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wintaerbaer · 7 months

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things we don’t say: part 4 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 11.5k

chapter warnings: swearing as usual, jin is sad and precious, alcohol consumption, one (1) instance of mild violence, suspension of disbelief as to the legal consequences of said violence, jungkook still has zero filter, feelings and bed sharing

a/n: this was a fun one >:) shout out to everyone who brainstormed, sprinted, or otherwise shouted about this fic with me and gave me the motivation to power through this (y’all know who you are, and i love each and every one of you <3)! and a massive shoutout to @jeonqkooks for the beautiful new banner!!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

“And Tae encouraged you to do this?”

“Yeah. Kind of made up my mind for me actually.”

You toss down a few potential dresses on Maya’s bed after spending the past several minutes raiding her closet. With the bulk of your wardrobe still at your old apartment, she’d invited you to borrow something of hers for your date with Seokjin.

You may also be sharing a couple glasses of wine to calm your nerves.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but I can see you thinking.”

“It’s nothing.” She holds a sparkling gold number up to your shoulders, then frowns and throws it back down. “Or at least nothing you want to hear, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on about Tae and I again.”

She shrugs. “I think you’d be great together. Sue me.”

“I could say the same about you and Kook.”

A snort rasps from the back of her throat as she coughs on her wine. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The two of you are more alike than you think,” you say. “And I don’t think you give him enough credit. He’s a good guy.”

She purses her lips, watching clouds go by out the window. “He’s…frustrating.” Her eyelids drop, coming together in a slow blink as her focus turns back to you razor-sharp. “And weren’t you against us together in the first place?”

“Yeah, because it was just sex.”

“It is just sex.”

“Well, I changed my mind.” You take a sip of your drink, let the acidic taste roll around and coat your tongue before it slides down your throat. “If there’s a possibility you two can make each other happy, then you should have that. I think maybe love is rarer than it seems.”

“He and I are far from love.”

“For now,” you say. “But maybe someday?”

She only grimaces like she’s swallowed a bitter pill, giving the tiniest shake of her head before rushing to change the subject. “Tell me about this Seokjin guy.”

“Not much to tell,” you explain. “Joon knows him from the hospital. He’s been very pleasant when we’ve texted. Polite. I’m definitely not getting creep vibes from him.”

“Always a plus. But still, text me the address of the restaurant and a physical description once you’re there.” She pauses, tapping a finger against her chin. “Also, I have some condoms if you want to take a couple.”

“Um, no?”

“Why not? Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“See, that sounds like something Jungkook would say.”

“Well a dumbass clock is right twice a day, or whatever the saying is.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“Close enough in his case.” Her voice lowers suddenly—delicately—as if to share something confidential even though you’re the only two in the room. “But speaking of protection, did you hear back from the clinic?”

Maya had delicately suggested a couple weeks ago that you should probably get tested for STDs given that you don’t really know how many women Jace had been with and if they were being safe. It was a fair point, as humiliating as it was to consider that he may have found yet another way to rip apart your life, and so you’d gone for an appointment last week, trying not to cry as you provided the necessary samples.

“Negative,” you murmur, feeling embarrassed even though you know you shouldn’t be and that your friend would never judge you. But the fact that you even have to have this conversation at all gnaws at your own sense of self-doubt. “I’m clean.”

She presses her mouth into a line, an acknowledgment of the misfortune of the situation, while simultaneously tilting her chin in approval. “Good.”

You pick at a loose thread hanging off the hem of the dress you’re holding, a dog barking somewhere outside the window as you grasp for literally anything else to talk about. “So where are you guys heading tonight?”

“Who knows?” Maya says with a sigh, leaning back on the bed. “You know it’s like herding cats with them sometimes. I’m supposed to go over there after this, and we’re going to wing it then.”

“So one of our usual clubs?”

“I’d bet my left tit on it.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling that maybe you’d rather be spending time with your friends tonight instead of going on a half-hearted date. But Seokjin seems nice, and you’ve already committed so you’re stuck. “Could you please just try to make sure Tae has some fun?” You chew at your bottom lip. “He’s been so focused on cheering me up, I want to be sure he still has time for himself.”

“Worry not. I’ll help him pick someone up,” Maya says nonchalantly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Her entire body perks up, eager that you’ve taken the bait. “Why, does that bother you?”

“Also not what I meant,” you say, crushing down the tiny flip in your stomach at the thought of Taehyung taking someone home as Maya pouts. “I just want him to enjoy himself. I don’t think he’s been doing enough of that lately.”

“Without his other half there with him?” Maya mumbles. “Fat chance.”

You ignore it, knowing she’s baiting you yet again.

But your heart warms all the same.

Seokjin is the embodiment of a perfect gentleman.

He’s handsome—you can’t help but notice as he stands at your approach, introducing himself and coming around the table to pull out your chair for you with a slight bow. When the waiter appears to take your drink order, Seokjin (or “Jin,” as he says to call him) offers to let you pick the wine, so you go with a nice-looking pinot grigio (you haven’t even been able to look at reds since that night). Typical first date conversation flows as you browse the menu, order, and wait for your food, and you find that Jin is soft-spoken without being shy, confident without being arrogant. He tells you about his job as a physical therapist and how he likes to spend his weekends fishing with his brother on his parents’ boat. As you likewise share anecdotes about your publishing job and college shenanigans, Jin listens attentively with kind eyes, asks thoughtful questions, and chuckles at all the right bits.

He’s nice.

But there’s no spark.

You can sense it in his posture, too. His eyes are kind, but there’s pain behind them. He asks questions, but there’s an uncertainty lingering under the surface. He laughs at your jokes but subtly deflates each time like he’s guilty of something.

By the time your meals arrive, you’re ready to chalk it up as a loss.

“Jin,” you begin, tone aiming for the gentleness of “it’s not you, it’s me” proportions. “You seem like a wonderful guy, but for the sake of honesty, it doesn’t feel like either of us sees this going further, does it?”

Jin’s shoulders sag, the mask of obligatory cheerfulness falling away in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” you say quickly, not wanting him to feel bad when he was clearly trying his best to have a good time with you. “I think we both knew going into this that we were each coming to the table with…baggage.”

Jin nods, his eyes now tinged red as he murmurs, “It’s been tough.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ah.” He smiles sadly. “We’ve only just met, and you’re clearly a very sweet woman. I’d feel bad dumping it all out on you when I’ve already wasted your time.”

“Maybe it would be good for both of us?” you suggest. “Obviously we’re both not feeling this from a date standpoint, but maybe what we need is just a friend who understands.”

A slow tip of his chin downwards as he considers. “I think I can do that.”

“And you’re not wasting my time, for the record. I just appreciate the company.”

Jin visibly relaxes at that, his posture easing with the pressure of the date now gone.

“So Namjoon told me you also just got out of a long-term relationship?” you ask, poking at your ravioli.

His chin dips in acknowledgment, voice rough as he states, “Aera.”

“How long were the two of you together?”

“Since high school.” He twists the fabric of his napkin in his hands. “She was my first…everything. Truly. I’ve never loved anyone or anything like her.” A stray thread absentmindedly twines around his finger, the blood darkening under the skin. “We made it all the way through college and my physical therapy schooling doing long distance. Spent the past couple years finally living together. We were happy.” The thread snaps, and he shakes his head. “At least I thought we were.”

You’d swear you can feel your heart literally ache with how forlorn he looks across the table as you gently ask, “I’m guessing she left?”

“I proposed, and she said no.” A strand of dark hair falls in front of his eyes, and he rakes a hand across his head one, two, three times in frustration. “She told me she thinks she’s missing out. That she already lost most of her youth to me, waiting to finish school, when she could’ve been enjoying herself and seeing what else is out there.” He slumps forward, leaning his forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. “But I can’t understand. I spent just as much time with her, and I never doubted it. To me, she was always the one.”

A quiet settles at the table, the conversational white noise of your fellow diners taking over for the moment as you soak in the sudden sense of kinship with the man in front of you—both blindsided by the partners you thought you’d spend the rest of your lives with.

“I get it,” you tell him, feeling the need to give something in return after he opened his heart to a stranger. “My ex—I thought we were about to get engaged too. I was making all of these plans in my head only to find out that we definitely weren’t on the same page.”

Gentle eyes appraise your face. “He broke up with you?”

“He cheated.”

The words taste bitter as they drop from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” Jin says, and you can tell by his tone and the look on his face that he genuinely means it.

You chew the inside of your cheek until a canine catches the soft corner of your lip and you taste blood. “I found a ring in his desk and then found him in bed with someone else two weeks later.”

“Wow, Y/N.” He bends in as if he’s going to take your hand before seeming to think better of it and sighing. “I can’t even imagine if I had…” A shake of his head like he’s trying to clear an intrusive thought. “Puts my situation into perspective. I feel awful even comparing the two.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you quickly say. “Your hurt is just as valid as mine. But I can tell that you’re a really great guy, Jin. And if Aera can’t see it, I’m sure there’s someone out there who will cherish that.” You smile to yourself, remembering a night not too long ago with tanned skin and old photographs. “That’s the advice Taehyung gave me, at least.”

“Taehyung?”

“Oh, sorry, he’s my best friend.”

There’s an agreeable hiss as Jin sucks his teeth with a nod. “Well, he sounds like a smart man.”

“He’s my favorite person in the whole world.”

“He must be pretty great, then.”

You can’t help but to nod your head eagerly, words rushing out of you. “He cares so deeply. And he’s so, so talented, but he has a tendency to underestimate himself sometimes,” you gush. “But he’s incredible at everything he does. And just…so resilient. I’ve seen him go through things that no person should ever have to endure, and he’s never let it make him resentful. He could be having the worst day of his life, and he’d still give you the shirt off his back. I admire him more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve known each other a while then?”

“Since we were kids,” you explain. “It was lonely growing up in my house—my parents weren’t around a lot—so we’d hang out every day. He always knew how to cheer me up, how to make me smile, even by simply being there. Some days, we’d literally sit in my room doing homework silently for hours, and it just felt nice to share space with somebody else. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have him.”

Jin watches you closely. It reminds you of Namjoon’s typical evaluative expression, and you can instantly understand why they’re friends. Heat rises to your cheeks as you realize you’ve been jabbering on, though Jin doesn’t look too bothered, asking, “And the two of you have never…?”

You sheepishly poke at your food again, red as a tomato now based on how hot your cheeks feel. “No, he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“But you feel that way about him?”

Something strange churns low in your belly. You’re not sure why your usual denials catch on the back of your throat, but they stick there, holding your tongue hostage. It should come easily, the words, “No, just friends” a habit by now.

Why do they suddenly feel like a lie?

Thankfully, you’re saved as your phone flashes in the low light of the restaurant with an incoming call, Jimin’s face appearing on the screen.

You furrow your eyebrows at the smiling photo, Jin still watching you curiously. Jimin knows you’re on a date right now, and he’s supposed to be out clubbing with Taehyung, Maya, and Jungkook. Why would he be calling you? Could it be a case of butt dialing? Then again, maybe he’s just drunk.

Or maybe something is wrong.

Your anxiety wins out, and you make a quick apology to Jin, who kindly waves you off, before swiping to accept the call.

“What’s up? I’m on a date.”

“I know, Y/N, and I’m so sorry, but I think we need you at the apartment. Something’s happened.” Jimin’s voice is frazzled on the other end of the line, the discomfort in your stomach slipping straight to full-on nausea as your fingers tighten around the phone, skin stretching taut around your knuckles when he speaks again.

“It’s Tae.”

The club is loud, music pounding an earthquake into the walls and floors as a tangle of sweaty bodies surges around the dance floor. Jimin thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, he's starting to get a little too old for this when the image of the writhing mob does more to set off feelings of claustrophobia than set him at ease. Still, once he and the others have made camp at a more secluded table in the back of the room, drinks in hand, he's still appreciative of the time out with his friends—even with Jungkook immediately scurrying off with a glint in his eye, target already in his sights.

"Ugh, look at him," Maya sneers, watching him chat up a blonde woman at the bar. "Shameless. Absolutely shameless."

Jimin can't resist a smirk. "Careful there, Maya, you sound jealous."

"Oh, fuck no!" she shrieks, punctuating this with a sip of her drink. "On the contrary, I hope this works out for him, and they get married and have a million babies and move far, far away. Get him out of my hair."

Both Jimin and Taehyung chuckle at that. "You do know you have the option of not sleeping with him, right?" Jimin asks.

"I take what I can get, and he's good at his craft. I'll give him that." Jimin chokes on his drink, while Taehyung only smiles, amused. "Speaking of getting, anyone catching the eye of either of you gentlemen? I'm happy to take on wing-woman duties tonight."

"No," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "I'm just here to make sure none of you do something stupid."

Maya rolls her eyes. "Translation: the love of my life is out on a date, and I'm trying not to think about it. How about you, Chim?"

"I don't know." Jimin shrugs. "Let me get a couple drinks in me and then see how I feel."

"Suit yourselves. But just remember that I offered when I ask one of you two to help a girl out." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Especially you, Tae. I know your heart is taken with your endless 'will-they-won't-they' thing with Y/N, but you could always sell the fake ex play better than Jimin here…Tae?"

But Taehyung is no longer paying attention, eyes now intensely locked on the crowd like a hawk zeroing in on prey. Maya follows his line of sight to a couple grinding on the edge of the dance floor, a dark-haired woman and a man with a distinct, bright green jacket—

"Oh my God, is that Jace?!"

Jimin's head snaps around, and even from a distance, there's no denying it. Jace tosses his head back, laughing at something the woman says, before he presses into her further, leaning back down to whisper something in her ear. Jimin quickly turns towards Taehyung, who sits terrifyingly still, eyes still zoned in on Jace and his date.

"Tae, I know you're angry. We all are," he begins, gripping Taehyung's forearm in an attempt to grab his attention. "But you cannot confront him. Not here, not now. Y/N is doing great—she's finally starting to move on. Don't undo that by poking the bear."

"He's right," Maya says, leaning in. "You're not going to accomplish anything here. It's loud, there's too many people—he'll just brush you off. And I know you care about her, Tae, but really? Not your battle to fight. Let it go."

Taehyung continues to sit in silence until Jace and the woman disappear into the crowd, and it's like a spell is suddenly lifted as he blinks rapidly at his friends. "No, you're right." He rubs a finger at the space between his eyes. "Y/N is a grown woman. She doesn't need me to protect her."

"See? A man of sense," Maya lilts. "Not like Mr. Don Juan over here about to stick his tongue into yet another college girl who thinks his immature ass counts as an ‘older man’." She nods her head towards the bar where the blonde woman has positioned herself closer to Jungkook, his hands now encircling her waist.

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow, teasing, "You’re not in college though."

Maya's jaw drops, and she puts a hand to her heart in feigned offense. "Wow! Someone's feisty tonight."

"Don't underestimate Tae when he's in one of his moods," Jimin laughs. "And don't overestimate Kook. I bet you twenty bucks he doesn't take her home."

"I'll take that action. He's got her wrapped around him already. Easy money." They shake on it, and the conversation devolves into trying to find someone in the crowd for Maya to shoot her shot with. However, in spite of her previous claim that she "takes what she can get," she finds an excuse to brush off every potential candidate ("Too short…too tall…too rich-looking?").

(Jimin suspects it may have something to do with the man who is now kissing the blonde at the bar.)

An hour later, and they're still parked at the table and on their third round of drinks. Jace has not resurfaced since they first spotted him, much to Jimin's relief, and he hopes he snuck out to a different club somewhere across town or maybe even a different country. Taehyung sports an easy smile now, alcohol loosening up his body as he laughs at a story Maya is telling about two guys who once had a fist-fight over her in this very club during college. Still, Jimin keeps an eye on their surroundings, likewise wary about what might happen if Jace spots them.

"And thankfully, the cops didn't wind up getting called, but oh God, can you imagine?" Maya howls, her and Taehyung in near-hysterics as she finishes up her story.

"Geez," Taehyung gasps, wiping at his eyes. "You're gonna make me piss my pants. I need the bathroom."

He stands from the table and wanders off in the direction of the restrooms, Maya staring at his back the whole way.

"We need to get that guy laid," she dramatically sighs.

"While he's still in crisis mode over Y/N’s breakup?" Jimin scoffs. "Good luck with that one."

"I don't get those two—I really don't." Maya rattles her perfectly-manicured nails against the table. "She's single for the first time in four years. He's been helplessly in love with her for so much longer. I don't know what he's waiting for."

"I mean it's only been what, a month?" Jimin muses. "He probably feels like it's too soon to make a move. Which is fair."

"Jimin. You're a man. You have eyes. Not only is Y/N pretty, but she has that whole—" She waves a hand in front of her face. "—'take me home to meet your parents’ energy to her. She won't be on the market for long, and you know it. She's already got this date with this Seokjin guy—and Tae told her to do it! It's like he's trying to sabotage himself! And then you have Y/N being smitten with him as always, too. I mentioned helping Tae find a hook-up earlier, and she looked like she was going to hurl."

He shrugs, tapping the side of his glass in thought. “I think they’re just scared. Imagine knowing someone for as long as they have and having to take that leap and risk losing it all.”

“You are out of your mind if you think either of them would reject each other,” Maya snorts.

“You don’t think Y/N might not want to take the chance that they fall apart? Especially after what she’s going through?”

“Tae wouldn’t do that to her,” she frigidly says, as if to challenge the very audacity of the thought.

“I’m not saying he would; I’m just saying she might be guarded.”

“So the solution is for him to help set her up with other guys at his own expense? That’s not fair to him either.”

He tilts his head in subtle agreement but adds, "Look, I want to see the two of them together as much as the next person. But maybe we need to just…let them come to it on their own? I mean, we've tried nudging them in the past, and it clearly hasn't worked. But I have faith they'll get there. Tae can be an idiot, but not that much of an id—"

His thought is cut off by screams and the sound of a commotion out on the dance floor. Hairs standing up on the back of his neck, Jimin bolts from his chair and darts into the crowd, Maya close on his heels. They shove their way through the surge of bodies—pressing back and away from the source of the disturbance—until they reach the spot where a small space has cleared out, and Jimin hears Maya swear loudly behind him.

Taehyung is knelt over Jace on the floor, his fists connecting with the latter's face and head over and over in a frenzy. Jace lies there, face bloodied and clearly dazed, his hands weakly raised in front of him in a futile attempt to shield himself from the blows, but Taehyung is relentless. His arm swings down on a repeated loop as if powered by a motor, and even though the music continues to pound above them, Jimin would swear he can hear the sound of knuckles cracking against flesh and bone. He rushes forward with Maya, both of them grabbing ahold of Taehyung's shoulders to pull him back, but he struggles against them, still trying desperately to connect his punches.

Jungkook suddenly materializes out of nowhere, a halfway-finished beer in his hand that he promptly empties over Jace’s head before grabbing Taehyung around the waist and dragging him back through the crowd. The three of them are able to muscle Taehyung towards the door, Jungkook breaking off to intercept the two bouncers who are stalking their way over as Jimin shoves Taehyung out onto the sidewalk.

"What the fuck, man!"

Taehyung's eyes are wild, his gray hoodie dotted with blood. "I wasn't finished," he says, deep voice chillingly calm.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Maya screams. "Are you trying to get yourself arrested?! Over that piece of shit?!”

“You said you were going to the fucking bathroom,” Jimin angrily adds. “How the hell did you wind up in a fistfight?!”

“I saw him. I hit him. I’m going to do it again,” Taehyung bluntly states. “Let me back in there.”

“The hell we are!” Maya exclaims, and Taehyung may have a few good inches on her, but she steps toe-to-toe with him to block his way. “He's not worth it, Tae, he's not!"

"She is!" Taehyung snaps, and Jimin notices his hands start to shake as the adrenaline begins to wear off. "She…you guys saw her that night. You saw her. In all this time, I have never seen her that broken. Never." His voice cracks, and a sheen appears behind his eyes, tears threatening to spill. "So get out of my way because I am going to make that motherfucker feel every tear I've had to wipe from her face because of him!"

"You're not." The door of the club swings shut as Jungkook joins them outside. "We're leaving now."

Taehyung takes a step forward, pleading, "Jungkook, I—"

"No, Tae, you're done." Jungkook moves to grab his arm, but Taehyung recognizes defeat and shakes him off, pulling his hood over his head and tramping off in the direction of their apartment. The others follow behind, close enough to keep a watchful eye out but with enough distance to give him space to cool down.

"How did it go inside?" Jimin asks quietly.

Jungkook pushes a hand through his hair. “We lucked out. I've worked with those guys before, and we're friendly. Gave them a quick rundown of the situation, and they're going to try and contain it, but…you know…" He shrugs. "That was technically assault."

"What that was was idiotic," Maya hisses.

"It was awesome."

"Kook!"

"What?! It was. Would've thought about taking care of it myself if Tae hadn't beaten me to it. Guy deserved it."

"At the cost of possible jail?" Jimin chimes in. "We all hate the guy, but I don't think it's doing Y/N a favor if she has to bail us out of—" He slaps a hand to his forehead. "Oh, fuck, Y/N."

The other two look at him in question, and he hesitates. "Do we…do we tell her?" he asks slowly. "She's on that date. What if it's going well?"

The three of them fall into silence, looking uneasily at Taehyung's back. He walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and heels digging into the sidewalk. Jimin watches as he takes a kick at an empty can, sending it flying into the gutter.

"It's Tae," Maya murmurs suddenly from his left. "She'd want to know."

"Shit, yeah." Jimin presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the headache that is quickly developing. "I'll call her—see if she can meet us back at the apartment."

"I'm going to call Hobi too," Jungkook says, phone already out. "I've punched someone before and can guarantee—his hand is fucked up."

Jimin nods, slowing his steps so he can fall behind the others for a bit of privacy. He doesn't know how the night spiraled so out of control, but he can't shake the existential feeling that something in the cosmos has changed.

Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he takes a deep breath of the night air and dials your number.

Your hands shake as you fumble with your keys outside the guys' apartment, struggling to grasp the spare that Taehyung lent you when you decided to stay with them. Jimin had said to take your time if you had to, but the thought of something being wrong with Taehyung had you in a panic. He hadn’t given you any details either, saying that they’d explain it all once you were there.

Jin had hurried you out at the distressed look on your face after you hung up, telling you that he’d take care of dinner and to go take care of your friend (you’ll later try to have Namjoon pass along some money for your meal that Jin will steadfastly refuse). Not wanting to stand and wait for an Uber, you had half-run the twelve blocks from the restaurant instead.

Out of breath, you gasp out a, "What happened?!" when Jungkook opens the door at the sound of your scrambling, not even giving him a chance to answer before you're pushing past him inside.

