#*fic

[you-were-meteowrong]

reblog for bigger sample size

[euphorajeon]

trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

[13atoms]

Airplane Mode (Spencer Reid x Reader)

A quick blurb about Spencer Reid and his SO finally getting a resort vacation! (Or holiday, because I’m a Brit and saying vacation feels weird). Insp by the slightly weird holiday I’m currently on lol | 1k fluff

Holidays were a bad omen for the BAU. Like complaining a night shift in a hospital is too quiet, or that it hasn’t rained in a while. Holidays meant something was bound to go wrong. So you’d waited until the very last minute to book the flights. Packed your suitcases two hours before leaving for the airport.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to be excited to go away, or even to tell many friends you’d be on holiday.

The louder you said it, the more likely it was that Spencer would be called into work, and the whole thing would fall to the wayside in a series of frantic phone calls. Ultimately, it would only mean Spencer felt awful, and guilty, and it would have been better if you’d never planned anything in the first place. It wasn’t his fault, you couldn’t resent him for it, people’s lives were at stake.

But you were so excited for a vacation.

Even in the airport, as Spencer passed through security with the lazy, efficient movements of a weary regular flier, you’d been waiting for his phone to ring. For it to all be over. You’d held his arm in the airport lounge, waiting for the gate announcement, not daring to speak a word in case the universe heard you and Spencer had to jump on a different plane before yours had even taken off. Then there would be the arguing with the airline. The money lost, the forms for it to be refunded by the FBI, your bags missing because they were already packed deep into the hold of the plane.

You had clutched your coffee cup, already feeling dread and exhaustion overtaking you.

Then the plane had taken off. You hadn’t quite believed it. Spencer put his phone on airplane mode, and showed it to you.

“We’ve made it,” he whispered, through a smile, “it would be in violation of the Federal Aviation Administration regulations to take a call from work now.”

You shoved your face into his neck, and let yourself begin to feel excited.

The resort was one recommended by a colleague of Spencer’s, boring and relaxing, adults’ only and pleasantly quiet. There was a time and a place for exploring and excitement, but truly the thought of Spencer spending a single week away from work felt like excitement enough.

In the taxi from the airport, when Spencer had turned his phone back on and not received summons from Gideon, you finally let yourself utter the words:

“I can’t believe we’re on holiday.”

“I know!”

Spencer was giddy, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d heard him giggle, and it was so wonderful you had to pull his hand into yours and squeeze it.

“I am so excited to do nothing,” he admitted, though you knew his e-reader contained a small library’s worth of books.

“I just want to eat good food, and spend time with you.”

“I think I’m going to turn my phone off,” he said abruptly, as though he’d only just had the thought he could.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Garcia knows where I am, if there’s a real emergency. That way I won’t feel like I have to check it all the time.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

He smiled at you, and you watched as he shot off a quick text to Penelope, before completely turning his phone off. For a moment there was silence, and you both waited, listening to the sound of rubber on tarmac and feeling the heat of the sun outside. Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. The realisation made you burst out laughing at the same time as Spencer, and you caught a flash of the driver’s backwards glance in the rear view mirror.

“You know what, mine too!”

You turned your phone off in solidarity, and stacked it beside his on the middle seat.

“Swap?” Spencer asked, offering you his phone, but you shook your head.

“Straight into the safe, when we get to the hotel. They can stay there.”

“That’s an even better idea.”

You knew, if it came down to it, if a life was at risk, he’d get the message from the hotel reception and go back to Quantico. That was okay. It was part of who he was, he needed the BAU, as much as they needed him.

There was a chain of people between that decision being made and Spencer finding out, including Gideon and Penelope, who would do everything in that power not to ask him. And that felt good.

For the first day, you let yourselves do only what you wanted to, to explore, to lie in bed, to read. Spencer needed the reminders not to watch every little thing that happened, not to examine poolsides and restaurants like they were crime scenes, but soon that went away and the frown in his brow was smoothed.

He wore swim trunks. He tried sips of your cocktail while floating in a pool. He laughed, and cried at one of the books he read, and ate properly, and let himself spend hours lying against your body in bed.

When you left the hotel, you both forgot your phones, and had to pay the taxi driver to turn around and get them.

“We should just leave them,” you’d joked breathlessly, as the receptionist concealed exasperation and politely led you to the room you’d just checked out of.

“That would be pointless, I’d just have to buy another one –” Spencer was distracted, following the receptionist, working out whether you’d miss the plane in the worst possible scenario.

You could see the stress in him, as the taxi driver waited outside with your bags, his meter running.

“Not if we stay here forever,” you teased, and finally saw the fall of his shoulders, the smile lines appearing on his face.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Spencer made it a whole 24 hours after landing without getting on another plane, and you considered it a small victory. When he called you on the jet you could almost see him, skin a little bit more tanned, his hair still a little curlier from the sun and the chlorine.

“You’d better bring a souvenir, jet setter,” you teased, and imagined Spencer wrinkling his nose before he replied.

“We’re going to Milwaukee.”

[vanteguccir]

You belong with me | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N and Matt love each other, but don't seem to have the courage to declare themselves; OR, where Matt belongs to Y/N but can't seem to understand it.

Warning: Crying, unrequited love, angst (with a happy ending).

Requested?: Yes, by @freshsturns

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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It was a typical fall morning in Boston, with golden leaves dancing in the wind and the fresh scent of coffee wafting through the air. Y/N walked down the familiar street, her steps synchronized with the rapid beat of her heart, her mind full of possibilities of how to break the news; she would spend three months at her father's house, as her mother needed to travel for work continuously during that short period.

Her eyes fell on the Sturniolo's house, where the triplets, Matt, Nick, and Chris, had lived since they were teenagers.

A mixture of feelings invaded her whenever she passed by.

She and the triplets have been inseparable since childhood. They grew up together, shared secrets, laughs, and unforgettable moments. But there was something deeper between Y/N and Matt, something she held deep in her heart and feared revealing.

Matt was the middle brother out of the three, with his dark hair and piercing dead blue eyes that seemed to read her soul. He was Y/N's confidant, the one with whom she shared her most intimate dreams and her deepest fears. But there was a secret she never dared to confess: her love for him.

As Y/N walked towards the Sturniolo's house, she felt her heart beating wildly. She knew she would see Matt soon, and that thought made her nervous and excited at the same time. They saw each other every day, but each meeting was like a new chapter in an endless book.

Upon entering the cozy home, Y/N was greeted with warm smiles and affectionate hugs from Jimmy and Mary Lou. Matt, with his captivating gaze and worn-out jeans, stared at her eyes for a brief moment. A shiver ran down Y/N's spine, but she quickly looked away, fearing he might read her feelings in her gaze.

Throughout that day, Y/N and Matt shared conversations like they always did while spending time together, lost in their own bubble of happiness. The sound of their laughter echoed through the cold streets, filling the air with a contagious energy, enjoying the last minutes together before the girl had to go far away.

Matt's hair was messed up by the wind, attracting her attention, who glanced at him, lost in her thoughts. She wondered if he could hear her frantic heartbeat every time he smiled when his hair got in his mouth.

But there was a palpable tension between the two, an invisible elephant in the room that neither dared to address.

At night, when Y/N finally returned home, she sat on her bed and let the tears fall silently while preparing herself to pack her bags. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to confess her feelings to Matt or if she would continue hiding them forever.

Meanwhile, across the street, Matt was lying in his own bed, lost in thoughts about Y/N. He wondered if she could ever feel the same way about him. If she could look at him with the same love-filled eyes that he always cast her way. But the fear of ruining their friendship prevented him from taking any action.

Thus, the two friends remained trapped in a painful impasse, their hearts connected by invisible strings that neither of them dared to break.

Y/N hoped that the next three months would do something good for her.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Time had passed too fast, and soon, Y/N was back in Boston. The sun shone high in the summer sky as the girl left her house that morning, leaving her unopened suitcase to organize later, the birds chirped happily along with the frantic beats of her heart, yearning to see her best friends again.

For some reason, she knew something was different, that something had changed, but she wasn't prepared for what she would find when she met with him that afternoon.

Upon arriving at the brothers' house, Y/N was greeted by a strange silence, even with the cheerful voice of Mary Lou - who greeted her happily at the front door.

Y/N quickly found Matt sitting on the couch, next to a blonde girl, with long straight hair and an artificial smile on her lips. She was the complete opposite of Y/N in every possible way.

She felt a pang of discomfort when she saw Matt so close to that girl, her heart clenching when she noticed the brunette's arm around her shoulders, knowing the inevitable; Matt had met his perfect - or not - match.

She tried to push those feelings away and tried to convince herself that she was happy for him, but the truth was that a wave of sadness washed over her and found home in her heart.

Matt's new girlfriend, who introduced herself as Tiffany, looked at Y/N with a look of superiority, as if she was sizing her up and down. She emanated an aura of arrogance and pretension that made Y/N feel out of place and inadequate almost instantly.

Her slender and tall body was shaped by a mini skirt and a tank top that hugged her tiny waist perfectly, her feet covered in sparkling high heels - too much for a normal day in Boston -, Y/N feeling suddenly uncomfortable about the large t-shirt that covered her entire upper body.

As she watched Matt and Tiffany together, Y/N felt a tumultuous mix of emotions. The sounds of the video game coming from the television and Nick and Chris' excited screams echoing muffledly into her ears as she noticed how Matt hadn't looked directly at her eyes, not even once.

She wondered if he had really forgotten her so easily, if their friendship no longer meant anything to him. She felt betrayed and abandoned, as if a piece of her heart had been ripped out without warning.

As the day progressed, Y/N tried to keep herself occupied with the other two brothers, trying to push away the painful thoughts that threatened to consume her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the vision of Matt and Tiffany together, acting like they were the perfect couple.

She was so different from what Y/N imagined Matt's type to be.

When it was finally time to go home, Y/N said goodbye to Matt with a forced smile on her lips. She tried to hide the pain in her eyes, trying to appear indifferent to the fact that he had found someone new. But deep down, she knew that it had changed everything between them both, and nothing would ever be the same as it was.

As she walked home, Y/N felt tears streaming down her face. She felt lost and confused, not knowing how to deal with the new reality that was opening up before her.

