#How to choose a shower filter

[acid-ixx]

pick me, choose me, mark me! (masochistic bottom yandere! batfam x feral top alpha reader).

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— og post ! ; ao3 link !

a/n: sorry for the spam guys, but tumblr won't filter out the most debauched thing yet they hide my content instead and it makes me sad like i don't want all my hard work to be just buried yk? :( anyways, fic under the read more for those who hasn't seen it yet. sorry again for the repost, i'm just really hurt over the censoring, i won't stand for it, it admittedly made me down in the dumps.

look, i'm just saying that in an omegaverse scenario, where you're the alpha and you go to the same uni as tim drake, a well known and respected omega, where you're a good friend of his: not too close in your eyes, study buddies, maybe, but you're not attracted to him, but it's still in your natural instincts to drive away other alphas despite the omega being capable enough of defending himself. because you're noble, always protecting him by shielding him away from those other vile alphas trying to force themselves on him— and he likes that feeling of protection from you, wants something more out of it.

and he knows that beneath those dull eyes of yours, beneath your willingness to hold back at the scent of omegas in heat, his family is well aware of your darker fantasies. he sees the way you pin down other alphas, how your knees would press up so close to their crotches as you release a growl from your throat, how your muscles would flex and how your teeth would bite on your lower lips to control your raging desire to pin down an omega in heat.

it's an unspoken rule that you've the qualities to rule a pack, strong enough to subdue every other alphas with your unbridled rage and sharp teeth, feral enough to dick down any willing omegas who wants to be well-bred with your knot (he's a willing omega, he wants to be filled by you, wants to know what it's like to be smothered with the scent of your sweat, saliva, and any emissions released from your body).

so i propose the idea that tim would do everything in his waking days, with the guidance of his family, to make any necessary sacrifices in his schedule just so that he could time your monthly ruts and have you be attracted to his pheromones. he'll secretly shove his family's belongings inside your locker just to get you used to their scent, dick, jason and damian take turns to sneak into your home to steal your dirty laundry, your used jackets and pants, buried deep beneath your cabinets, just so that they could smother their nose into it, try to lick at any remaining sweat that clung to the fabrics.

you best believe that they're possessive over your things. even a beta like dick couldn't help but claim your jackets just to wear it for himself. damian, who's all talk about placing himself high above a pedestal as an alpha, seems way too eager to spend a minute or five scenting himself up with your blankets and arguing with jason over the comms on who you get to mark first— as if tim would let them be marked by his alpha.

tim is the luckiest to hit the jackpot though. he could just borrow your clothes after pe classes with the excuse that he forgot to bring a spare, then pretend to clumsily forget to return it to you because he's all too busy shoving it deep in his throat. every time you strip yourself half naked in the shower rooms, he's already had his head peeking by the doors with a camera in hand and a boner down under. every little action of yours done in campus is accompanied by the click of a camera and an all too excitable omega who touches himself to the thought of what your jagged hands could do to his body.

(and god, tim, who loves to hump into your stolen underwear can only provide himself so much pleasure, his heat wants him all marked up by you but you're just so oblivious to his ministrations. to his obvious need to share a nest with you. the family wants you too, jason's been snappy lately and dick is so close to convincing bruce that they all just collectively kidnap you if you weren't so dedicated in your academics).

the only thing holding them back is that you're known to be not like the other alphas. you don't shove your scent into most unwilling nostrils, your momma raised you right, you drink suppressants to keep you on the low, you do just enough to respect the boundaries of every omega who passed by your way, and you're a smart fella, easily picking up on most omegas who only try to befriend you for the intentions of dating you or having a quick fuck (damian makes a mental note to eliminate every known competition, he despises how those lowly beings slot themselves right beside you and think they deserve to be marked up. the others and most especially tim shares that sentiment)— the only reason tim is the sole exception to your friend group filled with betas is because he has enough self respect, at least, that's what he's convinced you to believe.

you're not aware of the trackers littered in every corner of your belongings. you're not aware of the cameras hidden in your apartment as the family entertains themselves just watching you break another toy of yours because you're too big for just a measley fleshlight, they watch you rip another blanket with your pointed teeth that snaggles into the sheets, fantasizing what it's like to have someone crying and begging for you to stop thrusting your knot right beneath you. bruce has to control the pack from breaking into your apartment just for them to offer that you claim them instead, he makes them cycle between steak outs, focus on something else, because he can immediately sense their heads turning to the direction of where your house is— and yet even an omega like him can't deny how tempting it is to share a nest with you as he secretly saves all the files of you pleasuring yourself in a drive he's going to watch repeatedly once patrol hours are over.

thinking about how the months would stretch and you slowly notice the shift in demeanor with tim. suddenly, instead of reviewing in cafes with other friends or simply visiting the library together, he'll invite you all too eagerly to the manor, in due excuse of wanting to study with you alone since he says he prefers a quieter environment. you accept, only because you feel the risk of losing yourself amidst the familiar scents scattered all over your life, on the newer scents on your clothes making your mind go crazy; only because you can't deny how tempting it is to fuck your supposed friend on top of a creaking table, in public for all the eyes to see— so your excuse to study with him alone, in an entirely alien environment where his family are there to monitor your sessions meant you'd have to be on your best behavior.

except the moment you step inside the gothic manor, your nostrils are hit with a multitude of familiar scents. bruce wayne, the omega philanthropist known to love caring for children, who greets you at the door with a gentle smile and expectant eyes, smells of fresh vanilla, cashmere and faint lavender, as he steps to the side and all-too eagerly confesses you that he's been waiting for the moment that tim's closest friend visits his home. like most omegas do, you can only describe the man's scent as soft and nurturing, natural traits for an omega, obviously, as he almost ushers you — a hand resting comfortably on your back, you don't feel his palms rubbing up and down your spine like he's known the feel of it from the start — and your... friend to the library if not for tim insisting that you'll both be heading off to his room instead.

you don't question why he specifically wanted you alone, though, because you swore you smelled the same, imposing vanilla on your damn sweaters.

but when you look to your right, eyebrows raised in curiosity at the whistling omega, he only reciprocates with a shrug and tells you that you should both already head upstairs since there's not much daylight left and that he wants to consume as much knowledge as he can in one sitting.

such a cunning scum he is.

for when you entered the room, stepped inside and dropped your bag to a nearby corner, your nose immediately picked up on the smell of freshly baked cocoa, sweet caramel, and the same, damn fruity scent of zesti cola.

your vision fogs all too quickly, fury an all too intimate feeling rising to your chest.

"tim, you fuckin' vixen—!"

you pin him down on his well nested bed the moment the waft of his room's familiar scent hit the air. you growl, too dizzy on the hazy realization that it was him and his family who's been scenting themselves all over your things all along, you can even smell your own scent in this room. your clothes, your jewelry, even your damn notebooks, they reek of sandalwood, lavenders, musk, vanilla— scent which all don't mix well, all you've individually sensed in all your different items. your underwear is stained with tim's sweat, you realize as you snarl between the vast, unmarked space of tim's neck.

and you should've, you could've held yourself back, but the timing was perfect, you've forgotten to take your suppressants because tim was rushing you; yet his legs are wrapped around you, you feel your own sizable crotch rubbed in between his own hard ones. he's tempting you, inviting you to stake your claim on his clean skin, as he releases a shaky breath right on your ears. his lithe waist is a perfect slot right in your palms, and those stupid, wide eyes are too expectant, too inviting to even deny the lack of surprise, like he's predicted this reaction— like he knows that underneath that false, caring exterior of yours is an alpha that wants to claim, and claim and claim until his skin knows the imprint of your teeth against his.

"mmph, c'mon..." he calls out your name, rubs himself shamelessly against your soiled underwear, takes your cold, unforgiving fingers to cop a feel around his areolas. lidded, deep blue eyes and raw, bitten lips, a red flush overtakes his body; an picture perfect canvas of an entirely submissive omega is right beneath you, inviting you two to fuck like the shameless animals you both are.

proclaiming to you, without words, without thought, that he's yours the entire night.

yours to breed, yours to fuck deep into the mattress until he memorizes the shape of your knot by the end of it all.

you don't remember when or how it happened, how you're both wearing almost nothing but the underwear blocking tim from fully seeing your own rock hard boner, but he's too hungry on want, on the need to have it shoved far deep in his throat and you're too drunk on the hazy desires to have an actual, warm cavern wrapped around you right now.

he whines a bit louder, you can smell the pre oozing and dribbling on his own briefs. he smells so pure, so delicious, so ready to be claimed that you just...

you lick at his clavicle until your tongue reaches into the perfect spot on his neck, devoid of any alpha's mark. you feel the boy shiver under you, feel the way his arms snake around your neck as his feet push back at your underwear until it drops at right your ankles, where you can hear his breath hitch at the sight of your own dick rubbing against his clothed boner.

he moans, pulling his hips up, and you snarl at his impatience, pull his body up in one, quick swipe, like the strong alpha you are, and rip away at his own underwear.

and he's drooling at your display of strength, his smaller thighs wrap around your waist until his puckered hole slots itself perfectly on your tip, you feel the slick dribbling down, feel the natural slip of your dick sliding inside of him.

he's all lubed up, this fucker prepared himself for this. but there's no condom in sight, no damn contraceptive the longer you look around. the truth lies in plain sight: he wants to be bred, he wants to take you raw.

as if sensing your thoughts, as if he doesn't want your attention on anything but him, he voices himself out, calling your name.

"don't lie to me... i know you want this," his palms cup your cheeks, gently prying your head to look at his straight at the eyes, "i know you want me. you picked me, you chose me, didn't you...?"

he pushes his hips upwards, pushes deeper, memorizing every vein stretching his hole— except his attempts are futile the moment he feels you pin his body down, he nearly releases an aching cry when he senses the lack of dick inside him.

he almost begs, almost.

"puh-PLEASE—!" he almost begs, if not for your immediate, hard thrust, a loud plap echoes throughout the empty room. if not for you shoving your dick in his slicked up hole in one quick motion, maybe he could've mustered up another word. but you've dicked him down, rendered him thoughtless and wordless, dumbing the omega down until he's subdued with only breathless moans.

"fu-fuck! oouh—" whispering under his breath, you only snarl in response, feeling him squeeze you in. this is better than any toy you've destroyed, he was warm and aching and you were hungry to just take him all.

tim drake is the picture perfect omega. it was no wonder why so many alphas fight themselves to the death to even grab a sniff of his own sweat, you've told yourself you only let yourself become friends with him because it was your duty to protect the weak, but fuck. you knew deep down, you were as dirty as all the others, maybe even worse, maybe even the worst as the sight of the debauched, snotty, drooling mess underneath you made you way harder, made your diluted eyes take in his writhing body, made you thrust in just a bit harder just to hear that high pitched moan escape from his wrecked throat.

his mouth would feel so good wrapped around your dick, it'll feel so nice to just slide it deeper and deeper until it reaches the back of his throat, and oh, you'll make him hold his breath until he has to scratch at your thighs, until salty tears escape those stupid, wide eyes of his, just to beg you for even the smallest intake of air.

next time, you think. there will be a next time.

for now, your steady pace is enough to induce pleasured tears dribbling down his cheeks. you snap harder, he squeals. he's cute, cute but disgusting. but you're worse, you wish you weren't but it's natural. you try to be soft, though, as your dominant hand swipe away the hair clinging on his sweaty forehead. you lean in, ignoring how tim shivers in delight as his nose gets a closer whiff of your scent, and softly kiss his cheeks.

softly, but that doesn't stop his disappointed, little sigh. you could only stare back in disbelief as his thighs pull your hips closer.

more tears escape his shaky eyes, hiccups escape his quivering lips.

"show me how much you love me..." he whispers, taking your mouth in his, biting your lower lips just so his tongue could get a taste of your saliva mixing with his. in response, you collect you spit and let it dribble down to his awaiting mouth, and god, he moans when the liquid meets his tongue, swallowing your spit with due diligence, like it is his ambrosia. and he sobs at the overestimation of having to feel, taste, and breath every living part of you.

"i love you, i love you, i— ah! i love you—!"yet it doesn't stop you from thrusting, doesn't stop you from wanting more as you stop kissing him, making your way towards his neck, tongue licking and sucking his skin until it's sullen with ugly love marks. he only responds with thoughtless whines, dissatisfied pleas at your teasing, at your refusal to just bite his skin and to just— mark him already.

you feel the rise of a familiar knot on the base of your dick, and with just how louder and louder tim has been moaning — you're sure that his pleas and the heavy creak of the bed can be heard from outside his door, you hope it does, you hope his family hears just how much this freak loves being bred — you know he's close, his dick is practically oozing with salty, watery precome, and his little whole is weeping with slick. your ears can pick up the plaps, how well your cock slides in and out of him to an unstable rhythm.

and yet he's crying, he's crying because throughout it all, your mark still isn't on him. his alpha still hasn't staked their claim on him and he feels so ashamed, so desperate to relieve that empty ache on the skin of his neck that begs to be pierced by your sharp teeth.

"— muh- mark- ah!"

"puh- LEASE! please, please, please, alpha, please—!

and he begs the moment he felt a thread snap, when you palm his throat, squeeze his dainty neck until all he could do was wheeze, until you let go when you see his reddened lips turn purple, and he releases a shout as ropes of cum escape his violently flushed dick.

he begs with incomprehensible requests, sucks in a breath whilst you accompany his moans with a growl when he feels your knot was slowly but surely becoming bigger and bigger inside him as your thrusts slowed, as you try your best to move despite the overstimulation riddling his body.

slowly, until your bodies are locked together, tim unable to move from right beneath you as his hole adjusts to the considerably large knot, until he swore you two are one, until your eyes shut in bliss when you felt your warm cum staining his insides. through both your hazy zenith, through his breathless panting and desperate intakes of air, tim still isn't satisfied.

and he'll only be satisfied if, no, once he's utterly sure he's yours and you're his.

he musters up the last of his strength, shifts his little hips seductively just so he could feel that strong knot pinning him to you, and stares at you with dazzling eyes, shimmering with fresh reserves of tears.

and just like how he's manipulated you to fuck him the moment you've stepped inside the room, he makes sure his quivering voice was as sultry as the taste of his sweat, as inviting as the nest he's been preparing for months.

he pouts, bites his lips, and licks at your warm ears as he whispers four, shaky words:

"mark me, my alpha."

[rafesbimbo]

A date w gyno!rafe but he asks the reader to wear a vibrator (reader is unaware of what it actually is but agrees) rafe then uses it during the date.. while talking to the waiter etc ! You can choose the ending! Thank you

warnings: mdni, public teasing, vibrator control, light humiliation, medical kink undertones, dumb!reader, dom!rafe, orgasm denial, power play, praise, light degradation, unprotected sex, creampie

pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader

you should’ve known something was off when he handed you a little remote-shaped device and told you to put the other piece in your panties.

“just wear it for me, sweetheart,” rafe had murmured as you were getting dressed for dinner. he leaned down to kiss your shoulder, watching your reflection in the mirror. “promise it’ll make things… more fun.”

you hadn’t questioned it too much. you never really did when it came to him. not when he was in his office with gloves on and fingers deep inside you—checking your cervix—not when he’d muttered, “bet no one’s ever taken care of you like this, huh?”

so you nodded. wiggled the little toy into place and finished getting dressed, lip gloss shimmering and heart thudding.

he was being so sweet tonight. picked you up with a bouquet in hand. opened the door for you. told you how good you looked in that short little dress. but then…

the second you sat down at the restaurant, your thighs pressed together nervously, he pressed a button.

buzz.

your eyes flew open, hands gripping the edge of the table.

“what’s wrong, baby?” rafe asked innocently, lifting a menu like he didn’t just turn on whatever the fuck was tucked against your clit.

you blinked at him, breath shuddering. “rafe—what is that?”

“what’s what?” he asked, smirking. “oh, you mean that? you agreed to it, didn’t you?”

you whined softly, leaning forward. the vibrations weren’t unbearable, but you were so sensitive already. this morning he’d fingered you before your shower and told you not to touch yourself for the rest of the day.

“people are gonna see,” you whispered, panicked. “someone’s gonna know.”

he clicked the button again, casually flipping through the wine list. the setting intensified. your hips jolted.

“so what if they do?” he murmured under his breath. “bet they’d wish they were me.”

the waiter came over while your thighs were shaking. rafe ordered for you, speaking calm and low, all while the vibrator kept pulsing in waves. it had a pattern—slow, then fast, then mean. every now and then, it would pause, just long enough to make you think it was over… and then come back full force.

“you alright, miss?” the waiter asked, glancing your way.

you managed a nod. forced a smile. “yeah,” you said, voice strained. “just—tired.”

rafe glanced over at you smugly. “she’s been a little sore lately,” he added. “nothing i haven’t taken care of before.”

your cheeks burned.

after the food came, you could barely touch it.

you were panting, squirming, pressing your palm against your lap. rafe wouldn’t stop.

he edged you over and over, taking tiny bites of his steak and sipping red wine while your body shook under the table.

“please,” you whimpered, eyes glassy. “rafe, i-i can’t—”

he leaned close. gripped your thigh under the table.

“be a good girl and take it.”

—

you didn’t even make it inside his house.

as soon as he parked in his driveway, you were crawling into his lap, babbling.

“m’sorry, m’sorry—need it, ive been good, haven’t cum all night, please—”

“i know, baby.” his voice was low and sweet. he was already pushing your panties to the side, cock hard and leaking against your thigh. “i know. such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

you nodded, tears clinging to your lashes.

he didn’t tease this time. didn’t drag it out. he just pulled the toy out, tossed it into the passenger seat, and pushed all the way in with one hard thrust.

you screamed.

“shhh,” he hushed, but there was no one around. just the streetlights and the cool night air filtering in through the cracked windows. “take it. let me fill you up, sweetheart. you earned it.”

you were already clenching around him, body snapping like a rubber band, orgasm hitting so hard it left you crying.

and rafe? he just grinned and fucked you through it.

“that’s it,” he groaned. “gonna put a baby in this little pussy one day. make you wear that toy to a family dinner next time. maybe your friends’ll see how dumb you get f’me.”

[woncheolisms]

i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

[kookooluvr]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE — PART 8

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor! jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 13.8k

warnings: jk's mood starts out kinda down, oc pours her heart out on a long ass voicemail, the long awaited reunion (yay yay yayyyy), lots of tears (happy tears, don't worry guys), loads and loads of fluff, love confessions, mentions of oc going to therapy, mention of jk's kiss with hana (🙄), talks of oc's past relationship trauma, explicit sexual content; lots of kissing, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, morning sex, brief cowgirl, doggy, post-sex shower and breakfast.

a/n: AHHHHHH !!!! WAR HAS ENDED !!! i'm so happy for my babies y'all, they're so in love 🥹🥹 pleasssseeee let me know all your thoughts because i'd love to hear them. do all the lovely things (like, comment, reblog) because it really helps me, and enjoy !! 🫂🫶🏼

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @puppybunnyjkay @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer @annafarrr @in-out-inbetween @mar-lo-pap @lilacstellar

SERIES MASTERLIST

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

The snow falls in quiet, gentle flakes outside his office window, blanketing Yonsei's campus in white. It's beautiful in that cinematic, melancholic kind of way. It's the kind of snow that makes you wish you had someone to hold hands with, someone to snuggle under a blanket, someone who would gently brush their fingers over your eyes and say, "It's sticking to your eyelashes, dummy."

But all Jungkook has is silence.

The campus is mostly empty, buildings shuttered for winter break, windows no longer glowing with office lights. The buzz of the semester has finally burned itself out and so has Jungkook.

His office is warm but sterile, lit by the dull buzz of fluorescent lights. He could have left by now, just like everyone else. The last of the faculty had filtered out hours ago, eager to escape into the arms of winter break, laughing in wool coats and boots as they made promises to unplug, to rest, to spend the break baking and sleeping in and binge-watching dramas.

He could've gone home too, should have, honestly, but he stayed. Not because he has to, but because there's nothing waiting for him at home except a fridge of neglected groceries, a sleeping Bam, and a bed that feels cold and lonely to sleep in. He barely sleeps in his bed. Most nights, he just falls asleep on the couch after drowning himself in work. That must be why he hasn't noticed anything missing from his home, anything that would be incredibly valuable to him, like a box filled with his heart written out on paper.

Taehyung hasn't said anything about the box he stole that night. He's done what he could do and all he can do now is wait and see what you choose to do with what you were given.

Jungkook hasn't gotten a chance to speak to Taehyung in the past week because he's been spending his time grading the last of his students' exams and spending his free time with Jihyo. He's happy for him. At least one of them got their girl.

Life has started to feel like it's moving again, and he can't decide if that's a good thing or not. It's not to say that his life has been meaningful in any way because that would be a lie. He goes to work and goes home to Bam, who he pours all of his affection into. He goes through the motions of eating and sleeping because he has to or else he won't survive, but it doesn't feel as burdensome as it used to.

Does that mean he's starting to move on from you? He can't lie and say yes. He doesn't know how to do that.

Move on.

A part of him still holds onto the hope that it'll all end with you. The other part of him feels like four months is too long a time to keep hoping. Something inside of him, that petty little thing gnawing at his brain, wishes you would come crawling back and beg for his forgiveness for breaking his heart, the forgiveness he stupidly already gave you without you even having to ask for it.

Most days, going home means stillness, and in stillness, you return. Home is where the walls still remember your voice, whether it be laughing at something he said or moaning as he explored your body. Home is where Jungkook lies awake in bed thinking about the day he finally told you he loved you, and you couldn't say it back. Not because you didn't feel it, he knows you felt it, but because you didn't feel safe enough to say it.

It still hurts, but some days work takes his mind off of things for a while and it hurts just a little bit less. Like today.

He leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palm. The last batch of admin forms is finally filed, course evaluations uploaded, and emails answered. His brain feels like static on a tv screen, his body running on bitter, re-heated coffee. He didn't eat lunch. He barely had time for breakfast because he accidentally overslept and had to fly out the door without even a glance at the mirror.

He heaves a deep sigh and glances at the clock on the wall.

6:57pm.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, gathering his things. He shrugs on his coat and slings his satchel over his shoulder before flicking off the office light.

The hallway echoes with his footsteps. For the first time in months, he doesn't turn his head in hopes of catching a glance at you in the hallways.

Outside, the snow crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way to the parking lot. It's basically empty, given everyone already left to enjoy the start of their winter break. He'd normally text Taehyung to ask if he's still on campus, maybe suggest grabbing a coffee, but his phone is sitting right on his kitchen counter at home. Of course. That's the result of forgetting to set an alarm in the morning.

Today's apparently just not his day. And now, the final cherry on top: two hours' worth of traffic.

Jungkook groans as his car crawls along the main road, brake lights stretching endlessly ahead of him like a red river of holiday misery. The snow isn't helping, but neither is the wave of exhaustion crashing over him. He stares out the window, chin resting against his knuckles.

He should be excited to have time off. Everyone else is. All he can think about, however, is how much emptier everything feels now.

By the time he finally pulls up to his driveway, it's well after 9pm. The snow is still falling, covering the sidewalk in a thin white coat, his foot almost slipping when he gets out of the car. He slams his car door shut, trudging up to the front door, shrugging off his coat and kicking off his boots in the entryway. Bam greets him at the door, tail wagging, whining excitedly as he rubs his head against Jungkook's leg.

"Hey, big boy," he murmurs, dropping his bag to kneel down and scratch behind the dog's ears. "I missed you too, buddy."

Bam licks his cheek and bolts to the living room, expecting their usual post-work playtime, but Jungkook's energy is spent.

He heads straight for the kitchen, pulls out a can of beer and stares at it for a few seconds before cracking it open with a sigh. The first sip tastes bitter but he drinks it anyway. Then he sinks into the couch, his shoulders slumped, and stares blankly at the black tv screen. The beer does nothing to warm the hollowness inside him.

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes, letting the low hum of the heater fill the room. Now that he has no work to keep him busy, he's left with a dull ache in his chest.

His beer is halfway finished when Jungkook hears the buzz of his phone coming from the kitchen counter.

He doesn't feel like speaking to anyone right now, but he reluctantly drags himself off the couch and pads over to get the phone from the counter, letting out a sigh as he unlocks it to see who's bothering him.

It's a text from his mom.

Mom [9:46]: Jungkook, please make sure you're careful out there! I read something about a man who slipped and cracked his skull open in the snow. Dead instantly! Love you. Wear proper shoes!!

Jungkook stares at the screen, blinking. He lets out a faint chuckle, his thumbs flying across the screen to let her know that he is in fact alive and well, and that she should stop reading those Facebook posts.

He goes through his missed notifications and doesn't find anything out of the ordinary. That is until he sees it.

Missed call. One voicemail.

From you.

His entire body goes stiff, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at your name on his screen, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He doesn't press play. Not right away. He stares at the little play button like it might bite him. In fact, it might just kill him.

