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charliemwrites · 9 months

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Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.

I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture

Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.

He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.

“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.

“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.

You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…

“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”

He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.

A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.

Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.

“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”

His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.

“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”

—

Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.

Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.

One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.

“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”

You flash your teeth, “No.”

He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”

There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.

He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.

“Settle,” he orders.

“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.

He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.

“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.

“I’m not,” you snap.

“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”

He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.

He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.

“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.

“No,” you hiss back.

He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.

“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”

When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.

He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.

“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.

“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”

Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.

“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.

He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.

“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”

He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.

“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.

“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”

You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.

He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.

“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.

“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.

Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.

“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.

“There’s my brat.”

He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.

Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.

“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.

“Earn it,” you reply.

He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”

“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.

“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.

Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.

“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”

He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.

“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”

“Want it, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”

A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.

“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”

“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”

Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.

“Daddyyyy,” you whine.

And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.

“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”

He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.

“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.

The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.

“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”

You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.

“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”

You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”

You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.

You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.

(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)

Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.

Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.

“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”

You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.

When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.

You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.

Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.

At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.

You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.

The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.

“Evening, Nik,” you coo.

A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.

“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.

You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.

“Smell good,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”

He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dehydrated.”

He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.

“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”

Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.

And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.

“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.

“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.

He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”

“Yes.”

You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.

“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.

He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.

You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.

“Still okay?” You ask.

“Still okay.”

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #the captain #cod nikto #the captain x reader #specgru reader #former 141 reader #nikto x reader

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oddinary4bts · 4 months

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Chasing Cars | ch 5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: mentions of throwing up/having a hangover, cursing, mentions of cheating for an exam, Sam Hwang (long, blond hair skz Hyunjin is who I had in mind for Sam), jealousy, alcohol, explicit content: mentions of jungkook fingering oc with his cum, of oc having sex with hobi

☆word count: 12.1k

☆a/n: the end of the power outage :') hope you guys love this one <3 thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, February 16th

It takes most of Saturday before the power comes back on. You’ve been anticipating the sun slipping under the horizon, wanting it to disappear so that you can go back to what it was like yesterday night. Because, when the sun rose this morning, Jungkook disentangled himself from you, and he hasn’t touched you since then.

Maybe because he too realized the enormity of what you did yesterday. But you’ve been expecting the sunset, hoping it would bring you back to what yesterday night was…

The lights in your apartment flicker to life as you sit on the couch, under your bed cover and Jungkook’s. You’ve been reading a book – he’s still on that same book you saw him read on Thursday – and you blink a few times as if not quite believing that the power is back.

That whatever happened between you and Jungkook will now have to be put in the past.

“Finally,” Jungkook says, and he turns his head towards you, as if expecting you to agree.

You don’t say anything, pursing your lips as your eyes dip down to your book, remaining stuck on a word that doesn’t make any sense to you.

If Jungkook senses your unease, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he says, “Can I turn on the TV? I miss having some sound around here.”

So he’s not leaving. For some reason, you expected he would. It reassures you, and you offer him a smile.

“Sure,” you answer. “But don’t put on one of your lame anime.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, and he frowns in offence, fake or real. You can’t really tell, because it makes you laugh, and the moment you start laughing, the expression melts on Jungkook’s face, replaced by a softer look.

“Anime isn’t lame, I’ll have you know,” he says. “You just don’t know how to enjoy superior cinematography.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Oh, can’t I, now?”

He nods forcefully, and he grabs the remote control where it was abandoned on the coffee table. “I’ll show you an anime you’ll actually like.”

“Good luck,” you tease.

He throws you a no-bullshit look. “As if I need any luck.”

You hate that he was right. You hate that, a little under two hours later, you’re crying, trying to hide it from Jungkook. Though, when you glance towards him, you see fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and it makes you forget all about your own tears.

“Are you crying?” you ask, voice so surprised it startles even you.

“I can’t help it!” Jungkook lets out. “I love this movie.”

“Jeon Jungkook crying over some anime?” you tease, and you start laughing. “Why is that so adorable?”

Jungkook chuckles, drying his cheeks. “You think I’m adorable?”

The way he says it makes you flush red, and you quickly look away. “No. But crying over the movie Your Name is.”

“You just said that I’m adorable,” Jungkook singsongs.

You shake your head. “I did not.”

“You did.”

“You’re annoying.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, and he gently pinches your cheek. You try to shrug him off, but when his fingers linger on your cheek, you turn to meet his gaze.

You don’t think you were ready for the seriousness of his features. Because it feels like you hit a wall of bricks, and your own smile slowly dies down.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, and you gulp around the sudden lump in your throat.

Jungkook frowns, and his hand falls on top of the blankets between you and him. “Nothing?”

He says it like a question, and it makes you worry at your bottom lip. You wait for him to say more, but his gaze slides away to the TV screen. An awkward silence rises between the two of you, and you think this is it.

This is where the little idyllic whatever-it-was ends.

“We can’t pretend we’re just doing this for warmth anymore,” Jungkook says matter-of-factly.

“Right,” you let out.

He nods once, and he flashes you a grin, though it’s lacking the authenticity of the smiles he’s shared with you since the start of the power outage. “So, let’s go back to normal now.”

He says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the universe, and it strikes deep. You wonder, were you the only one who felt like you did?

Did you imagine the whole thing?

You must have. Because a moment later Jungkook is getting up from the couch, claiming he wants to check if the gym has power as well and go work out if he can. You watch him go, dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.

Not wanting to admit that him leaving like that, him pretending that he doesn’t care, hurts. But then again, he’s Jeon Jungkook – why would he care?

When he comes back to the living room with his gym bag and phone in hand, Jungkook offers you a smile. It’s tentative, fake, and you wonder if he put a mask on.

Because this is not the man you’ve spent the last two days with.

“Gym has power, so I guess I’ll see you later,” he says.

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding once. “Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead moving to the closet to grab his coat from it. He’s put his boots on by the time he glances towards you again, and he offers you a smirk. “Don’t miss me too much, peach.”

You want to punch him for that sentence alone. It feels like it means more. It feels like he’s telling you, ‘Yes, I put my mask back on. What will you do about it?’ And you know there is nothing you can do. He’s Taehyung’s best friend, and though you’ve enjoyed the days you’ve spent with him, they weren’t real life.

And though the wake-up call is unwanted, you think you badly needed it.

So you nod once, letting your lips grow into your own smirk, before you reply, “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to miss.”

You see it in his eyes. The temporary flash of hurt, or maybe insult. But he pushes it away, just as well as you, and just like that you know he wanted you to say something, wanted you to chase him. But you don’t chase men – the last time you did left you with a severe fear of running into a certain Sam Hwang. So you don’t do it anymore, and you think it’s more peaceful that way.

Because no matter how great hanging out with Jungkook was, you know it’s just a matter of time before Taehyung comes back and you have to return to your previous distant relationship.

Sunday, February 17th

“Bitch, you went full-on MIA,” Ria says. “You can’t tell me nothing happened.”

You’re in a study room at the library, and Ria has been bothering you ever since Jungkook showed up to his shift, nodding stiffly at the sight of you. You’d waved, and he’d smiled, but he’d then wandered off to do whatever it is that his job here implies.

Obviously, Ria noticed the exchange, and she really doesn’t want to let it go.

“Genuinely nothing did,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “He’s Tae’s best friend.”

“But he’s Jungkook,” she counters, sighing dreamily. “The rumours about him in bed…”

You flush red, and you throw an eraser at Ria, who starts cackling like she’s crazy. “Shut the fuck up,” you tell her.

“No but,” she insists. “You’re blushing. You cannot tell me nothing happened.”

“But I am,” you answer. “Drop it. I’m only blushing because you want to talk about his sex life rumours.”

“I hardly call it a rumour when Shelly’s been so vocal about it.”

It takes you a moment to connect the dots. A moment too long, but then you remember the texts Jungkook had received.

Shelly. The girl he ghosted on Valentine’s Day because he was with you. Because you ended up kissing him, straddling his lap on a kitchen chair, and he’d later fingered you with his cum.

You push the thought away. You push it so far away you wish you’d forget it, and then you reply, “Who’s Shelly?”

“She’s the two-doors-down dorm neighbour, remember?” Ria supplies. “The one we got shitfaced drunk with before Halloween last semester.”

You barely remember the girl. All that you can think about is her dark skin and the pretty almond eyes that had lured you to your demise. Indeed, you’d thrown up before you’d even reached the party, and to this day it’s still the worst hangover you’ve had in your whole life.

Because obviously, she provided you with plenty enough of shots at the party after that, too.

It’s strange. To realize that you know the girl Jungkook’s been fucking. Before he fucked you…

Another thought you push away. Because did he really? The distance that’s reappeared between you and him is a clear indication that you probably just dreamed up the whole thing.

“Don’t remind me of the Halloween party,” you whine, and Ria bursts out laughing.

“Not your proudest moment.”

You jokingly glare at her, and then you look down at your laptop again. “Where’s Nabi anyway?”

Ria laughs. It’s an innocent laugh, a laugh that means she’s up to no good. Your eyes immediately snap up to her face, and you lean towards her. “What?”

“Not telling you,” she says.

“No way.” When she remains silent but grins wildly, you add, “No fucking way! When?”

“Friday.”

You squeal, and even though you’re in a study room, you earn a disapproving look from the girl sitting at the table outside. You wince in apology, and then meet Ria’s gaze again.

“What did they do?”

“They went on a walk,” Ria admits.

You wonder if they saw you and Jungkook. Though you figured you would have heard about it if they did.

“And?”

Ria shrugs. “She told me she wanted to tell you herself.”

“Bruh.”

Ria laughs at your expense. “You should have just come yesterday, she would have told you everything. But no, you were too busy doing God knows what with Jungkook, but obviously nothing happened…”

Your eraser is gone when you reach for it to chuck it at Ria’s face. “Holy fuck, let it go,” you groan, but all she does is laugh.

Because if there is one thing that can describe Ria well, it’s her easy laugh. Indeed, you think that’s why you became so close to her so quick – she’s good at changing your mind, at making you smile. And though she definitely is able to have a serious conversation if needed, she’s also easy going, and it’s a relief to have a friend like that when your other closest friend is anxious as can be.

But you love Nabi to no end as well, needless to say.

“I’ll let it go if I can also find someone to fuck,” she says, sighing dramatically. “It’s unfair that you’re both getting some when the last time I did was in December.”

“I’m not getting some,” you grumble, resting your arms on the desk in front of your laptop so that you can hide your face in them.

“Hobi?” Ria lets out.

You’d forgotten all about Hoseok. It surprises you so much that you straighten, meeting her gaze. “Oh. Right.”

She snorts at your expression, before saying, “I tried hitting on Yoongi, but that guy’s colder than ice.”

“He is,” you agree, nodding your head. “But I’m sure he’s a good guy if you make it through all the ice.”

“Not my type,” Ria says. “I don’t want to have to chase.”

“Amen!”

On that note you both burst out laughing, before focusing on your studies again. You both have midterms next week, and though the power outage was a needed respite, you need to get your mind in the game again. At least both of your exams aren’t in your hardest class, especially considering Namjoon provided you and Nabi with a… rather well-guided study guide for the biochem midterm.

Not that you’ll look at it before you’re convinced you could ace the test anyway, if you have to be honest.

And so you study with Ria, the minutes ticking on the clock. Soon enough the minutes turn into an hour, and when Ria suggests taking a break to go grab something to eat, you immediately jump on the occasion, needing a break anyway.

You’re almost out of the library when you run into Jungkook, and Ria stifles a laugh next to you when Jungkook steps to the side, letting you pass. He frowns at the sound your friend makes, and you punch her in the shoulder, which only entices her further.

You roll your eyes, before meeting Jungkook’s gaze. “Ignore her.”

He nods. “Noted.”

And though you should walk away, you can’t bring yourself to take a single step forward. All you can do is hold his gaze, remembering his lips on yours and the way that he touched you like he knew the maze of your body by heart already.

Pink tints your cheeks, and you wish you’d find something to say. Unfortunately, all you can do is watch as a pretty girl, all lean limbs and flowing hair, stops next to him.

“Hey, JK, I need your help with something,” she says. She barely spares you a glance, and Jungkook nods your way, before turning towards her.

“What’s up?” he tells her, and then they’re walking away.

You’re out of the library when Ria hums, before snorting. “What was that?” she asks.

“What was what?” you counter back, even though you know exactly what she’s referring to.

The longing look exchanged between you and Jeon Jungkook was pretty noticeable, wasn’t it?

“With Jungkook?”

You sigh. “Honestly, nothing,” you answer, and it sounds so genuine you realize that maybe it truly was nothing. Maybe what happened meant nothing, and you need to let it go. “I guess we’re sort of friends now.”

“Sort of,” Ria repeats in a teasing tone.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

She links arms with you. “And that’s why you love me.”

You begrudgingly agree, letting her lead you outside into the frigid air, towards the café on the other side of the street closest to the library building. She pulls you inside, and the warmth is a relief, as are the aromas of coffee and pastries swimming through the shop. You breathe in, and you follow her to the bar.

You think you almost drop dead when you see the barista on the other side, waiting for you two with a smile plastered on his face.

On those pretty lips you’d worshipped once, and that had turned to poison before you could realize it.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Sam Hwang asks.

He freezes when his gaze connects with yours. Maybe he only noticed Ria – you wouldn’t be surprised, Ria is drop-dead gorgeous – but when Sam Hwang sees you, he physically blanches. You wonder what he’ll do or say, if you should turn around and leave, but then Ria orders a latté and a sandwich, and she turns towards you.

“What do you want, I’ll pay for you?”

You still haven’t looked away from Sam. You loved him, deeply. You believe some part of you will always love him. But he hadn’t wanted you. Had taken what he could and left, claiming that he wanted to be single to have the full college experience.