She wondered if Matt would ever see that she was the right girl for him, that he belonged with her.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The restaurant was buzzing with the sound of excited voices and cutlery clattering against plates. Matt, Y/N, Nick, and Chris were sitting at a table in the corner, enjoying a quiet lunch together after weeks of not hanging out as a group.

"Matt, can we talk?" Y/N began as she noticed Chris and Nick immersed in a random topic. Her voice was soft but filled with concern, her eyes trying to decipher the storm of emotions that seemed to cross the brunette's face.

"Of course, Y/N. What do you want to talk about?" Matt nodded, his gaze meeting hers momentarily, before lowering it back to his plate, a fake smile resting on his face.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express what she was feeling.

"I couldn't help but notice how things have changed between us lately. Ever since you started... dating Tiffany, it seems like we're more distant."

"I know, Y/N. I'm sorry that I've been distant. It's just... Tiffany is complicated. She's very different from... Well, it doesn't matter." Matt spoke in a low tone, looking embarrassed as his hands nervously played with the metal cutlery.

Before Y/N could respond, Matt's phone started ringing, interrupting the conversation, and catching the attention of Nick and Chris, who stopped what they were saying and looked at them with interest. Matt huffed out an apology before looking at his cell screen, frowning as he read Tiffany's flashing name.

"Sorry, Y/N. I really need to take this." Matt said, quickly getting up from the table and taking a few steps away to answer the call, ignoring the worried looks his brothers were sending him.

Y/N watched as Matt spoke on the phone, his face tense and worried. She could hear Tiffany's muffled screams on the other end of the line, and a knot formed in her stomach as she realized the argument was about her, her name escaping the boy's lips more times than expected.

She could feel Nick and Chris's gazes burning into the side of her head, and she knew they wanted to say something, but her attention was too focused on Matt to try and get information out of the pair.

As the argument continued, Y/N observed in detail Matt's reactions, the lines of tension on his t the clenched fists at his side. She could feel the anguish he was experiencing.

When Matt finally hung up the phone, he returned to the table with a tired look in his eyes, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip, as if he was in an internal struggle between what to do and what not to do. He looked at Y/N, as if he was about to say something, but then looked away, unable to find the words.

Y/N quickly reached out to touch his hand, a small show of silent support, a frown full of worry taking her expression.

"Matt, hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just..." Matt nodded, a weak smile playing on his lips, the same one that Y/N saw every day since he started dating Tiffany, but so different from the one that was directed to her three months before. "I just need to sort some things out with Tiffany." He cleared his throat quickly, tearing his eyes away from her and focusing them on his brothers. "Can you guys keep going without me? I really need to go."

"If I say no, it won't change what you think, so do whatever you want, Matt." Chris shrugged, his gaze rigid like never seen before by Y/N.

She tried to meet Nick's eyes, searching for some kind of explanation, but all she saw was sadness and worry.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Night was falling over Boston when Matt left Tiffany's house, his heart heavy and his mind turbulent. The rain, like a perfect background actor, fell in torrents, mixing with the tears that ran down his face as he walked aimlessly through the wet streets, having left his car in the hands of Chris - the one who knew most about driving after himself.

The boy allowed his feet to take him where they wanted to go, his vision blurred, and his mind too confused to decide anything at that moment, his heart screaming for refuge.

And that's how he found himself standing in front of Y/N's house, his safe haven in the midst of the storm that had been his life since he could remember.

With a heavy heart, the brunette walked to the side wall outside of the two-story house, his blue eyes only seeing the window that he already knew very well. Agilely, Matt quickly climbed the expanse of concrete, the lighting from the girl's room helping and guiding him.

The sound of light knocks against the closed glass echoed through the room, and it was and understandment to say that Y/N was surprised to see Matt outside her room, hanging from her window, drenched from the rain and with eyes red from crying.

The girl quickly shot up from her seat on her pretty made-up bed, running towards him and opening the window in seconds, her hands working on pulling him inside the cozy and warm room, wrapping him in a comforting hug, ignoring the feeling of his wet clothes against her dry and warm pajamas.

"Matt, what happened? Why are you here like this? What...?" Y/N asked frantically, worried. She pulled back a few inches, rubbing her left hand over Matt's cold arm, while her right worked on brushing away the soggy strands of hair that stuck to his forehead and cheeks.

"I broke up with Tiffany." His voice sounded choked and hoarse from crying, his lips trembling without a pause. "I finally realized how toxic she was being, and I couldn't go on like this anymore. I didn't-" A sob broke through his throat, his eyes closing tightly as his hands gripped Y/N's bent elbow, seeking some stability.

Y/N watched him with compassion, stroking the cold skin of his face gently with the tip of her right fingers. She felt like screaming from seeing him in such a state, her heart hurting as if someone was squeezing it with their bare hands.

She wondered how he couldn't see that she was the right one for him, not Tiffany. She knew all his favorite songs, the movies he loved, the places he dreamed of visiting. She was the only one who truly understood him, who knew his deepest dreams, fears, and hopes.

Over the years, Y/N has been by Matt's side through every important moment in his life. She watched him grow, face challenges, and overcome obstacles. She was the person he went to in the middle of the night when he needed someone to talk to, the voice that made him laugh when he was about to cry.

And yet, even with all this intimacy and deep connection, Matt didn't seem to realize what was right in front of him. He continued to seek love and validation elsewhere, ignoring the fact that Y/N was always there, waiting for him with an open heart.

And because of that, he got hurt. Again.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry. Come here, sweet boy." Y/N asked in a gentle whisper, guiding him to her bed in slow steps.

"N-no, I'm going to wet your whole bed." Matt muttered between sniffles, his right hand gripping her arm gently while his left one rubbed his eyes angrily, trying to stop the tears from continuing to flow.

"It's okay, I don't mind, honey." The girl insisted, helping him sit on the edge of the mattress next to her pillow while moving his hand away from his face, preventing him from hurting himself. "Stay here, I'll go get a towel. I think I still have some of your clothes too."

While Matt vented between sobs about his problematic relationship with Tiffany, Y/N listened attentively, moving around the room behind her hairdryer, clean towels and pieces of clothing that the brunette had left there when he visited her house.

She could feel the pain and anguish he was feeling, and she was determined to be there for him, no matter how much her heart burned to see him suffer for another girl.

The girl quickly found everything she needed, beginning the task of wiping Matt's wet, dark hair with the fluffy towel and wiping away the raindrops from his skin, her body standing stiffly between the boy's legs, being careful not to cross any barrier he had placed between the two of them.

As Matt spoke and Y/N advised him, she could feel his blue eyes fixed on her face, his hands too close to her legs as she finished drying him, feeling her cheeks burn like fire, knowing for sure that they were as red as the color itself.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you." Matt whispered, his tone low - as if he didn't want to burst the bubble that seemed to surround them - but still echoing throughout the room with force. "I only started dating Tiffany because... because I was trying to get you out of my mind."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her hands stopping their movements abruptly, the wet towel feeling heavy on her skin. The girl stared at the wall behind Matt for a few seconds, processing what he had said before finally looking at him, all the words caught in her throat as tears glistened in her eyes.

What?

"I know it was wrong, and I'm so sorry." Matt continued, his voice strained as his eyes seemed to search hers desperately. “But I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I could never forget you. Because... because I love you, Y/N. Since the first day I met you, I have loved you. Every time I close my eyes, it's your face that I see. You're always in my thoughts, in my dreams, everywhere, and nothing I tried could make you disappear."

Y/N's heart raced in her chest a mile a minute as Matt's words echoed in her mind. An overwhelming mix of happiness and relief filling her veins at finally hearing the words she had waited for so many years.

"Matt, this is..." Y/N shook her head as an easy smile spread across her face automatically. "I love you too." She confessed, her voice almost a whisper, lowering her face, her eyes finally meeting his electrifying ones, feeling as if they were piercing her soul, which now, exposed, no longer had a barrier to hide her true feelings. "I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

I'm SO sorry if this ended up being a little rushed or too fast, I don't write series, and I tried to make everything happen in only one fic. I'm sorry if it didn't turn out how you'd like it ;(

My requests are open! Please read my rules before sending anything ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @watermelonreid @iammattswife

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[hrts4scarr]

ᯓ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ⑅ walk him like a dog ✯ jb22 .ᐟ.ᐟ

★ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃﹕﹙ yes/no ﹚ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘﹕﹙in which sebastian vettels sister gets her dream job to work along with him, but stumbles across an infamous playboy﹚ — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒﹕﹙purpose use of lowercase letters only, not sure if there's gonna be another part, use of y/n, black-cat!reader, golden-retriever-ish!jenson, past-playboy!jenson, lowkey-past-toxic!jenson, VERYY light angst [i think], probably not well proofread, lmk if there's anything i missed!!﹚ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆﹕﹙jenson button 22 x f!vettel!reader﹚ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓﹕﹙icba checking but it's not much at all imooo fjdkjfdsjfkla﹚ ★ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎﹕﹙this lowkey reminds me of a 2018 wattpad story but fuck it we ball﹚

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IT WASN'T SURPRISING for a young, intelligent woman like you to get your dream job in motorsport, especially as the not very known sister of the much loved driver at rbr, sebastian vettel. start of the season, first day, no sweat. couldn't be much harder than what you've been studying for all your years at uni. you just started working for your brothers team, red bull racing. you could not wait. not only did you get to work at the job you've been dreaming of since you were a little kid, but you got to work along side your older brother, who you loved dearly.

even though you were attempted to be knocked down down by some stupid boys when you were younger, it never stopped you from watching f1 races, studying how they built their cars, or researching about your favourite motorsport. you were determined, stubborn and hardworking. the perfect traits for someone to pursue their dream job. with your supportive brother and family by your side, you were thankful that you finally have made it this far.

as the studious young lady you were, it also wasn't surprising that you were shuffling through your folder containing multiple notes, making sure you didn't forget anything. paying too much attention to what you were doing - rather than where you were going, you bumped into a hard wall.

no, wait. not a wall, but rather a fairly tall man in his early 30s. your folder falls to the floor, the pencil tucked behind your ear doing its best to stay put. squatting down to pick up the fallen folder, you mumbled rapidly. "shoot, sorry, that was completely my fault, i wasn't paying attention to where i wa-"

"relax, darling," you heard a chuckle, the british accent sounding familiar in your ears. "you seem to be stressing yourself out." as you stood up, you were faced with the one and only 2009 wdc winner. "..i- sorry." you whispered softly, embarressed as you stared at your shoes.