You called him after months of radio silence and he can't figure out why. He doesn't even realize he's pacing around the living room until Bam lets out a small huff of confusion. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair almost a million times, his phone clutched to his chest.

What if it's closure?

What if you're saying goodbye for real this time?

What if you're trying the fix what you broke?

He doesn't know which of those scares him more, if he's quite honest with himself. But then he remembers your face. The way you looked that morning when you broke things off. You didn't look angry, just...scared. Wounded.

He has to listen to the voicemail. He can't not listen to it.

He takes one deep breath, a really long, drawn-out breath, and hits play.

Your voice crackles softly through the speaker and his legs almost give in.

"Hey...it's, uhm...it's me. I, uhh...I know it's been months...and you probably don't want to hear from me...and I wouldn't blame you..."

There's a long pause before you continue, and he stands frozen, waiting with bated breath.

"I know you're hurt...and angry...and uhm..."

There's another pause before a deep sigh.

"You said you wanted to get to know the...the real me, so, uhm...I wrote some things down and I wanted to read them to you. It's kinda stupid, I know...and if you just want to put the phone down right now, I understand...but..."

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, hearing the shakiness of your voice. It makes his stomach churn with nerves.

"I grew up very shy...kinda nerdy. I was bullied a lot in elementary school, so my parents had to put me in another school because girls would call me ugly names and lock me in the bathroom during break. I have a close relationship with my parents. They're the people I hold most dear to me, and my sister, Yuna, who you already know about. My parents worked really hard to provide the best for us. My mom was a seamstress, and my dad actually worked as a lecturer at SNU for almost thirty years. I think I saw how passionate he was about his job, so I followed in his footsteps," you chuckle.

"I took ballet from the age of five to thirteen, and piano around twelve, but I forgot most of it, so please never ask me to play. I had braces at thirteen and I had a 'Dora the Explorer' haircut for most of middle school," you sigh.

As the seconds tick by, the ache in Jungkook's chest swells. With every word, every pause, every breath you take on the other end of the line, something in his unravels. He sits down on the couch and closes his eyes, listening with a smile on his face, his eyes stinging with emotion.

"I love spicy food, even though my stomach hates me afterwards. I love it, can't stop eating it. My mom always scolds me and says I'm hurting my body, but...oh well," you scoff. "I know you always make fun of me for liking matcha, so shut up, I don't wanna hear it, Jeon Jungkook. I like matcha, okay? Sue me. My favourite flavour of ice cream is vanilla, boring and basic, I know. I love baking, which you already know because you've gotten a batch or two of cookies on your desk at work from an unknown source, even though I know that you know it was always me. I love chocolate cake, the really fudgy kind that's almost too sweet and you have to drink a glass of milk with it. I had two pets throughout my childhood and Miso is my third. I might be biased but she's the best. Okay, uh, what else? Uhmmm...I have a fear of heights...and snakes...and clowns. Fucking hate clowns. I'm allergic to pollen and get really stuffy and sneezy during spring, but you always give me your little pack of tissues, which I never actually see you use, so I think you only buy them to give them to me. I've never travelled outside of Korea, but I'd like to someday. Maybe to Barcelona or Paris. I love romcoms and all the cliché, sappy stuff that's way too unrealistic to actually happen in real life...and my embarrassing guilty pleasure is Love Island. Don't make fun of me because I know you will!"

There's another long pause while you brace yourself for what's to come. Jungkook hangs onto every word, the phone clutched tightly in his shaky hand.

"I was in a seven-year relationship with my ex, Sunghoon...the one I told you about in Jeju. We met when I was sixteen...and...I thought I was going to marry him and have babies...grow old together..."

Jungkook feels his face burn hot with suppressed emotion. This is it. This is what he's been waiting for. You're finally giving him the missing puzzle pieces he never had before. You're finally telling him why you could never fully give yourself to him.

"Sunghoon proposed to me and, naturally, I said yes because...I thought that he was...my person," you sigh. "He told me that I was the one true love of his life and that he would never do anything to hurt me. And then he...cheated on me. He cheated on me with a friend of mine and...I packed up my things and I left."

Your voice is shakier now, like you're willing yourself not to cry, and this almost breaks Jungkook completely.

"I cried on Jihyo's bathroom floor for God knows how long. It took me almost two years to stop hurting. I blamed myself. He blamed me too. I let him convince me that it was somehow my fault that he cheated, that I just wasn't good enough for him. And I was so depressed for such a long time because of what he did to me. I promised myself that I would never let anyone in like that again...I would never allow myself to be loved by a man because that would give them the power to hurt me. And then I transferred to work at Yonsei and...and then I met you. And we became friends...and you were so...kind...and so welcoming...and you made me feel comfortable. And then we got drunk at that staff Christmas party last year and had sex, and maybe I was stupid enough to think that no one would end up getting hurt in the end. And when we kept doing it, I needed those boundaries to keep me safe from being hurt by the cute economics professor I was secretly hooking up with. Those stupid rules and boundaries would protect me from you and the feelings I knew I was starting to develop for you. I knew that if I let you stay the night...if I let you kiss me whenever you wanted...if I fell asleep in your arms every night...I knew that I'd fall in love with you. And yet...stupid me, and my stupid heart...I didn't care about any of that because I still fell. I fell in love with you."

You let out a soft sigh, your voice trembling.

"When we started hooking up, you made me feel like a woman again instead of an empty shell. You made me feel desired and...sexy...and beautiful. You made me feel like I wasn't the problem all along...like Sunghoon cheating on me wasn't because of anything that I did. And when you told me you loved me it all just became a bit too real, and I freaked out because Sunghoon loved me too at some point, and he still betrayed me. And if I told you that I loved you...it would be opening myself up to be hurt again. And I get it if you never want to speak to me again because I wouldn't either if I were you. I'm a mess and I run away when I get scared and I hurt people before they can hurt me...and...and I punished you because of Sunghoon's actions. I hurt you because he hurt me and I'm so, so sorry, Jungkook."

It's as if time stands still for Jungkook. He almost thinks that's the end of it, but your voice comes through right at the end in a soft, shaky murmur.

"You are...the sweetest, kindest...most amazing man that I have ever met...and I love you, Jungkook. I'm so utterly...madly in love with you...and you deserve so much better than me...but if you give me the chance...I swear I'll never hurt you like I did before. So...yeah...that's all. Please call me back. Bye."

Jungkook doesn't move for a while after the voicemail ends. He just sits there, staring down at the phone in his hand as if it still holds your voice, like if he listens hard enough, maybe he can hear you right here with him in his living room.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he hears his own broken sob slipping from his throat and harshly stabbing his ears. It startles him. It sounds raw. Uncontrolled.

His head spins as the weight of the voicemail finally crashes into him. Everything you said, everything you gave him in that voicemail, it was real. It was all of you.

You're finally letting him see the real you.

You gave him everything he thought you'd never trust him with; your pain, your past, your fears, your truth. And it wrecks him.

He sinks onto his back on the couch, the phone clutched like it holds all the most precious secrets in the world. The only thing wracking through his brain is your voice. It echos in his ears, every confession whispered with shaky breath.

You really love him.

He presses a hand over his mouth as another sob escapes, muffled and aching, tears slipping hot and fast down his cheeks. It's quiet devastation. It's relief and love and hope.

He has to get to you. Now.

Jungkook rushes to stand up and gather his things. His hands shake as he looks for his keys. Where the hell are his keys? He pats down every pocket, rushing from the living room to the entryway, looking frantic, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might tear through his ribs.

He yanks on his boots, almost falling over in the process. He doesn't even care to put his coat on because he finds his keys and rushes to yank the front door open, but he freezes at the sight that greets him.

There you are. Standing on his porch.

Your hand is raised as if you were about to ring the doorbell, but you freeze, caught mid-motion. Snow falls around you, gathering in your hair, on your shoulders, soft and shimmery in the porch light. You're clutching something against your chest.

The box.

His box.

Jungkook's heart lurches into his throat, so hard and so fast it's almost painful.

Neither of you say anything at first. You both just stare at each other with wide eyes and ragged breaths, cold snowflakes melting on heated cheeks and old tears drying as new ones form.

And then you speak, soft and steady.

"I read your letters."

His stomach twists sharply, his hands trembling where they hover uselessly by his sides.

He blinks at you, completely stunned. "W-What?"

You tighten your hold on the cardboard box as if it's the only thing anchoring you there. The lid almost falls off, which feels quite like your emotions as you stand before him, just begging to spill out at the seams.

"I read all of them. Every single one. Even the ones from as far back as four years ago."

Jungkook's mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. His eyebrows furrow, a million questions running through his head. When he finally does speak, his voice is breathless, almost too quiet to hear. "How did you get those?"

You shift the box in your hold, steadying it under your arm while you wipe your damp cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, fresh tears falling.

"Taehyung," you croak out, your chuckle shaky and broken. "He...he must have stolen them if you didn't even know I had them."

He scoffs, his eyebrows shooting up. "That little-"

You cut him off with a shaky laugh, stepping forward, the snow crunching under your shoes.

"I'm glad he did, Kook," you murmur, your voice wobbling with your emotions. "Because if he hadn't...I never would've known..."

He stares at you, his heart hammering with every inch that disappears between your bodies. "Known what?"

You swallow thickly, your tears glistening in your lashes. "That you loved me even when I didn't deserve it. Even when I insisted on keeping you at arm's length. That...you saw me, even the parts I tried to hide."

You let out a breath, your voice quivering, your eyes welling up until everything spills over and runs down your face.

"That you waited for me to be brave enough to love you back."

You step closer, your words spilling out, desperate and earnest like you have to convince him of your true feelings.

"I read every word, Jungkook. I read about all the little things you noticed about me when I thought no one did. I read about all the nights you got close to confessing your feelings for me but didn't because you knew I wasn't ready to receive it. How much you hoped that I would choose you someday. And it made me realize that I was never scared of you hurting me. I was scared because...because you loved me so deeply and...I didn't think I deserved to be loved like that by someone as good as you."

You sniffle, laughing weakly through heavy tears. "But you loved me anyway. You loved me so...patiently. And I was too much of a coward to let myself have it."

Jungkook's body buzzes with adrenaline, his muscles trembling, his emotions boiling so violently inside him that he feels as if he might fall to his knees. But he remains firm. He owes it to himself.

"I'm so, so sorry, Jungkook," you whisper. "I'm sorry for pushing you away and I'm sorry for making you think you weren't enough. You're everything. You always have been."

He can't take it anymore. He can't bear to stand here anymore and not have you in his arms where you belong.

In one swift motion, Jungkook steps forward and grabs the box of letters from your hands, tossing it somewhere inside without a care before cupping your cheeks in his trembling hands, pulling you to him.

And then he's kissing you. Hard. Desperate. He kisses you like he's trying to pour every unsaid word, every lonely night, every broken piece of himself into you, where he feels safe.

You whimper against his lips, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt like you'll drown without him. The snow falls even heavier, but neither of you notice. All he knows is that you're here now. You're home.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Kook," you mumble against his mouth, pulling away to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't apologize. You're here now."

"Still. I shouldn't have hurt you just because I was still hurting from my past. It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve that."

He hears the genuine remorse in your voice, sees the guilt in your eyes, and it twists his heart. He wants to argue and tell you that he knows you were just protecting yourself, that it's all okay, but he doesn't. He can't deny that it hurt, the silence you gave him, the cold shoulder.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your face and gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "I understand why you did it...but I'm not your ex. I wouldn't...I'd never..." he trails off, his words getting caught in his throat.

You nod, offering him a soft smile, your eyes growing glossy. "I know."

He swallows, his throat feeling tight. "I couldn't hurt you like that. I care about you too much."

"I know, baby," you whisper, gently pecking his lips.

The pet name sends a shiver down his spine. It has never sounded better than when it rolls off your tongue.

He kisses you back, closing his eyes as he savours the feeling of your mouth on his, your tongues moving in a slow dance. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you against his chest, his hands trailing up and down your back.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, his thumbs gently stroking your back through the wool of your sweater.

"I missed you," he chokes out. "God, I missed you so much, ___."

His mouth finds yours again. It's softer now, slower, tasting the saltiness of your fresh tears, the sweetness of your lips on his, the warmth of having you, really having you this time.

He drags you inside, kicking the door shut with his foot, not once letting you go.

Bam barks excitedly somewhere behind him, but Jungkook barely hears him. His world has narrowed to the feeling of you in his arms, the weight of you real and warm and finally his to love.

"Don't leave me again," he whispers into the kiss. "Please."

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder. "Never," you promise, your voice breathless, thick with emotion. "Never again."

Outside, the snow falls, blanketing the city with the finality of the year past, but inside, your kisses hold the promise of everything that's still waiting to begin.

Jungkook doesn't break the kiss as he walks you backwards down the hall, pausing every few steps just to murmur your name against your lips like he still can't believe you're really here.

Your back hits the doorframe of his bedroom, and he smiles against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as he guides you inside. The room is dim except for the glow of the snowfall filtering through the curtains, silver light dusting over the bed, the walls, you.

He kicks the door closed to make sure Bam doesn't interrupt because he can't afford to stop at a moment like this. He keeps moving until he stops in front of the bed and pulls away from the kiss to look at you properly, looking at you like you're something holy, something he's afraid to touch too quickly and ruin.

His hands drift down from your waist, slow and reverent, until they find the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush teasingly along the strip of skin just above your jeans, and you shiver under his touch.

You reach for the hem to help him, but he gently shakes his head, his lips brushing against your temple. "Let me. Please."

You nod, your heart pounding, your eyes shining as you look up at him in the dim light of his bedroom, the moonlight making everything feel that much softer and sweeter.

With infinite tenderness, Jungkook lifts your sweater, bunching it higher inch by inch. His hands graze over your sides, your ribs, the underswell of your breasts. You raise your arms for him, and he pulls the fabric over your head, tossing it aside without ever taking his eyes off you.

His breath hitches, his hands skimming back down to cradle your waist. "You're so goddamn perfect," he murmurs, like a secret meant only for you.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. Without speaking, you undo each one and slowly pull the cotton off of his shoulders, watching it fall to the ground. His skin is warm and solid under your touch, and your palms flatten against his chest, feeling the pounding rhythm of his heart.

Jungkook captures your mouth in a slow, passionate kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips. You clumsily kick off your shoes and he gently walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and then, with a careful push, he lays you down among the pillows.

He hovers over you, just staring, his gaze drinking you in like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen. His thumb strokes lightly across your cheekbone.

"Hi," you whisper, smiling up at him, like two lovers meeting after an eternity apart.

"Hi, baby," he whispers before dipping his head to kiss you once more. But he doesn't stay at your mouth for too long.

His lips trail lower, across your jaw, down the curve of your throat. He worships every inch of skin he comes across in his path, kissing slowly, desperately, down to the hollow between your collarbones, the soft curve of your breast, his fingers reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

He gently tosses the material to the floor and dips his head to swirl his tongue around a nipple, giving it a nice, slow suck before pulling off with a pop, moving on to the other nipple.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as he licks and sucks on your breasts, leaving them glistening under the moonlight.

With a lingering kiss to the underside of your breast, he moves lower, trailing his wet lips down the dip of your stomach.

He pulls away to sit back on his knees, reaching for the button of your jeans. "Can I take these off?"

You nod, appreciating that he asked, even though you would never say no to that request.

"Yes," you breathe out, lifting your hips to let him pull the denim from your legs, the weight of it hitting the floor with a dull thud. His lips are back on you in an instant, teasing your hipbones.

You arch into him, soft whimpers leaving your throat with every brush of his mouth. Your hands bury themselves further into his hair, needing to anchor yourself somehow, needing to hold onto something in case you float up to heaven. That's how good his lips feel on your sensitive skin.

Jungkook kisses lower, slower, until he's kneeling at the edge of the bed between your legs. He looks up at you one last time, his hand stroking up your thigh, a silent question in his eyes.

You nod, your voice breaking as you whisper a soft, "Please, baby."

And then he removes your panties and places them with the rest of your clothing on his bedroom floor, his eyes locked onto your waiting core. "You're so beautiful, ___," he sighs, his voice taking on a blissful, almost dreamy tone.

He leans in, placing a feathery light kiss to your mound, his breath brushing against your skin.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds is enough to make your back arch off the bed, an airy moan spilling from your lips. He is devastatingly slow, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world, like your pleasure is the only thing that has ever mattered to him.

He slowly licks up and down between your folds, collecting your essence on his tongue, his hands softly squeezing your thighs.

"You taste amazing," he breathes, pulling back so he can look up at you, his gaze meeting yours, his tongue trailing over his lips before diving back in.

He licks from your slit up to your clit, your eyes fluttering shut, your fingers gripping his hair.

You've never had a man know your body the way he does. He knows you inside and out, and the thought is enough to make you clench around nothing.

"Fuck, baby," you moan breathlessly as he focuses on your clit, swirling his tongue around it before sucking slowly, your thighs trembling in his hold.

Jungkook groans against your pussy as he feels you writhe beneath him, as he tastes the depth of your need. His hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you open for him as he works you with his tongue, giving your clit slow, patient strokes, never rushing, never letting up.

He pulls back only briefly to kiss your inner thigh, whispering, "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

You sob his name, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue trails lower to tease your entrance, gently pushing inside.

He smiles against your wet folds, burying his tongue deep within your velvet walls, thrusting the muscle in and out while his nose rubs against your swollen clit, devouring you with the kind of tenderness that feels like a prayer. It's passionate. It's overwhelming. It's everything you've both been aching for.

"Does that feel good?" he mumbles, his voice muffled against your pussy, looking up at you through his lashes. He trails his tongue back up to your clit, licking and sucking it with more vigour and determination to make your eyes roll back in your head.

"S-so good, Kook," you whimper, arching your back as he laps at your clit, spreading your things wider, your stomach clenching as the pleasure flows through your veins. "Just like that, baby..."

He hums against your core, the sound sending vibrations through your body. He brings two of his fingers to slide through your folds, getting it wet before slowly pushing into you, feeling how tight you are for him. It makes something within him ache, makes the fire in his veins grow hotter.

"Tell me if it's too much," he mumbles between licks, always considerate of your needs and your pleasure.

"N-no, it's...it's not too much," you mutter breathlessly, moaning as he curls his fingers inside you, the feeling twisting in your gut. "Feels...s-so good...I'm almost there," you gasp, feeling him flick his tongue a little bit faster.

He laps at your pussy like a starved man, his fingers pumping in and out of you faster, wanting to bring you the pleasure only he can give you.

You cry out in pleasure as he curls his fingers at just the right angle, rubbing against your sweet spot, his tongue flicking at your clit with toe-curling precision.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck...!"

And when you cum on his tongue, crying out his name into the air, Jungkook holds you through it, murmuring soft words of love and praise against your pulsating core.

Your grip on his hair is almost painful, your vision going black as your orgasm washes over you. He gives your clit a few gentle licks to help you through it, slowly pulling his fingers out of your entrance, now glossy from your slick.

"Oh my God," you whisper under your breath, slowly catching your breath as he presses wet, lingering kisses to your folds, your body going completely limp against his mattress.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice hoarse from how hard he's breathing, his eyes flicking up to yours.

"I'm...amazing," you chuckle softly, watching as he crawls back up your body, hovering over you to make sure you're feeling good. You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he licks and sucks his fingers clean, your pussy clenching at the sight.

He leans in to kiss your lips, his tongue gently pushing into your mouth, feeling you sigh out against his lips. He licks over your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before gently biting down and giving it a slow tug, watching it bounce back in place with a soft smile on his face.

"You're the most perfect woman," he whispers tenderly.

You look up into his eyes, feeling like it's now or never. "I love you, Kook," you murmur, gently cupping his face in your shaky hands.

He smiles and tilts his face in your hands, softly kissing your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. "You love me?"

You nod sincerely, smiling as you watch him rise from the bed. His hands move to the button of his pants, working it open with slow, deliberate movements, his dark gaze trained on you. There's something intense about the way he looks at you, like he's letting you see all the hunger, all the love, all the devotion he's carried for you for so long.

He pushes his pants and boxers down his hips in one fluid motion, letting them fall to the floor.

And then his hand wraps around his cock, slow and sure, stroking once, twice, his eyes burning into yours, his fist twisting at the tip.

Your breath catches in your chest. You can't move, can't look away, feeling hypnotized by the sheer beauty of him, by the tenderness that lingers behind the lust in his eyes.

He groans softly at the feeling of his palm wrapped around his cock, the sound deep and rough, his muscles flexing under the soft glow of the moonlight.

But he doesn't leave you waiting for long.

Jungkook lets go of his cock and it stands fully erect, the tip a faint red, oozing a clear pearl of precum. He lets out a shaky exhale and crawls up the bed toward you, his hands planted on either side of your head as he cages you beneath him.

Your legs part instinctively, your knees bending to cradle his hips between your legs, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes slipping shut as if the closeness alone is almost too much to bear. He presses a tender peck to your lips and lowers his hips just slightly, grinding down against you in a slow, dragging motion.

The feeling of his hard length pressing against your sensitive core makes you whimper into his mouth, your hands trailing down his toned chest and stomach, up to his shoulders, over his back, touching every inch of skin you can reach.

Jungkook takes ahold of his cock, trailing the head through your soaked folds, lightly pressing the tip against your entrance. He swallows thickly as he looks down at your body, your thighs spread wide for him, offering yourself to him.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him down into another kiss, slow and deep, tasting of second chances. You pull back, your noses brushing against one another, your breath mingling in the tiny space between you.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice trembling.

Jungkook's hand cradles the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with devastating tenderness.

"I love you too," he breathes, pecking your lips. "I've loved you for so long."

And when he finally starts to push inside you, he does it slowly, like he's savouring every second, like he's memorizing the feeling of having you wrapped around him after so many long, torturous months.

Neither of you can stop the soft, broken moans that fall from your lips as you become one again, in every way possible.

His hand slides up the side of your thigh as he slowly sinks deeper into you, his chest tightening at how good it all feels, how right it feels to make love to you.

He presses his forehead to yours once he bottoms out, his lips hovering just above yours for a moment before he kisses you, his whole being aching with love, his hips pulling back only to thrust back inside, burying himself in you as deep as he can go.

The rhythm between you builds naturally, slow thrusts of his hips against yours, gentle kisses that grow deeper, heavier, more desperate. You cling to each other like you're afraid to let go, the emotion between you too much to hold back, too much to contain.

"Fuck," Jungkook chokes out, his voice raw. "You're...you're everything to me..."

You wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, your lips moving against his so passionately you almost don't register the fresh set of tears wetting your lashes.

He rocks his hips into you in the slowest, most tender rhythm you've ever felt. Each thrust is deep and languid, every roll of his body against yours speaking more than words ever could.

"I'm sorry, baby," he breathes against your lips. "I'm sorry I let you go. I should've fought harder."

You shake your head, tears slipping down your temples into the pillow. "No, Jungkook...I'm sorry. I should've been braver. I should've-"

He kisses you again, swallowing your shaky apology. "It's okay. We're here now," he murmurs, his voice quivering. "We're here."

You nod, clinging to him tighter, your arms and legs tightening around him.

The world outside blurs into nothing. Only the slow, rhythmic joining of your bodies remains, the gasps, the whimpers, the whispered 'I love you's between desperate kisses.

He's everywhere, his mouth mapping your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, his hands roaming your sides, your thighs, your hips. Worshipping you. Reassuring himself that you're here, that you're his.

"Baby, tell me if it's too much," he mumbles, his lips softly pressing to your cheek, his cock pumping in and out of your heat at a devastating pace.

"It's perfect, baby," you moan, cupping his face in your hands, feeling him thrust deeper, faster. "Feels s-so perfect."

His muscles tremble above you, his heart pounding in his chest. "God, I'm so in love with you," he groans against your skin, his thrusts growing more intense, his body craving more of you.

He makes love to you like no one ever has before, his fingers intertwining with yours against the sheets. Your bodies fit together like you were made for one another, like you were meant to do this for the rest of your lives.

He wants you like this forever, wants to spend the rest of his life with you, exactly like this. He loves you so much that it aches, his chest full, his mind spinning.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you moan, pushing your head back into the pillow, your walls clenching around him, your chest heaving. "I'm so close..."

"I know, baby," he mutters, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. "I'm right here. I've got you, my love."

He slides one hand down between your bodies to rub circles over your clit, thrusting his hips harder, that thick, heady feeling growing in your lower belly.

"Oh my God...f-fuck, baby, I'm c-cumming..!"

When you reach the peak of your pleasure, when your legs tighten around his waist and your walls clench desperately around him, Jungkook doesn't speed up.

He stays with you.

He carries you through it.

He presses his mouth against your shoulder, murmuring soothing reassurances, feeling you tremble and sob beneath him from the intensity of your second orgasm.

And when he follows you over the edge seconds later, it's with a low, guttural groan of your name, his arms shaking with how tightly he holds onto your body. His muscles shake, his cock twitching as he coats your insides with thick, white ropes of his cum.