Taehyung sits on the edge of the couch with Hoseok kneeling in front of him, first aid kit at his feet. From here, you can see that his right hand is littered with cuts, purple bruises already forming across his swollen knuckles even as Hoseok tends to the wounds. Taehyung doesn't look up when you walk in, his eyes hooded and fixed on his hand.

"What the fuck happened?!" You repeat, but the room is quiet for a moment more as Jungkook, Jimin, and Maya all look at each other as if they don't know what to say.

Jimin breaks first. "We, ah…" he begins from his armchair seat. "We ran into your ex."

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you immediately feel dizzy. Images of Jace flood your mind: his smile, his hands, his voice—him tangled up in your bed when you got back from the beach house.

"He was at the club," Jimin continues. "And Tae…he, um—"

"He kicked his ass!" Jungkook chirps, an unmistakable hint of delight in his voice.

A tornado of feelings rips through your insides, a blend of confusion and anxiety that has you momentarily reeling. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have any residual feelings for Jace, the tiniest part of your brain in a worry over the state he might be in right now. But it all melts away when you look down at the man who still won't meet your eyes, his purpling hand making your heart twist even harder.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, and Taehyung finally lifts his head to look at you. His gaze is stoic, but there's a haze of emotion behind his eyes that you can't place.

"I'm fine," he says, but his voice is tight and gravelly.

Hoseok tuts, dabbing a spot of ointment across Taehyung's knuckles. "Let's hope you stay that way. I don't think you'll need any stitches, and nothing seems to be broken, but we'll have to keep an eye on this to make sure nothing gets infected." He pulls bandages out of the first aid kit and begins wrapping Taehyung's hand.

You're afraid to ask this next question, but the words fall out anyway. "Did the police come?"

Jimin shakes his head. "We got out of there quick, and Kook talked to the bouncers that were friends of his—" Jungkook gives a two-finger salute from his perch by the kitchen. "—they said they'd try to take care of it, but who knows." He pauses before asking, "Do you think Jace would press charges?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly. You've known Jace to be proud, but you're not sure if that means he'll brush this off as a simple scrap or want to save face in some way.

"If he does, I know a lawyer who might be able to help," Maya pipes up at the opposite end of the couch. "He's a…friend. Owes me a favor."

"A lawyer friend?" Jungkook asks, eyes narrowing. "Do we know him? What's his name?"

"Last name: Out. First name: Butt."

Jungkook scoffs at that, but you also hear him mutter under his breath, "He sounds like a butt."

"Well as much as I would like to stay and chat about fights and butts," Hoseok says, bandaging the last of Tae's hand and closing his kit, "Sunny and I have a meeting with the wedding coordinator in the morning so I’ve gotta go. Keep that clean, and text me immediately if anything looks or feels wrong or if the swelling doesn’t go down. I can swing by in a couple days to look at it again."

Taehyung nods silently, and Hoseok heads for the door, waving as Jungkook shouts, "Thanks, doc!"

An awkward silence sweeps the room as the door swings shut, the only sound being that of Jimin anxiously tapping his heels against the floor. Maya reads the room, looking around at each person and eventually settling on you and Taehyung. Your posture is tense as you stiffly hover by the side of the couch, shifting your feet, while Taehyung is back to avoiding eye contact.

"I think I'm going to head out too," she says, standing up and shooting Jimin a pointed look.

"Do you need a ride home?" Jungkook asks. His tone says that he's trying to be nonchalant, but his eyes betray his eagerness.

"I'm a big girl, Kook," Maya drawls. "I can get myself home."

"Would you let lawyer friend drive you home?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, her whole head tilting back in exasperation. "Oh my God, you're insufferable. Fine."

Jungkook moves for his keys, a certain spring in his step, while Maya addresses the rest of you. "I'll stop by tomorrow. Please, please try to stay out of trouble until then. Looking at you, Tae." And then she and Jungkook exit the apartment, Maya slipping money into Jimin’s hand as she goes.

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh. "Well he's not coming home tonight." He stands and stretches his arms above his head. "I'm gonna turn in. Let me know if either of you needs something, yeah?" He shuffles away to his bedroom, leaving you and Taehyung alone.

Taehyung continues to sit still as a statue, staring at the wall, and so you take a careful seat next to him, slowly so as to not jostle the cushions too much. When he keeps his eyes straight ahead, you gently take his injured hand between both of yours. His body visibly softens as you graze your fingers back and forth across his palm.

"Tae…"

He looks at you then, and you take the time to examine his face. There's no guilt or shame in his expression, but you see a pain there that has you reaching up to rub at the creases between his eyes.

His eyelids droop down at your touch. “I’m sorry about your date.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “It wasn’t going that well anyway.”

You see a muscle jump in his jaw, concern tightening the corners of his mouth. “Did he do something?”

“Easy.” You resume your tracing of his palm. “He was very kind and respectful, and we had an oddly sweet conversation. Just realized that neither of us is in the proper mindset for it to be anything more than maybe a friendship.”

A hum comes from deep in his throat. “Alright.”

“Certainly no need for you to fight any other men on my behalf,” you say, and he shoots you an uneasy look before staring down your reflections in the dark of the TV screen.

You take it in with him, observing the shadowy duplicates who feel like they’re sitting across from you. The linked arms, the soothing press of your knee to his—your current situation may feel anxiety-inducing, but the figures mirrored in the screen look comfortable. Unified.

"Are you mad?" he whispers after a moment.

The question catches you off guard. "Why would I be?"

"I know you still care about him." Taehyung swallows, glancing down at your intertwined hands. "You wouldn't still be this upset over him if you didn't."

You let his words sink in, not altogether untrue but certainly not at the forefront of your mind right now. "I'm not worried about him—I'm worried about you." Taehyung's eyes flash at that with something akin to confusion, and you chew at your lower lip. "I've never seen you like this."

It's true. Taehyung, in spite of his mild nature, has always had a protective streak in him. One time, when the two of you were twelve, a few boys in your class had spent a week bullying you about your clothes—calling you a “spoiled, pretentious bitch”—only to come back from gym class one day to find their shirts in the garbage, cut to bits. But never—in all of your years together—have you ever known him to get violent.

"I tried to let it go. I did," Taehyung insists. He picks at his bandages, and you cover his hand with your own to still him. "I just…" His voice cracks, eyes suddenly glassy. "I couldn't stop seeing you on the bathroom floor that night."

The tears spill over, and you pull him into you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he gasps into your shoulder. He's trying to force the emotion down—you can feel it in the way his body trembles—and so you tangle your fingers in the spot where his hairline meets the back of his neck. You know it's always been a soothing spot for him, and his breathing slowly evens out as you coast your fingers back and forth, a rogue piece of your brain taking pleasure in the feel of his soft hair under your hands.

"Tae," you whisper again once he's calmed, and he pulls back to look at you, face entirely too close. Your heart stutters at the sheer amount of raw affection in his expression, and the words you were about to say catch in your throat along with your breath. Since when does being around him make you so nervous?

"I'm sorry," Taehyung murmurs, entirely oblivious to your current internal struggle. "I know this isn't about me—"

"No," you quickly say, snapping out of your inner turmoil. "Tae, you're allowed to have feelings, you know?" Your fingers absentmindedly run along his neck again. "And like you told me that night, I will be fine. I will be. It just…takes a bit of time. And I appreciate everything you've done to try and help get me there."

You try to convey just how much you mean this in your tone, lacing your words with every bit of gratitude you've built up over the past month (over the past years). Taehyung seems to understand, his thumb coming up to gently brush against your chin.

A glimpse of white bandages turns you sullen, raising your hands to delicately graze against their soft edges and chart the way they wrap around his knuckles. He winces as you touch them, and frustration crests like a wave in your chest; you hate that he’s hurting, hate that your own troubles are the cause of it.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” you sigh, dripping with guilt.

“I’d do anything for you.”

His words are firm, and he cants forward as he says them until his forehead rests against yours, a single shared breath haunting the space between your lips.

"I just don't ever want to see you like that again," he whispers.

And it's all too much: your pulse spikes, the blood pounding through your veins at his nearness and the honey-sweet words rolling off his tongue. This time, you're the one who can't look him in the eye as you put some distance between your bodies, abruptly shifting away from him on the couch.

"You won't."

The tension settles in thick, and Taehyung gazes at you, undoubtedly perplexed by your sudden withdrawal. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you nod at his hand. "You had an eventful day. I'm fine out here if you want to sleep?"

He slowly shakes his head. "No, uh…I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Might just stay up and watch some TV. You can take my bed, though, if you're tired."

The charged atmosphere still has you slightly shaken—your scrambled brain trying to make sense of the tingling in your stomach—but concern for Taehyung ultimately wins out, and you tell him that you'll stay up to keep him company. He doesn't argue with that, simply flips on your favorite cooking channel and drags your legs into his lap as you stretch out.

It's how Jungkook finds you as he slinks back in the next morning, smiling to himself as he drapes a blanket over your sleeping forms.

July is beginning its descent into August, stifling clouds of heat stuffing themselves into roads and alleyways, when your sign to move back into your own apartment comes in the form of Jeon Jungkook almost getting a full look at your bare ass one Saturday morning.

He immediately flips his back to you, frantically covering his face with his arms and bellowing, "I'M NOT LOOKING!" at the top of his lungs.

"Jeon, you'd better keep your eyes covered or I swear to God I'll put your nuts in a vise!"

"Is that like a kink thi—"

"Do NOT." You rush to dress yourself, giving him the signal when it's safe to turn around.

He doesn't look the least bit ashamed, the bastard.

"Not that it's necessarily unwelcome, but why were you almost naked in my living room?"

You glare at him. "Jimin is taking one of his long ass showers."

"And Tae's at work. Just use his room."

You'd thought about it, but the idea of getting naked in your best friend's bedroom had made you blush, like you'd be crossing some sort of line.

"I thought I could change fast enough," you say, not wanting to have to explain your reasoning to Jungkook of all people.

"Well you obviously thought wrong." He smirks, and you already know what's coming. "Nice bra, by the way."

You pick up a throw pillow off the couch and fling it at him. You'd been shooting for his head, wanting to smack the smug grin right off his face, but your aim is about two feet off and he catches it effortlessly anyway.

What an ass.

“No wonder Maya is always pissed at you,” you jab. “Constantly flirting with other girls.”

His demeanor shifts ever so slightly—his shoulders lower, and you can tell by the way his cockiness subtly but immediately deflates that you’ve wounded him. A pang of regret for your words hits at the sight of wide doe eyes.

“She talks about me to you?”

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible, but you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look so innocent, tentative hopefulness coloring his face.

“Not, like, regularly, but sometimes, sure,” you say, not quite certain how to handle this new edition of Jungkook.

“What does she say?”

Wow, those big, round Bambi eyes are really doing work.

“Just that, you know.” You scratch at your ear, not wanting to accidentally throw Maya under any buses while also honoring your friendship with Jungkook. “You’re kind of annoying sometimes.”

That clearly doesn’t make him happy, his jaw tightening with discontent as he grimaces. “Right.”

“I mean think about it, Kook,” you say, compelled to defend Maya. “You hook up with her, and then flirt and pick up other girls right in front of her face.”

“We’re not exclusive!” he exclaims.

“Maybe she wants to be?”

“But that was her idea!”

That stops you. Not once since you found out the two of them were hooking up did it cross your mind that Jungkook would ever be the one unhappy with their arrangement. He’s never had a serious girlfriend in the entire time you’ve known him. Up until this moment, you were sure he’d be a perpetual bachelor. “What?”

“She wanted to be non-exclusive.”

“And you…don’t?”

He looks away from you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.”

No. It can’t be.

“Wait a second.”

You move to stand in front of him, taking his face in your hands so you can turn him every which way, inspecting his face. Pink cheeks, a creased brow, jawline so hard you could probably cut yourself on it.

“You’re flustered!” you shriek. Jungkook quickly uncrosses his arms to bat your hands away, reeling back to put some distance between the two of you.

“I’m not!”

“You are!” you shout, following him as he roams around the room. “Jeon Jungkook is flustered!”

“Bah, you’re insane, woman.” He swings a dismissive hand even as the two of you settle in at the kitchen island.

“You’d be cute together!”

“She’s too stubborn.”

“I can totally see it!”

“It would never work.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Hey, worry about your own love life.”

He means it to be teasing, obviously not thinking too hard about his words because the second he realizes what he’s just said, he pales. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you say, sobered. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Still—“

“You’re right. I’m avoiding things.” You peer over at the pull-out couch, still in bed-mode with your blankets and pillows messily strewn across it. Your suitcase, meanwhile, sits off to the side with the contents tangled and half-overflowing.

In short, you’re a mess.

The guys have never made you feel unwelcome, have only ever made it clear that you are free to stay as long as you’d like, but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t felt your time here beginning to weigh on your shoulders, knowing you’re only putting off the inevitable.

You feel like you’ve been (slowly, but surely) making emotional progress, but going back to the apartment might threaten to undo all of that. Although it may have felt like it at times growing up, you’ve technically never lived alone, and you’ve grown accustomed to having your people around. In fact, you thrive on it. Being around your friends is the only reason why you’ve been doing as well as you have.

You love having someone to come home to.

“I need to move back soon,” you tell Jungkook. “But returning to the apartment is actually terrifying.”

He considers you for a moment, leaning his weight back on the granite countertop. “Do you know what helps me when I’m not confident about something?”

“Getting a stranger to moan your name?”

“Well, yes, but aside from that.” You shrug, and he grins. “I just do it.”

“Wow, Jeon,” you say, with the appropriate amount of eye roll. “Reaching real deep on that one.”

“I mean it!” he urges. “Just need to rip off the band-aid. The longer you dwell on it, the harder it will be in the end.”

That’s…oddly decent advice.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you might have a point,” you say, somewhat thrown off by this flustered, good-advice-giving version of your friend.

“And speaking of things being harder, that last bit of advice also goes for forepl—“

“Aaaaaaand it’s ruined.”

“I’m just saying it has multiple applications!”

“Yeah, it’s time for me to move back out,” you say. “I can’t live with you anymore.”

Jungkook chuckles, rubbing at his jaw. “Tae is going to be devastated though.”

Your head jerks around. “What? Why?”

“Because he likes having you here,” he says, looking at you like you just asked him what color the sky is. “The guy punched out your ex for you. I think it’s safe to say he enjoys having you around.”

You wince at the mention of the club, a nerve jumping in your chest every time you’re reminded that Taehyung almost got arrested defending your honor. Nothing had ever come of the fight, so you’re assuming Jace has chosen to just let it go, and for that, you’re thankful. You never would have been able to live with it if Taehyung had suffered serious consequences over your own personal crisis.

You’d do the same thing for him, sure. But that’s different.

“Jimin and I will miss you too, of course,” Jungkook continues. “And I’m still kind of sad I didn’t get my own shot in on that asshole that night. Dumped a beer on him though.” He smiles at you like he’d be wagging his tail if he had one.

“My hero.”

“Yeah, the mayor said I’m getting a medal.”

“Oh, really? When’s the ceremony.”

“Sunday afternoon.”

You snap your fingers. “Ah, I can’t make it. I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, a super important thing. Way more important than your thing.”

“You’re a heart-breaker, Y/N. My ego will never recover.” He grins again, playfully rapping his fingers against the counter as he stands to grab a drink.

“Yep,” he says, voice muffled on the other side of the fridge door. “Definitely going to miss you around here.”

As Jungkook predicted, Taehyung frowns when he gets home from work and you tell him about your plans to move back into your apartment at the end of the week, perhaps sensing your apprehension about returning to the scene of the crime. He insists he’ll come with you and sleep over the first night for support and to make sure you’re okay being back there.

“Whatever you need,” he says. “You’re not going to face it alone.”

Your apartment is pitch black when you swing the door open, the quietness hovering in the air making you feel like you're suffocating. You flick on the light, and you're struck by how much emptier the space is. Jace definitely came by at some point as all of his things are no longer present: his gaming system, his turntable, the tiny rhino statue he had picked out on your last vacation together. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a glint of a key on the kitchen counter.

Taehyung tries to give you space by busying himself—turning on lights and opening cabinets in a seeming attempt to take inventory of what Jace left behind. He steals glances at you every now and then as you slowly move through the living room, hands reaching out to lightly brush at the furniture with no real goal in mind. This is supposed to be your home, but you feel like a stranger—the ghosts of late nights binging TV shows, giggling wildly at inside jokes, promising forever lurk around every corner.

When you take a hesitant step inside the bedroom, your breath catches in your throat and you choke on a sob. The bedsheets are still in a tangle, a relic of that night seven weeks ago when your whole world fell apart.

Taehyung senses something is wrong and bolts to your side in an instant, hands steadying you where you slump against the doorframe. He turns you in his arms, and his fingers come up to cradle your face in his direction.

"Don't look at that, look at me," he murmurs, thumbs rubbing away the tears that have begun to fall. "What do you need?"

To run, to hide, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and scream your lungs out until the pain subsides. But you can't. Instead you focus on the brown of Taehyung's eyes, let it ease you back down until your breathing steadies and your heart rate levels.

"A shower," you finally choke out. "I need a shower."

He takes a final swipe at your tear-stained cheeks and offers up a small smile. "Okay. Where are the towels?"

You nod in the direction of the closet as Taehyung ushers you out towards the bathroom. It feels empty in here too, the single toothbrush staring you down from its holder and counter notably absent of shaving cream and hair gel. You tear your eyes away from the vanity to start the water running, and Taehyung pops up a moment later with a towel in hand and a fresh pair of pajamas he must've found in your dresser.

"Take your time," he says. "And if you need anything, anything at all, just give a shout. I'll be right out here." His cheeks take on a hint of pink when you quirk an eyebrow at him. "I'll close my eyes. Promise."

You thank him as he steps out so you can strip and get into the tub. The water is set to a near-scalding temperature and you welcome the sting, scrubbing away at your skin as if trying to erase all of the memories that are once again flooding back.

Your first date at the art museum, where he pointed to a painting of an extravagant rose garden and said it reminded him of you.

Your first kiss under the stars, the two of you losing track of time as he pulled you in again and again.

Endless Saturdays wandering around the city, not caring where you wound up as long as his hand was in yours.

Planning your someday wedding, his whispered promises of, Soon, beautiful, soon, sealed with a signature wink.

Picking out names for children who would never be born.

The tears are pouring out of you now, but you let them. One cry, you promise yourself. One final, good cry to wash it all away, and then it'll be time to let go for good.

You don't know how long you spend in the shower, but by the time you step back out into the living room, Taehyung has already set himself up with a makeshift bed on the couch. He lifts his head when he sees you and, taking note of your red-rimmed eyes, gets up to pull you into a hug.

For a moment he just holds you, arms banding tight around your shoulders before he says, "I cleaned out your fridge. Most of it was spoiled." He hesitates, pulling back to look at you. "And I changed the bedsheets." A hand rubs at the back of his neck. "I actually ran downstairs and threw them straight in the dumpster, I hope that's okay."

His thoughtfulness overwhelms you, and you'd probably start crying again if not for the fact that you don't think you have a single tear left in your body. As you gape at him, Taehyung interprets your silence for disapproval and quickly adds, "I'll buy you new ones."

You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back into you, sinking your face into the crook of his neck as you whisper a, "Thank you."

He seems to falter for a second before returning the hug, and as you give him one last squeeze he steps back, scrutinizing you more closely. "You look like you could use some sleep."

"Yeah," you admit, eyeing the cramped set-up on the couch. "Is that going to be okay for you though?"

"Absolutely," he chimes, bounding over to the couch to settle back in. He has to bend his long legs to fit, toes pressing into the fabric of the arm. "See? Comfy." When he catches the uneasy look on your face, he says, "Honestly. Y/N. Nowhere else I'd rather be."

You give him a hesitant nod—you know it'd be useless to try to convince him otherwise. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" He flips onto his back, popping an arm behind his head and closing his eyes.

You cross the room slowly and, just like last time, find yourself pausing at the threshold of your bedroom. The bed is no longer a mess, fresh sheets now stretched neatly across the mattress, but as you look at it, it strikes you that you have never slept here alone. And while you may have committed yourself to moving on from this moment forward, you know this has the power to break you. Tomorrow, maybe, but right now, you're nowhere near ready for this.

You look back and forth between your bed and where Taehyung is lying, his legs now half-draped over the couch's arm, and you make up your mind.

"Tae?"

"Hmm?" He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you.

"Can you sleep in here with me?"

He blinks, jaw dropping in surprise. "Uhh…are you sure?"

His hesitancy has you losing some of your nerve, and you have to look away. "I just don't think I can…" You purse your lips and shake your head. "You don't have to. I just—"

"No, it's okay. We can—yeah," he blurts, already standing up.

He sidesteps you in the doorway, taking your hand and pulling you into the room after him with a soft smile. "C'mon. Like I said, whatever you need."

Taehyung pulls back the covers so the two of you can crawl in. It's awkward at first, both of your bodies lying stiff across from each other. Physical affection has never been altogether uncommon for the two of you, but this—lying in the bed you used to share with your ex—feels like crossing a line of intimacy that you've never experienced with him before.

But then Taehyung laughs, reaching over to take your hand in his. "I know we’re a long way from high school, but we can do this, yeah? Not like we haven’t shared a bed before."

It breaks the tension, and you giggle back, looking down at where he's laced your fingers together. His knuckles are still lightly bruised with touches of yellow and green, and you run your free hand over the marks, smile drooping.

"I'm really sorry about this," you murmur.

"I'm not." Taehyung's forehead creases. "I'd do it again."

"Please don't," you say quickly. "If you see him again, just let it go."

He frowns and opens his mouth to respond, but you cut in. "Not because I care about him. I just don't want you getting into any trouble on his account. He's not worth it."

Taehyung briefly clenches his jaw but eventually gives you a slow nod. "Well I think my point was made anyway."

"Thank you," you say, pulling his hand up to brush a light kiss to his bruises. "I know I keep saying that, but I really can't tell you enough."

"You don't need to thank me. I know you'd do the same." His face breaks out into one of his boxy smiles. "Remember when Luna broke up with me, and I barely left the apartment for two weeks? You stopped by every day to make sure I was still eating."

You hum at the memory. It had been two weeks of dropping off take-out and commandeering the boys' kitchen to make large batch meals, even harassing Jimin to give you regular updates on whether or not Taehyung had eaten lunch. Jace had given you grief about it at the time, whining that Taehyung was a grown man who could take care of himself, especially when the two of you had just moved in and were still working on unpacking.

“And my birthday junior year of high school.” He’s quiet as he remembers, eyes fixed on some spot over your shoulder as if he’s rewatching the moments on film. “You got me those shoes I’d been absolutely enamored with.”