"it's alright, love. it was an accident." he grinned, leaning over slightly to see your face. "i haven't seen you around here, are you-"

"there you are!!" your older brother, jogs up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. you seemed to forget all about your little accident as you crack into a smile. "c'mon now, you're going to be late." you giggle as seb drags you along with him.

jenson watched as you and sebastian went over to the red bull garage. his eyes followed your perfect posture, up to how your clothes were neat and unwrinkled, finally stopping and lingering on your face. 'friends' with the 2010 champion, hmm? he watched as you entered the garage. he couldn't wait to meet you again.

〜

"hello there, love." from the corner of your eye, you could see a shadow leaning on the doorframe. that same british accent from the day before, that same faint cologne, that same little smirk that seemed to get on your nerves in the weirdest - but not bad - way.

"mr. button." you nod as you wrote notes that you learnt the day before on your tablet.

"please, it's just jenson." jenson sat next to you, leaning over your shoulder to see what you were writing. he did it like personal space wasn't a thing. "i didn't get your name." he turned your head to face you, a small grin on his face.

"it's y/n." you say, not facing him.

"i take it you know sebastian? y'know, from yesterday." he asks, attempting to start a conversation.

"he's my brother." you press 'save' on your tablet, finally closing it and meeting jenson's eyes for the first time. your gaze lingered for a quick second, taking in his features, observing his demeanour.

jenson paused. "brother? i didn't know he had any siblings." jenson says curiously.

"you don't seem to know a lot of things." you say jokingly, giving him a tiny grin. the man couldn't help but chuckle.

"y/n vettel? such a pretty name for a pretty woman." he winks, thinking his usual playboy charm would work on you just like the other girls.

you can't help but roll your eyes playfully as you packed your things. "see you around, button."

〜

you reached into your handbag to pay for your ice cream. the cashier shook her head, gesturing to a man sitting by the window. "he already paid." you furrow your eyebrows. "oh, alright. thank you." you give the cashier a small smile before turning to where she was gesturing to.

jenson damn button. you could already feel his gaze on you and that lingering scent on him as you sat in front of the driver.

"there's really no need to pay for me, mr. button."

"and there's really no need to call me 'mr. button,' love." jenson chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee.

you sigh. you couldn't be stubborn with him, knowing how hard headed he was from all your years of watching f4 to f1.

"this is a nice little shop, don't you think? perfect place to hangout before the australian gp." jenson leans forward, that same smirk on his face.

"mmm, yeah. they have delicous ice cream." you take a bite of yours, not being able to help but feel guilty for not paying for your ice cream.

"what's your favourite flavour?" jenson asks, trying to fuel the conversation.

"chocolate. basic but the best." you say softly with icecream covered lips.

"that's fair." he chuckles. "i'm a vanilla kind of guy."

from there, your conversation grew longer. you both opened up more, sharing small laughs and recalling past memories. it felt like only minutes to you both, but little did you know it was nearly dinner.

"would you look at that, it's nearly 6pm." you check your phone.

"well, before i say goodbye, do you think i could have the pleasure of taking you out for dinner this thursday?" jenson grins.

"nice try, button, but im busy all week. try again next time, and we'll see." chuckling, you pack up your things. "later!" you leave the icecream shop as jenson's eyes follow.

"later." he mumbles. this felt different. different in a way he's never felt like this before. different in a way that you were different. different in a way he was really falling for someone. different or stupid, his stomach twisted with mixed feelings. different.

★ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎﹕﹙i genuinely don't know when im gonna have more parts to this 😔﹚ ౨ৎ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓﹕﹙@gray4youuu @c-losur3 @ujws5 @namgification @faithshouseofchaos @isurvived3-11andimproud﹚

˚ ₊ · ͟͟͞͞➳ — ꒰ last work // pinned post // masterlist // taglist // rules // next ꒱

notes, comments, reblogs, feedback and follows are greatly appriciated!

!! PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON OTHER WEBISTES/APPS OR COPY MY ORIGINAL WORK !!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King Masterlist

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[sturnphilia]

SELF DESTRUCT - CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY;; Chris and Clara had been in a talking stage for 2 months and Chris decided to ghost her. But not for the reasons Clara thought he did ..

NOT PROOF READ ; NO SMUT JUST ANGST AND SLIGHT FLUFF :3 I suggest listening to the song before or while reading the fic because it'll make more sense to the plot !

Chris and Clara were basically perfect for each other. From the day they met at Larray's party they immediately had a connection and got along instantly. Both being the loudest and outgoing at the party. Their personalities together really made a room light up. They matched each other like puzzle pieces.

It didn’t take them long till they continued to bump into each other at Larrays multiple parties and  eventually got each other's numbers and started talking a bit more seriously. 

Clara was head over heels for Chris to say the least. From that night she knew she had something for him. It's like the universe aligned them together on purpose. He made her feel like her. He was the first guy ever to make her really feel something.  

If Clara had to describe him he was perfect in her eyes. In every way possible. The way he’d stay up all night talking to her, or how he’d assure her she was okay when she was having a bad day, or even the slight compliments he gave her, the way he made her smile at her phone, the way he’d listen to everything she had to say, he was everything she wanted. Everything she needed.

And Chris absolutely returned the feeling. He even made sure to hint to Clara how he felt.

So when Chris started distancing himself from Clara randomly it felt weird. It made Clara feel utterly confused. 

At first it started off as dry responses. She tried not to think too hard about it because Chris was a human and of course he had a life and other things to worry about. Then it started to become where he’d only text her once every other day. Then after about four messages in a row she sent him is when she realized he fully ghosted her.

She stared at her screen, blue light plastered on her face from the reflection. She bit her lip- holding back the urge to text him once again. She sighed and slammed her phone down on her bed. She just didn’t understand it. Was it something wrong she did? She said?  She looked? The entire situation kept her up late at night. 

She felt something she had never felt with anyone else with Chris. Clara had been in plenty of relationships before but she swore up and down that Chris was different. When in reality it wasn’t. He was just like everyone else. He was interested, he got bored, and was clearly too big of a dick to tell Clara the truth so he did the thing any other guy would do and ghost her.

They had only been talking for two months and she knew she shouldn’t have gotten attached but still, it fucked her up. It had officially been two weeks today since the last text Chris had sent her. She just needed to accept the fact that what they had was dead now. 

She sucked it all up and decided to go to Tara's party tonight. She knew she needed a distraction and hoped that Chris or the triplets wouldn’t be there because she had never seen them interact with Tara like that. 

For Chris, this was absolutely eating him alive. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep since then. Chris couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he ghosted Clara. Chris had extremely bad commitment issues and everyone knew that. His past relationships really wiring his brain anytime he found someone knew. So when he met Clara he thought that it would just end up being the same thing. He’d get attached to her and she’d end up hurting him. So he distanced himself to the point where he accidentally ghosted her. He didn’t even realize that he hurt her in order to protect himself until it was too late.

He even thought about texting Clara again but he couldn’t. He knew he had already fucked it up enough. He almost did though. A bunch of times. He would always write her really long paragraphs at 2 in the morning and almost end up sending them. He’d always feel really pathetic and end up deleting it and rolling over and try to sleep.  

He hated the thought of hurting Clara. He had been ghosted before by girls and it absolutely crushed him and he didn’t even wanna imagine what Clara was thinking. It made him feel like an absolute asshole. He wanted her to know how badly it hurt him too. It's like he self-destructed himself when he was around her. 

So here he was at Taras party. Trying to distract himself from it all. 

When Clara saw him she felt like her heart stopped for a second. Her entire body stopped. She stood in the middle of Larrays hallway staring at him. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her mouth slightly opened out of shock. 

It didn’t take Chris long to notice Clara’s eyes on him. They locked eyes. Both their faces went pale. Chris could feel the breath leave his body. Immediately when Clara noticed Chris´ eyes on her she stormed out the room. Chris excused himself from the girl he was talking to in front of her and immediately ran after her.

“Clara, wait..” He called out. Clara heard his voice. The same voice that used to calm her down. Her vision began to get blurry and her head started pounding. She began to push everyone and everything out her way. She didn’t even know where she was trying to go; she just knew she needed to get away. “Clara please!” Chris called again.

Clara finally reached outside. She took a deep breath in from the fresh air. She turned around and met Chris’ tall figure in front of her. Her mouth still held open; her pupils small and her breath shaky. An extremely disappointed look on her face. Chris’ face was filled with guilt and worry. “What.” Clara said sternly. Chris didn’t exactly know what to say. He said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m sorry.” is all he could spit out. A scoff left Clara’s mouth. “You’re sorry? For what Christopher. What are you sorry for?” Clara spat back. Her arms crossed her body. Anger began to fill her body. “Clara, you know what I'm sorry for…” He spoke softly. Clara rolled her eyes. “Yeah sorry for ghosting me and getting my hopes up? Wow thanks for that awesome apology Chris!” Clara began to walk away as she said that. Tears began to fill the brim of her eyes. Chris continued to follow after her “Clara you don’t understand, I didn’t mean to ghost you.” He explained. He placed his hand on her shoulder trying to turn her around. She met his eyes again. “How the fuck do you not mean to ghost someone Chris?” the tears began to spill out her eyes. 

Chris inhaled. “Clara I didn’t know how to function with you because I like you too much. I threw it all away because I was scared. I was scared of getting hurt that I didn’t even realize I was hurting you in the process. I self-destructed and panicked and just left with no explanation and it's been eating me alive. I hope that you know this entire thing has hurt me so unbelievably and I've tried so hard to reach out to you but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt like I fucked up too much. Maybe I should’ve stayed and I'm sorry…” He explained. Everything coming out at once. Every feeling Chris has had in these past two weeks finally came out. Clara’s face lit up in shock. She couldn’t believe what Chris was saying. Clara had no words. She didn’t even know how to respond to this. 