It's been a while since he's felt such an intense pleasure. Sex with you always feels amazing, but making love and knowing that you love him back is something that he doesn't know how he'll ever get used to.

Neither of you lets go. Even when the aftershocks fade and your breathing evens out. He stays inside you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

The snow falls quietly against the bedroom window, but inside, everything is finally still.

You're safe. You're home.

"I'm never letting you go again, ___," Jungkook whispers against your damp skin, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Never."

You nod, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

He kisses your tears off your skin and whispers sweet promises into your ear, pulling soft giggles from your lips. It's not long before his cum starts to dry between your legs, so he reluctantly pulls out of you to go and get a warm, wet rag from the bathroom. He cleans you up between your thighs, making sure to be as gentle as possible as he drags the rag through your messy folds.

Jungkook quickly goes to toss the rag back in the bathroom and crawls back in bed. He pulls the covers over the two of you without breaking contact between your bodies, wrapping you up so tightly in his arms that you can feel the steady beat of his heart against yours.

He rolls onto his back, welcoming your head on his chest. His fingers trace slow, absentminded shapes along your back, his other hand tangled with yours under the covers. Your legs are draped over his, your cheek resting just below his collarbone, where you can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

You both bask in the silence for a while, just breathing each other in, your hearts syncing back into rhythm. But eventually, you shift, angling your face up toward his. "Can I tell you something?"

He hums. "You can tell me anything."

You pause, your fingers toying with the edge of the blanket draped across his chest. "I recently started going to therapy."

Jungkook's brows raise. He shifts so he can see you better, gently brushing some of your hair out of your face. "You have?"

You nod. "Yeah. I started going about two weeks ago. I didn't know what else to do after everything. I felt like I was stuck in this loop of blaming myself and not letting go of what Sunghoon did, of how it ended. So…I'm trying. You know, to start fresh, I guess. Learn how to not self-destruct every time I get scared."

His eyes soften, his lips spreading into a gentle smile. He presses his lips to your forehead and keeps them there for a moment. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

You let out a breathy chuckle, but your voice is quiet when you respond. "I wanted to be better. Mostly for the girl who believed she wasn't worthy of love. I owe her that much."

Jungkook kisses your cheek, your nose, your temple. "You've always been worthy. And I'm proud of you for taking care of yourself. I'll support you through it all."

Your eyes sting with a combination of emotions. You lean into him, your voice coming out smaller, softer. "I want to be someone who's capable of loving you the way you deserve."

He presses a kiss to your lips, his arms tightening around you. "You already are that person, baby. You always were. You just had to believe it."

You nod, a small, shaky exhale falling from your lips. "I do now."

There's a long pause. You feel his fingers still against your back. He shifts slightly beneath you, as if something's weighing on him.

"There's actually something I want to tell you too," he murmurs slowly, his tone sounding rather nervous. "Because I promised myself I'd never lie to you, not ever."

You tilt your head slightly, your heart giving a cautious thump. "Okay."

He takes a deep breath, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. "One night...a little while ago...Taehyung dragged me to a bar. I was…not in a good place."

You nod slowly. "Okay...? Go on."

Jungkook swallows thickly, hesitating. "Hana was there. And...we, uhm...we kissed."

Your breath stills.

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly. "I was drunk. And really...really sad. She kissed me and I kissed her back. It was for, like, a second. I wanted to feel anything that wasn't…the feeling of losing you."

Your chest tightens, but you remain silent, letting him finish.

"I stopped it," he says quickly, urgently. "It got...heated for a second, and then I realized how wrong it felt. I told her I loved you, that I wasn't going to use her to forget about you because I didn't want to forget about you. I could never, I swear."

You nod slowly, absorbing it, letting it settle.

His voice cracks slightly, his nerves peeking through. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I hate that it did, but I promised myself that if I ever got you back, I'd tell you everything. I don't want to start over with anything hidden between us."

There's a long pause, the air in the room feeling tense.

And then you sigh softly, reaching up to cup his jaw in your hand. "Thank you for telling me."

He blinks, clearly not expecting that response. "You're not…mad?"

You shake your head. "I mean...I can't lie, it hurts a little, yeah...but I get it. I pushed you away. I left you with nothing. You don't owe me perfection, Jungkook. All I ask for is honesty and you gave me that. That's more than Sunghoon ever gave me. You chose me, and that's what I'm holding onto."

Relief floods his whole body, and he leans in to kiss you softly, gratefully.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips. "So much it makes my chest hurt sometimes."

You kiss him back, cradling his cheek in your hand. "I love you too. Thank you for choosing me. And I don't mean choosing me over Hana. I mean...thank you for choosing me...in general, just me, for who I am and all the shit I come with..."

His expression softens, gently flipping you onto your back, hovering above you, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans in.

"I'll always choose you," he whispers, kissing your cheek.

"Even on your worst days." A kiss to your jaw.

"Even when you try to push me away." A kiss just below your ear.

"Even if you eat the last slice of pizza and deny it."

You burst out laughing. "Oh, so that's your love language? Eternal devotion, but with conditions, huh?"

"I never said eternal," he scoffs, feigning seriousness. "My letters said I'd love you for at least fifty years, and then I'll reassess based on your behaviour."

Your mouth drops open in mock offense. "Fifty? That's it?"

He grins and nuzzles his face into your neck, chuckling softly against your skin. "Okay, okay. Maybe fifty-one. Maybe."

You giggle, tilting your head back as he kisses a warm trail down your throat.

"But seriously," you murmur, your eyes searching his. "Those letters…they broke me...in the best way. You wrote about things I didn't even realize you remembered. Like the cardigan I lost in the library."

"The blue one with the frayed cuff," he says instantly. "You said it felt like a hug."

Your throat tightens. "How do you remember all that?"

He kisses your nose, your cheeks, your lips. "Because I loved you for four years, baby. I memorized you."

You pull him down into another kiss, slower this time, more intentional.

You break the kiss with a soft giggle, as if realizing something. "You wrote a three-page letter about my eyes."

He groans, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his hand. "I was down bad. Shush."

You're full-on laughing now, your cheeks sore from how hard you're smiling. You roll onto your side to face him, leaning up on your elbow.

"And the one where you wrote 'Sometimes I pretend to forget stuff just so you'll explain it to me and look at me all proud when I understand'?"

Jungkook grabs a pillow and covers his face completely. "Okay. That's enough. This is character assassination."

You peel the pillow away, still smiling, and cup his face. "No, baby. This is love. And I'm keeping those letters forever, so get used to the emotional blackmail."

He laughs through the embarrassment, his cheeks burning but his eyes are so full of affection and admiration. "As long as you're staying, you can blackmail me all you want."

He rolls onto his side so you're facing each other, your noses almost touching, your smiles matching, both of you curling inward like two magnets finally allowed to rest.

"I feel like I can finally breathe again," you whisper.

"Me too." He presses his lips to your temple. "And this time, I'm not letting anything get in the way."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his heartbeat echoing against your chest.

There's still healing to do. There's still work to be done, but you'll do it together. And for now, that's more than enough.

The world is quiet outside, and for once, both your head and your heart match it.

You wake up slowly, sleep-drunk and tangled in warmth, your legs tangled lazily with Jungkook's under the warm covers. His arm is heavy across your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily behind you, and you feel the soft brush of his breath at the nape of your neck.

Neither of you talk at first. There's no need. You're both wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes after a storm, the peaceful kind, the kind that says 'we made it'.

Eventually, you feel him shift slightly behind you. A soft kiss lands on your shoulder, then another.

"Still here," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his lips brushing over your bare skin. "Was worried I dreamed the whole thing."

You smile to yourself, your eyes still closed. "If this is a dream, don't wake me up."

He chuckles lowly, curling in closer until his nose nuzzles behind your ear. "Don't tempt me. I'll keep you here forever."

You stretch slowly, turning in his arms until you're facing him. His hair is a mess, his eyes are puffy with sleep, and there's a tiny crease on his cheek from the pillow. He's devastatingly handsome, and yet, utterly adorable.

You're so in love. You can admit that out loud now and know that it's not scary.

"You drool a little," you whisper, brushing a finger under the corner of his mouth.

He furrows his eyebrows, his lips puffing out into the faintest pout. "I do not."

"You do," you grin.

He rolls onto his back, dragging you with him so that you end up sprawled half on top of him, legs tangled and bare skin pressed to bare skin. "Fine," he sighs. "But you love me so you'll overlook it, right?"

You smile, rubbing your hand up and down along his chest. "Mm. I do."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips, kisses it softly. Then again. And again. His voice softens. "Still can't believe I get to wake up like this. With you."

Your smile melts into something softer, more vulnerable. "It feels different, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." His fingers trail along your arm, his nails lightly tickling your skin. "Like everything finally fell into place."

"It's crazy that Tae kinda made this happen. I mean, you confessed and I was a dick about it but if he didn't give me those letters, I wouldn't have known how sincere you really were."

"I owe him," he scoffs. "Remind me to thank him for completely violating my privacy and saving my entire life in the same breath."

You grin, your fingers dancing lazily over his chest. "He knew what he was doing. He always knows."

"That cheeky bastard," Jungkook murmurs affectionately. "I'll call him later. Tell him he's officially off the hook for every embarrassing story he's ever told about me on drunken nights out."

"Even the one about you bending over and your pants ripping mid-lecture?" you chuckle.

Jungkook groans. "Especially that one."

You laugh again, melting deeper into his embrace. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the warm skin there. "So…what now?"

He hums thoughtfully, eyes fluttering shut. "We enjoy the holidays. We get snowed in together. We raise Miso and Bam together, which might be a challenge at first but they'll grow to love each other. I make you breakfast in bed every morning. Bam learns how to make coffee."

You laugh, your voice muffled against his skin. "Very realistic plan, professor."

He lifts his head just enough to kiss your temple. "Okay, but really?" He looks up at you as you pull away. "I want to take you on a date."

Your heart flutters. "A date?"

He nods. "A real one. Not just grocery shopping or late-night convenience store runs. I mean...dressed up, picked up, nervous butterflies, 'walk you to your front door and kiss you goodnight' type of date."

You pretend to think about it for a moment. "When?"

"Next Friday," he says confidently. "Dinner. Just you and me. Somewhere special. Our official first date."

You bite your bottom lip, smiling so hard it hurts. "That sounds…kinda perfect."

Jungkook grins. "Good, because I plan on wining and dining you and then making you cum so hard that you-"

You cut him off with a laugh, playfully pinching him. "Jungkook!"

"What? I'm being romantic!" he laughs, warm and hearty and carefree. "I think my girlfriend deserves both a five-star meal and a few really good orgasms in one night."

Your face burns red as you bury it in his chest. "We're not calling me your girlfriend yet," you mumble, slowly looking up at his face.

He leans in, his mouth ghosting over yours. "Says who?"

You blink up at him, lips brushing, breath mingling. "Says me. Just for now, until after the first date."

He grins wickedly. "Then I guess I'll just have to make sure it's the best first date of your life."

You kiss him again, slowly, sensually, your tongue licking into his parted lips. He tastes good in the morning. He's not as minty fresh as he normally is, but it's that 'I like kissing you even if you didn't brush your teeth yet because I'm so utterly in love with you' type of taste.

Your lips don't part as you swing a leg over his hips, straddling him, your hands on either side of his head on the pillow. The room is chilly but the look in his eyes and the feeling of his semi-hard cock nestled between your legs warms you from the inside out.

You sit up straight, revealing your bare breasts to him, your messy hair falling down your shoulders and back.

His hands rest at your hips, touching your skin with tenderness and reverence, looking at you like he's seeing the sun rise for the first time.

"You're stunning," he whispers, almost like he still can't believe he gets to have you like this. "You look like an angel."

You feel heat bloom across your cheeks. "An angel?" you tease, raising your eyebrows at the comparison.

He nods, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the flesh on your hips. "The kind that...ruins men..."

You let out a breathless laugh, your head tilting back, exposing more of your neck to him. Before you can respond, his hands slide up your sides, large and warm and steady, until they cup your breasts with delicate care.

"They're so perfect," he sighs, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, feeling them harden to stiff peaks.

You smile as he sits up just slightly, leaning back on his hands as he presses open-mouthed kisses over the soft curve of one breast, then the other. His mouth is warm and tender and adoring, and it makes you arch into him without even thinking.

He groans softly, one hand splaying over your back, drawing you even closer. "How do you expect me to survive this?"

You wrap your arms around his neck, your eyes hazy. "You're doing just fine, baby."

His mouth is greedy as it worships your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples in all the ways he knows you like, his chest tight and his breathing deep as he feels his cock grow harder between your legs.

He finally pulls away and slowly lifts his head to press soft kisses up your neck, his voice deep and rough when he speaks.

"Best tits in the world," he mutters, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You chuckle softly, gently tugging on his soft strands of hair, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Best in the whole world?" you tease, your nipples glistening with his saliva.

"Mhm," he smiles, leaning back against the headboard, his fingers pinching your nipples, his tongue running along his bottom lip. "Gorgeous."

"You're gorgeous," you whisper, leaning in to press your lips to his. "You don't even realize how gorgeous you are, Kook," you whisper, trailing soft kisses down to his neck.

He lets out a quiet, breathy little laugh, his eyes half closed as he feels your lips on his skin.

"You're ridiculous," he grins, his hands slipping under the covers to cup your ass.

"I'm serious, Jungkook," you murmur softly, kissing over his cheeks, the little mole under his mouth, the tip of his nose and each eyelid.

"I could spend hours writing love letters about how beautiful a man you are," you whisper against his skin, pouring all of your love and affection into your kisses.

He smiles lazily, his hand giving your asscheek a firm little tap. "Are you making fun of me for my love letters?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, your lips trailing down his jaw, your hips sensually grinding down on him. His cock slots perfectly between your pussy lips, feeling thick and ready.

"They were sweet. Made me cry a few times. I might write you some of my own someday."

His stomach clenches, inhaling sharply through his nose, his brows furrowing at the feeling of your wet heat gliding along his cock, your clit brushing against the head with every tantalising drag of your hips. The friction feels delicious, your bare skin soft and warm against his.

"Yeah?"

You nod, slowly reaching between your legs to align his tip with your entrance. "Yeah...later. Wanna make love first."

His eyes shine with excitement, his hips aching to lift up into you. "Fuck. Please."

You slowly sink down on him, your warm inner walls enveloping him whole. You both moan when you reach the base of his length, his fingers digging into your hips as you take a quick moment to adjust.

"Feel good?" you breathe, watching his eyes roll back in his head.

"Fuuuck," he groans, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his head dropping back against the headboard, his nails digging into your skin.

"Move, baby...please. I need you to move," he mutters through gritted teeth.

You roll your hips in a fluid motion, riding him nice and slow, just how he likes it in the morning.

"Fuck, you feel good," you moan, working up a steady pace, resting your hands at the back of his neck.

He lets out a sharp, shaky moan, his lips parting in ecstasy.

"Y-yeah, just like that," he breathes, his hands sliding up your back to your neck, pulling you towards him. "Kiss me, baby."

You lean in to kiss him, sliding your tongue into his mouth, tasting the man you love. You moan into his mouth as you ride him faster, your walls fluttering around his shaft, squeezing him like a vice.

"Turn around for me...get on your hands and knees..." he mutters into the kiss, his voice thick with arousal, his strong hands gripping your hips to slow them down.

A jolt of excitement shoots through you, obeying without a second thought.

You do as he says and get on your hands and knees, your ass up in the air.

"Like that?" you tease, looking over you shoulder as you shake your ass for him, knowing how much he loves to see it jiggle.

He lets out a soft groan, his eyes running over your ass, his hand pumping his wet cock, your slick coating his skin.

"Yes, just like that, my love," he scoffs, his hands running over your ass, gently squeezing, his gaze growing even darker. He sits up on his knees behind you so he can get himself aligned with your dripping entrance, his hands trained firmly on your ass as he thrusts into you from behind.

You press your face into the mattress as he fucks into you from the back, your hands gripping the sheets.

You moan desperately, feeling him so much deeper like this, your eyes rolling back in your head as he hits that sweet spot over and over again.

"Ohhh f-fuck, baby," you whimper, your toes curling, your head feeling fuzzy, feeling his presence surround you.

He looks down at your ass, watching the fatty flesh shake with every thrust of his hips, the little puckered rim winking at him, making his cock twitch.

"Goddamn, baby," he groans, landing a hard smack to your right asscheek, leaving a red handprint. "So fucking sexy."

He leans forward and drapes himself over your back, one arm wrapped around your waist as he hovers his mouth next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, his voice deep and husky in your ear.

"Tell me you love me," he mutters roughly, thrusting harder, his pelvis slapping against your ass.

You can barely focus on anything other than the pleasure he's giving you, your body feeling like it's on fire.

"I...I love you, J-Jungkook," you moan pathetically, sounding desperate and needy for him.

"Say it again..." he mutters, his lips pressed to your neck, his thrusts growing rougher.

"Fuck, Jungkook," you whine, feeling him thrust faster, deeper, harder. "I love you, baby..."

"That's my good girl. I love you so much," he whispers, his free hand sliding up your spine and grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling it back and exposing your neck, his lips soft against your skin, feeling your pussy pulse around him.

"Yes...yes, baby...!" you moan, your voice growing breathless as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping skin bouncing off of the walls of his bedroom.

His pace gets a little messy, a little sloppy, and you start to feel your high rapidly approaching. He's very rarely rough like this, and when he is, it does magically things to your body. The passion overtakes both of you, getting lost in the sensation of his thick cock drilling into you.

"Oh my god, baby...l'm gonna cum s-so hard," you gasp, gripping the sheets as the pressure builds in your lower stomach, threatening to unravel.

"That's it, baby," he mutters breathlessly. "Cum for me, ___," he growls, pulling your hair harder for him to bring his lips down to the side of your neck, sucking and nipping at your flesh.

Your body tenses up as the coil within you unravels, letting out an airy whine, your muscles trembling underneath him.

He quickly pulls out of your throbbing pussy, giving his cock a few quick tugs before cumming all over your ass, his stomach muscles flexing and relaxing repeatedly, his head thrown back, his eyes screwed tightly shut. His moans sound like something out of a porno as he paints your skin with his release.

He slowly opens his eyes and looks down at his masterpiece with a proud grin before plopping down next to you on the mattress, both of you panting as you catch your breath, your bodies glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

He turns to you and wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, grinning innocently. "Have I mentioned I love you?"

"Once or twice, yeah," you chuckle weakly, slowly coming back down to earth. You lay flat on your stomach, the side of your face smooshed against the bed.

You feel his hand trail from your waist to your ass, lazily rubbing his cum into your skin.

"Kook, what are you doing?"

"I'm just rubbing it in. It's like lotion," he murmurs, gently squeezing your ass cheek in his hand.

"It's good for your skin..." he adds with a grin, his eyes sparkling with that playful, mischievous glimmer they get when he's in the mood to tease you.

"Good for my skin?" you laugh, leaning up on your elbows. "You're an idiot."

He grins, letting out a breathy little laugh, leaning in to place a couple of soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder.

"Just let me rub it in for you," he repeats softly, continuing to massage his cum into the skin of your ass.

Eventually, you manage to peel yourselves out of bed. Jungkook groans in protest, but you tug on his hand and lead him into the bathroom with a teasing, "Come on, loverboy. We smell like sex and I have your cum all over me."

The bathroom is cold, the tiles cool beneath your feet. You turn on the shower and step inside together, the steam quickly wrapping around you both like a comforting hug.

It's not rushed. It's not even particularly sexy. It's intimate and raw and unfiltered.

He lathers shampoo into your hair, careful and slow, his fingers massaging your scalp until you're practically melting under his touch. You rinse off, giggling when the water drips down your face, and you help him wash his hair in return, watching the suds slide over his firm muscles.

He kisses your shoulder when you reach for the body wash, and you return the favor when he turns to rinse, your lips pressing over the back of his neck, over the curve of his spine. Neither of you say much. You don't need to.

Once you're clean and warm and thoroughly pruned, he hands you a towel and wraps one around his waist. You smile at his damp hair sticking up in all directions, and he playfully shakes his head to flick water at you in return.

The two of you move through a shared routine like it's the most natural thing in the world. You brush your teeth side by side at the sink, giggling like teenagers. Jungkook leans over and kisses your foamy mouth mid-brush, just to make you squeal and shove him away.

When you rinse your mouth and reach for the hairbrush, he kisses your cheek and disappears into the bedroom to get something to wear.

You stand at the mirror, brushing out your damp hair and massaging moisturizer into your face, while the distant sound of kitchen cabinets opening and Bam's excited barking fills the house.

He talks to Bam like a child, "Yes, I know it's breakfast time. You've mentioned it seventeen times in thirty seconds," and the clatter of dog food into the bowl is oddly comforting.

You smile to yourself, your eyes trained on your reflection. Your skin is glowing. Your lips are kiss-swollen. Your heart feels full.

There's something so deeply romantic about all of this. Not just the physical intimacy, not just the sex, but the normalcy of it. The routine. The quiet. The way the spare toothbrush, which now belongs to you, sits beside his, the sound of his voice floating in from the kitchen, the coffee starting to brew.

This is what you've always wanted. Not grand declarations or cinematic gestures. Just this. The everyday softness of being loved.

The smell hits you first, something buttery and warm and just a little sweet wafting from the kitchen, curling into the hallway like a ribbon. You step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body, your hair still slightly damp.

The house is quiet except for the low hum of Jungkook's Bluetooth speaker playing in the kitchen and the sound of Bam's paws clicking excitedly on the hardwood floor.

You put on the oversized sweater you find in Jungkook's closet. It hangs off your frame ridiculously, the sleeves almost swallowing your hands completely, but it's so warm and soft and it smells like him. You pair it with a clean pair of his boxers because your panties are still ruined after last night. It's a look that definitely says 'I'm someone's girl now', and you smile at the thought as you pad barefoot down the hallway.

"Bam," you call gently, and the Doberman immediately runs over to you, his tail wagging like crazy. He nuzzles his head against your thighs, and you scratch behind his ears with a soft laugh.

"Good morning to you too, handsome."

"He's only been asking where you are for the past ten minutes," Jungkook jokes from his spot at the stove.

He looks like the picture of domesticity in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, his bicep flexing subtly each time he flips something in the pan.

You hop up onto the counter, legs swinging as you watch him.

"What's on the menu this morning, Chef?"

"Pancakes," he smiles down at the pan. "With syrup and strawberries. Also eggs and bacon. You know, for balance."

You hum in approval. "Look at you. A man of muscles and meal prep."

He chuckles and leans in to peck your lips before dumping the pancakes into a plate, moving onto the eggs.

Bam, with his tail wagging excitedly, walks over and sits before you like a good dog, clearly hoping for a piece of bacon to fall from the heavens.

You reach over to the plate already filled with fried bacon and carefully peel off an extra crispy piece, holding it out to Bam with a playful whisper.

"Don't tell your dad."

Bam gently takes it from your hand, his tail thumping against the floor as he enjoys his little treat.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised. "Are you corrupting my son?"

"He said he was hungry," you shrug innocently, popping the last bite of the bacon into your mouth. "Plus, he used his puppy dog eyes on me."

Jungkook snorts, scrambling the eggs and adding salt and pepper. "Must have learnt that trick from you."

You hop off the counter while he plates the food, and the two of you sit down to eat, knees brushing beneath the kitchen table. For a moment, you both just eat silently, occasionally glancing at each other with small, almost shy smiles.

It's blissful.

Quiet, but not awkward. Comfortable, not rushed.

Jungkook wipes a bit of sweet syrup from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, quickly popping it into his mouth. "You're really staying calm about this whole thing. The old ___ would have laughed in my face if I made love to her and then cooked her breakfast afterwards."

You chuckle, picking a strawberry off of his plate and taking a bite. "What can I say? I've matured."

"Mmm. And the therapy." He nods, resting his elbow on the table with his chin in the palm of his hand. "You're emotionally stable now, huh?"

You chuckle. "Mostly."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. "I like you in every version."

You set your fork down in your plate, letting a moment of silence pass before you speak again, more softly this time. "So…you're really okay after everything that happened?"

Jungkook meets your gaze, thinking it over.

"I'm not okay with the fact that you were hurt like that to make you cope the way you did," he sighs. "But I am okay that we took the time we needed. And I'm okay because you're here now."

You look down, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "It still kinda scares me. How easily I shut down. How quickly I let that fear control me."

"Hey." He nudges your foot under the table. "You're working on it. That's all anyone can ask. And now, when that happens again, which it might because healing isn't linear, I'll be right there. I won't let you carry it alone."

Your eyes sting a little, but not with sadness. Just...relief.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For loving me even when it was difficult."

Jungkook leans across the table and takes your hand in his, his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

"I never stopped," he murmurs softly. "Even when I thought I should have. You were still it for me."

Then, just to lighten the air a little, you tease, "Well...you did almost let Hana become your coping mechanism."

