

I need air, God, I need air.

She pushed through the double doors of the soundstage, stepping into the golden hush of early afternoon. Her boots hit pavement with a shaky rhythm, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso as if she could keep everything in.

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes and let herself slide down on it.

Breathed in. Breathed out.

The footsteps approaching were lost to her, but when the sun was covered, she opened one eye slowly and saw him. Not him him, but Obi-Wan.

Ewan. In full costume. Robes, beard, calmness and kindness wrapped into one gentle presence. He stood in front of her like he knew, like he sensed what was breaking inside her without needing to ask.

“You’ve done something special here,” he said, voice low and even. “You know that, right?”

She tried to nod, but her throat closed.

Ewan glanced up at the sky, like he was borrowing some of its steadiness. “You put your soul into this story. I’ve worked with dozens of directors in my time. But you? You bled for this. And it shows.”

Her lips quivered.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” he added. “This moment… it’s not just an ending. It’s yours. It’s your beginning, too.”

Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But Ewan just gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, like Obi-Wan himself, quiet and sure.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he said in that thick accent of his.

And with that, he walked back inside, his robes trailing behind him like the last note of a symphony.

She stayed out a few more minutes, letting the sun kiss her skin, letting the words settle deep in her bones.

Then she wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked back inside.

The set was alive.

Every corner was in motion. The makeup team prepped the final touch-ups on Vader’s cracked helmet. Sparks hissed from the VFX rig. The lighting team ran final checks. And at the center of it all stood Hayden and Ewan, suited and still, ready.

She didn’t sit. She couldn’t. Her body was buzzing, nerves, anticipation, love.

“Rolling!”

“Quiet on set!”

She took a deep breath.

“Action.”

And they began.

Hayden, Vader, was thunder. Ewan was fire contained by grief. Every word they spoke, every breath between lines, every step in the battle, it all landed like poetry. Like pain made physical.

The camera glided around them, catching sparks and shadow and soul. Every crew member was silent, frozen, as if afraid to even blink.

She couldn’t look away.

And when it came, the line, the one she'd rewritten a dozen times and cried over at 3AM, when he said it, voice cracked through the vocoder, eyes visible through the shattered mask, she forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”

It was perfect. It was everything. It was him.

And Ewan, her heart, her Obi-Wan, delivered the reply with a broken whisper so raw it echoed through everyone present.

She didn’t even remember saying it. “Cut.” The word came out of her, barely above a breath.

Then, applause, like a wave crashing over the set. Technicians, grips, costume artists, assistants, everyone clapped. Some even cheered. Not because of the spectacle. But because they’d felt it.

Ewan turned, gave a solemn, satisfied nod.

Hayden bowed his head, chest heaving inside the suit.

And she? She stood there, frozen, the applause around her fading into static, like the world had turned to fog. Her lungs tightened. Her throat burned.

It’s done. That was it.

Pride surged in her chest. The scene had been everything she dreamed of and more. But so did grief, sharp and immediate, because it was also the end.

The last scene. The last time I’ll see him on set. In character. In front of me.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and her knees gave out. She crumbled where she stood, arms curling tightly around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees as the sobs came, wild and unfiltered, the kind she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

The noise of the crew faded. Voices muffled. Only her heartbeat and her breathing remained, sharp, jagged, real.

I’m supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to hold it together. But I can’t. Not now. Not when this is goodbye.

Heavy footsteps, measured and familiar, approached her, the kind only one man in the entire world could make in full Vader gear, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Bubble,” his voice came, muffled by the vocoder but unmistakably him, “I need you to stand up, 'cause I can’t crouch down in this suit.”

His voice hit her like a jolt, absurd and gentle at once. Even now, he was trying to make her smile.

A wet, messy laugh bubbled out of her, half-choked by tears. “No,” she mumbled into her knees.

Please don’t make me. Please don’t see me like this. Please don’t be kind, it’ll break me.

“Please, Bubble,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Come on.”

She sniffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I’m ugly crying.”

“I know,” he replied, warmth curling behind the vocoder, behind the mask. She could hear the smile in it. She could feel it.

“Let me console you.”

God, stop being so you. So gentle. So kind. So patient. I can’t take it.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, towering, half-Vader, half-Anakin, but Hayden, 100% Hayden.

And even with all that plastic and armor between them, the look he gave her was all heart.

Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.

He offered his hand, gloved, massive, comical in a way, but his fingers curled with careful care, like he was afraid of breaking her further. And she was weak, of course she was, because she couldn't say no to him.

And the moment their hands touched, a shudder went through her. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Something else.

Relief.

And as he gently helped her to her feet, pulling her into the softest embrace he could manage with all the armor and wires between them, she didn’t hesitate and collapsed against him again, this time with her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his chestplate.

She just needed him and he held her. Tightly. Tenderly. Like he never wanted to let go.

I can’t do this again. I can’t keep saying goodbye like this and pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

For a few precious seconds, there was no set. No crew. No goodbye hanging in the air. No scenes left to shoot.

Just them. Hearts bruised. Bodies trembling. Still holding each other like it meant everything. Because it did.

Now that it’s over, I still want you. Still in love with you. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Mid of September 2021. Grow a pair.

The sun was gone, the air crisp and the silence heavy but not with tension, but with the weight of everything Hayden was carrying in himself.

He sat low in a weathered Adirondack chair, hoodie on, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bottle of beer untouched at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Ewan handed it to him twenty minutes ago. The sky above them had shifted to navy, the stars faint but flickering overhead. Somewhere behind the fence, a neighbor’s dog barked.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, the smoke of his cigarette clouded his face, though it did little to match the fog in his brain. The ember glowed at the tip, mirroring the heat that simmered low in his chest.

Ewan glanced at him, his beer resting on his knee, and he looked carved from stillness, like if he stared long enough, he might turn to stone.

“You holding up?” the Scottish asked finally, tone light, casual.

Hayden shifted a little in his chair. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Long months of shooting,” Ewan nodded. “Emotional scene the other day.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stared into the distance.

Ewan took a sip of his beer. “Lot’s of feelings moved.”

The brunette exhaled, half-laughing, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“The suits, the props, the set,” Ewan enlisted, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “The director.”

That one landed.

Hayden’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look over. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, its ash long and untouched, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Just that. A single syllable packed with regret.

Ewan watched him carefully. “She really gave it everything, didn’t she?”

Hayden nodded once, slowly. “She always does.”

“She’s the real deal,” Ewan added softly. “Knew it the second she walked on set. The story mattered to her. Every shot. Every word.”

“She never treated it like a job,” Hayden murmured. “She treated it like it was hers. Like it meant something.”

Ewan tilted his head. “And it did.”

Another long pause.

“Still does,” Ewan added, watching the ember of Hayden’s cigarette fade. “To you too, yeah?”

Hayden said nothing. He was quiet, but not still. His leg bounced, almost imperceptibly, and his free hand flexed open and closed on the armrest. And Ewan knew, he felt too much.

“You want to talk about it?” Ewan asked, not pushing. Not yet.

“No,” Hayden said hoarsely.

“I figured,” he muttered, then took another sip from his beer. “But I will.”

Hayden finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

Ewan didn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t want to pry, actually, I do. I’ve been watching you two walk around set like ghosts since July, absolutely miserable and I can’t bear it anymore. It was much more fun watching you both give each other heart eyes like a pair of lovesick kids.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched. He looked down, elbows on knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like he could push the ache back inside.

“Before, every time you were together, it was smiles, laughter, inside jokes, cute nicknames, breakfast meetings that ran an hour too long. Now? You only look at each other when the other is not looking. Like something’s broken between you.”

Hayden’s brows drew together, guilt flickering across his features.

“And I’ve known her,” Ewan continued. “She’s sad.”

“I know,” he said, voice low.

“And I’ve known you longer. And let me tell you something, mate, you’re sad too.”

Hayden looked at his cigarette, now down to the filter. “It’s not that simple,” he said, pressing it out with the sole of his shoe.

“No, it never is,” Ewan said. “What happened between you two?”

Hayden sighed through his nose. “A lot. And not enough.”

Ewan waited, tilting his head to the side.

Hayden looked down at his hands. He hated how exposed he felt. “I fucked up.” He confessed. “It seems like all I do is hurt her feelings.”

“I figured that,” Ewan deadpanned. “Thanks for the confirmation. What’d you do?”