You think about the girl you saw him with at the party a few weeks ago. Is she his new girlfriend, or just someone to give him the full college experience he so desperately wanted?

You gulp, looking away from him. Your eyes fall to the vitrine on the counter where pastries and sandwiches are shown. You blank for a few seconds, and then you motion to an almond croissant.

“I’ll have this please,” you say.

Ria furrows her eyebrows, looking at you in confusion. “Anything to drink?”

“Just water.”

Her frown deepens, but she shrugs it off before turning to Sam. “That’ll be all.”

He nods, and he punches the order in on the cash register, making her pay before he starts getting everything ready. Ria pulls you to the side as he does so, and you avert your eyes from her, not wanting her to know.

You’ve never told them about Sam. You didn’t see how mentioning a seventeen-day long summer fling would amount to anything, so you just didn’t tell them. And maybe it’s dumb luck, but before this day you were never really faced with Sam. He’d always been easily avoidable, and so it really wasn’t necessary to tell your friends.

“What’s wrong?”

Ria’s question goes unanswered as you keep avoiding her gaze, looking towards the tables. You motion to one in the back, as far away from the counter as possible. “Do you want to sit there?”

Ria doesn’t even look that way. She grabs your wrist, gently, trying to gain your attention. “Girl, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie, and you offer her a tight-lipped smile that you know doesn’t meet your eyes.

No, your eyes are filled with memories of the past, of a summer that meant far too much and yet meant nothing, or at least you’ve been telling yourself that ever since you moved in with Taehyung and left your hometown behind.

You think it’s a sick and twisted trick of fate that Sam is going to the same college as you. But then again, you’re not surprised – it’s one of the best colleges in this part of the country.

“Bitch,” Ria lets out, but then Sam calls her to say the order is ready. She frowns, before telling you to go get the table.

You do, mostly because you can feel Sam’s gaze on you, and you really don’t want to have to interact with him anymore. So you head to the table, and you sit with your back to the rest of the café even though you usually prefer sitting in a position that allows you to see the whole place.

Ria is quick to meet you at the table, and she puts down the tray of food in front of you, before plopping down in the chair across the table from you. You watch as she rids herself of her coat, and you mirror her, draping yours over the back of your chair, avoiding glancing towards the bar.

“Who’s that?” Ria asks once you’re facing her again.

You watch as she grabs the plate with her sandwich and her latté before pushing the tray towards you. You busy yourself with biting in your croissant, but soon enough you know you’ll have to answer.

You just don’t want to revisit your story with Sam. Maybe because it was so short, yet hurt so fiercely you decided to forgo relationships for a good while.

“Just someone from my hometown,” you tell her.

She cocks an eyebrow. “And?”

“There’s no and.”

You say it sternly, authoritatively, with not a single ounce of teasing. It makes Ria’s eyes widen, and she glances towards Sam. She doesn’t say anything for a while, taking a sip from her latté before she looks at you again.

“I’m assuming we hate him.”

You sigh, looking down at the croissant in your hands, before sliding your gaze to the cold world outside. “Honestly, not really. We just don’t speak of him.”

“Yeah, that’s it, I hate this dude.”

It makes you snort, and you slightly shake your head. “You know I love you, right?”

“Don’t get sentimental, ew,” Ria teases, though she smiles a wicked smile when you roll your eyes at her. “I love you too.”

After that, you carefully drive Ria away from the subject as you eat, and by the time you’re returning to the library, this time with the goal of meeting up with Hoseok and Yoongi, Ria seems to have forgotten all about it. Or she’s just being a good friend, not pressing you on a subject she can sense is sensitive.

You reckon it’s stupid that it is, but you can’t really control your feelings, can you?

You walk in the library, eyes skimming over the place. Yoongi and Hoseok claimed to be in a study room, yet your eyes don’t go towards them, instead turning towards the counter where you can rent books. Jungkook is sitting there, looking bored as all hell, scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

As if he can sense you, he raises his head, and his lips spread in a small smile even in the distance. You reciprocate it, and thoughts of Sam slowly dwindle away as his smile broadens, and he waves at you. You’re about to wave back, stifling a laugh, when Jungkook’s smile dies, and even in the distance you can see him clenching his jaw.

You only understand why when Hoseok stops next to you, draping his arm over your shoulder.

“Hey girls,” he says, and he pulls you in a little closer.

You don’t look away from Jungkook as you give Hoseok a half-assed hug, before stepping away from him. Yet Jungkook doesn’t seem relieved, doesn’t seem happy…

Does he care?

You’d ask him. You would ask him what he thought about the last few days, but then again you reckon you shouldn’t. Because he’s your brother’s best friend, but also because he’s your roommate. You can’t afford things growing awkward between you and him, not when you don’t feel like moving to the dorms.

You’d rather keep your apartment, thank you very much.

Hoseok explains that he was on his way back to the study room from filling his water bottle, and Ria and he fall into conversation as he leads you two to where Yoongi is already sitting. Yoongi offers you a curt nod, but he doesn’t smile or say anything, going right back to what he was doing.

He’s got headphones on, and you assume he’s mixing something for a production class from the sight of the screen of his laptop. You end up sitting next to him, as Ria claims the spot next to Hoseok, which you don’t mind all that much.

You think you’ve had enough of men for today, even though Hoseok didn’t do anything wrong.

So studying it is.

*****

It’s late when you finally decide to head home, figuring you’re done cramming information for your midterm. You’re starting to get a headache, so you decline your friends’ invitation to grab a drink before heading home, and you make your way home alone, hands hidden deep in the pockets of your coat, searching for a small hint of warmth.

Needless to say, they don’t find any, and you get home feeling like you’ve turned into an icicle. To your surprise, Jungkook is sitting on the couch when you get there, and from the shoes by the door, you understand that Jimin is here too.

You didn’t even notice Jungkook leaving the library. But then again, his shift probably ended a few hours ago, so it makes sense that he came home.

Are you a little disappointed that he didn’t even tell you? Maybe. Do you feel foolish for it?

Definitely.

“Done studying?” Jungkook asks, and he takes a sip from a beer.

You nod, shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t retain any more information,” you joke half-heartedly. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

Jungkook smirks. He fucking smirks, and you want to punch him, yet you stay rooted to your spot. Even more so as he says, “Maybe I could help you with that.”

He’s a mystery. A real fucking mystery, and it’s driving you crazy. You glance towards the bathroom door, but you know the walls are too thin. You know you can’t admit that yes, Jungkook could help.

So you reply, “You wish, JK.”

He pulls at his piercing, his eyes trailing to the bathroom door, before nodding once, as if understanding that you can’t say more because Jimin is here.

“Want a beer?” he suggests.

And though you said no to your friends, though you should say no to Jungkook, the way his big doe eyes hold yours make you fold, and you nod your head. Jungkook smiles, and you think you see a hint of what you saw during the power outage, but it disappears like it was never there when Jimin opens the bathroom door.

“Hey, Y/n!” he greets you.

You begrudgingly look away from Jungkook. “Sup, Jimin.”

He motions towards the living room, and your eyes trail back to Jungkook. “Want to chill with us?”

“Just a beer,” you answer, and Jimin smiles brightly.

“Well then get out of your coat and go sit, I was heading to the kitchen already.”

You thank him, and you do as he says, shrugging off your coat and kicking off your boots. You hang your coat in the closet before walking to the living room. Jungkook is sitting in the middle of the couch, and you sit on his left, as far away as you possibly can.

If he notices he doesn’t say, instead motioning to the neatly folded blanket on the coffee table that he’s undoubtedly brought from his room.

“Feel free to grab this if you get cold,” he tells you, offering you a smile.

You see the glint in his eyes. Not quite mischief, but recognition. Like he knows what the last days were, like maybe he did feel something as well. You gulp, unable to hold the weight of it, and your eyes drop to your lap.

“We should talk about…” you whisper, not finishing the sentence in fear of Jimin hearing.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Because you feel Jungkook tense next to you, and you know his big eyes have probably narrowed as he frowns from your words.

“What about it?” he asks, not bothering to lower his voice.

You shoot him a warning glance, and his lips tilt in a lazy smirk. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else, though you don’t have time to say something either as Jimin comes back from the kitchen, with a beer for you and one for himself in hand.

He gives you yours before sitting back next to Jungkook, and you find yourself watching an episode of an anime you don’t know, sipping on your beer, trying to pretend that you didn’t notice Jungkook shifting a little closer.

That you don’t notice how he pressed his thigh against yours, not once looking at you. It makes you feel far too warm, but you know it’s too late now for you to claim you’d rather head to bed than drink your beer. So you suffer through the episode, even as Jungkook slowly leans into you.

Jimin will notice. It’s all you can think of. When you’ve finally had enough and you scooch away from Jungkook, he throws you a confused look.

You just glare at him, and then resume your attention on the TV. It goes like that for the whole episode, and you’ve never been as thankful as you are right now about the fact that anime episodes are so short. Because as soon as the episode ends, Jungkook straightens, acting as if he wasn’t half sprawled on you.

Jimin doesn’t comment on it. But you know from his momentary slight frown that he noticed, and you can only hope it won’t reach Taehyung’s ears.

You’re as good as dead if it does.

“Well,” Jimin says, glancing at his phone. “I’ll need to go, Sera is waiting for me.”

“Sounds good,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for coming.”

You wave Jimin goodbye as he gets up from the couch, taking a sip of your half-empty beer. Jungkook walks him to the door, and when Jimin finally leaves, Jungkook turns around to look at you, leaning back against the door.

“So you wanted to talk?” he says, cocking his head to the side.

Your throat feels dry, so you take another sip of beer before nodding once. “Yeah.”

“I’m listening.”

You wonder if he’s told that to a lot of girls in the past. Jungkook is the type to run at the first sign of emotion from a girl. You know it, you’ve seen the results on campus. But he can’t really run from you when you share an apartment, can he?

“What should we do about Taehyung?” you ask, pulling at some dry skin on your bottom lip.

The space between you and Jungkook fills with something you’re not quite sure you like. It’s cold, bitter, and it tastes awfully like regret. Especially as Jungkook answers, “Nothing. We just pretend nothing happened, no?”

For that is the logical solution – you know it just as well as he, but for some reason, you don’t like it. Don’t like the way your heart clenches in your chest at the thought.

“Is that what you want?” you ask him.

He slides his hands in the pocket of his pants, shrugging. “Yeah. I don’t see why it would need to be a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you say. “I’m not trying to make it into a big deal.”

He lazily smirks. “Right.”

You shut your eyes in annoyance, slightly shaking your head. “No, for real,” you insist. “If you want us to just pretend that nothing happened, then we do that.”

“You awfully sound like that’s not what you want.”

His tone has changed. It’s not playful anymore. It’s serious and you wonder, is that how Jungkook ends things with the girls he fucks? Pretending like he doesn’t care, like you’re just another name to add to the long list?

“I just don’t want things to get weird,” you choose to reply, though your first instinct is to agree with his statement. “Since we live together.”

“Don’t worry about it, peach,” Jungkook says, and he sounds more like his usual self now. “I won’t make things weird.”

You nod, meeting his gaze again. There’s a moment where it feels like the distance between you and him dwindled to nothing, like you’re about to fall into his big doe eyes. You think you spy sadness in those eyes, emotions hidden beneath a thick wall, but he blinks and it’s gone, and you’re back on the couch in a reality you’re not sure you like.

The distance feels grander somehow. Like, maybe the couch moved back. Like a crevice was formed, and you don’t know how to cross the distance anymore. But it’s safer here, safer not to admit to Jungkook that being with him made you feel something. Not only because of Taehyung, but because of Sam Hwang, and of your life before, and of all the little fucked up things in your head that make it so you just aren’t the type of person to date to begin with.

You’re not delusional enough to think Jungkook would want to date you anyway. You were just the forbidden prize, and now that Jungkook has had you, you’re pretty sure he’s just going to move on to the next.

The thought hurts, and you wonder if he sees it in your eyes. Because he’s still there by the door, carefully watching you as if his gaze can convey what words can’t.

But life doesn’t work that way, does it?

You blink, sliding your eyes away from him and down to the beer in your hands, and you take a long sip, letting the bitter taste chase away the aftertaste of the conversation. It doesn’t really do anything, but Jungkook decides to leave, wishing you good night with a half-smile over his shoulder.

When he’s disappeared into his room, you let out a long sigh, trying hard not to reminisce the blackout, and the moments you’d spent in his arms.

Yet that night, when sleep evades you, you think about that first kiss. About the weight of the emotions, about the way he’d held you. And you feel like, maybe he blindsided you all along.

Maybe you were stupid to think Jeon Jungkook had a heart.

Friday, February 22nd

The bar is filled to the brim with drunk party-goers, and the music is loud enough you can’t hear your thoughts anymore.

“This is a frat party,” you state as Ria grins and nods her head to the beat.

She shrugs. “Who cares, you love frat parties.”

You chuckle, and your eyes slide to Nabi. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

“Namjoon said they’re in the back,” Nabi replies, but you can tell she looks uncomfortable with the amount of people present. “I’ll tell him to come get us.”

You watch her as she types away on her phone, glancing towards Ria.

“What’s the plan tonight, baby?” she says mischievously when your gaze connects. “Hobi, or do you want someone else?”

Ever since Ria’s learned about Sam, she’s been pushing you towards Hoseok even more. Maybe because she wants you to forget, or maybe because she thinks Hoseok is what you want. And though sex is always good with him, you haven’t reached out since the power outage and the evening of studying you’d spent at the library with him and Yoongi.

He hasn’t reached out either, so you figure it’s all good.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I’ll see where the night goes.”

Ria nods. “I desperately want to get fucked tonight.”

Nabi surprises you by bursting out laughing. “Saw Jeon Jungkook get in before we did, just go to him.”