He groans and drops his head to rest his forehead against the table. "Baby, please, don't remind me."

"But you kissed her," you shrug teasingly.

"It was barely a kiss," he scoffs, sitting up straight.

You raise an eyebrow. "You said it got heated."

"I was vulnerable! She ambushed me by the back alley of the bar like some deranged rom-com villain."

You try to keep a straight face. "That sounds romantic. What stopped you? The smell of garbage coming from the bins?"

He glares at you but there is zero heat in his eyes. "You, obviously. I kept seeing your face in my head and realized she could never be you. Not even close."

That shuts you up for a second.

Your playful grin fades into something softer, your eyes dipping down to your plate before finding his again. "Good...because I don't think I could've handled seeing you move on like that. Even if I told myself it was for the best."

Jungkook leans in closer, resting his elbows on the table, his voice low. "I didn't want to move on. That was the point. I was drunk and lonely and stupid, but I wasn't trying to forget you. I just wanted to stop hurting."

You nod slowly, his words hitting you in the chest. "Yeah. I get that."

He reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours. "But I'd rather hurt with you than pretend I'm okay without you."

You let out a shaky exhale, giving his hand a squeeze. "You won't have to do either anymore."

His smile is soft and crooked and so full of affection. "Promise?"

You nod, pulling him closer by the back of his neck with your free hand, your nose brushing against his. "I promise," you whisper, pressing your lips to his in a tender kiss.

You kiss him once. Then again. Then again, this time with a lazy little sigh against his mouth.

"I thought we were finishing breakfast," Jungkook mumbles between kisses, his lips curving into a smile.

"We are," you whisper, tugging him closer by the back of his neck. "I just needed a little dessert first."

He groans into your mouth, grinning like a lovesick fool when he finally pulls back. "You're evil."

You both finish the last of your breakfast, soaking in the winter sun that shines in through the frosted kitchen windows.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, at least temporarily, and reality sets in when you glance at the clock on the wall, letting out a sigh.

"I should probably get going."

Jungkook blinks, like the words take a second to register. "Already?"

You nod, offering him an apologetic smile. "Yeah. I need to go check on Miso. I don't want her thinking I abandoned her for a man."

He grins. "Right. She's the jealous type, huh?"

"Very," you scoff, knowing your furry baby is probably plotting her revenge for not getting her breakfast yet.

"Can I borrow some sweats? My jeans are in the laundry hamper."

"Of course," he smiles. "Check in the bottom drawer."

You make your way to his bedroom, wearing his oversized sweater and a flush on your cheeks. You tug open the bottom drawer of his dresser and grab a pair of grey sweatpants, one that's extra soft and worn-in.

When you turn around, he's there, leaning against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching you with the softest smile.

"You wanna watch me change?" you tease, your eyebrow raised.

His lips twitch. "Just admiring my girl."

You roll your eyes and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at being called his girl as you slip into the sweatpants. They're big on you. You cuff the ankles and tie the drawstring tight to keep them from slipping, and still, you look like you're drowning in him.

"You wear my clothes way too well," he mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a grin as you put your shoes on and walk past him, brushing your shoulder against his arm on your way to the front door. "Don't compliment me too much, I won't wanna leave," you chuckle.

"Then don't," he scoffs under his breath as he follows you down the hall, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants. As you reach for the doorknob, you feel it, his fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you back just before you can open it.

His voice is soft, his eyes even softer. "Wait."

Your chest tightens. "Yeah?"

"I just…" He moves closer. "Can we pause time? Just for a second? I'm not ready to let you go yet."

Your heart squeezes. "I'm coming back, baby. I'll see you on Friday."

"I know. But that's so far from now."

You smile up at him, your free hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You gonna miss me?"

"I already do," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you.

It starts soft, just a brush of lips, a promise in the making. But it lingers. One kiss turns into another, his hands cupping your face, his nose nudging yours as his teeth tug at your bottom lip, his tongue moving against yours in a languid rhythm.

When you finally part, breathless and smiling, he presses his forehead to yours.

"Friday night," he reminds you. "I'm picking you up. Real date. No takeout or Netflix."

You grin. "I'll wear something nice."

"You always do." He brushes his lips against your cheek, trailing his hands down to grab ahold of yours, your fingers intertwining. "Even when it's my clothes that are far too big."

You shake your head, giggling softly, before you lean in to press one last kiss to his lips. "I love you, Jeon Jungkook."

"I love you more," he whispers, reluctantly letting go of your hands and stepping back to open the door for you. "Drive safe, okay? Text me when you get home. And tell Miso I said hi."

You roll your eyes with a fond smile. "She probably won't care."

"Tell her anyway."

You take one last look at him before stepping outside, snowflakes gently floating in the air around you. He stands in the doorway, bare-chested and soft-eyed, completely smitten.

You don't even mind the cold air or the snowflakes brushing along your cheeks. His clothes are warm, but it's his affection that burns fiercely beneath your skin. And as you leave, with rosy cheeks and a racing heart, snowflakes catching in your hair and melting on your lashes, you realize something simple and sure:

This is how love begins again. Not with loud fireworks and a spectacle, but with the quiet certainty of someone waiting at the door for your return. With borrowed sweatpants and soft goodbyes, with the warmth of a kiss that lingers longer than it should, and the promise of a date that already feels like forever. It begins in the hush of winter air, in the way your heart aches less now, and in the way his love doesn't ask for anything but your presence.

As you drive away with snow settling on your windshield and his scent still clinging to your skin, you know this is the start of something worth staying for.

PART 7 || PART 9

[endofthelinegang]

boundless

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  john walker x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  the quiet halls of Avengers Tower keeps a kind-hearted witch who begins to distance herself from John Walker after his cold, self-protective indifference makes her believe he hates her. but when her warmth fades and he’s left in the silence he created, John finally confronts his fear of not deserving her—and chooses, for once, not to run from something real.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

The communal kitchen on the 43rd floor of Avengers Tower always smelled like burnt toast and expensive espresso. The windows stretched wide, giving an endless view of New York’s skyline—a breathtaking wash of steel and sunrise most mornings. You liked getting there early, before the full team rolled in. Before the voices and mission updates and tension filled the air.

You were already at the counter, pouring his coffee. Extra cream, two sugars. Just how he took it. You’d memorized that weeks ago. You didn’t expect much. A nod, maybe. A small thanks, if he was in a good mood. You didn’t need grand gestures—you liked offering small things. It was the language you spoke. Quiet kindness. A steady, dependable presence in a tower full of people who’d forgotten how to breathe without bracing for a fight.

So when John walked in, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair still damp from a shower, you smiled at him gently and held out the cup.

“Morning, Walker.”

He paused mid-step. Glanced at the coffee, then at you. And for a heartbeat, his jaw clenched—like the warmth in your voice hit him too hard, too fast.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the cup without looking you in the eye. His fingers brushed yours for a split second—calloused, warm, familiar—and then he turned away like the contact burned.

You blinked. No smile. No nod. Just a flat line of a man walking to the farthest table and sitting with his back to you. He didn’t even ask how you were.Didn’t even see you.

You stood there for a moment, hand still slightly raised, the air around you cooling like the heat had been siphoned out. Slowly, you lowered your arm and turned back to your own mug. The ceramic was warm beneath your fingers, but it didn’t feel comforting anymore.

You weren’t asking for much. You never had. Just a little recognition. A little softness. Something real to hold onto. But lately, all John gave you were clipped sentences, glances that never landed, and silences that bloomed between you like bruises.

And it hurt. In that quiet, specific way affection does when it’s unspoken and unanswered. When it has no place to land. You weren’t naive—you knew who he was. You knew the kind of weight he carried. But it didn’t stop you from feeling like you were handing your warmth to a wall that refused to reach back.

You stayed in the kitchen for a while after that, long enough for the others to start filtering in—Yelena, cracking a sarcastic joke before the sun even hit full stride. Bucky, grunting something half-coherent as he reached for the tea kettle. Even Ava hovered at the threshold, eyes heavy-lidded but calm.

They all greeted you. Talked to you. Saw you. But when your eyes flicked to John—still seated alone, still not looking your way—something inside you tightened. Not angrily. Not dramatically. Just quietly. Defeated.

And that was the morning you decided: if he didn’t want your warmth, you wouldn’t keep offering it. You wouldn’t make it awkward. Wouldn’t make it a thing. You’d just stop trying.You didn’t bring him coffee the next day. Or the day after that.

You stopped offering help after training sessions. You stopped catching his gaze during briefings. You gave him the kind of polite distance you offered strangers in the elevator—nothing cold, just... neutral. Because the ache of being ignored by someone you thought was just nice to everyone hits different when that attention is withdrawn—and you realize, belatedly, it had meant something to you after all.

John Walker didn’t notice it at first. That was the worst part. At first, it was just a missing coffee cup. No loopy writing on the lid. No quiet greeting echoing across the kitchen before sunrise. He shrugged it off—maybe she’d gotten busy. Maybe she was running late.

The second day felt... off. Her usual seat at the briefing table was taken up by her, sure, but angled a little further from his than usual. She didn’t look his way once. When she passed out protective wards—little charms on braided thread for the upcoming mission—he watched her linger by Ava, then Bucky, then even Yelena, exchanging quiet words, a little laughter.

When she got to him, she said nothing. Just set the charm down near his elbow and moved on. It landed like a knife. By day four, it was a pattern. He hadn’t spoken to her since. Not really. And her warmth—the thing he never asked for but always expected—was just... gone. The air around him felt colder. He’d never noticed how much she filled a room until she stopped shining toward him. It pissed him off. But underneath the frustration was something worse. Something heavier. Guilt, maybe. Or the jagged edge of self-awareness that he’d been trying to outrun since Washington.

She had been kind to him. Consistently. Genuinely. Not out of obligation, not like a job. She saw something in him he couldn’t see in himself—and he flinched from it. Treated it like it was dangerous. Because it was. Because it meant she believed he could still be someone good. And that scared the hell out of him. So he did what he always did. Shut the door before anyone could get close enough to be disappointed.

But now the door was closed on him—and he was starting to feel just how much he missed the warmth on the other side. That night, he ended up wandering the Tower. Restless.

The floor-to-ceiling windows on the 81st floor stretched so high it felt like standing at the edge of the sky. New York glittered below, distant and uncaring. He leaned against the glass, arms crossed, watching the city breathe.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered to himself, his reflection in the glass didn’t disagree.

He tried to piece it all together—the way her expression used to soften when he entered a room, the way she touched his arm gently when she handed him things, how she smiled at him like he was worth smiling at. And how lately... none of that was left.

She hadn’t changed. Not with the others. She still lit up when she talked to Yelena. Still whispered something quiet and thoughtful to Ava after missions. Still bantered with Bucky in the elevator, her laugh low and warm. It was just him. She was still herself—just not for him. And that, somehow, was worse than if she’d changed altogether. He pressed his forehead to the glass.

He’d pushed her away so she wouldn’t see the cracks. And now she was gone, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her hands moved when she spoke. Or how she always made things smell like rosemary and rain. Or how her voice felt like a lullaby when the world around him spun too fast.

John wasn’t good with words. Not the real ones. He could bluff his way through tactics and speeches and commands. But softness? Truth? That always came out like gravel and regret.

Still... maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe—just maybe—if he showed up, if he tried, she might still meet him halfway. He exhaled sharply, pulled away from the window, and turned toward the stairwell. One hand rested in his pocket, his thumb rubbing over the worn edge of the charm she gave him earlier that week.

He hadn’t worn it. Not yet. But now he slipped it over his wrist, let it settle against the line where skin met metal. It pulsed faintly. Warm. Still alive. Still humming.Just like hope.

The hallway on her floor felt different than the others.

It was quieter here—thick with hush, the kind that made your footsteps sound too loud, like you were disturbing something sacred. The air smelled faintly of burnt cedar and aged parchment, with an undercurrent of lavender that seemed to linger just beneath the surface—soft, grounding, like the echo of her voice.

John Walker stood in front of her door, heart ticking louder than the hum of the walls.

His hoodie felt too tight across the shoulders. His palms were damp. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the charm dangling beside the door—a loop of crimson thread knotted around gold beads and a fragment of bone. It glowed faintly as he approached, as if it recognized him. Or maybe warned her.

He reached out, knuckles brushing the cool panel. One knock—sharp. Then another—hesitant, more a question than a request.

Silence.

The floor beneath him vibrated with distant Tower activity—an elevator running up, voices muffled through steel, the low electric purr of the tower’s security systems humming like breath through the walls.

He cleared his throat, speaking before he could stop himself. “Hey. It’s me.”

Still nothing. Just that thick, magical quiet. Even the air felt charged, like it was holding its breath.

“I know it’s late,” he said again, voice raspier this time. “I just... I need to say something. I’ve needed to.”

The door opened. Softly. Soundlessly. She stood there, backlit by amber candlelight. Barefoot, wrapped in an oversized sweater that hit mid-thigh, sleeves pushed up, revealing ink-stained wrists and faint traces of sigils half-faded on her skin like tattoos of ancient memory. The light caught in her eyes, reflecting flecks of gold in the brown. Her hair was slightly mussed—probably from pacing, or sleep, or maybe some spell he couldn’t begin to understand.

She didn’t look surprised to see him. Just... quiet.

Guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. Her voice was warm—always—but tonight it was wrapped in velvet and thorns. “Unless you’re just here to confuse me more.”

The scent of her room drifted outward—something rich and strange: chamomile, burning resin, a faint metallic tinge of copper. It made his throat tighten.

“I’m not here to confuse you,” he said. “I’m here because I screwed up.” She didn’t speak. Just looked at him like she was watching a storm from behind glass.

He took a breath—deep, rough, grounding, “You were always there. Smiling. Being kind. To me. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t think I deserved... you.”

A flicker of something crossed her face. Not surprise. Not anger. Sadness. She crossed her arms, the knit of her sweater bunching at her elbows. “You looked at me like I was in the way. Like being kind to you was stupid.”

“I know,” he said. “And I hated that you were still kind anyway.” The corridor felt smaller now, the air thicker—saturated with the weight of everything unsaid. His voice dropped, barely more than a breath.

“I got used to you being there. I counted on it. Then you stopped. And I didn’t realize how much I’d come to need it... until you weren’t.” Still, she didn’t move. But her eyes softened, just barely.

“I wasn’t trying to punish you,” she said. “I just stopped offering things to someone who clearly didn’t want them.”

“I did want them,” he said. “I wanted you. I just didn’t know how to ask.”

The spell holding the moment snapped—gentle, invisible. She stepped aside, her fingers brushing the doorframe. The charm by the door swayed slightly, glowing gold where it touched her wrist.

“Come in,” she said, voice quieter now. “You’re freezing out here.”

He stepped past the threshold.

The warmth hit him instantly—humid with steeping herbs, the soft thrum of her ceiling fan making its rounds to cool the room.. The walls glowed with sigils inked in white-gold chalk. A low record spun in the corner—some folk instrumental, smoky and slow. His boots sank slightly into a woven rug threaded with deep reds and forest greens. He’d never seen a space so alive.

She walked ahead of him, into the heart of the room, and picked up a mug from a warmer tray. Steam curled from the tea like breath from sleeping earth. She handed it to him without a word. His fingers curled around it—warm, solid, real. Their hands touched—briefly—and she didn’t pull away.

“I’m not good at this,” he said. “Feelings. People.” She looked up at him, lashes casting long shadows on her cheekbones.

“You’re trying,” she said. “That’s more than most.” Then, gently, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the charm at his wrist. The spell in it responded, lighting softly with a pulse of warm gold. Her magic. Her mark. Still alive inside him.

“You kept it,” she murmured.

“I didn’t take it off,” he said. “Didn’t want to.” She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel her heat radiating off her skin. Her scent curled around him—smoke, cinnamon, and something old and green. Like a storm-wrapped forest.

He sat the mug down and leaned in, just slightly—enough for their foreheads to touch.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with truth. “I just needed to know you cared.”

His hand lifted, tentative, brushing her waist. “I care.”

She let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed. And then—for the first time in too long—she leaned into him. Not all at once. Just enough. Enough for her head to rest against his chest, and for his arms to slowly, carefully circle her.

Outside, New York still pulsed with noise, neon and endless movement. John Walker breathed deep for the first time in days. And this time, he didn’t run from what he felt.

[theambitiouswoman]

How to get rid of intrusive thoughts—Backed by brain science

Unwanted memories, thoughts you just can’t turn off, thoughts you didn’t ask for are all intrusive thoughts. If you deal with anxiety, OCD, PTSD and even mental burnout, you’ve probably experienced them. But the solution isn’t always about willpower

Your brain runs on chemicals and one of the most important for calm thinking is GABA, which is your brain’s main calming neurotransmitter. It basically tells your mind when to stop firing, settle down and let go of thoughts that aren’t helpful

When GABA levels are low, it becomes much harder to block out intrusive thoughts. Even if your prefrontal cortex is trying its best to stay focused, low GABA can cause your memory system (the hippocampus) to keep looping the same thoughts. It's not that your rational brain is broken it’s that without enough GABA, it doesn’t have the support it needs to do its job

So if you find that you can’t willpower your way out of spiraling thoughts, the issue might be chemistry. And when your GABA levels are balanced, your brain can finally do what it’s designed to do which is filter, release and move on

Natural ways to get rid of intrusive thoughts by boosting GABA levels:

Supplements:

L Theanine– Calms brain, improves focus and boosts GABA

Magnesium Glycinate/Threonate– Helps GABA work better and eases anxiety

Vitamin B6– Needed to create GABA from glutamate

Taurine– A GABA like amino acid that helps quiet your mind

PharmaGABA– A natural form of GABA shown to reduce stress in some people

Ashwagandha– Reduces cortisol and helps regulate GABA

Foods:

Ripe bananas

Spinach, broccoli, kale

Almonds & walnuts

Yogurt, kimchi, miso

Oats, sweet potatoes, quinoa

Training your brain to let go:

10–20 minutes of meditating a day can raise GABA naturally. Box breathing also helps

Cold showers activate parasympathetic nervous system and GABA production

Exercise (even going on walks) boosts GABA and rewires your brain away from rumination.

Grounding reduces overactivity in the part of your brain that loops and obsesses

7–9 hours of quality sleep

Reducing caffeine and alcohol (both mess with GABA)

Taking breaks from constant stimulation and scrolling

Journaling your thoughts

DO NOT:

Do not suppress your emotions. The more you push the thought away the stronger it gets because it is essentially your main focus still. Science shows that when you label your thoughts and feelings they have less control over you. Do not attach any meaning to the thoughts or judge yourself for them instead tell yourself something like " ok well I had this thought and its bad and definitely not something I want, so I will not be doing that" and continue on

Every time you respond to an intrusive thought with calm instead of panic, you’re strengthening your prefrontal cortex (rational thinking, decision making and emotional regulation). Instead of shaming yourself for what your mind throws at you, you’re choosing understanding over judgment, which is what healing really looks

This is not medical advice :)

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

[ofbatsandballads]

i’m aliiiiiive!!! please have this offering that I started writing last month and finally finished this month (it is literally the only thing keeping me going imagining this rn). anyways, i’ve always thought that jay would be great with periods bc one: he’s a grown ass man who knows it’s perfectly natural, and two: he’s seen way, way worse on a nightly basis. also he’s a yearning lover boy who would take care of his partner like they were precious.

tw: explicit discussion of menstrual cycles (symptoms + treatments + the messes that come with it), moderately suggestive at the end

Thinking about Jason Todd who is so good at handling your period that he ruins you for any other man. You wake up to the telltale ache in your lower belly and the feeling of damp fabric sticking to your thighs and you just know. Your face burns with embarrassment and you foolishly contemplate if there’s some way that you can extricate yourself from his arms and change the sheets without waking him. But Jason has a sixth sense when it comes to you and he’s fluttering his pretty seafoam eyes open the second he feels your breathing shift in rhythm. He smiles sweetly at you and hums as he pulls you closer. Normally you’d snuggle into his chest and savor the warmth he provides, but right now you can feel the blood slowly seep out of you, your back and belly feel like someone is stabbing you, and you’re so frustrated you could cry.

“Good mornin’, baby,” Jason yawns.

“Morning, Jay,” you wince. “I’ve got to get up, angel. Can you let me get up?”

Perhaps your pain drifts into your tone because Jason’s gaze sharpens, all traces of sleep vanishing.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong, ma?” he asks, eyes scanning you like he’s assessing for injuries.

God, he’s going to make you admit it. Your face burns hotter.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say unconvincingly as a cramp tears right through you. “Just have to get up and change my clothes. And probably our sheets. I’m sorry, Jay, I should’ve known it was coming.”

You hope he gets it without you having to say outright that you’ve gotten blood everywhere. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You choose to focus on the wall right over his shoulder instead. You’re bracing for some reaction of disgust or annoyance, but Jason is surprising as ever.

“I’ll get the sheets, sweetheart,” he says softly, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “You just get yourself a shower and try to relax. I know our water heater is shit, but try to get it as warm as possible for yourself, okay?”

Oh. Oh, he’s perfect. You already knew that, of course. It's just nice to be reminded of it.

“You’re not…upset?” you ask hesitantly.

Jason just laughs low and gentle, soft as the sunlight that filters through your bedroom window.

“Baby, why would I be mad about a bit of blood? It’s natural. Far more natural than all the times I’ve come home bleedin’ over everything,” he reassures you.

He kisses you sweetly and rubs your lower back before ushering you off to the shower. You do as he says and you swear that he’s magic or something, because against all odds your water stays hot the entire time. You get out warm and refreshed and find that Jason was true to his word. Your bloodstained pajama shorts have been removed from the bathroom floor and replaced by a fresh pair of your underwear and a set of Jason’s soft black sweatpants. Beside the fresh clothes sits the dark gray set of towels that you two always use when Jason comes home bloody and bruised. They’re warm to the touch, likely straight from the dryer, and if you loved him any more you think you might combust with the sheer energy of it.

You will explode with it, you realize, when you see him in the kitchen chopping up fresh fruit for your breakfast. Jason sees you and the blend of fondness and concern in his eyes is a testament to how much he loves you.

“I read somethin’ about how fresh fruit helps with period cramps, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” he explains a bit sheepishly as he pours you a glass of orange juice.

You nod and hum softly, your throat suddenly choked with emotion and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You can’t help it. You literally throw yourself at him. Your hands grasp his sleep-tangled curls and you kiss him desperately, messy and warm and full of love. Jason’s left panting, his lips kissed red and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you’re done with him.

“If I knew fresh fruit would get me that, I’d be goin’ to Louie’s produce stand every fuckin’ morning,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“You do know you’re perfect, right? And I can’t possibly live without you, right?” you confess.

You’re holding on to him so tightly that Jason might just be inclined to believe you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, because I’ve got no plan of goin’ anywhere any time soon,” he whispers sweetly. “Now drink your orange juice.”

Jason is true to his word. He stays by your side all day. He lets you cuddle up to him and steal his body heat for your own, only making a few little jabs about how he’s “nothin’ but a personal space heater to you”. He presses his big, warm hands to your tummy when your cramps hit and rubs firm circles that miraculously ease the ache. Your beloved heating pad serves a dual purpose wedged between his stomach, bruised and sore from a few hard hits on last night’s patrol, and your lower back.

When evening comes and you start to drift in and out of consciousness, body exhausted from the pain and hormones ravaging it, Jason cradles you in his arms and carries you to bed. You’re hazy and tired, but you still giggle when he cleverly lays down your fluffy, waterproof blanket. It usually serves to protect your poor sheets from your rather…messy sex life, but it works just as well in this instance.

“You’re a very smart man, Jason Todd,” you say as you make grabby hands at him.

“Hm. I try,” he replies.

The second he’s within reach you’re burrowing into him again. Jason, as always, obliges and wraps your entire body up in his. A sense of peace and pride courses through him at the satisfied sigh you let out.

“Y’know what else helps with period cramps?” you ask through a yawn.

Jason just watches you lovingly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head.

“Orgasms,” you nod sagely.

Jason snorts loudly, his joyous laughter echoing across your bedroom walls. You smile and think that you’ve never been happier, body actively fighting against you and all.

“Uh huh. Sure. Maybe we can work on that one in the mornin’, ma. Now go to sleep,” he says, his face lit up with a boyish grin and a warmth in his sea green eyes.

You hum in agreement and smoosh your face into his chest. He’s warm and he smells like cedar and something distinctly Jason, and you can barely keep your eyes open a second longer. You idly hope you dream of him when you finally fall asleep.

“I love you more than all the stars in the universe, Jason Todd,” you murmur sleepily.

“I love you more than life itself, sweetheart.”

You drift off to sleep nestled between the warmth of your lover and your electric blanket, content and happy and vaguely looking forward to the promise of trying that one in the morning.

[botanicalsword]

How they approach you ✧ Check their Mars Sign

Mars symbolizes our energy, desires, and pursuit methods. It's associated with our passion, sex drive, and how we chase what we need. In relationships, Mars plays a significant role. It's about how we express our desires, assert ourselves, and handle conflict.