His old ones had been falling apart entirely, soles curling away from the fabric like orange peels in the sun. Barely even looking away from the bottle at that point, there was virtually no chance that Taehyung’s father would give him enough money to buy him new ones at the thrift store, let alone the high-end sneakers you’d always catch him subtly staring at every time the two of you wandered around the mall after school.

So of course, you’d done the only logical thing and surprised him with them for his birthday, the look of complete elation on his face making your heart leap in ways you didn’t even know it could.

A touch of joy slips into his expression too now as he picks another recollection out of his brain. "Or that time in college when I got stuck in that bathroom across campus with no toilet paper and you left class to break into the men's room and bring me some."

You scrunch your nose at that, saying, "We swore never to talk about that again!"

Taehyung laughs. "I know, but what I'm trying to say is that that's what we do. We take care of each other."

The truth of the statement hits you like a truck as you're suddenly anchoring yourself in Taehyung's eyes again.

It's as though every moment of the last seventeen years comes rushing back to you all at once—every joy, every celebration, every tear, every heartbreak. And at your side in each memory are the same brown eyes you're staring into right now.

A feeling that you're too scared to place stirs in your chest and has you panicking, and you can see that Taehyung isn't unaffected by the moment either as his lips part and he studies you with a newfound softness. When he reaches up to brush your hair behind your ear, the feeling in your chest swells and snaps, and you bury your face in his chest, tears starting afresh, as he wraps his arms around you.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm right here."

You press your hands into his back, clinging to him, and hope the pressure conveys what your words can't—what you don't even have a name for yet.

Your sobs subside after a while, but you stay wrapped up in each other. Right before you fall asleep, one final flashback of Jace leaks into your mind—words he had spit at you before leaving this place that night.

I've never been your priority. No one can be. Not when he's around.

It's hard work dragging yourself awake the next morning, your eyelids heavy and begging you to close them for just five more minutes.

But you realize that the side of the bed next to you is not only empty—it's cold. Reaching out to your nightstand, you flip your phone over to check the time. 10:42. The morning is practically gone.

You pull yourself out of bed and shuffle into the living room where you spot a figure standing in the kitchen. Taehyung is busy at the stove, white t-shirt tight across his shoulders as he works, humming to himself, and you stop for a moment to take him in (was he always this broad?).

"Good mood today?" you say. He turns, flashing you a smile over his shoulder.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" He catches himself, realizing he might sound a little too chipper for the occasion and quietly asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," you shrug, and it's the truth. The seemingly endless crying the night before had been exhausting, but it also provided you with something of a catharsis, leaving you feeling almost refreshed today.

"Good," Taehyung says. He nods to the plate on the counter next to him. "I made pancakes."

"The chocolate chip ones?"

He places a hand over his heart and looks at you in mock offense. “Of course. What do you take me for?”

You laugh and wander over to the dining room table where a bright bouquet of lilies now sits in a vase. Pinching one of the delicate, silky petals between your fingers, you ask, "What's this?"

Taehyung glances over his shoulder again, blushing slightly when he sees what you're looking at. "Oh, I um—" He fumbles for his words. "I ran out to get you some groceries and saw the florist next door. Figured they could, you know, brighten things up in here a little."

"You didn't have to do that," you tell him softly, but he brushes you off with a shrug.

"I wanted to."

You reach for the petals again, the bright orange seeming to cast a glow on your skin like a sunset. “You know these look like—“

“The ones you used to collect on our walks growing up?” He chuckles at your stunned silence. “Yeah, I know.”

It still surprises you sometimes—the depth of his thoughtfulness and how well he knows you—and before you can stop yourself, you’re stepping up behind him at the stove. You wind your arms around his middle, pressing your forehead to the space between his shoulder blades and allowing your breath to warm the cotton of his t-shirt. It’s soft—intimate—and you feel Taehyung tighten up under your touch, his entire body going rigid.

“Y/N—“

“You know you mean the world to me, right?”

It’s a near-whisper—you sound like you’re on the brink of tears—and maybe that’s why Taehyung’s hard lines soften at the sound of your voice, turning in your arms so he can reciprocate the embrace and press a cheek to your temple. He doesn’t say a word, just holds you tight as you lean your face into his chest and inhale the comforting scent of pancake batter, laundry detergent, and honey-scented soap.

You think you could stay here forever.

Last night’s mood seems to linger in the air like little beams of light that warm your skin in the best way. You recall falling asleep in these same arms, this same scent wrapped around you—how it was easily the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

It's different, this space between you now. Has been since the night in the bathroom. You and Taehyung may have gone through a metric fuck ton of pain over the course of your lives, but there's no denying that this breakup is pushing your friendship into a new form, molding it into a new shape.

You're too nervous to dwell on it, but damn, if you aren't going to take advantage of how good it feels to cling to him right now. You want to wrap yourself around him like a koala—draw your legs around his waist and bury your nose into the hollow space at his collarbone.

What a great way to scare him off too, your brain says, even as your heart argues, He's stuck with you through worse.

You're tempted—seriously considering dragging him over to the couch so you can snuggle him properly—when the fire alarm goes off, the pancake on the stove burnt and blackened.

Taehyung releases you in a flash, spinning to shut off the burner and pull the pan off the stove as you rush to the hallway closet for a broom. You swing it underneath the alarm until the smoke clears, and the device stops its blaring shrieks. As silence filters back in, Taehyung tips the burnt pancake into the trash, the previous moment ruined.

"That'd be our luck to burn this place down your first day back," he jokes.

You tip your head up, already thinking this may have been a bad idea and wishing you were back at the guys' place. "Maybe not the worst thing in the world."

He approaches you slowly but deliberately, raising a long finger to press at your chin until you've lowered your gaze enough to look him in the eyes. Taking your hands in his—gently, so gently—he says, "We're going to breathe life back into this place. I'll be here every day if you want me to be."

"You d—"

"I will. Or Maya or Jimin or Kook." He moves his head so you're forced to look at him even as you try to look away, confronted with the raw sincerity in his eyes. "We'll drown out the bad memories with new good ones."

His voice is CPR, pressing warmth into your chest, and just like that, the suffocating walls around you open up a bit. You can see it, the two of you sitting on the couch watching TV—or maybe you watching him play one of his games—your other friends occasionally dipping in and out as they please.

More orange lilies on the table.

You pull your hands from his and drift to the kitchen counter, picking up the glinting silver key sitting on its surface. Turning back to Taehyung, you press it into his palm, and he stares at you, eyes wide with wonder.

"You're sure?"

You nod, and he curls his fingers around the key like it's something delicate—handling it with the same care you once saw him give a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest in the park when you were thirteen.

"Every day," he promises, pinky wrapping around yours and squeezing. "Just say the word."

a/n: likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated! <3

taglist is open!

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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charincharge · 1 month

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I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-seven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: WHOOPS, I disappeared for two years. (Legit the last chapter was posted in May 2022!). But I’m back and have written… a lot of the rest of this fic, so we’re just going to post weekly (or even twice weekly!) until we’re finished. And I hope you’re still out there, anyone, to enjoy it. Quick recap for a previously on IDWTW. Aelin and Rowan had sex! It was great. Then they walked in on Rhoe and her dance teacher Petrah having sex, which was NOT great. Aelin never wants to go back to dance again. We returned to school. Senior second semester is going great. Busy for Aelin, who is still trying to work her butt off re: APs and grades. Less busy for Rowan, who is already recruited to college for lacrosse. Aelin and Lys had a huge falling out, but have slowly rekindled their friendship now that Lys is sober and working on her shit. Elide and Manon came out! They’re running as homecoming queens! Dorian and Chaol haven’t DTRed and are taking a break. Last we left off, Aelin texted someone to help retrieve her lacrosse hoodie from the dance studio after hours. But who? Keep reading to find out. Also, I have been gone for so long that I have NO idea who is still in the fandom or reading Rowaelin fic. Please reblog to spread the word! Taglist doesn't seem to possible anymore, so please share! Love you all and missed you all. Comment, message, meme, gif, whatever. Let’s go, team.

Aelin watched with wide eyes as Lys lowered into a crouch and removed a bobby pin from her hair. When she’d texted her friend to help with her mission, she hadn’t realized that Lysandra was a bona-fide expert at breaking and entering.

“It got boring in rehab,” Lys said with a small shrug, as if that explained her masterful lock-picking.

“Good to know,” Aelin said, chewing her thumb nervous and glancing over her shoulder at Rowan, who waited patiently in the jeep — aka, their getaway car. She didn’t think they’d actually need one, but this whole thing was such a thing, she figured it was probably safest to have a getaway car. What if the cops were called about the break-in, and they had to run?

Aelin almost chuckled at the thought of Orynth’s elderly Police Chief trying to run after them, but it hadn’t stopped her from telling Lys to dress all in black and meet them at the dance studio at eight. Luckily, Rhoe was at the station overnight, so he couldn’t see their ridiculous antics. But, after all, this mission was serious. She tried to refocus on Lys, who was finagling with a pin in the lock, taking her sweet time. A rush of panic ran through Aelin. What if they got caught? What if this got put on her permanent record? What if they got arrested?

BZZZZ. Aelin’s phone vibrated in her hand, making her jump with surprise.

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, causing Lys to chuckle under her breath.

“Tell your buzzard not to worry, we’re almost there,” she said, twisting the pin again in a different direction. Aelin sighed at the reassurance. She knew that Rowan had to be feeling her nerves as well. Although maybe not quite as much. She wasn’t usually concerned about being a rule follower, but every step of the way had made her feel more and more stressed out. Which might have to do more with her overbearing boyfriend watching their every move than anything else. Couldn’t he just sit there and look cute and not worry? She looked at his text and shook her head. She should have known it’d be impossible. He was the biggest worry wart of them all.

Are you sure no one’s in the studio? It looks like the lights are on upstairs. Rowan texted from the front seat, his view of the studio probably better than theirs. But Aelin had spent too many years of her life at this studio. Despite her churning stomach, she knew they were fine.

Last class ended an hour ago. They always leave the lights on for the cleaning staff, but they get Fridays off, so they’re on until Saturday morning. It was part of my class schedule to turn the lights off. We’re good.

She looked over her shoulder after sending the text, and watched as Rowan threw a thumbs up in her direction. She couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he looked in his oversized black hoodie with the hood up. Despite completely disapproving of her decision, he showed up ready for the assignment at hand.

“Tadaaa,” Lys sang out quietly as the lock clicked open, the door popping ajar.

“Honestly, when I asked you to help me break into the dance studio, I figured we’d be throwing a rock into a window or something,” Aelin whispered, even though there was absolutely no reason to whisper at all. Aelin had timed it purposefully, so she wouldn’t have to run into … anyone. Okay, she really didn’t want to have to talk to Petrah. She’d avoided the studio (and Petrah) for so many weeks following the revelation that she’d been involved with her dad, and she had no intention of breaking that now. So, they’d had no choice but to break into the studio under the cover of darkness.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lys said. “The door upstairs has a lock, too, right?”

Aelin nodded. Annoyingly, there were three doors they had to break open — the building door, the door to the second floor, and then the dance studio entrance. Thank god Aelin had her locker key, so that wasn’t a worry.

“So, why are we doing this again?” Lys asked as they trudged up the long stairwell to the second floor. She tried not to flinch as the rubber-covered stairs squeaked beneath her shoes. “Not that I’m not happy to help,” she continued. “I just thought that you started dancing again and loved it?”

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned. “I did.” Aelin paused for a beat too long, causing Lys to flip her dark curls over her shoulder to get a better look at Aelin.

“But?”

“It’s…complicated,” Aelin sighed as Lys crouched down in front of the second floor door.

“Well, this is going to take a minute,” Lys laughed. “Tell me.” Aelin was going to refute again when Lys’s voice changed, softer. “Unless you don’t want to…”

Aelin nearly smacked herself. She’d thought this would be a ridiculous, fun (and pretty low-stakes) way to hang out with Lys again, and here she was totally ruining it by keeping things to herself again.

“No, it’s not like that,” Aelin reassured her as she continued to work on the lock. “It’s just… horrifying.”

“Well now you can’t not tell me,” Lys snickered, but Aelin recognized the slight trepidation in her friend’s green eyes. Still nervous to push things. Aelin bit the bullet and let it out in a whoosh.

“Oh my GOD.” Lys’s nose crinkled, and she fell to her knees completely as her shoulders shook with laughter as Aelin told her story. “I mean, we all knew Rhoe fucked,” Lys cackled, causing Aelin to smack her friend’s knee.

“EW! That is my dad,” she said, fake heaving.

“He’s a hot, hot firefighter daddy, though,” Lys said, her eyebrows wiggling.

“I swear to god I will vomit straight on you.”

Aelin tried to be serious, but Lysandra’s smile pushed them both over the edge into a fit of giggles. They laughed and laughed, releasing the tension that had been hovering around them like a thick blanket all night, officially removing all traces of formality. Unable to help herself, Aelin reached out for her friend’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and was relieved as Lys squeezed back. They weren’t healed, per se, but they were healing, and that was the most that Aelin could really ask for right now.

Taking a breath and wiping the remnant tracks of tears from her cheeks, Lys pushed herself back up to her knees. “Second lock?”

“Speaking of my family…” Aelin started nervously, but forged on, curious. “How’s Aedion doing?”

To her credit, Lys didn’t even lose pace as she unlocked the next door with ease.

“I know you want me to reply with something equally scandalous, but there’s nothing going on between me and Aedion,” Lys replied succinctly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, not completely convinced, but chose to respect her boundaries and believe her words.

The pair fell into an awkward silence as they headed down the hall toward the studio door. Just one last lock to get through — and then she’d never have to return to this place. A part of her heart panged at that thought, that she’d be leaving Orynth and this studio behind and not really getting to say goodbye to it. But running into Petrah was NOT an option.

“Hey, isn’t this the studio?” Lys asked of a propped open door, a gentle music wafting from inside. Aelin’s stomach sank. Had someone stayed late tonight practicing? It was a plus that they wouldn’t have to break into yet another door, but she really didn’t want to risk running into anyone. “I thought you said it was closed.”

At the same time, the pair noticed the schedule on the door, showing the company’s new rehearsal schedule. Their rehearsals now went until nine on Friday night, meaning that Aelin had shown up in the middle of a packed studio, instead of an empty one. And one where Petrah would surely be. She contemplated turning right around, but Lys had already opened the door too far, leading them into the studio lobby where the company was on break, milling around and refilling their water bottles.

And at the front desk, Petrah’s eyes widened with surprise upon seeing her. “Aelin!”

She should have guessed breaking in had been too easy. Had the doors even been locked? She knew Lysandra had gotten through them too quickly! Grumbling, she stepped out of the shadow and into the lobby toward Petrah. She couldn’t run away anymore, so she had no choice but to say hello to the woman who she’d been studiously avoiding for weeks. And by the look on Petrah’s face, she knew it, too.

“I’ll go grab your jersey,” Lys whispered, leaving her to fend for herself. “See you downstairs!”

“Traitor,” Aelin mumbled under her breath as Lysandra all but ran into the locker room, excusing herself from the awkward conversation that surely lay ahead. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck, watching Petrah approach nervously.

“Aelin,” she said again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you….” But Aelin cut her off.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she said, ready to slap her hands over her ears, lest Petrah talk about her dad in any less than completely formal way.

Petrah’s deep pink lips curled up on one side in amusement, but Aelin watched as she took another deep breath and shook off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, she watched as her smile fell into a wistful expression. “We’ve missed seeing you around here,” Petrah said.

Aelin’s eyes shot to the open doorway of the studio where the company practiced, all jetes and pirouettes and well-supported port de bras. She had missed dancing. She really had just gotten back into it when she let it fall away. Petrah must have seen her expression because she smiled faintly and let her delicate hand fall to Aelin’s shoulder.

“You could join the class. Dance it out,” Petrah suggested.

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dancers. She watched the emotion pour from them. That is what she needed. But as Lysandra held up her jersey and trailed down the stairs in the periphery of her vision, Aelin shook her head.

“I can’t tonight.”

“I understand that it might be strange to spend time with me after what you overheard…” Petrah trailed off as blood pooled in her cheeks, filling her usual pale complexion with a deep blush. “It was completely casual. It’s only happened a handful of times, and we both know it’s not serious. I’m not trying to replace your mother, or anything like that, it’s just… an occasional stress release, and oh my god, I am sorry I didn’t mean to say any of that.” Aelin cringed at the words. She wanted to stop Petrah, but the woman couldn’t be stopped even if she wanted to. “Please don’t give up dance because of this,” Petrah pleaded. “You have such a gift, Aelin, and I would be filled with regret for the rest of my life if I knew I was the cause of you walking away from it.”

Aelin took a breath, the comforting scent of chalk and worn leather infiltrating her senses and calming her down as she figured out what to reply to Petrah. Of course she wanted to dance still. It was undeniable, the way her body pulled her toward the studio, the way a sense of calm settled through her despite her initial discomfort upon seeing Petrah. She thought about her lack of free time and her constantly building stress as the semester went on and how badly she wished she could just dance it out. That release of emotion centered her, and she knew that she was feeling off kilter without it. Making time for dance had improved her life drastically — it'd kept her sane as the rest of her semester spiraled out of control — and she wanted it back. So, so badly.

She was on the verge of agreeing to join the practice when there was a crash and loud shriek from the studio. When the shriek morphed into a choked sob, a churning nausea overwhelmed Aelin. She watched as Petrah’s face morphed into one of horror as she sprinted into the studio. Sure enough, one of the dancers was on the floor, cradling her ankle, cheeks red and involuntary tears dripping down her skin, while another dancer attempted to help her stand. The girl hissed, crying out in pain and sat down again.

“Call an ambulance,” someone ordered, and suddenly there was a frenzy, a rush of dancers looking on in terror at the injury in front of them. Aelin stood with her back against the wall, not wanting to be in the way, slinking out of sight while so much was going on. It felt like a sign from the universe that Aelin shouldn’t even think about wasting her time with dancing. Like the gods warned her that she had way too much going on to even consider it.

With Petrah distracted, Aelin slipped out, trying to gain control of her waging feelings. She slid into the backseat next to Lys, her mind reeling and unable to get the image of the crying dancer out of her head. So caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear Rowan call out to her, until red and blue flashed behind them. He swung his head over her shoulder, his mouth agape in horror as he stared at his unusually quiet girlfriend.

“Ace, what did you do? Are those the cops?!”

Aelin shook her head, the horrible feeling of nausea persisting in her gut as Rowan drove away from the studio.

. . .

It had been days since Aelin had received a text from an unknown number, and she still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.

I thought you should know we’re holding an emergency dance company audition this Tuesday at 5pm. Please come, Aelin.

Aelin chewed her sandwich thoughtfully as she pulled up the text again. The audition was merely hours away, but she was still on the fence.

“You still haven’t made up your mind?” Lysandra asked, glancing at Aelin’s phone screen. Her former — maybe current — friend had started joining them at the lunch table in the last few days since their late night break in, continuing to heal and thaw what had broken between them.

“I keep telling her to pro con list,” Rowan said, letting his fingers trail across the back of her neck and kneading the tight muscles there with his strong grasp.

“Mmmm,” Aelin mumbled, leaning further into his touch. “Con. Time spent without you.”

“Pro, something to do while I’m at lacrosse practice,” he countered as his fingers massaged a particularly tender part of her neck. She angled her head so he could have better access, but he took it as an invitation to let his head drop to her bare skin and press his lips against it, causing her body to light up. As she leaned toward him with another light moan, Dorian slammed his tray down on the table with a loud thwack.

“Get a room or get outta here,” he complained, tossing a fry at the still-intertwined pair.

“Someone’s got their panties in a bunch,” Aelin laughed as she tossed the fry back at the offender.

“My panties are perfectly smooth, thank you very much,” Dorian quipped. “Some of us would just prefer not to bear witness to your foreplay.”

“Pro,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear, his lips ghosting against the tickling skin there. “I really love watching you dance.”

“Pro,” Aelin whispered back. “Increased stamina, muscle strength, and flexibility.”

Aelin glanced up at Rowan, who was already staring back at her with a fiery intensity. Her eyes glanced down at his mouth, which was curled into a satisfied smirk. His throat bobbed with a slow swallow, surely thinking of all the way those fitness benefits could be put to good use. She leaned in slightly, her lips a hairs breadth away from his when another fry hit her cheek. Aelin whipped her head around, rubbing at the salty spot where the food had made contact with her face.

Dorian was the picture of innocence, eyes wide as he chewed his own fry.

“Con,” Lys interjected. “Increased horniness.”

“Literally didn’t think that was possible,” Dorian said with a snort. “So, what are we pro-conning?” he asked, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Orynth Dance Company is having an emergency audition after an injury, and Aelin was personally invited to try out,” Lysandra explained.

“But I don’t really have the time,” Aelin started. “It would require actual rehearsal time. Like, a lot of nights. Not just an hour long class. Plus, I’d have to see Petrah every day. And I have to knock this last semester’s grades out of the park if I want to even think about getting a scholarship anywhere, plus I have a million AP exams to study for coming up, and that’s not even considering keeping up with hospital volunteering and going to your games and having any kind of semblance of a social life and…” she trailed off, her stomach finally settling as she came to the conclusion she knew she was going to come to all along. “I can’t join the dance company.”

Rowan frowned and reached for her hand. “Are you sure, Ace?” His hand wrapped around hers in a comforting squeeze, and she knew he was asking seriously. “We could make it work. I could help you study, we could bring out your color-coded schedule again to make sure we could fit everything in.”

“I know,” Aelin sighed, squeezing back. “But, I’m sure.”

But as the afternoon ticked by, Aelin couldn’t ignore the swirling feeling of guilt trying to pull her under. She was so distracted by the approaching time that she completely zoned out through all of AP Lit, startling when the period ended and Dorian poked her side.

And as five PM approached closer and closer, she found herself growing more agitated and even snapping at Rowan at one point. It wasn’t his fault; he had to head off to lacrosse practice, but Aelin had found herself so worked up that she had thought maybe he’d want to help release some tension.

“I’ll come right over after practice,” Rowan promised as he twined his hands around her waist.

“But you’ll be all sweaty and gross,” Aelin replied with a frown.

“I thought you liked when I get sweaty,” he laughed, nuzzling his nose into her hair. Aelin sighed, knowing she was being petulant, but she couldn’t get out of her own head.

“Only when I’m the one doing it!”

She tried to push him away, but Rowan’s grasp on her was iron-clad, too tight for her to even think about prying him off her. “Ace,” he lowered his voice. “I would love nothing more than to skip practice and be with you, but you know this is the only thing I need to do this semester to keep my place at Wendlyn.”

“Because Wendlyn’s more important than me?”

“I think you need a snack,” Rowan laughed, but Aelin didn’t find that funny at all.