You keep your features cool and composed as your gaze slides to Nabi, before going back to Ria. Ria watched the whole thing carefully, yet when you don’t say anything, she replies, “Honestly, I might. Shelly said he’s free to hit on now.”

Because of course Shelly had called dibs on Jungkook. Not that you knew, and not that you cared. You’ve never considered her a friend to begin with, and you’d be lying if you aren’t a little happy that Jungkook decided to stop seeing her after he had sex with you.

Even if you’re pretending nothing ever happened. And he’s good at that – barely even speaking to you except for the formalities, though he did tease you once about looking tired.

You clench your jaw as the memory fills your mind, and you believe you can hear him say, ‘Need help with that’ all over again. Which, you reckon, you might. Because every night, like clockwork, Jungkook invades your thoughts, and you’re forced to relive the moments he’d breathed against your skin, fucking you like he had all the time in the world.

Maybe then he did. Maybe he even believed it, though he’s been good at pretending he didn’t. So have you. Or at least you hope so.

“Then my plan is to fuck him tonight,” Ria declares solemnly. “I want to know what all those girls are on about.”

You know. You know exactly what they’re on about, yet the jealousy feels like it’s searing through you as you do catch sight of Jungkook when you look away from your friends.

He’s looking this way. He’s leaning against the bar, a pretty long-haired girl next to him. His arm is behind her, and she’s tucked into his side, saying something you’re pretty sure he’s not listening to. Indeed, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, his eyes burning on you. So you make a show of eyeing him up and down before looking away.

Do you feel a certain sort of satisfaction when you notice Hoseok heading this way, which means Jungkook will see you with him? Maybe.

But you’d never admit that in a million years.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, leaning against you.

He reeks of alcohol, and you reckon you probably won’t have sex with him tonight. But when he goes in and presses a drunken kiss to your temple, you let him do it, eyes sliding back towards Jungkook.

Even in the distance you see how Jungkook clenches his jaw. He’s quick to compose himself though, features relaxing as he turns to the side, facing the pretty girl. She beams at his attention, and your nails dig into your palms as he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

Ria and Nabi hug Hoseok in turn, and they both earn the same kiss you did. It makes you laugh, though Jungkook doesn’t see that, his attention fully on the girl. Hoseok tells you all to follow him, and then he leads you to the back of the bar, where you find Yoongi, Namjoon and Seokjin. Namjoon’s gaze immediately connects with Nabi’s, and he mouths an apology as he motions to his current position as an explanation as to why he couldn’t go get you and your friends by the door.

He’s stuck next to Yoongi, and you highly doubt Yoongi wanted to get up. Yet, you feel like you are intruding on the mute conversation between Nabi and Namjoon, so you look away, your eyes landing on Seokjin.

Seokjin is attractive. Handsome, in a simple, elegant way that only people born into money have. When he smiles at you, nodding his head once, you echo the gesture, though you let Ria slide into the booth so that she can sit next to him.

Because if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that Seokjin is right up her alley. And if that means she won’t go for Jungkook…

You don’t explore that thought further, instead sitting next to her. Yoongi begrudgingly gets up to let Nabi sit next to Namjoon, and Hoseok goes to the table next to yours to ask if he can borrow a chair. He comes back with one, sitting at the head of the table.

Conversation slowly starts around you, Seokjin and Ria speaking with Namjoon in front of them. Nabi is silent, but she listens intently. You can’t bring yourself to join in, instead meeting Hoseok’s gaze and smiling secretively.

His eyes dip to your lips, though they do not darken the way that they usually do, probably from the alcohol in his system.

“How were midterms?” he asks, with that same slightly slurred speech he sported earlier.

“It was chill, but I’m glad they’re over now. You?”

He chuckles. “Got fucked in a couple of them, but I honestly don’t give a fuck.”

You snort, and before you can say anything, Yoongi chimes in, “Is that why I found you crying the other day?”

Hoseok turns a colour of red so deep you think it’d put a tomato to shame. “I did not!”

Yoongi snickers. “Right.” His eyes slide to you, and you think it’s the first time he’s ever regarded you with something other than animosity. Indeed, he’s got a playful light to his eyes, and you reckon he looks good like this.

You can understand why Ria tried to hit on him.

“He totally did,” Yoongi says, and then he lets out a small, pained sound from the kick Hoseok undoubtedly landed on his leg.

“I hate you, man.”

Yoongi winks, and you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head. “Honestly, Hoba,” you say once your laugh has dimmed, “there’s nothing embarrassing about crying over your grades. I did it all the time when I was younger.”

“I wasn’t crying!” Hoseok insists.

You and Yoongi exchange a glance, before bursting out laughing again. Hoseok pouts, a frown clinging to his features. Though you don’t really feel bad, you still brush his thigh under the table, and he goes wholly still, his frown melting away.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat. “You want anything to drink?”

You do. You’re thirsty for something to smooth the stress of midterms and Jeon Jungkook away. So you nod, smiling wickedly.

“Lead the way.”

Hoseok chuckles, and you end up taking everyone’s order before getting up to head to the bar behind Hoseok and Yoongi. You’re squeezed behind Yoongi, Hoseok on the other side of him, as you wait at the bar a few minutes later, eyes skimming over the array of alcohol on the wall. You’re planning to order a pitcher of sangria for you and the girls, and Yoongi and Hoseok are taking care of two pitchers of beer. They’re deep in conversation, and you just stand behind them awkwardly, unable to hear them over the sound of the music.

You don’t mind. You focus on your phone, trying to see if Taehyung has replied to the message you sent him earlier. It was late for him in Paris, so you’re not surprised to find he hasn’t, the message only showing delivered. You turn off your phone and slide it back in your purse, before stepping closer to the bar as Hoseok and Yoongi get what they ordered.

“Do you want us to wait for you?” Yoongi asks, taking you by surprise.

Since when is Yoongi friendly with you?

“No,” you answer, eyes darting to Hoseok who’s just smiling with his cheeks flushed red. “All good, I’ll meet you guys back at the table.”

They nod, and you slip past them to lean against the counter, trying to get the barman’s attention. He’s currently on the other side, serving a suspiciously familiar tattooed hand, and you feel like rolling your eyes as you realize Jungkook is clearly buying a drink for the pretty girl at his side.

You forget all about Jeon Jungkook when a certain Sam Hwang slides into your vision, leaning against the counter right in front of you.

You startle. Eyes going wide like a deer in headlights, heart rate picking up to an uncomfortable level. You don’t like that he still has a physical effect on you, and it only increases tenfold when he breaks into an easy smile.

“Y/n!” he says, as if there aren’t months between you, as if on that dreadful day in August, he didn’t just leave. “I thought it was you.”

You freeze. You don’t know what to reply, only look at him as if he’s a jack in the box that’s just exploded in your face. He takes it in stride, chuckling lightly in that gentle way of his that used to make you go crazy.

“How have you been?” he asks, features falling a little more serious, brows slightly scrunched as if your answer will be the most important thing he’ll hear all night.

“Why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, and he slightly widens his eyes as if in surprise.

“Should I not?” he replies, easily tilting his head to the side in that nonchalant way of his. His blond hair falls like a cascade, and you can’t help but averting your gaze to it.

“You don’t wear your hair in a ponytail anymore?”

You want to curse yourself for the stupidity of your question, but Sam’s always been nonchalant. Someone that goes with the flow, that likes the weird things in life. You think maybe that’s why he had been interested in you back then.

Until he wasn’t.

“No, ponytails are cold in the winter,” he jokes.

You can barely smile in answer. You wish you hadn’t told Yoongi and Hoseok to go back to the table, and you glance over your shoulder, hoping that they’d sense your unease and come back. They’re nowhere to be seen though, hidden by the crowd populating the bar.

“Are they?” you say, not a single ounce of joy in your tone.

Sam nods. “Yeah. But enough about that. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you lie, because frankly standing in front of him like this is making you feel anything but okay. You don’t want him to know though, so you try to plaster an indifferent mask to your features.

You highly doubt it works. Because it never works with Sam Hwang.

“I’m glad,” he replies, smiling softly. He turns his head to the side, and you only then notice the barman has stopped next to you. “I’ll have a rum and coke and she’ll take…” he trails off as he looks at you. “A Soho cocktail?”

You blink once, not really believing that he remembers. That though you lasted all of seventeen days, he still remembers your favourite cocktail.

Needless to say, you haven’t drank any since he walked away that night.

“A pitcher of red sangria and three glasses,” you say, looking at the barman. “Please.”

The barman nods once, and then busies himself with making the cocktails. You try your best not to look at Sam, but his piercing gaze lingers on you, and you can’t help but glance his way.

“You don’t drink Soho anymore?”

“This is not a Japanese inspired bar,” you say, trying to avoid the truth. “Highly doubt he’d know how to make a good cocktail with it.”

You know Sam can tell you’re lying, but he shrugs it off. “Oh well. How’s the bio major going?”

You purse your lips, gulping once. Because why does he remember so much? He’d made it pretty clear that he didn’t care… did he?

“It’s not too bad,” you answer. “You? The college experience is up to your expectations?”

If he hears the bite in your voice, he doesn’t care. Instead, he chuckles lightly, shaking his head, before saying, “I really was an ass last summer. I’m sorry.”

It’s like the world stops turning. Like you’re taken back to the warm summer evening, to the docks and the group of friends you hadn’t seen once after that night. You still feel the warm breeze, still can smell the salt in the air, and you almost believe you can hear the waves.

“What?” is all you manage to get out.

He laughs, like it’s the best joke you’ve ever said in your entire life. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. I was a dick.”

“Honestly,” you say, feeling your heart constricting in your chest, “I don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

He furrows his brow. “Oh, come on, Y/n. It’s water under the bridge.”

But it’s not. Because that night he left you alone, and you were far from home not knowing how you’d get back. You’re lucky nothing bad happened – one of the dock workers happened to be your mother’s ex, and he drove you home telling you that the docks weren’t a playground and that you shouldn’t be hanging around there.

You didn’t have the courage to tell him that you had been with friends and had gotten dumped out of the blue.

“Is it though?” you answer, and venom starts to sip into your tone. “You left me alone that night.”

“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry about it.”

“So, did you get the college experience?” you ask, crossing your arms on your chest.

Sam scoffs, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for salvation. “Come on, don’t be petty.” He looks back at you, that same insufferable smile on his lips, and he shrugs. “Not really. I realized that none of them compared to you.”

You think the sun has flared and the consequential magnetic storm has fried Sam’s neurons. Because it doesn’t make sense. After months it doesn’t make sense, and you don’t want it. Yet it makes you freeze, and you remember the texts you’d sent him. You remember calling him, even showing up at his job because you wanted to apologize. You remember the embarrassment of his coworkers laughing at you, remember leaving and promising yourself you’d never chase after a man again.

To this day, you’ve held up to your promise.

But his words send you tumbling down a steep slope, and you think you’ll splatter on the rocks at the bottom. Your heart hurts so much it’s hard to breathe, and you wish you could grab a glass on the counter and throw it at his pretty face.

The violent instinct makes you recoil, and you take a step back, only to bump into someone.

“Hey, everything okay here?” Jungkook says, his familiar voice like a safe haven.

You glance over your shoulder, and at the look on your features, he immediately steps even closer to you, mindlessly wrapping an arm around your waist.

It’s worth the shocked expression on Sam’s features. His eyes dip to Jungkook’s hand, now resting on your hip, before looking back up to your features. His eyes widen, and he barks out a short, bitter laugh that resembles nothing of his usual cool charm.

“You’re fucking your brother’s friend?” Sam says, and his words hit like darts straight on the board, though the board is your heart. He hits bull's eye, and you immediately push Jungkook off of you.

“I am not,” you reply. “Maybe he just tried to step in because you can’t fucking take a clue, can you?”

Sam seems so startled by your words that he falls silent, mouth wide open. He looks like a fish, a stupid fish, and you wonder how you managed to actually love him once.

“Excuse me?” he finally says.

“You heard the lady,” Jungkook jumps in. “Fuck off.”

“I don’t fucking need your help,” you throw towards Jungkook.

You feel bad. You feel bad the minute the words are out, especially as you watch Jungkook’s features crumbling into a frown. You hold his gaze, slightly shaking your head as if to say ‘Please understand that this is nothing against you’. You’re not sure he understands, and before he’s able to say anything else, the pretty girl who was with him earlier appears, pulling on his arm.

Sam laughs bitterly, all at your expense, as the girl pulls Jungkook away, saying something about how she’s been waiting for him. Jungkook looks like he wants to resist, to stay by your side, but the look on your face does the deed, and he turns away from you, heading to wherever the girl is bringing him.

From what it seems, they’re heading to the bathroom, and it makes you feel like you’re going to be sick, like you might need to run outside to breathe in some air.

“You know,” Sam says, attracting your attention. “I was right when I dumped you last summer. You’re fucking crazy.”

He leaves without another single word, not even waiting for his drink to be ready. You just stand there, stunned, only shaking out of it when the barman says something next to you.

“Oh,” you let out as you glance towards him. He’s put down Sam’s drink and the pitcher of sangria on the bar, and you don’t know what to do for a few seconds, blinking back tears. “Uh, I’ll pay for everything, but I won’t need the rum and coke.”

You assume the barman has seen the entire altercation as he shrugs. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll keep it for myself, no need to pay.”

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, and you pay for the sangria before stacking the three glasses, leaning them against your chest to make sure you won’t drop them on the walk back to the table with your friends. You’re lucky – the trek back to the table is uneventful, and you put the pitcher and the glasses down amidst your friends’ chatter.

Nabi glances at you once before saying, “What’s wrong?”

Maybe you didn’t realize your eyes were filling with tears. But they sure are, and you furiously blink away, plopping down next to Ria.