Photo credit @le.sinex

Mars in Aries

They're similar to determined marathon runners who charge forward with enthusiasm, undeterred by any obstacles. Just don't be surprised if they occasionally bump into a wall or two in their relentless pursuit.

Mars in Taurus They're the patient gardeners of love, carefully tending to their relationships like nurturing plants. They take their time to analyze the soil, wait for the perfect weather, and then make their move with unwavering determination.

Mars in Gemini They're the social chameleons of dating, adapting their approach to match the vibe of the person they're interested in. It's like they have a whole wardrobe of different personalities they can slip into, making them the masters of versatility.

Mars in Cancer They're the masters of dropping hints, leaving a trail of clues like a mischievous detective. They keep you on your toes with their mysterious and unpredictable behavior, making every interaction feel like an episode of a thrilling crime drama.

Mars in Leo They're the extravagant romantics, showering their love interest with grand gestures and lavish gifts. They believe in expressing themselves boldly and fearlessly, even if it means occasionally emptying their wallet in the process.

Mars in Virgo They're the undercover romantics, pretending to be cool and collected on the surface while secretly hoping for the other person to make the first move. It's like they're playing a game of emotional hide-and-seek, waiting for someone to uncover their hidden desires.

Mars in Libra They're the hesitant lovers, constantly second-guessing themselves and fearing rejection. They overanalyze every move and struggle with decision-making, like someone trying to choose the perfect Instagram filter for their relationship.

Mars in Scorpio They're the stealthy strategists, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike. They believe in the power of patience and calculated action, like a ninja plotting their next move.

Mars in Sagittarius They're the jacks-of-all-trades in the game of love. They have a bag full of tricks to please their partner, from witty banter to spontaneous adventures. They're like a one-person circus, always ready to entertain and surprise.

Mars in Capricorn They're the master manipulators, using their cunning and wit to get what they want. They play the game of love like a seasoned chess player, making calculated moves and occasionally catching their opponents off guard.

Mars in Aquarius They're the enigmatic superheroes, silently observing from the sidelines until they muster up the courage to reveal their feelings in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment. It's like they have a secret identity, waiting for the perfect time to save the day.

Mars in Pisces They're the poetic dreamers, expressing their feelings in intricate metaphors and whimsical prose. Trying to understand their emotions is like converting a riddle wrapped in a love letter, but once you unravel the mystery, it's like discovering a hidden treasure.

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

Quick Access to : ❥ Astro / Asteroid Indicators ❥ Synastry / Composite Chart Observations ❥ House Stellium Observations ❥ Astro basic info / Brief reads ❥ Asteroid database ❥ Personal studies ✧ spiritual journal

Exclusive access : Patreon

/ instagram : @le.sinex / @botanicalsword

[last-starry-sky]

like – comment – subscribe

alpha!141 x omega!youtuber!reader

[MDNI – MIND THE WARNINGS: 2.5k, poly/pack!141, nothing nsfw, baby’s first omegaverse fic, (mentions of cycles/heats) pls be gentle.]

shorts

It was quiet in the little room. At least, as quiet as a room can be with four large men stuffed inside it. It was nothing special; just an unused office one of them had claimed as an ad-hoc rec room. This base’s rec was . . . okay, but it served all comers. It was too bright; too loud. Too many scents. Too many unknowns. It was just better this way, to be away from everyone else and around only each other.

Despite it’s size, it had slowly collected everything they needed: Soap’s gaming PC shoved in the corner, a recliner for their old man Captain to “rest his eyes” in. A collection of beat down, worn-in, chairs and couches curled around one wall. The perfect place to pile together at the end of a stressful day; to melt into each other’s warmth and scent, for their pack bond to silently strengthen. They wouldn’t call it a den, per se, but it was as close as they could get here. It was a place for the four of them to relax separate from the rest of the base. A place they could forget their bloody, awful work didn’t exist outside the concrete brick walls and dingy lights.

Though they had been working separately, they all had filtered in one by one over the course of the afternoon. Ghost had been first, sprawling in the middle of the jumble of couches in the most comfortable spot. He was absorbed in his phone, scrolling away as snippets of soft music and voices started and stopped, when Soap came in. They had given each other a tired nod, communicating all they needed as the other man plopped himself down in front of his computer. Ghost watched him while he sat back in his rolling chair, rubbed his eyes and groaned. He hooked a pair of old headphones over his head while he waited for his game to load. Ghost scoffed under his breath as he flicked to the next video. He didn’t understand how Johnny could spend all day either behind a computer or a gun, and then choose to relax to both of those things, but he had respect for the man so he let him be. At least he didn’t have to listen to digital gunfire and kids with scratchy mics anymore now that he had the headphones.

Gaz and Price rolled in together. Nothing new there. The stripped down scent of artificial musk and spice wafted in ahead of them. Ghost’s eyes wavered between the two men, down to his screen, then back up. Gaz was literally still wet behind the ears. Price’s shirt was damp where it pulled over his chest and under his arms. Oh. Humph. Had a shower together, had they? He gave the two the same tired nod as they strode in, letting his attention soften back into his phone as they found their places.

Price’s joints popped as he relaxed groaning into his ratty recliner, eyes falling shut as he breathed in deep, even breaths. Gaz chose to slide in next to Ghost, something he didn’t do often. He eyed his lieutenant nervously; big, brown doe-eyes raking over his closed-off form, carefully testing how close the other man would let him get.

Bloody fucking hell, he thought. Still acting all shy and shit? Ghost patted his shoulder, ripping off the band-aid. “Cm’on,” he mumbled with a jerk of his head that kept his low gaze trained on his screen, urging the sergeant forward. “Plenty’f room.”

He complied, pulling himself in close enough to fall against Ghost’s broad shoulder. Gaz relaxed into the larger man’s heat instantly, a low rumble purring out of his chest, his eyes falling closed. Ghost couldn’t help but smile, safely hidden behind his mask. Gaz always was the most tactile of the four of them; constantly seeking out heat and touch and giving it in return. If he wasn’t in need of both his hands at the moment, Ghost would have wound one around Gaz’s shoulders, blanketing him further in the comfort of his warmth and scent.

“Whatcha’ watchin’?” Gaz slurred out half coherently, pressed into the skin of his bicep and exhausted. Suddenly, his head lifted away from his arm. His eyes, already heavy with sleep, zeroed in on the video playing soft piano music in his hands. “She’s cute,” he commented, voice heavy. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped down to his phone. He lifted it to his eyes, squinting at the jumble of information crammed on the screen as the video replayed. A woman in fast motion was cleaning her room from the looks of it: stripping the soft pink sheets from her bed, throwing pillows, blankets and plushies to the side until the semi-circle mattress was bare. Both him and Gaz shared a low chuckle at how comical the speed of the playback made her actions look. The woman then got up on her bed, failing over and over to reach for the hook that held up the bed curtain until, with a jump, she finally grabbed it, flopping down onto the mattress with a cheer of success to the camera.

“Yeah. Cute,” Ghost agreed with a rumble, watching as the short finished with her trailing the long, gauzy curtain out of frame before popping back in front of the camera to smile and wave.

“Who is she? What’s her name?” Gaz asked, practically pushing himself into Ghost’s lap to get a better look at his screen, his fingers just brushing the side of the case as the video started replaying.

Ghost jerked his phone out quickly out of Gaz’s reach. “Cool it,” he warned. “Can find it m’self,” he said, staring Gaz down. He felt the smooth screen sliding beneath his bare fingers as he swung his arm back to his face.

Fuck, he realized too late. He had scrolled to the next video. She was gone, the two men realized with matching groans. Disappointed, Ghost still brought his phone up to his face. Happily, he was met with another video from the same woman. The two men sighed in relief together when they saw her smiling face. It was short lived. Silence fell, the room filled with only with heavy breathing and Soap’s clacking controller as the video played.

There was no music in this video. You walked out in front of the camera this time, your pretty, sleepy face and rumpled hair perfectly in frame. You scrunched your face, yawning and stretching in your soft loose PJ’s, your voice-over began as you started some sort of morning routine in fast motion in the video.

“Hi guys,” you cooed, sweet and gentle. Oh, your voice. Your voice was warm and sweet and comforting, like vanilla and cinnamon - like laundry fresh out of the dryer. You washed your face with a white hand towel, lotion smoothing over your skin quickly after.

Ghost felt Gaz’s cheeks flush against his chest, the choke of a soft, “oh” caught between them.

“Because my other short did so well, I thought I would make another one for all you lovely people!” you said as your other self brushed her hair. You were obviously happy, but your voice was toned down. Tired. “This is from my, um, morning get ready with me that I posted last week, if you couldn’t tell,” you said with an honest to god giggle.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathed against his mask, tensing his free hand, hoping to whatever higher power was out there that no one heard him.

“What’s got you two so quiet all of a sudden?” John mumbled sleepily. He popped his back as he stretched, not yet fully awake from his cat-nap.

Neither of them responded. Ghost was powerless to stop the video playing in his hands, the gentle sounds of plastic containers clicking against something hard out of frame continued in the background as you leaned in close, applying mascara. You batted your eyes for a brief second, drying them before dancing out of frame.

“Just simple makeup today: BB cream and . . . um mascara, because I filmed this right before work and I didn’t feel like being too done up. All the products I use are in the description of the original video, by the way, as always.”

Their Captain’s knee pushed into the couch, his hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he leaned in to watch. Price was beyond needing an invitation like Gaz. His presence was always welcome: warm, solid, and inviting. He was just in time to see you flounce back into frame with an outfit on a hanger: a long, soft gray sweater, black leggings, and fuzzy pink socks, then back out. Ghost didn’t need to look up to tell John was already entranced. The steel grip of his hand cutting into the meat of his shoulder was all the sign he needed.

“Don’t you just love those socks? They are SO much pinker in person, believe me. I was sad how dull they turned out looking in the video. But they are SO comfortable. I would wear them everyday if I could. Um, so yeah, just working and then doing some editing today, so I chose something comfortable but also nice enough in case I had a Zoom meeting. Always have to plan for those even though I hate them,” you said with a tired laugh.

The three men let out a collective groan when you stepped back in frame wearing your outfit. You did a little twirl, socks sliding across the beige carpet, before you stepped close to the camera again. Your face craned away; hands masking off the long column of your neck, showing off the three tiered necklaces you were wearing: a black tattoo-style choker, a short velvet ribbon with a star pendant hanging from it, and a long gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.

Gaz kicked the back of Soap’s chair, knocking him forward hard enough for his headphones to roll off his head.

“SHIT!” he snarled as he turned. “Who fuckin’ did that? Gaz? The fuck-”

“Get over here now,” Gaz hissed at him, voice biting through the air.

Soap obeyed, scrambling onto the couch next to Gaz as your video came to a close.

“I love these necklaces too. Omg, look how they sparkle,” you squeaked. “I have the BEST light in this room. I’m so lucky. Someone asked me where I bought them and I honestly can’t remember! I’m sorry! I know they were all separate and I’ve had that long locket-thing for ages, so they might not even be available to buy anymore. Hit up your local antique and thrift stores though! If the scents don’t both you too much it’s a great place to find pieces like this. Ooo that’s a good video idea! How to de-scent second hand clothes? Let me know if you want to see that! Anyway, that’s all the time I have bye!”

The four of them sat in silence, pressed as close around the phone in Ghost’s hand as their bulk would allow, the video replaying. The mood in their ad-hoc rec room shifted like the tide. It was nothing dangerous, nothing concerning. Just the four of them, so attuned to one another, deciding within them on a single course of action. It was all internal, though; all within that basal, animal part left in them that made them alphas. The first to bring that reaction into their human brain was Soap. He sank sideways into the cushion of the sofa, smashing into Gaz, as he watched you flicker in and out of frame. He groaned when you held your hands up to display your necklaces for the fifth time.

“Nay any mark there,” he sighed, eyes still following you.

“Means . . . means she not-” Gaz rambled quietly, still entranced.

“No claim,” Price gritted out. The three other men groaned in tandem as he said it, something akin to a group howl.

“How?” Soap asked, scrubbing a hand futilely over this face as he tried to snap himself out of the cloud of testosterone filling the room. “How’s a pretty thing-”

“Pretty omega,” Ghost interrupted, plunging the room into silence once again. Soap was first to respond once again.

“No way,” he breathed, “You sure? How’d you know?”

Ghost flicked his thumb down the screen, interrupting you as you leaned in to scrub your face. The previous short began to play. “Look,” he urged, voice grumbling harsh and low, “Lookit the name of the video.”

They all squinted to make out the title in it’s tiny font. “Post-heat/post-cycle bedroom clean with me!” #nest #omegalife #omegasafe A jumble of sighs and keens, of possessive chest rumbles and hisses, rang out. They didn’t mean it. It was an instinct reaction that, even among the pack, they might have to fight one another for you flared before dissipating.

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gaz breathed, speaking to no one in particular.

“She got other videos?” Soap asked, his hands reaching for the phone before Ghost snapped it away. “Cmon, Ghost. Just lemme look, please? Know she’s gotta-”

“Yeah, cmon, Ghost,” Gaz joined in, forcing the man to fend the both of them off with his arm, his phone curled protectively into his chest with the other.

Price was up off the couch in front of his three men as fast as his sore knees would let him. “Get a hold of yourselves!” he bellowed, snapping them to attention. Wide-eyed, they sat waiting for instruction. “We’re not gotta find shit about this girl fightin’ each other, actin’ like a bunch of dickless welps.”

Three, slow, “yes, sirs” followed.

“We’re a pack. We work together,” he said looking at each of them, hands on his hips. “We all want this one, right?” Price looked from man to man as they all nodded. “Then we have to be smart about it. We use all of our skills to help each other. Divide. Conquer. Reap the rewards. Sound good?”

“Then what’s the plan, Cap?” Gaz asked, breaking the knife-like tension of the room.

Price’s mustache twitched, his mouth squashed into a thin line of frustration as he thought. “First,” he finally said, “Ghost, send that channel t’ each ‘f us.” The large man immediately began tapping away at his phone. A buzz rang out around the room as a link landed in each of their messages. Price hummed in satisfaction before continuing. “Assignment f’ tonight is to watch through everything she’s uploaded. All of them. Take notes. Find what you can. We meet here tomorrow after breakfast for discussion and further planning.”

Soap made to stand up, his eyes glued to the pretty lady decorating the channel on his phone, but Price caught his shoulder; forcing the man to look him in the eye. “Don’t think I need to say this, but you three do not breathe a word about her to anyone else. This does not leave this room, understood?”

“Understood, Cap,” Soap said slowly nodding until Price released his death-grip on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said looking over at Ghost and Gaz still sunk into the couch. “See you all t’morrow then,” he said with a curt nod as he cleared his throat and turned on his heel. “I’ll be in my office.”

[becausegraf]

Shower thoughts moment about Stolas and Blitz' communication issues.

Something I haven't seen in these discussions before myself (beside the matter of how wishy-washy and overly accommodating Stolas tends to be):

Stolas is *overly polite*, to a degree Blitz simply can't decode the intricacies of it anymore.

His politeness is such an obvious, on-brand part of his behaviour that it gets overlooked as a source of communication issues, and their difference in social 'rank' is connected to this, too.

Tl;dr Stolas' usual cordial manner, overly restrained by the upper class code of conduct he was raised with, makes it very difficult for Blitz to take what he does and says at face-value, and this results in a fundamental unease and distrust on his part.

-

I was rewatching 'Ozzie's' again, and something occurred to me about their conversation after.

Stolas gets out of the car, probably after quite the long awkward silence. Blitz is clearly stewing in displeasure.

And then, what does he say? What's the kind of message he chooses to send, in-between his invitation?

'Hey Blitz, *thank you for asking me out, this was nice.*'

He doesn't completely skirt around the obvious issue that things ended on a sour note, but he skips over it quickly, in a hurry to avoid seeming unhappy or ungrateful or upset.

Now, after the whole debacle, Blitz knows damn well this was a mess from start to finish. He invited him out on a fake date, couldn't be arsed to really pay attention to him because he was still caught up in his Original Plan of spying on MnM, and not even minutes later, being unable to keep his gob shut, he ends up attracting the attention of everyone and their mama to him and Stolas, to get them both sublimely roasted in public.

'I enjoyed spending time with you', says Stolas.

'Bullshit', thinks Blitz.

No, he didn't. He got dragged into a sassy rogue's hare-brained scheme like the naive princey he is, tidily sat aside while Blitz thoughtlessly treated him like distraction at best, got publicly humiliated by the top dog of the Lust ring to the point of cringeing and hiding away, and got carted on home in a cramped messy car with a thundercloud in the driver's seat.

-

Stolas' intention isn't to bullshit Blitz. He knows his friend knows he knows this went terribly awry, but in his social circles, something so obvious doesn't have to be stated aloud. It'd even be incredibly unbecoming to complain openly, let alone to have a bitch fit and express frustration the way 'a lower class person' with no filter might.

He can tell Blitz isn't happy with things, and it's perfectly understandable and thoughtful of him to try to think of a way to salvage the evening, rather than to get hung up on whatever the fuck that whole mess just was. He knows Blitz isn't likely to be eager to talk about 'it', whatever 'it' might be, but they don't have to - if they can just spend a bit of time with each other to ensure things are alright between them, they can part ways with some peace of mind.

So that's what he does: he sidles around the unpleasant elephant in the room, like any properly behaved Goetia would, and extends a courteous, polite invitation to wave it all off and have a pleasant evening regardless.

Stolas spent his entire life 'on stage'. He's an actor, both due to a genuine, benign penchant for dramatics, and out of pure necessity to get by when surrounded by high society folk, and living in a household where conflict would be never-ending if he doesn't go out of his way to diplomatically calm things down. He has more than two decades of active training in 'how to ignore the ever-growing pile of crap, and put on your tidiest smile'.

-

By comparison, Blitz is *explicitly* vocal about what he thinks. The day they met, he wasn't shy at all about telling little Stols that his books are boring, and as an adult he's still impulsive and bluntly honest. He's used to open conflict and butting heads with people, and expects others to 'come and give it to him' if they have a problem.

From Blitz' perspective, Stolas' earnestly motivated behaviour has to come off as a bit 'fake', like an actor walking through a script.

Calling Stolas out by going 'oh come off it, you and I are just sex and nothing else' may sound incredibly blind, or deliberately obtuse, but I think he may have partially meant that to say 'can we not with the whole pretend-nice play acting right now, let me remind you of what's real here, and I'm not in the mood for messing around with whatever you think you're doing here'.

He really doesn't think Stolas inviting him to come in and hang out like friends is genuine, and in a sense - why would he? They just had a disaster of a night, and this weird prissy owl isn't starting a shouting match or crying or bitching about it - clearly he's up to something, but it's for sure not 'in earnest'. If it was, they'd be having an argument, or at the very least be talking about the whole thing.

-

Heck, the very first time they met was a whole mess of confusing communication, with the very first thing Stolas says to him after closing the door to his room being something straight out of a sexy roleplay. Talk about making a brand new first impression on Blitz as someone who apparently just Does That Kinda Thing like the massive nerd he is.

I really think Blitz struggles to interpret some of Stolas' behaviour correctly, or at least, in the way Stolas is going for. Their social surroundings and habits are so vastly different there really is no meeting in the middle at times. They're not just not on the same page, but reading a whole different novel.

-

And hey, this goes the other way, too.

During Full Moon, Blitz goes after him when Stolas withdraws from the interaction (which is what you would do if in the middle of a fancy party, your emotions start to boil over - you excuse yourself to have a breakdown where nobody has to be annoyed over it).

Someone following him when he departs can either mean they care about what's going on and are invested enough to want to be there while he's upset, OR it's a case of someone like Stella just not being done ripping him a new one. The way Blitz comports himself does *not* make it one bit clear that him chasing after Stolas is 'because he cares', not when mister hot-headed 'I turn fear into fury' Blitz is going off on a hostile tirade.

'LET'S GO!!' he shouts.

It's literally a case of someone screaming to be engaged with. 'Get back here you bastard we're not DONE.'

This is Blitz 'being real' with people, as unpleasant and aggressive (and in its own way a defensive front) as it is. This is Blitz ready to tear through the haze of indirect, vague communication, expecting, wanting Stolas to stop running, turn around, and give him a piece of his mind properly. If Stolas is upset, angry, hurt... he should just say so, damnit!

That's the social rules he lives by: you throw out a provocation, and the other party responds in the same way, clapping back with whatever crap it is that's got their panties in a twist, and whatever comes out of such a tiff would at least register as 'honest' to someone like Blitz.

This is how he interacts with Verosika. It's how he interacts with Fizz during their conflicts. It's how Barbie interacts with him. It's just 'how you do things' by Blitz' script.

*None* of that aligns with Stolas' expectations or understanding. To him, acting like that is just rude, aggressive, and mean, and he's not the kind of person to match that energy in kind.

-

And this is where in Apology Tour, there is a noticeable and critical change in Stolas' behaviour: for the first time, he gets *snarky*.

He shows Blitz his disapproval, his impatience, his frustration. He blocks him off, pushes back, argues with him. He legit gives Blitz 'a bit of a hard time', well-deservedly, even if for the most part he's still aiming to cut communication short and go back to handling his feelings in private.

Later at night during the party, when he's drunk off his ass and his usual patience and self-control are running on fumes, Blitz approaches him rather demurely, ready to at least try to make amends. It's at this point that Stolas' communication turns into a style Blitz understands: blunt, expressive, and unrestrained. He finally stops holding back, and lets his feelings, notably anger and hurt, show plainly.

Snark and sarcasm, immediate clap-backs - that's the language Blitz speaks fluently. That's what, to him, registers as 'honest', as real, as true. That is the point at which he no longer has any instinctive reason to think Stolas is just putting on a fancy show, because that's how 'normal people talk'.

-

I very much think that as much as Blitz already had intense latent feelings for him, it's the point at which Stolas showed him something 'real', something relatable and understandable and trustworthy, that the imp fell even harder for him.

It broke through the distortion caused by Stolas constantly holding back, and Blitz being quite aware that Stolas, in a sense, constantly put on a performance for him.

In short...

Stolas claims Blitz is the person he can 'be himself with' the most, but I truly think it took until Apology Tour before he started breaking down his own walls of reticence and distance. They've only *just* gotten started, but this tiny bit of change that already started before Mastermind is a sign that things can absolutely go into a better direction with them.

[maincharactermuse]

The one where there is a question… and a dinner party. (12)

(Find my masterlist here.)

The early morning sun filtered through the curtains in soft, lazy stripes. Y/N stirred just enough to hear the faint sound of socks being pulled on and shoes squeaking faintly against the floorboards. She cracked one eye open, barely.

Harry was at the edge of the bed, crouching to tie his laces, already dressed in a faded hoodie and running shorts, short hair still a little mussed from sleep.

“You’re going for a run?” she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

He looked over his shoulder, smiling softly as he crossed back over to the bed. “Just a quick one.”

She stretched under the covers, groaning as she flopped dramatically onto her stomach. “Can’t believe you’d choose a run over morning sex.”

Harry grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her lips. “Don’t guilt me with morning sex. I’ve gotta run off the three slices of your cake I inhaled last night.”

She smirked as she buried her face into the pillow again. “Your loss. But… be safe.”

That made him pause. He smoothed his hand briefly over her hair. “Always.”

The door clicked shut gently behind him, and she let herself drift back to sleep.

The sound of keys and the front door opening stirred her a second time. She could hear him shuffling through the hallway, the usual thud of his shoes being kicked off and the stretch-sigh he always did after a run.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Harry called out, voice warm as he padded back into the bedroom. His hoodie was off now, shirt clinging damply to him, cheeks pink from the morning chill.

She squinted up at him. “How was it?”

“Brutal,” he said, bending to peel off his socks. “But I feel like a proper person again.”

She watched him move toward the ensuite and yawned into the duvet. “Still can’t believe you chose cardio over me.”

He turned in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “Well, I’m about to shower…”

Her head lifted slightly. “Are you suggesting we multitask?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, trying to play it cool and failing. “Just saying. Efficient time management.”

That got her moving.

The bathroom was steamy by the time they’d finished multitasking. Her hair was damp from the mist, skin warm, lips kiss-swollen and still curved in a satisfied smile as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him towel off with that lazy grin on his face.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, stepping into his t-shirt, the same one he’d worn to bed the night before and padding barefoot out to the kitchen.

“I’m charming,” he called after her.

“Debatable,” she called back.

By the time he joined her, she’d already started opening cupboards. “What do you want for breakfast?” she asked, half to herself, peeking into the pantry. “Eggs? Pancakes? I could-”

Harry was immediately behind her, gently closing the cupboard door with a firm hand. “Absolutely not. You baked for about thirty people yesterday. You’re sitting.”

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to cook for you?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I want you to relax while I cook for you. Fair trade.”