Hayden exhaled sharply. “We almost kissed. A few months ago.”

“And?” The Scottish pressed.

“I pulled away,” he said, voice low and slow.

There was a pause and then a slap on his arm. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Thanks, man,” Hayden said flatly, glaring at him.

Ewan patted his back. “Anytime. What else?”

Hayden hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago… she stayed late at the studio. I found her still there, hadn’t gone home. I took her back to her place. One thing led to another, we ended up eating together. I cooked her pizza. She smiled. It felt like before, when everything was easy. She was tired enough to let me in a little and there was nothing more than I wanted to do than to apologize. I wanted to make it right. But I just,” he exhaled heavily. “I said everything wrong, hurting her even more.”

Ewan groaned and covered his face. “Oh God, you are an idiot. No question this time.”

Hayden shot him a look. “Appreciate the support.”

“I’ve been watching you, man,” Ewan said, turning toward him. “Sulking. Drooling. Making googly eyes at that woman since the third time you met her. But I’d bet money you were already hooked before that.”

Hayden blinked and looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Maybe…”

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. “And you pulled away when you were about to kiss her?”

Hayden nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then you are definitely an idiot.”

Hayden gave a tired laugh. “Thanks, man. Again.”

“But you like her,” Ewan said, watching him closely now.

Hayden sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Hayden let out a sharp, humorless laugh, eyes pinched shut for a moment as if it could block out the regret clawing at him. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow, questioning him silently.

“I told her I couldn’t,” Hayden continued. “I told her all the reasons why we shouldn’t work. The age difference. The job. The spotlight. Because I’m me. Because she’s everything. That if it went wrong, she’d be the one who paid. Not me. And she just looked at me… like I’d kicked the breath out of her.”

Ewan exhaled quietly.

“And then she thanked me for the food,” Hayden said, bitterness in his throat. “She was sad and tired and still polite. Like I hadn’t just broken something sacred.”

“She likes you,” Ewan said simply.

Hayden shook his head. “And I like her, but I couldn’t give it back. Not the way she deserved.”

“You could,” Ewan said. “But you chose not to.”

That silence was louder than the rest.

“And then on set,” Hayden whispered, eyes shining now, “when we filmed the last scene… she crumbled. Right there. All of it, everything we never said, everything I held back, came out in that scene. And when she cried, I held her.”

Ewan nodded, remembering. “You didn’t want to let go.”

“I still don’t.”

Ewan leaned back slowly. “Then grow a fucking pair and tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?! Because she’s the director of the series? News flash, not anymore!”

Hayden flinched, already exhausted by his own excuses.

“The show’s almost done. The lines have been said. The shots are in the can. And she’s still here. Still hurting. Still hoping, probably.”

“I hurt her, Ewan,” Hayden said, his voice rough. “More than once.”

“And yet she let you hold her like that,” Ewan replied gently. “Do you really think that means nothing?”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’ve been in this business a long time,” his friend said. “You’ve seen how rare something real is. And this?” He gestured with his beer bottle. “This is real, Hayden. What you have with her. That little moment of peace, of home, in the middle of chaos. That was real. Don’t let it rot because you were too afraid to open your mouth.”

Hayden looked down at his hands again, like they could still feel her skin, her tears.

“She’s younger,” he said, quieter now.

“She’s a grown woman,” Ewan countered. “Who knows what she wants. Who’s run a damn Star Wars series with more grace than most directors three times her age.”

The brunette cracked a broken smile. “She is kind of a genius.”

“She is,” Ewan agreed. “And she’s also in love with you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He just stared into the night sky, chest heavy, heart racing.

“You deserve to be happy. And from what I’ve seen, because I’ve been watching, you were never more yourself, more alive, than when you were with her. She makes you happy.”

Hayden ran a hand down his face, cigarette forgotten now, heart in his throat. “She does,” he whispered. “She really, really does.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ewan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “You two are meant to be. So get a clear thought through that thick head of yours and tell her. Before the chance slips away”

Hayden blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight.

But inside him, something shifted.

Because Ewan was right. And he already knew it.

He could feel it in the center of his chest, under the stars, in the quiet of a friend’s backyard, something inside him stopped fighting. Because he was tired of the distance. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in the “almost.”

“I don’t want to hurt her again.” he confessed, slowly.

“Then don’t,” Ewan said simply. “Choose her. All the way this time.”

They sat in silence again, smoke curling up into the dark.

Then Ewan added, softly, “Choose each other, you both deserve to be happy. So do it. For her. For you. For that Bubble of yours you’re so damn in love with.”

Hayden closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, he let himself imagine what it might feel like if he just… gave in and chose her.

Ends of September 2021. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?.

The music hummed low from the speakers, warm bass pulsing through the soft glow of string lights overhead. The room was buzzing, crew and cast gathered with drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the space like the fading heartbeat of something once grand.

It was done. Filming had wrapped. They'd all made history.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but them.

She smiled when she had to. Laughed at the right moments. Nodded, accepted praise. The series was wrapped. The series she put so much into. She should have felt pride swelling in her chest, but instead, there was a hollow spot where something else had once lived.

Her glass of wine was cold in her hand as her eyes drifted, once again to the far end of the room.

There Hayden was. Dressed in all black, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of outfit that made him seem even taller than he already was, like the darkness clung to him in reverence. His curls were swept back, golden under the light. His jaw was freshly shaven, but there was something tired in his eyes. Something heavy.

He laughed at something someone said, but to her, who had heard the real thing, who knew the warm, full sound of it, was off. Hollow. Foreign, because it sounded too practiced, like someone doing an impression of him. His smile didn’t quite reach and it felt criminal.

She looked at him the way you look at a memory you’ve been trying to forget. The way you glance at someone you still love but know you can’t have. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because of course she still felt it. Every aching, unwanted, impossible part of it.

Hayden, for his part, felt like something had been left unfinished, like the final page of a script had been ripped out and folded away in someone else's pocket.

Across the room, was his end, sad or happy ending, bathed in amber light from the chandeliers, she stood in conversation with one of the editors. Her red velvet skirt skimmed the floor as she shifted her weight, black corset hugging her frame with a quiet confidence, silver rings catching the light every time she lifted her glass. That worn leather jacket, clearly not hers, too big on her shoulders, added just enough edge to offset the elegance.

Her hair was slightly messy, but on purpose. Like she’d spent just enough time not caring and yet still managed to look like a dream, his dream.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she hadn’t looked at him once.

He stood near the back corner, drink in hand, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache for her, his brain hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a second. And still hadn’t figured out how to say any of it right.

So when she finally stepped outside, maybe for air, maybe to escape, he followed. Not like a man with a plan. More like a man being pulled.

The balcony was quiet, lights dimmer. Away from the buzz of clinking glasses and studio talk, the air was sharp with night, as if to remind her she was still real, still here. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers.

Then the door opened behind her and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Her back was to him, hands gripping the edge of the railing, her wine glass still mostly full.

He cleared his throat gently and she turned, slowly. Their eyes met. Something inside his chest fractured and in hers twisted.

“I can give you space,” he said softly, the words hesitant, almost hopeful. “If you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. But sincere. “It’s a big balcony.”

He nodded, cigarette between his fingers and walked towards the railing.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just existed, breathing the same air, in the same silence. The laughter from the inside acted like background music, but it felt odd, off to a scene so sad, so full of tension.

The silence wasn’t comfortable, like before, it itched, it burned, it was like a punch to the gut. But after he smoked half of his cigarette and she drank her wine, something cracked.

“I know I probably don’t get to say this,” Hayden said suddenly, words tumbling from his chest, “but you look… absolutely beautiful.”

Her breath caught. Not visibly. But enough that the glass trembled in her grip before she set it on the railing.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You look good too.” Her heart was pounding too loudly to trust her voice.

Hayden watched her from the corner of his eye, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

The silence was fraying.

“I really don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, voice cracked open. Broken.

She gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. “You said plenty,” she replied, lifting her glass again. “Just not what I needed to hear.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly flushed with nerves and stepped a little closer, not too much. Respecting space. But God, Hayden wanted to fall at her feet.

God. Say it right. Just once.

“I wasn’t lying, back then,” he said quickly, like the words were a dam bursting. “When I said I was scared of what it could do to your career. I meant it. You’re… you're brilliant. And I didn’t want to be the reason people looked at you like…like you were anything less than the genius you are.”