“Sorry my blood sugar problems are amusing to you,” she said, stiffening within his grasp. She felt Rowan sigh deeply and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his brows up the way she loved so much.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You know that’s not—”

“I know,” Aelin replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Rowan raised a single brow as if to tell her he knew exactly what had gotten into her, and so did she.

“It’s not even four yet,” Rowan said. “You could still go.”

But Aelin was nothing if not resolute. She’d made up her mind, and it was completely logical. And she was sticking to it. No, she’d head home and, yes, get a snack, and dig into her lit homework. Maybe Dorian would be willing to give her his notes from the class, seeing as she couldn’t remember a single thing that was discussed earlier.

She forced a smile and shrugged her shoulders back. “Nope, you were right. I need a snack. I’ll head to Maeve’s and see what she’s got for me.”

Rowan grimaced. “She closed for the afternoon, actually, while they put in a new stove, but she should be reopened by the time I’m out of practice.” Aelin shivered as Rowan let his fingers trail in small circles up and down her back. “Why don’t I stop there on my way to your place after practice? Cheeseburger and brownies?”

“And then orgasms?” Aelin asked, causing a loud snort to erupt from Rowan.

“You want to have sex after cheeseburger and brownies? That feels dangerous.”

“Well, we could have sex first, but reheated cheeseburgers are pretty garbage,” Aelin replied, loving the soft smile that appeared on Rowan’s face. It was the one solely reserved for her. When she was being particularly ridiculous or annoying, it was like he couldn’t help but love her more, and the small curve of his lips let her know that.

“You’re right. Cheeseburgers first,” he paused. “Then sex, then brownies?”

“Deal,” Aelin said as she reached her hand out to shake his. But he instead grasped it in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles lightly.

“I love you,” he said.

And though Aelin wanted to roll her eyes, she took a moment to relish the fact that her best friend in the whole world loved her. And would do anything to make her smile. In fact, he’d succeeded in getting her too distracted to think about the auditions and…

As soon as she thought about them, her smile faded again.

“Just go,” he whispered, but Aelin shook her head.

“Have a good practice. See you in a few hours.”

She kissed him and sent him off, hoping to pour herself into her studies. But even with her book open, Aelin digested none of what she was reading. She kept looking at the clock, distracted. Even as it passed five pm, knowing that she was missing the auditions, she still couldn’t focus. And her mood started to plummet.

It plummeted even further as she received a text from Rowan saying that their coach needed him to stay behind for a bit after practice and that he’d be later than anticipated.

She tried to read more, and when that didn’t work, she attempted to do some math equations, but she couldn’t get her brain to work. She knew what she needed. And it was to dance it out. Despite everything, that was still her best coping mechanism. When a second text from Rowan came in, apologizing for being even later, Aelin had had enough. She couldn’t just sit here and wallow. Instead, she wrote a note for whoever would get home first – her dad, Lorcan, or Rowan — and began walking.

She didn’t even know where she was walking until she ended up at the dance studio. It was unlocked, but empty. She couldn’t remember if there had been an end time to the auditions, but it seemed completely deserted. No one was sitting at the front desk, and the lights were eerily dim. This is what she’d expected to walk into last week when she’d stolen back her lacrosse hoodie, and she was even more annoyed about it somehow.

Instead of focusing on that, though, she went straight for the first open studio and turned the lights on. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered on, illuminating the wooden floors beneath with a warm yellow glow. She toed her sneakers off and padded barefoot to the corner of the studio where the massive (and ancient) stereo system was stored. She pulled her phone out and connected it, pulling up one of the old playlists Rowan had made for her and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Her feet took off, working in sync with the rhythm reverberating through the bare floor. Next, her arms spread, stretching out and shaking off the stress of the last few weeks.

For the first time, she really let herself feel it. The worrying and wondering what the future would hold. She knew Rowan was destined for Wendlyn, but she had no idea what she would do if she didn’t get in, too. He’d assured her that they’d stay together and figure it out, but who really stays with their high school boyfriend? She knew they weren’t like everyone else – they were special – but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it and wondering. When it came down to it, that’s why she really couldn’t bring herself to audition today. She couldn’t risk spending less time with Rowan, not if this was the last few weeks of their relationship.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

She ignored the small tear that pooled in the corner of her eye, letting it drip down her cheek as she spun in time with the music. How could she doubt her and Rowan’s relationship after all this time? She knew in her soul that they were destined to be together. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t wake up and see him every day. But there had been a small slice of fear since they first kissed, and it had ebbed and flowed with each passing day until it was now a gaping chasm in the pit of her stomach. The idea that she could end up elsewhere without Rowan was a real, actual problem. And the timeframe was closing in on them. What if this was the end of them? How would she ever recover?

Her hands reached overhead and then she let her body collapse to the floor in a graceful fall, letting go over the overwhelming sensations of fear that had been swirling and threatening to paralyze her. She arched her back and her neck released, the tension that Rowan had tried to knead attempting to relax and letting gravity pull her down, down, down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rowan. She did. More than anything. She just didn’t trust this world. She didn’t trust that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. I mean, just look at her dad. He’d thought he’d found the love of his life, and she walked away like it was nothing. Walked away from Aelin.

She didn’t want to cling to Rowan, to be the girl who changed her whole life just to be with a guy. She wasn’t that person. No. She was Aelin fucking Galathynius, and she could live life fully on her own. But she wanted to be with Rowan. Wanted the whole package. Saw their life together. And wanted more than anything for it to become a reality. But what if that future disappeared? What if it was cut short? What if they drifted apart. What if they tried to do long distance? Last summer while he was at camp was only two months and it was pure torture. It caused a rift so big between them that she wasn’t sure they’d overcome it. And yes, of course they did. But… to do it again? And for four years?

Her emotions threatened to choke her as she continued to dance out her frustrations, stomping and spinning and leaping, hoping against all hopes that the answers to her anxieties would appear if she could only dance long enough. She left every feeling, every worry, every gnawing anxiety on the dance floor, letting it tumble out through her moving limbs.

She didn’t know how long she’d been dancing when she opened her eyes again and refocused at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the girl she saw there. She may not have come up with any answers, but she felt better. Raw, red eyed, red cheeked, and breathing hard, Aelin felt totally exposed. Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice cut through the silence, over her harsh exhale.

“Practice starts next week.”

The director of the company stood in the darkened doorway of the studio, arms crossed and lips pursed in thoughtful approval.

“Oh, I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t,” she said with a formal smile. “But we’d still love to have you. If you want.”

It wasn’t necessarily the answer she had hoped to reach, but something about this moment felt like the universe trying to reassure her. That things do work out the way they’re supposed to.

“Yeah?” she asked, feeling somewhat hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said.

A wide smile crossed the director’s face. “Welcome to the Orynth Dance Company,” she congratulated her.

Aelin didn’t know what had overcome her, but she couldn’t help but run over to her and throw her sweaty arms around her neck in a giant hug.

“Thank you.”

Right on cue, Aelin’s phone buzzed with another incoming text.

Cheeseburgers en route. See you soon. Xx

. . .

As anticipated, the cheeseburgers were exactly what Aelin needed to rejuvenate herself, but Rowan was totally right that there was no way to be sexy after housing a half pound of meat and cheese.

“I’m so stuffed,” she said, patting her extremely full stomach.

Rowan snorted. “Why don’t we take a post-dinner break and watch something?”

“Only if it’s Housewives!” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner for him and Rhoe, who were properly affronted that Rowan hadn’t brought them cheeseburgers, as well.

Aelin sighed and chuckled softly as she let herself slump over onto Rowan, who was already pulling up Housewives onto the television.

“You are such an enabler,” Aelin laughed.

“It’s easier than dealing with him being pouty,” Rowan smartly replied.

Aelin was about to agree when they were interrupted by an unusual ring tone.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, sitting up suddenly. “Is that your… home phone?”

Aelin genuinely couldn’t remember the last time that had rung. Usually she and her dad were both contacted on their cells. They really just had a home line because it was part of their internet package. She couldn’t even remember who had that number.

“Uh, phone’s for you Aelin?” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen.

Even weirder?

“Who the hell would be calling this late on a Tuesday?” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s brow lifted.

“Why don’t you go see?”

Curious, Aelin pried herself off the couch and headed to the kitchen where Lorcan was standing with a spatula in one hand and the phone in the other.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

Lorcan shrugged, simply shoving the phone forward. Helpful.

Aelin cradled the phone against her ear and took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Hello!” A deep voice rang out over the phone. “Is this Miss Aelin Galathynius?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Excellent!” the voice boomed, causing her to pull the phone away from her ear slightly. “My name is Xavier Forul, and I’m a local alum of Wendlyn University. I’d love to have you in for an interview some time in the near future. Whenever you’re available! I know you’re a busy senior with a lot on her plate.”

Aelin’s heart took off, beating faster as his words unfolded.

“Interview?”

“Yes,” he continued. “It’s my favorite part of the process. As a former Wendlyn man myself, I get to sit down and speak with young promising applicants to see what their goals and ambitions might be and how they might become part of the Wendlyn world.”

Aelin glanced at the silver-headed mop peeking out above the couch and exhaled slowly. This was it. The universe reassuring her. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She could dance, she could nail her classes this semester, and she’d get into Wendlyn and be with Rowan.

“Wow, thank you so much for reaching out,” Aelin began, her autopilot pilot voice taking over. “I’d love to meet with you.”

As Xavier explained the details of the interview, Aelin’s hope buoyed. She’d been waiting for a sign from the universe, something to tell her that she and Rowan were going to work out and be fine. If a personalized phone call on a landline that hadn’t rung in more months than she could count, inviting her into the home of a University alum wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. And Aelin began to hope for the first time that everything was going to actually work out.

~*~

#idwtw #idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fan fic #rowaelin fic #tog fanfic #throne of glass #rowan x aelin #she's backkkk #i stg i'm finishing this fic #no fic left unfinished

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plussizefantasia · 7 months

Text

Taste-Testing

Flufftober Day 10: Bakery AU pt2

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word Count: 0.9k

AN: This is a continuation of Day 1: Sweet Things. This one is a lot more dialog-heavy than the others and just a touch more spicy too. I think I'm obsessed with Bucky and Sweets so I'll for sure be continuing their story after flufftober ends. Anyway, please reblog if you liked it it means a lot!

divider credit @royallaesthetics

Waiting until you got home after work to call Bucky was like torture. The note he left on the napkin after his departure was carefully folded up and placed into the pocket of your apron. When the traffic of customers lulled during the day, you’d pull it out and re-read it over again.

You’ve never really had a nickname before, but you liked Sweets. Maybe it was because it was the one that he gave you.

When you finally were able to close down for the day, you rushed through locking up the shop and did the closest thing the running as you could without looking psycho all the way to your apartment.

The phone hadn’t even rung twice before Bucky answered, “Hello?”

‘Um. Bucky? You left your number on the napkin today, I assumed that meant you were okay with me calling.”

He chuckled, “More than okay, sweets. I’ve been waiting for your call”

You were surprised “Really?”

“Yeah, how many gorgeous women do you think I give me number every day?”

“Oh, Uh. I didn’t think you went around throwing your number at girls I just-”

“Breathe Sweets,” he gently reminded you over the phone and your body automatically responded, drawing in a deep breath and stopping your potential rambling short. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

“I was uh, gonna start to test out some new recipes for the holidays. Got to make sure they work right before the weather switches from fall to winter.”

“Need a taste tester?” He asked it so nonchalantly you’d think that the two of you hung out all the time. Not that this was one of the first few conversations you’d ever had that didn’t revolve around his work or yours. Before you could overthink though, you were sending him your address and he told you he’d pick up dinner and be there in twenty minutes.

You didn’t really know what to do with yourself so you busied your hands with prepping what you would need to make the new pastries you were gonna try and attempt to clean up the main area that contained your couches and coffee table.

The knocks on your door were short and you nearly tripped over yourself rushing to the door to open it.

Bucky was endeared to the breathless way that you greeted him and the way your hair was sticking out in every which way. It was obvious that you’d been doing something but the way your hair was mussed made him think less than innocent thoughts.

He refused to follow through on them though, normally he wouldn’t have a problem with taking an attractive woman like you to bed right away but he really liked you, and wanted to see where this could go. He couldn’t do that if he let himself give into his more… animalistic… urges.

“I brought Chinese hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great thanks, though you really didn’t need to get me dinner”

“I know I didn’t sweets but my mother always said that I needed to eat my dinner before I could have a treat.” You don’t think he realizes just how charming he is. His smooth tone and sultry smirk made you weak in the knees and you needed to remind yourself that he was here to taste test your recipes, not you.

“So, what are you making that needs my tasting expertise?” He set the food on your small apartment counter and began unpacking everything he had. It was enough food for a family of five.

He suddenly got a little sheepish, “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

“I’m sure I’ll like something here. Thanks again.”

After picking your meal for the evening you launched into an explanation of the treats you’d be attempting that night.

“I’m gonna try to make the cranberry tarts, peppermint bark brownies, and black forest bread twists tonight what do you think?”

“I think that a relationship with you is dangerous for my figure.” You couldn’t help but focus on the fact that he had said relationship, not friendship, a relationship.

“I thought you liked sweet things.” You leaned on the counter facing him and rested your head in your hand perched upon the little amount of empty counter space you had.

He grinned and matched your energy, “I love sweet things, especially when they come in pretty packages.” his eyes raked up and down your body and you could feel the butterflies in your gut pick up their pace.

You tried your best to recover from the minor brain aneurysm he had just given you but you could tell that he had seen how his words affected you. And if the ever-growing smirk on his face was anything to go by, he enjoyed your reaction.

The night continued in the same way, Bucky shamelessly flirting with you and you doing your best to match him but getting too flustered to really pull it off. Bucky had declared the brownies his favorite but said that he’d probably need to start getting a bigger size of pants if he was going to keep being your taste tester.

“You can be my official taste tester anytime you want, Bucky” you had told him at your door. He was on his way out after you declared that if you wanted to get any sleep tonight he’d need to leave.

“I’d love to taste whatever you give me, Sweets. Anytime”. All you could do was nod and smile at him as he left. He still heard the strangled groan you let out when the door closed though.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #plus size reader #fanfic #plus size!reader #fluff #x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky imagine #drabble #bucky barnes x reader

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hxavennhell · 10 months

Text

DAYLIGHT

miguel o’hara x reader

summary; miguel o’hara was too focused on the perfection in the multiverse, and without realizing he lost what he loved most.

warnings; SPOILERS, ANGST.

note; english is not my first language, they/them pronouns used, probably very ooc, bare with me, i wrote this while listening to daylight by david kushner on repeat, not proofread.

word count; 1.5k

They were old friends, and probably more than friends. Never labeled anything, too caught up on cannon events and what could happen to each other, but feelings from both sides were there.

They both built the society from scratch, and were the proud leaders of it. The work had been heavy, even more now with a new wave of anomalies, with an unknown source.

The night was long, just as every other night they had spent at HQ. The LED light of the screens gave a ghoulish hue to both faces, tired eyes and the occasional re-adjustment from either of them.

“Go get some rest, i’ll finish this up.” Miguel muttered as he kept working on the several screens in front of him.

“In a minute.” They muttered as they tapped hurriedly on the screen in front of them.

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

Silence engulfed the room and both kept their eyes fixed on the screens. The tension was palpable between them, the last argument fresh on both.

“Come on, get up and go back.” Miguel said as he stood up and turned to them.

“I found it.” A sigh of relief was heard “Earth-1610.”

Miguel moved his eyes to their screen, muttering to himself. “¿Qué encontraste?”

“The source, I found it.” They breathed out as a smile crawled up their face, as they pulled up more information about the events that caused the wave of most recent anomalies.

Miguel hovered over the screens, reading all the information on Earth-1610.

“Their Spider-man died?” They muttered as they pulled up more screens with information.

“That’s the disrupted cannon event.” Miguel whispered as he looked over to the other screens being pulled up. “We’re fixing this first thing tomorrow morning. Go home, get ready.”

“No need to tell me twice.” They said as they stood up and stretched their sore muscles. “Lyla, please brief me with the plan first thing tomorrow. And make sure Miguel gets some sleep.”

“Okie-dokie.” Lyla responded as she popped up next to them. “Rest well.”

“I’m serious, O’Hara.” They muttered as they tapped away on their watch, opening up a portal. “We need a fresh perspective on this tomorrow.”

A hum in acknowledgment and a distracted ‘sí’ was heard from Miguel, as his companion walked into the portal and left HQ, leaving him alone in front of all the screens.

That assignment was pushed by a more pressing matter, an anomaly creating havoc and possibly making another universe colapse, -and since Earth-1610 seemed stable enough- the mission was posponed.

A decision was then made by the two leaders of what everyone knew as the “Spider Society”, to push to mission further until a solid plan was made, for sake of avoiding the colapse of other universes due to anomalies.

More Spider-people were recruited.

The society grew, making it what it is today.

The plan growing stronger and more solid each moment.

But as of right now, the mission had gone wrong.

Miguel was suddenly called as back-up by Lyla, who seemed to go in a frenzy. He halted the explanation from Lyla and in a moment he was there.

Rubble was covering almost every floor space, they were nowhere to be seen. Other spider-people that were called for back up started swinging their way up an join on the battle against the anomaly.

They were nowhere to be seen.

A slight movement coming from the rubble alerted Miguel. And again the rubble moved, revealing what was underneath, and there they were, protecting civilians. Civilians who fled the scene, leaving behind their savior, who seemed to buckle under their own weight.

Before they touched the ground, Miguel had caught them, arms shaking as the shallow breathing of them kept struggling.

“Talk to me.”

The desperation on Miguel’s tone was evident and after a few seconds he barely heard their shallow breaths alter.

“I hate the green goblin.” A sigh of relief came from Miguel as he tried to push back the desperation on his face.

“Tell me about it.” He muttered as he sighed and helped them stand up. “Can you walk?”

“I always find a way to come back up.”

“I know you do. Now, let’s go get you patched up, Jess and Ben have this under control.”

“I can walk.”

“Not with that on your leg, you can’t.”

“Thank you.”

“Ajá, lo que sea. Dinner’s on you tonight.”

(“Yeah, whatever.”)

Each and every aspect of the events occurred in Earth-1610 we’re studied by the two leaders.

Havoc was now reigning on Earth-65, where a renaissance Vulture anomaly had ended in. Both leaders knew very well where they where, Miguel wary of making contact with their Spider-variant.

Being called by Lyla, both Jess and the other leader of the society appeared within seconds, ready to aid on the capture of the anomaly.

In the end, the anomaly was captured, and now the three of them stood in front of Gwen Stacy, that universe’s Spider-man variant.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“She’s all alone.” Jess said as she looked at that universe’s Spider-woman, rubbing her very pregnant belly as she talked.

“Baby hormones.” They muttered as their eyes locked with Miguel’s.

“We were very clear on this.” He grunted as he looked at Jess. “She’s too close to the source.”

Jess now turned to look at the other leader, who just turned their face refusing to take pity on the pregnant Spider-woman, but failed miserably.

“We should help her.” The other leader muttered as they looked at the girl in front of them, and considering all the options as the portal behind them gave a orange hue to all the faces on the scene. “We can just get her out of this tight spot.”

Miguel sighed defeated “Just this once.” He muttered, then rolled his eyes and threw a watch at the girl in front of him, walking through the portal without looking back. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

“We can’t do this.” They said as they looked at the plans on the screens in front of them.

“We need to keep the balance and stop all these anomalies.” Miguel said as he paced around. “They are too much to handle.”

“We’re handling them just fine.”

“Not for long.” He said as he pulled up a screen. “Lyla kept records on the anomalies, and they seem to become more and more. We need to stop this now.”

“We need a more solid plan.”

“¡Ya tenemos un plan!” Miguel argued as he turned to look at them. “We can do this.”

(“we already have a plan!”)

“It’ll have to wait.” They muttered as Lyla appeared, informing of an urgent anomaly and a spider-person that needed back-up.

“Listen to me!” Miguel kept arguing as he looked at them open up a portal, ready to aid back-up.

“What?” They asked as they put on their mask, turning to look at him.

“We need to stop these anomalies from incrementing. We need to go to the source now.” He argued as he ran a hand through his hair desperately.

“We both know that us alone can’t stop him! It would be too disruptive and he’ll probably run away. He’s just a kid!” They argued back “Now, let me take care of this. We’ll talk when I come back.”

Miguel’s companion walked through the portal and seconds after, it closed, leaving an empty space and a silent Miguel.

“Whose side are you on?” Miguel grunted as he looked at them, having let go Miles from the bubble.

“He’s just a kid, Miguel.”

“He will make the universe collapse!” He countered as he turned violently and gestured to the direction Miles left.

“We both collapsed universes, Miguel.”

“We didn’t know better!”

“Neither does he.”

“He’s the original anomaly. I cannot just let him roam and mess things up further.” He argues as he paces around the room seething.

“He doesn’t know better.”

“I’ll ask again, whose side are you on?” Miguel repeated himself, stopping his pacing and turning abruptly to look at them.

“No. You will not guilt trip me into your plan. This is not the right thing to do.”

“THIS IS the right thing. We’re stopping universes from collapsing! We’re the good guys!”

“You want to kill that boy, Miguel!”

“He disrupts cannon events! It’s the right thing to do, we need to keep the balance!”

“We both know he won’t be able to save the captain without help.”

“He has plenty of it.” Miguel argued. “So i’ll ask one last time. Whose side are you on? And, are you willing to help me clean up this mess you started by letting Gwen Stacy join?”

the silence was loud, heavy breathing coming from both parts of the conversation, and a lingering stare was shared.

“You cannot possibly kill that boy.”

“If it’s what it takes to keep the multiverse from collapsing then I will. Now tell me, are you with me?”

“Miguel, don’t do this.”

“Are you with me?” He asked keen on stopping Miles and avoiding the collapse of the multiverse.

“We cannot kill that bo-“

“¡CONTÉSTAME!”

(“answer me!”)

Everything seemed to stop as they halted their breath. Their heartbeat seemed to grow louder, pounding against their chest and ears, blood ran cold at the realization.

Miguel wouldn’t stop until the multiverse was perfect, he wouldn’t settle for talking down Miles.

He would kill him.

“No. I’m not on your side.”

thank you for reading! <3

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderverse spoilers #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x oc #angst #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x oc #oneshot

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planetpiastri · 1 year

Note

and if i say 19 with hangman 🤭🤭🤭 ily -allie

allie!!!! ur brain is massive this killed me (real) hope u enjoy xx @spideystevie

19. meeting each other at a kissing booth

word count - 1.6k

As you milled around the carnival, caramel candy apple in hand, you wondered just who exactly had signed off on this “fundraiser.” As if the pilots at TOPGUN needed more money. But when your best friend had dragged you here, their eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of getting to flirt with some active-duty aviators, you hadn’t exactly argued.

