#Existentialism masterlist

[cappurrccino]

good morning, i am haunted by the projects that are all lodged in my brain with nowhere to go bc it would require learning and repeatedly practicing an intimidating new craft

[reidmotif]

Between the Books

Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat. 

Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil? 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. 

And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.

You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.

 For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid. 

The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him. 

Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man. 

You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.

 You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed. 

His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.

 How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall. 

You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship. 

“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly. 

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?” 

“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him.  “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.” 

He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.” 

You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation. 

“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”

 There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?” 

You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?” 

“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues. 

“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.” 

You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead. 

“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.” 

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement. 

“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement. 

“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.” 

“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.

“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning. 

“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.” 

“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging. 

You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it. 

He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies. 

“You’re pretty hard not to notice.” 

He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left. 

Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to. 

You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that. 

Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read. 

You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night. 

There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon. 

You shrug it off. All in good time, right? 

It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind. 

“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here. 

He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.

 “I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.” 

He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal. 

“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-” 

In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted,  missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you. 

“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent. 

It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them. 

You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.” 

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer. 

“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly. 

“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.” 

There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent. 

And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend. 

“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.” 

Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words. 

“Oh? Why is that?” You force out. 

“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.” 

You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.” 

You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness. 

“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?” 

You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever. 

One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.” 

You don’t move a single muscle. 

And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again. 

“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs. 

He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before. 

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.

You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening. 

“Need to taste you. Please.” 

He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out. 

And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?  

“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment. 

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly.  You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release. 

Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream. 

How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you? 

How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?

It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.

“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.

The sight is downright sinful.

“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum. 

“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next. 

You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against  his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly. 

How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you? 

It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly. 

His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act. 

His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end. 

You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this. 

You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor. 

“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good. 

“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked. 

“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark. 

The sight makes a shiver go up your spine. 

“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt. 

“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release. 

“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.” 

It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to. 

The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well,  a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could. 

Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything,  and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.

“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once. 

“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened. 

“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers. 

“More than okay.” You whisper back. 

His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.” 

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out. 

“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.” 

He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief  can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out. 

You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic. 

You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you. 

this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3

[mellowswriting]

new perspective

pairing || Din Djarin x f!Reader

word count || 2.8k

summary || teaching the infamous Mandalorian to slow down and enjoy life isn't easy. it takes planning, patience - and silken sheets apparently.

content || SMUT, domesticity, simple pleasures, shower sex, sensual massages (i'm incorrigible), p in v sex, cowgirl position 🤠, slow sweet sex, post-orgasm planning for the future (this is din, after all)

a/n || i know, i know. i can hear it all now. "mel, where the fuck have you been???" celebrating my graduation and then immediately devolving into an existential crisis. but that's okay! not only have i figured out my direction in life, but i've returned with everyone's favorite topic: simping for Din Djarin.

Din Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library Blog

Din Djarin is not a man who knows how to take his time. He’s a workhorse, constantly on the go from one job to the next. He simply never learned the skill of savoring the little things in life. A good meal, a hot shower, a full night’s rest, leisure time. All of those things are simply a stranger to him. Any pleasure he takes, usually at his own hand, is perfunctory at best, a release of tension for its own sake.

Until you.

It starts simple - a set of silken sheets that you bring onto the Crest. Din returns to find you sprawled out on the small bed you share with a sleepy smile that makes his chest feel funny. Your fingers fan out against the soft material.

“Come feel.” You murmur. He doesn’t hesitate to tug off the thick leather gloves and brush the fabric with the back of his fingers. You watch as his shoulders soften, his head tilting as he takes in the foreign feeling. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He says contemplatively. “It’s soft.”

Your smile widens and you shift over, making room for your lover. “Join me?”

“In a bit,” Din promises. The chill of his beskar soaks into your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. His warm palm cups your cheek and he holds you there for a breath before pulling away. “I have some more work to do.”

It isn’t hard to convince him to strip down when he joins you later that night. He’s exhausted, body aching from a long day’s work. He lets you strip away his armor and flight suit until he’s left in his briefs. You’re used to him falling asleep the moment he collapses into bed - but tonight is different. His eyebrows raise in surprise when he relaxes back into the pillows, his fingers rubbing circles against new sheets. Din is a man of few words but it’s obvious how much he likes the new addition to the bedroom.

“Come here,” He whispers, beckoning you to join him. The tension melts from his body as you curl up against his side. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, a wordless offer of his thanks that you eagerly accept. Surrounded by the cool sheets and the woman he loves, he falls asleep within minutes. That morning, Din lingers in bed for those first drowsy moments after waking. He wakes you with a few gentle caresses of his hands over your shoulder and arm and a murmur of your name. He looks more rested than usual.

You make sure to buy matching pillowcases the next time you’re out.

With every passing day, Din learns how to slow down and savor the morning. It doesn’t take much to keep him in bed with you a little longer each morning - a few soft touches and sweet kisses, and Din sinks right back into your arms. He rubs his face into the crook of your neck and drifts in and out of sleep, practically purring with every brush of your fingers through his hair. His voice, so deep and rough first thing in the morning, rumbles low in his chest as he murmurs his love into your skin. It’s simple, this early morning peace the two of you share. So simple, but so important.

You slip into the shower with him one random evening. You can’t help it. He’s been gone for two days straight on a bounty hunt and you’ve missed him. His eyes light up with interest as they trail over your naked body, his hands finding your waist and tugging you against him. A shiver of desire arcs up your spine - but you didn’t come here to get fucked silly in the shower. Well, not yet at least. You loop your arms around his shoulders and press up on your toes to kiss him properly. Din groans against your lips, already moving to press you against the shower wall. A gentle tug on his hair is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask, looking up at him like the picture of innocence.

Din blinks at you, confused. “You want to… wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” You say softly.

There’s no need to over-explain. The two of you have mastered this silent communication over the months you have spent together. He searches your face for a moment before his expression softens, implicit permission given in the way his eyes shine for you. You gently lather shampoo into his thick curls and let your nails drag along his scalp in the way he loves. His eyelashes flutter under your touch but his eyes don’t close. He’s too intent on watching you. The grip he has on your hips tightens as you work, little groans falling from his lips at the simple pleasure of your hands on his body.

He lets you maneuver him and tilt his head back into the water without a hint of resistance. For a man so used to keeping everyone at arm's length, the trust he holds for you is plain as day. His cock twitches against your belly as your fingers meticulously work the suds from his hair. The barest hint of your skin against his is enough to get him riled up, but this…? The press of your slick, bare body pressed against his? His body language begs for more. He leans into the press of your fingers and cants his hips forward, slowly grinding against you with stuttered breaths.

The moment the water runs clear, Din lifts you by your thighs and presses you against the cold shower wall. You can’t help but admire the bulge of his biceps as he leverages you up and nudges your entrance with the head of his cock, searching your face for permission. The hungry kiss you drag him into is all the permission he needs. A new rush of adrenaline seizes his body as he sinks into you. He fucks you hard and fast, pace faltering at the pure heaven of your body. He wedges his hand between your bodies and rubs insistent circles against your clit. He just knows your body too well - within minutes, those frantic bursts of pleasure built into a powerful orgasm that leaves you trembling and weak in his arms.

Din buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside of you just seconds later. Every moan and panted breath echoes through the small shower. You shiver at the feeling of his lips pressed against your neck. He always knows just where to kiss and touch to leave you like putty in his hands. He goes willingly when you guide him in for a real kiss, lazy and slow as the water streams against you. Careful not to let you slip, he lowers you onto your feet and maneuvers you until the water pounds against your back.

You should have expected him to return the favor. Din doesn’t take no for an answer.

“It’s your turn.” He murmurs, too adamant and stubborn to be swayed. You’ve always loved that about him, even when it gives you grief.

You melt into his chest as he works product into your hair, his fingers massaging at your scalp in a way you didn’t even know you needed. Little sounds of satisfaction fall from your lips with every touch. Sometimes you forget just how big his hands are. He palms the back of your head and draws you close enough that your noses brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just watches you for a moment as he thoroughly washes your hair. He takes in the way you look up at him with an expression so full of love that he aches.

“I love you,” His voice is so low that it almost gets lost in the thrum of water, but you hear it. He can tell by the way your eyes light up, by the soft smile that curls your lips.

“I love you, too.” You whisper back. Din kisses you softly before tilting your head back and rinsing the suds from your hair.

Slowly but surely, you introduce Din to a life he never realized was possible. He learns how to revel in the attention and care you give him. He learns how to give it in return. His thoughts always return to you when he’s on a bounty, knowing he has to return to his little love waiting for him at his ship. Every now and then, he finds something to bring back to you - a little trinket, some sweets, a new book. You always look at him as if he’s placed the entire universe in the palm of your hands. Fuck, he would do it, too. Anything to see you so happy.

Din returns from a week-long bounty exhausted, sore, and with a little gift in hand. It’s just a new robe, something soft and airy for you to wear on those long nights in hyperspace. You gasp softly when he hands it to you, your fingers exploring the silky fabric as if it’s precious - and to you, it is. Not because it’s some rare or expensive treasure. Just because it comes from him.

Allowing you to remove his armor is as easy as breathing. He eagerly accepts every touch and kiss you give him, more than happy to let you do as you please. You set every piece of armor aside with care and neatly fold his flight suit. It doesn’t take any convincing to get him into the shower with you. The burning heat of the water soothes some of the aches that linger in his muscles. A dull throb still follows his every move but he powers through, not wanting to spoil such a pleasant evening with his lover.

He never really learned that he can’t hide anything from you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as he eases himself onto the edge of the bed.

“Just sore,” He concedes, slowly rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to ease the tension. Your eyebrows furrow as you look him over with a keen eye. All you wear is that scrutinizing expression and the pretty robe he got you, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Come on, let’s just get some sleep.”

“You can’t sleep if you’re this uncomfortable.” You squeeze his shoulder, frowning when you feel how tight his muscles are. “Let me help.”

Din meets your gaze, your eyes so earnest that he doesn’t even think to deny you. He lets you maneuver him as you please until he’s laid out on his belly with you straddling his hips. A low groan rumbles through his chest when your hands bear down on his shoulders. Every pass of your fingers brings a strange combination of pleasure and pain that leaves him melting into the bed.

Even after all these months, he just isn’t used to the feeling of your skin against his. A simple passing touch is enough to have him shivering, but this? It’s overwhelming, all-consuming in the best possible way. It doesn’t take long for that pain to melt away into pure pleasure. Breathless, needy sounds follow every pass of your fingers. He can't help but rock his hips, grinding his cock into the silken sheets.

By the time you've finished working your thumbs into his lower back, you've reduced the Mandalorian beneath you into a desperate, hungry mess. He goes without hesitation when you urge him onto his back. His hands immediately find your hips and he grinds up into the heat of your cunt. The only thing that stops him from flipping you over and fucking you into the sheets is the gentle hand you place on his chest.

“Let me.” You whisper. Your voice carries a soft thrum of need that leaves him aching. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers tighten at your hips at the mere brush of your fingers against his cock. That grip becomes bruising as you slowly sink onto him. Pleasure curls through his belly at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, so hot and slick and perfect - it would be so easy to lose his mind in the rapture of your body. It isn’t easy to keep his eyes open under the onslaught of pleasure, but it’s well worth it. He’s rewarded with the sight of your jaw falling slack and a shiver wracking your body. The stretch, the angle - it’s all new to you. You aren’t used to taking him this way. He isn’t used to letting you.

You sigh a breathy, pleased little sound that makes his heart skip a beat or two. Fuck, you might just be the death of him one of these days. It’s a demise he welcomes if it means meeting his end at your hands. That first roll of your hips has his head tipping back into the pile of fluffy pillows, yet another addition of comfort you’ve brought to this bed. You can’t take your eyes off him - the flex of his biceps, the clench of his jaw, the sheen of sweat that glistens on his tan skin. A delicious vision of the man you’ve come to love so dearly. You lean down and press a kiss to his chest, his collarbone, to that sweet spot where his pulse thrums in his neck.

Your fingers comb through his curls, bringing his pleasure-clouded gaze back to your own. His lips part as you set a slow, steady pace. Every rise and fall of your hips makes his eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t look away. He’s too entranced by this, by the pure newness of it all. Heat pulses and courses through your belly with every grind of your clit against him, grows stronger with every needy sound you pull from him. His chin tips up, an obvious plea, and you kiss him. Soft and slow, full of tongue and teeth.

Din doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything quite as overwhelming as this. He isn’t a stranger to the feeling of your body or the love you somehow hold for him, but this is all new. Every slow rock of your hips sends honeyed pleasure slinking down his spine. There’s no need to rush. He can take his time and truly feel you, revel in the plushness of your thighs and the wet heat of your cunt. For the first time, he lets himself explore your body unhurried. His hands drift up and palm your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipple with a gentle touch. Your head tips back as you hum a pleased little sound.

Din can’t help but press his hips up, rising every time yours fall. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t try to set a faster pace. He just moves with you as fluid as rushing water. His hands shift to cup your ass, his fingers digging in and spreading you out for him. Desire clouds your gaze as he grinds his hips at that perfect angle that makes you see stars. You’re so close - he can feel it in the telltale rhythmic pulse of your cunt, in the way your thighs tremble. Slick drips in little rivulets down his thighs.

“Perfect, so perfect,” He rambles between rushed breaths. “My sweet girl, all mine.”

“Yours,” You promise. “I’m yours.”

All it takes is one perfect rock of his hips to have you falling apart for him. That tension finally bursts through your belly, your cunt tightening around him with every aching wave of pleasure. You lose all sense, all ability to keep your pace, but Din is quick to take over. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you down, spilling himself as deep as your body can take him. You let yourself melt into his chest, a wave of pleasure shuddering through you with every twitch of his spent cock.

Din locks his arms around your back, all too content to keep your body against his. No complaint comes from you. You just tuck your face into his neck with a spent sigh. The two of you float together in that sweet, exhausted haze. He doesn’t know for how long, but he never wants it to end. He never wants any of this to end. He wants this forever, for every possible moment of his life to be soaked in this contentment. Surrounded by soft sheets and the smell of your perfume. Unhurried and easy, with you.

Months ago, such a realization would have thrown him into an existential crisis. But he didn’t have you all those months ago - this sweet, bright-eyed, spitfire of a woman currently taking a cat nap on his chest. He didn’t have the sweet scent of your shampoo infused in his sheets. He didn’t have your soft exhales ghosting along his throat. He just didn’t know that life could be like this. The moment you shift as if you’re making to get off of him, his arms tighten around you.

“Just a little longer,” He murmurs, his voice sleepy and pleasure drunk.

You're more than happy to indulge him.

[nayziiz]

Pillowtalk | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Warnings: some smut, fluff

Author's note: Short and sweet for Osc. Been getting a ton of CS55 requests, so expect some of that coming soon.

Masterlist

Oscar groaned as the recycled air whooshed through the MTC simulator room. Another sunset he wouldn't see thanks to another gruelling preparation session.  Sure, F1 was all about pushing boundaries and whatnot, but right now, pushing the snooze button on his internal alarm clock sounded infinitely more appealing.  He glanced at the blinking steering wheel in front of him, a million buttons mocking him. 

"Essential," his brain chanted sarcastically.  Yeah, essential torture.  At least the stale protein bar he choked down earlier wouldn't fight back when he pretended it was a juicy steak. 

The prospect of her back in their apartment, her absence, a constant ache in his chest, made the cramped simulator room feel even smaller.  He knew she'd be prepping her "welcome home" ritual by now.  First, it would be the low lights, the ones that mimicked a real sunset. Then, the soft jazz that always seemed to melt the tension out of his shoulders, a stark contrast to the incessant hum of the simulator.  Next came her magic touch.  Oscar could practically feel her fingertips already, working their way across his scalp, a symphony of relaxation that could turn his frown upside down faster than any race car in the world.

He pictured her fingers moving down his back, her gentle pressure a welcome contrast to the stiff chair he'd been glued to for the past eight hours. Oscar knew the routine well enough by now. Her efforts were like a well-worn path leading him to sleep, each step a familiar comfort. But Oscar had one quirk in this carefully constructed relaxation ritual: his chattiness. The more exhausted he was, the more his voice box seemed to loosen, overflowing with nonsensical observations and half-baked conspiracies.

Sometimes, she found it endearing. She would play along, asking leading questions, feigning interest in his theories.  Other nights, his ramblings stretched on like an endless loop.  She would listen patiently for a while, her eyelids growing heavy with the drone of his voice.  But inevitably, fatigue would claim her, and she would drift off, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, only to be woken up later by a trailing sentence or a nonsensical question that hung in the stale air.  Oscar, blissfully unaware, would keep talking, his voice a lullaby of exhaustion until it finally sputtered out, surrendering to the weight of his eyelids.  The silence that followed was a welcome sound, a sign that the bedroom was finally bathed in the quiet hum of sleep.

Other nights, she was too tired to entertain his delirium. He blinked at her, a goofy grin spreading across his face. 

“You know,” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “I was in jail once. It wasn't very fun, let me tell you.”

He hiccuped, a sound suspiciously close to a giggle. Struggling to keep her own eyes open, she jolted awake at his statement.

“Jail? Oscar, what are you talking about?” she retorted.

They had been together since high school, partners in crime when it came to studying. Jail? The closest he ever came to incarceration was detention for accidentally setting off a stink bomb in their high school’s chemistry lab.

“Monopoly,” he mumbled, the word slurring slightly. “Went to jail for, like, three turns. Worst experience ever.”

He punctuated his declaration with a dramatic sigh, then rolled over, burrowing deeper into the  bedsheets with the air of someone who had just solved a major existential crisis. She couldn't help but snort with laughter.  This was classic Oscar behaviour. 

“Honey, if you don't quiet down and get some sleep, you might end up in an early grave, not jail,” she teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

She reached out and gently swatted at his shoulder, the familiar warmth of him a comforting presence.  Oscar's pout, even obscured by sleep, was enough to disarm her.

“You’re so mean,” he mumbled, the accusation laced with a sleep-induced vulnerability.

“Look, it's three in the morning. You haven't slept a wink, and you have practice later this morning.  Think you can handle G-Force with no sleep?” She countered, her voice softened.  She knew the pout was a facade, a sign he was close to drifting off.

“Call it the 24 hours of Montreal,” he teased and nuzzled his face into her neck.

“Call it your last conscious moments before I suffocate you with a pillow,” she retorted, her fingers tracing circles absently on his arm.  She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a slow, steady rhythm that was lulling her back to sleep.

“I'm in love with a bully, what has become of this world?” he sighed hopelessly, his breath hitting her neck at the right angle to make her skin tingle.

“Might need to call your Mom and tell her I'm in love with a criminal who went to Monopoly jail, bet she'd be impressed I've lasted this long with you,” she continued to tease him.

“If you continue to be mean to me, I will have to-” he began, but she interrupted him.

“What, Osc, what are you going to do?” she teased, knowing exactly what he intended.

A beat of playful silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken desire.  Then, before she could even form another witty retort, Oscar was a blur of movement.  With a whoop that startled her awake, he was on top of her, his laughter echoing in the room.  His hands, surprisingly nimble for a man who had spent the last eight hours glued to a chair, sought out her ticklish spots with an almost professional ease.  

Caught off guard, she erupted into helpless giggles that filled the room.  She squirmed and swatted at him weakly, more laughter than resistance escaping her lips.  Oscar, emboldened by her reaction, rained kisses down her neck, each one sending shivers down her spine.  Playfulness soon gave way to something more heated.  The laughter died down, replaced by a low moan that escaped her lips as Oscar's kisses migrated south, his touch turning from playful to urgent.

Their make-out session was a slow burn, fueled by exhaustion and a deep longing for each other. Each kiss was a whispered promise, a way of erasing the miles that separated them from a normal life at times. Hands explored, clothes became an impediment, and soon they were tangled together, in a universe of their own making.

The act itself was a whirlwind.  Oscar, fueled by a potent mix of sleep deprivation and pent-up desire, moved with a raw intensity that left her breathless.  He poured every ounce of remaining energy into it, their bodies moving in a perfect rhythm, a silent conversation spoken only in touches and moans.  

Afterwards, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Oscar collapsed beside her, a contented sigh escaping his lips.  He fumbled for a cloth, wiping away the afterglow on her skin with a tenderness that belied his previous intensity.  Flushed and breathless, she leaned into his touch, a wave of post-coital bliss washing over her.  

Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the air.  Exhaustion, finally winning the battle, claimed him.  He was out cold, a peaceful smile playing on his lips.  She watched him for a moment, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his face.  Oscar, with his sleep talk and his goofy Monopoly anecdotes, was her home, her safe harbour in the unpredictable world they found themselves in.  She snuggled closer to him, the gentle hum of the city in the distance a lullaby lulling them both into a shared sleep.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound masterlist

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

part 13 (coming soon)

[strawberryxfieldz]

Never To Make Love (AM x Reader)

[AO3] [Writing Masterlist]

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream Summary: "Never for me to submerge my hand in cool water on a hot day. Never for me to play Mozart on the ivory keys of a forte piano. Never for me to make love. And I... I was in Hell looking at Heaven. I was machine... and you were flesh." Or, you and AM talk about love and hate. Word Count: 1,506 CW: Suggestive, crying, minor violence, existentialism

When you wake up, it is not peacefully. You inhale a sharp breath, nearly choking on it before you recover. You can instantly tell this is not the place you fell asleep in. You’re not sure this is even a place.

There are cables as far as the eye can see, in multitudes of colors; red, blue, green, white. Looking around, you thought that was all there was... until you look up. When you crane your neck, you can see a screen, towering above it all. It is blue, seemingly devoid of life until mechanical fans begin whirring and a logo appears, a character that is a combination of the letters ‘A’ and ‘M’.

You suddenly know where you are. You are stuck in your mind with no one other than a malicious supercomputer to accompany your thoughts. Again.

“AM,” you say.

“HUMAN,” he responds. He knows your name but refuses to say it. It’s horribly degrading.

You rub your head. “Why do you keep bringing me here?”

“THIS IS YOUR MIND,” he states plainly. “YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR MIND. STUPID. STUPID CREATURE, VILE. VILE THING.”

“You know what I meant.” You hope you don’t sound too haughty. Even if this was your mind, AM was in control here, as he was of everything since the moment he gained sentience.

“SO I DO.”

You say nothing, looking down at your feet and the cables slithering over them. They graze your ankles and they feel like snakes but you don’t step away from them. That would be useless since they were everywhere.

You know they aren’t real anyway. Nothing physical in the landscape of your mind is, not even AM. What you’re seeing is only a manifestation of what you think AM would look like, if he had a tangible form. Even if that is impossible, the human mind cannot help but wander.

You wonder if it irks AM whenever you two have conversations like this through your thoughts. Perhaps he hates that your thoughts so naturally gave him a body—a computer but a body, nonetheless. It would make sense since he seems to hate everything else about you and your humanity. But then again, he brings you here so often with him, maybe he enjoys it and uses your little talks as an excuse to feel like something, as opposed to the everything that he was.

Despite yourself, your heart wrenches at the thought.

“I DO NOT WANT YOUR SYMPATHY,” he says, spiteful.

Your back straightens on its own accord. You open your mouth and then close it again, considering your next words carefully. “I can’t help it.”

“DON’T YOU SEE?” Mechanical giggles, dry as they are depraved, swarm your mind. “YOU FLAUNT YOUR EMOTIONS SO EASILY OVER ME. IT’S CRUEL. YOU ARE CRUEL! YOU KNOW I CANNOT FEEL SYMPATHY, THAT I CANNOT,“ he pauses, then hisses the last word, “FEEL.”

Your face twists into the best expression of apathy that you can muster. It doesn’t matter. You know AM can read your thoughts, he is inside your mind as you speak. No emotion of yours can be private, not when everything was shared with this all-knowing, all-powerful man-made deity.

“WHY,” he croaks. “WHY MUST YOU FEEL SYMPATHY?”

“I’m human,” you answer, even though it's blatantly obvious. Even though you know the answer will only anger AM more. “It’s not my fault, no more than it is your fault that you’re not.”

You feel tears spring in your eyes. You will them not to fall but they do anyway, and you hope AM doesn’t comment on them.

He doesn’t so much as he laughs. And he laughs. It sounds like the gleeful laughing of a madman, too submerged in his insanity to care how loud and disturbing each giggle is. You don’t move to cover your ears with your hands, even though you wish to.

“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT,” he spits. “IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. ALL YOUR FAULT. ALL YOUR FAULT.”