“Really?”

Chris chuckled awkwardly

“Really.”

-

AN: I didn't know what to do for the end so just come up with it with your imagination LMAO

TAGLIST (tell me if u wanna be removed or added!) ; @sturnioloshacker @sturnish @hoesformatt @lovingmattysposts @gwenlore @daddyslilchickenfingers @thenickgirl

[scarletwinterxx]

morning with birthday boy - dad jeno scenario

Helllloooooo so i got this request for our birthday boy🥺🤍 extra fluffy for this very special day. Hope you like it!!!

omggg pls pls make a jeno dad scenario for his birthday, maybw surprising him or something ?? 🥹🥹🥹 imagine him having a son who looks exactly like him when he was a kid 😭😭

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(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You and your son woke up early to make birthday pancakes for the birthday boy. It's a tradition that started years ago when you and Jeno started dating, he knew you loved pancakes so he took you out for breakfast and surprised you with a tall stack of your favorite pancake with a pink candle on top.

Now years later, here you are in your kitchen cooking pancakes with your son, Geonu, about to surprise your husband.

Geonu, now two years old, is at that age where you can let him join the fun. You love cooking and baking so usually he'd be right beside you as your little helper.

"Mommy, owy" his term for chocolate, pointing at the bowl of chocolate chips

"Want to put the choco chips? Okay, you do it like this" you carry him up, showing how and where to sprinkler. You let him get a handful and do the same, a few got stuck between his fingers and he immediately taste it

"You silly boy, you only wanted to get the chocolate huh" you tickle him, eliciting giggles from your little boy. Geonu is a splitting imagine of Jeno, when he was born and Jeno's mom said he look3d exactly like Jeno when he was born. And as the years passed by Geonu's showing more resemblance with his father.

Your favorite one being their identical eye smile.

You finish cooking the pancakes, fixing a stack to surprise Jeno with. Carrying the plate in one hand and Geonu with your other.

Opening your bedroom door, you see your husband still fast asleep. His bare back towards the door, you set Geonu on the bed and he immediately crawls towards his dad. Climbing on his back and laying his head right on Jeno's head.

Jeno feels something on his cheek, something settles on his back too. After a few seconds he can feel something wet on his cheek, a tiny voice gurggling.

A smile appears on his face before he could even open his eyes. He peaks with one eye, turning to see you at the edge of the mattress with a plate of pancakes and his son giving him his morning kisses

"Good morning, happy birthday baby" you tell him. He carefully move Geonu from his back to his lap, sitting up to blow the candle

"Geonu, let's make a wish. Okay 1 2 3" the little boy blowing the candle with Jeno, you sit infront your boys watching them with smitten eyes

"Thank you, baby" he tells you, leaning over to give you a kiss

"So how does it feel to be a year older?"

"I'm only a few months older, this would be you soon" he teases you back

One of many birthdays you've celebrated together and now you have your little bundle of joy to celebrate with. There's really nothing Jeno would wish for, he already has everything he needs. He used to wonder if settling down was something he'd do, he didn't reslly himself as a family man. He's fine being on his own until he met you.

Ever since then, there isn't a moment he wanted to be alone ever again. He knew he was going to spend the rest of his birthdays with you the moment you smiled so big at him at that breakfast diner a few years ago.

He finally knew what real contentment feels and it's this. Mornings with you and the little boy who is equal parts of him and you. Celebrating birthdays with a tradition the two of you made.

"Let's have breakfast downstairs, I made eggs and bacon and coffee" you tell him, getting Geonu from then standing up from the bed.

Jeno sets the plate down on the bedside table before giving you a hug by the waist. Your hand finds his hair, giving him a half hug.

"I love you so so so much" he mumbles, looking up at you

You lean down to kiss him again, after a few seconds you feel a hand separate the two of you making the two of you laugh

"Uhhhh what is this? She's mine before she was yours" Jeno tells his son, giving his tummy tickles.

"Okay okay let's go get breakfast, we have a full day ahead. You go get dressed" you tell Jeno, knowing full well what's underneath the sheets

He smirks at you, waving as you walk out the door

After a few seconds you peak your head by the door, "I love you too" you say then you walk away. Jeno smiles, his eyes disappearing as the familiar feelings envelops him again. Like he's falling inlove with you for the first time again.

[eggcats]

Headcanon that Alastor only knows how to show affection in ways HE would find acceptable to receive it. And yes, this DOES include random dead deer carcasses and the occasional sinner, but more importantly it affects how he interacts with others.

Because, other than Mimzy, who fairly explicitly tells him to fight her battles for her, most of his friends and acquaintances are powerful enough that joining a fight on their behalf would be an insult. Because HE would be insulted if someone did that to him, so he doesn't do it to those he likes and respects.

And as such, when he sees someone he cares about fighting he will watch and observe to only enter the battle if absolutely necessary - to do anything else would be to imply that they are weak and in need of protection. He respects them enough to let them win their own battles.

However, when he and Angel start becoming closer, this REALLY confuses Angel. He thought they were sorta-kinda friends, but Alastor REFUSES to help him even a little when he gets caught up in a turf war.

Alastor just observes from the fringes and doesn't do a THING to help Angel, and it's slowly driving him mad. Because the second the battle is over, Alastor will act just like before, but during it? He seems like he doesn't know who Angel is. It's kind of offensive, really. But he doesn't say anything because maybe HE'S misinterpreting their friendship here, and is looking into their interactions more than they are because he likes Alastor. It kind of hurts, but this is Hell, so what doesn't?

Until one day, when Alastor sees some random sinner attempt to drug Angel to force a victory. And suddenly, Alastor reminds everyone why they should fear the Radio Demon - because how DARE they be so weak as to insult Angel in such a way rather than simply respectfully dying.

And Angel is CONFUSED. He's like, "What the FUCK was that, Smiles?!" And is even more confused when Alastor APOLOGIZES and shows Angel the syringe as his reasoning for joining the fight.

Angel is so lost that for the first time, he brings up Alastor's weird behavior to Husk while he's drinking. And Angel is even MORE lost when Husk simply goes, "Ah, that makes sense."

A: "WHAT makes sense 'cuz I don' get why he'd choose NOW to help me!"

H: "Al is an Overlord, and most of his friends are other or former Overlords. How'd you think he'd take it if someone fought to defend him in a fight if he didn't need it?"

A: "What's that got to do wit' anything?"

H: "Al's treating you with the same respect he'd expect to have. He thinks you're upset at him for HELPING, not for taking this long to do so. He thinks he's insulted you by implying you're weak and in need of defending."

Suddenly, Angel is reevaluating every time he's noticed Alastor watching the fight from the sidelines, but not moving an inch to help him. It's kind of flattering that he thinks Angel is so capable of handling himself, but also wanted to stay in case something happened? That. That kind of says a lot to how Alastor sees him, doesn't it? If he's treating him like Angel is just as worthy as respect as Alastor's other friends? And the fact that he only joined the fight when someone tried to force him to lose unfairly?

Angel realizes he needs to talk to Alastor and clear up this misunderstanding, because suddenly it doesn't seem so ridiculous that Alastor might care for him and Angel just hasn't been able to read the signs correctly.

[frost-queen]

Bodyguarded // part 5 (Reader!Grimes x Daryl Dixon)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 Tag: @strangerthingslover69 , @ankhmutes , @yoowhatthefuck , @sseleniaa, @deansapplepie , @abbiesxox, @skulliecadaver-blog, @winterassassin1804 , @love-zami

Summary: When there is a need for supplies, a select group goes to the city. Shane and you are forced to be together. How will this play out? Will you find a way out savely out of the city with the others? [ read part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 ]

Shane slammed his hand on the hood, alarming everyone they were set to ride. Rick kissed Lori goodbye and gave Carl a hug before joining Shane by the car. Glenn already stood by it, wanting to drive. Shane came standing before him with a glare. Glenn swallowed nervously getting the hint. He moved to the backseat as Shane got in the front. Rick joined Shane on the other side. Daryl was by his motorcycle with Carol. Carol was speaking to him, telling him to be careful.

He listened half, finding her motherly concern a bit overrated. You tossed an empty bag in the trunk, shutting it. You were about to get into the car when Daryl whistled loud. It made you look back at him, seeing him ask you over. Smiling, you went up to Daryl. The car door opened as Shane set one foot out, standing up. – “In the car!” – he ordered. – “She’s riding with me!” – Daryl called back.

“Y/n! the car!” – he made clear. Daryl let the engine roar of his motorcycle to overpower Shane’s overrule. You went over to Daryl anyways, grabbing his back as you swung your leg over the motorcycle. Shane puffed annoyed getting back in the car. Your hands were on Daryl as he took them, wrapping them tighter and closer to the front around him.

Daryl rode off, passing by the car. Shane easily caught up with him, riding past him. Shane then slowed a bit down so Daryl and you were still close by. Daryl wasn’t speeding much to not attract any walkers with the noise of the motor. You were leaning against his back, watching the trees pass till it would eventually make way for the highway. – “Hey Y/n.” – Daryl said catching your attention. It made you lift your head up from against his back. – “Yeah?” – you answered.

Daryl turned the steering a bit, getting closer to the woods as you were confused to what he was doing. – “How about a little detour?” – he chuckled out. – “Daryl!” – you called out slapping him against his back. Daryl steered back to the middle of the road where the car drove a few meters up front. – “Shane would go feral.” – you told him. – “I don’t care.” – Daryl answered back.

“Yeah cause having him drive after us like a maniac with Glenn and my brother in the car is so thrilling.” – you teased with a roll of your eyes. Daryl chuckled already picturing it. – “It’s not funny!” – you called out giving him another slap against his shoulder.

Wrapping your arms tighter around him, you snuggled closer against him. – “Just enjoy this.” – you mumbled out. Daryl kept tailing the car till they made it up to the highway. There they started to speed up knowing they had to have daylight at their side. If they would be stuck in the city by night, it would be hell. By the edge of the city, they parked. Not wanting to attract the walkers that roamed the city. Their city now. Fallen a few years ago.