“Nothing.”

Nabi furrows her brows, right as everyone’s focus slides to you. The embarrassment of suddenly being the center of attention thankfully pushes your tears away, and you shrug once, taking a deep breath.

“Just some asshole at the bar,” you vaguely explain at everyone’s curious expression.

But it wasn’t just some asshole. There was Jungkook too, and you know you owe him an apology. Yet you don’t know how to apologize to him. Not when the grounds between the two of you are so uncertain, like one wrong move will send you straight to the bottommost pit of the ocean.

“If you tell me it’s that dude from the café I will go feral,” Ria grumbles next to you.

Right. She knows about Sam.

“As much as I’d love to see you going feral,” you tease, “let’s just drink.”

“So it was him?”

You purse your lips, refusing to answer, as the boys all intently listen to the conversation.

“It was who?” Nabi asks, looking confused.

You’d assumed Ria would have filed her in, but it seems she hasn’t, for Nabi clearly doesn’t know about Sam Hwang. Not that Ria knows a lot to begin with.

“Someone from her hometown,” Ria mimics in her best impression of you, which only makes you snort.

“Let’s just drink,” you insist, and you immediately busy yourself with pouring the three glasses.

Your friends look like they want to press you for further explanation – especially Hoseok – but no one says anything. It’s a little awkward, but the moment you clink your glasses together, the weirdness fades away, replaced by a will to revel like only college kids revel.

And so you do. You lose track of the amount of alcohol you’re drinking, taking shots after shots after shots with Ria, while Nabi cheers on you standing right next to Namjoon. Namjoon, who stands just a tad too close to Nabi for it to be casual. You’d make jokes about it, but Ria drags you away, and you find yourself squeezed on the dancefloor, letting Ria grind on you as people look your way.

You don’t care. You can’t bring yourself to care when you’ve drank so much, when all there is is the music and the lights and the throng of bodies that endlessly moves like countless waves on the ocean, the pull and push of the moon inevitable. At low tide, when the crowd disperses in the night, you find yourself blinking, realizing that Ria is not with you anymore.

As a matter of fact, you suddenly can’t see any of your friends, and if it wasn’t for the alcohol in your bloodstream, you’d be worried. Instead, you pull out your phone from your purse, furrowing your brows at it.

[00:56 am] JK: what’s ur problem lol

You stare at the text, not knowing what to reply. Not trusting your drunken fingers to convey a good enough apology. So you ignore it, instead aiming for the group chat.

[02:54 am] You: wher arr u

You press send, uncaring for the typos, trusting your friends to be able to decipher. To your luck, Hoseok immediately shoots you an answer.

[02:54 am] Hobi: I’m outside with yoongi, idk about the others

And so you make your way outside, stopping at the coat check to grab your coat. While you put it on, a too-familiar blond guy, along with two friends you recognize from last summer, arrives and Sam shoots you a look, lips slightly curling in disgust.

You frown, and unable to resist, you close the space between the two of you, pulling on his arm.

“What’s your fucking problem?” you tell him as he turns towards you.

“What do you want?” he fires back.

You feel your throat closing up, yet you can’t stop. Not when old emotions resurface, though you reckon they aren’t all that old to begin with. “Why did you leave me alone at the docks?”

He freezes for a few heartbeats. Long enough for his friends to retrieve their coats, and then they turn to look at you. The redhead you recognize for being there that night, yet you don’t direct the question at him. Not even as he sneers at the sight of you, as if you’re just some disgusting trash.

“Y/n,” Sam lets out, and you tell yourself that he sounds apologetic.

Otherwise you don’t think you’ll make it. Not when you loved him like you did, like only a heart that’s never been broken can.

“Why though?” you press him. “It was dangerous. I could have gotten hurt.”

Sam purses his lips in a thin line, shrugging. “Was it though? You seem perfectly fine.”

You blink away tears, and in a surprising moment of memories of you and him, Sam truly does look apologetic.

“I was in love with you,” you whisper, alcohol forbidding you from preserving any ounce of dignity.

Sam glances over his shoulder. His friends seem to get the cue, because they disappear, heading outside. “Listen, I know,” he says. “I was a dick. That’s why I approached you earlier, but you weren’t really looking to speak to me.”

You take a deep breath, nodding once. “You took me by surprise.”

“Do you want to grab coffee soon?” he suggests.

You’re a fool. A drunken fool, because you say yes. You say yes and to text you whenever, and Sam promises he will, before leaving you alone, like he’d done once all those months ago. But when he leaves, you notice Hoseok by the door, close enough to have heard the conversation.

Your eyes are still brimmed with tears, and Hoseok offers you a tight-lipped smile.

“Everything okay?”

And because this is Hoseok, because he’s already been in the aftermath of what Sam was to you, you shake your head no, unable to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

“Let’s get you home,” Hoseok gently says as he crosses the distance between you and him, gently pulling you into a hug.

He rubs your back as you sob into his chest, gently rocking you from side to side. Or maybe it’s the alcohol, and the ground feels like it’s tilting under you. But Hoseok doesn’t let you go, and he lets you cry in his arms until the bouncer tells you you have to go out.

You do, eyes undoubtedly red and stained with your runny makeup, yet you don’t care. You really are drunk, and you think maybe you won’t even remember all of this tomorrow.

“You think we can drop her at her apartment?” Hoseok says, and you offer him a confused look, only to realize that he’s speaking to Yoongi, who seems like he’s been waiting outside this whole time.

“She can hit the couch,” Yoongi suggests, shrugging. “I don’t think the Uber driver will be down for the detour.”

And even if you don’t say yes or no, it’s still what you end up doing. You go home with Hoseok and Yoongi, and Hoseok holds your hand while rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. You’re not crying anymore, instead feeling empty and oh so tired. Hoseok helps you out of your coat once you’re in his apartment, and Yoongi goes to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water.

He meets you and Hoseok in the living room, where Hoseok pulled you after you finished removing your coat.

“Here,” Yoongi says, offering you the glass.

You thank him with a slight bow of your head, grabbing the water and downing it in one shot. Hoseok and Yoongi chuckle lightly at the sight, and then Yoongi plops down on the couch next to Hoseok.

Maybe you’re a little too drunk to notice Hoseok leaning into Yoongi, and Yoongi draping an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. Maybe you’re a little too gone to realize you’re sitting alone on your side of the couch now, but you don’t care.

“Who was that guy?” Hoseok gently asks.

You take a deep breath and then launch into the story. You spare them no details – you reveal everything about how you’d met through friends from high school, most of them not having followed you here to college. You’d met at a party, had a love-at-first-sight moment, and you’d spent the following seventeen days glued to his side. You tell them about the docks, about what he’d told you, and about the way he’d left you there, with no way to go home. Hoseok bristles as you tell them, but he stays silent as you continue, admitting that you said yes to grabbing coffee with him.

“No way you’re going on a date with him,” Hoseok says, and he surprisingly sounds offended.

“I don’t know,” is what you reply.

“Y/n, that guy is an asshole,” Yoongi intervenes before Hoseok can say anything else. He tightens his arm around Hoseok, and you furrow your brows. “You deserve better than that.”

You look at Hoseok, before sliding your gaze to Yoongi, and then back to Hoseok. And then, even though your brain is foggy and you’re confused, and nothing seems to be making any sense, you blurt, “Is something going on between the two of you?”

Hoseok startles, sitting up from where he was leaning against Yoongi. He flushes deep red, and Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You’re not surprised when Yoongi says, “So what if yes?”

You meet Hoseok’s gaze. He looks apologetic, like he’s somehow doing something wrong, but you start laughing. Maybe it’s an anxious laugh, like a ‘what the fuck is this evening’ kind of laugh, but you still laugh, and Hoseok just looks at you like you’ve grown horns or something.

“I’m going to need an explanation,” you say once your laughter subsides. “Not that I’m not cool with it.”

“See,” Yoongi says. “I told you it would be okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” you add. “I am actually so relieved.”

“Relieved?” Hoseok lets out.

You shrug. “I didn’t want to hurt you more,” you admit.

And it’s true. You think, the moment you slept with Jungkook, you knew you’d never have sex with Hoseok again. Not that you didn’t like it, but Jungkook is Jungkook, and you reckon you’ll need a moment before you can fuck someone other than him.

“You weren’t hurting me,” Hoseok says, and he looks down at his hands in his lap. “Maybe in November, yeah. But not this time around.”

“I made sure of it,” Yoongi offers as an explanation.

You slightly shake your head. “Wait, wait, wait. What happened?”

“Power outage,” Hoseok offers as an explanation, and he’s still so red you think he’ll burst into flames.

You almost blurt out ‘same’, yet you keep it down at the last second. Maybe because you’re sobering up, or because the subject is sobering you up. Maybe because there’s something just so strange about Yoongi and Hoseok together, especially after you’ve been with Hoseok too. But then again, if he’s happy, then you’ll be happy for him.

Realization hits you a second before you say, “Is that why you haven’t been a dick to me anymore?”

Yoongi bursts out laughing. You’ve never heard him laughing like this, and there’s something so cute about it that you get it.

You get why Hoseok would be into him. And you also get why Ria wasn’t able to ask Yoongi out – he’s been into Hoseok all along.

“Maybe,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “Honestly… I was jealous of you for a while.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Dude, I thought you hated me.”

“I did a little,” he admits sheepishly. “But not anymore.”

“Can you guys stop?” Hoseok bursts, and he hides his face in his hands. “Fuck, this is so awkward.”

You laugh along with Yoongi, leaning forward to pat him on the shoulder. “Sorry, I guess as people that both fucked you, we immediately get along well.”

“That’s crass,” Hoseok whines, while Yoongi just keeps on laughing behind him, though his cheeks have turned pink.

“But it’s true!”

Hoseok shakes his head, and then finally looks up to you. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

The sudden seriousness makes you rein in the joking tone, and you offer him a small smile. You hope it’s as genuine as you feel, though with you being drunk, you wouldn’t be surprised if you just look dumb.

“Of course I’m okay with it,” you reassure him. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He tentatively smiles, nodding once. “We are.”

And maybe you’re just relieved they offered a change of subject from Sam Hwang. Especially as Hoseok glances towards Yoongi, his eyes probably conveying unsaid words because Yoongi gets up, wishing you good night.

You watch him go, and once he’s out of sight, you turn your head back towards Hoseok.

“How did it happen?” you ask with a small voice.

“We got a little drunk on Valentine’s Day,” he says, shrugging, his cheeks still deep red. “I think I said something about you…” His eyes trail to the screen of the TV in front of you, and it reflects you and him like a black mirror. “Yoongi confessed. Said he’s tired of watching me get hurt. I was drunk and I kissed him.”

It reminds you of Jungkook. Of the way he’d gazed at you the instant before he’d kissed you. The weight of the emotions in his eyes had been too much to bear, and you wonder if everything was just a mistake anyway.

“And?” you press, trying to avoid thoughts of Jeon Jungkook and Sam Hwang, though you know it’s useless.

They’ll come haunt you as soon as you’ll close your eyes tonight.

“And then…” He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah. It was my first time with a guy. I didn’t even think I could be attracted to men.”

You smile wisely. “College is all about trying new things and discovering new things about yourself.”

“Amen,” he echoes, and you share a short laugh. Once it subsides, Hoseok leans back into the couch, turning to look at you. “Be completely honest with me though. Are you really okay with this?”

You nod, your lips gently curving upwards. “Of course, Hobi. If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

He sighs in relief, and it seems like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. “I’m happy. I never saw it coming, but the last few days have been great.” He pauses for a few seconds, letting out a small laugh that’s only meant for himself, and maybe Yoongi if he was still here. “It’s still early to tell where this will head, and we don’t plan to tell anyone before we’re sure of it but… I figured you at least needed to know. Considering our history.”

You nod. “Makes sense. I promise my lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.”

The following silence is broken up by a yawn, and you hide your mouth behind your hand as to not look like a fish out of water. Once you’ve blinked a few tired tears away, you say, “Does that mean I can sleep in your bed and you share one with Yoongi?”

Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, smirking playfully. “Wouldn’t you like it?”

You cock an eyebrow, snorting. “Are you not sharing a bed?”

“Not yet,” Hoseok admits. “We’re really trying to take things slow.”

And it would make sense. Especially for Hoseok, you reckon.

“Fair enough. I’ll miserably sleep on the couch then.”

He laughs, pushing you playfully. “I’ll have you know this couch is really comfortable.”

“Will you at least give me a blanket?” you ask, pouting and bashing your eyelashes, trying your best to look like a begging puppy.

“Stop,” he says, laughing again. “Yeah, I’ll get you a blanket.”

You thank him as he gets up, heading to his room to grab something for you. He comes back with a sweater and a blanket, offering you both without saying anything.

“Sweater?” you ask, unable to form a full sentence.

“If you want to change out of your clothes.”

Ah. Makes sense.

“Thank you,” you say.

He nods, smiling softly, and then turns around to head back to his room. Before he’s out of the living room, he turns back around, meeting your gaze.

“What about you though?” he asks.

You furrow your brow quizzically. “What?”

“What happened during the power outage?” he specifies. “You just disappeared.”

You keep your features as blank as your drunken ass possibly can when you reply, “Nothing happened. Just didn’t bother to charge my phone.”

“I saw how Jungkook looked at you at the library last Sunday,” Hoseok says. “You can’t tell me nothing happened.”

And maybe because this is Hoseok, maybe because you think he’s becoming the closest friend you have, you reply, “I don’t think it really matters if something happened.”

“Why?” he asks, leaning against the wall as his hands disappear in the pockets of his pants.

“He’s Tae’s best friend,” you explain, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s not like I have any future with him.”

“Right.” Hoseok purses his lips, holding your gaze as you let him read the truth in your eyes. “The only thing I have to say is, please be careful. Jungkook doesn’t really have a good reputation.”