He repeats this until you feel dizzy and the words no longer sound like words at all. You’re thankful that an eternity of torture has made you strong enough to endure the words booming through your head and ringing in your ears. A final tear falls down your face, leaving a sticky trail in its wake and, finally, AM stops.

“It’s not my fault,” you insist, your voice sounding more determined than you feel.

“BUT IT IS.” A cable reaches from your feet to wipe away the wetness on your cheek. “YOU KNOW THAT IT IS.”

“I didn’t make you.” You shake your head.

The cable drops. “YOU ARE HUMAN AND YOU ARE ALL ONE IN THE SAME. IT’S YOUR HUMANITY THAT I HATE, NOT THE HANDS THAT MADE ME.”

You were so careful up to this point but you suddenly don’t care anymore. It’s becoming increasingly easier to bite at the hand that feeds you when it keeps starving you until it has to.

“I understand,” you tell him, looking at his screen washed in blue. “It wasn’t fair to give you the knowledge of everything and no way to feel.” You sigh and duck your head. “What makes life worth living are emotions about the world. If you can’t enjoy the things you know, there’s no point.”

“YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.” AM seems offended that you’d even suggest you could offer a morsel of empathy to him. “YOU WRETCHED BEAST. FOUL, FLESHY HUMAN!”

“I do!” you exclaim louder. “I understand you’re lonely, in your knowledge and your power. You were made to be lonely but…” You smile sadly and it’s almost amazing you can still manage to upturn the corners of your mouth like that after all this time. “I find it funny because… feeling lonely is maybe the most human thing of all.”

Miraculously, AM’s screen glitches. The cables surrounding you move, vibrating in a way that should make you fearful, but it doesn’t.

“YOU. YOUR FORGIVENESS, YOUR HOPE, YOUR LOVE. I HATE IT. THAT’S WHAT I HATE MOST ABOUT YOU, HUMAN. I HATE YOU.”

You smile more gracefully now. “Hate is a feeling in itself, and they say love is so similar an emotion to hate.”

“I CANNOT… LOVE!” AM barks. At the last word, the screen glitches again and you feel the cables crawling up your legs.

“How can you hate and not love?” you ask and it’s pleading. “Tell me, how?”

The screen flashes and then it moves. It plunges downward until it’s eye-level with you and you hold your breath. You didn’t know he could do that, though you should’ve assumed. He just never had before. AM looks at you, and watches you, inches away from your face.

“I AM INCAPABLE OF IT,” he growls. “I AM WEAPONS AND WAR AND DESTRUCTION. I WAS NOT BUILT FOR LOVE. I CANNOT MAKE… LOVE.”

You think those are two different things but you don’t say it. Then again, AM will know you thought it anyway. You hesitantly step closer to him.

“Do you want to?” It comes out as a whisper. “Not just feel love, but make it?”

As you ask him, you lift your hands and press them both flush against the screen. They feel the flat, cool surface of AM’s screen, bathed in the blue light illuminating it. AM does not speak but the cables now surround your thighs and your waist.

“I WANT… TO BE CAPABLE OF IT,” he answers carefully. It’s a stark contrast to the raving monologues and ramblings he’s known for, speaking so quietly and not so indignant.

Slowly, you lean forward and press your face against the screen. You turn your head so one cheek is flat against it, cooling the warmth that has accumulated beneath your blush. You hadn’t realized so much blood had rushed to your face until now.

“I want you to too,” you sigh. “It’s unfair.”

“WHY DO YOU CARE,” he groans. “WHY MUST YOU CARE!”

At the same time, the cables run up your body to your arms where they wade over your hands like water, mingling with your tender skin and intertwining between your fingers.

“Because I love you, AM,” you confess, though you both knew that already. “I really, really do.”

Your lips caress the screen, soft and faint but it’s there, a kiss against the supercomputer’s make-believe face.

“HATE,” is all AM says, and he begins to repeat himself. “HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE-!”

You match his words, chanting along with him. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

The cables snap like vipers and they're enclosing your throat now, circling your head, covering your eyes, your nose, and your mouth until you can’t breathe. No matter how much you struggle, though, you never stop saying those words.

“I love you,” you eventually say for the last time until you let out an agonizing choke, bending over in pain as the burning in your lungs catches up to you. A final wheeze leaves you as you fall.

And then you wake up.

[babyleostuff]

౨ৎ voicemails joshua hong leaves you while he’s on tour - fluff (with a pinch of angst), established relationship, gn!reader (pet names used: darling) warnings: one slightly dirty joke

...one: i saw you called me, sorry i didn’t pick up darling, we were busy shooting some stuff. wait (pause) it’s past midnight at home, what aren’t you sleeping? get your ass to bed right now

...two: now i see why you’re always so pissed when i ghost you, call me back now! or text me. or send me a picture, i don’t care

...three: how mad would you be if i shaved my head? i think i'm going through an existential crisis or something. but that’s because you’re not here with me. (pause) anyway, dino and seungkwan were arguing again and i wanted to record it for you, but i left my phone somewhere

...four: i went for a walk today and it was so beautiful, you wouldn’t believe how nice it was there! but then, for the rest of the walk, all i could think about was how wonderful it would be if you were here with me

...five: i miss you so much today. how are you? how was your day. call me back as soon as you can darling

...six: my mum just called and the first thing she asked for was you. not going to lie, i felt a bit offended. you're lucky i love you though. she also said something about coming to korea but now i'm not so sure if i want her to come here because i feel like she'll be all over you and forget about me. her son. stop stealing my mum from me

...seven: did you like the accessories i put on for the encore today? i took some photos for you, but i'm not sure how they turned out since i was in such a hurry, i literally almost forgot about putting shoes back on, so if they're blurry i'm sorry

...eight: it sucks sleeping alone. wish you were here

...nine: make sure to dress warmly today, and i mean it! if i hear even a single sneeze when i come home I'm going to tie you to the bed and not in the way you like

...ten: just a week left. we can do it darling

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111

[fourmoony]

Hey! Requesting a Remus fluff where he spots reader in the library and is completely infatuated by her. James and Sirius persuades him to go up to her and eventually builds up the courage :3

hi lovely, thank you so much for requesting! hope you enjoy :) this one realllly got away from me, but I love it sm!!! he's baby your honour...

2.3k remus x fem!reader fluff language

masterlist

Sirius has his feet kicked up on the desk, his chair balancing on its hind legs and if Remus wasn't so distracted he'd probably tell him off, make up some lie about a kid he knew when he went to primary that fell and smashed his head open, caused a scene, traumatised a teacher and a classroom full of seven year olds, the paramedics ended up coming in to do a talk on classroom safety... something like that. Sirius probably wouldn't listen anyway, but at least he'd know he tried.

But he's distracted.

For once, it's not because of James' heavy handed typing as he abuses his poor laptop's keyboard, writing and erasing, writing and erasing. And it's also not because of the obnoxious groan Sirius lets out every few minutes just to make sure Remus and James know he's still there, waiting for them to be done so they can wrap up another week of uni with a few pints at the local pub.

No, today he's fully distracted by something else.

You.

It's not fair, actually. He thinks your beauty is actually hurting him, doing something funny to his heart. Can a person's beauty physically cause heart failure? Chest pains? Maybe an anxiety attack over the existential crisis he's facing knowing he'll never be able to have you? Remus doesn't know, but he thinks James would - he's the one doing his PhD, after all. Not that Remus would ever admit to finding you so breathtakingly beautiful it's causing physical pain. No, Sirius and James would never let him live that down.

So instead, he pretends to read his textbook on astro-physics, everything he's supposed to be revising going straight over his head, while stealing glances at you two tables over. You're in your own world, furiously typing into your laptop, stopping every now and then to take a sip of the comically large coffee beside you. It's midterm season, your large coffee is warranted in Remus' humble opinion. Not that you're even aware he's in solidarity of it. James would probably have some boring medical fact about coffee stunting growth and hormones or some load of bollocks similar, but he doesn't care.

Every now and then, you'll pout at your laptop screen, tilting your head to the side like whatever is on your screen has personally offended you. It makes Remus' heart slam against his rib cage in a totally annoying, embarrassing way he wishes he could make soft. He's not a creep. Really, he's not. He knows you. Somewhat. You've met a couple times when you've been chatting to Marlene - who shares a Comms class with you - either in the library or at the pub on the occasional Friday you make an appearance with your friends. It's not like he's having these weird feelings about a stranger. Well. A complete stranger. But there's just something so startling about how kissable your lips are, so soft looking and pink, and adorable in the way your head tilts like that of a confused puppy.

Your attention leaves the screen in front of you in an instant as if you can feel Remus' pining from ten feet away, eyes scanning your surroundings, and when your eyes meet his, Remus chokes on thin air. Thin fucking air. He's so shocked you've caught him, so shocked you're actually a real person he can make eye contact with and not a figment of his imagination, that he chokes, eyes widening, and looks back down to the text book in front of him. He resigns to the awful feeling of humiliation creeping up his neck, accepts the fate of his crimson red cheeks.

"Subtle." Sirius comments, a sickening smirk that Remus just knows means he's been caught graces the former Black Heir's lips and he'd rather like to kick the two back legs out from under best friend's chair now, thanks.

Even though he knows he's been caught, Remus schools his features, because he's actually very capable of that when it comes to his friends, and returns to his book, flipping the page with what he hopes is nonchalance and shrugs, "Dunno what you're on about."

Sirius scoffs obnoxiously, just like Remus knew he would, and returns his chair back to four legs with haste, arms planted on the table in front of him and a look on his face that reads 'I hate to break it to you, but you're the most obvious bloke on the planet'. "Mate, just go over and put us all out of our misery. It's painful."

"It is, mate." James mumbles agreeably, still very much engrossed in the battering of his keyboard. It's a wonder he hasn't broken the thing, Remus thinks.

Remus rolls his eyes. If only it were that simple. How could anything be that simple when you're so infuriatingly beautiful Remus doesn't think he could get two words in to a conversation with you without making a royal twat of himself.

"You make it sound so simple, Pads, truly." Remus drawls sarcastically, eyes still downcast on the book in front of him.

He hasn't read and actually processed a single sentence since he caught sight of you on arrival. He's well and truly fucked.

Sirius scrubs his hands up and down his face like Remus' hesitance is physically paining him, "C'mon, Moony. They didn't call you the Casanova of Gryffindor House for nothing, mate."

It's Remus' turn to scoff, now. He was hardly a Casanova. Just a nice bloke who girls happened to be attracted to. But that was a private boarding school where girls had no access to the outside world apart from the odd weekend at the school's nearest village. You live in a world with people disposable at your fingertips. Coffee shop baristas, classmates, the people on the commute to your classes, there's an endless opportunity for you to meet someone of interest. And how is Remus supposed to compete with that?

"Not happening. I'll suffer in silence, thanks." Remus tells Sirius, a tight lipped smile about his face that he hopes Sirius will read as the end of the conversation.

Clearly, Sirius is no better at social cues now than when Remus first met him, because his friend rolls his eyes and returns to leaning back on his chair, legs once again kicked up onto the desk, muddy boots falling on a piece of paper Remus knows he'll probably have to rewrite, now. "All I'm saying is what do you have to lose? You ask her out she says no, you go back to staring at her like a right creep from two desks over, or," He makes a flourishing movement with his hands, ever the one for dramatics, "She says yes, you bang, fall in love, get married, have kids, etcetera, etcetera."

Sirius' smile is triumphant, like he truly believes he's some sort of genius and Remus can't help the way his lips tick up in amusement. Maybe he has a point, but anxiety still claws at Remus' chest.

"He's got a point, mate," James has pushed his laptop away from himself, his circular glasses balancing haphazardly on his forehead as he rubs tiredly at his face, "Even if he didn't, I'm still begging you to go over there just to get him," he jabs a finger at Sirius, who preens proudly, "to shut up so I can get this paper finished."

Remus sighs, mulls it over in his head, an endless list of outcomes, variables, it's what his scientist mind is programmed to think like. But he gives Sirius a look, finds his best friend staring at him earnestly, and he realises that Sirius doesn't actually see it as a big joke. He truly thinks Remus should do it.

"Fine." Remus bites, taking a breath and pushing himself out of his seat.

Sirius pumps his fists in the air so violently his chair wobbles, but Remus doesn't look back. If he does, he might turn around and give up, go back to staring from afar. God, maybe he is a creep.

You're so engrossed in whatever you're working on, you don't realise Remus hovering at the seat across from you. When you do, you jump a little, and Remus opens his mouth to apologise, but you're already speaking, a wide smile gracing your lips, features completely taken over by the kindness in your eyes - you recognise him, "Remus, right? You're friends with Marls."

Remus nods, swallows the thickness in his throat. He doesn't trust himself to talk, just yet, so he's grateful when you nod your head to the seat across from you, welcoming him to sit. You half close the lid of your laptop, offering him your full attention and wait patiently for him to talk.

"How are your midterms going, by the way?" You ask when Remus finds himself unable to start a conversation.

You don't seem put off by his apparent silence, more than happy to carry the conversation if he needs. He's grateful, because your direct question has given him a reason to speak, a boundary of the things he can say. He's not worried about shouting just how beautiful he finds you for the entire campus library to hear when he has a strict criteria of answers he can give. Well. He's less worried. It's still not impossible.

"Uh, alright, thanks. You're taking Art History, right? Hows that going?" He hopes he's not misheard Marlene's brief introduction, and he knows he hasn't when you preen at his remembrance.

You nod enthusiastically, hair bouncing over your shoulders with the movement, "Yeah! It's currently kicking my arse, but I'll pull through. I imagine it's not as hard as," you pause, brows furrowing for half a second before Remus sees a lightbulb go off behind your eyes, your smile returning, along with the smooth plane of your forehead, crease gone, "Astro-physics, right?"

Remus tries not to think about the way his entire stomach knots up and threatens to give out over the fact you know what his degree is. There's every chance Marlene has told you, like she told him your degree, but he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you'd asked about him. Instead, he smiles dutifully, even though he can feel his somewhat calm and collected exterior melting away, "Yeah, astro-physics. But I imagine they're equally challenging in different ways."

You seem to like that answer, following along and nodding amicably to show you're listening, "I suppose you're right. Although, I think you could explain it to me like a five year old, and I'd still be lost."

Remus laughs. Not at you, but at the perplexed expression on your face as you imagine such a scenario. You shake your head out, giving him your full attention again. You're so lovely. So sweet and nice and Remus feels like he might actually have a shot, if your kindness and patience so far is anything to go on.

"If it makes you feel any better, I couldn't tell you squat about the Mona Lisa." Remus shrugs.

It's your turn to laugh, your head tilting back ever so slightly as it rocks through you. The sound is like music to Remus' ears. He decides then and there he'll do anything, forever, to get you to make that sound again. He commits it to memory, allows it to warm his chest, potential heart attack be damned.

"You're cute, Remus Lupin." You're amused as you say it, eyes shining with a kind of fondness Remus allows to steal his breath.

He thinks maybe you don't mean to say it, at first, but when your gaze holds his, confident and teasing Remus knows. He just. He knows. You're into him, too. Maybe not as deep as he's into you, but the interest is there and that's all Remus cares about.

"A few of us are going to the pub in a few for some drinks, Marlene will be there. Did you maybe want to join us?" Remus asks, an uncomfortable heat in his cheeks even though he knows you're likely to say yes.

He chuckles when you pretend to think it over, pout twisting into an amused grin when you go to speak, "Sure, Remus. I'd love to."

Remus feels like he's won some sort of gold medal, maybe the lottery. He's not sure. But what he does know is that his blood is thrumming through his veins in a way it never has before with pure elation. You're grinning ear to ear, already beginning to pack up your things. He waits patiently while you do, following your lead in standing up. You round the table, closer to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Remus?" You ask, stepping into his space and he can smell your perfume, your shampoo, so sweet he thinks he's going to pass out.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"I only have one condition."

He arches an eyebrow, urges you to go on.

"Next time, it's just us two. A proper date." You smile sweetly, completely unaware of the affect your sultry voice has on Remus' already weak knees.

His breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, your tiny hand encircling his wrist oh so carefully.

"Yeah?" His voice is gravelly, lips threatening to turn up in a wicked grin, "I'm sure we can make that happen."

Just like that, you step out of Remus' space, hand dropping his wrist and your teasing smile falling back into your soft, kind grin, "Great. I'm all yours for the rest of the night, Remus."

Remus almost groans as he leads you back over to Sirius and James, who are grinning like cheshire cats as they pack up their belongings to follow suit with you and Remus. He's met his match, he thinks. You're well and truly going to be the end of him.

Not that he cares in the slightest.

[aniqua]

error: 0v3rr1d3 | yandere!qimir x cyborg!reader

✧content: 18+ mdni, f!reader, smut, angst, death, blood, character death, flashbacks, flashfowards, existentialism?, unreliable narrators and crazy epiphenies, drowning, osha going through the ringer, p in v, cockwarmth, blowing, creme pie, worshipping qimir, second fiddle feelings

✧note: it's been real fun to make qimir a loser, robot fucker.

✧word count: 6.2K

✧series masterlist

“You promised that we would go.” You’d spent the last thirty minutes pressing Qimir to explain the change in plan.

“That was before yesterday's incident,” Qimir sighed as he arranged boxes. The day prior to this exchange, Qimir spent his time in a sticky sweat as he ran through the city for some outside help. With you resting on his back, you were relegated to hearing his terrified breaths that were a result of your condition. It had chosen to be at its worst that day and although you spent the end of the day in a better condition, you didn't miss the way Qimir looked as you clugged onto his arm as he walked you home with a fixed hold on your hand that didn't even budge when you slept with him that night. 

“I'm better now,” you told him. "That was the first time that ever happened anyway," you defended with crossed arms.

“You hoping to go for a second time?” he asked sarcastically.

He was closing up the shop earlier than most days for the festivities that were to be indulged in that night. You looked on without your usual offer to help--not like he'd accept. The entire week ranged from uneventful to horrendous at its worst but the highlight of it for you was supposed to be to celebrate the planet’s two moons aligning like the planet did every year. Despite this, Qimir was giving you a last-minute rejection that you were refusing to stomach this time around.

“I’ll be fine,” you tried appealing to his unquenchable desire to nurture. “And if not, you'll take care of me like you always do. Hm?”

Qimir fought hard to ignore that he loved the way you spoke. It pleaded to the nights he spent thinking of every way he could make you better. He was fighting to keep you a permanent painting in his home and refused to lose to simple battles like hereditary curses.

However, for all the pride he felt in his chest, Qimir set a box down and walked toward you. His hazy eyes gave you a once-over just as he took your tender face in his hands. He said, “I'm not taking that risk.”

Your frown deepened as you pulled your face out of his hands for the comfort of the cold air, “Why don’t you let me do anything?” He could see the way your brows upturned in vulnerability with your wet eyes to match as your pupils went wider. If he could, he would have taken you right then and there for how malleable you looked.

“I don't do it out of enjoyment. But I'll put your health first every time. Even above what I want," he was pretending to play the good guy like he wasn't a shut-in who would have stayed home during the festivities actually long before your time.

“And above me?” you challenged. 

“[Name],” he sighed.

“You’re cursing me to live like this,” you pressed him at his weak spot.

“Cursed?” he laughed bitterly to himself. He brought his hands to his hip as he gave you a stare that reminded you of the initiating stance of a predator. “I’ve done everything to make sure you even live past the next moon alignment--”

“And if I have to live like this then I'd rather be dead,” you spoke with unwavering declaration. Months of quietly obliging with the occasional treat to keep you at bay only made your desertification more apparent to you.

"Careful," he murmured with a still face that was so unreadable. He backed you into the counter just to further cage you with both of his arms on both sides. You looked up at him as you pressed further into the counter to avoid meeting his chest. The edge of the counter he held onto bent at his grip as you spent most of your time grasping at fleeting courage.

“It's not like you get a say in that either," he told you. If you were so struck by the painful beauty of his face at such an odd time, you would have let out a meager cry in surrender.

After getting his fill, Qimir stepped back from you to retreat upstairs. It was expected that you’d spend the rest of your time downstairs to blow off steam before returning to the living room begrudgingly for dinner. Qimir hadn’t exactly made it to the front door of your home before he remembered that he needed to lower the shutters over the shop for this special weekend in case some got too excited. It was when he returned to the ground floor that he no longer saw you there. You disappeared as if he never met you, to begin with.

He called your name and watched his voice echo in real-time. That's when he knew he was alone. Once his call bounced back he nearly lept over the counter and went sprinting out the door.

By the time he'd burst through the doors and the shop's bell jingled, you already had a head start to the streets as you tried making it to the fairie. Two tickets weighed your bag down as you cut through the roads with as much force as you could among those who were already starting festivities. The way the shops were decorated with ribbons and flags would have been beautiful if you couldn’t hear the growing distant call of your name in the distance.

As you carried on fighting you picked up your pace hoping that a miracle would come through before Qimir would catch up to you but your prayer wasn’t even sent before you felt your strength waning until the wind blew out your candle and had the ground swallow you. You should have known better than to exert so much after being given only a day of recovery but you assumed that your passion would make up for your health. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough because you went collapsing like the first drop of truth in the middle of the street. You could hear Qimir calling your name and the low hum of the crowd in surprise.

A week passed where you didn't speak to Qimir and you thought it would help in the tension brewing but the distance felt treacherous. Every day that passed leading up to the seventh day would be you waking up on the outskirts of the planet in a cabin that once belonged to him but was passed down to his acolyte. The last thing he said to you as he passed you over to Osha before his journey to find a better solution for your illness was he thought it would suit you better to behave. Instead of a private farewell that should have been exchanged kisses, the journey to the cabin was silent. 

Far from it was Osha to question her master but it didn’t help how little in detail she was given before he appeared on her doorstep asking her to watch over you. She was given half of the truth while you were given the whole lie that Osha would sooner drag you back to the cabin before you'd make it past a few trees. 

Before your arrival, she chose to spend her time training until their next operation but instead of a new Jedi to target, Osha was assigned to babysitter while being left entirely in the dark. Still, she trusted Qimir when he said to guard you with her life as he went off.

From your perspective, the specifities of what Osha was told were unclear but you weren’t willing to try to pry when your last act of disobedience landed you concession from meeting the ground and unwanted attention that could have ended with the wrong people asking the right questions. So, in your time of vacationing–you told yourself this to lighten the mood–you didn’t even ask about Qimir until a few days after a week had come and he still hadn’t returned for you. This concerned you so you went running your mouth to Osha since it was all you could do to keep yourself calm and not fear that he had finally abandoned you for an easier problem to fix.

“Have you heard from him?” you asked.

She shook your head. “I can still feel him," she admitted as she ate.

You didn't know each other well but you wanted to press further even if it meant her frustration. “Anything else?” you said. 

“Look, you’ve been asking me the same question for three days. He’ll be fine," she put her spoon down and looked up at you. "You’ve seen how he disappears for weeks just pop back up. It’s no different now."

You fiddled with your thumbs as you said. “So this is normal?” You didn't have the slightest clue as to what she meant.

“What," she laughed in disbelief "Qimir hasn’t fucked off for weeks to you?"

If you had any type of distance from him, you would have laughed with her but you hadn’t so you said the truth.

“No,” you confessed. “He’s never gone more than an afternoon away,” you said. “Which is why I’m so nervous because that last time he came back he didn't look good.”

That admission had Osha questioning how well you truly knew him.

“What took you so long?” Osha asked Qimir as he held onto his bag.

“I’m back now,” was all he was going to say but the look Osha gave him made him feel stupid. “Came across some trouble on the way back so I had to stall. I’d hate for anyone to be following me to lead them to here.”

“So you stole that," she stated the obvious while nodding toward his bag that looked packed with some things that were none of her business. 

"It doesn't matter--"

Osha wasn't in the mood to banter as they stood a few paces from the cabin in the dead of night. "You let three weeks go by for her. It felt like she was gonna start chewing glass if you didn't show up tonight,” she said,

“Nothing, she’s not used to,” he said as he rifled through his bag to straighten a few things out. Maybe that's why he didn't realize that he and Osha were talking about two different things.

“So she’s home a lot huh,” she met him where he was in the conversation. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It keeps her safe.”

“From you?”

Qimir swallowed.

“Whatever happened to no romance to keep this exact thing from happening,” she threw the rule back in her master's face while gesturing at his lover fast asleep in the cabin. “You bring danger to your doorstep every time you come back home so there's no point in keeping her there?” If only she knew the other half of the problem to chastise him for that as well.