The dunk tank had been oddly satisfying, you had to admit, and you’d walked away from the ring toss with a teddy bear of your own. Sure, maybe it wasn’t the seven-foot-tall one that nearly squashed the glasses-clad pilot who had been running the game, but that wasn’t the point. Even the annoying blond pilot who’d wiped the floor with the competition at the dart-balloon game (come on, the pilots weren’t even supposed to be playing tonight) wasn’t enough to ruin your good mood.

As you stood in line for the Skee-Ball machines, waiting your turn, your friend suddenly re-emerged from the crowd, talking so fast you couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

“Wait,” you said, biting back a laugh, “wait, wait, slow down! What’s happening?”

Your friend didn’t say anything, just grabbed you by the hand and started dragging you farther down the main thoroughfare, away from the Skee-Ball machines, completely ignoring your protests and questions. It wasn’t until you started to hear music—Kissing Strangers by DNCE, of course—and the brilliantly illuminated sign held over a small, curtained platform that you realized what was happening.

“Oh no,” you said.

It was a TOPGUN kissing booth, subtitles proudly inviting carnival-goers to give $5 for the opportunity to lock lips with an active-duty naval aviator.

“No way,” you said.

“I only have a ten dollar bill,” said your friend.

“So just kiss someone twice!” you blurted, feeling panicked.

But your friend just grinned and pulled you into line. You barely had time to toss the rest of your candy apple into a bin.

There were two podiums on top of the small stage, with two different pilots in their white service dress. You remembered that the white uniforms were supposed to symbolize peace or something, and pushed down a snicker. The line chattered, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. There was something absurdly juvenile about it all, but you had to admit that it was addicting, and you found yourself getting excited.

Both pilots had signs taped to their podiums, telling people their callsigns. To the right, it read ‘Fritz,’ and to the left it read ‘Payback.’ It seemed like the pilot working the booth was assigning kisses at random, and you glanced between both aviators, nervous about who you’d end up locking lips with.

Before you knew it, you and your friend were next in line, standing in front of the pilot in his khakis, sorting the five-dollar bills people were handing over. Just as your friend started to hand over the ten-dollar bill, the pilot known as Fritz stepped down from his podium and whispered something in the third’s ear.

The third—his nametag said ‘Garcia’—nodded and clapped Fritz on the shoulder, saying, “You’re good. Should be Hangman or Bradshaw back there, send either one out.”

“You’re the best, man,” said Fritz before jogging back onto the stage and disappearing behind the red curtain, already undoing one of the buttons at his throat.

“You paying for both?” Garcia asked your friend, taking the ten dollar bill. When your friend nodded, he said, “Alright, you’re with Payback, you’re with whoever’s next.”

“Okay,” squeaked your friend, sending you an excited smile before stepping up onto the platform and standing across from Payback’s podium. The pilot shot them a charming smile and they just about wilted.

“Where does this money go?” you asked Garcia suddenly, trying to calm your nerves with some small talk. “Surely the military doesn’t need more funding.”

Garcia laughed. “It’s for charity,” he said. “I think prostituting ourselves and keeping the money is a violation of some kind.”

“Oh,” you said. “Oh, that’s nice.”

Feeling a little better, but not that much, you climbed the stage, heading towards the unmanned podium and feeling like every eye was on you. You drummed your fingers nervously on top of the podium, wondering who was about to come out. You didn’t have to wait long; as if on cue, the curtain twitched open and another white-clad aviator stepped out.

Oh no.

It was the pilot from the balloon-darts.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, adjusting his shirt and stopping in front of you. “I know you must’ve been dying of curiosity.”

“Something like that,” you said.

“You just gotta wait a couple more seconds, doll,” he said, winking at you before walking over to Garcia, who handed him his callsign tag for the podium. You watched as he confidently, assuredly stuck it slightly crooked against the post.

Hangman.

Over his shoulder, your friend was already kissing Payback. You realized you’d already been up here longer than most people.

“There we go,” said Hangman, straightening up. “Whenever you’re ready—”

You seized him by the lapels and hauled his mouth against yours, planning on mumbling out a cool, “Let’s get this over with,” but not having enough time.

If Hangman was surprised by your forwardness, he didn’t show it. His hands, big and sturdy, grabbed your waist, offering a calming and stabilizing pressure as his lips threatened to knock you off your feet.

All those people who’d said fighter pilots knew what they were doing weren’t kidding; or at least they weren’t kidding about this fighter pilot.

He turned his head, your mouth falling open almost instinctively as he kissed you deeper. He tasted like something sweet, like kettle corn, or maybe caramel. Later, you’d realize that this wasn’t usually how kissing booth smooches usually went down, but at the moment, the only thought in your head was more.

Your hands skated up over his lapels and wrapped around the back of his neck, and the hands at your waist tightened intoxicatingly. Your stomach was pressing against the sharp corner of the podium as you strained to move closer, and you could feel him doing the same.

Someone in the crowd whooped, and you jerked back with a gasp, wiping at your mouth.

Hangman blinked, that cocky facade momentarily paused. “Uh,” he said.

“Worth the five bucks, I’d say,” you panted, your cheeks already getting hot. Oh my god, everyone had just seen you making out with a pilot.

A smile slowly curled up the corner of Hangman’s mouth. He was still leaning over the podium, looking up at you with an expression that just made you want to grab him and kiss him senseless—again. “My thoughts exactly,” he crooned.

You glanced back towards the line to the booth, realizing everyone—even Garcia—was staring at you with wide, impressed eyes. You took another step back from Hangman, almost stumbling, your hands still touching the corners of your mouth. You couldn’t meet his eyes when you said, “Uh—I’ll see you around, I guess. Have a nice night.”

“See you around,” he replied, his voice carrying over the stage and getting a chuckle out of the gathered crowd. Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look back, walking determinedly back in the direction of the Skee-Ball. You didn’t even particularly want to play Skee-Ball anymore, you just needed to do something with your hands that wasn’t making out with Hangman.

God, you didn’t even know his name!

Your friend had vanished after their kiss with Payback—probably to go flirt with that pilot running the ring toss some more. You were fine with that. Maybe they hadn’t seen your kiss.

Maybe an hour later, you were on a winning streak at Skee-Ball, zoning out and doing anything but thinking about what had happened earlier. When you felt a tap on your shoulder, you figured it was your friend, so you just said, “Gimme a minute, I’m almost done.”

“Kissing and Skee-Ball. Is there anything you aren’t good at?”

You whirled around, warmth already rising in your face again as you realized Hangman himself was standing behind you, dressed in simple jeans and a tee-shirt now. The sight of him out of his uniform was enough to stop the embarrassed word vomit that was about to spill out. Instead, you pulled together your scrambled thoughts enough to say, “You’re done at the booth?”

He shrugged. “We’re not allowed to work longer than an hour at a time.”

You fought back a smile. “Poor you.”

He grinned down at you, but you twisted your mouth into a tight spiral, refusing to let him know how charming you found him. “What do you want?” you asked, not meaning for it to sound so impatient.

“Right, my bad,” he said, blinking and seeming to remember something. He fumbled with his pockets, and you were shocked to see him fumble with anything. From your limited view of him tonight, he hadn’t seemed like a guy that did much fumbling. But eventually he pulled out his phone and held it toward you, saying, “Can I get your number?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. “Seriously?”

He smirked, but it didn’t seem cocky or rude now. “What can I say? Nothing compares to your first.”

You snorted, taking his phone and punching your number in. “I think the saying is, ‘nobody forgets their first.’”

“That too.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling in spite of yourself and stepping to the side so that he wasn’t essentially pinning you to the Skee-Ball machine. “I’ll see you around, Hangman.”

“Wait,” he called. “My name is—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, waving a nonchalant hand. “Text me.”

And you walked back into the carnival to find your friend, a warm and pleased flush filling your whole body.

#jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfic #hangman #hangman fic #hangman fanfic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #jake sersin blurb #hangman imagine #hangman blurb #vinny fics

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avatarmerida · 8 months

Text

Another chapter already? My fatal flaw is I won’t update for a month and then twice within 48 hours. This is very cheesy and corny and just a bunch of kissing idk there really is a plot so sue me. Read on AO3 or under the cut

Hunter was not the best with words, especially when it came to Willow.

He felt safe and happy around her and he really had no issue telling her so, but doing it creatively was a challenge. Willow loved to flirt, before they were official, he was uncertain if she was implying something or if that was just the way she talked. But even now, knowing she liked him back and that her words carried more, he still struggled to respond. They’d sink into a comfortable dialogue, and he was witty enough, but eventually she would say something so sweet and genuine that he knew she would only ever say to him it would render him speechless.

But it only made him more determined.

“I like your jacket,” he said one day as they walked around town, holding hands and enjoying the lovely day together. Willow smiled, knowing he was practicing his flirting since he was the one who had found and altered the jacket for her, so she knew he had something in mind.

“Thanks,” she said brightly. “My boyfriend made it for me.”

“Oh is that why it looks like girlfriend material?” He asked smoothly, but then his words caught up with him as his face displayed his confusion. “Oh, wait hold on, I was supposed to ask you what it was made of and then say that.”

Willow giggled, appreciating the effort. In truth, Hunter was his most charming when he wasn’t thinking, when his actions were quicker than his mind. But the fact that he kept trying was so adorable to her.

“A-re you tired?” Hunter asked, clearly trying again.

“Um not really, why?”

“Because you’ve been running,” he said smugly as though he had succeeded in delivering the pun. When Willow raised her eyebrows at him in confusion, he smacked his forehead with his free hand as he realized his mistake. “Through my mind all day!” He added in panic as though to neglect that part made the sentence offensive somehow.

Willow giggled but Hunter groaned. Luz had helped him study for this moment. She had shown him countless rom coms and animes to help him find his own rhythm. Ever since the night of their first date where she had looked at him with wide eyes when he kissed her hand, he was determined to repeat history. He wanted Willow Park to swoon.

He practiced in the mirror before bed and while he was getting ready for school. He wrote his best ideas down in the back of his notebook. He didn’t understand why it was so hard. He had survived in the wilderness for weeks at a time, endured blistering winds and scorching deserts, battled monsters three times his size, but saying a complete sentence to his girlfriend was where his courage drew the line. How unfair.

“Hey,” he said as they were walking, fighting the lump in his throat. “My friend over there thinks you’re cute.”

He pointed to the other side of the hall with his head and when Willow followed to see who he meant, he teleported into her line of vision, leaning against the wall as though he had been there all along, unaware he was being discussed.

Willow bit her lip, a blush dancing across her face. Oh, that’s a good one, she thought. How long can he keep this up? She sauntered over and leaned against the locker, looking up at him like he was a rock star. He attempted to uphold his cool, aloof look but being so close to Willow made him melt.

“Hey,” she said in a low, airy voice.

“H-hey.”

“Um, just thought I’d let you know that I actually have a boyfriend,” she said, committing to the bit.

“O-oh really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I appreciate the compliment but I’m really happy with him.”

“You are?” He said, unable to hide the delighted surprise in his voice.

“Mhm hm,” she nodded.

“I-I bet he’s really happy to be with you too,” he said, trying to remove the character he was supposed to be. “I bet he thinks you’re really cool and pretty and strong and brave and funny and, uh pretty and-.”

She just laughed, and he loved her laugh. He loved being able to make her laugh, but he wanted to make her feel the way she made him feel so effortlessly. He took her laughter as a win, but he wanted to make her feel like she was floating because a simple thing he said made her heart feel inflated and light. The way she did to him. He wanted to say something so unique and profound and romantic that it played on a loop in her head before bed. To him, everything Willow said was worth committing to memory and he wanted to be worthy of being on her mind.

He would make Willow Park swoon.

What Hunter didn’t see was the small white flowers dancing in her hair every time his eyes lit up when he saw her, her heart lifted her in a way that did not make her speechless but bright and bubbly and excited. She knew that besides a fictional character here and there over the years, that she was Hunter’s first real crush. She was the first person he had actually known who consumed his thoughts in such a quick and gentle way that it made him dizzy. He didn’t know what to expect, he was learning as he went after all. But Willow had had plenty of crushes over the years and had more experience maintaining her emotions and knowing the kinds of things to say. So she wasn’t as flustered as he often was, but she had never thought she’d be able to be so cool around someone she liked so much.

When she was younger, she had gone through the right of passage that was having a crush on both Blight twins. She’d be hanging out with Amity and they’d walk by, doing everything so effortlessly and cool. The way they said her name, the way Ed would ask her how she was or how Em would give her a compliment would make her brain feel broken and frozen and all she could do was giggle. She had no idea if they were saying these things to try and make her feel like this or to be polite or because they said it to everyone. Regardless, it made her feel special. Over time the rush went away, and her heart didn’t leap and jump when they entered the room.

But that night after they met when Hunter sent her five messages in a row, farcically apologizing in a run on sentence where every other word was misspelled and capitalized randomly, followed by another message attempting to correct the previous message and making a new mistake to explain, her heart spun more than it ever had. She knew he wasn’t trying to make her like him like that, and she knew liking him wasn't the best idea. But where her other crushes faded over time, every new little stupid thing Hunter did just added to the flames. For the first time, she had time to prepare, to plan ways to drop hints and be cool.

Her aloofness was only present to Hunter, as everyone else could clearly see the signs of a Willow so far gone. But this only made Hunter try harder, even after he knew she returned his feelings. He just couldn't risk her forgetting or doubting his admiration for her.

He’d write her poems, but the typical “rose are red, violets are blue” motif was far too simple (and technically incorrect) for Hunter to resort to. ( “If violets are blue then why are they named violets?” He’d say. “Violet is a separate color on the color wheel! What, next are you gonna tell me that blue berries are actually violet?”) No, Willow was comparable only to the most rare and captivating flowers, which were a tad bit harder to rhyme in Hunter’s experience. His poem turned into an essay on the history of their discovery and placement through their native realm. By the time he was done, there wasn’t a metaphor to come back to, but Willow treasured it nevertheless.

Willow knew that Hunter was a man of action. She knew she meant the world to him, but he had trouble saying it sometimes. But he never failed to show her.

Every time he’d brush her hair out of her face without thinking, every time he’d double scan the street before they crossed, every time he’d go out of his way to end up near her, she knew. He didn’t even think about these things, they were so natural to him. He probably didn’t think she noticed because he barely noticed it himself.

But in the end, that’s how he finally did it.

Since the day they became official (for the second time?) they both built up that first kiss in their mind.

Okay, it wasn’t technically their first kiss, but it felt like it was. But given their… history, Hunter wanted this kiss to be perfect and planned and maybe not as surprising? They had reached an interesting crossroads where everything was fast and slow at the same time. Willow had told him they could take things as slow as he wanted and she meant it, it was her first relationship too after all and there was much to figure out. But they were just so good at it. They were just so excited. Every time he waited eagerly by her locker with a tiny gift, a trinket he had carved or a plant sample he had cut for her, it took everything in her not to cover his face in kisses. She limited herself to one, maybe two. Because they were taking it slow.

There would be no panicking after about what it meant or what they were, because they knew that now. Quick kisses on the cheek were one thing, but to Hunter a real kiss needed to be special, memorable, and dramatic. But it also had to be simple, organic, and private. After his rushed first attempt on the flyer derby field, Hunter was determined to make the next one perfect. On the other hand, after her ambush at grom, Willow carried a variety of lip glosses in her bag just in case.

They��d go on picnics or to the movies and it would be on both their minds and just when the moment seemed perfect, the sun would be setting or music would be playing, his mind would say “But what if a more romantic moment happens later?” or “What if you didn't actually brush your teeth this morning and your breath smells?” or “What if you miss???” Willow watched the gears turn in his head as he decided and undecided, hoping one day he'd be able to read her mind and know his first instinct had been right.

Then one day they were going to the human realm to return some books to the library, a day filled with errands and tasks and no time for romance. The weather in both realms wasn’t impressive or exciting and they were both tired and sore from a match the night before. It was a dull day, painfully average.

But not for long.

Willow finished packing her purse, both her and Huner loved sneaking snacks into the library (she didn’t tell him it was against the rules) so they could spend even more time there together. As she went to walk out the door, she was stopped when Hunter quickly grabbed her and spun her around to face him, his hands cradling either side of her face.

“Wait,” Hunter said, focused and determined, as she looked up at him in awe, the day of their first match flashed in her head., How similar their position had been, how her heart had beat the same way, how close they were.

“Yeah?” she whispered, hoping he’d say this was the time, that he couldn’t wait another moment to pull her close and hold her tightly so they could finally-

“You forgot to cover your ears,” he said, totally unbothered.

“Oh,” she breathed, too caught up in her own thoughts to communicate her slight disappointment. “Thanks.”

He was too focused on taking care of her to let their closeness fluster him, so naturally the responsibility fell to Willow. As he adjusted her hair for her, she was able to fixate on his features. The lighting in the old cabin was dim, but he had a natural glow to him. He should seem rugged and intimidating but he was so gentle and warm that Willow hoped his hold on her would never end. She didn’t have the words to express this though, as her eyes darted to his lips and the way he stuck his tongue out to the side as he concentrated on not undoing her braids rendered her speechless.

How could he look right at her and not realize she was swooning so freaking hard?

“Sure, happy to help.” he said as he removed his hands from her ears and placed them on her shoulders as he admired his work. He was caught off guard by the stunned expression Willow wore as a faint blush became more present on her cheeks. It was like she was waiting for something, like it was his turn to fill the silence. She pursed her lips and her hands fidgeted between them, like they couldn’t decide what to do. Hunter pulled her closer, assuming that he had missed a strand of hair, and she was resisting the urge to adjust it.

Despite his attention to detail, he could not find the error. Though, he never could when it came to Willow. Satisfied, he went to tell her they were good to go but then saw her focus had never left him. She was waiting for something, but Hunter struggled to read exactly what. Was she eager to leave? Was she worried about what neglecting to cover her ears could have meant? Was she trying to remember something else?

He waited for her to say what she meant to, but she was the speechless one now. He moved his hand to her cheek, slightly concerned that she’d get frustrated and distracted the way he did when he could not remember something. He wanted to let her know he could wait until it came to her, that he wanted to help her. But his small act pushed her over the edge and any chance she had to keep her cool flew out the window.

“Sorry, I thought you were gonna kiss me,” she said quickly as she exhaled, almost too quiet to hear if he had not been right in front of her. She seemed almost embarrassed, like it was such a silly misunderstanding, like she wasn't sure how she had said that aloud. But her lingering gaze suggested she thought it was anything but silly and her shaky breath suggested she was still thinking about it.

“Oh,” was all Hunter could say, caught off guard. Not because he had never thought about it, but because he was surprised this was a moment that she felt worthy enough to add such an action to. He had done nothing impressive, nothing about the setting was particularly memorable, and the day itself held no significant importance. But yet he found himself in the rare occurrence of leaving Willow Park speechless and nervous and hopeful simply because he stood close to her. Suddenly, his mind and heart took hold of his reflexes as he gently pulled her closer to him and allowed her thoughts to no longer be merely thoughts. “Okay.”

He didn’t know what to say next, he didn’t know how to question the importance of the moment without making it seem like the idea was foreign to him. He didn’t know what to say, so he just did. He titled his head, giving her every chance to pull away to finish her sentence, to question him. But she didn’t. She was too stunned, too caught up, too lost in the proximity to take charge. There was no room to be cheeky and coy and silly, this was new territory. Hunter didn’t have the time to build this moment up, to talk himself out of it because this moment found him instead of the other way around. He didn’t have the words, but he didn’t need them here.

He moved forward ever so slightly and when her eyes fluttered closed, he somehow just knew. He knew how to tilt his head the opposite way, he knew how to cup her cheek, he knew the perfect speed to go so he did not crash into her. Then finally, lowly, swiftly, gently his lips found hers. They pressed together for only a moment, so soft and sweet Hunter was sure he’d wandered into a dream. He felt Willow rise onto her toes to reach him better, and his natural response was to pull her closer. Not wanting her to strain herself in any way, he moved one arm around her waist to help lift her up and her arms rested on his chest, and she kissed him back.

As a vine sprouted from her hair and swirled around his wrist by her face, wrapping his arm like a branch to keep him close. Flowers formed at their feet, the sweet smell tickling Hunter’s nose as he tried committing every millisecond to memory. He had been so worried that when the time came, he couldn’t know if it had been the right moment or if he had done it correctly, but now as an extravagant garden surrounded them, he was certain he had not messed this up. And that certainly gave him the confidence to kiss her again and again, every time he pulled away (because he didn’t want to stay too long a potentially be rude, time didn't seem to be working at the moment) she followed him and held her place for a moment. He felt the vine tightened slightly, as though sending a signal Willow herself was too overwhelmed to communicate herself and he knew it was okay to kiss her again. And he was glad, because he wanted to.

Soon enough, the pair did manage to stop, and both pulled away slowly. Willow took a moment to open her eyes, no words coming to her as she tried to describe what the foliage around her symbolized. When opened her eyes to look up at Hunter, he looked like he was holding his breath.

“What’s wrong?” She asked with a smile, she felt as though she would never stop smiling.

“I don’t wanna say something stupid and have that be the first thing I say after our first kiss.” He said quietly, having learned from his sister’s “crickey” slip.

Willow didn’t feel the need to point out it wasn’t technically their first kiss, she just pulled him closer as she rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him in adoration as he continued to ramble about how he was worried he would start to ramble. Luckily, she had the perfect solution as she rose up onto her tip toes and planted another gentle kiss on his lips to interrupt him in the best way possible. She would be interrupting him more frequently, she decided.

“Heh,” Hunter giggled as Willow slowly parted again, the dreamy look on her face erasing any lingering nerves. He couldn't help being familiar with that look, it was the same look she so effortlessly inspired in him. He dared to think he had done it without even trying. He had made her swoon.

“So, uh was that okay?” he asked, trying to dodge his nerves a while longer until he knew for certain.

“Hmmm, I think I’m gonna forget to hide my ears more often,” she said in a breathy laugh that eased him and registered them on equal ground as she tucked her hair behind her ear, a gesture she hoped he would forever interpret as a sign.

---

From that point on, Willow became obsessed. Hunter making the first move was not completely uncommon, but to make such a bold one made her distracted. Any moment of silence was filled with the memory of his lips on hers, a quick return to their bubble. But again, Hunter was still becoming accustomed to such displays of affection, so she went to great strides to assure him the moment did not need to be grand to be commemorated. So long as he kissed her like that , like she was a rose he’d endure countless thorns to be near, she’d find utter bliss in the uneventful.

To Willow, studying was very uneventful. To her joy, Hunter always insisted on studying together.