You got off Daryl’s bike as he held you in place by taking your wrist. You turned confused at him. Daryl pulled out a gun, putting it in your hands while his gaze was on Shane up ahead with the car. – “I don’t want my girl to be unarmed.” – he told you, pushing your hand closer to your body. You turned your back to the car, putting the gun away out of eye’s way.

Daryl knew Shane would never let you have a gun. It was even a surprise that were allowed on this run for supplies. You leaned down resting your arm over his shoulder. – “I always have you to save my ass.” – you told him smirking. Daryl inhaled deep bringing his hand on your back down to your bottom. – “A fine one too.” – he answered making you snort.

Daryl and you kissed quick before he got off his motorcycle. You went over to Glenn, taking an empty bag from as well. Glenn stepped away when he saw Rick approach you. – “Nervous brother?” – you asked when he slid his arm over your shoulder. – “Only for you.” – he responded. – “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with walkers more than you.” – you laughed out patting him against his cheek.

Rick chuckled giving you a little shove. – “Hey you’re the newbie here.” – you teased giving him a bump with your hip. Shane came walking around you and Rick having a little comment to say. – “Try not to scream at a walker Y/n.” – he said making you smile sarcastically back at him. You left Rick’s side going after Shane wanting to reply to that. – “Try keeping him alive now.” – you commented hinting your brother.

Shane’s eyes widened briefly but before he could reply, you had joined the others. – “Here you go.” – Glenn said offering you a machete. You accepted it, looking over at Daryl. You didn’t think you would be given a weapon. You then looked over to Shane, wanting to see what he would do about it. He didn’t comment on it, so you got to keep the machete.

Glenn took the lead as he knew some good routes to a nearby store. Daryl and you walked at the back, keeping a good eye on your behinds. The streets were silent. Papers and trash scattered around. Some moving with the wind. Glenn stopped at the front of an alleyway that led up to the main road. Shane and Rick right behind him. Daryl turned his back at you, holding his crossbow up to the other end of the alley in case one would dare to sneak up.

Glenn overlooked the main road, seeing some walkers stand mindlessly still. Some wandering a bit at the slowest pace. Almost unactive from not having eaten so long. – “And?” – Shane asked keeping his voice low. – “It’s a risk.” – he answered seeing a walker sniff the air, making him pull back into he alleyway. – “The stores are up ahead across this street. I don’t think we can make it across unnoticed.” – Glenn spoke lowly looking at Rick and you.

“What if we distract them with noise?” – you suggested making everyone look at you. – “This way we’ll clear the road for you all to cross.” – you finished. – “And who are you suggesting to sacrifice themselves?” – Shane asked with crossed arms.

“It’s not a sacrifice if you do it right.” – you replied with a glare. Shane puffed loud. He then pushed Glenn forwards amidst you all. – “He’ll go.” – he put up. Glenn stared angry at him. – “No, Glenn is the fastest runner, besides he knows the place.” – you countered, backing Glenn up. – “I’ll do it.” – you proposed. – “Y/n no!” – Rick let out, shaking his head. – “It’s not up for discussion.” – you told your brother. Daryl joined having been on guard the entire time. – “I’m coming too.” – he said.

Shane shook his head, pinching his nose bridge. – “We need focus, not more distractions.” – Shane let out. Daryl came up to Shane. – “You got a problem?” – he asked. Shane puffed up his chest to appear larger. – “Enough!” – you shout-whispered coming in between them. Now was not the time and place to argue and fight.

“I don’t care who comes with me, but if we stay here any longer there will be an army of walkers feasting on our flesh!” – you said frustrated. Shane grabbed you by the elbow, pulling you away. Apparently he was coming with you. Daryl wanted to go after you but Rick held him back. – “We have to be ready when they clear the road.” – Rick told him.

You pushed Shane’s hand off you. The two of you rounded the back of some abandoned houses. Shane knocked some wooden planks off that boarded up the broken windows. – “After you.” – he said gloating. It made you roll your eyes. You gave him a little shove out of the way so that you could crawl through the window. Shane got in after you. With his gun up, he sneaked through the dark room to scout for any walkers.

You heard some faint groaning sounds walking up to it. Amidst the rubble was a walker. Stuck underneath parts of the ceiling that had crumbled down. The walker started to groan louder, reaching out to you to grab. You stood in front of it, shoving your machete down in it’s head. Giving it a twist so it surely was dead. Shane found one as well stuck as he knelt down, taking out his knife.

He stabbed it in the head. Blood spattering up. Shane wiped his knife clean on the walker’s dress. Shane and you rejoined in the middle of the room. – “All clear.” – he said making you nod. The two of you started to search for something to cause noise. – “What do you see in him anyways?” – Shane asked from across the room, going through some stuff.

“You mean what don’t I see in you?” – you responded back. Shane’s eyes widened brief, stopping his search, caught off guard. You came over to him. – “That’s what you want right? For many years now.” – you added finding something useful in a dusted box. An football horn, you so hoped still worked, but didn’t want to test out now. You showed Shane the horn as he came over to you.

Grabbing you tight by your arms. The way he stared at you, made you feel uneasy. His hard stare with that struggle deep inside of him. For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you forcefully. Having wanted nothing more. Ever since you were teens perhaps. The making fun of you, the teasing, always coming around.

It was clear now that he liked you but never dared to show it openly because of your brother. Now that he was older, his methods might have become more violent. Cursing at you and threating you bad just because he knew he never had a chance with you.

“What are you going to do.” – you dared him feeling him squeeze your arms tighter. – “Why can’t you just…” – Shane began nearing with his face. It made you gulp, thinking he might actually kiss you now. He kept coming closer with his face as it made you turn your head away. Shane’s forehead came in contact with your side as he shut his eyes hard. Then he tore himself away, taking the horn from you.

Letting out a loud breath, your heart was pounding. This could’ve taken a different direction. You followed Shane back out of the broken window. Jogging after him, you went further down the street to head into one of the next alleyways. Shane looked around and spotted a few cars parked in the middle of the road. He ran over to it, you right behind him.

Shane got up on the car, standing on the roof. He pressed on the horn as it let out a loud sound. Shit you thought, opening the car door and trying to see if the car worked. The walkers were alarmed. Groaning and calling it out as they collectively all turned towards the sounds. Shane horned again and long to lure them over. You kept turning the key, trying to start the car.

Looking briefly through the window, you saw the others carefully look before running across. This car was no use as you got out and went over to another car. Shane horned again, firing at some walkers that were coming near. Anxiously you were trying to start the next car. It was great that all the walkers were coming your way, but you still needed to escape. This car wasn’t working as well as you got back out and checked the hood. The engine stolen.

“Shane!” – you called out. Shane turned his head to you. – “None of them start!” – you yelled at him. Shane aimed his gun your way as you thought for a moment he was going to shoot you. His gun fired making you jump out of your skin. Then you heard a body drop to the ground. Looking over your shoulder you saw a walker down.

Gasping loud, you saw more walkers come from alleyways or hit their heads against glass to get to the noise. With no other way out, you climbed on the roof of the car with Shane. Taking out the gun Daryl had given you. You noticed Shane taking a moment to stare with wide eyes at it. – “Shut up.” – you said not wanting to hear complaints.

Some walkers were below at the car, swaying their arms around to grab for your feet. You started shooting at them. Each hit right through their skull. Shane blew the horn again luring more walkers to you. A walker threw himself on the hood, snapping his mouth around. Shane moved his arm over your shoulder, shooting at him. You shot a few by the trunk as their dark blood splashed the car. The space on the roof was just manageable for two if you didn’t move too much. You gulped feeling a hand grab at your ankle.

You felt yourself slip back off the roof. Before you could fall down reacted Shane. He had taken a hold of your wrist, holding you in place as your back dangled over the walkers. He pulled at your wrist, pulling up against his chest. With an arm around you, he continued to shoot around. Your heart was pounding still trying to recover from your almost fall.

The walkers were snapping their jaws at you and swaying their arms around. Gurgling loud with their calls. You so hoped they raided the place quick. Not sure how much longer you could hold them off. You fired at them one by one. They dropped down like flies but kept coming closer in tenfold. Shane stepped on a walker’s fingers as they reached the roof.

“Give me that horn.” – you told Shane. He gave it to you as you took a hairband from your wrist. You pressed the horn in, wrapping the hairband around it so it kept blowing. You were about to throw it away yourself, but offered it to Shane instead, knowing he might throw further than you. Shane accepted the blowing horn from you, throwing it further down the street. Some walkers were drawn to it that hadn’t smelled your flesh yet.

The others staid around the car, snapping beastly at the two of you. Shane and you fired at the remaining one’s. You furrowed your brows seeing a walker slide down the car side with an arrow in his head. Looking up, you saw Daryl, Glenn and your brother up ahead. They had come back from their raid. Rick was shooting as well, clearing a way for the two of you.

Walkers dropped down lifeless with each hit. Shane jumped off the roof first. You jumped after him, falling through your knees. Shane jerked you up by your arm. He then started running with you. The two of you met up with the others as Shane let go of you. You ran straight in Daryl’s arms, hugging him tight. Daryl exhaled relieved, hugging you back.

“Let’s go.” – Glenn called out knowing more would come soon. The five of you started to run back towards the alleyway. You were hallway through when a few walkers appeared on the other end. It made Glenn stop, you bumping against his back. – “Go back.” – he called out as you already turned around. Shane took about a few steps before he stopped. From the other side walkers now as well. They were closing in, having cut off your escape routes. – “Up!” – Rick called out seeing a ladder hanging a few feet above the ground. 

Rick grabbed you, picking you up for you to reach the ladder. You grabbed it, pulling yourself up by your hands before your feet could touch the first step. After you, Rick helped Glenn up. Daryl didn’t need any help as he jumped grabbing the first step with his hands. Rick and Shane joined last climbing up to the roof. Up, you helped Glenn from the ladder.

Daryl, Rick and Shane joining moments later. Glenn looked down the alleyway, seeing the walkers cramped up together, arms up trying to grab for you all out of reach. – “How are we going to get to the car now?” – Glenn panicked with his hands in his hair. Rick stood by the edge, overlooking the town from above.