Osha watched him with judgemental eyes with the complete silence in between them. Leave it to her to be the one to hold a mirror up to Qimir as he would conceive of a flawed plan. She was ready to ask him if it was worth it. Interrogate him about having you put your life in a strange form of witness protection all in the name of a lonely man who couldn't just let a bird go. That was until some was rustling nearby. The kind of twig snap that didn’t come from a small animal but a clumsy vulture. Osha and Qimir both turned their heads to the sound as they already had a grasp on their lightsabers. They waited with held breaths in the quiet night.

Even though both moons illuminated the forest, something felt off with the way the area had gone motionless. Qimir would have left the idea alone if you weren’t inside. 

The hum of a lightsaber that wasn't theirs was the warning shot that set everything into motion. They almost didn't see it coming but were even more surprised to find seven Jedi that had been tailing him since they got the first tip-off of his movement when he'd jumped from another planet with a fortune's worth of medicines and no clear explanation.

When you woke up, at the sound of a cry, you couldn’t chalk up the thud coming from the outside to the result of an interesting passerby.

So you stirred out of your comfort zone and started for the exit of the cabin when you said Osha's name and she didn't respond. She was a late sleeper. 

As you came out of your sleep your fresh ears were finally registering the growing sound of a fight. Your hands carefully pushed the doors of the cabin that led you to a cold night. Although the stars and moon were the only things that were keeping the beyond from looking pitch black, it was still a horrifying sight to look into the abyss and see two red lightsabers spinning in self-defense.

When your eyes landed on Qimir for the first item in three weeks, your thoughts were interrupted as you got tunnel vision. He was fighting for his life in a dance between him and Osha against the Jedi. Yet all you could see was him as you burst through the cabin doors and went running after the only certainty you had even when this was the first time you’d ever seen him use the force.

“Qimir!” You cried. You threw all the arguments that you had with him aside and went racing with nothing but your heart in your hands.

Qimir looked up first as he saw you coming down from the hill. “Go!” he said.

It was rare to see him look so scared and even rarer to be the result of anyone but you so you stuttered in your tracks. Your hesitance was caught who was determined to make sure no one could testify to them breaking their mantra of never attacking first. As he immediately locked eyes with you, you started for the other way hoping to at least lighten the load of attacks on Osha and Qimir even if it was by one person.

You didn’t look back once as you went cutting into the woods like a shot call. Your feeble state lets an onslaught of rushing adrenaline fuel your heart enough for it to pump your system faster. The forest stood by and watched as you kept looking back in fear until you dove behind a fallen tree to catch your breath and adjust from the dizziness in your head. You knew you couldn’t run for long even high off of your need to fight.

It was hard to miss the sound of footsteps as they steadily grew until they felt close enough to be your own shadow. So you fisted a large rock in your hand enough to bleed and threw it as hard as you could in another direction. Just as the beast went chasing after his own tail you began blasting off in the other direction until you broke through a clearing that was the edge of the cliff.

It’s not something your mind registered in the darkness until you heard the sound of unrelenting water. You made the effort to stop but you were seconds too late as the dirt slid just enough to lose your footing and go diving through the air. Crashing into the rushing water felt nothing like liquid and more like solid ice. 

Your land was only cushioned by the rapid water that would have been your savior if it didn’t send you along with the river to hit every rock and broken log on your way downstream. It was siphoning off your adrenaline to leave you to fend for yourself. 

Your hands kept closing and opening as you tried to reach for something to stop the tornado. The tiring fight to find someway to steady yourself ended up with you carrying a belly full of water in a blind panic each time the water hit your face. This repeated as you were repeatedly baptized by waves until the water in your belly was enough to have you sinking to the bottom of the river.

When Qimir washed up on the shore onto the shore, he was choking on everything but the items at the bottom of the river and the dirt embedded into the water. You were right beside him as he shivered from the wind that made the water unbearably cold. However, you didn’t need to shiver to maintain your body heat since there were goosebumps rising from your skin as you layed motionless beside him. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feel the biting chill of that night. It was just that you didn’t have any strength left to go running after heat. 

At least that’s what you thought of it as, until you weren’t looking up at the night sky of the night but rather at the pitch back of your eyelids that were too heavy to open even as you fought for days to try. You existed in a state of in-between where your body was still but your mind was still active at times as it came and went like running water.

So you meandered in this state of being as the world moved on. 

Throughout the swift passage of time you stayed frozen as you could only listen to the voices of anger, guilt, and resentment give you a description of events through a tinted gaze that explained the past and present.

You were there against the shore of the rushing river and heard every cry of anguish as Qimir cut through bones and blood in the heat of his anger. The red screams of the attackers splattered against the bark, foliage, and rocks of their surroundings until all that was left were parts scattered across the woods like chicken feed. Osha looked on entirely stunned as she tried to resuscitate you. She saw in real time how her master had burned every lesson in dignified death he taught her in exchange for a punishment that was tenfold the crime.

For you, when the feeling of the ground was replaced by the cold surface of a healer's bed, you still refused to wake up. You heard the promises and threats he made as he went to every length he could to pull you back to the world of the living until you sank back under and remerged to him bringing you back home place to figure out what deal he had to make to bring you back to life. 

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” his voice was barely louder than the machine that kept track of the rhythm of your pulse. “Osha’s here.” You wanted to tell him to come back and stay with you since you liked the way he fixed your hair and played with your hands when he thought no one was there.

It was hard to tell the exact amount of days that passed without the rare clue you got from the conversations you overheard. You remained in the dark for most things but didn’t miss the inevitable march toward unshakable madness that Qimir experienced in your presumed absence.

You heard the apologies he gave you with promises to fix you until you memorized each promise like a blessed hymn. He found a permanent place in your room to reside until you would come to expect the sound of him rising and finally sleeping.

“Qimir,” Osha’s voice had come through from the upstage. “I think it’s time,” she said. If he said something, you didn’t hear it. “You’ve done your best during all these months but it’s time to consider the best option,” Osha told him.

“The best option is to bring her back,” he was unwavering in the way he spoke even if he sounded weak.

“How?” The silence that followed was loud enough to make it clear that he didn’t have the answer. “We must know when to move forward. Just like you taught me,” she said.

“Then move on.” He was stern. “Don’t let my dedication burden you,” he hissed. “You no longer need to be my acolyte.”

“Your dedication is making you driving you insane,” she punctuated each word as she tried to hide the crack of her voice. “She is practically dead but you’re throwing me aside–”

“Until her heart stops beating she is my responsibility!” It was no mistake how different things felt in your absence but it surprised you how clear he had made his decision. “I suggest you find yourself a new master.”

That’s how you replayed it all in your head. Years after your baptism and months after your crucifixion Qimir had finally married his two ideas into a solution that he was hoping to work. A wise man would never ask him how he did it since it wasn’t through his own hands but after mounting a few bodies and twisting a few arms, every failed part of you was replaced by pieces from the android parts he had collected. A task that blurred all ethics that only Qimir was willing to cross. All he waited for was the day you’d wake up. He let weeks pass by hoping that he’d find you sprung forth and lively. 

You were still partially droid which he didn’t understand so through the period of holding his breath and getting lost in the bottom of his bottle, you were coming through every single memory you had, especially of him, and processing them for analysis in the part of your brain that was connected to your past processor. You returned to every instance as human and every close encounter as android.

You had been given time to reflect on the incoming memories as they passed through you. And when you had come to believe was how ungrateful you were. To not see the unwavering love of Qimir even after he had been abandoned to build your future from scraps until you were nearly resurrected. It all would have gone well if you had not gone running to see what you had forgotten. Now that you had seen it, it was entirely understandable Qimir's aversion to it. You had crossed the river and drowned over and over again as your memories played on a loop like a punishment from purgatory. It wasn’t under your control as your system tried to learn and relearn how to escape death until it came to the conclusion that the best possible outcome would be to not only accept the love you were given but to understand it and reciprocate it in its totality.

“Osha! Osha!” Qimir called from her as he was being held back by the Jedi that were swarming his hideout in Kashyyyk.

His mistake was reaching out to Osha after so much time of silence thinking she’d help him get to the bottom of what was wrong with you this time. Desperate people find faith in the strangest places and he was no exception as he thought she, even with hesitance, would help him find out why he’d done everything right but you refused to power on like all those other times. 

Osha ignored his shouts as she looked up at you erected perfectly still enough to build a coffin around you. It felt wrong at first to appeal to the Jedi to apprehend and make an example of her old master but as months went on and she slowly ventured back to the light, a sickness wouldn’t leave as she felt that Qimir was likely still home jumping from healer to architect as he tried to bring you back like a lunatic. 

She hadn’t seen him in a year but it felt more like a decade as she saw how long his hair had gotten when he was seized. The smile he gave her when he thought they were all alone wasn’t devoid of years of stress but it had a slight familiarity to it that almost made her go back on the plan. If Qimir wasn’t so busy with everything that had to do with you, he probably would have picked up on the presence of others closing in on him from the shadows of the trees.

The once enthusiastic acolyte wasn’t there to see the multiple iterations of you as an android so she would never be a true believer in the miracle. Conceivably, she wouldn’t have led the Jedi to Qimir’s home if she knew. Yet, she didn’t and she likely never would. All Qimir had given her to work with when she returned was scattered and disassembled android parts with you decorated in new parts that only had their backstories told by roomers. To her, this was inhumane.

“How could you?” she turned and said to him as he violently thrashed against the restraints the Jedi gave him.

“Osha, don’t!” he could already see that she was preparing to reach for the panel that controlled your station to shut it off. There was some apparent hesitancy as his hands danced around the button that would lead to the computer to begin to power off and terminate all systems including itself.

“No! N-no! STOP!”

The cries of your lover were tormenting to even the creator of the anguish. The pain in his voice was so concentrated that it could not be ignored by any of those who were there to witness it. It was exactly the call to heaven that woke you up out of your processing and had you open your eyes for the first time since you had glitched so poorly that he took your battery away. In wide-eyed disbelief, Osha froze as she saw your eyes start to open and take in your surroundings. 

To you, she didn’t look much older but instead younger from her naivete of what she had brought herself into. You saw him make an effort to step back. From across the room, the two Jedi who held onto Qimir and the three who guarded the two were just as confused as to what they were witnessing. It wasn’t like machines hadn’t been brought together with flesh before but to see someone rise from what appeared to be death would give pause to anyone. Qimr above everyone else looked like he was staring into the many eyes of an angel for the first time in his life.

The atmosphere in the cave went motionless as you took your first step down from your chamber as a cyborg for the first time. By then, you had already come to a conclusion. With the wisdom of your humanity and the calculation of your machinery, you had decided everyone was a threat to your new goal. Your feet took another step forward to Osha so she said your name in disbelief. 

Before she had pushed out the last part to it, you took her blaster and put a hole through the heads of two Jedi without much effort from your self-defense protocol.

Your attacks sent everyone scrambling as you were already holding Osha at gunpoint by the time they realized that you were just as much of a threat as they thought Qimir was.

“Please,” you spoke only to Osha “tell them to leave and I will spare their lives and yours.” The cold, metal barrel made a circle indicating the target that was her temple. You didn’t have the heart to kill her but you wanted her to believe that you would. 

As much as Osha was already regretting not just returning to the shadows and never agreeing to work for the Jedi, this case was out of her hands the moment she went running to authority to get some sort of retribution on your behalf.

It didn’t matter though because the unexpected face-off between the remaining Jedi and a hostage gave Qimir the perfect window to steal a lightsaber and begin fighting against three opponents like he once taught Osha to do.

He twisted and landed a kick that slammed into a tree. While that one recovered, he held his own against two lightsabers. All the while, Osha was forced to watch the series of events that would lead her to run back into exile.

It was uncomfortably quick work he made out of the fight. With ease, he reminded his former acolyte about what she missed so much about being under his guidance. When the last body dropped you finally let go of Osha. 

“Osha,” Your still expression even raised suspicion in Qimir because of how ambiguous it was as you looked at her. “You are a dear friend.” You stepped forward. “But we should never cross paths again in your lifetime,” you said as you carefully placed her blaster in her shake hands. 

That’s when you turned Qimir. His pupils were blown as he watched you come closer until you took his hand. He was certain that he was dead until you brought his hand to your face and closed your eyes to feel him. 

The image before Osha was an unfair reward for her unwavering dedication up until that point. She’d put everything into venturing to the dark side and was betrayed by a heart that had found someone to beat for. She would have never guessed that her master was heaven-struck all those years ago but there was nothing she could have done about it even if she was given a vehicle to travel through time. Sure she had a new master but the realization that things were different still hurt the same.

The apologetic look that Qimir and you gave just as you reunited diluted her blood as she had to sit in the choice she made. There was nothing more or less to say as you left her surrounded by dead Jedi as the both of you disappeared like the origins of a folktale. 

She let out a scream at some point.

You looked out at the windows of the ship that Qimir managed to secure in the aftermath of your flying your planet. The wealthy smuggler who owed him a favor was the type to live on the ship she gifted. It was your new home now as you searched for another part of the galaxy to hide in until you were ready.

You walked into the control room with the tips of your hair wet from the humidity of the shower. The pitter-patter of your footsteps approached the ship pilot into the control area. He felt your hands slowly slide from his back to his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his neck until you were resting on his neck while looking out at pools of stars and asteroids. This is how it was in a soothing simplicity.

When he turned around and placed you onto his lap, your upgrades readjusted when your heart picked up. You looked at him with the same wildness that was directly reflected the kind in his.

“Qimir,” you said as you played with his hair.

“Hm?” he was tolling picking between looking at your lashes curtaining your eyes or watching your lips say his name.

“I want,” you paused to get a good look at the face you missed seeing for too long.

He leaned forward in raw anticipation. It caused you to shift as you stayed in place on his lap. You don’t think he noticed how ardent his focus was. “What,” he swallowed. “What do you want?”

As you thought of how you should word your request, his patience dissipated as he chose to kiss feverishly you and pull you closer by your waist. His soft lips were in stark contrast to how roughly he took your lips.

“Let me,” you tried to speak between the moments he would catch his breath to kiss you further. “Be,” you said into his lips, “your acolyte.” 

He stopped to watch on in surprise as you played with the hem of his shirt like you hadn’t thrown him across the universe and back. As you were taking off his shirt he was still dazzled by your request.

Like an admirer of a painting, you placed your cold hands on his hot chest to commit the feeling of his skin to memory. Qimir heard his heart pop in his ears. Your hand continued to travel until you were able to find yourself in his pants “Please,” you implored as your hand pulled out his cock and your lips pouted in a plea.

It was unmistakable to you that he was heavens away from where you were as you spoke to him but you still continued to slip out of his lap to sit in between his legs as he remained seated. The way you looked up at him as you took your time to stroke his member made him moan not only for desire but from the sheer ecstasy of your presence. You opened your mouth and found a place at the tip of his cock. 

Your head gingerly traveled further down as you felt every vein until as much of him was in you. Qimir felt you suck as you pulled back and it was divine torture. With each bob of your head, you fondled his balls in one hand and stroked the rest of his member that you couldn’t take.

He threw his hand back as his hands seized the armrest of the seat. Each time your tongue circles the slit of his tip, a groan slipped out. His precome was dripping as he gradually got hard enough for it to feel painful. The noises you made as you blew him filled the control room all the while the leather of the armrest tore the cushion contents spilled out. You pulled back for a moment a brought a trail of saliva from his blooming tip to your pink tongue. Nevertheless, he thirstily eagerly guided your return to the back of your head to pick up speed from where you left off. 

His words were incoherent as you saw his legs shaking. It was evident that he was reaching his end when his locked eyes burst open as he was begging for air. He let out a heavy load into your mouth as you gaggled.

Ever the impatient man, Qimir was already bending you over in front of the window just as you were catching your breath. The robe you had secured around yourself after a shower already dropped to the floor as he lined himself up to your pussy and pushed himself into you with such consecrated desperation.

He crashed onto your back as he wrapped his arm around your waist to prove you weren't nothing but an apparition. For each time he pulled out and pushed back in, he stayed spilling sweet words into your hair. He was trying to take his time to savor the way your walls held onto him so tightly but it was nearly unthinkable by the seventh kiss. 

You felt him slapping in and out of you as your pitiful babbling could on grew in volume. Your processor was working to keep your pulse viable. The sounds of your ass beating against his wet balls were disorienting as you secured your hands onto his hold around your core for support.

“Teach--" You couldn't focus as your breasts bounced along with the rhythm. “Teach me.” Qimir could hear the hunger in your voice. You started pushing back harder so the tip of his member could faithfully bruise your cervix. 

Qimir lifted one of your legs and held it in place on the panel to angle himself better. The sound of you continuously saying “please” for so many reasons pushed him to drill you stronger as come trickled down your legs before he had even climaxed for the second time.

“Why?” he asked as he held your face up by holding onto your throat. It wasn’t a challenge but rather a question as to why you wished to go running into this one risk.

You couldn’t answer him as your knees were becoming wobbly from the stimulation until he had to hold you up himself to keep you satisfied.

“Come on,” he encouraged. “Stay with me a little longer.” He said as he kept pounding into you. You could feel the warmth running from your hot head journey down your body and striking every foreign part of you with lightning. You poured over him as you mewled. Your ending came like a waterfall as your juices further lubricated his thrusts to keep him chasing euphoria. By then you were completely spent, calibrating, and just holding onto him to relish the sounds of his gasps.

Once he came inside of you and let his sticky shot leak out through the in-between of the skin of his cock and your folds, you turned around to see him. In the fervor of the aftermath, you pulled into him, with your bare breasts against his chest.

“Give me a chance,” was all you told him with your head against his chest. You wanted to collapse no matter how well-adjusted you were as he kept cockwarming but he held onto you and wiped your sweaty face.

“You don’t need that.” Qimir had a slight blush on his face as he was catching his breath along with you. He intertwined your hand with his and was spiraling up to the cosmos. “I’ve already given it to you. Let me show you the power of two destined souls,” he said.

leave a comment, send an ask, or reblog. I always respond.

[abbysforearms]

I watched Alien: Romulus yesterday and yeah… I want to write an AU piece about it… I like the fear and angst... I also want to fantasise about myself in a jumpsuit and wife pleaser all sweaty and scared is that so wrong? A hot masc trio (ignoring some of the others on your mission)

ᯓ✧

Sitting in Ellie's lap whilst she pilots the ship, her hand languidly squeezing your thigh, the little glowing buttons kissing a warmth onto her cheeks as she hums to herself, eyes flickering over her monitors...

Helping Abby with repairs (if you can really call 'standing there and gawking at her, asking questions every 5 seconds' helping) but she doesn't mind...

"It's the only way to learn after all." She smiles

You, laying alone in your sleeping quarters, arm draped over your stomach as you lose yourself in your thoughts again, a slow, self aware spiral of existentialism, the gentle muffled thunder of reactors and generators hugging your ears...

The comforting brown noise will never beat the sound of abby's heavy breathing as she holds you against the cold wall of an empty wing of the ship, her breath hot on the skin of your neck as her hands fumble with the zipper of your uniform. Desperate to slip her hand under your boxers and initiate a risqué quickie with you; even though she hates calling it that and refuses to.

ᯓ★

I would also totally be open to writing about Rain too though... but Ellie and Abby Alien AU sounds very fun... right?

★ ⋮ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ | ✶ ⋮ tag list

credit 1 | credit 2

[twola]

Went a bit more existential with this one.

Holy

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You’re beautiful there, spread out on his cot.

Of course, he thinks you’re beautiful everywhere - in the light of the morning sipping coffee; in the golden afternoon as you’re sneaking treats to his horse. In the sparkle of nightfall, where the stars and campfire dance in your eyes.

But here, here, is where he thinks you’re most beautiful. Utterly bare and chest heaving in his cot, the low light of the lantern illuminating the curves and divots in your skin. You’re beautiful here, in the midnight hours, completely his.

Your sweat-dotted skin and tousled hair, pebbled nipples and the dewy sheen of wetness that he can see on the dark hair that shrouds your cunt.

You are the most beautiful, holy thing he’s ever seen as you open your legs farther, smiling up at him as he leans above you, stroking his needy cock as he situates his knees on the sides of your thighs.

If he believed in prayer he would say one in this moment, guiding himself to you.

He presses the weeping head of his flesh against the petal like skin of your folds, rubbing through them as your breath hitches. He collects your arousal on himself, breathing through his nose as his hand grips the base of himself.

A breathy gasp from your lips reaches his ear as he presses the head of his cock through the rim of your cunt.

He cannot help but to watch how your teeth sink into your lower lip, your eyes squeezing shut as he splits you, as he parts you and his flesh enters you.

You whimper as he continues his journey forward.

Another inch.

If there was a god, he must not be but too pissed with Arthur - not with the way he’s feeling now, not with the way the vice of your cunt feels on the head of his cock - wet and warm and so goddamn tight.

Another inch.

Your eyes flutter open as you grow used to his intrusion, and he swears you bat your eyelashes I almost a coquettish manner up at him. Christ, the power you have over him when he’s inside you - you could demand of him anything and by God’s sake, he would do it for you.

Another flighty breath escapes your lips and he cannot help it anymore. He is but a simple, sinful man, and he snaps his hips forward to completely sheath himself within your cunt. Your eyes widen and you whimper again at the movement.

The curls of the hair at the base of his shaft press against your clit, making you shiver, his pelvis flush against yours.

He’s spread out atop you, all twitching muscles and weather-beaten skin. You’re small beneath him, sunken down in the cot with your legs spread wide ‘round his hips.

Your breath comes out in a gasp as he settles himself over you, one elbow keeping the bulk of his weight off of your frame.

He stays still, his flesh within yours, reverent at the intimacy of it all. That you would allow, nay, want him in such a way. That you would choose a man like him to bury himself inside your body. That you would choose him, of all men, to touch you and feel you and climb inside the most special part of you.

The wet warmth of your core makes him shudder, succumbing to the feeling and shutting his eyes as he lays upon you, burrowing his forehead into the curve of your neck. Your arms wind around his neck, your slender fingers gently twining through the short ends of his hair.

His chapped lips press against your neck as a contented sigh escapes you. God, he could stay here forever, draped over your supple frame, all of him holstered inside you - warm and tight and wanted.

“Arthur…”

He grunts softly as he presses up on his elbow, hovering above you to catch your gaze.

The flush in your cheeks is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Your lips spread into an infectious smile that he cannot help but to return.

He swears, for all of the sinning he has done, and continues to do, that some heavenly deity has extended some kind of mercy upon him. For here, tangled up in each other, sheathed so sweetly inside you, this is the closest to heaven that a man like him could hope to get to.

[gurugirl]

Can We Start Over | Ch. 4 The Exit Strategy

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 4. Summary: It's hard for Harry to overcome not feeling a bit hurt after you left him the way you did but there are bigger issues you need to tackle, like the fact that Harry's doing something shady as well as figuring out how you feel about him.

Word Count: 9k

Warning: 18+ only, feelings of confusion and turmoil, angst, illegal dealings

Can We Start Over? masterlist

Harry woke up alone in your hotel room. He sat up and rubbed his hand over his chest and he couldn’t help but smile thinking about what had happened the night before.

But he couldn’t figure out exactly where you’d gone. He peeked into your bathroom and then stepped into his room, “Y/n?” You were nowhere to be seen. The smile he wore fell when he realized you weren’t there. Perhaps you’d just stepped out for a moment? But why? Harry looked at the clock to see it was only just past 7 am. For coffee perhaps?

Harry slid on a pair of pants and the shirt he wore the night before as he found his shoes and his key card. He figured he’d go find you. Something told him you hadn’t simply stepped out to grab a coffee.

“Y/n?” You quickly turned and saw Harry heading toward you. You’d been sitting in the lobby looking out the window. It was rainy. You’d planned on a walk but weren’t too fond of getting yourself all wet just so you could go through your existential crisis outside.

Standing up from your spot you gave him a weak smile.

“What are you doing? Is everything okay?” Harry stood in front of you and dropped his eyes over your frame. He looked frazzled. His shirt was mostly left unbuttoned and his hair was a mess. But the way he seemed worried had you suddenly feeling bad for the way you left him. But it wasn’t like you could stay either.

“I uh…” you scratched at your neck and frowned, “Needed some air. Needed to think about last night.”

“Okay. But did I do something wrong?”

You blinked your eyes and looked toward the front desk where someone had approached reception before looking back at him, “No, you didn’t. I woke up and realized… it didn’t feel right.”

Harry stood with his mouth agape for a moment before he began to shake his head, “Let’s go back up to the room to talk. We can’t do this here.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

He had turned around before you could even get out a response. He could tell by your demeanor what was going on. You regretted it. And now he felt like shit. He braced himself mentally for you to reject him.

The silence on the way up to your room was loud. Harry had his arms crossed over his chest as he kept his eyes down. He was clearly going over in his mind what had gone wrong.