Her brows pulled together. That familiar twist in her chest returned and he kept going.

“And maybe I overthought it. Maybe I overcorrected. I always do that. I always find a way to fuck up the one good thing.”

Her fingers tensed against the railing, her jaw clenched and then loosened.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I never meant that.” He exhaled, fast and sharp. “You have to believe me.”

She turned then and looked up at him, really looking at him. The way he held his cigarette like it steadied him. The way he stood like he might break apart at the joints. The way he had his brows frowned, his jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. He looked wrecked. All of it, written in the fine lines of his face.

He was so close now. Close enough that the scent of him hit her: tobacco, and the cologne that lingering in her office, in her clothes after a whole day together. It still lived on that sweater of his he leant her on a particularly cold night and she never had the heart to wash, nor give it back. In her house after he cooked for her and then broke her heart, more than what he already did.

“I do believe you,” she said softly.

He blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I know you. That’s the problem.”

Those blue as ocean eyes looked down at her with softness, unsureness and devastation.

“At this point,” she whispered, voice thin, “if you were anyone else, I’d think all you want to do is hurt me.”

He shook his head fast, lips parting. “No, I would ne—”

“I know,” she cut in, tiredly. “Because you’re you and I know that’s not what you want.” Her voice cracked, barely. “But it does hurt.”

His mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to say the thing he should’ve said all those months ago.

“Every time you open your mouth and say something trying to protect me, or fix it, or be noble, it just… chips away at me a little more.”

Hayden looked like he was in physical pain.

She stepped closer, her hand almost reaching for him. Her fingers hovered right above his chest, just inches from touching him with trembling fingers, and then, she moved it back. Like the contact might burn her. Like if she touched him, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Because she wouldn’t and she couldn’t afford to fall again.

He wanted to catch her hand, pull it to his chest and press it there, over his heart, right where it hurt the most. Right where her absence lived. But he was frozen in place.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn’t. Just exhaled through her nose, trembling. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. But he could see her breaking in real time, fracture by fracture.

“So just… stop talking,” she said, no, she pleaded.

Stop hurting me.

Hayden’s heart broke right in his chest. She was so close now, closer than he had any right for her to be. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The ache. The longing. The love that hadn’t gone anywhere, not even after all the silence.

And he stood there, aching too. Wanting to reach for her. To fix it. Hands itching to touch her. But he just couldn't. But his mouth had betrayed him too many times. Now, even silence felt safer.

“I’m so-” his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it shook.

She just nodded, blinking the tears away before they could fall. “I know.”

Because it was true, she knew it, he knew it, but it changed nothing. They couldn’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So they did what they seemed to always do now since July. They said nothing, letting the moment pass, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. A truce made of ache from two people who wanted each other more than anything.

Next Part →

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#Hayden Christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader #Hayden Christensen x you #Hayden Christensen x y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #director!reader

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ange1heavensent · 8 months ago

Text

An inch away from more than just friends

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Pairing: loser!ellie x loser!fem reader

Content Warning: making out, mentions of sex scene in film, fic loosely based on Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan

w/c ≈ 1200

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Jackson had a way of making the world feel still. Days came and went, each one blending into the next with the simplicity of routine. For you, that routine often involved ending your day at Ellie’s place, curled up together watching whatever strange or offbeat movie she’d dug up. Tonight, like so many nights before, you’d settled into that rhythm, expecting nothing more than the usual.

Ellie greeted you at the door, her hair messy from what you imagined had been a lazy day of reading or sketching. You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to shake the feeling that something was a little different tonight.

“Everything alright with you?” Ellie muttered, hands in her pockets. Her voice was casual, but you noticed the tension beneath it, something unspoken in the way she barely met your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, following her into the “bedroom” where she’d already set up the movie Mulholland Drive. You threw yourself onto the bed while Ellie stayed standing, fiddling with the remote. She seemed more on edge than usual, fidgeting with her sleeves, avoiding looking at you for too long. You tried to shake off the weirdness, focusing on the movie as the opening credits rolled. For the first half, things were mostly normal. Ellie made the occasional comment, and you both laughed at the more bizarre parts of the plot. But then… the scene happened. A sex scene hit the screen, and the air between you two shifted in an instant.

You felt it immediately, the awkwardness that spread like wildfire. Ellie stiffened beside you, eyes glued to the screen but not really watching. Your heart pounded as your mind raced, hyper-aware of how close your bodies were. The heat from her leg brushing against yours suddenly felt like too much, like it was burning through your jeans.

You weren’t exactly a stranger to sex scenes in movies, but this time it felt different, more intimate. Too intimate. You risked a glance at Ellie and saw the tension in her jaw, her hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. She wasn’t handling it any better than you were.

God, why did this feel so… charged?

You looked away quickly, trying to focus on literally anything else. But the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. When the scene finally ended, it left an awkward tension that lingered long after. The rest of the movie passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention anymore. All you could think about was Ellie, how her hand was so close to yours, how your heart was still racing even though the scene had long since ended.

When the credits rolled, Ellie jumped to her feet like she couldn’t handle sitting next to you any longer. “I, uh- I’ll get the couch ready for tonight,” she said quickly, moving toward the closet. You frowned. “The couch? You’re not coming to bed?” Ellie paused, looking over her shoulder, clearly flustered. “I just thought… maybe I’d sleep there instead.”

That didn’t sit right with you. Sleepovers had always been the same, you’d sleep together, limbs tangled in the small bed. The thought of sleeping apart felt wrong, but you didn’t argue. Not with things already feeling this weird. You crawled deeper into the bed while Ellie busied herself with blankets, but neither of you seemed able to sleep. The room was too quiet, too still, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her direction.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“Ellie?” You heard her groan, and then she shifted, turning over to face you. Even in the darkness, you could sense her eyes on you, wide and uncertain. “What?” she asked, her voice strained. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. This had been eating at you all night, maybe for longer than that. “What’s going on?” Ellie didn’t respond right away, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, after what felt like forever, she sighed.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The answer didn’t surprise you. It didn’t make things easier either. You bit your lip, unsure of how to put into words what had been slowly building between you two for weeks, maybe months.

“You’ve been acting… weird tonight,” you said, feeling vulnerable. “Is it because of… the movie?” Ellie groaned again, this time louder, like she was frustrated. “No… yes… I don’t know!” She exhaled sharply. “That movie just… it got me thinking, okay?” Your pulse quickened. “Thinking about what?”

Silence filled the room again, thick with tension. Ellie seemed to be wrestling with something, and you held your breath, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice was soft and uncertain. “Us,” she whispered. “Are we… are we more than just friends?”

There it was. Out in the open. The question hung between you like a heavy weight. It was something you had never allowed yourself to think about, not really. But now, with Ellie lying there, so close yet so far, you couldn’t avoid it anymore. Your heart hammered in your chest as you sat up slightly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie shifted on the couch, and suddenly, she was standing. She climbed into the bed beside you, moving slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there. Your breaths came out shallow as she lay down next to you, her face inches from yours, her expression unsure.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, and you swore you could hear both your hearts racing in the silence. Then, finally, Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing yours tentatively, like she wasn’t sure this was real.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. You kissed her back, your hands instinctively finding their way to her hair, pulling her closer. The dam had finally broken, months of tension spilling out in that one kiss.

Ellie’s hands slid to your waist, and she pulled you against her, deepening the kiss. It was soft but intense, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You didn’t know how long it lasted, time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the feel of her lips, her hands, her warmth.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “This is… weird, right?” Ellie whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her. You smiled, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, your own heart still racing. “But good weird.”

Ellie grinned, her hands still firmly on your waist, as though she was afraid to let go. “I don’t know what this is,” she said softly, “but… I like it.” You leaned in and kissed her again, the warmth of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too.” The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft kisses, whispered words, and gentle touches. Whatever you and Ellie had now, it was real, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to question it.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie willams x reader #tlou ellie #the last of us part 2 #ellie #ange1heavensent

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venmondiese · 6 months ago

Text

ONE MISSING POINT

-ˋˏ| summary: Failing the class just for one point, and you ask Michael Gavey his help to pass the exam. Tutoring isn't his strenght, neither is yours.

✧ | Pairing: Michael Gavey x reader

✧ | word count: 2.8k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, public masturbation (m receiving), humilliation, Michael is a virgin and he doesn't last long.