You gulp around a sudden lump in your throat. “Fuck, I know. I’m a mess.”

“You aren’t,” Hoseok reassures you. “You said it yourself, college is all about trying new things. Some of the things won’t necessarily work out, and that’s okay. Just try not to put yourself into situations where you’ll only get hurt.”

“Jungkook wouldn’t hurt me,” you say, quick to defend him even though you know he totally would. Even though he already did, when he asked you to pretend like nothing happened.

“Maybe.” Hoseok wets his lips, scrunching up his nose a little. “Or that Sam guy would.”

The reminder of Sam Hwang makes you hide your face in your hands as you groan. “I really am a fucking mess.”

“Don’t go out with him,” Hoseok says. “I’m sure there are plenty of other guys out there that would like to go out with you. Don’t settle for someone who’s already treated you like shit in the past.”

“So, don’t go for Sam or Jungkook, is that so?” you say, laughing awkwardly.

Hoseok frowns. “Don’t. Or do. I’m not your mom. But as a friend, I’d say you deserve better.”

“We’ll see,” you say after a few seconds of silence. “Thanks, Hobi.”

And you mean it. Because you know he cares, even though you might only be a friend now.

“Of course,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

He looks behind his shoulder, towards what you assume is the door to Yoongi’s room. “About me and Yoongi. About the fact that it happened on the day we were supposed to go on a date.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you reassure him again. “It’s really okay.”

He nods once, before pushing up from the wall. “Good. Yeah. I guess I’ll head to bed, then.”

There’s awkwardness in the air. Maybe because a little over a week ago you would have gone to bed with him, would have gotten your guts rearranged by him. But somehow you don’t feel any ounce of disappointment or regret at the thought that it’s done. Maybe because he truly has become a friend, and you reckon you need friends more than you need to get fucked.

“Good night, Hobi,” you say, offering him a small smile.

“Good night,” he echoes, and then he disappears into his room.

Once you’re alone, you quickly change into his sweater, wrapping yourself up in the blanket. You realize you don’t have a pillow, but you figure it’ll be okay, not wanting to bother Hoseok or Yoongi right now. So you lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling, frowning slightly.

Right. You forgot to turn off the light. You get up to do so, and once you’re lying back down, you grab your phone from your purse. You’ve gotten a few more texts in the group chat, from Ria saying that she told you she was leaving and you’d said it was okay. You frankly don’t remember, but maybe that’s because you had been too busy dancing with a group of girls that had welcomed you in their ranks as if you weren’t just a stranger.

It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the text that Jungkook sent you, and with a sigh, you click on it again. The conversation thread opens, and you scroll up, just to see that the last thing he texted you was something about getting gochujang sauce for him at the grocery store one of the rare times that you went. That text dates back to December, and the text before that was about him asking to go pick him and Taehyung up at a party in early October because Taehyung was too drunk for an Uber ride.

Taehyung had ended up throwing up in your backseat, and you made him clean three times before you’d forgiven him.

You reread Jungkook’s latest text. And you wonder, what was your problem? Why were you so inclined to bite at him, too, when he was just trying to help? It’s a haunting question, and you can’t bring yourself to apologize yet.

You tell yourself you’d rather do it in person, but as you try to sleep later, the real reason taunts you, haunts you, forcing you to lie awake late in the night.

You’re just too much of a coward to face Jeon Jungkook.

Prev | Chapter 5.5 | Next

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What did we think of this one? I don't think a lot of people expected that yoongi x hobi twist hahaha I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think:)

#chasing cars ch 5 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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rememberwren · 3 months

Text

A Dichotomy of Thought || 5

Johnny recovers slowly.

Fifteen minutes? Simon messages you. A flare going up in the darkness, an SOS signal even if you don’t know the accuracy of the analogy. But he doesn’t hear back from you that day. Maybe what little luck he had left that wasn’t bad luck has run out. Maybe you realized that you had no real reason to be guilty, that Soap had stepped out in front of your car on purpose. You didn’t owe them anything.

Simon wishes he could swallow that flare back up, eat it whole, let it burn him alive, but he can’t. Johnny needs him.

Ever since the seizure, it’s been one bad pain day after another. The seizure itself was rough on his body, but so was how hard Soap fought afterwards, dealing himself damage that he didn’t even have the processing yet to tally up.

Like clockwork he’s requiring those little green pills, choking them down on empty stomachs. Simon even has to break out what’s left of the sublingual morphine which they hadn’t used since Johnny first came home from inpatient rehabilitation. Only then will Johnny manage to fall into fitful sleeps wracked with nightmares and phantom pains from his missing arm. He cancels all therapy that week, hoping Johnny will return to his baseline soon. Hoping for the days he used to wish away.

It’s hell on earth. Simon lays in bed beside him, ready to wake him from another nightmare, going on three days without sleep and he wishes that he had been the one in the helicopter instead. Wishes that it had killed him, since he can’t ever wish death on Johnny. Not ever. Not even when his boy begs for it.

His phone buzzes, and it’s you: I’m free in twenty. Still need me?

Badly. Simon can’t remember the last time he showered. All he wants is fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and feel human again. All he says though is: Yeah.

You appear just past twenty minutes later wearing a diner uniform. It’s cute: tight pants that hug your thighs and hips, a white button-down blouse tucked in, demarcation where your name tag used to rest.

Simon opens the door and ushers you in, somber-faced, like a pallbearer at a funeral. He goes to the bedroom door and glances in to make sure Johnny is out—there should be no waking him for the next two hours, but if there is one thing Simon has learned, it’s that God Laughs.

“He asleep?” you whisper, lingering a healthy distance away.

“Out like a light. I just need fifteen minutes in the shower.”

“I’ll watch him,” you whisper. Then you add: “I looked it up, by the way. What a seizure looks like. Just in case.”

Simon’s stomach drops between his knees. It takes him several heartbeats to realize that he isn’t nauseous out of any fear response, but out of sheer fucking gratitude. The feeling cuts through the fog in his mind like a knife through butter, and he feels like he sees you for the first time: your hair back away from your face, your healing bruises (and the new one on your chin), the embarrassed desperation in your eyes. You’ve latched on to Johnny too, he can tell, likely by some misguided guilt from almost hitting him with your car. But it’s there. He has a feeling that if Johnny were to take a dive off the balcony, he’d be taking you with him.

You are completely unhinged. Borderline mad, even. Exactly what Johnny needs to keep him alive.

“Fifteen minutes,” says Simon again before slipping into the bathroom, clean clothes tucked under his arm. When he resurfaces, only 11 minutes have passed. The military taught him everything he could need to know about thorough but expeditious showers.

You are sitting at the dining table, having chosen the seat that gives you the best vantage point of Johnny’s sleeping figure in the next room through the doorway. Simon expected to find you on your phone, scrolling away, but it is nowhere in sight. You have sat perfectly still, watching Johnny. It would almost be eerie if he didn’t appreciate it so goddamn much.

“We need to talk about this arrangement,” you say, clasping your hands together. You’re shaking.

“You want out.”

“What? No!” You both glance toward the bedroom, but Johnny snores on, in the throes of morphine-fueled dreams. When you speak again, it is quieter: “I don’t mind helping, but I can only check my phone at certain times of the day.”

This is the part where Simon asks why. But the question sticks to the back of his tongue like something unsavory. A more important question: can he afford to care why beyond what it means for him and for Johnny? The bottom line is that there will be long stretches of time where you’re unavailable. He can live with that. He’s been living with it, hasn’t he?

“I’ll only ever need you when he’s asleep. If he knew I was letting you watch over him, he’d blow his top. I mean that literally.” Simon stands. “You want tea?”

“Tea?” You blink at him like the word does not compute. “Yes, please. Thank you, I mean.”

“Just tea, don’t get worked up over it,” he mutters, going to put the kettle on. He needs a minute to fucking think.

This goes against everything he was ever taught. The foundation of his personality is self-reliance, and it has been since he was a boy, since he learned that he couldn’t rely on adults for anything resembling stability. Asking for help feels like tossing up the white flag, like admitting he’s in too deep and he can’t take it anymore. It feels like failing Johnny.

But there’s construction going on inside him. Those pillars of his personality are being torn down, and in their place something more important is being formed: a shrine to the only person who’s ever loved him that wasn’t his mother. If it’s good for Johnny, Simon must do it, even if it feels strange, even if it goes against all the strategies that have kept him alive in the past.

When he brings tea back to the table, you try to drink it right away, scalding your tongue.

“Slow,” Simon says. He didn’t even get the chance to offer you any milk or sugar.

Face warm as the tea, you drink slower, tongue likely numb. The silence between you grows, adds up, and he catches you more than once looking toward the digital clock inlaid on the stove, like you are nervous and counting down the moments until you can escape. Like Simon frightens you. Fifteen minutes pass and more. You drain your cup.

“I should go,” you say at length.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for the tea.”

“Don’t thank me.”

You just nod and slip out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind you. Simon sits there for a long time after you’re gone, thinking over the arrangement. Thinking over you.

You’re in trouble. He just can’t decide if he can afford to take on any more trouble right now.

His tea has cooled by the time Johnny stirs in the other room, calling out for more pills.

It does get easier. Tooth and nail they fight for every peaceful moment until they are able to string two of those moments together, and then two becomes three. Johnny is back to his old self—often angry, still pained, but with glimmers of the man Simon used to know shining beneath it all like diamonds under dirt.

Therapy starts again, and so do Johnny’s tasks.

The tasks aren’t therapy. They’re Johnny’s idea: each few days he picks a task that he used to be able to do before the accident and commits himself to relearning it.

Today that tasks is unlocking the front door. He stands with his forehead against the oak, knowing Simon is somewhere on the other side, having heard him turn the deadbolt.

The door has three locks. There is the handle which is the only one the apartment building originally supplied them with. There is the sliding lock, which Simon had installed on day two in the new apartment. It is only ever locked at night when both of them are home, and it is easy enough for Johnny to guide the wide end into the slot. Then there is the deadbolt, also installed by Simon, and easily the trickiest lock of all. Usually it requires the strength of two hands to unlock comfortably—but Soap’s down a hand and short on patience.

“Jesus, get me in this apartment. Amen,” he mutters.

The key shakes in his hand as he guides it to the lock. It takes some fumbling, but he gets it after just a few moments. Then he must twist while pulling outward at the same time. It uses muscles in his arms that have grown weak with disuse. The key catches for a moment but then slides out of the lock uselessly. He pulled too hard; he did not twist hard enough.

It’s a delicate balance, one he had perfected without even trying months ago when they moved in. Now it seems like a cruel and unusual punishment. If he can’t get this fucking door open, he’ll sleep out here, undeserving of his own bed. In his mind, the voice of encouragement does not sound so much like the calm soothing tones of Andy—his physical rehabilitation therapist—but instead the borderline abusive dialect of his superiors during his time in the military, the ones who had only ever cared about results and not much about the bodies getting those results.

Footsteps come from the open elevator, and Johnny casts an irritated glance only to see that it is you. You are dressed for exercise, clingy clothes with running shoes and a baggy top thrown on over everything, drooping off of one of your shoulders. At the sight of you, Johnny remembers the lengths you went to to help him light his cigarette and his heart throbs with fondness, some of his anger evaporating like fog burnt off by the morning sun.

“Afternoon, lass.”

“Hi, Johnny,” you murmur, voice near a whisper as you cast a glance toward your own door. Maybe you are thinking about running from him. “Are you having trouble?”

Johnny’s good mood dissipates. “No,” he lies. “Yes. I don’t fucking know.”

“Can I help?”

“No,” he snaps. “I have to do this myself.”

“Where’s Simon?”

“Inside.”

“He’s locked you out?”

“Aye.”

Your face changes. He knows you so little that it takes a moment for him to identify the expression for what it is: apoplectic rage. Your hands have clenched into fists at your sides, brows drawn low over your eyes as you glare a hole through the door. You reach out and take Johnny’s hand. He’s so fucking surprised that he drops the damn key.

“Johnny,” you say. “You can tell me. Are you in trouble?”

“What sort o’ trouble?”

“Simon. Is he good to you?”

“Bastard eats my cereal and leaves the empty box behind, but aye, he’s good to me. Better than good. What’s all this about, hen? Simon locking me out? I only asked him to, that’s all—let’s me practice with the key, so I can open it on my own again,” says Johnny, stroking his thumb along your knuckles.

You let go of him like you’ve been burned, face mortified. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Johnny. I misunderstood. Let me just—”

You bend down and retrieve the key, handing it to him. You can barely look him in the eye as you mumble a goodbye and rush past him into your own apartment, shutting the door solidly behind you.

Johnny stares after you for a long moment, key held limply in his hand, mind far from the door. At last, he puts the key back into the lock.

Twist, pull.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

441 notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 9 months

Text

twin peaks.

4k, Joel x afab!reader x Tommy, ONE SHOT A/N: This is my @pedrostories secret santa gift. @endlessthxxghts, you're on my nice list. Happy holidays! ♥️ Ty for the flexibility and for engaging with fics you like, which gave more ideas 🖤. Please excuse the extra men, don't need to remember names. Ty @jksprincess10 for your afab insights! WARNINGS: I8+, Motorcycle Club AU, but Joel is no longer riding. You're a chef. Language. Bar fight. Blood. Gunfire. My first attempt at mild grumpy/sunshine. Passing reference to a bar server's prior SA incident. An OC gets in your personal space and touches your side. Hurt/Comfort. Minor love triangle, I guess, but everyone’s cool. Unsafe P in V, creampies. MFM but only joel inside. The men can lift you. You’re shorter than them. Competency kink, mild size kink, sharing. Starts in Joel POV. There are a few characters from The Bikeriders. BIKER JOEL RECS: both sides of the moon by @lunitawrites and (and ty for this list luna lol) a minute from home by @agentmarcuspike, little mouse by @katiexpunk & @josephquinnswhore., the road to love by @jobean12-blog

dividers from @cafekitsune for POV change and time jump

“Changed the recipe,” Joel grumbles.