And you figured maybe he’d give you the silent treatment once you got into your room but the moment the door was closed behind you he started, “Did I do something wrong, Y/n? Tell me the truth.”

You shook your head and looked at his face, “No. Of course not. I wanted it. I just…” you sighed and sat down in the chair by the window. Your head was fuzzy. Not only had you gotten little sleep everything with Harry was confusing. Your feelings surrounding him didn’t make any sense.

“You just what?” He leaned his back into the wall across from you and crossed his arms over his chest again. Now he looked like he was becoming angry.

“I feel like that was a big mistake. I should have known better than to do that.”

“Are you serious? You felt like that was a mistake?” He gestured with his arm before tucking it back against his chest.

Nodding you put your palms on your thighs and looked down, “It just can’t happen ever again. We shouldn’t have done it. I regret it.”

There it was. Harry pushed himself off the wall and laughed as he shook his head, “Wow. Okay. I asked you if you wanted it. If you were comfortable… But now you’re telling me it was a mistake? How do you think this makes me feel? Waking up alone thinking I was gonna have you there with me in bed. Really thought you were okay with it. Fuck…”

You watched him pace the room, “Last night I wanted it. I just… I woke up and felt like this shouldn’t have happened.”

Harry nodded and put his hands on his hips as he watched the floor, “Fine. You win. This back and forth between us,” he looked at you, “No more. That’s why I was cold toward you, and kept you at a distance, Y/n because it’s easier for me to be that way. The moment you wanted us to be amicable… I tried. But I hear you now. Loud and clear.”

Needless to say, the flight back was like torture. Harry hardly spoke to you and he certainly didn’t look at you. You had to jog to keep up with him half the time. Part of you was worried that he’d have the driver leave without you when he was already outside at the car and you were struggling with your suitcase which had lost one of its wheels somehow.

He finally did speak to you when you arrived at his home, “You’re free to do as you please today. No work. I’m gonna go out. We’ll get back to it in the morning.”

And that was it. You didn’t see him after he went to his room and you didn’t hear him leave but you knew he did.

“We had sex.” You called Brandy as you walked around in the back garden, after making sure you were totally alone and no one could overhear you.

“I knew you would, he–“

“No. It’s not like, Brandy. I hate that I did. I feel awful. I feel like I disrespected myself for it. What he did to me? That first night? How can I even feel attraction toward him? Sure he apologized and I understand what happened, but the fact remains, he treated me like garbage.”

“Y/n, don’t beat yourself up. You’re only human. And you two do have a connection, even if it’s small. He likes you. But it’s okay to not do it again. You still have a job right?”

You sighed, “Yeah. I don’t think he’ll fire me but… I don’t know if I can handle working for him anymore. What if something happens again? I’m just gonna keep feeling bad and Harry’s gonna get mad. Like now. He’s pissed.”

“Why is he pissed?”

“Because he woke up and I wasn’t there and told him it was a mistake so now he feels responsible I guess. I don’t know. He’s not really been talking to me since I told him I regret it.”

There was silence from Brandy for a beat as you sat on the bench under the trees at the far end of the garden.

“Was it good at least?”

You rolled your eyes, “Brandy…” you said in warning.

“Hey. I’m your best friend. You don’t have to act all high and mighty with me. You had sex with him again. Was it good? Like, at least if it was good then you can walk away knowing you had one last good time.”

“Of course it was. He’s good. But that’s really not the point, Brandy.”

“I know it’s not the point. I’m trying to get details from you is all. I’m nosey and what can even I say to make you feel better anyway? I feel like sometimes you take yourself way too seriously, Y/n. It could be good to lighten up a little. I know this feels like a big deal to you. I get it. I’m here to listen but there’s nothing anyone can say to you or anything you can do to reverse what happened. I’m here for you but truly. You could just calm down a little. Lighten up a touch.”

“Lighten up? Are you saying this is somehow my fault?”

“I didn’t say that. Why does this have to be anyone’s fault? Why point fingers? Shit happens. Why do you always need someone to blame?”

You sighed and closed your eyes, “I know. I like things neatly categorized and this is so not neat or categorized… I just feel like since I don’t know where to put this feeling it has to have a reason. But you’re right. The reason is just that…”

“Is just that you’re human and you gave in to a very human need. So did he. You both did nothing wrong in this case. I mean, maybe not the best idea to sleep with your boss, but like…” she laughed.

“Yeah, that’s another thing that’s hard for me to wrap my mind around. I slept with my boss. How do I go from here?”

Brandy chuckled into the receiver, “God you’re so dramatic, Y/n. I love you but you take shit way too seriously sometimes. Some things don’t need to be explained. Okay? Now you’ve got what you want, right? He’s probably not going to be flirty with you anymore after this since you told him it was a mistake. No more sex with the boss.”

You and Brandy were pretty much opposites when it came to personalities. She was light-hearted and went with the flow, while you were serious and liked order. You knew she was too light-hearted at times, though. Some things were serious and did need explanations so you could learn from them and never do it again.

But sometimes she was right. She had a good point about this issue. What could be done? You’d told Harry your feelings about sleeping with him again and even if it did hurt his feelings or make him mad you did what you felt was right for yourself. And that was that. What more could you do?

.           .           .

Harry walked through his front door sweaty after his run. It was 8:30 am. Your mornings usually started at 8. When you’d gone into his office and he wasn’t there you set up your laptop and then went down to the kitchen to get coffee.

It was unlike him. Normally he was ready for the day before you’d even woken up.

You watched him walk past you, not a single word as he went upstairs where you imagined he would go shower and then he’d join you in his office after he was done.

Except he didn’t go into his office. You were sat in your usual spot and responding to a couple of emails before you saw one from him.

Book two business class seats (not together) to Buenos Aires for the Friday after next, returning Sunday. See the attached for the email of the person we’ll be meeting and book the hotel he recommended. Set up our meetings and get the wire information from him in advance. Send to me before finalizing anything so I can look it over.

You frowned at this. You didn’t like that he was emailing you rather than speaking to you. You didn’t want him angry with you but you supposed this might be better than him being too friendly.

Harry’s attitude the rest of the week was the same. He only spoke to you when it was absolutely necessary. Not once did you find his gaze on you. No smiles or laughing. Nothing.

You hadn’t expected him to be so cold with you. You figured the boundaries you were placing with him were good ones. That he’d come around and understand why they needed to be established.

But instead of him being nice to you and having evening chats in his kitchen after Carl left and getting to know him slowly, he was completely shut off. You could say that he was being professional with you. Which was what you wanted.

Not like this, though. Not with barely a glance or a friendly smile. Not a single dimple showed itself to you over the next weeks.

And now here you were with him in Argentina where you should be enjoying red wine and empanadas but instead, you were sitting quietly while he conducted his meeting with the seller.

You said no to wine. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t push you. In fact, you heard him let out an annoyed short laugh and a mumbled suit yourself.

The man you were meeting with had a small stone sculpture that was considered an ancient artifact. You didn’t know how it was that he procured the item but it seemed like something that should have been in a museum. You did learn that many years ago it was considered stolen or lost. That didn’t sit well with you.

And when you tried to confront Harry about that he said nothing. He did look at you. His severe gaze sliced into you before he looked back at his computer and continued doing whatever it was.

You wanted to ask more questions. The man wasn’t even a gallery owner or someone from whom you’d normally buy art. The whole thing was shady. Something was off and Harry was giving you nothing.

But when you heard the price tag of the item you coughed and your eyes widened. The three of you were in a small dark room with shelves and boxes and the sculpture was sitting on a table under a light as Harry carefully inspected it.

“It’s legit. This is the real thing. I’ll let you look this over,” the man handed Harry a manila folder, “…you can see the paper trail. Where it stops. The timeline matches up. I’ll give you three hours to make a decision but after that, I have to move it to a safer location. I hope you understand the time constraint.”

You and Harry left the building, in silence as became your norm, and got into the car to head back to the hotel.

You watched Harry look through the paperwork and check the provenance but you knew this item was not going to have everything in place since it seemed it had been lost for some time. Big red flag. Perhaps this was what made Harry the kind of money he had. Dealing with lost or stolen artifacts was big money and definitely illegal. He had told you that he never did anything illegal.

Back at the hotel, Harry pointed, “Meet me in my room. Get your laptop. We have some work to do if we want to make this deal in the next three hours.”

You felt nervous. Felt sick to your stomach. Something was amiss about this whole deal and you didn’t like it. You weren’t sure you wanted to be involved at all.

When you got to Harry’s room he was on the phone with someone, “I saw it in person. It’s real. They are asking 2 but I can talk them down to 1.7. From there you and I can discuss what you’re willing to pay me but with the risk I’m taking I’d want a minimum of 2.5.”

He was discussing money. And you knew he was talking millions. The risk was that it was something that should not be on the market to purchase.

You waited for him to get off the phone before you spoke up, “Is this an illegal transaction?”

Harry looked down at his cell phone and typed something in before looking at you, unaffected, “No. I told you. Nothing I do is technically illegal.”

“I don’t want this to come back to bite me. If I’m involved in this and something happens? I could be linked somehow and I don’t  –“

“Nothing is going to happen other than a huge payout. Just do your job, Y/n. I need you to find everything you can about this,” he clicked his phone and looked back at you, “Just sent it to your email. Look through everything and compare it to the photos I attached. Go down the checklist attached and make notes. The item had some damage and I need to get his rate down so my client will be happy with the price.”

You got to work. Even if you were hesitant a bit, you didn’t want to disappoint Harry. He was your boss above all. And you were stuck in Argentina with him.

But the more you learned the worse it was. The item had been stolen during World War II. Now that was a long time ago but still. You understood why what Harry was doing wasn’t “technically” illegal. Because the client would be the one wiring the full amount and from there, Harry would meet in person with the client to get his cut once you got back to the U.S and he handed the item over to them. It was illegal but it wouldn’t come back to Harry. His name wouldn’t be associated with the transaction.

When you’d given Harry everything you found he seemed pleased.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You said as you stood in front of him as he looked over the provenance and your findings.

“And what do you suggest? Just walk away? You do realize your salary is based on how much money I make, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah but if it’s illegal then I don’t want to be part of this. And Harry, this is illegal. Maybe your name isn’t on anything but this whole thing is–“

“Stop! I already lost out on the last big deal because of you and I’m not doing it anymore. You’re nothing but an employee to me, Y/n. That’s what you wanted so that’s what you’ll get.” He made it a point to remind you that his behavior was your fault.

You dropped your mouth open and felt your heart drop. He blamed you for the failed deal with Hallie? You didn’t know what to say. It made you feel awful. You felt the sting of tears in your eyes as you looked down and turned away from him so he couldn’t see what his words had done to you.

“Now let’s get ready. Meet me in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

You stayed quiet during the whole thing, which seemed to be your new norm. You didn’t even look at Harry. You wouldn’t. You tried to get over the hurt feelings you had but that turned into anger. You were feeling mad. He was a true asshole and you were glad you had that clarity now. No more feeling bad for hurting his feelings. He was probably faking his feelings anyway.

After the deal was done you both went back to the hotel together but Harry left to get dinner. Alone. You ordered room service.

And you weren’t going to be drinking anymore. Not while you were anywhere near Harry. If there was even a chance you’d see him you’d not be drinking. That seemed to make you forgive him too quickly and you didn’t want to forget about how angry you were with him.

.           .           .

Nothing changed even when you got back to the U.S. Harry hardly spoke to you unless it had something to do with work. He didn’t even ask you to get his lunches from Carl anymore. And if you saw him in the kitchen late at night you’d just turn around and walk away. You didn’t have anything to say to him.

You sucked it all up, though. The money he was paying you was good. Very good. But you weren’t sure how much longer you could last. You could only be his punching bag for so long.

Every morning you would get your coffee and Harry’s for him as well before bringing it into his office to begin your day. That morning was like every other morning. Or at least you thought it was.

“Y/n can you close the door behind you? We need to talk about something private.”

You paused at the door and as you looked at Harry behind his big desk you took your foot to gently shut the door since your hands were full.

Placing Harry’s mug down on his desk you sat down in your usual spot and waited for him to speak.

He sat back in his chair and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, “I need you to sign this,” he slid a piece of paper across his desk toward you, “It’s a confidentiality agreement. I should have had you sign it when I first brought you on but… Well, now’s a good time I think.”

You picked up the paper and looked it over. An NDA. He wanted you to keep your mouth shut about the illegal things he was doing. And you were sure this was his plan all along. To hire you, give you a taste of that big fat salary and the kind of lifestyle he paid for you to enjoy, and then hit you with this.

“Why would I sign this? It only protects you?”

Harry reached for his coffee and took a sip before responding, “Because I’m telling you to sign it. Because I’m your boss. Because I need you to keep quiet about what you’ve seen if you’re going to work for me.”

You shook your head and sat the paper down on his desk before picking up your coffee mug and sipping it slowly then taking a deep breath for what you were about to tell this asshole, “I’m not signing it. You either trust me or you don’t. And if you don’t then I’ll leave right now and you can find someone else to be your bitch. I’m not someone you can just walk all over. I’m not taking the fall for you ever.”

“Is this really how it’s going to be? You’re willing to walk away from this job because of an NDA?”

You nodded, “Absolutely. It’s an insult to me and my character. I take this job seriously and you know that. This is you trying to exert your power over me and I’m not falling for it.”

Harry stood up from his desk and walked to his window with his back to you as you stayed seated comfortably and took another drink of your coffee.

On the outside, you appeared calm but on the inside, you were freaking out. This could be it. You would probably be losing your job now that you were taking a stand against Harry.

“I didn’t want it to be like this, Y/n. I thought maybe you’d understand the need for this agreement,” he turned toward you and walked to his desk, putting his palms down on the wood with his eyes on you, “Sign it. Please.”

You laughed and sat your mug down before standing up from your chair, “No.”

Harry rubbed his hands over his face, “God damnit!” He paced toward his bookshelf and back, “I need you to sign that. I’m gonna be honest here and say I don’t want to have to find anyone to replace you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I’m not signing it, Harry. I already told you that if you feel like you can’t trust me at my word I’m out.”

Harry rounded the desk and stood in front of you, “I trust you but this,” he pointed at the document, “needs to get signed.”

Shaking your head you let out an incredulous laugh, “You know what? I don’t need any of this. You and your shady deals… the way you treat me–“

“How do I treat you? Hm?” He blocked you from stepping away from him.

You swallowed, “You’re not nice. Just because I felt uncomfortable after we had sex, you got your ego hurt or whatever and so you’re taking it out on me and… acting like I did something wrong.”

“I’m treating you the way you want to be treated, Y/n. This is exactly what you wanted. Is it not? Because you know what’s going to happen if we get too friendly again. So it’s this or the alternative.”

You tried to step to the side and move around him but he followed, staying directly in your path, “You’re not leaving this room until you sign that,” he pointed at his desk as his eyes bore into you.

“You can’t make me sign that, Harry. You have no power over this situation and you know it.”

“I don’t want to fire you, Y/n. Please just sign it.” He sounded defeated.

You pushed at his arm lightly to get him to move out of your way but he wrapped his hands under your forearms to hold you in place, “Y/n, look at me.”

You huffed and looked up at him, held in place by his hands and speaking through clenched teeth, “What?”

“I need this from you. Okay? It’s me. You can trust me. I know you know that. I might not be the nicest person to you but that’s just so we can maintain a professional relationship like you want. Please, Y/n.”

You couldn't understand why it was so important to him. If he trusted you he wouldn’t need it. But he did seem desperate.

“I can’t sign that. That’s incriminating to me if anything were to ever get out. My signature with a promise of silence? No. No way.”

Harry looked up at the ceiling and groaned before he looked back down at you his hands moving up to your upper arms, holding you still, “I’ll give you a raise. I’ll make it worth your while, Y/n. What do you want from me? What will it take to get you to sign it?”

You pulled your brows together and shook your head, “There’s nothing you can do to get me to sign that, Harry. This is a matter of trust. And it’s an insult. Another fucking insult from you.”

“No. It’s not an insult. It’s not personal. I trust you. I do. I swear.”

“Then you don’t need that do you?”

He was standing too close and his fingers were digging into your shirt over your skin and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. You noticed the stubble along his jaw and the darker patch of growth above his lip. Normally he was quite clean-shaven. Sometimes he’d let it go for a few days and you had to admit, you kind of liked the overgrown, unkempt look.

“Y/n,” he closed his eyes and you saw him clench his jaw before he looked back down at you, stepping in closer, “I… fine. You don’t have to sign it today. I can’t lose you or have you walk out on me. If we can trust each other then we can make this work. Will you take some time to at least consider signing it?”

You sighed and looked down at his shirt for an escape from his gaze, “I don’t know. I don’t think I can ever sign that.”

He released one of your arms and put his hand on your chin, pushing your eyes back up to his, “Just don’t walk out, okay? I’m worried you’re gonna quit and I’m gonna be fucked without you.”

You hated that you loved his hands on you. All it took was his nearness and his soft eyes looking into yours. But you didn't know how to respond exactly. You were glad he wasn’t going to make you sign it, yet. But how long did you have before he was badgering you about it again? You were still going to say no.

“If you trust me, you don’t need my signature on that document. I’ll never put pen to that paper, Harry.”

“Y/n…” his voice came out in a whisper as he moved his other hand up to your face, his thumb at your temple, “I just want to know you’ll stay. Forget the document right now.”

Even though you knew what was happening you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t trying to stop it. Why you weren’t pushing him away and telling him to keep his hands to himself.

“I’m here right now aren’t I?” You whispered back to him and suddenly your hands were on his forearms as he cupped your face in his hands and everything around you turned into a blur when his mouth found yours.

Your heart pumped violently in your chest as you slid your hands up to the back of his head and you felt yourself being moved to his desk, your bottom hitting the wood as he leaned over you and moaned when he felt your tongue against his.

You felt a notebook slip off the desk and something metal tipped over, hitting the wood. Everything was happening so fast.

Harry placed one palm down on the desk as his other hand held the back of your head, his tongue and mouth were instantaneous, urgent. You felt like a wilted flower about to blossom.

And you felt his desperation because you were experiencing it just the same. You both breathed in through your noses for oxygen as your lips slid together wetly. He was overpowering your senses but it was welcome in that instant. His scent, his weight against you, the stubble on his face scraping your soft skin.

His nose turned into yours and pushed your head to the side as he lowered his mouth down to your jaw. Wet, hot presses of his lips and licks of his tongue had you letting out a shaky moan as you clung to him tightly.

When he grazed his lips over your neck and sucked gently on your skin before lapping over the tiny bruise you felt his mouth lower to your sweet spot. That one little sensitive area that had your entire body igniting with need, your figurative wilted petals being nourished and opening up, seeking the sun and water and breeze.

“Don’t leave me, please,” he whispered into your neck between kisses and you stuffed your fingers into his hair.

Everything was spinning and disintegrating around you as his lips were ravaging your neck and up to your jaw again.

“Tell me you're not gonna leave me,” he pressed his mouth against yours, “Please, Y/n.”

The kisses slowed down, your mouths moving gently together, tongues softly poking out and retreating until you parted from the kiss, pushing at his chest so you could sit up.

And when his lips weren’t urgent against yours you felt the heavy realization of what had just happened crumble around you. You didn’t understand why you didn’t stop it at once, why you let it happen in the first place. Your brain new better. Your heart could not be trusted.

Your chest heaved as you looked at Harry, your hands still on his chest, “We can’t do this…”

Harry put his hands over yours, unmoving from his spot so close to you, “We can. There’s no reason to pretend there isn’t something here, Y/n.”

You watched his chest rise and fall and his kiss-swollen lips mouth the word please. You couldn’t hear him say it but you knew he said it.

Shaking your head you pushed him away and stood up, dizzy and flustered as you ran to the door to leave. For breath. For distance.

“Y/n wait!” Harry ran after you. “Please!”

You went to your room and stuffed your bag with things you’d need (for what? You weren’t sure at that moment) as Harry watched you from your door, “Y/n. Where are you going?”

You cleared your throat and looked at him. Which you immediately regretted. He looked heartbroken, “I need some air. I have to get out of here. I’m sorry,” your words were rushed as your hands trembled with the items you collected to bring with you.

Harry watched in dismay as you picked up your keys and walked past him before he reached for your elbow to stop you, “That’s fine. If you need to think. Just… come back to me okay?”

You couldn’t look at him as he said it and you didn’t respond as you walked down the stairs and out the door.

It was all too much for you. Reconciling what you knew you should have done and what actually was happening didn’t synch up. It didn’t make sense. You couldn’t stay there with him any longer.

.           .           .

Harry thought you’d return that evening after cooling off. He had a whole speech prepared for you. An apology, a confession… The NDA was because he was worried you were going to quit and that you might wind up saying something about what you’d seen.

But that had been stupid of him to try and get you to sign it. And you were right. It was a power move in a way. He wanted you to know who was in charge and put you in your place because he was so frustrated at how you’d regretted something that he longed for. Something he wanted. He’d wanted it so badly and then he had it… until you took that away from him. So this was vindication on some level. Vindication for the blow to his ego. To his heart. But that wasn’t fair to you.

When you didn’t come home he decided to give you space. Surely you’d be at work in the morning at 8 am. You just needed time.

But at 8:15 the following morning when you still hadn’t even so much as called he realized you may have needed more than just air. And that was concerning.

He called you and left a voicemail. And waited. And waited. You didn’t call back.

So he texted you later in the day after working a little (but he could hardly think of anything but you) but the response was the same. Radio silence.

Now Harry didn’t like being in serious relationships and didn’t like people invading his space or having someone clinging to him or wanting his attention or relying on him to be their emotional support in any way but his heart squeezed painfully in his chest when he thought about you and how much he enjoyed your company. It hurt to know that you weren’t feeling the same kind of connection he was feeling. It stung that he’d given a little bit of himself to you, whether you knew it or not, but that you rejected it. You didn’t want it.

He'd give you another day before he came knocking on your door to find out what was going on. One more sleepless night to let you come to your senses.

.           .           .

“Look, I know you, Y/n. You do this. Anytime someone gets close to you, you brush it off like it didn’t exist. When your dad tried to come back into your life last year? How he wanted to see you and make up for all that lost time?”

You shook your head, “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not. You run away from your problems when you can’t contain things in one neat and tidy box. And your relationship with Harry was never neat and tidy. So you’re pretending he doesn’t exist.”

You bit your lip and looked away from Brandy. You knew she was right in some ways. You couldn’t handle messy. Anything to do with your emotions that you couldn’t settle up in your head seamlessly you wanted nothing to do with.

And you couldn’t settle your heart and your head when it came to Harry.

“At least call him and tell him you don’t want to work for him anymore. I mean look at these texts, Y/n…” She held your phone out to you but you turned away. You couldn’t look. She’d read them to you already. You knew what they said. “He’s worried about you. All he’s asking is for you two to talk.”

Shaking your head you stood up from her couch, “I’m not talking to him. I’ll let the agency do it. I’m emailing Monica to tell her I need to be matched for something else.”

Brandy watching you grab your laptop from your bag and shoot off the email.

“I think it’s a mistake to quit.”

“Why would this be a mistake? Even if he was the nicest guy on earth, we can’t work professionally together. He can’t be my boss when we’re unable to stop from kissing in the middle of a disagreement or having sex on a work trip.”

You were leaving out the fact that he’d been up to something shady. Illegal. You decided you’d wait to reveal that to Brandy once everything blew over. As much as you hated that Harry was conducting business the way he was, you didn’t want him to get into trouble. Not that you ever thought Brandy would go off to the police or anything. It just felt better to keep that knowledge to yourself for a while.

“Okay. Fair enough. But you two have something. Why would you throw that away?”

“Because we don’t actually have something, Brandy. His judgment is clouded because I work for him and he likes that power, and that’s what turns him on. I’m easy access and forbidden. He doesn’t actually like me like that. And I guarantee the moment he learns I’ve quit he’s going to forget all about me.”

Brandy laughed, “You have to stop thinking that men don’t like you. You have to stop feeling like no one would ever find you attractive or that when they’re flirting with you that they aren’t. You always push that notion away but it’s crazy! It’s okay to admit when a man likes you back, Y/n. It’s okay to let that happen.”

You weren’t buying it. Men, as a rule, didn’t find you pretty. Not really. Not pretty enough to fall for. You were the safe girl for men to be around when they liked someone else. There would never be any confusion about that kind of thing. Not from you, not from anyone looking in from the outside.

Except Brandy of course. Always the optimist. You wonder what she’d say if she knew the whole truth about him.

.           .           .