It was practically a tradition that Mr. Bynes posted the results of the class in the (most important) headboard in the whole university, and people practically crowded around the single paper sheet searching for their grades and to see if they were at risk of failing the course entirely. If so, they had to do the mandatory exam which was by no means friendly.

He isn’t as worried as people around him, trying to make his way in the crowd to see the paper. He had to awkwardly pass through some people crying over it before he could see the paper.

He approved it all. He expected it, of course, since he always participated and was one of the few who understood something the professor said. Sure, he didn’t have straight 100%, but nothing lower than 80%, which was really good upon seeing some people had more than one 0.

It was a relief, but again, expected. He shrugs and goes on with his life as he walks away, thinking of going to his dorm and annotating his grades to later on calculate his final average score.

“Michael! Michael Gavey” a voice calls him, as he sets his feet on the grass. He turns around, seeing you walking closer to him, as quickly as you could.

“Ehm… yes” he says, awkwardly, looking at you.

You shared calculus and some other classes, and you were good. Not bright, exceptional or anything, but good. And you were so much better at other things, more social and bold things he doesn’t dare to do.

“Hi… how did you do?” You ask, slightly out of breath as you try to be polite.

“Ehm… fine, I guess” he doesn’t get why you talk to him now.

“You passed?” You ask tentatively. “I… I saw your grades, and it was awesome, really impressive…” You hesitate before adding “I am sorry, I know… it’s weird, but… You were like one of the few people who actually passed.”

Michael shrugs. as he nods. “I guess so.”

“And you see…” You say taking his arm to interlock it with hers, as you and your friends did when walking together. It was so womanly, he felt weird. Or maybe everyone did it and he didn’t know…? “I had good grades, I did well in that essay that everyone hated… But I had one test in which I got 40%, because I transferred badly one of the gross numbers, and before you ask, I did calculate it… But since I transferred it wrong, the final value was wrong”

“Ah…” he says, not sure what to say “That sucks”

It didn’t suck. To him, it was like a stupid mistake easily avoidable.

“Well, I was one point away from pass the course, and I explained this to the professor but… didn’t listen, you know him, he said that one point is missing, so I have to give the exam, and I need like 20%, but still..., and now I desperately come to you to beg you to please help me and tutor me” she says, as she turns to look at him.

He blinks. He didn’t do tutorings on his free time. He did them for extra money, for credits or whatever reason.

“Please Mikey!” You say, grabbing his hands. “Please please please, I only needed one more point to pass the class, I know about the subject, and it was a silly mistake. You don't even have to teach me from zero, only... go over the things we studied and that... please!”

He isn’t willing to do this. He doesn’t want to do this, yet he is weak. After all, he is a man. And he isn’t blind, you are pretty. Like out-of-his-league pretty. And you are prettier closer.

“Fine…”

You lean to kiss his cheek with a smile, and you nod. “It’s a date then. Tomorrow in the library? Could it be at four?”

He blinks a few times, trying to process the whole thing. He was supposed to finish the semester quickly, and… now he is caught up trying to teach you so you don’t fail a course, all because his mind betrays him.

So, he tries to do the whole ordeal as smoothly and quickly as possible. He doesn’t want to do this but whatever. At least you are not dumb on the matter, you know something. He has heard some of the answers you give in the classes, and they weren’t as bad as one would hope.

He’s sitting at one of the study desks, right beside a large shelf, and the library was with a few other students, concentrated in their own thing. He brought his notes with him, even if it was illegible. He tries not to be impatient, as he checks the clock on his wrist.

“Sorry for being late, I– I got caught in something and…” You say, and you were breathing a bit heavily.

“No big deal…” he stutters, as his gaze darts down to your blouse. Logically, since summer was getting closer and closer, you wouldn’t be wearing a sweater, but he didn’t expect… Well, he didn’t know what he expected.

Why was he being so weak around you?

“Sit, I have my notes to show you…” He says, and so you take a seat by his side as you curiously lean to check his notes. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, he was very neat in his handwriting, even if they looked like the handwriting of someone in the 1700s.

You are not such a bad learner, and he was rather enjoying teaching you after some time. You actually heard him, as he explained in depth how to have the correct answer for all, as he tries to address everything. You asked good questions, and pointed at the mistakes he had given you, to see if you could identify them in an exercise.

As close as you were, Michael could smell how your perfume was nice. It smelled sweet, but not so much that he would like to throw up. Besides, everytime you stared at him, he could feel a bit uneasy, since he got a bit nervous. Your gaze was deep, and he didn’t know what it meant.

Clearing his throat, he writes a new problem for you to solve. He had done a lot when studying, so he copied one of his. He hopes that focusing on the study will help him to distract himself from the weird feelings around you.

“Here, try this one” he says, handing the notebook to you. It is complex, but doable.

He manages to explain really well, as he gets into the theme and all. You do the work, and slide it over for him to check it.

“You have a girlfriend, Mikey?” You ask softly.

He looks at you, before turning back to check the answer. “Eh… no” he mutters, trying not to be ashamed.

You were actually great, you are very tidy when unfolding the exercise and actually took in his advice, he can see it. Yet, you make the same mistake, you took the gross value as the final one.

He made a circle, and he was ready to explain.

“He-Oh” he gasps, feeling your hand on his thigh. He was frozen.

Maybe it fell onto it. Maybe it was by mistake, it was surely by mistake, there was no way it was intentional. And surely it was a mistake how you caressed his inner thigh so… slowly.

“Oh, did I get it wrong?” You ask, looking at him as if you didn’t have your hand at his thigh.

He felt his head doing a short circuit, as if trying to understand what this meant. Was he imagining things? He surely must be.

“Y-Yes, here… here you took the gross value…” he mutters pathetically, he was confused, he didn’t know what was happening. He wasn’t complaining, at all, but what does that mean?

What did it mean that you had your hand on his thigh? Surely, it was something… reasonable.

“I’ll re-do it” you say, taking the notebook. And you didn’t take your hand away.

He was frozen. This can't be happening. He's supposed to be helping you with your studies, not... not whatever this is. And yet, his body is betraying him, his skin tingling under your touch, his pants beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.

He grips on the edge of the table, looking at the ceiling of the library. Suddenly, he is very aware of his surroundings, looking around as if everyone knew that your hand was sliding up as you did the exercise. Women surely can multitask…

“Eh, well, now… we can use the formula… you-you know it” he says, his throat feeling dry as he tries not to whimper.

“Yeah, yeah. Like the rosary.” You say with a confident nod.

“Yeah… so, what’s the next step?” He prompts you, as your hand is higher and higher, and he is starting to lose his mind.

“Replace the values, a… with this, and b…” your hand brushes higher and he lets out a little whimper, thinking you were about to stroke his cock… yet it doesn’t happen. It’s a pathetic sound he emits, and he gets red after it. “With this…”

He sees you replace the values, rewriting the formula, ready to be used.

“Right?” You ask, with one of your sweet smiles as if you didn’t know what was happening.

“Eh, yeah… yeah, that…” he says, trying not to sound that pleased, even if he starts to feel the arousal pool on his stomach.

He starts to feel himself straining against his pants. It was painfully arousing, and he tried to play it cool. He didn’t want for you to notice, as you caressed his inner thigh.

“I… I need a break” he says suddenly, looking at you.

You look at him a bit pouty even, as he grips on the edge of the seat trying to breathe in and breathe out. “But I am learning” you say to him “I really am”

You were driving him insane. He didn’t even know if he should address the elephant in the room. Maybe he’ll say something about it, and you’ll stop, be disgusted and leave.

But he tries to keep inside his whimpers, since the library was the worst place ever to do this. Everyone quiet and it’s open for anyone to see.

“I think… I..” He hesitates, falling to being able to finish a sentence. He moans softly, feeling your hand brush against his notorious erection, and he can’t bear it anymore. “Ah, please…”

Michael was blushing, embarrassed of it all as he tries not to move his hips to follow the touch of your hand, since it isn’t where he really needs. How could he be so weak? His cock wasn’t even being touched now, but he felt so dizzy already. Maybe it was because, okay, he had never been with anyone else, but it was… embarrassingly little time to be so… needy.

When he feels your hand on the tent of his pants, he whimpers, the sound too loud and filthy that his left hand goes instantly to his mouth, covering it to mute himself before he does another embarrassing thing that gives them away.