They'd all study in a group, but today it was just them. Her fathers wouldn't be back for at least an hour, Willow providing them with a lengthy list of ingredients with items that should be the demon realm equivalent for a meal she loved in the human realm that they wanted to recreate. She may have added a few extras to extend her alone time with Hunter, but who can be sure.

"Do you think we can take a break?" Willow asked sweetly as she looked down at Hunter, engaged in his books sprawled across the couch as his head rested in her lap.

"We just took one," Hunter chuckled, setting his book on the coffee table as he looked up at her with a gentle smile.

"I know, but I'm having trouble concentrating," she said as she tucked her hair behind her ear. In truth, Willow didn't have trouble focusing on the subject matter because it was too complicated, but because she couldn't help but focus on the way Hunter moved his lips when he read.

"Well, I'm just rereading my chapter, I can help you," he offered, more than happy to. "I can try quizzing you, give your eyes a break. I’m sure there’s a way we can make studying more fun."

That was exactly what Willow was hoping he'd say.

“Okay then, how about… for every question I get right I get a little kiss?” suggested Willow as she twirled his forelock between her fingers. She took delight in the way she could see the exact moment when Hunter processed her words: his eyes widened, his heart seemed to stop, and his bones seemed to turn to noodles as he tried not to let his excitement show on his face too much.

“Okay, I think I can do that.” said Hunter, trying to seem casual about it as he sat up and happily took the book from her. She adjusted her position to face him as he flipped to the review section of the book. He cleared his throat as he began, able to forsake his flustered state for the sake of her education. He was in his element. “Okay uh, what does it mean if a plant’s petals change color in the sunlight?”

“That it’s either being under or overwatered, depending on the hue,” answered Willow effortlessly.

“Correct,” said Hunter leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. She smiled, able to tell he was genuinely proud of her for knowing the answer. “Alright, how many seeds do you need to replicate the twisting tree native to the mountains of Latissa?”

“Three, like a braid,” said Willow proudly, leaning forward to present Hunter with her cheek as he happily supplied her with her reward.

“Okay, how often do you need to prune the-.”

“You skipped one.” said Willow.

“Huh?” said Hunter as he looked back down to the study guide. “Oh, yeah you’re right sorry I- wait; did you memorize this list?”

“Yeah?” She said innocently. “I mean, isn’t that what studying is?”

“Do you actually need my help or were you just looking for an excuse to kiss?” he asked with a smirk as he rested his cheek on his fist, hanging his arm over the edge of the coach as he looked at her with wistful eyes.

“Can’t it be both?” she smirked back, her eyes likewise sparkling.

Hunter chuckled. “Do you really think you need an excuse for me to want to kiss you?” He asked playfully, questioning only about her methods, not her intentions. He would normally be nervous about flirting so directly, but he did also want to make sure she knew she didn't need to go to so much trouble for him.

“Nooo,” she laughed, delighted his energy matched hers. She only felt a little silly, but it was worth it to see him smile at her like that.

“Correct.” Hunter leaned forward and this time placed a kiss on her lips before leaning back to return his attention to the book. Willow was momentarily taken back by his boldness, delighted by his initiative and somewhat shocked that he could return to schoolwork so easily. When he didn’t go back to quizzing her right away, she sensed he was waiting to see her reaction. She swiftly reached for the book and pulled it down to bring his attention back to her as pressed another kiss to his lips. This one was less quick, and Hunter allowed the book to fall to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her to extend it. The next thing he knew, his balance was lost as Willow leaned forward to kiss him more intensely and he ended up laying on the couch, her lips never leaving his as she fell with him to land beside him.

Continuing to kiss her felt so natural and easier as she took the lead now. He knew how uncomfortable it was for her to have her glasses on when she laid down, so he removed her glasses for her, action she showed gratitude for by pulling him closer, the clunky barrier on her face no longer a deterrent. He set her glasses on the table and once they were safe, he used the free hand to caress her cheek, the other one pinned at his side under him, but he could hardly complain. They fell into a rhythm of sorts, as each kiss inspired another and the world around them disappeared.

As he felt her hand wander through his hair knew, his guilty nature told him that he should insist they go back to studying, that she had a big test coming up and he had promised to help her. He resisted a few moments more, finding that it was hardly a one-sided distraction, but knew it was a distraction nonetheless. “Willow, I think-,” but when he went to vocalize his thoughts, his mind went blank when he was met with her mischievous eyes that wordlessly called his bluff. Why was he trying to end this moment so soon again? “I uh, w-we should get back to studying.” He knew he needed to say, despite it being the last thing he wanted to say.

“Okay,” she said in a tone that suggested that what they should be doing and what they would be doing did not co-exist. Seeing that he did not loosen his hold on her, she snuggled closer to him and began kissing the side of his face and continued the conversation like this was just a normal part of it. Her voice was low and relaxed like she was in a dream, and this was the only way to keep him there with her. “Is that what you want to do?”

“We uh… I mean, don’t you…” he looked up at the ceiling as Willow peppered his jawline with kisses. He couldn't help but think that they never kissed so much before. When they managed to be alone, it was usually somewhere public and when he managed to summon the courage to kiss her it was usually very quick. It took him less time now to come around to the idea that she wanted to kiss him and keep kissing him. He had been so worried before about knowing if he was doing it right or if it was the right time, but every time her lips found his temple, all his mind could point out was that whole he was in the moment there was no time to overthink it. The logic wasn’t totally sound, but the amazing girl that he was crazy about wanted to kiss him right now and he was failing to find a reason she shouldn’t.

He turned his face to the side to look at her again and she stopped, waiting to see what he wanted to do. Her eyes flashed a small panic, worried she had overstepped or made him uncomfortable, but before she could even try to apologize Hunter moved to kiss her lips with such vigor that they tumbled off the couch.

Willow let out a squeal of delight as she wrapped her arms around his neck in celebration, trying to find a way to kiss him both quicker and longer at the same time. Anytime their lips weren’t touching Willow let out a small, delighted giggle and Hunter found himself joining in as they laughed and kissed on her living room floor, their studies left for a different day. In his mind, he referred to the next 10 minutes of nonstop kissing as "advanced kissing."

Willow would never tell him that most teenagers refer to it as “making out” because his terminology was much, much cuter.

---

“Darius! Darius!” Hunter called in a panicked voice as he rushed down the stairs in commotion the next day.

Darius and Alador sat at the kitchen table working on their second pot of coffee, having been up all night so close to a breakthrough in the sigil remover. Darius groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing by Hunter’s tone that it was nothing dangerous or life threatening, just that it was definitely too early for his unique brand of nonsense.

“In here, little prince,” he called anyway, knowing that prolonging it would only make things worse. Hunter rounded the corner, his sock feet sliding in on the wooden floor nearly causing him to face plant as he entered with such an aggressive purpose.

“Darius!” he panted. “ Darius, i-it’s an emergency! I’m having a physical reaction to love!”

Darius nearly spit out his coffee as Alador’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh,” said Alador, setting down his own cup as Darius coughed beside him. “Hmm, well ya know what I can call Edric over and give you both the talk at the same time if you-.”

“No, no, let him finish,” Darius said as he hit his chest to steady his breathing. “It’s most likely not what you think. Now, what exactly do you mean, Hunter?”

“Okay, well last night when I went to Willow’s I was helping her study for her exam and then we started kissing and she did this thing-.”

“Eh,” Darius raised his hand, cutting him off. “I don’t need to know all the details, just get to the point while I’m young please.”

“What, you wanted him to get to the point 10 years ago?” Alador murmured as he sipped his coffee with a satisfied smile, avoiding the deadly glare he knew Darius was giving him.

“Okay, okay but this morning I woke up with this!’ Hunter exclaimed, pulling his shirt collar to reveal a purple mark on the side of his neck. Unable to help themselves, Darius and Alador burst into laughter as Hunter’s panic increased.

“Why are you laughing?’ He demanded. “It’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Darius said as he tried to dim his laughter. “No, no you’re right, it’s very serious. But just not in the way you’re thinking.”

“So I’m okay?” he asked cautiously. “This is normal? I’m not sick? I-it’s not a grimwalker thing?”

“No, no,” said Alador, trying to compose himself. “If anything, it’s a teenager thing.”

“So I’m okay? I’m not dying?”

“No, no no,” said Darius, wiping a tear from his eye. “Although, it would probably be in your best interest to put on a scarf if you plan on going to her house today. If her fathers see that, I’m quite certain their reaction won’t be as humorous.”

“So it is a bad thing?” Hunter asked, still not understanding the concept of a hickey. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Well, as one of your guardians, I’ll have to consult with Camila on how to answer that question when it comes to something like this,” chuckled Darius as he prepared his scroll to take a photo to show Camila on their next weekly wine and cheese night

“So, it’s not a curse or something? It doesn’t mean Willow is secretly mad at me or upset?”

“Well now, that’s something you’ll have to ask her to be sure,” said Darius sincerely as he went to fix Hunter a plate for breakfast. “But, as a former teenager, I think it’s safe to say she’s definitely not upset with you, little prince.”

#huntlow #huntlow fanfiction #toh #Hunter toh #Willow park #winter toh #the owl house

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theresa-of-liechtenstein · 2 months

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'em' you may say. 'em once again it is not a tuesday or a thursday why are you here with another—' shut up. my life is hilarious.

presenting: em engages in the local classical music scene, electric boogaloo. special guest: tita conductor

so as may have been stated before, i managed to reserve a seat at an open rehearsal for the local philharmonic because this was literally the extracurricular life i dreamed of having five years ago. i was also aware that i would likely be the only person under the age of thirty from my university orchestra in attendance

which was the case. i found myself sitting one chair down from tita conductor (who tiptoed up the row towards me upon seeing me, leaving me frankly. Baffled. like madam what is your deal)

upon getting comfortable, she pulled out a whole 15-inch laptop and, turning it on, said eagerly, 'i've got the score [of the symphony they were performing] here to follow along and nerd out about!' before she realized. that she needed wi-fi to access it.

naturally i thought that was hilarious but once she started reading the conductor notes i was lowkey getting interested (you all know me.) and she noticed me getting interested so she said 'you can come sit next to me'. needed no second urging

luckily they didn't even start with that one (florence price my beloved. beautiful work for strings and conducted by the guest conductor)

then we moved on to a locally written violin concerto that did not immediately endear itself to me because of its requirement to have the brass do a sound like a car backfiring twice in the first movement. not fun

then the soloist (also composer) stopped to request a microphone because he couldn't project over the orchestra, they spent several minutes fussing with that

tita conductor leaned over to me (leaned is a strong word, she had already decided that my left armrest was Her armrest despite the seat on her left being empty) and whispered "that is probably about $2000 worth of wages right there" LMAO?

they finally went on their way, but at several points i found myself increasingly concerned that tita conductor was going to doze off on me. picture a "who wants to be a millionaire" question such that:

after that they took a break, during which tita conductor was heading toward the parking lot to fetch a scarf for our principal cellist (who was also in attendance, one seat down on tita conductor's other side) and, being Decidedly Not A City Person, i tagged along just so i could have a walking buddy to get water from my car.

not for the first time, she asked me whether i found the score of the modern piece i'd requested useful, which i answered to the affirmative. then she pressed further on why i'd wanted it, to which i told her the truth: general curiosity, and wanting to write in cues for myself as a backup plan if i miscounted the various time signature changes, or places where the string rhythms matched so i could take a look at bowings during rehearsal. she seemed to file that away for reference.

we headed back in for the second half, where at last tita conductor could pull out the score she was so excited to read (and re-log in to the wi-fi so she could read it), and spent the next 35 minutes squinting at the laptop screen following it. which was a lot of fun (even if we did get lost for a few pages halfway through the second movement and have to wait to hear a recognizable bit to reorient)

after returning to some parts of the first movement for review, they closed with a group of singers. as they were setting up microphones on stage, i was realizing that the dehydration headache i had had since brahms the night before was growing worse

off tita conductor's query as to whether i was going to attend the actual concert, my response that my headache was getting worse, and my realization that i was out of tylenol, she rummaged in her bag and offered me some advil out of an old makeup container, which i almost took before i realized (1) i've never taken ibuprofen and (2) i was going to just accept drugs off a random woman, favorite person in the music department she may be.

i politely declined and resolved to grit my teeth through it.

i was eager to get out and head back home, but as tita conductor (again, walking buddy) and i tried to get out the door, some lady blocked our way out to interview us on 'how we can increase engagement of young people with classical music'. well, perfect person to ask, i thought, seeing as that's pretty much her job. i was pretty anxious to head out, but saw that i actually would have something relevant to say about it as a Member of the Classical Music Community and Certified Youth, so i stayed back with tita conductor.

"i know you have to keep the orchestra going, but your student tickets should not be $20" - tita conductor, Fighting For Her Students

finally the random lady turned to me and asked "and what would you like to see programmed in an orchestra concert? movie music? contemporary pieces?"

it gave me much pleasure to give her a direct stare and say, "mid-classical. late classical. early romantic."

i mean i did warn her that i'm not necessarily representative of an entire demographic (look, i was the only undergrad tita conductor invited who actually came) but she was actually a little surprised by that?

also like. you ask Me. principal second violinist of the [unnamed university] orchestra, as i stand next to my boss, tita conductor, conductor of the [unnamed university] orchestra, after i just studied a score and attended an all-brahms concert the night before, and act surprised that i don't go for the movie music.

so i added my whole spiel about how young people, especially students who are expected to have some grasp of Western history, could best be reached out to if only organizations just. Went out of their way to give historical context in like a pre-concert talk or something like that. how i took for granted that people generally can connect art with the times in which it was created because that was how i developed my own musicality—through an historic lens.

i didn't really know if i got the point across because (1) headache and (2) tita conductor was looking very intently at me

hilarious to me how tita conductor also chipped in "and em is very serious about [classical music]" like we didn't just spend three hours statler-and-waldorfing in the back of this auditorium

walking back to the parking, trying to be a little lighthearted, i said "well that was... a little on the spot" to which tita conductor looked back at me and said "but i agree with you. you were right." W FOR ME I HAVE GOOD TAKES!

we chatted a little more (during which tita conductor straight up blocked the sun when she noticed i was squinting up at her, making another 'the frizz around a girl's hair is actually a halo' moment) before going our separate ways

i ran into another fucking pothole by accident on my way home but it was at such a low speed that the tires did not get damaged.

anyways. one year out from my fateful 'oh god i think i like my conductor' moment. we are having tita conductor moments like i wouldn't ever have believed.

this is making things very, very difficult for me.

#em jumped up busker #the transcendent third #<- indicates presence of a cartoon

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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to my sweetheart

40s!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader [2.6k] Summary: Each night Bucky gets some sleep, which is not often, he dreams of two things for certain: The first, of course, it's you. The calm before the storm. The second, and this was as weird as everything else, was falling. He hated every second of it and hated the first second he woke up the most—when he felt that weird sense of deja vú. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. I hope you enjoy this sweetheart Saturday. | 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love declarations. warnings⚠️ mature content—depictions of sex, so minors dni. age-typical topics— war, drugs, violence, death, depression & alcohol consumption... etc.

masterlist | series masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤAugust, 1943.

Somewhere between England and Italy, Bucky lost track of time.

Days weren't the same now and he wondered if they ever would be. The empty gaps between horrors and the eerie quietude of bars in towns he's never heard the name of—they make him queasy.

Bucky's lost in time, but not without a compass.

Your words guide him home.

In spilled ink that he sees in the corner of the pages or the coffee stains on pages two or three, Bucky can see you crouched down behind your work's balcony, writing with one hand and nursing your mug of pure caffeine with the other.

Those things.

The memories. They're what keep him grounded at first.

Any memory from that Sunday before being shipped back is his safe place. Dum Dum called those days a "mind palace". Bucky laughed at him when he did, and Morita said, "you say the wildest fuckin' things, Dum Dum," but he'd been right.

Bucky needed a fortress to hide.

Somewhere no war could reach, or sink its claws inside.

Everything around him shone lights on the most twisted things and ideals—he buried himself in the memories.

In you.

The letters were only a bridge.

He noticed that having a head on his shoulders helped the others, too.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ"In a way, sweetheart, you're like everybody's guardian angel here, y'know? They say 'Sarge, it's easy to not go crazy when we've gotta fella like you around', but most of them don't know that you keep me not crazy. So they owe ya one, even if they don't know it. If When we all make it out of here, I'll let 'em know, and that way, they can pay ya. DumDum already knows you don't like anything with lem I hope it's soon."

ㅤㅤㅤ

As he buries the safe parts of his mind in a random Sunday day, Bucky realizes a lot about himself.

They're traveling from London to a city in the countryside of Italy when he notices that he's sturdy. The word strong is intimately attached to the idea of Morita now—a tall, broad fortitude of a man whose presence is twice bigger than himself. But Bucky's sturdy—like a good structure, a firm base.

His unity gets a mission.

He doesn't think about it. If you're being logical, he told his reflection, this is better. No trenches. No open air.

(It wasn't better. It was unknown, uncharted territory.

Bucky remained with his head held high. Told his men—"we'll work it out.")

The letters are his safe boat, and he floats in the warm waters of your fountains for as long as the damned mails allow him to.

It's a chilling shock when the boat is pulled from underneath him.

The cold waters of reality suck—and the government provides the aid for it.

Bucky re-reads the letters tucked inside his metal box when the mailman tells them about the mess up.

He feels himself slipping when his hands are shaking—the repeated words stop being enough with his mind lost in scenarios of you back home, alone.

The lack of replies from Steve is the last straw. Or the final pull.

Bucky allows the morphine to numb him.

He didn't keep his men from tobacco, prostitutes, alcohol, and the cheap morphine provided by the ones that wanted all soldiers placated the most.

It was... needed.

That's what he told himself.

You need this. If you wanna make it back to her and him, you need this. But you better be fucking smart about it, too, 'cause they will both whoop your ass if you come back fucked up.

Bucky's morning prayer: you need this. if you wanna make it back to her and him, you need this, but you better...

As long as it kept him microdosing as much as possible, all should be fine.

Right?

Not right.

Nothing was right, but fuck.

There was nothing human about staying alive like this. Nothing humane about how the people up top handled the world and played with everyone else living in it, and Bucky made the skin between his thumb and forefinger bleed trying to organize those thoughts as he wrote them to you.

Pages, so many pages of the inside of James Buchanan Barnes, and all because someone answered from the other side. When mail wasn't intercepted—when things weren't fucked.

Bucky could almost hear the disappointment in your voice every time he put something in his mouth that he shouldn't.

Be that a cigarette, alcohol, drugs.

He heard, "Jay... that shit's nasty, c'mon."

It made him smile.

When he heard, "You better not think I'm gonna kiss you if you keep using this crap," the smile left, though.

Even you weren't immune to the dark, intrusive thoughts.

(Sometimes, they won. The ugly thoughts devoured if he'd been obligated to pull the trigger many times. If he kept hearing the sound of something exploding, or his eyes stumbled upon worse than bits and pieces flying here and there.

On those nights, he went either to Morita or Dum Dum. The three of them understood each other better. Talked things out, sometimes.

"This has to end at some fuckin' point," Bucky pleaded. To what or who, no one fucking knew. He turned to Morita, "how stupid is this? Just—how fuckin' stupid is this, Jim?"

"The stupidest," said Jim. Bucky liked hearing him pissed off. "But that's who rules this world for you, Sarge. Stupid men.")

Each night Bucky gets some sleep, which is not often, he dreams of two things for certain: The first, of course, it's you. The calm before the storm.

The second, and this was as weird as everything else, was falling. He hated every second of it and hated the first second he woke up the most—when he felt that weird sense of deja vú.

When he asked Dum Dum about it, his reply was as helpful as not hearing from you and Steve in longer than Bucky could care for:

"Eugh. Put a cup of water next to ya before you sleep, Sarge. That''s like hair and teeth fallin' and shit like that—a warning for ya to wish the evil eye away."

Bucky loved the guy with all his heart, but he wasn't sure what was stupider: The notion that a glass of water would help at all (or not freeze in the fucking cold they were facing these days), or that someone could 'wish away the evil eye' in the middle of the war.

If only.

ㅤㅤㅤ...

—didn't even try to hide it. I think the boys get a thrill from that. They respect me and follow my orders, which is more than I can ask for.

But for now, never mind them. I can't even fathom thinking about the words you wrote that got lost somewhere; crumpled under dust, debris, and nothing nice. Your words deserved better than that. How fuckin' primitive is it that we still gotta rely on papers to even hear from one another, hm? I think all the things you said at the Expo are so true it hurts, and that's a bit sad for me to think about. I always liked technology. You know that. Surely I thought at least some of the people who controlled it were better at optimizing everybody's life qualities, but, hey—you were right about that, too. I think evil lizards just took over long ago, and we never climbed up high enough to know it.

You asked me what I think it'll be the hardest part when I'm back, and I dreaded writing the answer to that.

Truth is—I'm terrified of you. Not as a person, sweetheart, but, the idea of you, d'you know? Nowadays I'm not sure when I'm makin much sense or not so I apologize if I did it again because of The thing is... What if I'm no good? What if my company gets an expiration date because I'm in touch with all of this shit, y'know?

Sometimes it feels like the smell of death and blood is ingrained in me. It's fuckin' disgusting, I know, and I'm sorry to even say it. I just wanna take so many showers and the mere idea of gettin' one is so far-fetched and ridiculous that one of these days I cried because of how hard I wanted it. Please don't think I'm a kid. Fuck what am I saying you'd never judge me for this shit. I'm sorry sweetheart I keep second-guessing things I haven't gotten much sleep. I promise I'll try today

Remember us waking up on Sunday morning?

That's the part of my Sunday I go to whenever I just wanna cry. I head to the bit where I woke up with you in my arms. Your naked body still laying against mine. So soft, baby. So right. The little sighs you make when you turn around always made me smile. You toss and turn like a hurricane all night long, but it's fine—I'll buy us a big bed when I'm back, so we can have that mornin' but even better. Can you picture that? 'Cause I do. I can't wait to say to you this one. Can't wait to whisper BURMA in your ear just so I can hear you laugh at our secret codes. Giggle and moan because I can't keep my mouth to myself when I'm around you.

I keep thinking about how hard you were sleeping. I know you only slept that hard because we were up all night. (That's the part of my Sunday I go back to whenever I need to feel some heat in my body again, or just to know that it's made for more than bad things. That it can be good. Soft. That it's touched someone with tenderness and been touched with love back.) The way you slept even as I kissed your legs, from your ankle all the way up to your inner thighs. How you only opened your eyes when I pulled your knees apart with my head.