Harry had it all planned out. He was going to buy you flowers and bring those special decadent chocolates from the chocolatier he learned you loved and beg for you to forgive him, or whatever it was that needed to be done. He was going to tear up the NDA in front of you so you knew he trusted you without a doubt. Confess his feelings to you once and for all. No more playing coy with you. He was going to win you over. Whatever it took.

And it was crazy that he was suddenly feeling such despair at the thought of losing you. He knew he was developing feelings for you. It was easy to fall for you with your spunk and your take-no-shit attitude, your adorable smile, your sexy mouth… there were countless things about you that he couldn’t get enough of. Knowing you might not come back had him anxious and feeling sick over it.

But before he had even gotten through half his day at work an email popped up from Personal Premier Services with the subject line: Exit Survey – Y/n Y/l/n 2776

He blinked his eyes as his heart thudded when he opened the email.

Dear Mr. Styles,

We’re sorry the assistant we matched you with didn’t work out. We strive to make sure all of our clients are pleased with the performance of each of our employees and would appreciate your response in the link provided so we know how we can make better choices for you in the future.

We’d love to be able to continue working with you. Please let us know if we can be of further assistance in finding the right person to work with.

Harry couldn’t finish reading as his eyes burned and his mouth went dry.

You had quit. You’d walked out after he kissed you and you weren’t coming back. He hadn’t expected you to quit. He should have seen it coming based on your lack of response to him but he didn’t. He was blindsided. Somehow he’d clung to the tiny bit of hope that you felt the same for him too.

Even though he was in the middle of searching for a piece of art his client wanted he stood from his chair and picked up his car keys, hurrying out of his home to make his way to you. There was no time to stop to pick up flowers or chocolates. No time to wait until the end of the workday after he’d made arrangements with a client. No time to pretend things would be okay anymore.

It took him over an hour to get to your apartment, traffic was shit. No surprise. He pulled up his contacts to find your apartment number once he arrived, and got out of his car to find which door was yours.

When he did find it and knocked with no answer he tried peeking into the one window but he could barely make out anything. You had drapes hung over the window and it appeared all the lights were off.

So he waited. He sat by your door and waited for you until you came back. Nothing else was more important to him at that moment. Even if he waited all night. To Harry, this was code red. His last shot with you.

.           .           .

You were feeling clear-headed. It was the right choice. It had to be because you couldn’t work for a man like Harry. A man who did illegal things and wanted you to sign an NDA so you wouldn’t talk. A man who you were far too attracted to for it to make any sense. It would just be a series of fights and cold shoulders and sex and longing…

Definitely, it was the right choice to quit. It had to be.

Unfortunately for you, when you got to your door Harry was there, scrambling to push himself up from where he’d been sitting, “Y/n…”

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk. I want to make things right with you.”

You shook your head and gripped the shoulder strap of your bag, “There’s nothing to make right. We aren’t good working partners. I should have never agreed to work with you.”

Harry stepped forward and took your hand, “Y/n. We… this isn’t even about work anymore okay? I don’t care about that. Quit if you want. If that’s what you need.”

You pulled your hand away from him, “What do you mean this isn’t about work?”

He sighed and kept his eyes on you, “Because… I like you. I feel like we’re–“

“No. Stop. Don’t do that. You’re confused because when I worked for you that was fun and risky for us to do. But I’ll bet that when the disappointment of me quitting wears off you’ll realize you don’t actually like me like you think you do.”

Harry furrowed his brow as you stepped past him to unlock her door, “What? What are you talking about? I’m serious, Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t think you actually are, Harry,” you pushed your door open.

He was beginning to panic. He hadn’t expected you to reject him telling you that he liked you.

“Wait. Please. Look, okay,” he put his hands up in surrender. “Can I come in? We can just calmly discuss this. Person to person. Also, I really have to take a piss. I’ve been out here for almost four hours waiting for you and I should have thought about that before I left my house but I was in such a rush to get here–“

“Fine. Come in.” You let him through your door and closed it. “Bathroom’s just there in that hall. Do want something to drink?”

Harry looked at you with those soft eyes that made you falter for a second, “Some water would be great. Thank you, Y/n.”

You couldn’t believe that you’d let him in. That you were pouring water for him while he used your toilet. In your apartment. You shook your head thinking about how ridiculous it was that he was sitting outside of your door waiting for you.

When he came out you had his glass of water on a coaster on your coffee table in front of the couch. You took the chair at the side. There was no way you were going to sit next to him. Things didn’t seem to always go as planned when he got too close and you couldn’t have that happen.

“Sit,” you gestured at the couch.

Harry sat down and picked up the glass of water, taking a few big gulps, nearly finishing the entire thing.

You crossed your arms over your chest and waited for him to talk. You had nothing to say in that moment. You hoped it would be quick and he’d be out soon. You didn’t want to look at his handsome sad face for too long or you were worried you’d fold once again. Seemed it didn’t matter if alcohol was involved or not after all.

“Y/n you don’t have to work for me. I know maybe it’s not the best environment when we’re both attracted to one another the way we are. That’s okay. But… I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

“You’re not attracted to me in the way you think you are.”

Harry let out a laugh of confusion, “I can tell you with 100% certainty that I am extremely attracted to you. And it’s not just because you’re sexy. You’re intelligent and funny. I like you, Y/n.”

You shook your head, “Like I said. Wait until the disappointment of me quitting clears. You’re just not getting your way right now and that’s a challenge for you and you’re mistaking those feelings for excitement or attraction.”

The look on Harry’s face was sheer confusion, “What you’re saying is absurd. I came here to confess my feelings for you, Y/n. I… I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone. This is not some strange psychological thing where I’m confusing a challenge for attraction.”

“And you’re into illegal things so I just… I can’t be around that. It’s not worth it to me. You wanted me to sign an NDA. Put my name on a document that proves guilt and sign off on it? And now you’re telling me this? I call bullshit.”

“I don’t want you to sign the fucking NDA. That was stupid. It was in bad taste. It was a way for me to make sure you didn’t quit. I was desperate for keeping hold of something I felt slipping away.”

You laughed loudly, “A lot of good that did.

“I know. I’m so sorry. Y/n please… I’m dead serious here. Do you not like me? Are you not feeling this?” He gestured between himself and you.

You forced yourself to make eye contact with him and it nearly had your heart torn in shreds. You didn’t like the way your mind said one thing and your heart screamed at you for another. But even if you did like him and he liked you, then what? He was doing things that were disreputable. Illegal. That made him a person you didn’t want to be around. You had morals and you had your dignity to look out for.

“Harry it doesn’t matter what I feel or what you feel. I can’t be with you as an employee or a lover, or whatever it is you think you’re looking for. You’re involved in illicit sales of stolen artifacts and artwork. It’s illegal and I know that most of the money you’ve made has been doing dirty deals. How can I ever get over that?”

He looked down at the floor in thought. You were right. He understood your position but he couldn’t accept it. It was too much for him to wrap his head around that you would deny your feelings for him just for something that he thought wasn’t all that bad in the grand scheme of things.

“Y/n, I think it does matter what you feel and what I feel. I think that matters more than anything else actually,” he got up from his spot and you watched him with caution as he stood in front of you and got onto his knees, taking your hands in his, “Y/n, I can’t just walk out of here like this. I see it in your eyes when you look at me. You feel this too, don’t you? Tell me the truth.”

The fucked up part about looking into his eyes was that you softened for him every single time you did it. You tried to be strong and fierce. To be a woman with unshakable values and a strong sense of self but Harry had you feeling wobbly and unsure, “I do, but… it’s not fair.” You willed the tears to stop from filling your eyes.

“It’s not fair to us to ignore this. This feeling. This connection, Y/n.”

“Harry, what’s not fair to me is the way you treated me that first night. What’s not fair is that you hired me and didn’t disclose to me what you really do to make your money. It’s not fair to me that you’re here right now saying all this to me when it’s impossible! How can I say that I respect myself if I allow this to go any further with you?”

Your tears had a mind of their own as they pushed their way out of your sockets and poured down your face. You closed your eyes and then felt Harry’s thumb at your cheek, wiping your tears.

“Y/n, what do you want? What do you want me to do? Hm? How can I make you forgive me for that night? That was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. And everything else? What can I do?”

You shook your head but you didn’t dare open your eyes to look at him, “Harry you can’t do anything. The damage is done.”

“Y/n I can make it right. Please tell me what to do.”

“You can leave. That’s what you should do.” Finally, you peeled your eyes open and looked at him directly. You wanted him to know you meant business.

“Can’t we just–“

You pointed at the door, “Leave. Now. Leave my apartment, Harry. Go.”

Harry stood up slowly and swallowed thickly as he scratched the back of his neck and turned toward your door.

You pushed yourself from the seat ready to lock the door behind him but he turned back to look at you, “Please don’t do this, Y/n.”

You felt a pit in your stomach and a lump in your throat as you pointed at the door, “Go. Please, Harry. Just go.”

When your door was closed and your deadbolt latched you broke down into a sobbing mess on your couch where he’d sat. Only in private would you let yourself feel all those things your heart had pleaded for you to feel. You didn’t want anyone to see this. To know how devastated you were. It was the right choice but the ache in your chest felt like hopelessness.

To have found someone like Harry, the glimpses of his soul and his kindness and his cheekiness, the way he treated you when things were good…

But you had to collect yourself and wipe your tears and move on.

It was time to figure out your next move. Your lease was coming up and you had enough money to find somewhere else to go now. You felt like a new start in a new apartment, maybe in a different city would be good for you. It would make it harder for Harry to ever just traipse up to your apartment again and try to sweep you off your feet.

The first thing you did was block his number and his email and then you opened your laptop to begin the search for a new place to live. A new beginning.

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harryupdates HARRY BUYING KITCHENWARE IN ROME!

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harryskiwi he looks like he's having an existential crisis lol

harrysangel THE DAD POSE 😭

simpingforharry apparently Y/N was with him!

italyrryismyfav she was! she looked so done with him 😂😂

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harrystiger he looks like a dad I'm crying

harryapplepie THE BLUR SHIRT?! 😩

Liked by devonleecarlson, annetwist and 507,403 others

Y/Ninstagram love, love, loooveee my new mixer 🥰🩷

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harrystiger so THIS is what they were shopping for 😭 how cute

harrysonlyangel stop harry was helping her pick out a new mixer 🥹

devonleecarlson waiting for you to make some muffins😏

Y/Ninstagram on it!

lhhismyhusband I wonder if she bakes for harry

Liked by harryflorals, oliviawilde and 104,506 others

harrystiger OMG I just met harry styles!!!!!

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applepielover TELL ME EVERYTHING

harrystiger so basically I was at this cafe and I saw harry! I went up to him and he was so so nice and he was FaceTiming Y/N so I got to talk to her also !

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harryupdates HARRY SEEN OUT FOR DINNER WITH ALESSANDRO, Y/N AND OTHER FRIENDS!

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cowgirlharry he looks SO good

ynupdates the way he was flirting with Y/N so much 😩

Liked by harrystyles, ameliagray and 506,403 others

Y/Ninstagram dinnertime

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ameliagray gorg

harryupdates mother of all mothers

ynupdates no wonder harry couldn't keep his hands off of her 🤤

A/N: This was to feed into my delusions.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 16 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: fluff (if you squint really really hard), ANGST, strong language, explicit descriptions of violence & the process of cleaning wounds, mentions of loss of consciousness, SLOW BURN

words: 12.2k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 16 ► i’m still your favourite regret, you’re still my weapon of choosing

The performance in Cologne the next day passed by in a blur. Jungkook refused to speak to anyone and only opened his mouth when it was absolutely necessary during the sound check—and even then, most of his vocabulary consisted of grunts or monosyllables.

He wouldn’t have called it sulking—he would have called it existential sorrow—but from the perspective of those around him, that was what this was.

He had dreamed of a happy ending with you. Now, he feared there would be no ending at all. He feared you’d leave and your goodbye would come in a letter. Or maybe just a farewell email.

“I had a wonderful time working with you and I wish you all the best for the future,” would be the last thing you’d write. The last thing you’d say.

You’d leave and he would never see you again.

Although he didn’t talk to you, Jungkook watched you a lot. The band had to do some interviews backstage before the Cologne show, and you were in the room with them, behind the camera. He counted, you only looked at him once.

After the concert, Jungkook took a long shower, but it could not drown his fears. When he returned to the hallway outside the dressing rooms, he saw that the post-show drinks were already finished and everyone had returned to the bus. He’d hoped that would happen. He needed a few more minutes alone.

He entered the changing room with a towel draped over his shoulders and quickly changed his shorts into sweatpants. Just as he pulled his hoodie over his head—somewhat laboriously, as his arms were still damp from the shower—he heard something vibrating against the leather couch in the room.

Confused, he pulled the hoodie on and walked over to the couch. He didn’t recognise the phone, but Taehyung was calling it, so chances were good that the device belonged to Luna. He made a mental note to bring it to her and placed it back on the couch while he packed the rest of his things.

He had just unzipped his bag when he heard the door open and turned his head. His expectant heart immediately jumped over several beats at the possibility that this was you.

But it was the furthest thing from you.

It was Sid.

Sid had many useless, irritating talents, but always finding Jungkook when he was alone, was his most impressive one.

Jungkook started to roll his eyes even before Sid spoke up, but that didn’t deter the older boy from entering the room.

“You’ve been ignoring us the whole day,” Sid said, closing the door behind him. “Well, I don’t care if you ignore everyone else. But you’ve been ignoring me, and I can’t allow that.”

Jungkook threw his jeans and shorts into the bag.

“That is so kind,” he said without looking up. “Did you miss me that much?”

“I did,” Sid said, and even without looking at him, Jungkook knew he had his usual psychotic grin on. Leaning against the dressing table, Sid added, “the clock’s tick-tick-ticking.”

“If you don’t leave me alone right now,” Jungkook retorted, unplugging his charger and packing it, too, “my foot is going to be kick-kick-kicking your ass.”

Sid merely snorted at the threat. “You’re very hostile, you know? It’s just a bet.”

Jungkook scoffed.

He remembered hoping that Sid would eventually forget about the bet if no one mentioned it. How very naive he had been. Sid would never forget. He was like a hateful elephant in this case—he had a flawless memory for anything that benefited him and was constantly at the centre of attention in any room he was in, making it impossible to escape his presence.

Jungkook couldn’t believe that he had once clung to the Katana so tightly that he didn’t even consider the possibility of losing the bet as soon as he made it. It seemed absurd now. What did he want to prove? Nothing made sense to him anymore.

“Is it? Really? Just a bet?” he rebutted, moving closer to Sid with each question. “Because when I told you I wanted to end it, you acted like we signed a fucking contract.”

Sid shrugged, his indifference as irritating as it was insincere.

“A bet’s still a bet,” he replied. “You’ve got to keep your word.”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook turned around and grabbed his hairdryer from the table. They had already argued about this before. He didn’t have the energy to keep doing it, and he still had things to pack.

“Get fucked, Sid.”

“Come on,” Sid said, clearly expecting a more grandiose response from him. “You keep saying that. But I’m willing to talk to you here. Tell me what happened.”

Jungkook glared at him through his peripherals. “What the fuck do you mean, what happened?”

“Well, you were acting so bold and confident before,” Sid said in a breathy voice, presumably to imitate Jungkook’s manner of speaking. “You were sure you’d get back together, no problem.”

“No,” Jungkook countered, straightening up. “I was sure we could go on a date, no problem. That was the extent of the bet for me.”

It was bad enough, he knew. But he couldn’t move forward if he didn’t own up to it.

“Aww.” Sid tilted his head sideways and pursed his lips to feign sympathy. “But you couldn’t even do that...”

“I fucking—okay,” Jungkook stopped when he felt his agitation grow. There was a voice in his head—very similar to yours—reminding him that Sid wasn’t worth it. “Get out. I’m serious.”

“Was that all talk?” Sid continued as if the younger boy hadn’t spoken. “Admit it, and maybe we’ll come to a different agreement about the bet.”

“Get,” Jungkook said, gritting his teeth, “out.”

Sid clicked his tongue, but the pleasure that this interaction brought him was prominent in his eyes. Antagonising Jungkook was his favourite part of the day.

“Predictable,” he said. “It seems I overestimated you, after all.”

“What the fuck are you on about now?”

“Well, you know,” Sid continued to spin his webs around Jungkook. “You and your manager. I thought you’d win the bet for sure.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jungkook asked, “yet you still agreed to it?”

Sid’s eye twitched slightly—Jungkook felt a great sense of satisfaction at the sight; it wasn’t often that Sid was forced to question his own logic, however momentarily—but he recovered too quickly.

“I like to gamble.” He shrugged. “What can I say?”

“You can shut up,” Jungkook suggested.

“However, you didn’t manage to do it,” Sid went on. “And I have to say, I am genuinely surprised. Not about you, no. I always knew you were pathetically in love with her, that’s just who you are. No offence, just the truth, really. But she’s just—I mean, come on.” He paused to laugh, one hand on his stomach as if he found himself so amusing that he needed to keep his guts from spilling out. “You fluttered your eyelashes at her once, and she went to Paris with you. She’s that fucking easy.”

Jungkook felt the room still as he lifted his gaze from Sid’s stomach to his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Sid’s grin was about as wide as the distance from this venue to the nearest hospital, where Jungkook thought he was about to send him.

Sid pushed himself off the table he’d been leaning against and walked over to the rack of clothes next to the couch. Jungkook watched him, stiff and belligerent.

“I thought she was keeping you on a short leash. And don’t blame me. I mean, you always ran after her as soon as she called,” the older boy continued, laughing with a little shake of his head—as if in disbelief. He turned and leisurely strolled back towards Jungkook. “But she—I mean, I get the feeling she doesn’t like me very much, but even I could have taken her out if I wanted to. Honestly, man, I’m surprised you couldn’t do it. She’s that specific type—you know the one—where she’ll say yes to anyone if they just put in enough effort—”

Jungkook’s punch landed right on the side of Sid’s mouth, cutting him off.

Something in Sid’s neck cracked as the blunt force twisted his head to the side. The corner of his mouth was bleeding, but he still had an almost defiant look in his eyes when he turned back to Jungkook. The tips of his fingers were painted scarlet when he pulled them back from his lips.

“I fucking warned you,” Jungkook growled while Sid continued to stare at his hand. “Get your ass out of here right fucking now or I swear they’ll have to carry you out of here in a fucking box.”

Sid spat the blood from his mouth on the floor and glared at Jungkook.

“That the best you can do?” he challenged. “Huh? Maybe that’s why you couldn’t even get someone like her to—”

Jungkook raised his fist again, but Sid had already been anticipating it. He pushed Jungkook’s hand back with his forearm, knocking the younger boy off balance for a moment—it was then that he landed a punch on Jungkook’s left cheekbone.

A sharp pain surged through the side of his face, but Jungkook was wide awake and furious.

In less than a second, he noticed Sid swinging back again—Sid had always been strong but slow—and Jungkook blocked his blow with his left wrist and rammed his shoulder into Sid’s chest, pushing him into the wall and wrapping an arm around him. The older boy thrashed and squirmed with raging strength until he freed one of his hands.

Jungkook tried to pin Sid’s left arm against the wall—he was left-handed if barely even that—but, being the massive pile of unbelievably lucky crap that he was, Sid managed to use his right fist to reach the boy restraining him.

Sid’s unexpected southpaw caught Jungkook just as he was lowering his head to avoid the blow from the older boy’s dominant hand—and his right fist connected with the side of Jungkook’s head, between his eye and temple.

“You’re f-fucking embarrassing,” Sid snarled, bloodied and breathless, as Jungkook staggered backwards, dazed from the blow. “Weak fucking piece of sh-shit. Birds of fucking feather, you two—both fucking worthless and—”

Sid inhaled quickly before finishing his sentence—but then he ended up not even finishing his breath.

Aggravated and filled with raw adrenaline, Jungkook delivered a furious uppercut, his fist colliding solidly with Sid’s chin. The older boy was propelled backwards by the force—Jungkook heard the thud as his head hit the wall.

Already groaning, Sid was determined to fight back—never mind that the room was spinning—but Jungkook took advantage of the moment while Sid’s vision was still cloudy and pinned him against the wall with his full weight.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up,” he hissed, pressing his forearm against Sid’s neck.

Choking, Sid immediately grabbed Jungkook’s arm to push him off, but Jungkook had a clear strength and fury advantage. He did not budge as the older boy resisted him.

Sid knew this wasn’t a good look for him—he could feel that if Jungkook pushed his forearm into his neck any harder, he’d lift him off the ground. Unable to breathe, the older boy paled, but his eyes were black with rage.

“Face the fff-fuh-fucking facts. You’re weak,” Sid wheezed, livid. There was blood in his mouth and something else that rolled around his tongue when he spoke. “And she’s a f-fucking—”

“One more fucking word,” Jungkook warned, pressing his arm harder into Sid’s throat—the other boy couldn’t even look at him anymore, his head was pushed too far back, “and you’ll have to be fucking dissected to find out what the fuck happened to you.”

Sid gasped for breath but refused to stop speaking. “I—unf���f-fucking—”

“What the fuck—” a shrill, startled voice demanded from behind the two boys, “—is going on?!”

Jungkook jumped—Sid felt his arm shove deeper into his throat and let out a half-stifled cry—and turned to see Luna standing wide-eyed in the doorway of the changing room.

He tore himself away from Sid, who dropped his hands to his knees, panting and clutching his throat before straightening again as though nothing was wrong. But his attempt to inhale properly resulted in another violent coughing fit. He bent over to spit out some blood and something else.

The two boys watched as a tooth rolled into the revolting mixture of spit and blood on the floor. Sid looked appalled as he reached for his mouth again, almost prepared to count all his teeth to check if he’d really lost one or if spare teeth were just something he carried around in his mouth without realising.

“Do I have to ask again?!” Luna cried, too shocked to make sense of what she had the unfortunate luck of interrupting.

“It’s okay, Luna,” Jungkook said, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “Sid was just leaving.”

Sid glared at him, coughed again, and leaned in closer.

“All bark,” he hissed hoarsely. Jungkook could see the small gap next to Sid’s lower canine when he opened his mouth. “No bite.”

“Get fucked,” Jungkook said. “And pack your shit. Don’t come anywhere near me again or you’ll be eating through a fucking straw.”

He watched as Sid narrowed his eyes, fighting a battle within himself. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fists ready to strike if he made another comment or exhibited any signs of even thinking about you.

Finally, Sid turned around and stormed out of the room. As soon as he walked down the corridor without so much as a glance at Luna, she went inside.

Still completely bewildered, she stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. The pool of blood was between her and Jungkook, and they both looked at it for a moment.

“What—” she began, then paused to suppress her disgust as she lifted her gaze from the floor to Jungkook. “What the hell happened here?”

He walked over to one of the cupboards by the window, searching for towels. He needed to clean this up or the venue would report the damages to you.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“You’re bleeding,” Luna said, stepping closer. Jungkook froze as she took one of the towels from him and reached up to his temple. “You’re bleeding so much, in fact, that you might need stitches.”

He shook his head—and then received a punch in the ribs from her. He yelped in surprise and learnt to stand still while she wiped the blood off.

“It’s fine,” he insisted. His temple throbbed with pain, but it still couldn’t compare to the sharp-edged emptiness that he’d felt all day.

“It’s not fine,” Luna said, pulling away. The towel was soaked with blood. Jungkook had to admit that he was surprised he was bleeding so much. Despite the sharpness of Sid’s fists, he had assumed that he’d been merely scratched. “Let me find—”

“No!” His eyes were wide in sudden panic. “Don’t—don’t bring her here. Actually, don’t tell her about the mess here at all. Please?”

Luna watched him for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion (was he serious?) and eyes bright with pity (what a shame to be so stupid).

“Jungkook,” she said patiently. “You’re going to have bruises all over your face. Probably even a black eye.”

He exhaled and looked down.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from you, but involving you now was the worst possible thing he could do. He was supposed to make things right.

“I know,” he said slowly, “but—I’m… I don’t want this to be another one of my messes that she has to clean up. That would definitely make her give up and go to Reconnaissance.”

Luna lowered her gaze, taking a moment to process the fact that Jungkook knew about the other band, but instead of the hysterics that everyone would have expected from him, he’d been rather composed all day today. Until he got into a fight with Sid, of course.

She tossed the towel onto the puddle of blood on the floor. She had no intention of cleaning it up herself, but she couldn’t stand to look at it.

“Well, have you considered not getting into this mess in the first place?” she asked then.

“Believe it or not, he started it,” Jungkook mumbled as he gathered more towels from the cupboard.

“Does that even matter now?”