“Y-You.. You have to stop” Michael murmurs, the words muffled against his palm as he looks at you, glasses sliding through his nose slightly. He was so flustered, he looked cute.

“Why?” You ask in a pout, not wanting to.

“I can’t– I need…” He tries to say, to make a coherent thought as your hand moves to follow the shape of his erection. It sends shivers on his spine and he practically melts on the seat as his eyes are rolled back in pleasure. How could it feel so good? “I… I… We can’t…”

He seems so confused with his own thoughts. “We can…” You murmur, looking around as nobody was actually watching them. “If you really want me to stop… I’ll stop”

Michael doesn’t want you to stop. He really didn’t. But he didn’t want to get caught, it would be embarrassing.

“We are in public” he says, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, I know” you say, not stopping the strokes on his cock above his clothes “But look at how much you like it”

He’s already made a small, wet patch at the front of his pants. Oh, god, he thinks. He looked away, it felt embarrassing, his face feeling hotter as embarrassment creeped into his gut alongside pleasure.

He liked it, but he was trembling with a mixture of emotions, and he didn’t know what to think. He was so close too…

“Please…” He begs senselessly, he doesn’t even know why he is begging. “I don’t wanna make a mess…”

Your hand touches him with the clothes in between, but the fabric of his light brown pants was thin, and it felt almost delicious. He would hump your hand if you two weren’t in a library.

“You are making a mess…” You coax him softly, as he tenses his shoulder and falls slightly against yours, as his body was trembling with arousal.

“I don’t wanna stain my pants” He murmurs embarrassed, in a little voice as he feels his balls tighten up as your hand insists on the head of his cock, stroking it through the fabric.

“It’s hot” you murmur back to him, and your hand is on the wet patch “And when you cum, I’ll feel it here”

He can’t form a proper sentence as he feels you hand caressing his dick, he felt the wetness on the tip of his cock, and even if it was so unlike him, he found himself so aroused. He is on the verge of cumming on his pants, just from the touch of a woman. Damn, you aren’t even touching his cock directly.

He felt like a teen, needy and so hormonal. He wasn’t like this fromages ago, and he finds himself leaning on you, his forehead against your shoulder as he whimpers softly, his hips searching your touch as he is close.

The thought of cumming in his pants, making a mess was both humiliating and arousing, as his body tense with each stroke. “I can't… i… I'm going to…”

His hand goes to cover his own mouth as he reaches his peak, a strangled moan coming from his throat and his hand muffles the whimpers he lets out. He can feel his cock spurting cum into his underwear and trousers. He doesn’t want to call attention, but he cums so hard, his body basically slumps back in his seat as he feels his balls tighten with each rope of cum that his cock leaks.

You are awfully quiet afterwards, moving your hand away as you clean it and he tries to gain his breath, feeling dizzy already and so pleased. He wants to hide his face in shame, and the other wants to beg you to do it again.

“I’m sorry” he murmurs.

“Don’t be” you whisper back to him, looking at his wet spot on his crotch. “To me, it was amazing. You definitely made one of my fantasies come true”

He blushes, he feels very self conscious all of the sudden, and he makes sure no one in the library paid attention to them and what they were doing. He moves slightly as if trying to cover up the wet patch on his jeans.

“You enjoyed it?” You ask him, not pushing him too hard.

“Yeah…” He admits, slightly embarrassed but also very much pleased.

You look at the forgotten notebooks, and then to him, as he accommodates on the seat and moves his hair slightly as if that would make him go unnoticed by everyone else.

“If it is worth anything, your tutoring did help me tons” you say, taking your notebooks together to save them in your pack.

He is glad that he could help. Maybe this was your way of repaying? He couldn’t know or decipher it. He takes his things and saves them up in his bag as well. He wanted to go to his dorm and take a shower, and put on pajamas and think about this.

“I’m not great with words…” He starts, his tone hesitant but trying to overcome it. “But… Thank you. I really… Hm. It was cool”

You smirk, nodding slightly as you appreciate his words.

“A bit riské” you tease him playfully.

“Yeah…” he chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I am a mess”

As he adjust the glasses on his nose, you hum, “Well, nobody really cares but you and me”

“I can’t believe we did… that… in here…” He mumbles, dumb founded. “And I was… so… I completely lost it…”

“Do girls usually make you… lose it?” you ask in a whisper. “Or do you last longer, and I happen to have magical hands?”

He blushes to the blunt question, looking anywhere but to your face as he avoids answering. “Well, um…” he doesn’t want to admit his lack of any experiences with girls “Girls don’t…. touch me like that” he says in a whisper. “So I can’t say…”

You didn’t judge, looking at him, and you nodded.

“Well, next time we’ll see”

Next time. He looks at you with eyes slightly wide, as he tries not to stutter his words. “Next time?”

“Obviously” You say smiling to him. “If I pass the exam, we are doing it without the pants” You say smugly “And… more”

He was so lucky you missed one point to pass the course.

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witchyverse · 10 days ago

Text

Undeniably Yours (Unfortunately)

Pairing: Theodore Nott × Reader Word Count: ~3.9k Warnings: Flirting, protective Theo, interrupted moment, tension, denial, snark, light angst, coworkers who see too much Summary: You and Theo are very much not dating. And he’s very much not in love with you. So when someone walks in on a very compromising moment and your next mission goes sideways, he handles it in the only way he knows how—by acting like he totally doesn't care. (He does.) A/N: A part 2 to Coffee Stains and Closed Doors, but can be read as a standalone. The trope is workplace romance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not dating Theodore Nott.

You were just... emotionally entangled. Occasionally tangled physically. Sharing way too many biscuits. And one time, you fell asleep on his shoulder and he didn’t hex you off.

That didn’t count.

You’d made it three full weeks without anyone catching on. A miracle, considering he stared at you like you hung the stars, and you looked at him like you were trying to memorize the shape of his mouth.

Still. You had rules.

No touching at work.

No looking at each other like you're in a romantic drama.

And absolutely, under no circumstances, let anyone walk in on anything suspicious.

Which is exactly why you were sitting on his lap in your office chair, half-laughing, half-kissing him, when the door burst open.

"—Hey, do you guys have the—holy shit."

You froze.

Theo's hand was still on your waist. Your fingers were in his hair. His face buried in your neck.

Slowly, like he could somehow make it worse, he turned toward the doorway.

Thomas Avery stood there, blinking.

“Oh my God,” Thomas said again, louder. “Oh my actual God.”

You scrambled off Theo’s lap, tripped over the chair, and nearly broke your kneecap on the filing cabinet.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurted.

Thomas blinked again. “So you just sit on each other recreationally?”

Theo muttered something that sounded like kill me now. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The news spread like wildfire.

By lunchtime, you counted three raised eyebrows, two badly-concealed winks, and one floo message from Daphne Greengrass that said:

"I KNEW IT. YOU OWE ME TEN GALLEONS."

Theo, to his credit, looked exactly the same as always: expressionless, cold, mildly inconvenienced by everyone’s existence.

But he didn’t speak to you the entire day.

You cornered him in the file room after your shift, arms crossed, frustration simmering just under your skin.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re hiding.”

He looked up from the folder in his hands, gaze steady but tired.

“This was easier when no one knew.”

You stepped closer, hurt blooming across your chest before you could stop it.

“You think I don’t know that?” you said. “You think I don’t wish we could go back to sneaking around and pretending we’re just coworkers?”

He didn’t say anything.

You turned to leave.

His voice was soft when it came.

“I just didn’t want them to ruin it.”

You turned back.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Just holding the file like it was a shield.

You stepped in again, slower this time. “They didn’t ruin anything, Theo.”

He finally met your eyes. And this time, there was no wall behind them.

“Promise?” he asked, so quietly it nearly broke you.

You nodded.

And that was the end of that conversation.

But not the end of everything else. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, you were sent into the field together. Low risk, easy observation. No big deal.

Except Theo was quiet the entire way there.

“Okay,” you said, finally snapping, “what is it?”

“I don’t like the way that guy looked at you.”

You blinked. “What guy?”

“The clerk. At the coffee shop.”

You stared. “Theo. He asked if I wanted a receipt.”

“He was smiling.”

“Oh no,” you gasped. “The horror.”

He shot you a glare. “You’re not funny.”

“I am funny. You’re just wildly jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

You raised a brow. “Theo. You almost hexed a nineteen-year-old because he gave me extra whipped cream.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It was an iced latte.”