I think about that precious morning, that part of my Sunday where everything was just perfect. Waking up to you was fucking perfect. Touching you lazily until your body woke up, getting to know your body with sleep still holding onto the last shreds of darkness in my brain, and the utter perfection of finding out pleasure even without the burning, scorching fire you leave as a trace whenever you touched me. I felt like we'd been married for ten years, that morning, and I could feast on my beautiful wife without a care in the world for what comes later... just because.

I loved spending hours on your body. I'll never thank you enough for trusting me with you the way you did it. Do it. Jesus Christ I can't even fathom not havin' you anymore. No past tense here. I love the sounds you make and how loud you are for me. I love how you let me please you, and tell me just how you want it. I miss that right now. The most comfortable I've ever been was buried deep inside of you as you sat on my lap, your arms wrapped tight around my neck and your lips on my ear telling me every filthy dream you had in my absence. That's my 'mind palace'. Tell no one, though. They think it's something much sweeter.

What are the parts of our golden Sunday you think about the most? Tell me. I wanna know what parts make your days, just as that morning makes mine. I know you hate when I keep babbling about the way I see you — and shyness suits you very well, no matter what Steve says — but I'm gonna do it for a while longer before we talk about the other thing.

(Speaking of your Blond half, can you please tell me where the fuck has he been? I'm drivin' myself mad convincing Steve didn't put himself in a stupid ass position again. I don't got enough morphine in here to withstand this level of worry, I swear to fuckin' god.)

ㅤㅤㅤ...

A lot of shit changes in only a few months, but one thing remains certain: his stubbornness.

He is Winnifred's son, after all.

When his superiors tell him about the mission in Azzano, Bucky shakes his head sharply. Inside his mind, he silently apologizes to his missus before lighting a damn tobacco. Then he argues with his superior.

"That ain't happenin', sir," he says. There's as much confidence in there as he can muster.

His Captain leans with one forearm on the table, and exhales every ounce of air in his chest. "And why not, Sargeant?"

They've been through the 'why' before. Bucky explained in the most cohesive and short way possible the reason why his mission would fucking suck — "you really need to learn how to sweet-talk your superiors, Jay; bad-mouthing them can only be done in your mind; it ain't their faults they think they're special. they're the bosses. as stupid as the rest of us, if not more, and still human, unfortunately. just butter them up" — he stops.

She's right, he thinks.

I often am, your voice replies.

After a deep breath, Bucky goes over it again.

Points at the maps hung in the guy's walls to see if visual aid can help his clear cognitive fucking issues, and drags his fingers through the landscape, running over the plan.

The holes. The improbabilities.

Bucky has this annoying, grating scratch that seems to be attached to his spine. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, bed, or every basic human need in general, but it's made him more cranky.

Less open to be cordial, but he tries.

Eventually, the Captain groans out loud, explaining, "Well, that does check out," as if Bucky would spend minutes talking nonsense in the middle of a war, "but—there isn't much I can do, Barnes. I'm trying my best here—"

We're all "trying our best."

"—and if I'm being honest with you," says the Captain. "I know that this is a hard thing I'm asking of you."

Bucky holds in the scoff. Keeps his eyes in check, and not photographing the back of his skull.

"It really is, sir."

So they compromise.

After over one hour and a half longer of discussing tactics that still contain as many holes as it can fit in an ant's colony, they reach a 'compromise'.

Their unit's 'special mission' is a go-to, and Bucky leaves the base office with that scratch making every muscle in his body hard. Tense.

He shivers, willing away that stupid feeling that hovers at the back of his neck.

When he gets back to his secluded location, the boys all welcome him with tired eyes. Morita hands him the bottle of whiskey and, before he does his duty and fills everybody in, he picks up a piece of paper and your last letter.

"Gonna write, Sarge?" Dum Dum asks.

With Bucky's nod, he switches the gun from the left to the right side and sends him an encouraging smile. "Tell the missus I said hi. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks, Morita."

He starts:

ㅤㅤㅤHi, sweetheart.

First of: I've got some news to tell ya that you're not gonna be fond of. (And oh—Morita says 'hi, missus'. I think he wants to have your babies now that you supplied him with Gudang. Just so ya know.) Now take a deep breath, a really long one—actually, go make yourself some tea.

ㅤㅤㅤ...

↳ my inbox 💌 ↲

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pennielane · 10 months

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Not to get all self-promo (does this count as promotion if it's just revealing that I have been spending too much time on this shit for decades lolol), but if folks would like primary sources on the shit that was going down in McCartney v. Mills, I have annotated their divorce settlement - technically I've done it twice, once at the time and once more recently, and I could probably go through and do it again and still have more to add because the whole thing is Insane: https://royaltyisshe64.tumblr.com/post/672503132585132032/le-divorce-part-the-it-is-finished

Re: Paul and Linda's rough patch. Neither of them did an explicit "we're having a hard time right now for [reasons]" statement, but they did have a LOT of stressors in the mid/late '80s. Pre-Flowers in the Dirt, Paul was experiencing a pretty severe (by his standards) critical/commercial downturn and was still reeling from the trauma of his estranged best friend's murder. They also had two teenage daughters, an adolescent son, and an adult daughter who was going through significant mental health struggles. They were almost perpetually getting busted for possession and Paul had Not Long Ago Literally Been In A Japanese Prison. They were trying to strike a balance between Paul's career and Linda reestablishing her own, separately. And I think Linda really, really did not want to tour again (even if she were to participate in an off-stage capacity), but, by '86 or so, Paul really, really wanted to. This does come up a bit when they talk about their marriage "not being perfect" in interviews, though neither of them ever went in-depth about it. There is quite a bit in the lyrical content of Press to Play (and that album's b-sides) and Flowers in the Dirt that backs this up, I think - Tough on a Tightrope, We Got Married, This One (even though I know the popular narrative here is that it's about John... I mean, it can also be both, like Two of Us, lol). I certainly don't think they were miserable 24/7 during that period or that they were necessarily On The Verge of Divorce; I do believe that they had to put in a lot of hard work and both of them had to compromise to keep all those plates spinning. And ultimately, they seemed to end up much happier - until Linda's diagnosis brought it all crashing down.

you're literally my hero for annotating the divorce settlement, i can't believe i hadn't seen you had done that!! the lady mccartney at the beginning made me literally projectile vomit but all your insightful and hilarious comments (the stella being homicidal one ajfdhlsakrfhjaksf) really softened the blows throughout that insane document

re: the rough patch insight, thank you for your expertise!! i always loved tough on a tightrope, i think it's one of paul's more romantic songs but totally depicts a Hard Time in their marriage. considering everything you said, it makes total sense that they would've been Going Through It in the late 80s. Paul had Not Long Ago Literally Been In A Japanese Prison. - no but for real, i used to laugh about this but i read more about it recently and like, i didn't realize how insanely lucky he was (+ privileged to have very powerful lawyers) to not have spent his entire life in that prison 💀

they did seem super happy (dare i say the happiest they'd ever seemed?) in the 90s until linda's diagnosis (i mean they seemed As Happy As They Could Be throughout her treatment as well but paul looked a helluva lot more disheveled). fuck you cancer!!

#thank you for your service hannah!!!🫡#you're the goat about this truly #royaltyisshe64 #ask #paul mccartney #linda mccartney #the beatles #tagging bc everyone deserves to read hannah's thoughts about this #🤍🤍

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k-s-morgan · 8 months

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Thanks a lot for the update!! It's amazing to read Tom and Harry's interactions, the different way they see the world and how they complement each other!! I have a few questions, is that ok? Tom had said in previous chapters that he didn't see much in Harry as a person, does he still think that way? Does Tom realize that Harry is someone who cares about others and will never fully belong to anyone or does he still see him as a pet? And that slap, man, that was personal, Tom wants to be Harry's only family but he still doesn't think of Harry as family, right? I think the Tom of now just wants to take everything he can out of Harry, the thought of reprocity must not even have come to his mind yet lol And Harry.. oh man, I don't know if he noticed but I don't think he treats Tom like a friend, it seems to be something between enemy and a lover, oh I don't know! maybe I'm rushing but the way Harry took Tom's hand (TWICE AAAAA) gave me an "I'm with you" vibe I still get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it!! I wonder what Tom was thinking when Harry took his hand in front of Dumbledore and then when it was just the two of them!! Aa Katrin, you are certainly my favorite author!!🙇‍♀️❤️❤️ and again thanks you so much!!!

Thank you for such an amazing review, I'm so happy you liked this new chapter! I really enjoy writing about these versions of Tom and Harry. They are so drawn to each other, I can barely keep them apart, lol.

And sure, I love questions! Tom's opinion on Harry has certainly evolved. Harry brought something uniquely new into his life, so he finds himself appreciating the banter, the kind of devotion where Harry supports him but still criticizes him, even his own possessiveness. Tom is still not sure about it, but he likes doing small things to take care of Harry. I'd say that this enjoyment has a pretty condescending nature for now, but it's progress nonetheless. Tom considers Harry his person and he likes exploring the nuances and limits of this new relationship and dynamic. So at this point, he does see something in Harry. He understands that Harry is a potential leader and a threat, but he's too immersed in their bond for it to take precedence.

It's not that he considers Harry a pet, but he doesn't acknowledge him as an actual individual either, not entirely. Tom is just not used to people being what Harry is supposed to be to him. He considers everyone either a tool, someone worthless, or an enemy. Harry got into a separate new category, and Tom doesn't know what to do or how to feel about him yet. It's obvious in the scene where he tries to comfort Harry by stroking his hair. It's awkward and weird, and Tom is never awkward with others. On the contrary, other people know him as charming and smooth. That's because he's constantly manipulating and pretending with everyone - with Harry, he's stuck somewhere in the middle. He's trying on a new role and he's not very good at it yet. Their bond is so new that he's only starting to figure it out.

With reciprocation, it's pretty complex. Tom understands that if he wants Harry to feel something for him, he needs to reciprocate. So he's been trying to do it in some ways, like by helping Harry re-discover his appetite. Tom thinks Harry could be his potential family because he believes this occured in another universe. He's determined to make it happen again, to recreate it, and he acknowledges that he has to make an effort, too. But the majority of the things he does come from his logic. He realizes that Harry is looking for mutuality, so he's making conscious and calculated choices to give it to him. Very little of it is instinctive and emotionally genuine. But these moments will be increasing with every chapter.

It's funny because Harry and Tom are basically playing a game. Harry created a setting with fictional characters and now they both work to correspond to it and to become someone they never were. Harry is playing someone who loved Tom, who considered him the focus of everything, and he's gradually buying into his own lies. Tom is also playing, trying to recreate something that never really happened, not knowing that what he strives for, what he's prepared to change himself for bit by bit is a complete and total lie.

I honestly thought canon Harry felt vague, distant attraction to Tom Riddle, with how obsessed he seemed to be with his beauty, so I'm playing it up in this story, where Harry spends so much time with him and is determined to get close to him. I think he's attracted to Tom already, even though he doesn't realize it, and since his own lies get to him, a part of him started to believe in the universe where only the two of them mattered - emotionally, at least. Harry begins to treat Tom like someone he loves, even though he doesn't love him yet, and I find it fascinating to describe and explore it.

In a scene where Harry grabbed Tom's hand in front of Dumbledore, Tom felt reassured, and because it's a new and strange feeling, he promptly felt curious and wary. Later, when Harry took his hand again in the Room of Requirement, Tom felt complete. Like he wasn't alone now, like he wouldn't be alone ever again. He never thought that Harry might want to come with him. It's one thing for Harry to love and care about his (made-up) Tom, but to be willing to risk his life and sanity for this new version? Tom cannot comprehend it - he's stunned, captivated, amazed. It means a huge deal to him.

He'd be even more stunned if he knew that Harry's story is bullshit and that Harry is willing to risk his safety for someone who was always his enemy :D That's typical Harry, though.

#my fics #tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter

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ameliathefatcat · 2 months

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Random Hogwarts Mystery Headcanons because I have a lot of Ideas

Badeea Ali has really bad environmental allergies. She has to take allergy potions before Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology

Skye Parkin has a nut allergy and didn’t realize for way to long she just thought nuts were spicy

Ben Copper and Jae Kim are lactose intolerant

Badeea has undiagnosed autism, she’s an 80’s kid and the child of immigrants.

Badeea was the first in her family to be born outside of Egypt, her father immigranted when her half brothers were small and her mother immigranted as a young woman

Tulip is the heaviest sleeper ever. Charlie Mosley and Badeea have to flip over her mattress to wake her up when she over sleeps

She sleeps through that as well

Barnaby is epileptic due to a TBI he got as a child

He mostly has absence seizures, once or twice a year he might have a tonic-clonic seizure

He keeps this a secret, since he’s embarrassed of having brain damage

Chiara is the only one that knows he’s epileptic and she helps him when he has a seizure

Reggie Tonks (Nyphmadora’s younger brother) actually became friends with Ismelda Murk due to both of them being a bit satanic

Reggie loves to test out his new spells and Ismelda likes to cause pain so she helps him get victims test subjects

Reggie is also friends with Badeea since both like to invite new spells

Tonks doesn’t get it. She loves her little brother but doesn’t understand why people in her year are friends with him

Tonks is very protective of her little brother

Diego Caplan teases Amelia and Ben for being Ashkenazi

Diego is Sephardic btw

When Amelia and Diego are on patrol together they joke around and argue about Jewish stuff

The other Prefects, Barnaby, Liz, Badeea, Andre, Penny and Charlie are confused about this and when Amelia said ‘a good amount of our culture is arguing’

Tonks is not trust with sharp objects

Ben and Badeea both became Uncle/Aunt while at Hogwarts

Andre does drag

Talbott finds this hot and annoying since Andre is a horrible singer

Ben’s family really loves Amelia. She was invited to his second sister Rina’s wedding

Orion is a stoner

He also doesn’t shower that much

He has horrible BO

Skye has a pair of lucky socks are that are super smelly

Rath sweats a lot and uses so much deodorant to deal with BO

When Badeea sees the name ‘Khalid Ali’ in the news paper she hopes it a different Khalid Ali and not her half brother. It’s often her half brother

Andre was once reading an international wizarding newspaper and the headline was ‘British-Egyptian wizard in Cairo. Badeea knew instantly it was her half brother

More about Badeea’s half brothers when they were at Hogwarts they anglicized their names Samir went by Sam and Khalid went by Kenny. Khalid is called Kenny by most of his friends but didn’t legally change his name because it was too much work

Badeea does technically have an anglicized nickname, B. She’s mostly called this by the other Ravenclaws.

Amelia and Badeea bond over the fact both of them don’t speak English at home.

Khalid was friends with both Duncan and Jacob but he no interest in the cursed vaults

Barnaby, Liz, Diego, Penny, Andre, Badeea, Charlie and Amelia took a Prefect photo and re take it at their reunions

Murphy and Rath are constantly on and off dating

#hogwarts mystery headcanon #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #hogwarts mystery #Amelia Goldstein #jacobs sibling #badeea ali #skye parkin #jae kim #ben copper #tulip karasu #charlie weasley #chiara lobosca #Barnaby lee #talbott winger #nymphadora tonks #erika rath #orion amari #murphy mcnully

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chvoswxtch · 2 years

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sounds so pretty when you beg. (5/?)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson desperately needs to graduate this year, and you're the only tutor that hasn't turned him down. (this is part 5 of this series!)

warnings: cursing, fighting, angst, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 6.9k

a/n: i’m so sorry i’m posting this so late. this is 18 pages of angst and pure filth. I didn’t know how to stop. forgive me, for i have fucking sinned. if you don’t like smut or sexual content is not for you, please feel free to skip this part! I am so grateful for all the kind words and responses to this series (which I will eventually name). as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated! please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

tags: @uraveragequeer @rosaline-black @willowss055 @lovsersclub @bellegirl16 @boeutiful

My mom had told the school that I had come down with the flu. I spent the majority of the past few days in bed, wallowing in my own self pity. I didn’t want to think about what had happened. I didn’t want to think about him. I re-read the books on my shelves that I had already read a thousand times. I watched sappy romantic comedies, crying over a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream wondering, why can’t that be me? When was it my turn for everything to work out by the end?

I thought about how if my life was a John Hughes film, this would be the part where Eddie realized he was wrong and showed up in the pouring rain to confess his undying love for me. Or more likely, when I finally returned to school, he would stand on one of the cafeteria tables and shout it for the whole student body to hear. We would exchange passionate climatic monologues, he would grab my face and kiss me, the entire school would cheer for us, and the credits would roll with an impeccable soundtrack. But unfortunately, my life was nothing even close to a John Hughes film.

The only person I had even spoken to lately was Nancy. She called about twice a day to check on me, and stopped by to drop off my homework and assignments. She was the first person I called after everything happened. She immediately rushed over, held onto my hand as I fought through choked sobs to speak, and gently brushed my tears away. Nancy was always a good listener, and she had a calming effect on people. I always felt at ease in her company. She’d had her own fairshare of heartbreak and knew exactly what to say.

My mom knew for a fact I wasn’t sick, but she didn’t press it. She had attempted to get me to open up several times about what was really going on, but I told her I was just stressed out from school and college applications and needed a break. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my mom, we were actually pretty close. She had me when she was my age, which created an interesting dynamic for us. Often times, I felt like I was the parent. A carefree woman had created a very careful daughter. It always felt like we were growing up together.

I just didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t trust my mom’s advice when it came to boys. She was a bit of a..incurable romantic, currently looking for husband number three. The first time I told her I had a boyfriend, she completely freaked out. I had never even voiced an interest in boys before. She shifted between excitement, telling me how happy she was, wanting to know every single detail about him and how cute he was, to panicking and rushing to schedule me an appointment to get on birth control while giving me the most detailed story about my birth that I never ever wanted to hear. By the time I got her to settle down, I had whiplash.

She was currently dashing around to get ready for a date with some guy named Tom. Or..Todd. Tim? Definitely something with a “T”.

“Does this look okay?”

“You look great.”

“You said that about the past four outfits.”

“Well, they all looked great. Everything looks great on you.”

It was true. Everything looked great on my mom. She was one of those people that was annoyingly beautiful. Everytime I had friends over, or had a partner come over to study, they gushed about how “hot” my mom was. Most people didn’t even believe she was my mom. They all insisted we were sisters. It is extremely hard, and awkward, to try your hand at dating when everyone is more attracted to your mom than you.

“Alright, I’m off. There’s money on the counter for food. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay honey? I can stay if you need me too. Or, maybe Nancy and Robin could come over?”

“I’ll be fine, mom. Have fun with Tom.”

“His name is John, Y/N.”

Wow, I was way off.

“Sure, have fun. Don’t stay out too late, you know your curfew.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll be home by eleven. And you..don’t drink all my wine. If you’re gonna have a glass, save some for me. Don’t be stingy.”

I had thought about calling Nancy or Robin, but it was Saturday night, and I knew they had plans. I didn’t want to ruin their evening. Not that they wouldn’t come if I asked, I just..wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone. I didn’t want anyone staring at me like a wounded animal, choosing their words carefully and walking on eggshells like I would break at any moment if they said the wrong thing. I didn’t mind being alone.

I’d decided to start my John Hughes marathon back up with The Breakfast Club and popped the tape into the VCR. It was one of my favorite movies of all time. Although this time around, I found myself paying more attention to Bender than usual. My eyes normally lingered on Anthony Michael Hall, but suddenly Judd Nelson was very captivating. Was he that attractive last time I watched this? I was a good thirty minutes into the movie when I had an epiphany on why I was so enraptured with him. He reminded me of Eddie. God, what is with me and long haired brunette drug dealing delinquents?

As I began to question my troubling taste in guys, there were three loud knocks that sounded against my front door. I rolled my eyes and glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. It had only been about an hour since my mom had left. Was the date that bad? Impatient knocks quickly turned into an even more impatient pounding of a fist against the hard wood repeatedly. I groaned as I sat my ice cream down and tossed my spoon onto the coffee table. Irritation spread like wildfire throughout my veins and I stomped over towards the front door. Was a relaxing, quiet and peaceful evening too much to ask?

“My God mom, you have a key for a reason! I swear to everything if you lost yours again I am going to ground you into next-”

As soon as I had furiously whipped the door open, I instantly slammed it shut.

Nope.

I spun on my heel and marched directly back towards the living room, hearing the sound of the front door opening and shutting again with a little less force.

“Do you greet everyone like that, sunshine?”

“Go away, Eddie.”

“Look I came over for a very different reason, but now I gotta know why you’re the one doing the grounding around here. How does that even work? I mean does your mom-”

“What do you want, Munson?”

I flung the remote onto the couch after pausing the movie, crossing my arms over my chest and glared across the room at Eddie. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his ramblings. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him in general. He stared at me for a moment, his lips parted, and wrung his hands slowly in front of his stomach. The only time Eddie was ever quiet was when he was unsure of himself. He awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck and gestured towards me.

“I..uh..I wanted to check on you.”

“You wanted to check on me?”

“Yeah..well ya’know..you uh..haven’t been to school in a few days.”

“I’m sick.”

“Sick..right. Practically on your deathbed.”

I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t handle Eddie smiling at me with those stupid dimples and cracking jokes like nothing had happened between us. Anger bubbled inside me at how casual he was being, like he hadn’t practically ripped my heart out of my chest mere days ago. I clenched my fists and stormed into the kitchen, picking up the phone and aggressively dialing the number I knew without a doubt would make him go away.

“Look I just-wait, who are you calling?”

“Jason.”

“What?! Why?!

“Figured if I tell him Eddie Munson let himself into my house and won’t leave, he’ll come running. You know, since that seems to be his new thing.”

Eddie frantically reached out to pull the phone’s cord out of the jack and stood in front of the wall guarding it. He held his hands up in surrender and let his plump lips settle into a thin line. I sent a death glare up at him as the line went dead, slamming the phone against the hook.

“Give it back.”

“Just give me five minutes. Please? Five minutes, that’s all. Then you can tell me to fuck off and kick me out.”

Even though Eddie’s mouth was fixated into a frown, there was a soft pleading expression gleaming in his eyes. I hadn’t seen him in several days. I had tried my hardest not to think about him, but no matter what I did, he was there. As much as I tried to fight it, he still invaded my dreams and weaved his way into my subconscious thoughts. It felt like I was being haunted.

Sensing the falter in my fury, Eddie took a bold step forward towards me, his hands still held up in surrender like I would change my mind and attack at any moment. His scent wrapped around me and further eroded my resolve. He was magnetic, and I felt myself being drawn in closer. God, giving in would be so easy. I could just rush forward and grab onto him, let him wrap his arms around me and hold me close, whisper sweet nothings into my ear. We could just forget everything and go back to normal. It could be so easy.

But then the memory of Eddie’s vicious words and the way he had looked at me flashed in my brain, and every thought about giving in went up in flames. My heart crumbled all over again, and anger once again found a home within me. I took a step back and looked up at him with a deep scowl, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Two minutes. I have a date with Anthony Michael Hall and you’re ruining it.”