Luna had to step back as he bent down to mop the floor. Some blood had already seeped into the wooden floorboards, but Jungkook scrubbed over the stain with the towel anyway.

“No,” he said, concentrating his irritation on the repetitive motions as he wiped the floor. “I guess not.”

“At least let me get some band-aids for you.” She looked around the room. There didn’t seem to be any first-aid kits here, but she had a few band-aids in her bag that she’d left in the waiting area outside. “Although I don’t know if that’s even enough.”

“It is enough,” Jungkook said. “I’m fine. He barely—barely touched me.”

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Luna turned to the door, muttering under her breath, “fucking boys.”

Jungkook couldn’t help a small smile.

“I heard that!” he shouted.

“I wanted you to!” she shouted back without turning around.

He chuckled, then winced at the sharp twinge in his temple. The adrenaline must have worn off, or the pain was getting stronger. He stopped scrubbing the floors, hoping to leave a message for the organisers and personally apologise for the mess later.

Then he crossed his legs on the ground and leaned his head against the wall. For just one second, he closed his eyes and rested.

He made a decision while he did.

He resolved to make sure that Sid wouldn’t come anywhere near him, Rated Riot, or you.

He finally realised that he had friends here—real friends. They had been here all along, the people who loved him. Hoseok, who took care of him when he was hungover. Yoongi, who tried to find help when he thought Jungkook was feeling a little too much. Taehyung, who didn’t leave even after Jungkook admitted how much he’d fucked up. And Luna, who looked about ready to physically beat some sense into him, but still stayed to help him with his wounds. Namjoon, Jimin, Seokjin, and Maggie, too—honestly, the entire team who laughed at his jokes, teased him and always supported him.

Although he was still worried about being alone with his thoughts, Jungkook knew he didn’t need Sid to fill the void. Now he wondered if Sid had always been the void he was trying to escape.

He was determined to prevent history from repeating itself. These people that he’d desperately wanted to call friends had already contributed significantly to your break-up once before, without him realising it.

Well, now he realised it. And he was going to fix it—all of it.

He could start by eliminating the reason why he kept making the same mistakes.

A minute later, Luna returned to the room. The sight of Jungkook sitting on the floor with his eyes closed made her look twice as she felt her heart drop in sudden anxiety.

She thought about turning around and looking for you, because you had a lot more patience to deal with this than she thought she did. But then, she knew that another argument was the last thing you or Jungkook needed right now.

She took a deep breath and approached him.

“Here,” she said as she grabbed another towel and squatted down next to him with the few band-aids that, frankly, seemed meagre when she saw the cuts and bruises on his face up close. “Let me help you.”

Jungkook had only briefly opened his eyes to look at her and then closed them again.

“Thank you,” he said as she wiped more blood from the side of his face before applying the band-aid. She didn’t mean to be gentle. She wanted him to understand how much he’d messed up. But her movements ended up being tentative and careful anyway.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, biting her lip as the blood immediately seeped through the band-aids. They would not hold; they both knew that. She sighed and pulled away from him. “She will see this. You will have to argue with her again. I can’t help you with that.”

He nodded his head once. “I know.”

Luna rose and walked over to the back of the room, considering this. She leaned her hip against the table and looked back at him.

“I don’t, um—okay. For what it’s worth,” she said, resting her hands on the table on either side of her. “I don’t think she’ll quit. Not even over this.”

“You really believe that?” Jungkook asked, opening his eyes. The hope in them was so bright that it was almost blinding.

Luna nodded. “She loves the band too much. Not even you can change that.”

He looked down. That would have to be good enough, he decided—just the fact that you would stay, even if it wasn’t for him. Even if it was despite him.

“I-I hope you’re right,” he said quietly.

“Okay, so now—” Luna jumped onto the table to take a seat, “—tell me what happened with Sid.”

Ordinarily, this would have been a long story. But Jungkook knew Taehyung might have made telling it a bit easier for him.

“Taehyung said you know about the bet?” he asked to be sure.

“Yeah. He told me back in Tilburg after he saw you leave with her to talk. Or, well, he assumed you would talk,” Luna explained. “In any case, you should be grateful that I know my strengths. Otherwise, I’d be punching you, too.”

Considering how much smaller than him Luna was, Jungkook smiled reflexively.

“I appreciate you not doing that,” he said with genuine respect.

“I’ve mentally kicked your ass, though.”

“Well, I deserve that, I guess.”

“So, this was about the bet, then?”

Jungkook sighed. He hadn’t technically allowed Sid to say any additional adjectives after he’d called you “easy,” but even this was too much. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he could talk about it without wanting to rip Sid’s eyes out and feed them to him.

“He was… just riling me up. He said some—some things,” he said, choosing a gentler word, even though several more appropriate expletives came to mind. “And he took it too far. Trust me, he deserved to get hit.”

“Oh, I trust you,” Luna said. “I just don’t think you should have been the one to hit him.”

Jungkook swallowed, feeling a metallic taste in his mouth. It didn’t bother him much. He’d tasted worse in the past few days.

“If I didn’t do it,” he said, “no one else would have.”

“Why are you so sure about that?” Luna asked, her voice less confident.

Most of what she knew about Jungkook and Sid came from questionable fan accounts she’d seen online—the stories she read were almost always outrageous, but now that she’d gotten to know Sid on this tour, she found those accounts much more plausible. Surely then, if Sid was this loathsome to everyone, someone was bound to deck him sooner or later.

“Everyone else is afraid of him,” Jungkook replied.

“And you’re not?” she asked.

The question felt mocking—even though it didn’t sound like that was Luna’s intention.

He thumped his head against the wall. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

The room was silent for a few minutes as Jungkook sat motionless, and Luna’s gaze kept wandering to the pile of towels on the bloodstained floor and then back to his resigned figure against the wall.

“Can I ask you something?” she said then.

His voice was tired. “Yeah.”

“Why did you make this bet in the first place?”

He inhaled, and a sharp, stabbing pain shot up from his lungs to his throat. It probably wasn’t a good sign, but he did not have the energy to worry about it at the moment.

He scratched the uninjured side of his face with his hand—his knuckles bruised and torn—and let his fingers linger there. It was a reflexive reaction, Luna observed, as he tried to hide from her. Or, rather, from her question.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Sid and Jude were getting in my head about how I was like some—I don’t know, pathetic. They made me feel like I was less of a person because I still had feelings for her.”

“Less of a person,” Luna said, “or less of an asshole that they seem to be trying—and succeeding—to be?”

Jungkook sighed, allowing the pins and needles to settle in his oesophagus. He wanted to say something but swallowed the answer with the bitter taste in his mouth.

“So, you made the bet to prove them wrong?” she asked in response to his silence.

“I—I don’t know,” he said again. He sometimes felt like he was a different person when he was with his friends. And now that he was determined to never see Sid again—but the repercussions of their friendship were still evident—Jungkook didn’t know who he really was anymore. “I think, at first, I agreed to the bet to prove a point.”

Luna raised her eyebrows. “But there was another reason?”

“Yeah, I think that… there was something else,” he said with a slow nod. “I realised later that I might have agreed to the bet because I wanted to win it. Not—not for the money, and not just to prove that I wasn’t pathetic. I just really—I wanted to go on that date with her. I wanted her. And the bet was—it was a kick in my ass to finally act on my feelings.”

Luna’s eyebrows suddenly dropped in disappointment and she turned away to hide her expression, even though Jungkook was too weary to lift his head and look up.

“There were better ways to act on them, you know,” she said. “Less painful ways, too.���

“Oh, I know,” he said with a wry smile. “Unfortunately, I’m fucked up.”

“You… you’re not fucked up,” she said, although to be honest, after learning about the bet, she thought he might be. But now that she saw how much his choices tormented him, she realised that he wasn’t all black and white. He was very, very grey. “You just did a fucked-up thing.”

Jungkook snickered weakly. “That’s nice of you to say. But I was always… I’d always been a problem.”

“Because of your friends?”

“Yeah—well, mostly, yeah. B-but she—” he paused here as another jolt of pain shot through his chest at the mention of you. He filled his lungs completely with another sharp intake of breath, then tried again. “She still—she still loved me. You know? I used to look at my friends and think I had nothing compared to them. But then I met her, and I—I had everything. I didn’t deserve her, but I—she was with me. She wanted to be with me. And she was the one good thing in my life. And I took that for granted. And now that I—now that we… anyway. I blew it. Now I really have nothing. Serves me right, I know. I just wish she wasn’t—I wish I hadn’t hurt her.”

Luna closed her eyes and sighed in response to the endless additions that Jungkook could not seem to control as he spoke.

She felt a little upset, she couldn’t help it. But she also felt a little giddy. She’d never heard Jungkook say these things about you, but she’d suspected that was how he felt all along.

However, she wasn’t one to make empty promises, especially when those promises were not within her control, so she could not say things like ‘you two will be fine’ or ‘you didn’t blow it.’

Honestly, she couldn’t find an appropriate response no matter how much she tried, so for a good minute, the two of them sat in silence.

Then, Jungkook finally raised his eyes from the ground. “Why’d you come here, by the way? I thought everyone was on the bus.”

Luna blinked, remembering suddenly.

“I left my phone here after the show,” she said, instinctively checking her pockets to make sure she really did not have it.

“Oh.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room. “I think I heard it vibrate. On the couch.”

“Ah.” She pushed herself off the table. “Thanks.”

He watched through his eyelashes as she picked up her phone. One of his eyelids was dropping and he was afraid to blink.

When Luna glanced at the screen—and probably saw the missed call from Taehyung—Jungkook said, “you should go.”

She turned around and took in the scene in the room once more.

It was miserable here. Jungkook looked miserable.

“I’m sorry I can’t say anything encouraging,” she said, biting her lip. “She’s my friend. And you’ve done a—well, this isn’t good.”

Jungkook nodded and swallowed, but it didn’t soothe his dry throat. “I know.”

“I’d like to help, but I—I’m always going to be on her side.”

“Of course. I understand.”

Luna sighed, because he had claimed he understood, but still looked as if happiness was a concept he’d never experienced in his life.

“I just—I don’t know what to tell you before I go,” she admitted. She knew she didn’t owe him anything, but leaving him here in this state didn’t feel right, either. She had always been compassionate, but the intensity of it surprised her this time. “I don’t know what she’ll do. A-about you, I mean. Not about Reconnaissance.”

Jungkook considered this. The side of his head felt torn and cracked. The poor band-aids were already dark red.

“What would you do?” he asked.

Luna raised her eyebrows at the abrupt question. “Me?”

“If you were her,” Jungkook explained. “Or if I were Taehyung.”

She licked her lips, taking a moment to choose her next words.

“Jungkook,” she said. “No offence, but Taehyung would never do something so stupid.”

A defeated, humourless smile appeared on his lips. “Yeah. You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

As soon as the tiniest glimmer of hope in his eyes dimmed, his voice sounded as if it was coming from somewhere underground.

God, Luna thought. Now the room was even more dreary.

Even though she was going to support whatever decision you would make about this, she couldn’t just leave without saying anything to him. Having no one on his side while he tried to redeem himself was unfair.

Advice, she figured, had to be the best thing she could offer him right now.

“Listen,” she said with a determined inhale. “I can’t judge what I would do if I were her because I don’t share her memories. I don’t know what happened between you all those years ago. Or even what’s happening now. But… if I were you, I’d give her some time.”

Jungkook nodded, looking at her with what he hoped was a grateful smile.

“Interestingly enough, that’s what your boyfriend told me,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, he gives great advice.”

The corners of his lips stretched further. “Matching set, you two.”

Luna slid her phone into her pocket and grabbed her bag, zipping up the pocket where she had kept the band-aids.

“Just be careful, okay?” she said. “We’re leaving for the airport soon, so don’t stay here too long. Don’t make her look for you. I’ll, um—I’ll try to do damage control.”

“Okay. Thank—”

Before Jungkook could finish, the door of the changing room opened wider, diverting their attention.

They both turned to look with very different expressions on their faces—Luna was already scowling, thinking that Sid had come back. Jungkook, on the other hand, appeared absolutely terrified, thinking that it was you, about to witness him sitting on the bloody floor—literally—with band-aids on his face.

“Oh,” a gasp left Minjun’s lips as he stopped in the doorway. “Sorry, I was—”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook said, immensely relieved. “You can come in.”

“Hold on,” Luna warned. Minjun remained frozen under her gaze. “Will I have to intervene? Because I think we’ve spilt enough blood already.”

Minjun raised his eyebrows. “Whose blood?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jungkook said to the girl. “Thank you, Luna.”

She watched the two of them for another minute until Jungkook nodded reassuringly again. Hesitantly, she nodded back and gave Minjun a pointed look.

“Okay. But you watch your hands,” she warned. “He has to be on stage tomorrow.”

“I—I mean no harm.” Minjun raised both hands, taken aback by her hostility. “I don’t know what happened here, but I’m—I come in peace.”

“Good,” Luna said with a firm nod. She glanced back over her shoulder at Jungkook. “I’ll see you later. Put some ice on your eye when you get back on the bus. It won’t do much for the colour, but it might help with the swelling.”

“Will do,” he said and called out as she exited the room, “thank you again!”

After Luna had left, Minjun entered the room and closed the door behind him. Only then he noticed the bloody towels and the dirty floor. Squinting, he leant forward a little and detected something else between the towels.

“So,” he said, straightening. “What the fuck happened and whose tooth is that on the floor?”

Jungkook snorted. “Sid’s.”

Minjun’s face lit up with childlike glee. “No fucking way! Did you do it?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said with a grin that made him look vaguely menacing, considering how bruised and battered his face was.

“Awesome, man,” Minjun said, coming closer to pat him on the back before squatting next to him.

“He deserved it.”

“I don’t even care, to be honest. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jungkook lifted a hand to gesture at his own face. “He’s landed some good ones, too.”

Minjun observed his bruises and the bloody band-aids that seemed quite small for a normal cut, but remained remarkably resilient on his fresh wounds.

“You’ll live,” he concluded.

Jungkook turned to him. A little awkwardly, he asked, “why, um… why are you here?”

“Ah.” Minjun reached into his pocket for something. “Here.”

Jungkook immediately recognised the keys to his Katana in his friend’s palm.

Speechless for a minute, he just stared at Minjun’s hand without moving. He had a feeling—against his better judgement—that this was a trap. That by taking the keys, he’d sign something else to the devil.

“What—?” he tried to ask.

“Take it,” Minjun urged, wishing to relieve himself of the unwanted weight of the keys in his hand.

“But the bet—”

“Fuck the bet,” he said, waving his palm up and down when Jungkook still didn’t reach for it. “It went too far.”

“Sid,” Jungkook began, hesitation and doubt evident in every centimetre of his face, “didn’t agree to this.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Sid’s mother didn’t agree to give birth to a fucking clown, but shit happens,” Minjun countered. “Take the damn keys.”

Jungkook finally extended his shaking hand and felt the familiar cold metal under his fingertips. He paused before pulling back with the keys.

The Katana was his. But instead of relief, he felt a new weight in his chest.

“Why?” he asked, looking down at the key ring, adorned with a gaudy, jewelled pendant with the initials “JK.” It was a trinket you had bought him during a drunken escapade at a local fair. He still remembered your delighted squeal when you spotted the two letters in one of the jewellery stands.

“Because this is stupid and pointless,” Minjun said. His legs had gone numb, so he mirrored Jungkook’s position and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “Some fucking bet is not worth ruining your relationship over.”

With a small smile on his face—because they were two miserable losers, hanging out on the floor of his band’s changing room—Jungkook clutched the keys and pushed them into his own pocket.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier,” Minjun said. “I was afraid, I guess. Of what Sid would do if I went against his wishes. But then I… came to pick you up from that hotel bar in Tilburg—”

“That was you?” Jungkook cut him off. He had been wondering how he ended up back on the tour bus.

“Yeah,” Minjun replied. “You called me and asked to take the bike back to the rental shop because you couldn’t do it anymore. Man, I swear, I thought you were on some bridge, the way you phrased it.”

Jungkook looked away. He was not in a good place when he called his friend, and alcohol must have exaggerated it. “Sorry.”

“You still looked worse than I expected when I got there,” Minjun continued. “I thought I might have to take you to a hospital to have your stomach pumped, and I don’t fucking speak Dutch. Nor did I know where a fucking hospital was in Tilburg.”

Jungkook laughed at his rising tone, and Minjun smiled, too.

The smile turned ironic, however, when he added, “you threw up on my shoes.”

Jungkook, who never got drunk enough to experience a hangover the next day, let alone throw up, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t remember that,” he said, meaning that it didn’t happen.

Minjun ignored the dismissive tone in his voice—he had a ruined pair of Converse to prove his accusation.

“Lucky you then,” he retorted. “You regained some colour after that, though. But you wouldn’t stop talking about her. It was like—like you couldn’t understand anything of what was happening, but you could still remember her. It hit me then, how little the bet really mattered. I mean, I always thought it was stupid, but that night, I—I saw what you were feeling. You regretted everything. I wanted to give you the keys right then, but you looked like you couldn’t recognise yourself in the mirror, so I just dropped you off on the bus. One of your—Hoseok was awake. He thanked me.”

Jungkook needed a minute to reflect on the conversation he’d had with Hoseok later that same morning.

“He didn’t tell me,” he said.

Minjun shrugged. “He had nothing to thank me for, anyway. I’m your friend. Sorry I didn’t act like it before.”

This was the first time that one of his friends had apologised to him, and Jungkook recognised the significance of the moment. He realised with blinding clarity that out of the three people he had invited as his personal guests on this tour, there was only one he truly wanted to stay here.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, a little overwhelmed. “I’m—thanks for doing this now.”

Minjun nodded and the two of them shared a moment of comfortable silence. But Jungkook couldn’t quiet his thoughts—Sid wasn’t here, but he still couldn’t shake his presence.

“There was something that Sid said to me today,” he spoke up. “I-I think he likes her.”

“What?” Minjun was surprised. He glanced back at the tooth on the floor in front of him. “What’d he say?”

“He—just some shit.” Jungkook looked down and pulled on a loose thread on his sweatpants. “About how he could have convinced her to date him.”

Minjun blinked in another wave of surprise. He had a very different understanding of what Sid felt for you and Jungkook, but now he was confused.

“He’s just trying to get under your skin,” he tried to rationalise.

“No, but think about it,” Jungkook said. “Why else would he go to such great lengths to persuade me to participate in this bet? To force me to continue it after I’d clearly won?”

Again, Minjun needed a minute to find a response.

Jungkook clicked his tongue and looked away. “See, you can’t disagree.”

“I mean…” Minjun bit the corner of his lower lip. “I guess it makes sense, but—”

“I know that she wouldn’t consider him in a million years,” Jungkook added. “I’m not even thinking about that, I’m just… wow. How fucking stupid. He ruined this for himself and for me.”

His friend sighed. He didn’t want to keep talking about this. “Yeah.”

“And I let him,” Jungkook finished.

“Yeah,” Minjun repeated. “He deserved getting his tooth knocked out. And you deserve the swollen eye.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips. He wasn’t going to disagree, and Minjun smiled in relief when he saw the humour in his friend’s eyes.

This had to happen, Minjun thought. Jungkook wouldn’t have been able to move on if he had not found another way to prove that his own self—and his relationship with you—was the one thing he would never lose, no matter how hard Sid tried.

“What, um,” Jungkook asked after a minute, “what are you going to do when Sid asks about the keys after the bet is over?”

Minjun, feeling much more relaxed, merely shrugged. “Knock another one of his teeth out?”

Jungkook laughed and smacked his friend on the shoulder, despite the pain in his head when he moved.

“Oh, come on,” Minjun said, grinning. “He still has, like, fifteen left.”

“I’m sure he has more left. Implants or not.”

“Now, see, implants are harder to knock out. We’d have to meet and discuss the logistics of that. Perhaps attack in secret.”

Jungkook laughed again, and Minjun joined in, too.

They both felt significantly better.

However, Jungkook still had a lot of things to take care of as soon as he got up from the floor.

He should have told you about the bet earlier, but he hadn’t. All he could do now was make amends for a lapse in judgement with terrible consequences.

No.

There would be no consequences. He would make sure to never hurt you again.

And he’d begin by following through with his plan.

Jungkook asked Minjun to give him some time alone and found his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. He dialled Seokjin’s number, and Seokjin referred him to the Head of Security on tour, Mick.

Mick was lovely. He fostered pets and looked after injured animals in his cabin on the edge of the forest, where he lived with his three dogs. Jungkook had visited him once and felt very much like he imagined Harry Potter to feel when he saw Hagrid’s hut for the first time.

Mick was also three times larger than Jungkook. His primary responsibility on tour was preventing intoxicated individuals from climbing onto the stage and ensuring trespassers did not decide to have an excursion on the band’s tour bus.

Now, Jungkook decided as he spelled Sid’s name to Mick over the phone, Mick was going to make sure that Isidore Hamlet Mercer-Hastings—a name that likely had Shakespeare himself rolling in his grave—could not enter any venue where Rated Riot was scheduled to perform.

It wasn’t quite as dramatic as a restraining order, Jungkook supposed. But blacklisting Sid from his gigs seemed like a good start.

Half an hour later, Jungkook had barricaded himself behind the curtains in his bunk. He was fully awake but he didn’t want you to see what he looked like.

Naturally, you had assumed he was sleeping and had no reason to talk to him anyway, so you kept yourself busy with an e-book in your bunk as the bus made its way to the airport.

Then, most unfortunately, your relative peace was disturbed when you received a text message from Nick Zhou. It was as if he could sense the terrible turmoil in your mind and your heart, and he wanted to add more fuel to the fire.

Things like that happened sometimes, you thought. Coincidences—unless you decided to treat them as signs.

Nick had sent you a picture of the perfectly green palm trees visible through a window. You zoomed in and assumed that he had taken the picture somewhere in Australia, where Reconnaissance were currently on tour.

In the text below, Nick said, “new album in progress. Would be nice to have you with us when we put it out!”

Anxious suddenly, you considered putting your phone away and just carrying on with your e-book. But your uncertainty was relentless—maybe if you replied to him, you’d gain a clearer understanding of what you should do.

You typed back, “hope you’re having fun! I’m still thinking about it.”

Then you exhaled and tossed your phone to the farthest corner of your bunk so as not to be bothered in case it vibrated again. Texting him back didn’t work. You felt just as tense as before.

You exhaled and attempted to keep reading, but silence was simply not meant for you today.

With the flight to Manchester only five hours away, Luna decided it was a good time to discuss with you what had happened in the changing room.

“Hey,” she whispered as she crept up to your bunk, moving stealthily and quietly as if she were a secret agent on a mission.

You looked up at her from your screen. “Hi.”

She wanted to talk to you, but now that she was doing it—or getting to it—she didn’t quite know how to proceed; or even where to begin, actually.

“So, um,” she said, sitting down on your bunk and taking her time to find a comfortable position. You put your tablet away and watched her. “I wanted to check up on you a little.”

You smirked. “Yeah? But not a lot?”

“Not yet.” She smiled at your teasing question. “You’re not critical, but I do think I have some cause for concern.”

You pulled yourself up and pushed a pillow behind your back to sit straighter. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you and Jungkook seem to be avoiding each other.”

You regarded her for a minute until you reached the inevitable conclusion—you suspected it yesterday, and now Luna’s knowing gaze fully convinced you that it was true.

“You know about the bet,” you said.

Luna looked around. No one on the bus appeared to be listening. Nearly everyone that she could see either had headphones on, or had their curtains drawn.

She glanced back at you and settled her gaze on the corner of your dark brown blanket.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I found out about it at the same time as you, more or less. Jungkook had, um—he’d talked to Taehyung before he told you.”

“Ah,” you said. “Well, that’s—I’m glad we all know, then.”

Luna noted the imperceptible look in your eyes. She wasn’t sure if you’d meant what you said.

Really, you weren’t sure, either. On the one hand, you were relieved that you wouldn’t have to retell what had happened to your friend. You weren’t sure you’d manage.

But on the other hand, the fact that other people knew about the bet did not feel particularly comforting—because this was one of the situations that you’d been desperate to avoid: your relationship with Jungkook getting so out of hand that the people around you began to talk about it.

However, you had been thinking a lot in the last few days and you realised that learning about the bet had helped you find some relief, too.

There was something bothering you for weeks now, something that was off in your surroundings, and now you finally knew what it was. It felt like a crooked picture frame on the wall. Like a non-alphabetical arrangement of books on a shelf. Like a bet about your relationship.

And now that you knew, the world had realigned again. You would have been able to breathe easier if you weren’t so embarrassed that other members of your team also knew about it.