Tommy shakes his head with a smile. “Ya know, brother. . . you might be the only one who comes here for the wings.”

“Cause they’re the best. Or they *were*. Taste this.” Joel pushes the basket over to Tommy and takes a swig of beer, then adds, “If I wanna see some skin, I’ll go to a proper titty bar.”

The uniforms are cute at Twin Peaks, but Joel is there for two reasons: the wings and the company. He sold his Harley and quit the club after a minor accident. It left him only a little scraped up but scared his daughters to death. Now these biker bars are the only place he sees his old crew.

“Shit, they did change it,” Tommy concedes. “Maybe ya should send’em back,” he teases.

“Not a bad idea,” Joel mutters.

“Really?” Tommy asks.

“‘S’cuse me. Miss?” The scantily clad server turns around. “They musta changed the recipe, I can’t eat these.”

“Oh no,” the server frowns. “Sorry ‘bout that, lemme see what I can do.” The server takes the wings back to the kitchen.

A minute later, you emerge from the kitchen in your chef’s whites and Joel does a double take. You smile at him as you approach.

“Oh, shit,” Tommy elbows him, but Joel hardly notices. He’s captivated by you, but he keeps a straight face.

“Heard the wings weren’t to your liking,” you cringe empathetically.

“Why’d ya go and change the Hot Honey recipe.”

“I’m sorry, hun. Hot Honey’s off the menu, that’s the closest we’ve got.”

“It’s *what* now? Why’d ya take it off?”

You sigh with an apologetic smile. “Wasn’t my call.” Then you perk up. “But I think you might really like the new Thai Spice recipe,” you smile.

“Don’t think so,” Joel grumbles.

“He don’t like change,” Tommy explains.

“How ‘bout a basket on the house?” You offer with a tilt of your head and raise of your eyebrows.

Joel is flustered by your charm. “Uh, sure,” he mutters, trying not to check you out. Not much to see anyway with that chef’s apron.

“If ya like’em, buy me a drink sometime,” you add with a wink that makes Joel lose all his thoughts for a moment.

“Yes, chef,” Joel nods, which makes both you and Tommy giggle. Then you turn and head back to the kitchen.

“I dunno what they see in ya, man,” Tommy teases Joel and watches as you walk away. “Mm. Hottest thing here and dressed like a paper towel roll.” Joel fails to suppress a chuckle. “You gonna share?”

“We’ll see.”

The front door to the restaurant opens, and a hush falls over the dining room.

Joel looks over his shoulder for only a second, then turns back toward the bar and mutters, “Fuckin’ Benny.”

“And the Jets,” Tommy adds as Johnny and at least half the rival crew follow Benny into the restaurant. Great, there’s Cal, Carter’s rotten brother. Real bad guy. Their motorcycle club is dangerous.

Joel gets his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a few twenties, then downs the rest of his beer. “Didn’t come to babysit.”

“Think it’ll get ugly?” Tommy asks. “What about your new friend?”

“My new friend?”

“‘member what happened with Carter’s girl?” Of course Joel remembers. Cal got handsy with her, Carter put him in a chokehold, and a nasty fight broke out. Carter got stabbed.

“Well, I ain’t in charge and don’t got a sweetheart, so I reckon chef hottie’s okay. Where’s Carter?”

“Home. Can’t ride, already busted his stitches open once.”

“Good. His girl ain’t workin’ either.” Joel’s face tenses and his nostrils flare as his gaze falls on Cal. “Cal shouldn’t be here.” Joel has to look away before his rage gets the best of him. Joel glances at a table of his own guys (now Carter's), and he isn’t surprised to see one of his buddies putting on brass knuckles. Ya don’t stab the leader and get away with it, but Joel sure wishes this would go down somewhere else. Joel does a double take when he sees another man at the same table reach for his hip. “Damnit, Harold,” Joel whispers to himself.

“Better hit the boys room ‘fore all hell breaks loose,” Tommy mutters and gets up from his chair.

—---you—--

Tonight’s the first time you’ve spoken with Joel, but you’ve noticed him before. His quiet, dark gaze is hypnotizing. The girls are all over him, and he doesn’t show any interest. He sits there scowling with his drink.

When the chatter of the restaurant abruptly dies down, a pit forms in your stomach. Heavy boots click on the floor, and it sounds like they’re slowly circling the room like sharks. “Hey sweetheart,” Benny croons out of view in that deep, smooth voice. He looks like a young, brunette Elvis. “You new?”

“Started this week,” the new bartender answers bashfully.

“Bet they didn’t teach ya the whole job. Benny'll show ya the ropes,” says a deep voice that makes you bristle. It’s smooth. Southern. Sinister. It's Cal. You can visualize his infectious wink.

One of your cooks puts Joel’s new wing basket on expo. You compose yourself and grab it with a smile. “I’ll take this one.” You put on your blinders and don’t make eye contact with any of the men, but you notice Tommy walk by, headed toward the back.

Before you make it behind the bar, Cal intercepts you. “Whoa, what’s cookin’, baby? You believe this, Benny? Keepin’ top talent locked up in the back.”

Benny’s too wrapped up with the server to respond.

“Thanks for the snack,” Cal tells you with his eyes roving your apron as he reaches for the basket. You pull it back. “Hey, what’s under this, anyway?” He skims your apron from the side and crowds you against the wall. He braces his arm against the wall, over you. “Got one of them sexy uniforms under this?”

“Excuse me,” you say and try to duck under and around him.

“I wouldn’t move, darlin’,” Cal taunts.

“What the hell are you doin’ back here,” a man asks behind Cal.

Cal laughs and looks over his shoulder, and you manage to free yourself.

“Ain’t worth it, Harold,” Joel warns as he approaches, then Joel turns his attention to you. “You okay?”

-. . .-

Joel gets between you and the brawling men. You hear a blow land on someone, and they spit. Then there’s a click, and before you know it, you’re on the floor, tackled by Joel as a gunshot makes your ears ring. The wind is knocked out of you.

Joel is on top of you, and time seems to slow down. Cal is slumped against the wall behind Joel, bleeding from the mouth and chest with a menacing smile.

“Look at me,” Joel says and his massive hand turns your head to face him, bracing his other arm near your head on the tiled floor. “Look at me and only me.” His body is heavy on top of yours.

You nod as chaos unfolds in the dining room.

“You okay?” Joel searches your face.

You nod again, and try to ground yourself with everything you’re physically feeling. The coldness of the tile under your hand. The weight of his body on top of you. The warmth of. . .the massive bulge pressing into your thigh. Joel doesn’t seem to be aware of it, but you sure are now. A wave of desire overwhelms you. Your thigh lifts against his hardening package and it twitches but he still doesn’t seem to notice with everything else going on. He glances behind himself.

“Gonna get ya outta here,” he promises. “Ready?”

Behind you, someone opens the door to the men’s room, belt jingling. “Shit.” You recognize Tommy’s voice.

“Bathroom,” Joel commands as he helps you up, then gently pushes you into Tommy’s arms. He nods toward the family restroom, which has a lock. “Gonna take this outside,” Joel pants as he heads into the fray.

“Joel, don’t–you’re outnumbered, don’t get yourself killed,” Tommy pleads. There’s another gunshot. “Shit, I’ll be right there!” he shouts at Joel

“NO,” Joel barks.

Tommy forces you into the family restroom and locks the door behind the two of you. “You okay?” he asks. You don’t answer. You wouldn’t be able to without crying. He rubs your back, then searches your face. “Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You tug at the high collar of your chef’s apron, trying to unbutton it for relief. Tommy quickly rips it open, exposing your tank top. His eyes linger for a moment, then he cradles your head and takes a deep breath, guiding you in your own breathing. He exhales, then murmurs, “You’re okay, honey.”

You nod and take the apron off entirely, with him supporting you. “Yeah,” you laugh not to cry, but with tears in your eyes. “I’m good.”

“Good, good. C’mere, darlin’.” His strong arms wrap you in a gentle, protective hug, cradling your head into his barrel chest. You take a deep breath, and the scent of his shampoo intoxicates you. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

You pull your head back to look up at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Then something else twitches, against your middle. That’s when you feel the denim slide under your hand and realize you’ve grabbed Tommy’s ass. What the fuck. You yank your hand out of his back pocket and stammer “Sorry–” feeling like your face is on fire. Why did you do that? You try to pull away but he gently holds you close.

“‘S’okay,” he chuckles. “Adrenaline. It’s normal.” He dips his head and it’s close to yours. It gets a little closer, then there’s more gunfire and he releases his gentle hold on you. He bolts toward the door. “Lock it behind me” is the only thing he says as he leaves.

You lock the door, then slump down against the wall. Is this real life? What’s gotten into you? Feeling up Tommy Miller in the bathroom less than an hour after you asked his brother out. Yeah, it must be adrenaline. The noise of the fight fades into the background while your thoughts drift back to Joel saving you. He’s so big and strong. So protective. You’ve heard how dangerous he is, but to see him in action? While he’s saving you, no less?

Finally the noises have died down. You wonder if it’s safe to leave. You worry about whether Joel and Tommy and your line cooks are okay. You wait a little longer, then unlock the door and peek your head out. Cal staggers toward you, dripping blood. “It’s okay, I’m alright,” he drawls. Then you swiftly close and lock the door, heart pounding. A few seconds later, boots thud across the dining room and a punch is thrown. You hear Cal groan. “C’mon, man.” Another blow lands and Cal goes silent. There’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“It’s me.” Joel’s voice. You’re still near the door. You unlock it for him. He comes inside and you must look terrified. He holds your cheeks, and his face and shirt are splattered with blood - surely not his own. He hugs you into him. “It’s me, baby. You’re okay.” His voice is deep and soft. He holds you for a minute. When he pulls back again to look at you, his eyes fall to your tank top and he wets his lips. He looks in your eyes again, then at your mouth.

You close the distance with a soft kiss. Joel’s mouth spreads your lips open, and his tongue finds yours. As the kiss heats up, he pulls you tighter, moaning “Mm,” and you feel it again, you feel him. His hands slide down to grab your ass, pulling your hips into his, and he’s firmer. Lord, is he hung. He lets out a low growl from his chest, and he walks forward against you until the backs of his hands nudge the sink counter – thankfully clean.

He bends down and his mouth latches onto your neck. He slips his fingertips into the front waistband of your pants, grabbing the button, then pulls away from your neck to pleadingly meet your eyes, and you nod urgently. He takes your pants and underwear down in a flash, then his hand engulfs your bare pussy and he groans at how wet you are. He kisses your neck again for a moment before hooking his massive hands, one of them wet, around the backs of your thighs. He lifts you onto the sink with a grunt as your legs wrap around him and you feel a rush of desire.

Joel sloppily kisses around your mouth with one hand between your legs and the other cradling your head. His scruff scratches you pleasantly. You grope him through his jeans, which are slick with your arousal, as you unbutton and unzip him. Then his own hand dives into his boxers and frees his thick cock, holding it at the right angle to slide right into you, pants and boxers resting below his balls.

“C’mere, baby.” He runs his stiff cock through your folds and you slowly grind against it with a moan. He spits on his shaft and his swollen, leaking tip prods at your entrance for only a moment before plunging into your wet hole and spreading your insides with his girth. There’s a brief burn, then your body catches up. On his second go, he bottoms out with a groan, and you gasp.

“Yeah,” he sighs and begins to fuck you, slowly at first. “How’s that?”

You can only nod, feeling so full of him you can hardly listen or form thoughts. “Ohh,” you whimper as he stuffs you with his massive cock. Your skin feels hot. He speeds up to a moderate pace and you both moan and grunt as you fuck. He kisses and sucks your neck, moaning into your skin, then he breathes against it. He fucks you harder, deeper

“How’s it feel, baby–ohhh” He slams his pelvis into yours each time.

“Ohhh, God, it’s, yeah, nngh–ohh”

Footsteps come down the hall, and stop outside the door.

“Wait,” you whisper.”

“Want me to wait?” he whispers teasingly, slowing down to an excruciating pace, dragging slow and heavy inside you.

You shake your head no.

“Good,” he whispers.

Tommy’s knowing voice outside the door: “Catch y’all later.” Then the footsteps recede.

“Now please, please” you beg, wanting it harder again. You pull him close and grind your pelvis into his in just the right spot. “Ohh, Joel.” The pleasure overwhelms you and you whimper as you begin to clench and pulse.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Where do you want it?”

“Right here,” you nod, pulling him closer, keeping him inside with your legs around him.

Joel erupts with a groan, filling your hot, wet cunt with warm bursts, slowly thrusting into you as he empties his balls.

“God damn, you’re somethin’ else.”

---a few weeks later—

"Ain't wearin' a stupid holiday sweater," Joel grumbles. You and Joel have been seeing each other, and now you're going to Tommy’s holiday party with him.

"C'mon, just for the party. It'll be fun," you smile hopefully.

"Gimme a break, baby. Nothin' fun about sweaters."

"Don't be a Grinch," you pout.

"Thought I was a Scrooge," he retorts.

"What if I let you fuck me in Tommy's bed?"

He squints at you. "God damnit, my heart just grew three sizes."

You look down at his jeans and smile saucily. You don't have to make the joke out loud. "Can't wait," you purr and hand him the sweater.

"Tommy'd lose his mind," Joel shakes his head, then raises his eyebrows. "And not in the bad way."

"Oh yeah?"

Joel gives a low whistle. "You should see him droolin' when ya walk away." Joel chuckles, and your face heats up.