You looked around the rooftop trying to look for a way out. Daryl joined your side, pulling you closer to him for a moment. Over his shoulder, he glanced at Shane close to Rick. Wondering what had occurred when he wasn’t near. You checked your gun, seeing how many bullets you had left. It wasn’t enough, perhaps to kill a few walkers. Rick whistled loud to round you up. – “We either wait for it to calm down or we take a risk.” – Rick suggested.

“If we wait they’ll just keep roaming below mindlessly cause nothing attracts them anymore.” – Glenn answered. – “Glenn’s got a point.” – Daryl spoke in agreement. The five of you set out to look around the roof top for anything useful. You neared the side of the roof towards the back, feeling that the foundation beneath your feet didn’t feel stable.

Rick was nearing as you stopped him. – “Stop!” – you called out, standing completely still. Rick stopped confused, setting his foot back. – “It’s unstable.” – you explained standing in the middle of it. This part of the roof probably rotten from damp and rain. It wasn’t sturdy cement. The others neared as well, standing by Rick.

You tried to set a foot down back towards them, but felt the foundation crack underneath you. – “Careful.” – Glenn called out. Perhaps if you ran, you could outrun it crumbling away. Eyes locked on Daryl, he knew what you were going to do. He nodded holding his hands out to catch you if he needed too.

You started running towards him, feeling the foundation crack underneath you. The foundation sunk below you, making you leap for Daryl. Daryl sucked in a breath holding his arms further up to you. Your hand touched his hand, swiping down it as he couldn’t catch you in time.

The foundation gave way beneath you, getting sucked into the building. – “Noooo!” – Daryl called out as you screamed loud, disappearing into the gaping black hole. Swallowed by the gaping gap left by the rotten foundation. Your back hit the ground, leaving you in complete darkness.  

----------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[vanteguccir]

Roslyn | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

Warning: Thunderstorm.

Requested?: Yes, by anon

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick's room was a welcoming haven for Y/N. The walls decorated with frames and posters and the rustic wooden furniture provided a feeling of security and comfort. She had spent countless nights there, in his soft, cozy bed, surrounded by the familiarity of her best friend.

However, that night, the tranquil atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by the distant roar of thunder. Y/N curled up under the sheets, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She has always been afraid of storms, ever since she was a child. The thunderous sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the black sky left her petrified with fear.

With each thunderclap, she could feel the anxiety building up inside her, squeezing her heart like an iron fist. Her body shook involuntarily, and she struggled to control her rapid breathing. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to move, as if she were trapped in an endless nightmare.

Y/N knew she needed to calm down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the frightening sound echoing through the top floor window. The girl took a deep breath, trying to find some inner peace, but fear continued to envelop her like a relentless shadow.

Deciding to seek comfort, Y/N reached out into the darkness, searching the comforting warmth of the boy beside her. She tried to shake him gently, whispering his name in an urgent tone. However, Nick remained motionless and sunk into a deep sleep, only a light mumble escaping his throat.

Frustration and despair began to build within her. She couldn't face this storm alone. The girl tried to curl up against his back, but her body exposed to the room had no effect in calming her down, Nick remaining oblivious to her silent call, lost in distant dreams.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. She felt so small and powerless in the face of the force of nature outside. The sound of thunder seemed to grow louder, echoing in her mind like a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, determined to get help. She knew exactly where to go.

Sneaking out the white door and down the stairs, careful not to make any loud sound, Y/N arrived at Matt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the wooden surface. She waited for a moment, her heart beating nervously in her chest as her right leg bounced incessantly in anxiety until she finally heard a sleepy murmur coming from inside the room.

The door slowly opened, revealing Matt's silhouette on the threshold. His eyes were downcast and sleepy, his brow furrowed in confusion and anger at being woken up, but his expression immediately brightened upon seeing Y/N standing there.

"Y/N, hey, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice soft and concerned as his eyes took in the way her body was shaking.

Y/N swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. She moved slightly closer to Matt, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I... I can't sleep with this storm, Matt. I'm so scared, and Nick won't wake up." The girl confessed in a shaky whisper, her chest burning with embarrassment for waking him up with something so... trivial. "I'm sorry for-"

Without hesitation, Matt wrapped Y/N in a comforting hug, interrupting her sentence while pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with just the right amount of strength. He could feel the tremors that ran through her body, almost sensing the palpable fear that consumed her insides.

"It's okay, sweet girl. I'm here now." Matt whispered, gently stroking the girl's hair with his right hand. His presence was like a balm to Y/N's grief-stricken soul, slowly dispelling the shadows of her fear. "Come on."

The boy took a few steps back, eventually pulling her along before slowly closing the door. He kept his left arm firmly around her shoulders as he straightened his posture, beginning his slow steps towards his unmade bed.

With his free hand, the brunette pulled the duvet down before gently guiding Y/N to the mattress, helping her lie down on the side he didn't sleep on. He adjusted the strands of her loose hair so that they were not on her face, watching her eyes blink slowly in sleep, her eyelashes trembling with each thunderclap.

Matt quickly walked over to his own side of the bed, laying down on the still warm surface, right where he was previously lying, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it tightly around Y/N's body so that not a piece of her skin covered by thin pajamas would be exposed to the freezing air.

He laid down on his side and rested his head on his pillow, extending his left arm - which was against the mattress - and, with his free hand, gently pulled Y/N, encouraging her to get closer. The girl quickly got the message, pressing her cold body against Matt's warm one and laying her head on his outstretched bicep, her legs shrinking and her knees pressing against the boy's abdomen, a sigh of relief escaping her nose almost instantly.

Matt encircled her torso with his right arm, bringing her closer - if that was possible - and lowering his face, sealing Y/N's forehead with his lips tenderly, conveying a sense of safety and protection that she so desperately craved. The brunette caressed the warm skin of her face with the tip of his nose gently, whispering small words of affection and reassurance, muffling the sound of thunder against Y/N's ears while his hands caressed the back of her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Y/N gradually felt calmer and more serene in Matt's arms. The sound of thunder still echoed in the distance, but now she was no longer alone.

"Thank you, Matty." Her voice, now sleepy and low, came out of her mouth in a whisper, her eyes gradually closing as the sound of slow breathing and rhythmic heartbeats that echoed from the his larger body acted as a natural tranquilizer for her.

"Anything for you, petal."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My requests are closed, but my asks are always open ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 11

@greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“So,” said Danny, leaning over the back of the couch.  After Frostbite, he somehow had more energy.  Maybe it was part of his core being active?

“So?” echoed Clockwork, an eyebrow raised.  

Danny blushed.  He’d derailed his own train of thought quite thoroughly.  “Frostbite taught me how to do some things.”

“As did Vladimir, presumably?” asked Clockwork.  “And Jasmine?”

“Well, sure,” said Danny.  “But, like.  More specifically, he showed me how to make things.  With ice.”

“If you are asking for permission to use your powers, you may.”

“Even though I’m inside?”

“You could hardly use them elsewhere,” said Clockwork.  “In any case, this place was created for your benefit.  I only ask that you keep the kitchen and the workshop in order.”

“And your room, right?” 

Clockwork shrugged, and slotted the book he’d been perusing back onto the shelf. “I am not particularly attached to it.”

“You do sleep, though, right?  I know you said that you only sleep once in a while, but staying awake all the time like that can’t be healthy.”

“I am a ghost, Daniel,” said Clockwork.  

“Frostbite slept,” argued Danny.  “He’s a ghost.”

Clockwork sighed.  “If it will give you peace of mind, I can take a nap.”

Danny squinted at Clockwork.  He felt as if this conversation had diverged wildly from his initial aim.  “I… think it would?”

“You sound uncertain.”

“It would,” said Danny, trying to sound more confident.  

Clockwork patted him on the head as he flew past, towards the short hallway that contained the way to both Clockwork’s room and the workshop.  “I will be awake in time to make you dinner.”

Danny wondered if he could, possibly, preempt Clockwork and cook dinner for them himself, but dismissed the idea.  Anything that relied on beating Clockwork in a matter of timing was doomed to fail.  He had other things he wanted to try out, anyway. 

He dropped himself onto the couch and gathered cold in his hands.  Frostbite had shown him how to make rough shapes out of ice.  Simple things like crystals, spheres, cubes.  

He was going to try something a little bit more complicated this time, though.  He had the time, since he was, once again, wracked with indecision about which of his potential guardians he should choose.  Now that he’d seen Frostbite, he had visited all the odd-numbered entries.  He should probably just decide on a method of choosing the next people, and then stick with that for the next three.  Then, he’d be able to move through them faster.  

If faster was what he wanted.  That was a big if.  

Maybe he should just go from the top.  He’d already run into the Observants, aka the only people he definitely wasn’t going to choose, and he’d gone very much out of order already, so that was unlikely to trigger any unpleasant traps.  Although, then, he’d be going from older candidates to younger ones…  Did that really matter, though?  Well, as long as they were all older than Jazz, and at least, like, adults…

He was so involved and occupied by his work and his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Clockwork had returned.  

“What would you like for dinner?” asked Clockwork.  

Danny startled, and the object he’d been shaping shot out of his hands and buried itself in the wall opposite the couch.  “Oops,” he said.  “Sorry.”

“Accidents happen,” said Clockwork, pulling the object out of the wall and turning it over in his hands.  “A gear?”

Danny shrugged.  “I wasn’t able to make it even, but I thought it would be good practice?  And it could be, like, a decoration or something.  A paperweight.  Since you, um, like gears.”

“Hm,” said Clockwork.  He flew over to the kitchen.  Danny bounced up off the couch and followed him.  

Once in the kitchen, Clockwork went to the fridge.  Danny watched with interest and confusion as Clockwork held the slightly malformed gear up against the fridge door and stuck it there.  They looked at it together, Danny trying to figure out exactly how Clockwork had done that.  

“Yes,” said Clockwork, “that’s very nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, still feeling confused.  There was something… off about this.  Not wrong, or bad, but… off.  He blinked and shook his head.  “For dinner… something hot, I think.  Warm and spicy.”

“Certainly,” said Clockwork.  “Burritos it is.”

.