She pretended to consider it. “Only if I get to control the music.”

“Done.”

Ten minutes later, she was perched on the counter with her legs swinging, his shirt hitched a little high on her thighs, a cup of tea in her hands and Fleetwood Mac playing softly from her phone. Harry moved with practiced ease around the kitchen, flipping eggs, slicing avocado, putting bread in the toaster without burning it. Her café skills may have been stellar, but he was no slouch either.

At one point, she started humming along to the music and he joined in, quietly at first, then more confidently. It turned into them singing through a chorus together and cracking up halfway through.

By the time breakfast was plated and set on the table, she looked at him with open affection.

“So,” he said, sitting across from her and stealing a bite off her plate like it was his right, “what’s the plan today?”

“I want to go for a long walk,” she said, sipping her tea. “I also need to pop into the café, check on a delivery. Might take a look at the books too.”

He nodded. “I’ll come with you. To the café and the walk.”

“Yeah?” She looked up, surprised but pleased.

“Yeah. I like seeing you in your world. Plus, Ryan’s dramatic texts when you’re gone are deeply entertaining.”

She laughed. “He lives for chaos. And good lighting.”

When they stepped outside a little while later, the air was cool but bright. It was one of those rare London days, where the sun played peekaboo with the clouds, trees lush and green, Hampstead Heath buzzing gently in the distance. They walked close, but not quite touching. His hands were in his jacket pockets. Hers swung freely at her sides.

She noticed it. The not-touching. And she got it. People took pictures. They always did.

Still, it made her a little quieter than usual. And then, out of nowhere:

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

She stopped.

“What?”

He was still walking and turned to face her when he realized she wasn’t beside him anymore. “I mean it,” he said, walking backward a few paces before stopping too. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

She blinked, caught off guard. Her heart did that stupid, fluttering thing. “Wait, is this because of what I said last night? Because you don’t have to-like, if you’re not ready, I get it. I know we’re still figuring this out and I know I’ve been cr-crazy lately with the “what are we?” Also this is how you’re asking? Listen I-”

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping back toward her. “I’m asking you because I want to. Not because you said something last night, or because of any pressure. I just… I know. I’ve known for a bit. And yes… this is how I’m asking.”

She pressed her lips together, flustered. Her voice was soft when she said, “Okay. Yeah. I want that too.”

“Good,” he said, a little breathless now, and smiling like an idiot. “So we’re official.”

She looked down at their sides. “Does that mean I’m allowed to hold your hand?”

His expression shifted - still smiling, but a flicker of something careful passed through his eyes. She didn’t need him to explain. She already knew.

“You don’t have to,” she said quickly, reassuring him. “I get it. The pictures, the headlines. I just…” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders rising in a small shrug. “I really want to.”

He looked at her for a long moment, the kind of look that meant he was weighing something important. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I really want to, too.”

For a moment, the world around them seemed to pause, the silence after her “yes” hung there, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt full, like the air had shifted, letting in something warm and bright.

They began walking again, their steps falling into a quiet rhythm. Their fingers brushed briefly, hesitant, then his hand found hers once more, firmer now - like he needed to feel her close, tethered to him in the calm. Their palms pressed together, fingers interlacing with a natural ease, like muscle memory.

He glanced down at their joined hands, then over at her. “You know what this means now, don’t you?” he said lightly.

She raised an eyebrow, playful. “That you’re mine now?”

“‘M all yours, love. But no, I meant more like… now we have to get couple tattoos. Maybe start matching outfits.”

“Oh, good,” she said dryly. “I’ve been dying to coordinate linen suits with you.”

“Please. You’d look hot in a linen suit.”

She grinned, nudging his shoulder. “I already do.”

He laughed, and the sound of it felt like summer. But it softened a second later, like the joy cracked open something real underneath.

“I meant it,” he said, after a pause. “Asking you. Wasn’t just some whim.”

She looked over at him and saw the shift - the vulnerability peeking through the easy charm. She squeezed his hand.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“I don’t do this often,” he added. “I mean, I haven’t really… done this in a while. Not like this.”

She nodded, understanding exactly what he meant without needing every word spelled out.

“I didn’t say yes because of the moment,” she offered. “I said yes because I’ve felt like this for awhile too. The label’s just… catching up.”

He looked at her then, eyes a little glossy, but his smile was slow and sure.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You’re good.”

“I know,” she teased, bumping his hip again.

They passed a pair of dog walkers, a jogger, a woman on her phone pushing a pram - all of them oblivious, and for once, Harry didn’t seem on edge about it. She noticed that. Noticed how he held her hand tighter the longer they walked.

“Okay but,” she added suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eye, “now that I’m officially your girlfriend, does that mean I get dibs on this hand-holding stuff?”

He gave her a mock-serious look. “You want exclusivity on my hands now?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. I’m not out here being someone’s part-time palm warmer.”

He snorted. “Part-time palm warmer?”

“It’s in the girlfriend contract,” she said solemnly. “Right between ‘sends memes at 2am’ and ‘tries your skincare without asking.’”

He laughed again, head tilting back slightly, and then looked over at her with this impossibly tender expression that made her stomach flip.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For not making this feel like something I have to be scared of.”

Her smile faltered - not out of sadness, but surprise. He wasn’t someone who handed out soft admissions like that very often. But he did with her. And she knew how much that meant.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she said. “You just have to be here.”

“I am.”

Their hands stayed joined as they rounded the corner onto the quieter street where her café sat tucked between a little gallery and a florist, ivy curling around the sign, windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside.

“Still weird seeing you here,” he admitted, eyes on the storefront.

“Why? Because it’s mine?”

He shook his head. “Because you’re so normal here. And it makes all the other stuff feel less… loud.”

She opened the door for them both, the familiar chime ringing out as they stepped into the scent of espresso and cinnamon. The place was calm, late morning lull, just a couple of regulars hunched over laptops, and Ryan behind the counter, fully mid-eyeroll at a group chat on his phone.

The moment he spotted them holding hands, he gasped; full-body dramatic gasp. Y/N let go, gave a hesitant glance in Harry’s direction and left for the back room.

“Oh finally,” he declared. “Jesus Christ, I was starting to think I hallucinated the sexual tension.”

Harry blinked. “That’s… direct.”

“I had a bet with Jules that you two would be official by the end of the month,” Ryan continued, sauntering over to start their usual orders. “And I intend to spend my winnings on those Margiela boots I don’t need but absolutely deserve.”

Y/N appeared from the back room, clipboard in hand. “What are you talking about?”

Ryan straightened, innocent. “Just telling your extremely attractive boyfriend here that love is in the air.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m gone for five minutes and you go full rom-com.”

“I contain multitudes,” Ryan said. “Your coffee will be ready in a sec, lovebirds.”

She turned to Harry, suspicious. “What did he say?”

Harry sipped his coffee like it was a shield. “Absolutely nothing I wouldn’t say myself.”

She rolled her eyes and handed Ryan the clipboard. “Don’t let the power go to your head.”

“Too late,” Ryan muttered, already scrawling something across the order sheet.

When they stepped back outside, the breeze had picked up slightly, but the sun was still warm on their backs. She tucked her hand into his again without asking. He didn’t flinch this time.

They walked in easy silence toward the Heath, coffee cups in hand. A dog barked in the distance, a kid zipped past on a scooter. The world was still moving, but for once, they weren’t rushing to catch up.

She looked down at their hands and then up at him, smiling.

“So… do I get a badge now?”

He arched a brow. “A badge?”

“For being a girlfriend. Or like… a sash, maybe. Something glittery.”

He laughed under his breath. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They reached the edge of the park, gravel crunching beneath their feet as they followed a winding path shaded by old trees.

“Is it weird that this feels… normal already?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Not weird.”

“Good weird,” she amended.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes on her, soft and certain. “The best kind.”

———————————————————————————

The table was already half-covered in mismatched little bowls and ceramic dishes by the time Harry walked in with the second bottle of wine. Y/N’s kitchen smelled like olive oil, garlic, and roasted peppers - her apron still tied loosely around her waist as she moved between the stove and the counter.

“You’re making enough for ten,” Harry teased, setting the wine down beside the sink.

“There are five of us,” she replied, stirring a pan without looking up. “I’m being reasonable.”

He smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to her temple. “You’re being impressive.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she added a final touch of parsley to the potatoes.

By the time the doorbell rang, she was trying not to show how nervous she actually was.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” she asked quickly, glancing at him.

Harry looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Course I am.”

“I just- I’ve met some of your family. I’ve met your people. And I want you to meet mine. These are… they’ve been my constants for years.”

“I’d love to,” he said softly. “You could’ve told me this weeks ago and I’d have been there.”

She gave a small shrug. “I think I needed to feel sure, you know? Not about you. About me. About how this all fits.”

He stepped closer and took her hand, kissed her knuckles lightly. “Let’s go meet your people.”

Ryan was first through the door, grinning and dramatic as ever.

“Smells like someone’s showing off,” he said, sweeping past her into the kitchen. “You know you’ve already locked down the popstar, right?”

“Don’t start,” she warned.

Then came Grace, tall and chatty and a little bit loud, with shiny earrings and a thick London accent. They’d met in university halls - been inseparable since. She hugged Y/N so tightly she nearly knocked the spoon from her hand.

“Right, so you’re the boyfriend.”

“I am,” Harry smiled. “And you must be Grace.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she winked, before disappearing into the living room.

Then came Noor - small, thoughtful, precise. She’d flown in from Scotland that morning, and was carrying a little bag of Turkish delights for Y/N’s “hostess nerves.” She’d known her since she was thirteen, both of them impossibly shy and bookish until they found each other in the chaos of secondary school.

“Thank you for being here,” Y/N said, hugging her tightly.

“You know I wouldn’t miss this,” Noor replied, eyes soft.

Dinner was chaos in the best way. The food was perfect - grilled halloumi, spicy potatoes, charred courgette, chickpea salad, toasted bread in stacks - and everyone had something to say.

“You’ve been drawing a very specific crowd lately,” Ryan said at one point, pouring himself another splash of wine. “Every time a man with floppy curls walks in, we brace.”

Grace grinned. “I’m actually really embarrassed to admit this, but… I was, like, fully obsessed with One Direction growing up.”

Harry laughed. “Embarrassed?”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t even my favourite.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning deep offence. “I’m wounded.”

Noor grinned over her glass. “Who was?”

“Zayn, obviously.”

Harry clutched his chest. “My own bandmate.”

“What was your favourite song, then?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh god,” Grace said. “It’s gotta be ‘What Makes You Beautiful’. It’s a classic.”

Harry leaned back, arms out. “Absolutely. The best one. Peak songwriting.”

Y/N reached under the table and gave his thigh a squeeze, her face glowing.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered, and he looked at her with that quiet smile that always made her chest tighten.

———————————————————————————

After dinner, people drifted into the kitchen, half-heartedly helping to clear plates. Harry rolled up his sleeves and joined her at the sink while Noor dried dishes behind them.

When they were finally alone for a moment, the hum of laughter from the other room drifting through, Harry leaned on the counter.

“I’ve got to be honest,” he said, voice low. She glanced up at him.

“I’ve been shitting myself all night.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I was so nervous to meet your friends,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. What if they hated me? What if I said the wrong thing?”

She stared at him, genuinely surprised. “You didn’t show it at all.”

“Good,” he said, exhaling. “But yeah. I was sweating it.”

“You should’ve told me.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to put it on you. You were already stressing over the food.”

She stepped closer and leaned against him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

“They love you,” she said quietly. “I love that they love you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I love that I’m getting to know your world.”

They stood like that for a second - her apron still tied, him with dish soap on his hands, the clink of glasses still coming from the other room.

“I really like this life,” she said softly, pulling back to look at him.

He smiled. “Me too.”

She went to hand him another plate, but not before letting her fingers linger along his arm for a second longer than necessary.

———————————————————————————

group chat: the coven 🔮

Grace

I’m just gonna say it. Your boyfriend is HOT. Like… unfairly hot.

Noor

I wasn’t gonna say anything but since we’re here: same.

And THEN he had to go and be charming too?? That’s when I knew I was finished.

You

OKAY. Relax. Both of you.

He’s MY man 😤

Grace

Yes but we’re just appreciating. From a respectful distance.

Like art. Or fire.

Noor

Honestly it was really lovely though

I know you were nervous but the way he looked at you all night… yeah

That’s love, babe.

You

We haven’t said it yet 🫠

But I think I feel it.

It’s in the room when he’s with me, you know?

Grace

Oh I KNOW. The way he was helping with the washing up like he’s been in your kitchen forever??

Noor

Also I caught that thigh rub. 👀

Subtle. But effective.

You

Alright. I’m muting this chat now before you both start planning the wedding.

But I love you both. Thank you for loving him.

Grace

We love you. And he’s a very lovely bonus.

Noor

Can’t wait to see you again soon.

Tell my boyfriend goodnight 😂

Back at home, the flat was dark except for the soft yellow glow from her bedside lamp. She was curled up in bed, phone in hand, lips pressed into a smile that wouldn’t quite leave her face.

Harry came out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, and slid into bed beside her. His hand found her thigh beneath the duvet automatically.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly, tucking her phone under the pillow. “Just texting the girls.”

“Mm.” He looked over at her. “Do I get the stamp of approval then?”

She turned her head, grinning.

“I think you got more than the stamp of approval. I think Noor fell in love with you and Grace nearly proposed.”

Harry laughed, dropping his head back against the pillow. “You know, I did feel someone staring at me over the couscous.”

She giggled and leaned into him, tucking her hand under his t-shirt where his skin was still warm.

“They liked you. Like… really liked you.”

He brushed a bit of hair back from her cheek. “But you’re the one I was trying to impress.”

She met his eyes and smiled. “You did.”

He kissed her softly, then reached for the light.

“Night, baby.”

“Night,” she whispered, letting herself settle into the quiet and the warmth, still smiling into the dark.

[girl-musk-huffer]

YOU SHARE A ROOM WITH THEM FOR A WEEK. WHO ARE YOU PICKING

1. 3 years on T transmasc boy who showers in between jerkoff sessions that last multiple hours, sitinking up the entire appartment is Boysmell. (He doesn't think you notice at all, and blushes when you mention the smell)

2. NEET tgirl who can't procure E so instead they ramble on about complex psychological processes while jerking off, again stinking up the place (she at least has the decency to ask if you wanna join before she boots up porn you never thought could exist)

3. Blue-collar non binary person who uses your used laundry as air filters while masturbating to cropped pictures of hairy armpits (they've explicitly asked to huff your crotch next time they jerk off.)

4. [SECRET OPTION] for those on twitter, you get bunked with the person who's most prevalent on your hoeny account's timeline (tell how cooked/raw you are)

[persephone-writes]

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Eighteen: Innamorati

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Nineteen ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: Presents, dueling practice, and parties, oh my!

Word Count: 8.8k

Notes: I know that drinking games are more of an american thing, but I am simply choosing to ignore this fact because they are fun and no one can tell me they aren’t 

James had made his decision and it was final. Instead of getting drunk in the RoR to celebrate his birthday, he’d go out looking for the map once again. Unwilling to hear out any arguments, you all headed back to the tower, though not without some complaints from Sirius.

In the meantime, you waited with Lily and Marlene as the others went into the common room after dinner to check if Zephyr was there. You had insisted that it was fine if he was, given that you’d have to see them all eventually, though it made little difference. Luckily, the coast was clear, allowing you all to sit by the fire and celebrate in peace.

“Does it smell like fish in the Slytherin common room?” Marlene whispered to Remus, who was sitting beside her on the sofa. 

He shrugged. “Not really, no. Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t it half under the lake?”

You laughed, even more when she turned to you in confusion, her brows furrowed. “Even if it did, I’m sure it’d be charmed to take away the smell.”

James looked up from his spot on the floor where he was playing a game of exploding snap with Peter and Sirius, his face contorted in disgust. “Even if it’s charmed, it still stinks.”

You rolled your eyes. “It could smell like roses and frankincense and you’d say it was like a pile of hot rubbish.”

“It’s hurtful you’d even suggest—”

“We’ll skip you if you don’t stop flirting,” said Sirius, his arm propped on his leg as he smiled in that evil way he seemed to save only for your torment. 

Your ears went hot, your eyes shooting over to Lily in the armchair, still engrossed in her book. She did not look up, turning a page as James said something disparaging to Sirius. He turned back around, still bickering as he flipped over his card. A pop went off, a small explosion erupting in the middle of their circle. They all jumped back, the smoke lingering in the air as they hollered. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

You cringed as the floorboards squeaked under your feet, the early morning sunlight a shimmering yellow where it filtered in through the diamond window panes. No one sturred in their beds, not that you could hear, anyway. You continued towards the bathroom, only half awake and wishing you were still tucked underneath your blanket. Even the day after his birthday, which should’ve been spent sleeping in after a night of fun, James wanted to practice. 

“Tomorrow, six am. If you’re not at the staircase by then, I’ll figure out a way to come up.”

“Why six? Can’t we do it at seven or—”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I have practice at eight-thirty, then I have to actually start doing some schoolwork or I’ll flunk the N.E.W.T.s. And I meant it about figuring out a way up.”

You got ready as quickly as you could, fussing far too much over the way you looked given that you were seeing a friend under entirely unromantic circumstances. Still, you couldn’t help but stare a little longer in the mirror than usual, feeling as though you needed a cold shower. 

Beating away your nerves, you brought your bag with you, James’s birthday present safe inside. This would be the only time you’d get him alone today, and the thought of giving it to him in front of the others made your stomach drop. There was something that seemed too intimate about doing it in the company of anyone else, as if it would give you away, as demure as the gesture was. It was just a birthday gift, completely ordinary. 

Just as he said, James was waiting for you at the bottom of the girl’s staircase, twirling his wand like a drummer. He had tried to teach you how to do it once, though you never got the hang of it, always sending it flying across the room. 

When he heard you coming down he smiled, raising his brows at your tired eyes. 

“It’s not that early,” he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. “I could’ve made you get up at five.”

“They call it a holiday for a reason,” you groaned, though it only made him laugh. He led you to the portrait, holding it open for you as you stepped out. “Did you have any luck last night?” you asked. 

He shook his head, his smile leaving. “No, the door was locked. We couldn’t figure out a way to break it open. I think he got Flitwick to charm it, probably thinks we’ve been rummaging around in there.”

“The one time he’s a step ahead,” you said with a bitter chuckle. 

Filch always seemed to be well aware when they were up to something, though it was rare that he was able to catch up in time. It had been dumb luck he found the map, though there was little way he’d get anything from it. As James had once explained to you, “It knows who’s safe and who isn’t. It lets you in because we like you, same with Lily and Marlene and Dorcas. If anyone else tried to crack it, they’d better be marauders at heart.”

“Isn’t Remus good with locking spells?” you asked.

“Yeah, you should try to open his trunk. The things sealed like a vault at Gringotts,” he said, his smile slowly peeking through again. “We’ll get it back, it just might take a little longer than we hoped.”

James stopped at the tapestry while you jogged down the corridor to check if anyone was coming, a routine you had quickly gotten into over the course of the week. He began to walk back and forth, glancing back at you as the door appeared. 

“Maybe we’ll try bombarda next time,” he continued, pushing it open. “I doubt they accounted for that.”

You shook your head at him, holding the strap of your bag a little tighter as you entered the RoR. You stood still for a moment, building up your courage, pulling out the small package with a deep breath. You had wrapped it in scarlet paper, a tag with James’s name carefully placed in the corner. With a sheepish smile, you handed it to him before your anxiety got the best of you. 

“Happy birthday,” you said, your heart racing as you watched him consider it. 

He lifted his face, his eyes meeting yours. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

You knew he was being honest, though you weren’t sure you could take a back and forth with him. You tried to smile through your nerves, motioning to the present. “Nonsense. Now, open it.”

He sighed, ripping off the paper and tossing it on the floor beside him before opening the box. The joy in his expression grew as he took out the small transistor radio, experimentally pulling up the antenna. 

“It’s a muggle one,” you explained, fidgeting as he flipped it over in his hands. “My cousin is married to a muggle, and he’s a pretty good curse breaker, so he’s also decent at overriding some advanced charms. He’s been trying to figure out a way to make a radio pick up muggle stations at Hogwarts. He tried to explain how he finally did it in his letter, but I only understood about half of it,” you laughed, biting your lip as you watched his eyes widen.

“This will pick up muggle stations?” he asked, his voice on the brink of exclamation. 

You nodded, his excitement infectious. 

He quickly turned it on, raising the volume as he flipped through the stations. After a bit, he stopped on one playing an advertisement for carpet cleaner, looking more happy than anyone in the world upon hearing a sales pitch. 

“Turn it to something good,” you laughed, moving to stand beside him as you watched the needle move along the display. 

He flipped through the stations again, stopping every once in a while when the static cleared. He settled on one playing an old song, the piano slow, the singer even slower, his smooth voice pouring from the little speaker just before the trumpet came to replace it. He was singing about love, maybe his own, but it felt like it was about yours. 

James seemed to settle into something more tranquil, though not completely without his usual energy. He set the radio down, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers as if he had any need to entice you. 

You knew you shouldn’t, that being close to him was a surefire way to get you a flustered, nervous mess, though you didn’t care. You rolled your eyes as if that would make it better, letting your bag fall from your shoulders and onto the floor. He took your hand, pulling you closer to place his other on your back. You couldn't help but laugh, ignoring the way his shoulder felt beneath your hand, the way he swayed you back and forth, leading you where he wanted to go. He’d always been a good dancer, though you’d never danced with him like this, the way you’ve dreamt of a hundred times before. It was better than a dream, for in your dreams you hadn’t felt his warmth or seen the look on his face so vividly as he pushed you back out to spin you. 

“I take it you like your present?” you asked, desperately needing something to say. At any moment you thought your heart might explode, filled with a deep, gnawing pain. 

“You should keep it,” he said, not letting you go even as the song changed. “Your cousin gave it to you. I don’t think it’s right for me to have it.”

Your feet moved faster with the new beat, more swinging this time, upbeat and less breathy. James’s moves became sloppier, though you suspected it was on purpose. 

“It’s your birthday present, I gave it to you to keep,” you said, “I have one at home, anyway.” 

“Not one that works at school,” he argued.

“Just say thank you and keep it,” you said, watching as he paused to listen to the song.

“I like this one. Who is it?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” you said, a noise of surprise leaving you as he pushed you out again, grabbing your other hand to pull you towards him, your back against his chest. He poked his head beside yours, laughing at your reaction. You swallowed, your fear that he could feel your racing heart becoming stronger and stronger the longer he held you. “Where’d you learn to dance?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

“Call me a natural,” he teased, spinning you again so you could dance normally. 

You tried to act nonchalant, letting go of his hand as you took a step back. You went over to the radio, switching it off, the RoR falling back into silence. When you turned to him, he was still chuckling, an acknowledgment that you could get each other to do things that you would normally fight against tooth and nail. You wondered how much would change if he knew it was because you loved him.  

“We should get on with it,” you said, checking your watch, “we’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”

You went to the other side of the room, hitting his arm as you passed him, the smell of his hair still fuzzy in your head. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

To prevent it getting confiscated by McGonagall, Filch, or any other Hogwarts killjoy, you and James decided to keep the radio a secret between you and the others. When James presented Sirius with it in their dormitory after quidditch practice, he told you with quite the smile that, “you would’ve thought I was showing him the philosopher’s stone.” Thus, it became the talk of the day, or rather the week, all of you lamenting the fact that Dorcas wasn’t there to share in the glory of your gift. 

However, not all was well. There was nothing you could do to avoid your villainous classmates, so you went on the best you could. Zephyr had been ostracized by the entire student body of Gryffindor due to his being a part of some scheme with the Slytherins to harm you. No one knew the details of Zephyr’s involvement, though you assumed it didn’t take much more than the scene in the common room to connect the dots, as well as his sudden increase in time he spent with the Slytherins instead of his own house. 

The memory of Mulciber’s previous attacks and general odiousness towards muggle borns, or just those who sympathized, was fresh amongst your house-mates, making Zephyr’s friendship with Mulciber more than enough to brand him a traitor. Mulciber and his gang had accepted him fully into their ranks, roaming the corridors with him by their side as if he had always been there. Since Monday, the common room grew dead quiet whenever he walked through the portrait hole, slithering back to the staircase with his eyes cast down to his feet in a useless attempt to hide himself from view.

Just as James had said, you practiced dueling every single day for the remainder of the Easter holiday. You weren’t sure where he got the time, though he always had some spared for you. On Sunday afternoon you and James headed to the RoR, savoring the last of your free time before classes began again. 

“Let’s see what you got,” James said, grinning wickedly from across the room.

You were already in your position, your feet moving on instinct as you made the first move. “Bombarda!” James leapt out of the way of the explosion, giving you another chance to attack before he’d counter. “Relashio.”

James’s wand whipped in front of him, unaffected by your spell. “Oscsusi!”