“I don’t like whipped cream.”

“You don’t like feelings.”

He said nothing.

You grinned. “It’s cute when you get possessive.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He glared.

You poked his arm. “I like it.”

That shut him up real fast. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission was supposed to be boring.

It turned out to be not boring at all when your target noticed you tailing him and hit you with a nasty Disarming Charm in a crowded alley.

You hit the ground hard, breath knocked clean out of your lungs.

And then Theo was there.

No hesitation. No pause.

Just wand out, sharp curse in his throat, spell slamming into the attacker hard enough to send him flying.

He ran to you immediately.

“Hey,” he said, voice tight. “Look at me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re gonna yell at me, aren’t you?”

“I just—fuck, you scared me.”

You blinked again.

He looked pale. Angry. Terrified.

And when his hand touched your face—gentle, shaking—you realized this wasn’t about the case at all.

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “Really.”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, breathing like he’d just survived Voldemort reincarnating than a mission gone wrong. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at headquarters, you sat beside each other in the locker room in total silence.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

You turned to him slowly. “I wasn’t planning on dying.”

He looked straight ahead, jaw tight. “Still.”

You nudged his leg with yours. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being honest.”

“You are jealous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You smiled, warm and slow. “I like you jealous.”

He side-eyed you. “Don’t push it.”

You bumped his shoulder. “Then kiss me and I won’t.”

He hesitated.

Then leaned in and did exactly that.

Right there. In the empty locker room. Like nothing else mattered.

And maybe, right then, nothing did.

#theodore nott x reader #harry potter #workplace romance

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caramelkoo · 9 months ago

Text

be still my heart — jjk [two]

the one in which Jungkook lets his imagination run wild and you confront Jimin about your past.

genre : childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, physical therapist!reader x hockey player!jungkook, slow burn, smut, fluff, angst

word count : 5.1k

chapter warnings : strong language, kissing, jungkook is again nervous around Destiny. That's it i guess lmk if i missed anything.

a/n : ohmygod the first part got so much love i just couldn't wait to post this. This one is a bit intense. I love my babiest baby jungkook so much. Please enjoy my lovely people and remember you're so loved :> feel free to send asks. kisses.

Jungkook

During Jungkook’s college days, there was a guy named Oscar who’d sit beside him in class with his round glasses resting on his face. He would bunk classes almost every day which led the ever so curious Jungkook to follow him one day in order to find out what’s so special that he’s even willing to bunk classes for? Listen, the nerdy Jungkook thought bunking classes is bad manners. Don’t come at him.

Eventually, he found himself watching Oscar playing the guitar inside the vacant auditorium and he can swear he’s heard nothing more melodic than that. He figured the guy escaped so he could do what he loves. It was his passion.

If someone were to ask him, what’s his passion? Jungkook would say, Hockey. It pumps him up, it brings him back to life. He was born to do this.

He has seen his older brother playing hockey for as long as he can remember but trying the sport for himself? That never came to him, until his brother thought handing out a hockey stick to a 15 year old would be funny.

Newsflash, it wasn’t funny and as much as he doesn’t want to, Jungkook has no option than to give him the credit for him being here. It’s only right. The moment he held that hockey stick it was like the clouds parted and angels started singing.

This life right here is something he has built with hours and hours of practice, diet, diligence and working himself out until he’s a sweaty mess.

It’s not like every other 28 year old’s life, it’s different as well as demanding but every other 28 year old is also not being thrown into the penalty box like him right?

On a good day he would even call himself a conflict-avoidant guy until it comes to his teammates. Then, he’s an animal, ready to tear down every motherfucker who dares to touch them. Dramatic? he doesn't think so.

Yes, they piss him off but they’re a team, it’s a unified responsibility that they have. You stop at nothing to protect your own. The spark of defensiveness is bound to come to the surface given he's the defenseman of the team.

This is why he’s in here, trapped behind this glass shield as he watches the guys do their worst performance till date. The forward of the opposite team tried to get a fight started making Jungkook see red. His instincts led him to act immediately. He had to do something to put an end to it and breaking the guy’s nose seemed like a nice option.

The lions are not an easy team to play with, they’re hard hitters and show no mercy. That’s what coach has been telling them ever since they landed here. Seems like nobody listened. Fuckers.

Sweat drips from his hair as he watches the game, ears filling up with screams behind him.

“Jeon Jungkook I’ll have your babies”

“Jungkook you’re so hot it makes me insane”

“Oh god this man will be my death”

“He can slap me and I’ll thank him”

God help him. The thing is, the shitshow before him is not the only reason behind him being a mess today. Destiny has been… weird lately. At the risk of sounding like a goner, she’s not acknowledging him at all, like at all.

She used to grab the seat in front of him on the plane whenever the team flew for the games but this time she didn’t so much as look at the poor guy let alone sitting before him. Is she hurt because of last time? Did he fuck up again? This proclivity of fumbling every time he’s around her needs to be checked.

“Dude, we couldn’t have held a candle to them.” says Taehyung.

Ah yes, the guys lost the game if it wasn’t predictable enough and now the coach will have their heads on a platter ready to serve. Well, he doesn't want to do that any more than Jungkook himself does.

Jungkook gets rid of his shin pads, placing them on the bench. “Try saying that in front of coach”

“He’ll understand”

Yoongi glares at him, “The fuck he will. He’s been in our faces telling us how wild it might be over there. Who listened? Because you sure not did, Tae”

Taehyung chuckles in disbelief, propping his hands on his waist. “Dude, you’re targeting me as if I was the one breaking noses and all.”

He gives Jungkook a side eye. Oh he’s so gonna get Tae later.

“You might as well have. And as for you,” he glances at Jungkook, "I'll just hope you come back in one piece."

“Alright, cut it out” Namjoon says as he slips into his practice jersey. That’s so like him. Heading straight for practice after a big game, whether or not they win.

He’s one of the most dedicated people Jungkook has ever seen and you can’t generally get a praise out of him like this.

He blocks out their bickering and focuses on getting out of his hockey pants. A sharp pain shoots up in his knee making him cringe. That’s strange. He doesn’t remember his knee getting involved in the ruckus. Anyway, he makes a mental note of letting Destiny know about it and not repeat the same douchebaggery.

“Hey bud, you doing okay?” Namjoon asks as he’s rubbing the painful spot.

He looks up, “Yeah it’s… it’s just a slight pain. Might be a cramp for all I know”

He pats Jungkook’s shoulder in support, a kind smile plastered on his face. “I hope so and hey, don’t be picking fights like that anymore. You understand?”

Jungkook is quick to defend himself. “But that asshole–”

“I know,” he nods, “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Let it be your last.”

He gives up, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’ll resist”

Namjoon is right. Jungkook did not pick a fight and he knows it. He also knows that Jungkook is always ready to come at his players’ defense, however that might be.

After all, it all boils down to a nasty fight on the rink which is nothing to be surprised about. There have been plenty of fights down here, some resulting in broken limbs and some going as far as a person on a stretcher.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Nightclubs are hands down Jungkook’s least favorite spot ever. He hates the smell, he hates the crowd and he hates how loud everything gets. If it weren’t for Yoongi, he would be at home chilling or overthinking. No one can tell.

Although, he’s not sure if he can even call that four walled room his ‘home’. It’s not home, it’s just a place he was given to stay at when he joined the federation and while he’s more than grateful for it, an empty, emotionless space where he only exists in can’t be qualified as a home.

However, he can’t stop wanting a place which is only his. A place he can share with someone he loves, wakeup next to her, cook with her, make memories with her. A home overflowing with laughter and giggles only.

Clearly, that murky ass house can never live up to that expectation not when it consists of a bathroom smaller than his fist, a bedroom which can’t fit more than 3 people at once and a kitchen he, for some reason, can’t get himself to cook in. He believes someday he’ll have that albeit the wait.

“Do you think I’m joking?” Taehyung’s voice is louder than ever before because of the surroundings. Sitting beside Namjoon as his hands fist a glass of old fashioned, he acts like he just spilled the most expensive beans.

He dramatically places one hand on his chest and turns to Jungkook, “Dude, tell him. Tell him how I got my dick pierced last week”

A chuckle leaves him, “Better yet, you can lose those pants and give him a live show”

The guys break out in fits of laughter.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen my dick already, you twat. I did it for my girlfriend alright? Was this close to tattooing her name too but didn’t,” he holds up his thumb and forefinger to show how much,

“I don’t want my guy to swell and look like I accidentally got it stuck between a door or something.”