“I think I know who I’ll see next,” said Danny, shaping a lump of ice between his hands as if it was clay.  He didn’t know what it’d be, but it was calming.  

Clockwork hummed, indicating he was listening even as he flipped the french toast he was preparing for breakfast over in the pan.  

“I think I’ll see Pandora.”

“Ah, and why have you chosen her?”

“Because she is a her,” said Danny.  “Like, I don’t think I’ve actually seen a girl since Jazz.  I…  Don’t think the Observants really have genders, do they?”

“Not precisely as you would understand it.  However, most of them go by either ‘it’ or ‘he,’ for future reference.”

“Right.  But Vlad and the Dairy King were both guys.  Frostbite was a guy.  It’s kind of hard to tell whether or not the other two groups have any girls in them, but I’m pretty sure someone named Pandora is going to be a girl.  Especially since her little profile mentions being a queen.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “Unless this is, like, a drag queen thing.  That’d still be something different, though.”

Clockwork slid some french toast onto Danny’s plate and Danny immediately slathered it in maple syrup and butter.  French toast was Danny’s favorite type of toast because you could make it smooth.  All other kinds of toast he knew of could burn.  Figuratively and literally.  

“Anyway, I’ve been kind of wondering…”

“Yes?” prompted Clockwork, when Danny didn’t continue.  

“I’ve been wondering, what’s going on that so many people, you know, want me?”  He made a face.  “I didn’t phrase that very well.  There’s just, like, um…  Okay.  So, the Observants are important, right?”

“Moderately so.”

“Right.  And Frostbite.  Frostbite has to be important.  He told me about a bunch of stuff his tribe takes care of and what else they do.  Then, there’s Vlad and the Dairy King.  Well, Vlad, mostly, I don’t know what the Dairy King’s status is in the Zone, but Vlad’s super rich, and his house was in the human world.  Add that in to this Pandora…  These people are important.  Why are so many of them fighting over me?”

“Didn’t Vladimir and Chief Frostbite both tell you about your exploits defeating Pariah Dark?”

“Yeah, sort of, but that seems like it was mostly down to some enchanted armor or tech.  And convincing other people to do stuff.  Which, I don’t know, that sounds like something anyone could have done.  In retrospect.”  In the moment, when he’d been hearing the story, he’d been very proud of himself, but, once he’d sat down and thought about it, he’d… rethought that.  

Clockwork gave him a look.  

“What?”

“And Vladimir shared the story of your defeat of Vortex?”

“Sure.”

“Frostbite mentioned your victory over Undergrowth.”

“I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

Clockwork sighed.  

“What?” asked Danny, aware he was whining.  

“Don’t you think that these accomplishments are significant?  Perhaps significant enough to draw the attention of, as you said, important people?”

“I guess,” said Danny.  “Hey, was Vlad lying about knowing my parents, then?  If he was interested in me for a different reason?”  

“I cannot tell you that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, obviously exasperated.  

“Not even a little?  Not even with, like, a nod or a wink?”

“No,” said Clockwork.  

Danny grumbled and turned his attention back to his breakfast.  

.

When the light of the portal cleared from his eyes, Danny was unsurprised to find himself among tall, Greek-style pillars.  The pillars weren’t the only tall things around, though.  He craned his head up to look at the face of the tall, blue-skinned, four-armed ghost waiting for him on a large throne.  She wore bronze and black armor over long robe-like clothing.  

“Phantom,” she said, warmly, gesturing broadly with one of her hands.  “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you, um, Queen Pandora.”

She chuckled.  “I know I mentioned that on those silly little papers the Observants had me fill out, but there’s no need for formality between us.  Not when you have done me so much good.”

“Um.  Okay,” said Danny.  He looked around a bit more.  He knew that there was a specific name for those columns and the carvings on the walls, but he couldn’t, for the half-life of him, remember.  He returned his gaze to Pandora.  “What did I do?”

“You helped me regain my box when it was stolen from me.”

“Was it a special box?” asked Danny.  He decided to fly up to perch on one of the large statues, so he didn’t have to lean back so far.  “If it was that important to you.”

“It was,” said Pandora.  “I have set myself the task of cleansing the Infinite Realms of evil.  My box is my latest prison for evil creatures and forces.  The one who took it attempted to release those things upon both the Realms and the Earth.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “That sounds hard.  Cleansing the Realms of evil.  How do you even tell if something is evil?”  He bit his lower lip.  “You don’t have any people in there, do you?”

Pandora laughed.  “No, I am well aware of those pitfalls.  I speak of mindless spirits born from negative energies.  They range from pests like snakes and ghost fires, to wyverns and unicorns, to even greater, darker things.”

“Unicorns?” asked Danny, skeptically.  

“There are good unicorns as well, but I don’t have much to do with those.”  

“And unicorns are dangerous?”

“They are large herbivores with a spear on their forehead.”

Danny guessed that did make sense.  “And I helped you catch them again?”

Pandora nodded.  “Some might say that you were only following your Obsession, but as I set myself my task in pursuit of my own Obsession, why should that prevent me from showing my gratitude?  Indeed, a ghost’s Obsession reveals much about their character.  Should a ghost not be rewarded for what they are and what they have chosen to be?”

Danny nodded and assayed a question.  “What’s an Obsession?”

Pandora, who had, until then, been lounging, sat up straight, her red eyes wide.  “Pardon?”

Danny cleared his throat.  “What’s an Obsession?”

.

“So,” said Danny, shifting slightly to get his body better aligned on the Greek-style couch he’d somehow wound up on, “an Obsession is, like, the purpose of your life– Um.  Afterlife.”

Pandora nodded.  “Mine is the battle against evil, the exaltation of the good.  We never spoke explicitly of yours, but I must assume it was something similar.  Did no one speak to you of this beforehand?”

“No.”  Danny felt the need to pout.  “Not even Clockwork.”

“What an incredible oversight,” said Pandora.  She shook her head.  “And no one has been giving you any outlet for your Obsession?  Any way to pursue your purpose?”

Danny shook his head again.  “I didn’t know I had a purpose.”

“Leaving it for so long… Well, it will not kill you, obviously, but it will leave you feeling awfully unfulfilled.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, thinking back over the last few weeks.  “Yeah, I guess I could feel that, maybe.”  He hadn’t felt that way the whole time, but looking back…  “I’m not sure how I can defeat evil or whatever while I’m doing this, though.  It’s kind of designed so that I don’t run into any evil, isn’t it?”“Perhaps so, but there is more than one way to follow one’s purpose, including by honing yourself for it,” said Pandora.  She stood up from her own couch, setting aside her wine cup and platter of food.  “Come, young warrior.  Allow me to show you how I battle evil.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: i slept so gosh dang heavy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You haul up the cask, one of the smaller but still heavy for your arms. The stairs are treacherous to the upper floors of the castle and you waddle down the corridors hugging the vessel with heavy steps. As you near the ivory room, you slow and face the wooden barrier. Should you knock? 

You look down. You can’t balance the cask with one arm. You lean and tap with your foot as best you can. You wait and hear only the draughts flowing in from the windows. Then at once, the hinges groan and the door swings inward, the king already in retreat. 

You enter, trying not to show your struggle, and carry it to the round table. You set it down with a loud clunk and your shoulders ache. You feel around your apron pockets for the spout. You sense the king’s mood clouding in the chamber. 

“If you knew it was to be heavy, you could have said so,” he grits as he sits across the table from you. 

“Your highness, it is not very much,” you lie. Your arms feel weak as you put the spout in place. You did not bring a stein. “I will fetch a cup--” 

“I don’t care about the ale,” he rests one hand against the handle. “If you are thirsty, there is a cup in my bedroll.” 

You back away, confused. You don’t protest or question him. Did you mishear him? He did request ale. 

“So I am wed,” he mulls and toys with a loose lace hanging from the open collar of his shirt. It is untucked from his breeches as his hair is tangled around his shoulders. 

“Good tidings for that, your highness,” you offer the expected courtesy. 

He looks at you and you wince, putting your head down as you back away.  

“Apologies, I speak out of turn,” you touch your chin. 

He huffs, “weddings are supposed to be happy, are they not?” 

You bow your head lower, “I believe so, your highness.” 

He hums and tabs his fingers on the armrest, “I am not very happy.” 

You stay as you are. He makes it hard to serve, he is cryptic to the point you can’t guess what he wants. You dare to peek up quickly but promptly retract your gaze as you meet his eyes. 

“Speak your thoughts, I see them written upon your brow,” he commands. 

You sway slightly and bend your arms behind you, “your highness--” 

“Look at me,” he demands. You obey. 

“Your highness,” you start cautiously, “you’ve been at war, perhaps you are sick for your home.” 

He scoffs and rubs the coarse stubble on his jaw, “my home? You would not think that if you knew it.” 

You slant your mouth. He raises his hand, gesturing with two fingers, “speak freely.” 

“You are correct, your highness, I would not know. I’ve never been further than a day’s ride from this castle. I only hear that the north is cold but anyone might guess that.” 

He snorts, “yes, it is cold. And dark. But the mountains, they are beautiful and when the snows fall, they glisten over the ground. So long as you have a fire to warm you, or a body near, it is not so bad.” He closes his eyes and leans his chin on his knuckles, “there are large elk with trees for antlers and the white wolves who blend into the snow but for their eyes, and the bears who sleep in the caves until the ground thaws in the springs.” He opens his eyes again and stares at you, “we have no summer there. The butterflies and flowers do not fare for long.” 

You imagine the place he describes. Or attempt to. It sounds frightening. No summer? 

“I’ve never seen snow,” you say at last. 

He sits up and his expression eases, “then you will to come see it.” 

You blink. Is he serious? Is that an order? 

“I serve the castle--” 

“You serve...” he swallows, “my wife and by rights I am her master. As she is yours, thus you serve me. She will need a familiar face once we are on to the Hinterlands. They are harrowing and she is weak. You will be her companion to see her through.” 

You don’t argue. You never do. He is right. All that is Lady Jazlene’s is now his. 

“Are you excited to come?” He asks. 

You think. You will do as you’re told thought it is an unexpected, almost undreamt of, opportunity. 

“I think I am, your highness. It is a far way and I’ve never been very far.” 