You blocked it, shaking your head at him. It was a charm to seal the opponents mouth, his way of telling you that you weren’t practicing your non verbal spells enough. 

You wordlessly cast the binding charm, the ropes momentarily winding around him before he said the counter curse, dashing like a bolt of lightning to the other side of the room. You were getting rather good at the shield charm, blocking his next spell just in time. 

You could see him moving again, so quick you could barely think. In your panic, you reverted back to your old ways of low level hexes and jinxes, “Locomotor mortis!”

Just as James’s legs buckled beneath him, he flicked his wand again. “Flipendo!”

You heard James cast Arresto Momentum as you flew backwards through the air, though he was too late. You landed hard on the floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your ears buzzed, the sound of him shouting your name muffled by the high pitched ringing. Pain radiated from the back of your skull as you tried to sit up, the initial shock fading as you remembered this was meant to be a duel. You attempted to look around for your wand, though you were soon distracted by James running towards you. He threw himself onto the ground, his hand coming to cradle your head as the other arm wrapped around your back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, the words pouring from him in a frenzy. “Godric, I didn’t mean to, I tried to stop you—”

“It’s okay,” you croaked, the cobwebs beginning to clear. 

You rubbed your aching temple, James’s face no longer blurry in your vision. His brows were pinched, his mouth ajar as his eyes darted down over your figure, searching for injuries. 

“What hurts?” he asked in the same manner. “I’ll take you to Poppy—”

“I just got turned around, s’all,” you began, moving to stand. “I’ll be fine in a second.”

He gently held your shoulder down, not allowing you to get up. Before you could protest, both his hands came to the side of your face, leaning in closer to peer into your eyes. You held your breath, frozen as you saw your reflection in his glasses. 

“Look at me,” he said softly, maneuvering your face towards him. His eyes continued to stare into yours, looking for what, you did not know. 

“What’re you doing?” you asked, barely able to bring yourself to speak. You hoped he didn’t feel the warmth of your cheeks, blazing as he touched you. 

“Checking your pupils,” he answered with a frown. “They’re huge, you might have a concussion. I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing.” 

“They’re just like that sometimes. They’ll be normal in a minute,” you said, pushing his hands away. You were weak, though he allowed you to remove them, still in a state of anxiety.  

“I’ll wait five minutes,” he said firmly, “and if they’re not back to normal by then, we’re going.”

You buried your face in your hands, rubbing your eyes. “What will we say happened?”

“You could have a concussion and you’re worried that Poppy might catch onto us?”

You placed your hands onto the ground, swaying a bit as the pain continued to throb. “You’ve never been nervous enough.”

He paused, watching you so intently you were convinced your pupils would never return to normal, nor would your heart. You looked down to escape his gaze, though you could still feel it, heavy like lead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said again, ignoring your earlier implication. 

Your name on his lips was a welcomed sound, even if it meant you had to get thrown to the floor. Your eyes drifted back to his, though you knew it was a mistake, his expression so full of dread it made you question if you had blood pouring from your nose. You rubbed it just to make sure, though your sleeve came back clean. 

“It’s really all right,” you began, “I just wasn’t quick enough. Call it good practice.”

“You’re mad,” he sighed, his hand coming up to touch your shoulder, stopping just short. “What hurts?”

“Just my head,” you answered, not knowing if you were dizzy from the fall or from his face, perfect right in front of you. 

He touched your shoulder, warm even through your shirt. You felt his fingers flexing as they held you, making you feel as if you might faint at any second. After just a few moments it was too much, the realization that you were alone more frightening than it ought to have been. You had thought you were better than this, that you had things under control, though now you were worse than ever before. 

“I’m feeling better all ready,” you said, hoping, praying he’d take his hand off of you. 

James was unconvinced, his mouth still tight. “What’s thirteen times nine?”

You groaned, “I’ve always been bad at arithmetic.” When he gave you another serious look you rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath as you thought. “A hundred seventeen”

He seemed pleased, at least for the time being, taking his hand from your shoulder so you could stand. You relished in the distance, though what you really wanted was some fresh air, crisp in your lungs. The pain was lessening, the throbbing mostly gone. James held your arm as you steadied yourself, letting it go as you thanked him softly. He didn’t chastise you for saying it, another act of mercy. 

“Let me check,” he said, forcing his face in front of yours. 

Perhaps to repay him, you didn’t fight, letting him look into your eyes. 

“You’ll be all right,” he said, stepping away. “No concussion for you.”

“Maybe next time,” you joked in a feeble attempt to lighten the dull mood that had settled around each of you. 

He didn’t laugh, going over to pick up your wand which had rolled away.

“I’ll give you a day off,” he said, finally smiling a bit as he handed it to you, “but we’re back here on Wednesday after classes.”

You swallowed down something, whether it was pride or fear you did not know, allowing your gaze to be selfish. James’s sleeves were pushed up, a lovely, cherished sight. You found yourself settling on his hands, always busy, tapping on desks, fiddling with his wand, brushing through his hair. You drifted over to his lips, barely curled upwards, just for you. Did the fondness in his expression, the tender way his hands touched you mean what the cards seemed to point to, what Marlene had been telling you? Was Remus right? 

“C’mon, let’s go back,” he said, opening the door for you. You followed, walking with him down the empty corridor towards the common room.

“Thank you again— for helping me get better at dueling,” you said, though the words seemed to drift away from you, swirling toward the high ceilings.

He turned to look at you with a smile, soft and small but no less touching. Something flashed across his eyes, a ray of blinding, beautiful light. Then, it was gone, leaving only a crushing affection, an impossibly excruciating ache. 

“Anything for you.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Peter gave you a supportive nod as you walked into History of Magic on Monday morning, knowing who’d already be at his desk. Wilkes, who you had only seen here and there about the castle over the holiday, turned around as you and Peter went to your seats, his eyes dark as they followed you. Professor Binns’s corpeal figure was floating two and fro in front of the chalkboard, muttering something to himself. You tightened your jaw as you forced your eyes to remain ahead, pulling out your things from your bag.

A few more students filtered in as class began, Binns scribbling something onto the board before he spun around, continuing his leisurely pace about the room with little attention paid to his class. 

“The history of Dai Ryusaki’s amulet prior to his death is largely unknown, though there have been a host of theories explored by both the Ministry and independent researchers…”

You rushed out of class when the bell rang, ready to make a mad dash down the corridor before someone grabbed your arm, spinning you back around. Sirius had caught you, standing beside James, Remus, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas. Your eyes widened, catching the expletive that had been caught in your throat. Unlike yourself, Peter noticed the group lingering just outside the door, looking just as confused as you were. 

“What’re you all doing here?” he asked. 

James’s gaze darted towards Wilkes, walking out of the classroom with a menacing glance in your direction. James narrowed his eyes, Wilkes turning back around with a smug smile.

“I told you I’d be all right,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“We were going this way anyway,” Lily said, though she’d always been a bad liar. 

You sighed, spinning on your heels to walk down the corridor towards the Great Hall. “C’mon, let's go to lunch.”

“Shouldn’t you be going that way?” James said, motioning down in the opposite direction. 

You shook your head. “McGonagall told me this morning I could eat in the Great Hall again.”

“No, no, no, wait.” James grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to look at him, seemingly utterly outraged at the suggestion. “Are you mad? You can’t eat in the Great Hall with them walking around.”

Lily sighed, “James, if McGona—”

“I agree with him,” Remus interrupted, giving Lily an apologetic look. She didn’t seem to take it very well, her lips pulling to one side as she eyed him.

“I’m eating in the Great Hall, end of discussion,” you said with a final glance at the others. James, who was still extremely hesitant, was not at all swayed by your words. “Lily’s right, it’ll be fine,” you said to him.

He took his hand from your shoulder, slumping as he allowed you to continue towards the Great Hall. 

“I go away for two weeks and everything goes to shit,” Dorcas huffed, breaking a period of short, tense silence. 

You smiled, unsure if it was from joy or misery. “Tell me about it.”

Walking into the Great Hall felt odd. It was as if you hadn’t been there in years, the endless clinking of silverware a long forgotten chorus that used to fill your ears three times a day. Instinctively, you looked towards the Slytherin table, scanning it to see if any of the conspirators, as Marlene had so aptly named them, were there. Severus was sitting with his back to the door, though you’d recognize his hair anywhere, stringy where it hung at his neck. Wilkes was just going up to the table to sit across from him beside Mulciber, the rest of their gaggle already digging into their food. Regulus was one of them, smaller compared to the others, not unlike Snape in his countenance. You wondered when the last time he and his brother had spoken, given that they had not lived in the same house for two years now. 

Fearing Mulciber would look up and catch you staring, your eyes shot away, continuing down the aisle towards a free spot at the Gryffindor table. 

James watched on warily as you put food onto your plate, fidgeting when you went to take a bite. “I don’t like this,” he said suddenly.

Startled, you lowered your fork, staring at him across the table. He was glaring at your food with an intensity that seemed to suggest that he knew, for certain, it had been tampered with. 

“I’m sure Dumbledore took care of it,” Lily whispered to him.

He took his own fork, leaning forward to take a mouthful of your food. Before you could react, he was sitting back down in his seat, chewing as his eyes darted this way and that, trying to determine whether or not he’d drop dead in the next few seconds. You all sat with bated breath, frozen until he swallowed. 

“I feel fine,” he said, though not without another uneasy glance towards your plate. 

You let out a sigh of relief, even though you were quite sure it was perfectly fine to begin with.

“Now, what if it had been poisoned?” Lily chided.

He shrugged, looking rather proud of his own bravery. “I would’ve been a hero, probably have gotten an award.”

“Dunce of the year,” Remus mumbled, snickering into his glass.

Sirius snorted, turning to James with a smirk. “If you drop like a fish within the next forty-eight hours, I’m not reviving you.”

“He’s not going to ‘drop like a fish,’” Lily said, entirely unamused.

“He might do that on his own,” Dorcas chuckled.

The group erupted in laughter, other than Lily, who was still in a twist over James’s continued recklessness. 

“Thank you,” you said to James as the ruckus died down, “but if you do that again, I’ll poison you myself.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

With your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, you once again sat squished between Lily and Marlene in the Gryffindor quidditch stands, waiting for the match to begin. This time around, James, Sirius, and Dorcas were in front of you, each hoping for Hufflepuff to kick Slytherin’s butt into oblivion. Corey Luxfire was back in play, meaning that they actually had a shot this time. 

Each team came flying onto the pitch, the Hufflepuffs roaring as Corey whizzed beside their stands. Even the Gryffindors went wild when their seeker, Poppy Dunwood, did a loop around the goals, circling back towards the center. 

However, you all went quiet as the Slytherin team passed by, Regulus swooping down in front of his house's stands, met with enthusiastic roars. His hair was black like his brothers, though cut far shorter, clean and crisp as every proper young wizard’s of the twenty-eight should be. Sirius turned away as he flew by you to the pitch, hovering above his team across from Poppy. 

Below, Monsieur Button started the game, the players flying off when the quaffle was tossed into the air. 

Instantly, Regulus went for the snitch, whipping around to chase it towards the grass, Poppy hot on his trail. The Ravenclaw’s all craned their heads up as Regulus flew over, circling their tower before he came back down again into the pitch. In the meantime, a Hufflepuff chaser was in possession of the quaffle, throwing it to Corey who took it under his arm, weaving through the Slytherins towards the goal. 

Regulus shot by the Gryffindor stands, losing sight of the snitch as it disappeared past the crowd. 

“Score for Hufflepuff, ten to nothing!” said Atticus Bundleby through the speakers.

The Hufflepuffs erupted in cheers, their banners and flags waving in the air. James, Sirius, and Dorcas stood, hollering as the Slytherin keeper threw the quaffle back into play. The others were not much better, particularly Marlene, who had begun cursing out specific members of the Slytherin team. Lily knocked her shoulder, scowling at her poor behavior. 

“What?” Marlene said, seeing no problem with her choice of language.

Lily shook her head, wrapping her coat around her tighter as she turned back towards the game.

It was a while before Poppy and Regulus spotted the snitch again, nestled near the base of the Hufflepuff tower. Poppy flew underneath a scuffle, a bludger nearly throwing her from her broom. A beater swooped it, blocking it from hitting her in the nick of time, sending it hurling back towards a Slytherin chaser. 

Regulus moved ahead of her, dashing towards the snitch as it went off, zigzagging up towards the students. He flew higher and higher in pursuit, soon becoming small in the face of the sky. This time, Sirius spun around to watch, Poppy flying past in an attempt to catch up. 

“Slytherin scores! It’s one-hundred twenty to eighty, Hufflepuff!”

Poppy was just behind Regulus, inching closer and closer, the snitch near enough to catch. Suddenly, Regulus moved to the side, slowing down just enough to make Poppy jerk back, spinning out and nearly falling off her broom. 

“Dunwood’s falling from her— she’s back up! Black is gaining on the snitch!”

The entirety of the student body had turned away from the pitch to watch the seekers, Regulus following the snitch with odd, random movements as it made it’s attempts to lose him. You glanced at Sirius, his eyes still locked on his brother as his hands curled into tight fists. 

Dorcas was shouting, waving her hands in the air, “C’mon, shake ‘em you hunk of metal!”

“Slytherin scores again! One hundred twenty to ninety, Hufflepuff— Looks like Dunwood’s back in the game!”

“C’mon Poppy!” James called, nearly jumping up and down. He grasped Peter’s shoulders, shaking him silly in his exhilaration. You remembered a time not too long ago when he was praying for her failure, though he’d wish for just about anything if it meant Slytherin would lose. 

Poppy made a valiant effort to catch up, nearly beside Regulus, though she was too late. He grabbed the snitch, holding it up in the air in his triumph. Sirius’s fists loosened, his fingers splaying out for a split second before they returned to their normal, relaxed state. 

“Black captures the golden snitch! Slytherin wins two-forty to one-twenty!”

Dorcas threw her arms down with a groan, “Motherfucker!”

Regulus flew back down towards his team, who surrounded him with cheers of their own. You tried to pick out his expression, though he was too far away, only a vague blur of green robes and dark hair. You watched him for as long as you were able, soon pulled away by Lily as you all went to exit the stands. 

“Two-forty, do you think you can make that up?” Peter asked as you made your way towards the castle over the lawn.

“Yeah, but we’ll have to hustle,” James said, turning to Dorcas and Sirius. “You hear that? I want you two all in these next few months. Their defense is still weak, but Regulus is good.”

“Are you doubting my skills?” Dorcas said, raising her brows.

“You did miss two weeks of drills,” Sirius teased. 

Dorcas scoffed, “I don’t need drills.”

James went to argue, though Marlene’s dramatic, drawn out groan cut him off. 

“This party’s gonna be such a drag,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “I hate it when Slytherin wins, it puts everyone in a bad mood.”

Dorcas threw an arm around her shoulders, smiling down at her. “Don’t say that. We might be able to get James pissed enough to dance.” 

Everyone started snickering, though James only grumbled to himself, his cheeks growing a little more red. If anyone were to point it out, he’d say it was from the cold. 

You leaned against the doorframe of the lavatory, watching Marlene coat her lashes in Madam Wink’s Miracle Mascara. Lily and Dorcas had already gone down to the common room, though Marlene had insisted someone stay with her as she did the long, laborious task of getting ready. 

“How many coats was that?” you groaned, watching as she pristinely applied what seemed like the twentieth. 

She put the wand back in its tube, smirking at you through the mirror. “Why? Do you think I need another?”

“No.”

She still had a look of mischief on her face as she pulled out her lip glass and applied it, far too proud of whatever she was about to say. 

“You and James have been pretty cozy,” she began, raising her brows. “How has your training been?”

You made a noise of disgust, your lip curling in a vain attempt to hide your embarrassment. “James teaching me how to duel is totally, completely platonic and you know it.” 

She turned to face you with a sentimental, sickly sweet expression, completely ignoring your assertion. “He’s been so worried about you like you’re already married. It makes me want to be sick,” her tone could not have been more different from her words, genuine in her happiness for you. 

“What a lovely image, Marls,” you said, full of dry sarcasm.  

“Do you know what he said to Sirius the other day?” she said, her eyes sparkling with the joy of someone who knew something of a scandalous nature. It made your palms itch. “James told him that you’re an excellent dancer.”

“Do you and Sirius talk about me behind my back?” you asked, less offended than you were horrified. 

She shrugged, throwing her lip gloss back into her bag. “Not often.”

You shook your head, trying to forget the frightening new information that Marlene and Sirius were gossiping about you and James. You could only imagine what sorts of conniving plans they were coming up with. 

“Anyway, that's a lie like no other,” you scoffed. “Are you sure he said ‘excellent’?”

She didn’t reply, brushing past you to retrieve her wand on her bed. “One galleon he asks you to dance tonight.”

“Only one? You can’t be that confident.”

She rolled her eyes, motioning for you to follow as she headed to the door. “Come on, let me make you one of my masterpieces.”

Well into the night you were nursing one of Marlene’s concoctions, red and vaguely shimmering, tasting of cranberry and something else unplaceable though undeniably good. The music was playing, some new single they’d been looping all week on the wizard radio stations. In front of you, Sirius, Dorcas, Remus, and James were playing Sparks, a game originating in the twisted mind of Remus Lupin. You and Peter took to watching, Lily and Marlene spinning around with a group of equally drunk students by the speaker. 

The rules of Sparks were ever-changing and increasingly complicated, though it mainly consisted of flipping a coin, shooting sparks from your wand if it landed heads, with the slowest having to drink. However, if there were four tails in a row, the first person to shoot two sparks could choose someone to take a shot of firewhiskey. Remus usually came out just fine, Dorcas did not. At least they weren’t doing shot for shot. 

“I’m going to kill you, Lupin,” Dorcas gritted, moving to pour herself a shot. 

Remus smiled as she grimaced at the taste. “Wanna quit?”

“Never.” She slammed her glass down onto the table, steely as she stared at him.

Unprompted by the game, James downed whatever was left in his glass, looking around at you all expectantly. “All right, who’s dancing?”

“Is it that time already?” Sirius taunted.

James, likely too buzzed to take notice, waited for someone to answer his call. Peter, who you were pretty sure never danced a day in his life, did not move an inch, nor did Remus.

“I’m finishing this even if it kills me,” said Dorcas, her wand still in her hand, ready to take action. 

“Don’t make me go out there alone!” James whined. 

Sirius smirked again, devious and unnerving. “I’m sure Y/N wants to,” he drawled, turning to you. 

Your head, fuzzy and light, swarmed with the memory of two Tuesdays ago, the sound of the muggle crooner in the RoR, the weight of his hand in yours. You could hear Sirius’s guitar, Carly Simon, the sight of James's crooked glasses, feeling the rush as he dipped you. 

You chuckled nervously, shrinking into yourself. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, you’re my favorite, remember?” James said, slouching forward. 

You thought you might die. “Okay, just for one—”

James put his glass down onto the table, taking yours and doing the same before he led you towards the group that had clustered around the radio, charmed to play louder than designed. He was burning up, the heat rising up to your shoulder and well into your chest, hammering as you neared Lily and Marlene. You wanted to run, for there were too many people, too many possibilities to make a fool of yourself. 

When Lily noticed you two she squealed, having breached that point in the night where almost everything made her delighted. She did some silly, twirling move as James spun you not unlike he had before, pushing you out only to pull you back in again. His curls, wild from the long night, caught the light in a way that made your knees feel like jelly. You noticed Marlene watching you with a cocky smile, a precursor to all the “I told you so’s” you’d have to hear whenever she got you alone. 

“I don’t need spells, I don’t need charms, I just want you in my arms, you’re the greatest witch that I have ever seen…”

It was a cheesy song, perfect for dancing and not for listening. Through the noise, a few Gryffindors called to James the way only he received, a liquor fueled affinity for the way he effortlessly charmed the world. He was James Potter: Head Boy, quidditch captain, the life-breath of every shindig who seemed to be known and adored by everyone (other than the Slytherins). But you, you were his favorite, at least to dance with. You weren’t sure how much you could trust his words given the state he was in, though you took them to heart anyway, holding to them as if they were gospel. I’m his favorite. 

Slowly, you relaxed, giving way to the unserious manner in which James danced, a thousand different styles melded together into something entirely his own. Lily took you away after a few songs, shouting the lyrics as she danced. You did the same, mumbling half of them and not caring how your voice sounded. It was drowned out by the music and chatter anyway, blocked by the muffliato charm at the door. 

As you spun around with her, James took both your hands, tugging you back with a laugh. Marlene took your place with the same look as before, watching as James led you in a quasi-swing dance, messy steps that barely went with the song. Your perception of time was warped, the music melting into one great, endless ballad. You could’ve been there for ten minutes or ten hours, lost in its false infinity. 

Just as James pulled you closer, ready to sway with the funky beat of a new song, he stiffened, stopping completely as he glared across the room. You glanced behind you, unconsciously squeezing his hand tighter as you saw Zephyr walk inside, weaving through the crowd. Students whispered to one another, looking at him sideways as he passed, heading towards the staircase. 

James’s eyes shot back to yours, filled with concern as he leaned in closer to speak into your ear, “Want to go?”

All you did was nod. 

You didn’t feel drunk enough for this. In fact, you were less than tipsy, your head far too clear to handle the way everyone seemed to turn away from Zephyr towards you and James leaving the huddle of dancers. Lily and Marlene each called out your name, though you only glanced back, hidden from their sight by the crowd. 

As soon as James got you out of the common room he pulled the cloak from his pocket, throwing it over you both. Any other time you would’ve questioned why he was walking around with the cloak at a party, as well as the fact that it seemed as though everyone had illegally charmed their pockets but you. You were also surprised he was taking you out after curfew without the map, though you didn’t question it, lest he change his mind. 

“Where are we going?” you whispered, trying to ignore the way your shoulders pressed together. 

He didn’t try to hide his worry, his brows pinched as he looked at you in the low light. “Where do you want to go?”

You thought for a moment, though the need to get away from Gryffindor Tower was greater than you desire to pick the perfect spot. The piles of dust covered furniture in the Room of Requirement was entirely unappealing, as were any of the passageways you’d sometimes hide away in. 

“The Astronomy Tower,” you answered finally.

James smiled softly, beginning to walk down the corridor towards the main castle. “Exquisite choice.” 

You peeked out of the cloak upon arriving at the tower, saying the password given to all N.E.W.T. level Astronomy students so they could access the viewing deck for study, “Six hundred eighty-five thousand over pi.”

Once inside, James threw off the cloak, shoving it back into his pocket as he stared at you in confusion. “What’s the password mean?”

“It’s the equation for how long a parsec is in meters,” you said, chuckling as he continued to look as if you were speaking a different language. 

“What’s a parsec?”

You kept your laughter down the best you could as you continued up the steps, the ceiling twinkling above you. “A little over three lightyears.”

You didn’t reach for your wand when you made it up, relishing the cold air on your bare skin. Instantly, being there made it seem as if the common room was halfway across the world, the noise gone, Zephyr just a distant memory. James followed as you went to the railing, your head craned up to look at the stars. It was nearly the new moon, leaving the sky naked of its usual, vibrant glow. Still, the milky way was painted pale pink and purple, fading out into dark blue, sprinkled with a million stars like specks of glittering paint. 

You each stayed there unspeaking, suspended in the hazy hours of Sunday morning, a time in which all things either felt entirely lovely or entirely awful. This moment was the former. 

James’s pinky brushed yours, though he pulled it away before you could savor it. Swallowing, he briefly glanced at the side of your face before looking away again. 

“I’ve always been bad at constellations,” he said, soft as if to slowly break the silence, little by little. “I know Orion and Ursa Major, but that's about it.”

“At least you paid attention in first year Astronomy,” you said, your smile growing without you realizing. You pointed towards a star, radiant amongst the others. “See that one?”

James followed your line of sight, poking his head beside yours. 

“That’s Regulus, the lion's heart. If you follow it up, it’ll make the Sickle, which is Leo’s head. Back there is Denebola, the tail. April is a good month to see Leo.”

When you looked back at him, you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to look away again. 

He smiled, more lovely than any constellation. “How do you remember them all?”

“I don’t know,” you began. “It’s like remembering spells. If you use them enough, after a while it becomes second nature. I’ve always liked the muggle stories, though. They help.”

His eyes brightened. “What’s the story for Leo?”

“Lots of questions,” you teased. 

He bumped your shoulder, glancing back at the sky. “Is it a crime to be curious?”

You rolled your eyes, still studying his profile. “You know who Hercules is, right?”

“Big strong guy?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Long story short, Hera didn’t like Hercules, so one day she made him go mad and murder his wife and children. Hercules was ridden with guilt, so to atone for his sins he went to serve his cousin, King Eurystheus, for twelve years. Once he did this, he’d be rewarded with immortality. At first King Eurystheus gave him ten labors to do, but it actually ended up being twelve in the end. Again, long story,” you paused, trying to regain your train of thought.