From his peripheral vision, Jungkook spots Destiny walking up to them looking like an absolute goddess. She’s wearing a shoulder strapped bodycon dress tonight with her hair curled in such a way that it makes her face look more feminine. He has seen so much of her in those scrubs that she’s doing things to him now. Hold your damn horses, Jungkook.

The poor guy can’t so much as look at her for too long or he’ll get hard. That’s something he can’t allow himself to do right here when all his friends are gathered. They’re never gonna let him live that down.

Maybe, when he’s alone he can fuck his hand with the thoughts of her taking him into that sweet mouth she’s got a bold red lipstick look going on. His cheeks turn crimson and he fights back a smile.

“Hey, guys” she greets them as she tucks a hair strand behind her ear. A gold hoop adorning her. God, she’s trying to kill him. She's like Jungkook’s own version of heaven.

The guys all smile up at her like she just asked them to give her a foot massage. Meanwhile, her eyes never land on Jungkook.

“Jimin, can I steal you for a second?” she hesitates.

“Sure” Jimin places down his drink and stands up. He walks up to her and rests his hand at the small of her back making Jungkook’s smile drop. Nice, he's getting jealous over a kind gesture now. Next thing you know, he'll be ending anyone who dares to breathe in her direction.

Namjoon shakes his head as he follows them both with his gaze. “Am I the only one who thinks they’re fucking?”

Yoongi dissolves into laughter while Taehyung spits out his drink. Almost. Jungkook? He finds nothing funny about it but refrains himself from saying something stupid in the heat of the moment.

“There’s some tension, yes. Can’t say anything about the fucking part though” says Yoongi.

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“Do you think they’re shagging?” asks Taehyung in a hushed voice.

“I think you assholes need therapy” With that he rests his own glass of drink on the table and walks away. Their voices calling out to him become more and more faint as he goes on.

He needs to find out what is it that gave rise to this sudden change in Destiny and if he’s the reason for it. His stomach churns as soon as the thought of her having something going with Jimin crosses his mind.

The guys were joking back there and given their proclivity of joking around, he takes their statements with a grain of salt. Howbeit, he can’t help but wonder the same.

The worst thing of all is he doesn’t have any right to feel this way. She’s not his and she might never be for all he knows. So maybe this is for the best, maybe if she keeps on discounting him like this, it would be slightly easier to forget her. Right?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Destiny

“What do you think you’re doing? This is a men's bathroom?” A guy who must be in his early twenties nearly pokes his finger in Jimin’s eyes. His gaze darts over to you as he gives you a disgusted look.

Jimin levels him with an intimidating glare, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business and we’ll be good. Yeah?”

He flashes you another appalling look, his nose flaring before he walks out. For a second you might even endorse with the guy but in your own defense, the club is buzzing with commotion and there was not a single space Jimin and you found where you both could have a proper conversation without anyone bumping into you. You spent quite the money on this dress and it'd be bummer to ruin it. It’s insane how crowded it is. So, here you are.

Jimin turns to you, his fingers still laced through yours for the sake of your safety. “I’m sorry for that”

You snatch your hand back. “No it’s totally fine. I mean it’s not usual for a guy to bring a woman in here” an awkward chuckles leaves you.

“It is”

Your smile drops, “Huh?”

“They do bring women in here. Well, let’s just say they do everything except have a talk”

Of course they do. God, this is more awkward than you imagined it would to be. You could die of embarrassment right now but if you don’t clear things up with him, it would be more humiliating to simply exist around him. You roll your shoulders back, plucking up enough courage.

“Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, shall we?”

He steps closer to you, just enough to catch you off guard but not enough to knock the breath out of your chest. There is someone else who's been doing that job lately.

“What elephant Destiny? The one about us having the best time together or how you left me the next morning? Alone and pathetic” he demands.

Well, knock me down with a feather.

Your mouth parts in shock, “I left you? You sneaked out, Jimin and you know it”

You wonder if he’s gonna come clean about that. If he’s gonna stop blaming you and take accountability for once. You guys did have the best time together and as short lived as it was, you regret nothing about that night until this point.

Now that he stands in front of you, accusing you of being so cowardly that you dared to leave him, it makes you question your own integrity.

He takes another step forward, automatically making you take one back as he searches your face. “So where were you when I woke up? Where were you when I reached my hand out and didn’t find you lying next to me, huh?” his voice barely a whisper.

Enough. You wouldn’t have bothered to stop the scream that’s begging to leave you had someone pointed a gun at your head. A gal can only take so much before she snaps.

“I WAS OUT THERE SEARCHING FOR MORNING AFTER PILLS”

The vacant bathroom echoes with your own words. The words you were holding back from saying out loud.

“I went in search of those, Jimin. Apparently, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you fuck each other and not take necessary precautions”

He stills, backing off as if you had slapped him. A heavy silence hangs in the air around you.

Jimin’s eyes flash with barely contained astonishment as he looks around trying to find words. When he doesn’t say anything, you take it as an opportunity to continue.

“You weren’t lying about us having a great time together. I accept that, we did have fun and I don’t regret it which honestly, I’m not so sure of now.”

A quick look of hurt passes through his face before he recovers.

“I was planning on staying back too oh… how badly I wanted to stay back but you have to understand that I was also at the prime of my career as a professional physical therapist. I couldn’t afford having a child, Jimin. Back then even the thought scared me. So, I left for a while, mentally promising you to come back. You were sleeping so soundly and you looked so beautiful and I didn’t want to disturb you—”

Your words come to an abrupt halt as he takes a long step towards you, backing you up against the white wall behind.

It’s not the same, your chest is not rising and falling rapidly like it did back then. Gosh, you couldn’t even speak in front of him. This time you’re immune to his eyes, his closeness and his warmth. Is this what they call healing?

“You should have” his brown eyes flash with hunger, “You should have disturbed me, Destiny. I would have woken up, ate you out, maybe fucked you again while wearing a condom, cuddled you and then accompanied you to the medical store.”

Oh fuck no, this is not happening. You’re not getting yourself back into this situation where he charms you with his mere words and leaves you cold. You deserve better than that.

You push him back with your palms on his chest, “Maybe, but I think I wouldn't have it any other way,”

You look straight into his eyes and nowhere else to make him feel how serious you are, leaving no room for uncertainty.

“Bella, my assistant, keeps saying that everything happens for a reason. It’s written up there," you point your forefinger up, "I feel the same about what went down with us. There was a reason why you left, there was a reason behind me not bothering to wake you up."

A bitter chuckle slips through your mouth, “Although, I can’t seem to grasp why the hell are you here?”

The way your heart is beating inside your chest, you might end up on a ventilator. It’s because you haven’t had much control of anything in your life, this feels particularly massive. This is one way for you to take back control, because it’s your choice and yours alone.

You try not to let the tears spill, “I asked you to spare me a few minutes just so I could talk to you about it but this isn’t how I imagined this conversation to go, Jimin. Regardless of that, I need you to do me a favor”

He holds your gaze. “What favor?”

You clear your burning throat, “I’m requesting you to please not initiate any conversation about our past with any of the guys. That could pretty much cost me my job and yours.”

He offers you a stern nod, “You have my word”

With that you turn and walk around just like you always do and always should when it’s time. Only this time, you don’t feel victorious. Instead, the feeling of utter shock rushes through your body because standing outside is the only person you had been avoiding to say the least.

You flinch. “Jungkook?”

He’s leaning back against the cold wall with his hands inside his front pockets, head hanging low. You can’t make his face out because of the darkness.

He frantically lifts up his head when he hears you calling, looking as surprised as you, “Hey, I— wait, why are you coming out of the men’s room?”

You shift on your feet, folding your hands in front of you. “What? OH !! Well, I had some business with Jimin and this felt like a nice place to.. you know”

You can’t talk for the life of you. How do you explain yourself to him without word vomiting? But then you think better of it and just shake your head.

“You know what? Never mind that. What about you? Why are you standing here like someone just broke your heart?”

No fucking way did you just say that. What is this? A bollywood movie? You immediately feel like you hit a nerve when his face falls, causing you to curse yourself.

He’s silent for a moment before he stands up straight. “You could say that”

“Wait, really?”