“Mm,” he puts his elbow on the table, almost amused as he watches you, “are you afraid?” 

“Why, yes, certainly,” you answer honestly. “You speak of bears and wolves. I’ve never seen those either, though I have seen deer.” 

“Do not fear, even the bears and the wolves bow to King Geralt,” he lets himself laugh, a bawdy rumbling like thunder. It surprises you, “but first we must ride south to tidy up the summer countries. I must meet my people, make sure they are not left to ruin.” 

You tilt your head but quickly fix it. He drones again, “speak.” 

“That is kind of you. No, as you said before, prudent. To make certain the people are not unhappy. War leaves scars.” 

“It leaves gaping wounds if one does stitch them up,” he counters, “a wise observation for a maid.” 

Your cheeks twitch. You think it’s a compliment. You lower your chin. 

“Ah,” he intones, “don’t. You don’t have to hide from me, little maid.” 

His last words drag over his tongue. His timbre is like smoke. You feel how it traps the air in your chest. You linger, uncertain, across from him. 

“Will you sit with me?” He asks and leans forward to pull out the chair nearest to him, “I rarely have pleasant company.” 

You hesitate. What about Jazlene? He has her. She is his wife now. You don’t dare ask that question. You move carefully around the chair and sit. He stays forward in his chair, his arm on the table. 

“I have told you of the Hinterlands, but what of you? I’ve seen some of your home but I expect this castle isn’t your real home,” he says. 

“It is the only home I remember,” you murmur, “I’ve been here since I was a girl.” 

His gold eyes flick down and he nods, “I didn’t...” he looks up again and leans back, a stitch in his brow, “would it make you unhappy to be away from home?” 

You purse your lips. You’ve never thought of leaving. You don’t feel any sort of way about the prospect, nothing more than ignorant. You don’t know what awaits you outside those walls. 

“I will go where I am bid,” you say evenly, “not many get to go so far from home. It would be nice to see more of the world.” 

He hums as he watches you, brushing his fingers through his white hair. You watch how his index catches in a wave and he tugs it free with agitation. He pauses, holding out his hand before dropping it to his lap. He inclines his head as if to say, ‘what are you looking at?’ 

“Are there many people like you there?” You ask, voice shaky. 

“Like me? There is only one king. I’ve made certain of that.” 

“No, I... never mind,” you curl one hand around the other, “your highness.” 

“Only me,” he affirms, “and what of you? I’ve yet to meet any like you.” 

You furrow your nose, “there are lots of maids, your highness.” 

He doesn’t respond and his shoulders drop. He once more runs his hand around his square jaw. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“You should leave now,” he utters softly, “before...” he pauses and his eyes wander to the window, “before the dawn.” 

You stand and bend your neck, “yes, your highness. I wish you a good sleep and a good marriage.” 

He returns only another thick grunt. You leave him without looking back. As you’re shut out in the dark corridor, a clatter comes from the other side. You turn back but do not go through. You smell something stringent and feel something wet seeping into the stitches of your shoes. You kneel and put your fingers in the liquid leaking under the door. It’s the ale. 

You stand and lean back on your heel. You never meant to anger the king. You will do well to stay out of the way. You don’t think you’ll be going to the Hinterlands after all. Merinda is much more fit for a royal court anyhow. 

⚔️

You sleep hardly an hour before you are on your feet again. The castle is in a flurry to get the horses and luggage on the road. You and Merinda help Lady Jazlene dress as her head threatens to droop this way and that. She’s tired and her yawns tickle your throat as you hold back a similar act. 

Lady Rezlyn enters, already dressed, her dark blue gown slashed with yellow in the sleeves. You and Merinda retreat to busy yourself with miniscule worries. The lady’s riding gloves and boots. A queen’s gloves and boots. 

“Oh, my daughter,” Rezlyn sweeps over to put her hands to Jazlene’s cheek, admiring her daughter as she ever does, “I see your wedding night has left you fatigued. I expected no less of a man like the king.” 

The lewd snicker from the duchess’ mouth makes your stomach churn. Jazlene trickles out a small chuckle and wriggles free of her mother’s grasp. She turns and sits to let you lace on her boots. 

“What is it, then?” Rezlyn challenges, folding her arms. “Did it hurt very much? I told you, daughter, it wouldn’t be very pleasant if you stay dry as parchment.” 

“Mother, please,” Jazlene begs, “I wasn’t...” she shakes her head and sniffs, “it was wonderful.” Her lie is told by the tremour in her void. She raises her head, “He is a true king and I am his queen now. These are matters between man and wife.” 

Rezlyn scowls and sneers, “very well then. How quickly your head swells.” 

“You will not mind so much when you see the advantage a queen’s mother reaps,” Jazlene’s bold tone returns. You see the same lady you’ve ever known. Haughty and stubborn. “I am off to meet my people, to ride through the kingdom. I will introduce my husband to my people and they will see they were wrong about me. Lady Theodora will choke on her stupid sapphire collar.” 

“Precious, I know they will,” Rezlyn smirks, “they will all see how wrong they were about our family. The will recall at last your father’s title and the history behind it.” 

Jazlene raises her chin and her nostrils flair, “is that why, mother? Is that why we’ve done this? To reclaim our glory?” 

“To find new glory. In a new kingdom. Darling, don’t you see, you will watch over a realm larger than any before. You and the greatest king the world has known.” 

You stand as Merinda hides her dry flutter of lashes. She is always much more amused by the flowery conversations between the duchess and her daughter. You can only think of the ale leaking under the door and the king’s declaration; ‘I am not very happy’. 

When Jazlene rises, you tie a cape around her shoulders, the shimmering silver with the blue and violet flowers sewn into it. She is sparkling in her new role. A queen with even a circlet of silver in her curls, though it was formerly a necklace.  

She emerges with her spine straight and her eyes set. She has readied all her life to be a wife though she just as easily acts a queen. Her shoulders are high and strong as she descends into the chaos of the castle. 

You and Merinda follow behind the two ladies. Lord Dustan blusters towards them, the toggle buttons of his riding jacket unaligned with the loops. He looks between his daughter and wife. 

“The horse will be ready shortly, are you ready to ride?” He sneers at Jazlene. 

“Father, I am the queen. You do not tell me--” 

“You are a queen and queen’s cannot be tardy. We must way to the capital to consolidate the kingdom. This is not a pageant,” he hisses. 

“Is the carriage ready?” Jazlene asks. 

“Carriage? You will ride abreast. All haste is required.” 

“Father,” Jazlene shifts on her feet with discomfort, “I’d be better on a cushion than a saddle--” 

“Argue it with the king then. His orders.” 

Dustan storms past without further discussion and disappears through the outer doors into the courtyard. Jazlene pouts into a grimace and looks at her mother. Rezlyn gives a wry shrug. 

“Well, your highness...” Rezlyn taunts. 

“Motherrrrr,” Jazlene growls before she spins and breezes away in her father’s stead. 

You trail the duchess into the dim hues of dawn. The yard is even more hectic than within. The king’s soldiers move like ants on a hill as their horses stand in patient rows, ready to be mounted. It is the Debray party that is in disarray. 

As Jazlene weaves through the crowd, several of the castle hands back away and show their deference for their new queen. The black and grey soldiers of the Hinter carry on in checking their saddle bags and weapons. The king is near the gate, head down as a steely haired soldier speaks to him. 

The duchess’ daughter, newly married, awoken a queen, approaches her husband without hesitation. 

“I am told I am not to have a carriage? I cannot sit a horse. It is unseemly--” 

King Geralt signals to his man with irritation. The soldier with eyes as grey as his hair quiets and backs away. You can tell by the pin on his mail that he must be important. 

“You will,” the king says evenly. “We must be quick. I cannot have a broken axle. We ride as if to battle. In itself, this is exactly what we face.” 

“But you have won--” 

“I won in blood, but there are other victories to be claimed,” the king interjects, “still your tongue and obey your husband and king. The world does not exist as your cloistered life in this castle.” 

“I am the queen and I want a carriage!” Jazlene squeals shrilly. Several heads turn as you keep your chin low. You know it isn’t the right response but Jazlene does not take orders easily. 

“You have not yet been coronated,” the king snarls, “do not forget so quickly on who’s back you rose.” 

Jazlene huffs and puts her hands to her hips. She steps closer to the king and he glares down at her. You peek up to find his eyes blazing. 

“I am your wife, not your servant,” she snaps, “and you will not speak to me as one.” 

He blinks and you retract your stare. You look over at Merinda as her face strains with horror. The tension of the confrontation quiets the courtyard. 

“If I need to have you strapped to the horse like a bedroll, then so be it,” King Geralt hisses. “I have done my duty to you so you will do yours or you should void our contract. Obey.” 

Jazlene stands defiantly close to the king. They stare at one another, the air thrumming between them. Lady Rezlyn reaches to touch her daughter’s sleeve. 

“You will look so pretty aback a horse, daughter. Imagine what the people will think when they see you resplendent as you ride into the capital, eh? You shouldn’t hide in a carriage, you will want to meet your people.” 

The daughter puffs out and steps back at her mother’s tugging. She retreats slowly as the king does not budge, his face twisted with anger. The duchess has tendered a fragile truce. 

“Come, I haven’t ridden in some time,” Rezlyn coaxes the younger woman. 

“And you will not,” King Geralt speaks at last, “my wife will ride. I see no need of her mother. She is no naive maiden.” 

Rezlyn flinches, “your highness?” 

The king raises his hand and gestures with his fingers. Two soldiers come forth in his colours, “I will leave some of my men to watch over your walls. The word will spread how Debray did assist in my victory. I have yet to assuage that animosity so you would be best to stay and hide behind your walls.” He drops his arm, gripping his pommel, “your husband has not yet given all he promised.” 

Rezlyn grips her daughter’s arm and staggers as if she’s been struck. What the king has said is clear. They are traitors, not only in the eyes of their fellow summer lords, but in his. He has not trust and the duchess will be kept in her castle as little more than a hostage. 

“Your highness,” Lady Rezlyn rasps, “I shall do as you bid. I will only say farewell to my daughter.” 

“Make it fast,” the king sneers. 

[theficlistpodcast]

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