“Anyway, the first of the labors was to kill the Nemean Lion and bring back its fur. At first, Hercules tried to shoot it with arrows, but they bounced right off. So, he blocked off one entrance to its cave and snuck in the other, strangling it with his bare hands. But, when he tried to skin it, knives couldn’t cut through. Athena came and told him to use its claws, which worked. After that, he wore its skin throughout the other labors because it was stronger than armor. Then, y’know, he did all the other labors and became a hero.”

“Think I could strangle a lion with my bare hands?” James asked with a laugh. 

“No,” you said, pretending to think it over. “Maybe a toad or something.”

He leaned his arms on the railing, hanging his head as if you’d ripped his heart out. “You’re so awful to me.” 

“You’ll forgive me,” you said, used to his dramatics after all this time. 

After a beat he stood back up, shivering as a gust of wind blew past the tower. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, placing his hand on top of yours, running his thumb over your knuckles. He took it away too soon for your liking, leaving you longing for the feeling of his palm.

“No, the cold feels good,” you said, your head growing light again as he turned to face you fully. You were filled with an inescapable desire to confess, spurred on by the way you felt halfway in a dream, as if anything you said now only existed here, safe from consequence. But, even if you did speak, what could you say? How could you possibly word it, a thing so simple yet so unbelievably complicated? I love you, I think I always have. 

James spoke before you had a chance to take the plunge, though part of you wished he hadn’t, “You’re a good dancer, you know,” he paused, his smile like the sun, illuminating the night. “And you’re the only one that’ll humor me.”

You looked at him as if he had gone insane. “How drunk are you?”

“Practically sober.”

Something about his reply reminded you of his animagus form, as if he’d sprout antlers at any moment. You studied him with great suspicion, noting his ruddy cheeks, though it could’ve been from the chill. 

“I mean it!” he said, growing more impassioned. “My last drink was an hour and a half ago, and I wasn’t that bad then. Didn’t want to get too pissed with Zephyr running around.”

“I thought you only danced when you were drunk,” you challenged. 

“I danced with you two weeks ago when I was sober,” he paused, his features softening. “How about you?”

“Stone cold,” you said, perfectly honest. “Don’t tell Marlene, though. She made me a dozen drinks, but I kept pawning them off onto Remus.”

“I won't,” he chuckled, pausing after a moment to lick his lips, gone dry with the wind. “Anything for you, remember?”

Of course you remembered, you had thought about it every day since he said it. You wracked your brain for a suitable reply, though all you came up with was “I love you”. 

“James, I,” you trailed off, heady with the sight of him, his words, the way he seemed to take you in.

For a moment you really did think it was a dream, because he was looking at you the way you had caught him in the courtyard, endeared to you like no other. Now, however, it wasn’t going away, remaining as he took a step closer, his hands coming to your cheeks. He touched you just as tenderly as he had in the RoR, his fingers brushing along your ears, his gaze bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You stared back up at him, perhaps with the same expression.

In a split second he closed the distance, the world blooming as he kissed you. He moved his hands down to your waist, yours finding their way across his shoulders, towards the nape of his neck where they threaded through his hair. He held you fervently, delicate as if you were a rare, treasured gift. Deep within you something stirred like a gavel striking, a single word ringing out in place of a bang: finally. It was perfect, better than all the times you had imagined it, greater than any book you’d ever read. 

As soon as you parted, your head rushing and your heart swelling with absolute bliss, the realization felt more like being struck with an anvil. You just kissed James.

“Mother of Merlin,” you gasped, still staring into his eyes. They were blown out and beautiful, though it didn’t stop you from taking a step back. “You absolute tosser,” you mumbled to yourself, the world spinning all around you, dizzying in the worst way. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his expression pained and rather awkward. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted—”

You paced back and forth, adrenaline coursing through you. “No, I did. That's the worst part.”

“I have to say, I’m a little offended,” he said, looking at you as if suffering from a dull, ever-present injury, more annoying than it was excruciating. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you sighed, preoccupied with the stark juxtaposition between your immense happiness and equal regret. 

Flabbergasted and obviously unsure how to proceed, he slowly neared you again, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it? Is it something I did?” he asked carefully. 

Your lips still tingled, your stomach buzzing with the aftermath of your most folly, foolish wish come true. You loved him, and at the very least, he fancied you back. 

“Lily,” was all you could say, her name coming out broken and shameful. 

He furrowed his brows, his mouth ajar. “What about her?”

“Lily,” you repeated, attempting to convey the seriousness of your crimes, though it did not seem to have the intended effect. “You and I, we can’t, not when—” you cut yourself off, huffing as you brought the heels of your hands to your eyes. 

“You think because I dated Lily we can’t be together?” 

You nodded, your fingers blocking your sight of him. You couldn’t bear to look, not when he was everything you ever wanted. 

He gently held your hands, saying your name as he brought them away. 

“Of course we can,” he began, ducking down so you would have to look at him. “She won’t care, not a bit, not when,” he faltered, shaking his head as he reached up to touch your cheek. “She can’t be upset with a man in love.”

You soared. “You’re in love with me?”

“Of course I am,” he began, smiling wider. “I’ve told you before.”

Elation washed over you, the stars seeming to shine brighter over you both, dazzling in their celestial waltz. In an instant, you forgot about all the reasons why you shouldn’t, only able to recall why you should. 

Breathless, you lifted the weight that had been upon you for far too long, “I love you too.”

“Thank Godric,” he chuckled, rubbing a thumb along your temple. “I was getting nervous for a minute.”

“You love me,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, as if trying to cast it in stone. 

“Please let me kiss you again, or I think I might die,” his voice was ardent, bursting at the seams with a nearly theatrical plea for your attention. 

You rolled your eyes. “So dramatic—”

He cut you off, pressing his lips to yours. He was careful with you, nearly chaste, cradling your jaw as your noses bumped. You fisted your hands in his jumper, no plans of letting go.

Chapter Nineteen

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Tag List: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile

[royal-chandler]

💌 a sealed letter for FirstPrince, please :)

this is for @onthewaytosomewhere as well, who asked for the exact same thing 🤍

i apologize for the delay. this sort of exploded on me. i feel a little iffy posting it because i think it needs some sprucing and some tidying with the formatting but if i keep it any longer, i'm afraid it'll grow into an audrey ii. tldr; henry and alex would not shut up.

this is also a lowkey request for a beta read??

i hope that you both enjoy it all the same!

--

Henry pens the letter on parchment paper bought from a shop three blocks east of his brownstone, a charming jewelry box of stationery supplies that he’s frequented on almost a weekly basis since relocating to the States over a year ago. 

Deep black ink closes the confession: With a heart full of hope, Henry Fox

Neatly shaping the letter into a trifold and tucking it into a heavy self-seal envelope, Henry’s insides feel as though they rest precariously on a high ledge. His nerves inevitably find his hands and some of his script loses curvature in the address lines. As well, the postage stamp glues down off-center but Henry doesn’t dare try to peel it back. 

The dawn-grey morning light filters through his bedroom curtains and he loses minutes staring at the letter, touching its cream corners. Henry has made up his mind; a decision one way or another long overdue. He tells himself it’s not cowardly, this route. That it’s romantic and a face to face encounter would only leave him tongue-tied, allow for his affections to be misconstrued. 

So yes, before shipping off a love story that possibly only he had been writing from the start, he gives himself a moment.

David, on the other hand, has no care for Henry’s desire to stall. He climbs down from the bed to make space for himself between Henry’s feet. His darling face turns up with serious dark eyes and his tail thumps against the floor, letting Henry know that he has ten minutes and counting to shower and change before his full bladder becomes a threat. 

At the mercy of the master of the house, Henry pushes away from his desk with a fond laugh.

x

Rather than walk the entirety of the neighborhood and deal with cross sections and traffic signals, Henry chooses a shortcut through the park for the drop-off box. 

David is thrilled with the change-up from concrete to grass, the exponential number of squirrels, and different trees to sniff around and hike a leg near, leave a mess for Henry to pick up. 

They're in no true hurry and there's a cinematic view in front of them on this significant day, the horizon’s honeycomb bloom peering through greenery and spilling gold over everything else. So, having deemed the day significant, Henry soaks it in. He stops at the next free bench, taking a seat and letting David off his lead to burn energy on the manicured lawn. He watches David bound about, his floppy ears moving through the air like the wings of bats, and he pulls out his phone to film.

A video of David getting bested by a tag team of squirrels and collapsing on his front legs with disappointment is captured and shared to his chat with Pez and Bea. 

Bea: Aww! Poor Davey! Give him a massive squeeze and smooches from me. Let him know Aunt Bea misses him!

Don’t bother pitying him too much. He recovered quickly and is now chasing the tail of a Dachshund. Or it’s chasing his. Sort of a chicken or the egg scenario. 

Pez: There’s a lad! He’s got the heart of a champion. Speaking of carnal pursuits. Isn’t today the day, Haz??

Bea: IT IS. UPDATE, HENRY.

It is positively terrifying that I can hear you from a continent away. David and I are heading toward the post if you must know.

Bea: He's larking. Collect your dog and go!

What happened to sweet Aunt Bea?

Bea: She wants to see her brother happy.

Pez: And get fucking laid on the regular. It’s been how long now, mate? A year? I recall my Spotify was up for renewal and it’s nearing that time again. I bet your mattress is as sturdy as the day you bought it. 

Bea: I won’t repeat that but I acknowledge it. 

Christ, you're both hideous. I’m going. 

Henry stows his phone back into his satchel. Standing, he calls for David before fetching the lead which had managed to partially abscond through the space between two of the bench’s slats. His back is turned as he tries to detangle the knot that’s been mysteriously made. 

Oh fucking shit, Henry hears from behind. Then it’s David’s bark followed by the unmistakable sound of a rough tumble. 

Henry spins around, his chest tightening with panic. It’s amazing really, the haste in which fear can clasp you like a shackle and then rapidly release leave an uncapped valve. David is unharmed, pondering the wincing face of an unknown man, and it’s perfectly evident what took place—that a collision prevented by the runner putting on emergency brakes when David was making his way back to Henry. Clad only in split shorts and a sports vest, there’s scratches on his bare elbows and knees, on his legs that keep going and going until they disappear under what has to be a three inch inseam and has little to no restriction.

Henry swallows.  “Um, are you alright?”

The man who had been in the middle of inspecting his palms looks up from under sweaty curls and he’s got bright brandy-brown eyes with lashes suited for a high-end mascara advertisement. They’re gorgeous. When he smiles, they’re beautiful. “Oh, I’m right as rain. I’ve been in worse scrapes,” he says, the debut of his voice warm and kind. 

Henry feels the width of his own smile, the heat on his face.  “Be that as it may, I apologize.”

“No worries,” the runner replies, getting to his feet. They’d meet in height if Henry stretched to his toes. He thinks they’re around the same age. “I mean, it’s not your fault. I’m just happy that your dog is okay.”

“I won’t move on the point that it’s regretful you had to risk bodily injury but yes, thank you, I do appreciate you not trampling over David here.”

“David? Wow. Please tell me that he came with that name.”

“I could but I’d be lying to you and that’s not exactly a proper way to go about meeting a person.”

“Did you not choose Stuart because it was a little too dry or because it was already taken by a mouse?”

“He's named after Bowie.”

“Why not Bowie then?”

“It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Ziggy?”

“Doesn’t match his personality. Trust me.”

“Stardust?”

“He’s spotted.”

“Yeah, I’m missing the logic on that one. You should have gone with Bowie.”

“Well had I done that I wouldn’t be on the receiving end of this delightful line of questioning, would I?”

“One more question if you can stand it,” the stranger proposes, his laugh a soft rumble. “What’s your name?”

“Ah, right,” Henry says mildly spaced, a ghastly number of seconds late.  “Henry. I’m Henry.”

The stranger offers his hand alongside his name. “Alex.”

Henry goes to grasp it, to touch him. However, his eyes catch the vibrant tear of red that’s made a rivery inroad through the map of Alex’s right palm. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Alex asks. His gaze drops and his brows rise. “Huh. That wasn’t happening a minute ago.” Using the hem of his top, he improvises a crude kerchief. 

“Don’t you dare,” Henry warns, and it’s almost funny, Alex’s shift into a statue. Wide-eyed and chastised. Henry points to the bench. “Sit.”

“Damn, not even a please.”

“You were about to rub dirt into an open wound.”

“It is not a wound.”

“You're taking up the whole—budge up. Please.”

David barks in protest when Henry sits back down. To appease him, Henry digs out an on-the-go dog treat from his bag. He scratches behind David’s ears while he starts on a long strip of jerky. “Five more minutes and we’ll get going. You’ve been the best boy. You truly have. I just need to tend to Alex first, hmm? He did go arse over tit for you so it’s only fair.”

“Arse over tit,” Alex repeats. He nods approvingly. “That rolls nice off the tongue.”

“I bet it does,” Henry replies, back in his satchel again. Though his face is hidden, he doesn’t veil the innuendo.

In Henry’s search for his first-aid kit his fingers slip over the letter, and his stomach slips low, anchoring his grin with it. He’d forgotten. All morning, the letter had essentially been the only thing to occupy his head and he’d forgotten.

“Hey, are you good?” A concerned Alex breaks in when Henry has presumably fallen silent for too long. “Seriously, Henry. You’re under no obligation to stitch me back up. If you’re uncomfortable—”

“This box doesn’t contain any stitches and if it did, I have no skill with a needle so your hand would look like it was borrowed from Frankenstein’s monster.”

“I was being hyperbolic.”

“Is that a character trait of yours?”

“Some would say yes. You’re blatantly avoiding the question, by the way.”

Henry cleans his hands with an antiseptic wipe before ripping open a new one. “I’m fine, Alex. I don’t think you appreciate the amount of guilt I would be burdened with if I walked away from the man who bled himself for my dog without at least sparing him a plaster. Not to mention, you were about to give yourself gangrene.” He takes Alex’s broad hand in his, and tries not to notice how good it feels or how soft the hairs at his wrist are—tries not to consider the length of his thick fingers. Gently, he rubs at Alex’s vulnerable skin, careful where the cut is most severe. “There’s no alcohol in this so it shouldn’t sting but it still may hurt. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Alex murmurs quietly and yet somehow sounding so close it sets off a shiver in Henry. He’s not sure that he covers it successfully, given the awkward start of Alex’s next words. “So, uh. Um, I don’t think I’ve seen you in this park before. First time here?”

“No.” Henry discards the wipe for a packet of topical ointment. “David and I come around every so often but we usually circle our neighborhood. He’s a hit with the kids during his afternoon walk, loves the attention.”

“Where’s your neighborhood?” Alex questions.

Busy dabbing ointment onto Alex’s hand, Henry gestures with his head to the north entrance of the park. 

“What!?”

“Alex, don’t move!”

“Sorry, it’s not every day that I meet someone who has six point one million to drop on a fucking brownstone.” Alex shrugs at the curious glance Henry sends his way. “Us commoners like to fantasise and window shop on Zillow occasionally. What of it?” 

“Commoners.” The word rolls into a laugh as Henry rolls his eyes. He flips through the provision of adhesive bandages for the correct size to fit Alex's hand. “Your trainers say otherwise, sweetheart. Which direction do you come from then?”

“Downtown, a modest two bedroom apartment."

Henry hums.

"I third-wheel it with my sister and her girlfriend, who also happens to be my ex. Which I swear is not as incestuous as it sounds,” Alex says hurriedly, the words almost tripping over each other. “She and I dated for like a week and then broke it off after mutually coming to the conclusion that we’re much better as best friends.”

It’s none of Henry’s business but the opportunity dangles right in front of him, likely a fleeting thing, and Henry is incapable of walking away with today without knowing. He can’t put up with the thought of it. Prior to this exact point in time, he’d call it impossible, having enough heart to give, enough heart to yield to this firebrand—armed with bright eyes, wit, and kindness. A firebrand urgent to stake claim. But it’s here, scraping the whole of Henry's heart clean.

He clears his throat and opens a plaster. Camouflaged in a casual tone, he manages to ask, “You can’t move in with your girlfriend?”

When Alex doesn’t respond, Henry worries that he’s bungled it. Screwing this up feels worse than having his guts on a ledge because in a matter of minutes, like a flash-forward, he’s seen what this could be up close—rather than standing at a distance and wishing to be noticed—his gaze lifts to meet Alex’s and he realises that Alex was simply waiting on him, waiting for Henry to look at him and see every honest piece. The sweet sentiment, longing and want, the very real hope. Alex admits meaningfully, “There’d have to be a girlfriend for that to be a possible solution. Or a boyfriend. What about you? It is just you and David in your big ass brownstone? You get a floor, David gets a floor…?”

“My sister gets a floor and my best mate gets a floor,” Henry finishes for him, smiling. “Whenever they stop in for a visit.”

“Check that out. We have a lot in common.”

“Now, hold on. I think running is a dreadful form of exercise.”

“Henry, there are numerous forms of exercise. I’m confident in our ability to stumble across one we both enjoy,” Alex shares, newly delighted and a riotous spark in his eye. He’s so bloody handsome he radiates, pales the sun. “Don’t count us out yet.”

Henry’s breath catches. At a loss for words, he ducks his head and finally removes the plaster from its backing, aligning it over Alex’s palm and sticking it firmly into place. Henry’s in the middle of the moment before he’s aware he’s begun, raising the open sprawl of Alex’s warm hand and tenderly pressing a kiss to center. He skips his thumb over Alex’s fingers and then lets him go.

“There. No flesh eating diseases for you,” Henry jokes lightly, watching him with a hectic heart.

“I don’t think you really know how medicine works.” Despite this, or maybe because of it, Alex looks fond. His smile softens on a bemused exhale. “Is it alright to ask for your number?”

“Yes,” Henry says because anything short of it is unimaginable. “May I take a picture of you?”

“Yes,” Alex is quick to oblige. Of course, in reverse order of standard protocol, he then sees fit to ask, “What are you planning to use it for?”

“My mates are busybodies with an unbalanced investment in my dating life. To give you an idea of what you're getting yourself into.” Henry gets David’s attention and scoops him up. “Good god, I know, what a hassle. Last favour, dear.  And then,” he pauses, his thoughts visiting muted images of parchment and pen. Henry continues on, “And then we’ll head on home. Now take a seat on Alex so Aunt Bea and Auntie Pezza don’t accuse me of nicking an image from google. And Alex, be mindful of your hand.”

“Yes, mother hen,” Alex agrees, grinning. 

“Abhor that,” Henry grumbles. He retrieves his phone and opens the camera. He smiles at the two of them. “Ready?”

Eventually, after a few attempts, Henry gets a decent snapshot of Alex hugging David one-armed with a peace sign and sends it off.

Predictably, and almost instantly, his phone lights up with an incoming call from Bea. It goes to voicemail and there's a text notification waiting.

Pez: So, luv, did you learn from David or did David learn from you?

x

When Henry returns home, he tucks the letter into a desk drawer. By no means is he crowded by regret but the writer in him is hesitant to throw out his documented emotions so readily. 

Months later, when the desk is relocated to storage to move in Alex’s things, Henry is distracted by happiness and the kisses that Alex keeps pressing to his lower back and lower to get off hoover duty. He empties it indiscriminately and piles everything in a box to keep. 

Years later, they buy a house in Austin and spend a week's worth of afternoons in their rented climate-controlled storage unit. Alex is showcasing writings like flashcards in a game of ‘yay or nay.’ Most of it has been nay and Henry is questioning his past self. He has no clue why he even kept the box Alex is currently digging in. 

“This one looks like it might be important.”

“What is it?”

“A fancy ass envelope. Opulent, one might say.”

“I’d had two glasses of prosecco, Alex, and we were choosing our wedding invitations. Leave me alone.” 

“Uh huh. This letter is unopened, if that makes any difference to you.”

Henry stills. It’s a percussive blast from the past when he turns to see the letter he hasn’t thought about in years. Alex’s brow is raised expectantly. Henry could tell Alex yes, it’s important. It would be the truth. They wouldn’t have met had Henry not written it and gone to the park with every intention to mail it. 

And nothing means more than Alex. 

“Baby, yay or nay?”

“Recycle.”

--

ugh, how big of a mess was it?

[dogwithblogforkatsuki]

No half-assed dreams | Katsuki x Reader

The pain of achieving dreams is something I was aware of before starting this journey, but I couldn't imagine how much of a pain I would actually end up being in. The continues educational videos, books, notebooks, notes. Writing so much that I gave my self tendinitis. However today my motivation was bottom zero, non existent and impossible to increase. With a week left before this exam, this was not the right time to feel exhausted and tired of school.The stress was starting to get me as I tried to learn about the filtration of the kidneys.

"It doesn't make any fucking sense!" I yelled out to myself, tears filling in my eyes as I let the stress get to me.

Fucking nursing, why did I have to choose nursing. Last month it was dosage calculations, which was even more nerve wrecking. I sighed to myself and thought about how I could use this last week to relax, I know enough to pass.. i could just pass this exam and save my energy, the thought of slacking made me ease up a bit.

"That's right, i know enough to pass"

"That's not a fucking option" heard Katsuki voice behind me, making me turn to face him.

"Well can you help me understand how the kidneys filter our blood, and regulate our body's hydration??" You ask him in a matter-of-factly voice, trying to explain that it's difficult stuff.

"Tch, whatever, just let me shower first" he answered me. Leaving me kinda surprised he would sit down and help me after the day he's had.

Perfect time for a break..

While making Katsuki and I some food and snacks, I could hear the water trurn on. After all the hot water was used and the food was plated, we began to study again.

"IT'S THE GLOMERULUS THAT TAKES THE BLOOD IN AND MAKES URIN, IN THE BOWL THING, WHAT DONT YOU UNDERSTAND"

"HOW DOES THAT MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE KATSUKI"

"IT DOES DUMBASS" He yelled back at me

"Whatever, I don't really need to know this to pass, it probably won't come on the exam. I can feel it" I said feeling a bit optimistic..

"As fucking if, just give up if you're not gonna give it yor all."

"Noo, i want to, I'm just tired of all the studying" I said

"Well you knew you had to study, when you chose this" he replied

"I knoww, but I just want to done and a nurse already" I said complaining

"A bad fucking nurse by the looks of it"

"Katsuki, it's not a competition.."

"It is, and I know you want to win" he said smirking and looking straight into my eyes.. irking the competitive side of me

"Fuck Katsuki, I'm just so stressed.. nothing is sticking anymore, and I'm just exhausted from studying"

Katsuki laid down on the couch, pulling you close to his chest. The way he laid down was slow and weird.

"Baby, you're the smartest and most clever dumbass ever" He said stroking my hair and holding me tighter.

"Why are you being so sweet" I asked him, his behavior worrying me a bit

"Tch, can't I help you relax" he said

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like you are relaxing" I said, staring to sit up again. Watching his muscles tense, and his stiff posture, made your suspicions rise.

Looking at his face you wouldn't think that something was wrong, Katsuki is a master at hiding his feelings. However, knowing him like you do you saw something in his stubborn eyes.

"Did you get injured again?" You asked hoping you were wrong, but him refusing so meet your gaze gave you the answer you wanted

"Fucking hell Katsuki, I told you to tell me if you got injured, or at least go to the Recovery Girl"

"AS IF I WOULD EVER LET THAT HAG PUT HER LIPS ON ME, tch" he yelled and rolled his eyes

Returning the favor I got up and pulled him with me, sitting him up straight in the sofa.

"Where is it?" I asked him, already used to his stubborn attitude towards injuries. For him getting injured was a sign he lost, and that is something he refused to admit. Because of that, I've had to use my quirk to heal his injuries countless of times. Sometimes it would be an impact injury, but it was mostly scrapes and small leasions he got on his own from training

"Ribs" he mumbled, annoyed he had to admit he's injured.

Lifting his shirt, you saw a bruise the same size as you hand. "So, what happened?" You asked

"Training against Icyhot" still mumbling

"You know you should've told me, it's okay to get injured during training." You said as you held his face, making him look at you.

"Tch, just fix it" He said with an annoyed tone.

"I only do this because I love you"

Taking a deep breath I placed my hand over his injury, and focusing my energy towards my hand. Sending my energy and healing him in a matter of minutes.

My quirk is the reason I decided to study nursing, having a healing qurik is not that common and I wanted to contribute to our society in a way I felt that mattered.

It allows me to use my energy to speed up any healing process, and as a side effect I can take away any lingering pain, since my energy causes the sensory nerves to be temporarily disabled.Katsuki was finally relaxing.

"Y/N, don't use all of your energy" he spoke calmly while looking at me. His bruise must have been painful, how did he manage so long?

"Why did you agree to study with me, if you knew you needed treatment?"

"I wanted you to save your energy for yourself" He said as he pulled me down onto his lap.

"How can you think of something so thoughtless and thoguhtfull at the same time" You asked him, completely serious.

"I would exhaust myself, if that would mean you were healthy Katsuki, so please don't hold back like that" You said pulling him in for a hug

"Whatever, we gotta continue study for you stupid exam"