Yet again you’re struggling to breathe, a spark of curiosity threatening to rise up. Why do you care about his heart? He’s been all but rude to you every day since you’ve begun working by his side so why would you care if someone put his bloody heart in a blender? You have been assigned to take care of his body, what happens unrelated to that is none of your business.

Except, you do. There is a teeny tiny part of you that cares. Though, you can’t say if it’s the doctor inside of you or something else. Something which could ruin you and save you all at once.

“Who is it?” you ask in a small voice.

His eyes rank behind you and he pulls you close to him by grabbing your arm. You see a man passing by, faltering on his own under the influence of probably the sheer amount of alcohol inside him.

When you look up, you have to swallow a gasp. Jungkook’s face is so close to you, you can almost count his moles. The one under his lips is begging to be kissed and you hold yourself back from grabbing him by his jacket as you kiss the hell out of him.

Wait what?!

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with something you can’t pinpoint. It’s like a mixture of anger and adoration. Soft lips brush your temples as your heart beats out of your chest.

“It’s not safe here. Why don’t you go join Bella? If I break another nose it’ll cost me good”

You lean back, still in his arms. It would be nice if you get out of his hold. You should shove him away too exactly like you did with Jimin but for some reason, you can’t. His hold is safe, cozy. It reminds you of your grandmas cookie recipe. Warm and lovely.

“Another nose? Did you get into a fight?”

He breaks away, turning his back to you but you clutch his forearm as you hold him back before he can bolt.

“You know the PR is gonna make your life a living hell. What did you do?”

His jaw sets instinctively as he looks at you for a moment before speaking.

“Destiny, if you don’t want me kissing that sweet mouth of yours and imprint my name on it for once and for all, get the fuck out of here.” he rasps.

That's it. Flashbacks of that night and that fucking dream consume you. It doesn't help at all that he looks so dashing tonight in all black. Black leather jacket, black pants and his black boots. You're having visions you shouldn't have. They're nice. Farfetched but nice, nonetheless.

You release his hand like it will set you have you combust if you keep holding onto it for even a moment longer. You turn around, with the intent of getting out of his proximity when his voice stops you.

“Destiny”

You don’t turn around because something is telling you if you do, you will never be the same.

“My life turned into a living hell the moment you stopped looking at me”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook

Jungkook is dying.

Figuratively, of course.

He should have taken Destiny seriously when she said that the PR is going to make his life miserable once he gets to know about the mess he had made. His phone is buzzing on the kitchen counter. He knows who it is but he doesn’t pick up.

Instead, he just waits until it stops ringing. Jungkook can see it all playing out in his head. He will be called to the PR’s office as soon as he enters the academy and the PR is gonna ask him why he did what he did, Jungkook will then tell him that he's a a man of virtue, he will ask him to repent and tell him to fuck off. Very classic. Been there, done that.

He drops his head low, palms splayed in front of him. Calling last night chaotic would be an understatement. He said things he shouldn’t have and heard things he hoped he wouldn’t. It was not deliberate, of course. He would like to call it a spur of the moment.

Alright, he was fucking jealous. There he said it. He was jealous of Park Jimin because that man was touching who Jungkook had been longing for, he was talking to the women Jungkook had been begging to look at him once and allow him to breathe.

When he reaches the academy, he quickly asks about Destiny’s whereabouts and goes on to find her. He thinks his knee needs to be discussed because he can’t risk not playing the next game.

He's not sure if he's prepared for the uneasiness that's about to welcome itself but– god if you’re listening, help him, he prepares himself as much as he possibly can.

Raising his hand to make a fist, he knocks on her office door. This would be his first time inside, if she would even let him in.

“Come in” her voice reaches Jungkook.

He takes a long deep breath and pushes the door wide open. Stepping inside he looks at her sitting in her chair with glasses resting on top of her button nose. She looks so adorable. He doesn’t think he has ever seen her with glasses on but he approves.

“Jungkook? Is everything okay?”

Is it? Why is she acting like everything about last night was a dream? Did I imagine it all? Jungkook wonders.

He slips his hands inside his front pockets and nods, “My knee is acting a bit weird. I wanted to get it checked. See if there’s anything serious.”

She takes her glasses off and rises to her feet. Pointing to one of the chairs, she says, “Sit down and let me have a look”

He does what she asked as he leans back to make himself comfortable. An eerie silence surrounds them, making every inch of Jungkook's body stiff as he grips the armrests of the chair a bit tighter. He doesn’t let it appear that way of course. He’d rather die.

When she’s satisfied, she gets down on her knees and looks up at him. The visual is lethal but not something which he hasn’t already imagined.

He's not entirely proud to say that he has had the privilege of seeing her on her knees in his dreams, in the darkness of his bathroom, in his fantasies. He's seen it all but the real sight nearly makes him blow his load.

What do you think happens to a man who witnesses a queen getting down on her knees for him? Ask Jungkook. Mentally thanking himself for not wearing the sweatpants, he prepares to answer any of her questions.

“Do you wanna tell me what caused this?”

“There um, there was a fight back at the game. I felt a slight pain in the changing room but didn’t think much of it. Thought I’d let you know about it.”

She smiles, “Well I’m proud of you for that minus the fighting part. I’m sure you’ll be discussing that in the PR’s office”

As she’s examining any possible pulls or cracks, he thinks about apologizing to her about last night. To be very honest, he's tired of this awkward silence every time he's around her. Not talking is one thing, walking on eggshells around each other is another. He wants her to behave the same way she does with the rest of the boys.

“Destiny, I needed to talk to you about something”

She looks up again, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“Sure. Was something else hurt during the fight?”

“What? No. I wanted to talk about last night”

She stiffens as her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. Fuck, why is his heart beating so fast? Wait, is he sweating?

Then she shrugs, talking in a casual tone. “I don’t think it’s worth talking about”

“Why?” Jungkook can’t help but ask.

“Well,” she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “You and I both were drunk and people do stupid stuff when they’re drunk so.”

“There was not a single drop of alcohol in my system. However, whatever I said was in the spur of the moment.” he says wording his previous thoughts, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry”

She’s quiet for a moment before she lowers her head and mumbles something.

“WellIhadasexdreamaboutyousoweareeveniguess”

He lowers down his own head, trying to listen clearly, ‘What was that?”

“I said I had a sex dream about you so we’re even” as soon as the words slip out of her, she claps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes wide as saucers. Meanwhile, he just sits there wondering if he heard her right or his brain is as fucked as his knee.

His mouth goes dry as he keeps looking at her. He feels like someone just dumped a bucket full of ice water on his head. She had a sex dream about him? When? How was it?

“It was uh okay”

Kill him, kill him now because he said that out loud. See, this is what he means when he says he messes up every time he's in front of her. That’s exactly what the last thought that crosses his head before he pulls her by the back of her neck and smashes his lips on hers. Fuck it, he can’t take it anymore.

When she kisses him with the same amount of passion and hunger, he resists himself from hoisting her up on the table and eating her sweet cunt. She matches every movement of his lips. Hers suck his before his take her pink and pillowy ones.

Within seconds, he has her caged in his arms. A low moan slips past her lips as she clutches onto Jungkook's shoulders for support, his fingers digging into the sides of her waist. Is this what feels like to kiss Kim Destiny? Is he actually touching and tasting her?

She tastes like cherries and bubblegum and he swears he's tasted nothing sweeter. He wants to have this taste every day on his tongue, and wants to remember it till the day he takes his last breath. Maybe, even longer than that.

He pulls back and cups her cheek, running his thumb along her lower lip as she catches her breath. She’s got her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling against his. Jungkook can feel her hard nipples through her scrubs.

Someone shakes him by the shoulders and he snaps out, blinking rapidly. He looks around and finds himself sitting on the very chair Destiny asked him to but when a feminine voice calls out his name, it's not hers.

“Well, watching my best friend on her knees in front of my step brother was not the visual I thought I needed”

Turns out, it takes a lot to make that someone up there 'happy' because standing in front of him is his only step sister. It's hilarious how unpredictable life happens to be. After all, not only did he imagine kissing Destiny after she told him about her little sex dream but will now have to figure out how to face his sister without wanting to hurl himself out the window.

Can he catch a break?

Taglist - @keylime4eva @xumyboo @jash719 @dmstoyangyang @pitchblack0309 @withluvjm @chaelvrx @httpjeonlicious @lovingkoalaface @rpwprpwprpwprw (ilusm and thank you for reading <3)

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