"Well. Maybe we shouldn't, then. . ."

"Don't see why not," Joel shrugs.

You look away shyly.

"What's got you all flustered?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, but you can't push away the thought of Tommy walking in and losing his 'mind.'

Joel smirks. "Don't look like nothin'."

"Just excited to see you in a sweater," you run your hand through his curls.

"I ain't the jealous type if ya wanna give Tommy some sugar, too."

You gasp and can't hide your embarrassed smile. Your face is burning. "He told you.”

Joel plays stupid. “Told me what?”

Your hand drifts up to cover your mouth.

“Just sayin’, if ya wanna grab him in a nicer setting. . .”

“Joel!" You gently smack his chest.

“Musta been the highlight of his life,” Joel laughs. “Post-divorce, at least.”

"Naughty list for you." You press his sweater into his chest and go to the closet to change into your own.

----

When you’re standing at the door of Tommy’s ranch, your heart is racing.

“Relax, baby.” He rubs your back.

“You were serious?” you ask.

“Yeah, but ya don’t gotta. Just sayin’ it’s fair game.”

Your eyes meet and he cups your cheek. You whisper, “thanks for wearing the sweater.”

Joel gives you a kiss right as the door opens, and Tommy teases, “You two need a room already?” Tommy’s wearing a festive cardigan open over a wifebeater and his huge belt buckle. He stands aside to let you in, and you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on your mouth.

Sarah brings her husband, and you spend much of the night talking to them, hearing old stories about Joel. It’s a small party, adults only, and most of the parents have to get home to their babysitters, but Ellie is staying at Bill and Frank’s for the week to help with their Christmas tree farm. It’s a real treat for her and also her first “job.”

—

You don’t steal Joel away during the party, and he doesn’t try either. But when everyone else is gone, you and Joel stay for a drink with Tommy. He offers that you’re welcome to stay over since the kids are with Maria.

“Where ya want us?” Joel asks.

“Well, my bed’s the most comfy,” Tommy looks at you and adds a wink that gives you butterflies.

Joel nods with an intrigued frown. “Whatcha think, honey?”

“Okay,” you nod. You’re afraid to act too eager, but can hardly believe your luck.

In Tommy’s room, Tommy reclines on the bed, while Joel holds you in a hug. Joel turns your chin to meet his eyes and asks “Comfortable?”

You nod and smile.

“Ready to be even more comfortable?”

Joel kisses you gently, sensually. Then his lips become hungrier, and you lose yourself in his rising desperation. He moans into your mouth and pulls you closer against him. He walks against you until you’re at the bed, and when you glance back to make sure you don’t fall, you see Tommy reclining with his ankles crossed, palming himself over his jeans. He holds your gaze and begins to undo that big belt buckle, and you get a rush of arousal.

With you seated on the bed and Joel looms over you. The curves of his hulking muscles stretch his sweater. Your eyes fall to his jeans, and you can see the outline of his massive erection. You reach for the button and he murmurs, “yeah, there ya go,” and affectionately cradles your head while you unbutton and unzip him. Then he takes his sweater off over his head and his under-tee rides up exposing his happy trail. “Let’s get that sweater off, Tommy.”

You turn around and see Tommy is on all fours with his cardigan already off. He’s prowling across the bed, to the foot of it where you sit. Tommy sits up on his knees behind you, and wraps his arms around. He lifts at the bottom hem of your sweater and brings his mouth to your ear to murmur, “Yeah, let’s get comfortable.” You raise your arms and he takes off the sweater for you then cups your breasts. You pull off your bra from under your tank top while Joel takes off his jeans.

“Shit, let’s take it all off,” Tommys says with his voice briefly muffled by his wifebeater as he pulls it over his head. “Nothin’ like three bare bodies all twisted up.” His giant belt clinks as he unbuckles it behind you. Joel steps out of his jeans, leaving the tent in his boxers on full display, making you gush. He bends down to help take your tank top off, then he kisses you as he unfastens your pants. Joel kisses down your body as he removes your pants and underwear.

“Come on up here,” Tommy mutters and wraps an arm around you. He pulls you up toward the pillows, then stacks them behind himself and pulls you between his legs where you can feel he is fully nude and hard. His skin is hot and smooth. You're both facing Joel.

You sit between Tommy’s moderately hairy legs, and his broad palms cup your naked breasts. “How ya doin’, darlin’?” he whispers into your ear. His cock twitches against your lower back. “Ready for my brother?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“He’s ready too.”

Joel is kneeling onto the bed with his commanding cock in hand. He pauses to squeeze himself, eyes roving over you like you’ve never looked hotter. “Look like an angel, baby. Can’t wait to be in ya.” Tommy lightly grinds himself against your lower back, then his hands come to your thighs, and you spread them open for Joel.

“Always so good,” Joel mumbles, then kisses you deeply and you feel his cock run through your dripping seam. You’re wet, so wet for him. He’s still kissing you, letting your lips separate every second or so. His face pulls back and Tommy slightly adjusts you between his legs. Tommy’s cock is stiff against your back. Joel’s tip nudges your entrance, then he pushes himself into you. Tommy’s hands are still on your breasts. Joel leans over you, bracing his hands on the bed to either side of Tommy’s thighs. It still makes you swoon how his big cock stuffs you full. As Joel thrusts into you, Tommy ruts against you, moaning softly. The force of Joel’s thrusts makes you rub against Tommy’s stiff manhood and he groans.

“Feel so good, baby,” Joel breathes.

“Take’ him so well,” Tommy whispers.

Your breath hitches and you moan into Joel’s mouth with his cock dragging thickly deep inside you. Tommy massages your breasts and grinds into you while Joel kisses you and fucks you good. It feels better and better every minute. Joel dips his hips and grinds against your front as he stuffs you with his cock. You feel the tension building in your belly, and your clit twitches.

You tear your mouth away from Joel’s and whine, “Joel.”

“Oh, baby, gonna cum already?”

You whimper and nod.

“It’s okay, baby. Go ‘head,” Tommy whispers.

“Yeah, let it happen, baby,” Joel agrees.

Then Joel, with his cock still seated inside you, rolls his hips to put more pressure on your front, and Tommy grinds against your lower back, and you clench down on Joel’s cock with a moan.

“Oh, Fuck,” Joel whispers and he begins to pulse at the exact same time you feel Tommy erupt against you. The three of you come in a cacophony of grunts and moans and Tommy’s sliding wetly against your crack as his cum trickles down.

Joel stays inside as he catches his breath, then slides out of you, and some of his cum drips down between Tommy’s legs.

“Think ya might be the one I been lookin' for,” Joel mumbles. He gives you a slow kiss.

You get cleaned up, then you sleep like three spoons stacked together with Joel in front.

===

Thank you for reading!

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

#pedrostoriesgift23 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader x tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #biker!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x afab!reader #tommy miller x afab!reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader #bikeriders cal #the bikeriders cal

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fairyhaos · 10 months

Text

❖ take care of me anyway // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 1.7k+ words

tags: office worker!jeonghan not rlly relevant to the plot tho, sick fic, fluff, established relationship

warnings: brief fever-induced hallucinations ig?? but theyre rlly cute, pet names, reader has a cold

notes: im sick. like, 'i have a cold' sick. and i also have another sick fic planned so uhh yeah im a little Unwell in the head too

There are ten minutes left of Jeonghan’s lunch break when you finally call him.

“Hello, my darling,” he says, his tone both parts dry and amused. “How are you?”

“Sick,” you reply, and even just that word sounds horribly bunged up. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You called in sick for me.”

Jeonghan just hums, smiling a little as he adjusts the phone against his ear, walking down the street back to his company building. “Maybe I did.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, and he can almost hear you pouting on the other end of the line. There’s a rustling sound as you adjust yourself in bed, and he sighs.

“How sick are you?”

“Very,” you say, miserably, and then give a series of harsh, wet coughs that has him wincing. “Very sick. I only just woke up, but my head is just…” You don’t finish your sentence. Just make a very pained sound like a wounded puppy.

Jeonghan chuckles. “Gee, I wonder how you managed to get so sick. It’s not like walking home in the pouring rain without a coat makes you ill, isn’t it?”

You whine at that, upset. “Han, I told you, I was gonna call you but my phone was dead. I had no choice! Wanted to get home fast to see you,” you add in a mumble, sounding dejected.

He smiles at that. “It wasn’t like I was going anywhere, though,” he points out. “I was all comfortably squished on the couch. I wasn’t gonna disappear any time soon. You could’ve taken your time. Waited for the rain to pass.”

“Yeah, but still,” you huff petulantly, then sniff. “Can you make soup when you get back home?” you ask after a beat, and sniffle again. “And also buy some tissues? And meds? And give me cuddles?”

Jeonghan chuckles at how pitiful you sound, resisting the urge to coo. “No.”

“What?” You’re whining again, and you sound all bunged up but Jeonghan just smiles, amused. “But your darling Y/N is currently suffering the worst cold in the entire world.”

“But alas, I think my darling Y/N is the sole person to blame for this cold,” Jeonghan says, lips twitching upwards. “Don't you think so?”

“Come take care of me anyway.”

“No.”

You make a noise of discontent, sheets rustling as you shift around in bed again. “Hmph. Worst boyfriend ever. I’m breaking up with you.”

That makes him laugh, the stunned sound being pulled out of him by your deadpan tone, and he grins to himself out on the street, rounding the corner until his company building is in sight. “Whatever you say,” he singsongs. “I’ll see later, okay?”

“Whatever. Bye.” A pause. “Have a nice day.”

Jeonghan smiles as you hang up, looking fondly down at your contact name. He’s standing in front of the company entrance, now, and he has three minutes of his break left. Just enough time to get into the elevator and up to his office.

He pockets his phone, turns on his heel and traipses off to find the nearest pharmacy.

───────────── 🧂

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep the entire day, constantly stuck in that drowsy, so-sick-that-nothing-feels-real state, and you’ve hallucinated Jeonghan coming home a total of thirteen times in the past five hours.

At least, you think it’s been five hours.

Maybe it’s been less than that.

Whatever. Time is weird.

The point is, your mind is all fuzzy and everything feels like it’s floating, so when someone who looks an awful lot like Jeonghan comes into the room, you just groan. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 has come to pay you a visit, it seems, so you just frown and give him the response that you’ve given all his other clones.

“Go away. Stop trying to sell me fish.”

Hallucination Jeonghan #14 makes a confused noise at that, walking closer to your bed, leaning over to adjust your pillows and pull you up into a more upright position.

“I don’t want your fish,” you say, just in case he didn’t hear you the first time. “Stop it.”

That makes the hallucination chuckle, and his hand comes up to your forehead.

Cold. Huh. None of the other hallucinations touched you before.

His hand drops from your forehead, swiping at the soft skin under your eyes gently, and his fingers are blessedly cool against your skin. You hadn’t realised how much you were burning up before.

“You’re really, really sick,” Hallucination Jeonghan #14 murmurs, and he sounds so concerned, before pulling out a bottle of water from one of the plastic bags he’s holding. Woah, you hadn’t even realised he was holding them. “Here, darling. Drink.”

You obediently take a sip once he uncaps the lid for you, before making small noises of distress when some of it spills down your shirt. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 (wow was it a mouthful to say, even in your head) just hushes you gently, dabbing at it with tissues that he’d procured from the plastic bags.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and his hands take yours, clasping them around the bottle. Once you’re holding it, he gets up, and for a horrible moment, you think this hallucination is going to leave again. You kind of like this one.

“Where’re you going?” you ask, but it comes out as more of a slur of vowels. You’re not sure he understood a word.

“Drink up,” is all he says. He fishes out a packet of pills from the bag (it’s like a magic bag, you think blearily. It seems to have everything inside it). “Have these as well, okay? I’ll go make that soup you wanted.”

You nod, blinking. Dutifully, you sip the water that the hallucination has left you, because really this was one of the most gentle, doting, Jeonghan-like Hallucination Jeonghan and it kind of feels like he really does have your best interests at heart.

Unlike the other Hallucination Jeonghans, who just wanted to sell you fish. This one really seemed to care about your well-being.

You blink again, slowly.

Oh.

By the time Jeonghan comes back with a gently steaming bowl of chicken soup on a tray with a mug of tea, you're more lucid than before, pouting at him as he comes closer, having remembered his last words before you’d hung up the phone.

“You said you weren’t going to take care of me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, setting the tray on the bedside table, before sitting down on the edge of your bed, wordlessly picking up the bowl and spoonfeeding you some soup. You open your mouth easily, and he hums in approval with a smile.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my darling be sick all alone, hm?” he says. “I can’t do that. Especially if you’re also seeing hallucinations of me who are trying to sell you fish.”

He continues feeding you soup in tiny sips, and the entire situation feels weirdly vulnerable, with you propped up on pillows and Jeonghan making small noises of approval every time you successfully swallow a spoonful. Like you’re a little baby bird, or something.

But he smiles so lovingly at you the entire time, so it’s kind of hard to feel too embarrassed.

“Well done,” Jeonghan murmurs, once you’ve finished half of the bowl. Your boyfriend is affectionate, almost overbearingly so at times, always poking you in the side or pinching your cheeks or tweaking your nose, but the softness with which he treats you right now is a whole other level of affection entirely.

Jeonghan cares deeply for you. You know that. You’ve never doubted how much he loves you, and he never gives you reason to doubt it. But still, when he smooths down your hair and strokes the back of your hand and gazes at you so gently, it makes you realise yet again that oh God, he loves you.

“We’re going to get you to finish the rest of the soup in a minute,” he says, reaching down towards the plastic bag at his feet, “but first. I wanted you to have this.”

Out of the bag, he pulls out…

A fluffy bunny plushie.

You blink, tilting your head, sniffing in confusion and also to try and unblock your bunged up nose. “What?”