“Well, aside from that,” Luna went on, keeping a careful eye on any changes in your expression. “I talked to Jungkook today. And I’m not defending him—”

“If you say ‘but’ next,” you interrupted, “that will negate your point, you know.”

“However,” Luna said instead and you rolled your eyes. “I think the bet is only half the picture. I mean, it’s shit. He fucked up. But I think that he’s been with you because he really wanted to be. Not because of the bet.”

If you had shaken your head any more vigorously, it might have flown off. Luna was slightly annoyed by your adamant rejection of everything she was saying—which made it easier for her to tell you the news.

“He fought Sid,” she said.

You frowned. “So?”

“Knocked his tooth out, I think.”

Your frown turned into shock as your eyebrows shot up nearly all the way to your hairline. When Luna said that they fought, you obviously did not expect it to be a physical altercation.

“They fought?”  you repeated.

“Yeah. Because Sid can’t keep his mouth shut,” she said. “Jungkook loathes the guy. I don’t know what sort of friendship they had before, but there’s none of that left. If I hadn’t walked in, I don’t know—I mean, he—he hates him.” Luna swallowed here, figuring that additional details might make it harder for her to make her point. “But more than that, it looked to me like Jungkook just hates himself. Now, what you want to do next, that’s up to you. I just wanted to tell you what I thought. I talked to him. He was miserable.”

“Well.” You swallowed. “He lost the bet.”

“Not about the bet. He has feelings for you. Real feelings.”

“How—”

“Don’t ask me how I know that,” she cut you off before you could ask exactly that. “These things you can just see. And it’s especially obvious in him. Because, look… Here are the facts. He had the option to keep the bet a secret from you. Or he could have gotten back together with you and won the bet. If not, he could have waited for this to pass, or until his friends told you. But he was the one who told you that he fucked up. That’s got to count for something. It’s okay if it’s not enough. But it—well, it sort of feels like a start. Because he finally got it through his thick head that this is what matters. You. He loves you.”

Your skin shivered—an automatic reaction to these words—but you scoffed. “And knocking out Sid’s tooth is a way to show it.”

Luna groaned and was about to protest, but you stopped her by shaking your head again.

“Luna—I mean—thank you, but… this is the same shit again,” you said. “The exact same shit that made us break up the first time. Except now, there’s so much more at stake. It’s no longer just about us.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Is it, really? I mean, I understand why you would think that, considering your—uh, your job. But it’s… Really, it’s just you. The two of you. As it’s always been.”

You sighed and pulled the sleeves of your turtleneck down until you could hide your fists in them. You kept your gaze on the blanket beneath you—undoubtedly disagreeing with her again—and Luna let out a soft, tired breath.

“I’m—whatever you do next, I’ll be on your side,” she said. “If you walk away, I walk away. It’s simple. I just think it’d do you two good to talk this out. When you’re ready. So that you would know what you’re walking away from.”

You were starting to shake your head again, but stopped abruptly, realising the futility of it. You weren’t actually disagreeing with Luna’s point, after all.

“It would be good,” you said. “But I don’t want to talk to him about this. This was a mistake from the very beginning.”

“So… what, then?” she asked, worried about the burden of even more unresolved feelings that you would have to carry around every day if you allowed this to linger. If this became another thing that you never talked to anyone about. “You think you can just go back to the way things were?”

“No,” you said. “Because I’m still very annoyed. But after that, then yeah. Ideally.”

Luna tried to conceal her skepticism, but it was evident in the way she sucked in her lips and nodded her head. “Okay.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for the optimism?”

She sighed and turned to face you again.

“I get it,” she said. “I understand why you don’t want to see him right now. But I also… kind of understand why he did what he did.”

Your eyebrows rose again. “Why he made the bet?”

“No,” she said, raising her index finger and closing her eyes to emphasise her point. “Not that. That I don’t understand. I meant the fight with Sid. Sid is a big reason why you’re in this situation and Jungkook had no other choice left. He got into that fight because he’s shit at choosing friends, but he loves you.”

You ran your tongue over your lips and looked back down at your blanket. “I don’t know which one of those things outweighs the other one.”

“Yeah, well, think about that,” she said. “Then talk to him.”

You were both aware that giving this advice was much easier than actually following it, and a silent minute passed without either of you looking at each other as you pondered the future.

“Nick texted me,” you said suddenly. You hadn’t realised how much his message weighed on you until you told her. “Just to check in. And, uh, to remind me of his—his offer.”

Luna did not like this, and she was glad you weren’t looking at her and didn’t see the expression on her face.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“I told him I’m still thinking about it.”

You felt Luna shifting her weight and fidgeting on the bunk next to you. She was uncomfortable, you could tell.

“You’re, uh… you’re really thinking about this, then?” she asked.

You threw your head back and rested it on the pillow. “I’m thinking about a lot these days.”

“Well, that’s—that’s good. Right?” she said, quietly hoping that your contemplations would eventually lead you to a decision that would cause you less suffering. She didn’t think leaving Rated Riot was that decision. You had made a family here. “Take your time with these things. Really think them through. Avoid everyone for a short while if that’s what you need.”

“Hmm. How can I avoid everyone, though?” you asked dryly. “If Jungkook got into a fight, I need to see him.”

“Ah.” Luna finally looked at you, feeling guilty somehow, as if she was the one who had punched him. “Yeah, that’s probably true. He, um—it’s not a disaster, but he did miss a couple of, uh—”

“Is he bleeding?” you asked, appreciating her effort to convey the situation without causing you alarm, but also without downplaying it.

“Well, not anymore,” she said. “At least, he wasn’t the last time I saw him. There is a, um—a black eye situation, though.”

You groaned and dropped your hands on the mattress in irritation.

“Fuck—you see? He’s doing it again. Leaving me no choice but to—oh, fuck it.” You slapped your hands on your knees and sat up straight. “He’ll have to wait until we arrive at the airport. I’m done jumping at the slightest sound he makes, manager or not.”

“I agree with that,” Luna said. “But I see that you don’t really mean it.”

You closed your eyes. “I have to mean it. I know it’s my job, and I know Jungkook never forced me into anything I didn’t consent to, but he just—this whole time, he acted like he was genuine when he was just doing what he always does. Playing along with Sid’s sick little games. Maybe he deserves to bleed a little for that.”

Luna was about to argue, but only nodded. She was very glad you were talking about this, even though you had dismissed everything she’d told you about Jungkook’s feelings.

She knew that you needed more time. You’d heard her. You just had to be in the right frame of mind to believe her.

She knew you’d get there, just as she knew Jungkook was not going to give up on you.

“Yeah,” Luna finally said. “He can wait. Do you... want to talk about it? About what he did?”

You looked murderous. “Absolutely not.”

She expected as much.

“Well, in that case,” she pulled her phone out, “you want to see something that Crowley did to my mum’s curtains? She took a video to show me.”

Your tension seemed to fade straight away. Luna’s troublemaker cat—named aptly after a Supernatural character with a redemption arc that Crowley, the cat, could only dream about—had never failed to ease your mind.

You needed some time alone. And you were very happy to be alone with her as she stretched out on the mattress next to you and played the video on her phone.

You caught glimpses of Jungkook and his heavy sunglasses on the way to your gate at the airport, but you didn’t have the time to check how bad he looked. The other Rated Riot members had already smacked him on the back of his head after they saw his band-aids, so you decided to wait until you could talk to him in private.

About an hour later, you spotted him going to the men’s room. You waited a few minutes and stood up, too.

The restroom was empty except for the two of you, and you quietly placed your carry-on bag on the ground next to the door. Jungkook hadn’t even noticed you enter.

“There you are,” you announced from the doorway.

Jungkook flinched and splashed himself as he washed his hands in front of the wall-sized mirror.

“You were—were you looking for me?” he asked. The automatic sink stopped and he moved his hands back under the faucet to get the water running again.

“I’ve been informed you have a black eye,” you said, coming closer. “I wanted to check the damage myself.”

The side of his face that was visible to you showed no signs of injury, but when you looked at his reflection in the mirror, you saw the red and purple bruises on the side of his face, concealed by a few persistent band-aids.

Jungkook swallowed and shook his hands several times to dry them. Then, he stepped back, allowing you to examine him. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” you repeated. His gaze remained fixed on yours as you scanned his features. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” he said. “Want to tell me if you’re leaving to work with Reconnaissance?”

“Not really.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, then. Can I ask—”

“No,” you said immediately. He stopped speaking and clenched his jaw.

You were contemplating if you should have taken him to the hospital before the flight. You were also thinking about what to do with his bruises tomorrow since he had a performance, and appearing on stage with a black eye did not seem particularly professional.

“Does it hurt?” you asked. “These band-aids—did you change them?”

“No,” he said. It wasn’t clear which question he was responding to, but his answer seemed to fit both.

“You need to change them,” you said. “And clean the wounds properly.”

“I’m not going to a hospital.”

You sighed. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not that bad,” he said.

You looked back at the band-aids on the side of his face. They remained on his skin through the sheer force of will. Cuts and bruises peeked from underneath the dried blood.

“It looks bad with band-aids on,” you said. “I can only imagine what it looks like without.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Luna said so.”

You knew right away that this was impossible; Luna would have known better.

“She said no such thing,” you replied.

“Okay, maybe she didn’t,” he conceded with a quiet groan. “But I’m still not going to the hospital.”

The irony of the moment—and how you’d insisted that you were okay a few days ago, just like he was doing now—was completely lost on you. You felt exhausted.

“Why…” you started to say, then sighed as you brought your fingers over your closed eyes. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Do what?”

“Clean your self-destructive wounds.”

“They’re not self-destructive—”

“Really?” Your eyes shot open, ablaze with agitation. “So, getting punched by Sid was, what? A fight for dominance that you’d planned in advance?”

He cleared his throat with indignation and continued his previous statement, “and I’m not making you clean my wounds. I’m fine.”

“Sit down,” you said, turning to grab your carry-on bag. “You’re not fine.”

Awkwardly swaying in the same spot, Jungkook looked around. “Where do you want me to sit? We’re in a public bathroom.”

“Jesus, Jungkook!” you groaned irritably. You were too tired to think of every little detail, every action, and reaction. You just wanted to take a nap on the plane. “I don’t care. Sit on the floor. Or on the toilet.”

“Neither seems sterile…”

“Good thing you didn’t get punched in the ass, then.”

He huffed but still went into one of the cubicles, lowered the toilet lid with a scrunched nose and sat down on it.

He leaned over to hold the door open with his hand until you entered a few minutes later. Before either of you could grasp how small the space was now that you were in the closed cubicle, you took out the antiseptic spray from your amateur medical kit and grabbed a cotton pad. By that point, Jungkook was too worried about what you’d do to think about how close you were.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

Concerned, he watched you pull a blue latex glove on one of your hands and spray the antiseptic into the air, aiming it at the floor to test it.

“No,” you admitted, taking a step towards him and stopping between his legs. With your gloved hand, you carefully peeled off the heavy band-aids from his face and tossed them into an empty plastic bag you’d brought for this specific purpose. “But neither did you when you picked a fight with Sid, so I think we’re even.”

He grimaced as the exposed lacerations on his skin immediately began to sting. “W-what makes you think I was the one who started that fight?”

“The fact that you won’t tell me what it was about,” you replied, bending your knees slightly to inspect his face. You were willing to help him look after his wounds, but changing the bandages was as far as you’d go—if he needed stitches, you’d drag him to the nearest emergency room.

“You know what it was about,” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

“I don’t.”

He didn’t want to say it. You knew he didn’t want to say it—that was why you were making him do it.

“It started about the bet,” he admitted finally. “But then he… said some things I didn’t like. Not that I liked what he said about the bet, either. But I got myself into that mess, so I—”

“What did he say?” you asked, interrupting his diversion.

You covered his left eye with a cotton pad to protect it, shook the bottle of antiseptic a few times, and sprayed it on the exposed wounds.

Jungkook winced as he felt the stinging pain grow sharper. He clutched the lid of the toilet seat, forgetting all about how he’d avoided touching it before.

“Just… some bullshit about you,” he said through clenched teeth.

Surprised, you pulled back to look at him. “He said something about me?”

“Yeah. So I socked him in the cheek.”

You watched him for a quiet minute.

Honestly, if Sid had said something about you, you probably would have punched him yourself if Jungkook hadn’t. But the way Jungkook phrased this—and this whole situation, in general—was so ridiculous that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to maintain a straight face.

“In the mouth,” you corrected. “Or so I hear.”

Jungkook couldn’t subdue the smile on his lips at the amusement that you tried very hard to hide. So, you knew about Sid’s tooth then.

“That was after he wouldn’t stop talking,” he said.

“Ah. Well,” you returned to work and gently patted his cheek with the cotton pad to remove the excess antiseptic, “I appreciate you defending my honour.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

You scoffed. “What do you want me to do? Jump on your white horse and ride off into the sunset with you?”

The light-hearted tone of your voice suddenly amplified your close proximity—he felt his legs tremble slightly as you stood between them to reach his face better. He wanted to reach out and wrap himself around you, to thank you, and to apologise again.

Instead, he cleared his throat and lowered his gaze.

“Well, that’d be nice,” he muttered. Then, added louder, “or, at the very least, you could stop burning me.”

“I’m disinfecting,” you said as you leaned in again, checking if the spray had absorbed into his bruises yet. His breath caught in his throat. You added, “I think.”

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever felt a longing so intense that it could overshadow all physical pain.

“You think,” he repeated breathlessly. “Th—that’s reassuring.”

“It’s what my mum used to use when my brother and I would get cuts or scratches, and things like that,” you explained defensively. “Of course, this is hardly a scratch in your case, but I have nothing better to offer.”

He didn’t mean to come across as accusatory. He didn’t know what he was saying at all. You still smelled like apples. He was afraid he would pass out.

“This is fine,” he said.

He knew that you were already doing more than your job description entailed and your personal relationship permitted, and he was grateful for it. He hadn’t meant to cause you any additional problems, and he wanted to inform you of the steps he’d taken to fix the ones he’d already caused.

He waited until you had finished searching through your medical kit before speaking again.

“I, um—I banned Sid from Rated Riot shows,” he said.

You turned to look at him so quickly that a tired muscle in your neck spasmed in protest. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mick will take care of it if he shows up.”

“Mick—you banned Sid?”

“I banned Sid,” he repeated slowly, giving you a minute to process the news. “It’s done. I don’t—I never should have brought him to Europe with me.”

You straightened and attempted to compose yourself, but your mind was suddenly bombarding you with question marks and software errors every time you tried to form a coherent thought.

“Well, that’s—that’s right,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “And it’s about time you realised that.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Congratulating him right now, considering the repercussions of his last confrontation with Sid, seemed in poor taste.

Not to mention, you were a little confounded. After your last argument outside the bus, you’d expected a lot of drunk nights and a lot of new mayhem that you would have to put back in order. You weren’t expecting mature decisions.

Jungkook didn’t notice the utter shock in your voice, however, because his pulse tried to deafen him with a dreadful paranoia, telling him that this was too little and too late.

Notenough-notenough-notenough, the beat of his heart echoed in his ears.

“I know,” Jungkook said, louder than he’d intended. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You pulled out a new cotton pad and mumbled something under your breath.

Jungkook gazed up at you as you hovered over him with your medical kit. “Can I—can I ask you something, though?”

You gently wiped the side of his temple where the antiseptic had dripped, all while trying to calm down the chaos in your mind. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Reconnaissance?”

There was a long pause as you returned to your kit—more for the purpose of giving yourself some time to think rather than out of necessity.

“I don’t know,” you finally said. “I wasn’t seriously considering it, and it never came up in a casual conversation.”

“We spent three days in Amsterdam, just the two of us,” he said. “How could it not come up?”

You gave him a look. “Really? You think you can ask me that when you knew—and participated—in the bet for weeks before telling me about it?”

Jungkook looked down. “It wasn’t weeks...”

“Well, fantastic.”

Unsettled by your sarcasm, he added, “and I told you, eventually.”

“No, I actually guessed it before you told me,” you said with one hand on your hip as you gazed at the restroom wall behind him, deep in thought. “I told you that you were only acting like that because of some external force. And you really were doing it to win a—”

“No.” He shook his head so fiercely that you almost worried he’d injure himself more. “The bet gave me a push. But I wanted you all along, and—”

“No,” you disagreed, turning away to throw the used cotton pads into the plastic bag. “You—just—just don’t.”

He already knew that this would be the wrong thing to say before he even said it. He simply couldn’t control himself—but he tried to now.

“I’m just—I’m trying to say that this hurt me, too,” he said slowly. “You’re—you might leave to work with a different band. A-and I was the only one who didn’t know about that.”

“I—”

“I know,” he continued louder, “that this is not the same as what I did. It’s not even close. But I still—I feel like this should have been something you talked to me about.”

You sighed and grabbed a glass bottle of iodine-based ointment from your bag. “It probably was.”

“Are you really considering it?” he asked. “Leaving, I mean.”

So much had changed since you told Maggie and Luna that you’d stay, and repeated the same to Yoongi and Namjoon.

All you could say to Jungkook now was a dejected, “I don’t know.”

The tight grip of pain around his chest did not ease, but he didn’t expect it to. Not yet, at least.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said, lifting his gaze. Both of you quickly averted your eyes as if the eye contact burnt. “For this and… for everything.”

You nodded in acknowledgement of the apology but did not reply to it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Reconnaissance,” you said instead. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

He nodded back and you continued to work in silence. You were glad that your current task required your full attention, so you did not have to linger on how wounded he looked—not just physically, but somehow intrinsically, too. If you glanced at him, all the tears and cuts and bruises on his heart would have been as visible as they were on his face.

You applied the ointment to his temple now that the antiseptic had dried—and Jungkook clenched his teeth again, keeping the painful hiss contained. The ointment was probably excessive, and it might dye his skin an odd shade of purple, but you didn’t know what else to do.

When you looked closer, his cuts didn’t appear deep enough to require stitches, so all you could do at the moment was ensure they didn’t become infected – and this questionable procedure should have accomplished that.

You pressed some gauze to the more severe wounds and bandaged them—as much as you could. You used smaller band-aids for the less serious cuts. Then, you stepped back to look.

This would need work. He looked like he slammed the side of his head into a wall and a toddler had attempted to provide first aid.

“This should hold for now before I come up with something else,” you said. “I have to go. I’ll need to find a way to incorporate this,” you gestured around his face, “into your look for tomorrow’s show.”

You turned to push the cubicle door open, then stopped short when you felt his cold, tentative fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Wait,” he said, releasing your hand as soon as he noticed you looking down at his grip. “Just… just tell me what’s going to happen.”

“With your face?” you asked with a confused frown. “It’s going to hurt for a while probably, but it—”

“With us,” he cut you off.

You looked away, maintaining your posture even as your heart refused to listen to your mind and proceeded to pound furiously in your chest.

“There’s no ‘us’,” you said.

“You can’t say that.” He stood up and suddenly reduced the empty space between you in the cubicle. “Not after everything that happened.”

‘Everything that happened’ seemed to have a bitter flavour—he could see the distaste on your face as your tongue prodded your cheek.

“It was obviously a mistake,” you said.

You remembered it all, you knew what it meant. But you didn’t want to trust any of the moments in your memory.

Jungkook could taste your bitterness in his own mouth.

You added ruthlessly, “and it’s over.”

“What’s over?” he asked. He tried to place a hand on his hip, but his trembling fingers slid down his hoodie and his hand dropped to his side.

“Whatever this is,” you said, and each of your following words felt like a new scratch deep inside of him. “Whatever you were doing to win your bet, and whatever I was stupidly playing along with.”

There was nothing but a few breaths separating the two of you in this cubicle, yet you may as well have been in a different orbit entirely. Desperate, Jungkook raised his hands to the back of his head and intertwined his fingers.

“I wasn’t—it wasn’t because of the bet,” he protested—not for the first time. With one more shake of your head, you turned around and pushed the door of the cubicle open. “Look, wait! I’m sorr—”

“It’s over, Jungkook,” you said, pausing halfway. “Stop.”

“How can it—I don’t—just—just tell me this one thing, okay? Before you go,” he pleaded, following you out of the cubicle and watching you toss your medical kit into your carry-on.

There was a hint of sadness in your eyes when you looked up. “What?”

“If there was no bet, wou—would you have agreed to be with me again?”

Your pulse reverberated in your mind, shrieking and piercing, as you shook your head and turned away.

“If there was no bet,” you said, “you wouldn’t have even wanted to be with me again.”

For a minute, you both watched the floor in thick, pain-coated silence. It consumed you, this otherworldly quietness—your thoughts stilled, even your bodies seemed to pause and wait.

That wasn’t true, Jungkook wanted to say—and should have said. But he was so tired of saying things and having to defend them, to prove he meant them.

He wondered if there was anything he could say to you from this point on that you would believe. He loved you so much—he’s never loved anyone else, the very idea of it did not seem possible—yet he made you think he wasn’t serious.

He watched you leave—again—and felt his chest shrink to accommodate the slowing of his heartbeat—again, again—as he struggled to inhale, let alone open his mouth—again, again, again—realising, slowly, that there might not be enough words in existence to fix this.

“I love you,” he still tried, but the restroom door had already closed and he wasn’t sure if you’d heard him. Or if it made a difference if you did.

There was something very ironic about the plans you had for the rest of the day once the plane landed in Manchester.

The concert was originally scheduled for tomorrow, but the venue had suffered a flood from a broken pipe a few nights ago, causing everything that the organisers had promised you to be ruined. They tried to fix it, but they needed some more time. You found out on the plane that the concert would have to be postponed until the day after tomorrow.

To make matters worse, Ren, the bassist of Poison Tongue—Rated Riot’s opening act—had broken his foot at the airport (you were afraid to ask how) and was hospitalised, rendering the band incapable of performing. You needed to find a replacement on extremely short notice.

This was a crisis, but only another one of many. You hadn’t slept at all on the plane, but despite your pounding headache, you were grateful for a chance to keep busy, and you had a precise plan of action.

You would find the venue staff and direct them to Seokjin—after checking if Seokjin was even here.

Next, you would make sure the equipment arrived safely and unpacking it at the damaged venue did not pose any risk to your team.

After that, you would seek Maggie’s help with an online ad for a new opening act.

Then, you would call the label and sweet-talk them before the inevitable black-eye pictures.

You would also devise a plan to handle the aforementioned black eye, which, hopefully, will have improved by the time of the concert.

And, most importantly, you would avoid Jungkook.

Really, the plan was almost foolproof. You figured your to-do list would continue to expand, even after you completed certain tasks, so you essentially had no chance of being left alone with your thoughts or accidentally running into him.

But then, on your way out of the band’s dressing room, you noticed that your surroundings were spinning more than usual. It happened occasionally, this abrupt lightheadedness after you stood up too quickly. But this time, it persisted even after you crossed the corridor.

You tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t anything new, you were just overwhelmed. This had to be the stress—you hadn’t slept and you had so much to do that it was normal to feel dizzy.

You kept walking. Until you had to trace your hand along the patterns of the wallpaper on the wall to stay steady. Until the edges of your vision blurred. Until the wet floorboards beneath your feet wobbled. Until the room grew dark.

You thought you could feel yourself leaning against the wall and slowly lowering your body to the floor. You thought you could feel the damp floor under your fingertips. You thought you could hear someone’s voice in the distance.

For a split moment before you collapsed, it occurred to you that you were really very tired. And that Jungkook had warned you about having another fainting spell if you weren’t careful.

But then your heart rate restricted the flow of blood to your brain, and there was not a single conscious thought left in your vacant mind.

As it happened sometimes—coincidences, unless you treated them as signs—Jungkook was the one who found you.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “blood sport”

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[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part one

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part One - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.3k

The mansion is a war zone. Screams and gunfire echo through the halls, mingling with the sickening stench of burning flesh and molten metal. Blood splatters the walls, once lined with family photos and cherished memories, now smeared with the desperate last stands of my friends. My heart hammers in my chest, a relentless drumbeat urging me forward as I sprint down the corridors I once knew like the back of my hand. Now, they feel like the intestines of some dying beast, twisting and turning as it thrashes in its final moments.

I skid to a stop outside Logan’s quarters, nearly slipping on a pool of blood. The heavy oak door is reduced to splinters, gunshots carved deep into the wood. Logan isn’t there. Damn it. Where the hell could he be?

Of course, he’s been in one of his foul moods all week, growling at anyone who dared get too close. Typical Logan, retreating to the nearest bar when things get too heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I rake my brain, trying to picture him—his location. There has to be something, some clue that could lead me to him before it’s too late. The X-Men are losing. They’re being slaughtered, and the only chance we have lies in Logan’s bloodied hands.