“I thought you didn’t like blonde, blue-eyed jocks.”

“First of all, Anthony Michael Hall never plays the jock. He’s always the sweet nerd who should get the girl. Second of all, I never said that wasn’t my type, just that Jason Carver wasn’t. Is this really what you want to talk about right now? Cause you’re down to a minute and thirty seconds, Munson.”

“Jesus, remind me never to piss you off again. I miss the nice, sweet Y/N.”

“Well I miss the Eddie Munson who wasn’t a complete and total dick to me.”

I hadn’t meant to sound so emotional, or yell at him, but all of the feelings I had been avoiding the past couple of days had come back full force the second I saw his face on the other side of the door. Eddie winced at my words, bowing his head in shame and letting out a deep sigh. He screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, placing his other hand on his hip.

“I..I know. I..look, about what I said the other day-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Mrs. O’Donnell keeps giving you those extra credit assignments so you can pass all on your own without me. I’ll tell her that everything was all my fault and that I failed you. And then I’ll tell Principal Higgins the fight was because of me so you don’t get in trouble and still get to graduate. I’ll make sure everyone knows that everything was all my fault and I’m the one who ruined everything.”

I don’t know at what part I started crying, but suddenly I felt wetness on my cheeks and noticed my vision had gone blurry. All of the pain I felt in the tutoring center was spreading everywhere again. I couldn’t hear anything but Eddie’s cruel words over and over in my head. My chest felt tight and I was completely overwhelmed. I barely registered the feeling of Eddie’s large hands on my cheeks.

“Hey hey, no no no no no. Please..please don’t cry Y/N. I’m..fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry sweetheart. Please don’t cry. C’mere.”

I braced my palms against his chest when he tried to pull me in closer, frantically shaking my head. I couldn’t be near him. I couldn’t give into him. I needed to know why.

“You..you were so mean to me, Eddie. No one..has ever spoken to me like that..and you are the last person that I ever thought would. How could you say those things to me? And just..leave me there like that? I..I thought..I thought that you-”

“Y/N..”

“I just didn’t want you to get in trouble, Eddie! I didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t graduate. I didn’t want you to hate me for that.”

“Hate you? Angel, no. I could never hate you. Never. Hey, look at me.”

I shook my head slowly as I sat down on the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. I couldn’t look at him. I’d lose it all over again. I couldn’t see the hurt on his face. The frown on his lips. I’d just want to lean in and kiss it all away. Eddie sighed as he kneeled down in front of me and cautiously placed his hands on my bare thighs. If this were any other situation, I would be fucking elated that he was touching me like this. I would probably be a pathetic mess.

“Sweetheart..please. Please look at me.”

His voice sounded broken, like he was on the verge of tears. God, how many times could my heart break in one sitting? I focused on the rings on his fingers instead, taking a moment to savor every detail of them in case this was it. The last time I would ever be this close to Eddie Munson. I noticed a light tear on the cuff of his leather jacket, a small split in the worn fabric above his wrist. The metal of the chain dangling from it felt cold against my thigh. His thumb was drawing faint circles above my knee. His skin was always so warm against mine. I had missed his touch so much. Eddie gingerly reached out to hook his index finger under my chin and I slowly lifted my head to find him staring at me, the ghost of a smile forming over his lips.

“There she is. There’s my pretty girl.”

My pretty girl.

“Eddie.”

I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a whimper. I barely recognized my own voice. It sounded so small, so weak.

“Please..please just hear me out, okay? Because if I don’t say this now, I don’t know if I ever will. I..I’m really sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I’m so fucking sorry that I was such an asshole to you that day. I just..I didn’t understand why you were mad at me for defending you and then you..you said I wasn’t your boyfriend and that wasn’t my job and I..fuck that just..sucked. Because..”

“Because?”

“Because I want to be.”

“Want to be what?”

Eddie stared at me for a moment, that unreadable expression coating his face again. His eyes seemed to be searching mine for something. I desperately wanted to know what it was. I wanted to know what answer he was looking for, and what he wanted. I would give him anything.

“Your boyfriend.”

All of the oxygen that was in my lungs seemed to be knocked out with just those two little words. I found myself struggling to wrap my head around them. My brain refused to accept what Eddie had just said. Surely, I had heard him wrong. He must have said something else, and my brain just had a sick sense of humor. There was no way he just said that.

“You..w-what?”

“Do you remember what we were talking about before Carver interrupted?”

I had been so focused on the terrible events of that day, I hadn’t thought about the better moments. I had almost forgotten that Eddie had held me against his chest, had smiled at me with those dimples I love and showed off his hard work. He looked so proud, and I was so proud of him. I remember him telling me our tutoring session was off Friday after school..I remember him looking nervous..he was trying to ask me something. What was it?

“You..you were going to ask me something.”

Eddie nodded his head slowly, his thumb still drawing invisible portraits on my thigh. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, a timid smile appearing on his mouth.

“I was going to ask you on a date.”

Fuck Jason Carver. Fuck him and his stupid ego and his stupid beliefs and his stupid sense of entitlement and his stupid friends that ruin everything. The sadness that lingered in my bones all at once ignited into rage.

“Are you fucking kidding me?

Eddie’s eyebrows raised significantly as his mouth fell open, eyes as wide as I had ever seen them. He was clearly shocked by my outburst.

“You mean to tell me that if Jason had just minded his own business, you were going to ask me out on a date, and my perfect attendance wouldn’t have been ruined?”

“Um..yes?”

I couldn’t see anything other than red. All of this..everything that had transpired, was all because of Jason fucking Carver. If he hadn’t placed some predatory claim over me, I could have been hanging out with Eddie and his friends everyday at lunch. I could’ve tutored him somewhere else that wasn’t under the protection of our feared librarian. Eddie Munson would have asked me out on a date. I wouldn’t have missed school. Eddie Munson and I would be dating right now. He would have kissed me, and I would have let him. I probably would have let him do anything to me. But all of that was ruined by Jason fucking Carver.

“I’m sorry, did you just..say ‘fuck’?”

“Shut it, Munson. You’re still on my shit list.”

“Since when do you swear so much?”

“Eddie, I swear to-”

“I’m not complaining. It’s actually kind of hot.”

My threats died on my tongue as soon as those plump lips of his curled into a wicked smirk. I felt dizzy from the whiplash of all the emotions I had been processing since Eddie walked through my front door. I’m pretty sure I went through the five stages of grief in about thirty seconds.

“So..does this mean you forgive me?”

“Maybe.”

“I can work with maybe. Now that that’s settled, can we talk about the fact that you’re not wearing pants?”

There was a wolfish grin stretched wide across his mouth, and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I was suddenly painfully aware that the only articles of clothing I had on were an oversized tshirt, panties, and a fuzzy pair of bunny slippers.

“I..I w-wasn’t expecting company.”

“I like the slippers. They’re a nice touch.”

I thought I was going to faint. Eddie Munson was on his knees, between my thighs, and his large hands were touching my bare skin. If he moved his hands up any higher, my lower half would be completely exposed. My skin burned under his touch and my breathing became a little erratic.

“You’re awfully quiet now all of a sudden. Not mad at me anymore?”

“I..um..”

“Words, angel. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Eddie was staring at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen before. It made me shiver under his gaze. I couldn’t help myself from glancing between his large hands and his plump lips. They were so close. So close to where I wanted them.

Eddie raised one of his hands up to my mouth, gingerly swiping his thumb across my bottom lip. My lips parted as he gently grasped my chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I..I don’t know what to say.”

My brain had completely shut down. I couldn’t form words. I couldn’t focus on anything other than Eddie’s touch and the way he was staring at me.

“How about you answer a question for me then, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

I nodded my head as I stared into his deep brown eyes. I didn’t trust myself to even attempt to speak. I’m pretty sure it would have come out as babbling, incoherent nonsense.

“What would you have said?”

“Huh?”

“If I had gotten to ask you out on that date. What would’ve been your answer?”

I hesitated only for a second. Because I knew my answer. But I also knew that once I said it, things would never go back to being the same between us. The invisible line we danced around would vanish. We couldn’t pretend or deny if we both confessed. We could never go back. But all at once, I didn’t give a single fuck.

“Yes.”

My cheeks flamed as soon as I blurted that word out. The room immediately felt entirely too hot and too small, and if Eddie kept looking at me like that, I was sure I was going to combust. I could feel wetness pooling between my thighs with a vengeance. I shifted in my spot and pressed my thighs together tightly, which did not go unnoticed by Eddie. He gripped both of my thighs in his large hands gently, leaning in slowly until our faces were less than a centimeter apart.

I could feel his hot breath fanning over my face. He was so close. If I moved even slightly, our lips would touch. I was overcome with desire, and I searched my body for even an ounce of confidence to grab a small fistful of his shirt. I wanted him. I didn’t care if Jason Carver didn’t like it. I didn’t care if the whole school called me a cult apologist. I didn’t care if the town labeled me just another freak. I wanted Eddie Munson, and I wasn’t going to let anything else get in the fucking way.

“Eddie..”

My voice came out in a breathy whine that I didn’t even recognize. I sounded so needy, and I didn’t even care. I didn’t feel any shame whatsoever. Eddie’s hands traveled up my thighs, grabbing onto my hips through the thin material of my shirt and nudged his nose against mine.

“What is it angel?

“Please..please kiss me.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg, sweet girl.”

Eddie wasted no time crashing his lips against mine and I moaned at how good it felt. His lips were so much softer than I ever imagined. I tugged him impossibly closer by my grip on his shirt, inviting him even further in between my thighs. I had never been kissed like this before. Every nerve ending was standing on full alert and I swore I could see fireworks erupting behind my eyelids. Eddie gripped onto the back of my head, swiping his tongue along my bottom lip asking silently for permission to go further.

I greedily accepted his tongue into my mouth and allowed him to take control. He tasted like mint, and something else that I could only assume was weed. I was intoxicated by him. I never wanted to stop kissing him, but I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I reluctantly pulled away to catch my breath, panting as I stared up at Eddie through heavy lids.

“Fuck..you have no idea what you do to me sweetheart.”

“Show me.”

There was a low growl that sounded in the back of Eddie’s throat at my words. His normally sweet brown eyes were now almost completely black with lust. I gripped at the hem of my shirt that had ridden up my thighs, wringing it in anticipation.

“Jesus sweetheart..you can’t say shit like that to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna cream my fucking pants.”

I giggled softly, my hand shooting up to cover my mouth at Eddie’s groan. I carefully moved to sit on my knees on the couch in front of him. Even with him on his knees on the floor in front of me, I still had to look up at him. I slowly reached out with shaky hands to grab the collar of his jacket, steadily pushing it over his broad shoulders and down the expanse of his arms. Eddie clenched his fists at his sides, swallowing thickly as he looked at me.

“What are you doing baby?”

“I..I want you to show me..things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Um..like..what I do to you?”

“Y/N..”

“I wanna show you too.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he stared at me, lips parted in complete surprise.

“Show me?”

“W-what you..do to me too.”

Eddie was completely silent for a moment and I started to panic that I had maybe taken things a bit to far. I tucked my hair behind my ears and sat back on my heels, staring down at my hands as I avoided his gaze.

“I..we don’t have to..I mean only if..i-if you want to. I just thought..”

“If I want to? Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ sweetheart, I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw your cute little ass in the tutoring center.”

Eddie placed his large hands on either side of my thighs, leaning in to brush his nose against mine once again. His eyes had returned to their normal deep chocolate hue. His attention shifted between my eyes and my lips.

“Look I just..I don’t want you to think that’s why I’m here. I wasn’t expecting anything, I mean I certainly wasn’t fucking expecting this. I don’t expect anything from you, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I like you, Y/N. So fucking much. And for whatever fucking reason, you seem to like me back. I’m not even going to get into that because I don’t think I will ever be able to understand what the fuck I did so right that I landed you but..that’s enough for me. You’re enough for me. I’m happy just to get to hold your fucking hand, okay? So don’t feel..ya’know..pressured or anything.”

My heart swelled with adoration at Eddie’s words. They only made my desire for him grow even stronger. He was such a stark contrast to the last guy I dated, not just in demeanor and outwardly appearance, but in the way he treated me. My ex used to always try to pressure me into doing things I wasn’t ready for, and made me feel like some frigid prude. I wasn’t opposed to sex, I certainly wasn’t saving myself for marriage, I just never felt the desire like I do for Eddie. I never felt uncomfortable with him, and him telling me that I was all he wanted only made me want him even more. I gently grabbed his large hand and smiled softly.

“I know. But I..I want to. I just..don’t know how.”

“Don’t know how what, baby?”

“Um..everything, I guess? I..I’ve only ever kissed a boy before..and it wasn’t anything like that.”

Eddie beamed at my statement that had clearly stroked his ego. He didn’t tease or make fun of the fact that I was a virgin. He cupped my face in one of his large hands, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone as he lightly squeezed my hand that he was holding.

“How about this, you tell me when you’re ready and what for, and I’ll teach you. We won’t do anything unless you say so. You hold all the power here, pretty girl. And the second you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable, we stop. No questions asked. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Eddie pressed a quick kiss to my lips, standing from his kneeled position and plopped down next to me on the couch. He was in the middle of kicking off his sneakers when I rushed out my first request.

“I want you to touch me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ-are you trying to kill me?!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as Eddie whipped his head around to stare at me incredulously, his foot hanging halfway out of his shoe.

“You said to tell you what I was ready for and when.”

“Well..yeah but..fuck, right now?”

“I mean..I’m kind of..”

“Kind of what?”

“Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

I wasn’t sure where my boldness was coming from. I don’t know if I was just so turned on and aching to be touched I didn’t care how desperate I seemed, or if it was knowing that Eddie wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I reached for one of his large hands and guided it in between my thighs, pressing his palm against the front of my panties. I sighed at the contact, knowing he could feel the heat from the fire roaring down there.

“Oh my fucking God.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, his lips parting in a shaky breath. The cold metal of his rings felt so nice against my heated skin.

“Is this..just from kissing?”

“I..you’re a really good kisser.”

I blushed profusely as I stared down at where his hand was between my thighs. Eddie leaned in closer, gently grabbing my face and turning it to face him. That lust blown look was in his eyes again.

“You swear this is what you what?”

I nodded my head slowly, leaning in closer to try and capture his lips.

“Uh uh. I need words, sweetheart. Be a good girl and use your words.”

Good girl. Those two simple words went straight to my core and I audibly gasped. Eddie clenched his jaw at my reaction, his eyes locked on mine. There was a wicked smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

“I..I want this Eddie. I swear.”

“You’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much? Promise?”

“I promise.”

Something switched inside Eddie. Those little words of confirmation were all he needed. His large hands gripped onto my hips and without warning lifted my body over onto his lap. No one had ever manhandled me like that before and God did I love it. Eddie pulled me closer on his lap, causing the rough denim of his jeans to brush against my panties. I let out a soft moan at the contact, shyly smacking my hand over my mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Let me hear it, baby. I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

Eddie surged forward and attached his lips against my neck. I gripped onto his shoulders, tilting my head back to grant him more access. He trailed his tongue from the shell of my ear down to my collarbone, nipping at the skin lightly. I involuntarily ground my hips down against Eddie’s lap at the sensation, causing his grip to tighten on my hips.

“Fuck..do that again.”

Eddie’s words of encouragement flooded me with a new found confidence as I started to languidly move my hips against his. The moans that came from his mouth were like fucking music to my ears. I could feel him getting hard beneath me, which filled me with a sense of pride and power I had never felt before. I shifted my hips so that when I moved, his bulge pressed directly against my clit. I stuttered only for a moment, a louder more sinful moan falling from my hips. Eddie’s grip kept me from moving any further.

“Fuck..if you-if you keep doing that, and keep making those pretty fucking noises, I’m not going to last. This is about you sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”

“But I do feel good, Eddie. This feels so good.”

“I can make it better.”

Eddie slipped his fingers under my shirt, rubbing his thumbs slowly over my hip bones. His lips were red and swollen, slightly glistening from his assault on my lips and neck. He lightly brushed his nose against mine before looking into my eyes.

“Can I take this off, sweet girl?”

I lifted my hands into the air, allowing Eddie to tug my shirt over my head and toss it into the floor. Even though my body felt like it was on fire, my nipples instantly hardened at the change in temperature. Eddie leaned back against the couch, drinking in the sight of my exposed body. The corners of his lips perked up into a grin as he brushed his knuckle over my panties.

“I like these.”

My face flamed as I looked down. My panties were soft cotton and white with dozens of little blue butterflies on them. It was almost funny seeing Eddie’s large ring-clad hand hovering over them.

“These are exactly what I imagined you wearing.”

“You imagined my panties?”

“Among other things.”

Eddie’s gaze was daunting. A moment of self consciousness sneaked its way into my mind, but as I went to cover myself, Eddie darted out to grab onto my wrists.

“Don’t ever do that. Don’t hide from me. I wanna see you, all of you.”

Eddie leaned in to press gentle kisses all over my chest, across my collarbones, the tops of my shoulders, down the swell of my breasts. His hands came up to cup them, giving a gentle squeeze as one of his thumbs brushed against my nipple. I gripped onto his bicep and gasped. Eddie took the hint and latched his mouth onto my other nipple, swirling his warm tongue around the sensitive bud. He bit down ever so gently and tugged softly. I let my head fall back, arching my chest further into his face. His mouth felt so good and I got so lost in wondering how good it would feel on my cunt.

I was so wrapped up in pleasure I almost didn’t notice one of his hands had trailed down my stomach until I felt his thumb brushing against my clit through my panties. I jolted further into his arms at the sensation, a louder moan escaping past my lips.

“Easy, baby. I got you. Raise up for a second.”

I followed Eddie’s orders, holding onto his shoulders for support as I lifted my body. He gingerly pushed my panties over my hips and down my thighs, managing to remove them completely. He balled them up into his fist and looked at me with the most sinful grin on his lips.

“I’m so fucking keeping these.”

Before I had a chance to protest, Eddie ran his index finger along the slickness between my thighs. I gasped when his knuckle brushed against my clit, subconsciously bucking my hips against his hand. Eddie gripped onto my hip and eyed me sternly, a silent order to be still. He stared down between us in wonder, circling his thumb languidly around my sensitive clit.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby. So fucking wet, and all for me. Such a pretty girl for me. Aren’t you? My pretty girl.”

Eddie eased one of his long fingers inside me, eyes trained on my face to see my reactions. He continued to brush his knuckle over my clit as he began to pump his finger slowly, curling it upwards every so often. As much as I loved how careful Eddie was trying to be with me, and how dedicated he was trying to learn my body and what I liked, I needed more.

“Eddie..please..”

“Please what, angel? Tell me what you need.”

“More..please. I need more.”

Eddie easily slipped another finger inside of me. I could hear how easily his fingers were disappearing inside my pussy. It was becoming so difficult to stay still when all I wanted to do was ride his fingers. I could feel the band inside me starting to stretch. That burning feeling was bubbling in my lower belly, growing stronger and stronger. I was getting close, as long as he would just keep touching me there.

“Fuck Eddie..please..wanna move..”

“Does my sweet girl wanna ride on my fingers?”

“Yes..please..please Eddie..”

“Fuck I love how sweet you sound when you beg. Sweetest fucking thing I ever heard. Goes straight to my cock, baby. Go ahead, angel. Use my fingers.”

I gripped onto Eddie’s shoulders to steady myself, beginning to rock my hips in tune with the rhythm that Eddie set with his fingers. I pressed my forehead against his, closing my eyes as I tried to focus on how good this felt. I wanted to remember this moment forever.

“Eddie..”

“I know baby, I know. I’m right here. I got you. Let go pretty girl, it’s okay. Let go for me. Come on my fingers angel.”

My hips stuttered when I felt that band snap. A cacophony of moans of Eddie’s name fell over and over from my lips as my release crashed over me like a tsunami. It completely racked throughout my body and had sent me into another plane of existence. Eddie’s voice sounded light years away as he whispered into my ear. I jolted due to sensitivity when Eddie removed his fingers from inside me, letting out soft whimpers of protest.

Eddie brushed the hair away from my face that stuck to my sweaty forehead. I tried to catch my breath, but it felt like I had just ran a fucking marathon. I could faintly hear Eddie laughing as he brushed his thumb along my cheek.

“Hey, you alright? Still with me sweet girl?”

I slowly opened my eyes when I felt like I was back inside my body. Eddie was staring at me with a goofy grin on his lips. His smile was infectious. I felt my own lips tugging into a wide smile.

“There she is.”

“Hi.”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

A deep laugh ripped through Eddie’s chest as he threw his head back, letting his body rest against the cushions. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned at me, lightly tapping his index finger against my nose.

“Good, then I did my job right. Forgive me yet?”

“You are thoroughly forgiven.”

I brushed the rest of my hair away from my face. My thighs felt shaky, and I was certain if I tried to stand up I would fall straight on my ass. My eyes suddenly focused on the handcuffs on Eddie’s belt. I was completely exhausted from my mind-blowing orgasm, but I wanted to make him feel good too. As I reached out to grab onto his belt, Eddie quickly grabbed onto my wrist to halt my actions.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I..w-what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, angel.”

“But..but you were-”

“I’m okay, really.”

My lips settled into a frown as I looked at Eddie, crossing my arms over my chest with a defiant pout.

“That’s not fair.”

Eddie shook his head and chuckled, bringing my hand up to his mouth to kiss each of my knuckles gently.

“Next time, if you really want to. Alright?”

“But what about right now?”

“There’s..uh..nothing to uh..take care of, so to speak, at the moment.”

My brows furrowed in puzzlement at Eddie’s words. There was a twinge of pink coating the tops of his cheeks, and he was suddenly looking everywhere but me. I glanced down between our bodies to see that the tent that had formed previously was now gone. Even though his jeans were black, I could see a faint darker patch on the denim covering his crotch. I looked up to find a bashful Eddie staring at me expectantly, and it clicked.

“Wait..did you-”

“Give me a break, alright. Can you fucking blame me? I had the prettiest girl in all of Indiana moaning my name and coming all over my fingers.”

I giggled as Eddie huffed in annoyance, leaning in to cut off his grumbles with a soft kiss. I brushed his wild curls away from his face when we pulled apart, looking into his beautiful brown eyes with a content smile.

“That was..amazing. Thank you, Eddie.”

“Oh no, thank you. I’m saving that image of you for later.”

“Eddie!”

“What?”

I couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. I didn’t know if I had ever smiled this much in my entire life. I just felt so..happy. I took one of his large hands and intertwined our fingers, repeating his actions from earlier and pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles.

“So..about that date.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things fic #jason carver #nancy wheeler

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