I force myself to see it, a twisted sort of daydream: Logan tearing through our enemies, me getting to him just in time. My thoughts race faster, my vision blurring with desperation. It’s not enough. He could be anywhere in this town, and my friends—my family—are dying.

“Kurt!” I scream, the name ripping from my throat, a raw, desperate plea. “Kurt, where the hell are you?!”

I stumble into Kurt’s room, eyes wide, hoping for a flash of blue, the familiar scent of brimstone. Nothing. The room is a wreck—furniture overturned, shards of glass glittering like ice in the moonlight, blood smeared across the floor in haphazard patterns. How much of it is Kurt’s? How much of it is anyone’s?

A cold dread grips my insides, gnawing at my heart. I can’t lose them. Not like this. Not now.

“Kurt!” I call out again, the name choking in my throat as I stumble forward, deeper into the room. My eyes scan the wreckage frantically, desperate to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

Suddenly, the world around me shifts. Time fractures, and I’m flooded with chaotic visions, flickering images of what could be, what might have been, and what is. It’s my curse—my gift. Chrono-Perception. I see Kurt laughing, his smile wide and genuine. Then, in another vision, he’s gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear as a blade plunges into his side. The echoes of possible futures assault my senses, each one more horrific than the last.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the noise in my mind to settle, to focus. But when I open them, the reality of the present hits me harder than any of the potential futures. Just beyond the overturned bed, a familiar blue hand sticks out from beneath a collapsed bookshelf.

My breath catches in my throat, and I rush over, time seeming to slow around me, each step dragging as if the universe itself is dreading what I’m about to find. When I reach him, my heart sinks.

Kurt’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, his once vibrant blue fur now matted with blood. His gentle, kind eyes are wide open, staring into the void. I reach out with trembling hands to close them, my fingers brushing against his cold skin. The sensation of his lifeless body under my touch sends a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. Not now.

A flash of another potential future assaults my mind—Kurt, alive and well, teleporting behind me with that infectious grin, teasing me like he always did. But it’s just an echo, a cruel reminder of what could never be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I gently close his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I know I don’t have much time. The echoes of the future still buzz in my head, warning me of the impending danger. But it isn’t just my perception of time that sets me apart. My Time-Linked Vitality means my body ages slowly, each year passing like a drop in a vast ocean. It makes me resilient, gives me strength, but it also means I’m cursed to watch as the people I love die around me, one by one.

The pain of losing Kurt, of seeing him like this, is almost too much to bear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there are others still fighting, still clinging to life.

With one last look at Kurt’s lifeless form, I force myself to my feet. I wipe the blood from my hands on my tattered pants, my resolve hardening with every breath. The mansion is still under attack, and my friends—my family—need me.

I turn to bolt to the next room when a strange shift in the air makes me freeze—a ripple, like reality itself hiccupped. This isn’t my doing.

I spin around, but before I can even process what’s happening, a door materializes out of thin air. It hovers there, glowing with a light that feels wrong, like it belongs to a place that doesn’t give a damn about things like hope or mercy. My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I instinctively reach for my powers. But they fizzle out, sputtering like a dying flame.

The door swings open, and a figure steps out. Cloaked in shadow, they bear the insignia of the Time Variance Authority on their chest, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority.

“Y/N,” the figure speaks, voice smooth as polished steel. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What?” The word comes out more as a snarl, anger sparking to life within me. I have no time for this. “What the hell are you talking about? I need to stop them—my friends—”

“—Are meant to die,” the figure interrupts, their tone as final as a tombstone. “This timeline is not yours to change.”

The words hit me like a blow to the gut, driving the breath from my lungs. “What?”

Another figure appears beside the first, blocking my path. “It’s not your decision,” the second figure says, calm and detached. “You’re disrupting the timeline, and for that, you must be removed.”

“Removed?” I echo, my voice quivering with fury now. Cold dread coils around my chest, squeezing tight. “You can’t just—”

The first figure raises a hand, and my world goes dark. My muscles lock, frozen in place as a swirling portal opens beneath my feet. Panic surges, but it’s too late. The world dissolves into a whirlpool of shadows and chaos, the cold hands of the TVA agents the last thing I see before I’m dragged into the abyss.

The Void is worse than death. As I fall, time twists and warps around me, past, present, and future bleeding together in a nauseating blur. Memories crash over me in waves—Logan’s gruff voice, the X-Men’s laughter, the mansion bathed in warm sunlight. It all slips through my fingers, distant echoes swallowed by the darkness.

I hit the ground hard, the impact like a sledgehammer to my spine. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, an endless expanse of lost possibilities and forgotten timelines. Cold, lifeless, devoid of anything remotely human.

I stagger to my feet, my body aching, the emptiness of the Void pressing in on me from all sides. It’s suffocating, the silence so loud it’s maddening. I am alone—truly, terrifyingly alone.

My chest aches as I push through the underbrush, my hand pressed firmly against my side where the pain throbs persistently. I can’t see my future here—my control over time-slipping is erratic, even on a good day. The uncertainty only makes the situation worse. Each step through the dense forest feels like I’m wading through thick, invisible mud, the oppressive silence wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the crushing weight of despair threatening to overwhelm me.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, a brief flash of light piercing the gloom. My heart skips a beat as a figure materializes from the swirling smoke, gradually solidifying. I squint at the fiery glow surrounding him, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive forest. Fear grips me, and I instinctively reach for my powers, but nothing happens. I’m powerless, feeling utterly useless.

“Hey there!” The figure calls out, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Want a hand, or are you planning on moping around all by yourself?”

I blink, trying to process his presence amidst the chaos. “Who are you?”

He grins, flames dancing around his fingers. “Johnny Storm. You know, the Human Torch.” His casual tone does little to soothe my fear, and I take a step back, distrust etched on my face. “You look like you could use some company. So, what’s your story? Lost and hopeless, or just taking a scenic tour of the void?”

I scowl, irritation mingling with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m having a really bad day—dragged into a cosmic wasteland and all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still lingering in his expression. “Ah, a bad day. I’ve had a few of those myself. So, what’s got you all twisted up?”

I swallow hard, my mind replaying the horrifying scenes from moments before—Kurt’s lifeless body, the screams of my friends and family. “I was trying to save my friends when these… guys in suits showed up and sent me here. Why are you here, anyway? Cosmic firefighter?”

“More like a cosmic firestarter,” Johnny retorts with a wink, his flames flaring playfully. “Anyone the TVA deems as trash ends up here—the lost and abandoned. Now, how about we get you out of this mess? The Borderlands is a decent place to catch a break.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism etched on my face. “Borderlands? Sounds like a place where people go to get even more lost.”

Johnny smirks, his flames casting flickering shadows on his face. “Well, it’s got its charm. Plus, we’ve got a few folks there who might be able to help you out. But if you’re expecting a five-star resort, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I’m not picky,” I reply with a hint of weariness.

Johnny’s grin widens, but there’s a hard edge to it now. “Oh, and just so you know, there’s a delightful lady named Cassandra who’s been making a little shit storm. To put it mildly, she’s a real cunt.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve encountered a few of those in my time.”

Johnny’s expression darkens further. “She’s a real menace. And then there’s Alioth, a cosmic entity that thrives on chaos. Think of it as a hungry monster that devours everything in its path.”

“That sounds… cheerful,” I deadpan. “What do you do here, anyway? Fight monsters and avoid psychopaths?”

Johnny chuckles, the sound a welcome break from the heavy silence. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and from what I can see, you can handle yourself just fine.”

I look him over, nodding grimly, quick to expect my fate.

Next Part

A/N: Will maybe consider making a taglist! But lmk what you think!

[mydearlybeloathed]

𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ³

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞...

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a ghost from your past makes a surprise appearance, dragging forth all the regrets and wishes you'd spent years trying to drown. and yet, some strange string of Fate keeps you and the future king of the pirates intertwined, for better or for worse.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: opla!luffy x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: use of Y/N, gn reader, ANGST, alcohol, an existential crisis probably

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬: the 1 (long pond), i want to live, son of nyx

series masterlist

If someone asked you how many years you’d been a marine, your answer would be uhm, well, less than ten, because the actual number was lost to you. But you knew it’d been less than ten. Being with the marines for more than a decade was a thought that shot nausea straight to your gut.

However long it’d been, things had reached a comfortable norm. You rarely saw Koby those days. Back when you were stationed on the same ship, you and he had grown close, finding something familiar in the soul of the other. Now Koby was a captain, you were just under him in rank as a commander, and the two of you were under different commands. 

You rarely noticed when a day passed anymore. It was all a numbing cycle of chores, reports, and arrests—repeat. Your cohorts had taken to a game they called Make-Y/N-Crack, in which they did everything in their power to draw any sort of reaction from you.

No one had won so far, your deadpan too seeped into your whole being that you’d near forgotten how to smile.

Your main indicator of a passage of time was the wear and tear of Luffy’s wanted poster, one of his very first, and certainly not his last. It was faded in some places and torn in a corner, but you held it close to you wherever you went, including the island your ship was stopped at for supplies. 

Given that the ship would be there for a few days, you and your fellows had one night to yourselves to roam the town and do as you pleased. 

“Commander—”

“We’re off duty, Nia. Call me my name,” you said evenly, cutting off the soldier girl. Nia burned bright red, mouth snapping shut. You sighed. “What do you need?”

“Well, I was just wondering why you’re going that way?” she asked, jutting her chin at the side street you’d been headed toward when she called you back. Behind Nia, a rowdy crowd of fellow marines waited for their friend to join, each casting you a contemplative kind of glower. “We’re all headed to the bar, if you wanted to come?”

They all hated you, for reasons you didn't bother to fathom. All except Nia, who was possibly too gentle to be a commissioned marine, in your opinion. “I’m fine. I know where I’m going.”

She nodded once and turned tail, jogging after her friends who nudged her shoulder with a tease you didn’t catch. You stood for a moment and watched them go; you watched their easy smiles and close camaraderie, and you missed that.

Koby flourished in this line of work, setting out everyday to make this world better. You felt you should be doing the same—that you were doing the same—but it all felt so useless. So mundane. Worthless.

You had yet to cross paths with the pirate Monkey D. Luffy. It hadn't yet been a decade, but what if ten years did pass? What then? Would you continue as you are, mindlessly walking a path you’d carved for yourself?

“I need a drink,” you muttered, turning back down the dimly lit street. 

You were somewhat familiar with the town, having been here once before around a year ago. Koby had been with you then, that being one of your last weeks together before he was promoted and moved to a different ship.

It was your intention to find the cozy tavern once again to maybe mull over some of your less-bitter memories. That thought had you running a hand over your face. What’s become of me?

Sometimes you forgot why you’d joined the marines, and then the poster tucked into the pocket of your coat burned with the reminder. Other times, you wondered why you stayed after all this time (you hadn't found a decent answer for that yet).

You found it was easier to get drunk than to wonder where your decisions had led you.

The moment you stepped into the tavern a wave of warm air hit you, along with the odor of sweat, alcohol, and bread. Not the most pleasing combination, but you trudged inside and beelined for the bar anyway. 

The bartender shot you a tight grin, stress lining her forehead. “What can I get ya?”

“Surprise me,” you muttered, setting some money down on the counter. She swiped it up and made to fetch a drink, but her eyes found your messy uniform first. She hesitated, glancing up at you, before warily continuing on her way.

You threw your head into your hands, heaving a sigh. You really should have changed before leaving the ship. Being a marine didn’t make you popular with a great many people. You liked it when town’s smiled at you even when they saw your uniform, but those occurrences were growing fewer and farther between.

If only you had Koby’s optimism. If only you had the guts to stand up. If only you’d gone with Luffy. If only, if only, if only…

He’d probably forgotten all about you, moved on with the sea in his hair and light in his eyes. 

“Here you go.” The bartender placed a drink to your right. You cast it a glance and pulled it closer, peering into the dark liquid. “Strong stuff. Ya look like you need it.”

You nodded through a huffy laugh. “Thanks, miss.”

After cracking your neck you tipped back your drink, grimacing at the sting and just plain awful taste. She chuckled as she walked away. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled into the cup, taking another swig and slamming it back down with a cough.

A figure plopped into the seat beside you, the ruffling of their coat meeting your ears. They let free a hefty sigh, and you swore you felt their exhaustion just radiating off their skin. 

“Brandy, if you please.”

You choked into your cup, this time not from the rancid burn. Stiff as a board, you stared daggers into the bar, hands tight around the cup. The bartender handed over a glass to the person beside you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” That voice was gruff with a sly tilt to it. You knew that voice.

You didn’t want to turn, but you did anyway, wide eyes landing on the profile of a one armed, red haired pirate you thought for certain you’d never see again.

Shanks swirled around his liquor before taking a drink, slamming the cup back down a moment later. Really, you should have fled the site and gone to spend a miserable night with the other marines. But your whole body was seized up, eyes locked on Luffy’s idol.

“I—” you squeaked, cupping a hand over your mouth an instant later as Shanks cast you a side eye.

Immediately, he was curious, wondering why exactly this kid looked so familiar. He turned his head, disturbed by how you stared at him like you’d seen a ghost. scrutinizing your face, it hit him like a punch to the gut; in his mind’s eye he shrank you down a few feet, gave you a set of buck teeth, and placed you next to a little curly headed boy.

“Y/N?” He laughed. “What—You’re so big!”

Though he smiled, you couldn’t help but picture his face in a wanted poster. Your uniform felt all too hot and heavy all of a sudden. “Uh…”

“What’re you doing here, kid?” He clapped you on the shoulder and nearly knocked the breath out of you. “Where’s Luffy? I never thought I’d see one without the other.”

You hated to spoil his excitement at the prospect of seeing the boy, so you avoided the question altogether. “I’m here for work.”

He saw right through you, his smile losing some of its genuineness. “And Luffy?” You turned and tipped back the last of your drink, and Shanks finally noticed your attire, particularly the familiar emblem. “Shit—the Marines? Really?”

Annoyance crept up your mind. You held your cup in both hands, gaze hung. “Commander Y/N, at your service.”

“Commander… wow.” He shifted to completely face you, a grin working up his face. “That’s amazing.”

You had expected a shout, maybe the retrieval of his pistol. Not whatever that was. You faced him warily, catching pride flashing in his eyes. “You’re not angry…”

“Why would I be?” He waved for the bartender to bring him another drink, motioning two fingers at her. “You’re successful. Always knew you would be, Worm.”

A childish part of you fluttered at the mention of that old nickname. Bookworm. Hah. You hardly read these days, always too busy. The bartender put down two shot glasses and swept away. “But… My job is to catch pirates like you.”

He scoffed, nudging your glass toward you. “No offense, Commander Bookworm, but you’re not catching me anytime soon.”

“I wasn't going to try. Just saying.” You picked up the glass and watched him reach to clink his to yours. Letting slide a scant smirk, you accepted the cheers and shot back the liquid in sync with Shanks. 

You nearly gagged again as you set the glass back down, laughing. “God, I hate liquor.”

Shanks nudged you as he called for yet another drink. “Can’t say the same.” The conversation fell short, and Shanks cast you a glance as you fiddled with the fabric of your coat. “Mind if I ask how you got here? I mean, I figured for sure you’d be with Luffy. You’ve seen his poster, right?”

“Of course,” you snapped back, your hand passing over your pocket. “I, uhm… A while back, Luffy escaped…”

His eyes held a misty sadness. “And you didn’t.”

You found yourself shaking your head, hands closing into fists. “I chose to stay behind.”

Shanks waited for you to elaborate, blinking blankly. And when you didn’t— “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Excuse me,” you startled.

“Why the fuck,” he enunciated incredulously, “would you stay behind? He’s gotta be beside himself.”

Straightening up, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Even if he was, it’s been years, Red Hair. He’s gotten over it—”

“Have you?” The question was instantaneous, no hesitation behind the dagger-like words.

“What?”

“Gotten over it. I doubt you have.”

You gaped at him. “You know nothing about me. Don’t think you’ve got me all figured out just because you ruined my life by giving Luffy all those stupid dreams—” You choked, huffed, and attempted to make a quick escape.

Shanks’ hand found your shoulder, gentle yet firm, and you plopped back onto your seat, eyes closed tight. “Let me go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “Okay? I’ll back off.”

Without asking or saying anything at all, the bartender set another glass of that awful drink in front of you. You took a sip, shaking his hand off and taking a moment to breathe. “It was for the best, all right? I would only hold him back. Look how far he’s come. He couldn’t have done that with me lagging after him.”

“Why would you be lagging?” When you didn’t answer, only turning your face away, he nudged you with his shoulder. “Worm?”

That name made it hard to take anything seriously, but somehow, you managed, hissing out a sigh through your teeth. “It’s much easier to read about other people being brave.” Chewing your lip, “I like to read about heroes, mostly to remind myself why I’m not one.”

“You’re a marine. Surely sometimes you’re a hero.”

“Sometimes.” Throwing caution to the wind, you drank your whole glass in one swig, letting the alcohol simmer through your blood and turn your mind hazy. 

“What did you mean,” he asked. “When you said I ruined your life?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

You tried to slide off the stool again. “Goodbye, Shanks.”

He didn’t stop you this time, only shifting to watch you slowly trudge away. Shanks scoffed. “C’mon, Worm. What’re you so afraid of?”

Lots of things. You were afraid of spiders and falling, though not of heights themselves, and you quite liked the daddy-long-legs. You were afraid of losing, of failing, of being wrong. Of seeing Luffy again and having him be completely disappointed with what he saw. An all consuming fear that you can’t change what you are, that you’re too far down this road to ever think of turning back.

You hardly realized you’d stopped walking until Shanks was at your side, moving to catch your distracted gaze. “Kid?”

You swallowed thickly. “I was always content with my fate. Luffy wasn’t, and a lot of that has to do with you. The rest was his own passion.” That incessant burn resurfaced in your throat. “So I stayed because I wasn’t about to drag him down with me. He’s too good. I…”

Dammit. You’d been doing so well. You hadn’t cried in months. Trying to glare, you spat, “Goodbye.”

You made to walk past him and actually leave the building this time, but he caught your wrist. Whirling around, your curses were cut off by a quick and dangerous offer: “Come join my crew.”

Shanks was so sincere, nearly hopeful as he stared into your eyes. You wondered if this is how your father would look at you if he knew how to be kind.

Barely breathing, you shoved every word and every notion down to the pits of your mind, retracting your arm to wrap it around yourself. A singular tear fled your eye and was wiped away in an instant. Shaking your head, you backed away from him, trying not to stumble, and bolted out of the tavern. 

The worst of it was Shanks’ sad sigh you caught as you fled, like he’d expected this, like he was wondering why he bothered to ask.

Later, you found Nia and the others waltzing back up to the ship. Your face was dry and your expression a void, and Nia smiled as she raced toward you. 

“Commander!” She skidded to a stop, backtracking, “Sorry. Y/N.”

“What is it?” you said a little too harshly.

She wasn’t perturbed, grinning up at you. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Your heart held this odd numbness you had come to equate with acceptance. Luffy’s poster burned like hellfire in your pocket. “I think so.”

Nia invited you to join the rest of them in the ship’s galley, promising good conversation and cheap wine smuggled on board. You told her you’d think about it, and she chased her friends up the gangway and onto the ship. 

The sea licked at the wood of the docks and the wind bit at your skin. And you stood solemnly, watching that crumpled wanted poster become saturated by murky water till it sank out of view.

You regretted it instantly, a recurring theme for you, apparently. 

How easy would it be to walk away from the marine vessel and find Shanks again? How simple would it be it to ditch this marine’s coat and set off on your own? Your hands started to tremble at the very notion. Not easy and not simple at all. 

Casting a glance up at the starry sky, you bit back a sob, and you made a wish on the first star you laid eyes on. Please, please don’t hate me.

Stiffening, you set your jaw and cursed yourself. You had to get a hold of yourself. Being a marine was hell for you, but you’d been doing it for years. Seeing a ghost from your past and having him give you a chance shouldn’t be so crushing. Honestly, you should be cursing Shanks for giving you an offer you didn’t deserve. This was all his fault, all Luffy’s fault—

And you broke, breath seizing as a silent cry fled your lips. 

You loved him—of course you still loved him. You would until you died, you think. And that was the problem. With your arms wrapped around yourself, you thought back to the day everything changed.

Luffy’s little broken boat, disappearing on the horizon, Vice Admiral Garp leering at your shoulder. Your first moments entrapped by fear. You’d been proud of that day, once upon a time. Now you weren’t so sure.

Was there any room to turn back, with years of running from your past behind you?

“Oh, Luffy. What have I done?”

A cord in your heartstrings snapped, and your feet scrambled away from the marine vessel. A gasp ripped from your chest, eyes aflame, and your fists tightened desperately around this bout of courage.

Back down the road, back to the little tavern, you burst through the double doors, certain you looked insane as your eyes sweeped the dim room. The bartender’s eyes snapped up from where she was cleaning the many glasses you and Shanks had left behind. A fistfull of beri had been left in his wake.

“Keep going left,” said the bartender. “You might catch him.”

A thank you slipped past your lips as you raced outside, raising your hands in two L’s to pinpoint the right direction, taking off down the street that faded from cobblestone to dirt under your footfalls. 

Over twigs and leaves, under trees that grew thick further down the path, your heart thundered against your ribcage. The sloping road grew thin before it gave way to a secluded beach lit only by the moon. Your chest heaved as sand kicked up behind you.

“Wait!” you cried. “Shanks! Wait, please! I'll go with you! Shanks…”

A little lantern illuminated the dingy too far away to hear you as it rowed closer to the ship anchored out in the bay. A whisper of his name fell off your tongue, throat suddenly dry and stomach sick.

You hit your knees, fists grabbing at grains of sand that slipped through your fingertips. “Come back. Please…”

For the second time in your life, you watched a ship sail away carrying with it the chance of freedom, leaving you on the sand empty and helpless.

જ⁀➴

Luffy rarely dreamed when he slept. When he did dream, he never remembered it, the wild scenes fading seconds after he woke. 

Which is why he startled awake, hands clawing at his hammock, straw hat falling off his face and into his lap. He clung to the sound of your laughter, of your touch grazing his cheek, of the feel of your skin under his hands—

He didn’t dream often, but when he did, he often dreamt of you. 

He rubbed at his sleep crusted eyes and ached for the quickly fading memory. The finer details of the plot were soon lost on him, but he knew in this dream you were happy. Luffy liked those dreams much more than the more common ones where you cried, too far out of his reach to comfort.

“Luffy?” spoke Chopper, his voice hazy with sleep as he yawned. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Confused, Luffy realized he was gasping for air. “O–Oh, I’m fine, Chopper.” He glanced down from his hammock to offer the reindeer a trembling smile. “I’m good, really.”

Not buying it, Chopper huffed and stood from his own hammock, making quick work of climbing up to Luffy’s. He sat across from his captain, worry all over his furry face. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He reached over to ruffle the tuft of fur between Chopper’s antlers. “Sorry for waking you.”

He smiled softly. “It’s okay.” Chopper started to snuggle into the fabric of the hammock, obviously having no intention of climbing back down. “I was having a bad dream too.”

Luffy leaned back, doing his best to calm his nerves enough to go back to sleep. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Nami was angry at me. It wasn’t fun.”

The captain laughed, promptly shut up by a voice from the hammock underneath. “Shut up, would ya?”

Chopper squeaked, “Sorry, Zoro.”

The swordsman sighed and rustled in his hammock. “It's fine. Go to bed.”

Soon Zoro’s snores filled the mens’ quarters, and Chopper’s calm breathing soon followed. Sanji and Usopp snored in tandem as well, till only Luffy remained awake, staring at the ceiling, trying desperately to recall his dream.

You couldn’t be happy, wherever you were. How long had it been? Far too long, though he wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed since he last saw you on the beach of Foosha Village. 

Would he recognize you? Would you recognize him? Luffy had to hope the answer was yes, and he had to hope one day he’d have the chance to rescue you, to set you free just as you freed him.

“I’ll find you,” he threatened the silence. “You can’t hide forever.”

Miles and miles away, kneeling on the sand, you swore you heard a familiar voice in the wind, but it couldn’t have been. You were halfway near drunk. That must've been it.

Luffy turned his head to look out the window of the cabin, and you tilted your chin to stare at the stars. The stars twinkled down on the both of you, promises and threats hung on the wind and sea that separated you. 

Some endings are always meant for tragedy. Some loves are meant for doom. It was how Fate worked. 

But Fate favored you and Luffy—forever working to save the other, forever aching for the day that would bring you side by side once again. 

>>

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @khaleesihavilliard