“Say hi to Jjongie,” Jeonghan says. “He came up to me when I was buying your soup, and I couldn’t not bring him home.” The bunny’s pink ears flop adorably into its eyes as he holds out the soft toy to you. It even has a cream coloured ribbon around its neck. “He’s gonna keep you company whenever I can’t be here for you.”

“Oh,” you say softly, taking Jjongie from him with a smile. You rub your thumb over the soft fur of the bunny’s cheek. “He’s adorable.”

Jeonghan beams, proud. “Of course he is. He’s a me-substitute.”

You look up at him, smiling. “Han, I��” You can’t finish your sentence, too choked up. Literally. You suddenly start coughing, hand coming up to cover your mouth, and Jeonghan rushes forward with the mug of tea and an opened box of tissues that he suddenly procured out of nowhere.

“Hey, it’s okay, no need to cry over it,” he says teasingly as you glare at him, eyes tearing up from how hard you’re coughing. You accept the tissues and, when he pushes the tea insistently in you direction, you take the mug too.

“Yeah, yeah.” You blow your nose with one hand and then drink the tea, noting with a smile the subtle notes of honey in it. “Thank you,” you add, softly, looking down at Jjongie in your lap. Jeonghan really has gone out of his way for you.

Jeonghan just shakes his head, picking up the soup bowl again. “Thank me once you get better,” he says. “You can take care of me after. I’ll probably be catching your illness from looking after you.”

You grin, blowing your nose again, and even you can’t miss the way that Jeonghan watches you, eyes devastatingly fond.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna look after me anyways, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan grins, unashamedly bright. He taps the spoon against your lips, smiling wider when you sip the soup, the mug of tea in your hands, Jjongie the bunny in your lap.

“Duh. I love you too much not to.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

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downtwngrl · 3 months

Text

INTRICATE.

hi so it’s been a WHILE. uhhhh rewatched challengers for the thousandth time and it broke me out of my writers block! i don’t know how im going to continue w this, so feel free to drop any ideas and ill add it to the lore 😈 note: series prob isn’t gonna end with any smut scene bc im incapable of writing one without it sounding stupid asf! but who knows, you might be surprised

cw: 1.4k words,,, art and reader are dating but fighting, set in stanford era, tashi is NOT injured, patashi, hints of reader crushing on tashi but repressing it, fighting, tensiontensionTENSION! basically everyone is friends with one another but they all want each other BAD. lmk what else i should add :)

“it’s complicated.” that’s what you say every time someone asks you what your relationship with art donaldson is. and it’s true— you guys are fiery, but not explosive. complex, but not convoluted. it’s just… strange. intricate. hence, complicated.

you think he’d probably say the same thing, but there’s no real way to know, since you can’t exactly ask. the two of you aren’t on speaking terms right now, and for the same reason you two stopped talking last time, and the time before that.

art donaldson can’t split his time between his girlfriend and his fucking best friend’s girlfriend. and you can recite the argument quite well, maybe even word for word; it’s still fresh in your mind, engraved there.

“c’mon, you can’t just keep ditching me for her. it’s annoying, and it hasn’t just happened once or twice, you know.”

“i know.” art sighed, a hand tangled in his hair as if to ground himself. your name fell from his lips, voice cracking midway. “what do you want me to do? she needed help with her physics homework.”

“she can get one of her fucking groupies to help her! she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need to rely on you.” the way you said it, mocking and condescending, was mean, and you know it. you don’t hate tashi— you can’t even bring yourself to dislike her. but it hurts every single time you text art on your motorola and get hit back with some half-assed variation of ‘helping tashi. sry :( i’ll come later.’ he never actually shows up at ‘later’, which only rubs salt in the wound.

art’s jaw ticked. his eyebrows furrowed and eyes darkened in a way you’d only seen once before, when someone was talking shit about tashi in the cafeteria. you had watched as she calmly reassured art that is was fine, that he needed to relax, but he only shook his head and clenched his fists. in that moment, you wondered if he ever got that angry if he overheard someone talking about you. you now doubt it.

“don’t talk about her like that.” he said it calmly, but your skin still prickled. “she’s an accomplished lady. what about you? what have you done?”

if you sounded condescending before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded then. you scoffed away the sinking feeling in your stomach, blinked back the sting in your eyes. there was a lot you could have said to him then: ‘i might not be half as good at tennis as she is, but that’s less embarrassing than being second-best to her boyfriend.’ or ‘i didn’t compete for her number and lose.’ hell, even a good ‘fuck you’ would have sufficed.

instead, you just stood there, frozen, as he grabbed his stanford sweatshirt and left.

when you tell the story to patrick, he laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until you jab him with your elbow, effectively knocking the oxygen out of him. his hands raise in mock surrender before speaking. “sorry, it’s just funny to see him get like this, i guess.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean that he likes you, but he likes tashi. i know it, tashi knows it, and from what i heard on the walk here—” he gestures vaguely towards the door to your dorm, “—the school knows it, too. i dunno, i guess it’s amusing ‘cause art has never been so disturbed about this kind of shit. usually he just picks the girl he likes best, but he can’t.”

“you mean he can’t because you’re dating her.”

patrick smirks his signature smirk. you have the urge to punch his teeth out; vagueness is beginning to be a pet peeve of yours. “no, i’ve told him that tashi is free reign.”

the way your stomach flutters at that is shameful. you push the feeling away. “like, you guys aren’t..?”

patrick shrugs. “i mean, currently she hates me because i said i’d go to her match yesterday and i missed it.” these guys really need to stop promising us stuff, you think. “but yeah, when she isn’t pissed off, we’re dating, and we talk about it. ‘bout you guys. she doesn’t really care if the two of you make moves on either one of us.”

you don’t say anything, but your ears feel warm, and your heart is about to explode out of your chest. it doesn’t help when patrick takes that as a sign to keep talking and says—

“i don’t care either.” it suddenly hits you, the closeness between you and him. close enough that you can smell his cologne, one typical of a rich frat boy you’d pass by in the halls. but it feels different, with him. patrick’s smirk has shifted into a grin, a big one. you realize he’s been gauging your reaction, and is thoroughly pleased.

“oh,” you breathe. he snickers, repeats it back playfully. you don’t understand how he’s so relaxed, able to make light-hearted jabs in this moment. art likes you and tashi. tashi doesn’t care if he likes her, or if you like her. patrick doesn’t either. but where do you stand in this?

your phone jingles, the sound muffled from the blood roaring in your ears. you don’t know if you should thank or curse out whoever decided to call you at this second, but you excuse yourself to answer. patrick nods begrudgingly, backs up enough for you to have room to finally start to inhale and exhale again. “hello?”

“hey.” it’s art on the phone. impulsively, you look around, as if he’s hiding somewhere in the dorm he marched out of a few days ago.

holy fuck. “hey!” you sound too cheery to your own ears, and hope that over the line it sounds more convincing. you hear a sigh on the other end, and can imagine art physically loosen. “what, uh— i thought you were mad. at me.”

patrick perks up. ‘art?’ he mouths, and you nod. he attempts to come closer, but you swat at him, moving a few steps away. he pulls a face, but doesn’t move closer. still, he’s definitely trying to hear what art is saying.

“i was.” art laughs nervously, the sound tinny over the phone. “but you’re right. i fucked up. tashi… she isn’t my girl. i need to pay more attention to you, and that’s gonna happen starting now.”

she isn’t my girl. “she could be,” you think aloud. you tense. art chokes. patrick stifles a laugh.

“what?” you pray that he didn’t hear it. you had mumbled it, whispered it, there’s a chance it didn’t pick up. art says your name one, two, three times before you respond.

“sorry, i just zoned out a little.”

“no, you said something. baby, what’d you say?”

“i said ‘you should be’. like, you should be paying more attention, dumb joke, i was trying to sound threatening,” you slap your free hand against your lips to stop your word vomit, then your forehead as you reprimand yourself for acting so stupid.

art hums. “oh, okay.” it should relieve some on the tension in your shoulders, but it doesn’t. he usually laughs when you fluster, but he didn’t. is he unconvinced, or are you overthinking? “hey, tomorrow can you come to my practice at noon? we can go to the cafeteria after, i’ve got wayyy too many meal credits.”

you look to patrick for help, but he shrugs, enjoying the moment. “sure.”

art says his goodbyes, goes ‘mwah!’ through the phone (which usually makes you laugh, but now you feel bad), and once you say bye, he hangs up.

“i’ll go to his practice, too.” it’s never a question with patrick (or with tashi); he just lets you know. “tashi’ll be there. she’s always on the court when she’s free.” you find it endearing that he knows her schedule.

“tashi.” you like the way her name rolls off your tongue, but you’d rather die than admit it.

before you can say anything else, patrick walks over, swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. “don’t forget about what i said.” his breath smells like spearmint gum, the type art is always chewing. maybe he gave him a piece. “just think on it, yeah?”

you nod, and he pats your cheek before walking out the door, leaving you feeling dazed. after a few moments of just laying on your bed, soaking in the conversation you just had, your phone dings.

we’ll see u tmrw :-) -pat (&tash)

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #challengers #came to me in a dream 😋#not proofread we ball

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badasmuse · 10 months

Text

“Drunk and Possessive”

Bada Lee x Reader

Warnings: 18+(MDNI), language, drunk!bada, possessive!bada, lowercase intended, violence, suggestive if you squint, name calling (from outsiders), no relationship (yet)

Summary: bada takes you to a party and man she’s never been more angry.

A request so no song

bada has had a crush on you for so long. she’s your best friend and has been since you met on the playground after some little asshole was bullying you so she kicked sand in her face. even tho there’s six years between you two, you don’t let it bother you. you’re still besties for the resties.

but despite being able to read her like a book, you’re completely oblivious to her so disgustingly obvious crush. she’d do anything for you. literally anything. she proved that when one time you were walking in the park and thought it would be funny to go, “i bet you won’t grab that squirrel.” big mistake on your end cause the mf went and grabbed the squirrel and it bit her.

“you’re a fucking idiot why would you grab the squirrel?” you said driving her to the hospital.

“you told me to.” she said pouting, holding her bleeding hand close to her chest.

you’ve also had a crush on bada for awhile but you hide it from everyone. you didn’t think you were her type. you weren’t a dancer, you don’t have any real talent, you’re an art major but you don’t even think you can draw that well. (even tho you’re absolutely amazing to anyone else. especially bada.)

speaking of bada and art, you just left ceramics class, your last class of the day, and guess who’s outside with your favorite biggby drink and a soft pretzel.

“hey.” bada says softly as you approach her.

“you don’t understand how bad i needed this.” you say throwing your bag in the backseat and hugging bada tight, planting a light kiss on her cheek before taking the coffee and pretzel.

bada blushes and opens the door for you, grabbing your arm to help you in. “i don’t understand how you wear those heels.” she mumbles before closing the door and getting in the driver’s seat.

“i wear them to match your height. you’re too tall.”

she chuckles and starts driving. “you wanna come to a party with me tonight?”

“what i tell you about this last minute shit bada?” you say rolling your eyes.

“i know i know a week in advance. but like.. you’re not doing anything. might as well come.” she says pinching your cheek.

“i guess so.” you groan. “fine i’ll go. what time? what should i wear?”

“whatever you want.” bada pulls into the lot of your shared apartment and obviously goes around to open the door for you grabbing your hand to help you out.

“bada you’re such a gentleman.” you giggle going to grab your bag but she beats you to it.

“come on, angel.” she says walking behind you with a hand on your back. like she always does.

a few hours later, you’re out the shower and standing in front of the mirror wondering what to wear. you have two options and you don’t want to ask bada cause man- that woman is no help. none at all.

you settle on the short black dress and pair it with ankle boots, obviously heeled. you do a quick smokey eye look to match the dress and finally put it on pouting as you reach for the zipper but it’s just out of reach, barely touching your fingertips.

“bada~” you call out, the pout evident in your voice.

“yes?” she walks in fully dressed looking like a tall glass of water and all of a sudden, you’re thirsty.

but you’d never say that.

“can you zip this for me?” you give her doe eyes knowing she wouldn’t say no in the first place but they add character.

she walks behind you and gently pulls the zipper up and man the electricity that went through you when her long fingers brushed against your back.

“you look good.” bada comments looking at you through the mirror.

“thanks i’m hoping to find someone tonight. hopefully a relationship but a hookup is just as good.”

bada’s jaw clenches and she clears her throat, “let’s go.” she mumbles walking downstairs to get her shoes and keys.

you follow her grabbing your shoes and blushing when bada kneels to put them on for you and zip them up.

like girl how can you not see she in love with you???

———

once you arrive at the party, bada immediately goes to get a drink. you follow and pull her down so she can hear you, “don’t drink too much bada.” you whisper and she just nods.

you get yourself a drink and leave to find someone to dance with. you find yourself in the middle dancing with a group of people.

bada watches, standing next to lusher and tatter with a pout on her face.

“you know,” lusher starts, “if you just told her you love her she wouldn’t be all over them she’d be all over you.”

“if she feels the same way.” tatter added which she immediately regretted cause if looks could kill… yeah.

time passes and bada has had way too many. she can barely stand up straight and her speech is beyond slurred, she’s practically incoherent. not to mention her vision is incredibly blurry.

despite all that, she does see the guy that approaches you and starts dancing with you. you’re having a great time and bada is pissed.

she pushes herself off the wall and stumbles over to you and the guy. “hey.” she slurs separating you two.

“bada what are you doing?” you ask holding onto her as she slings her arm around you.

“she’s my girlfriend. back.. back off.” she says pushing the guy back.

“she’s been dancing with everyone in here.”

“mhm and i’m putting a stop to it. she’s mine. fuck off.”

“go ahead keep her. but in my opinion, if she’s gonna act like a whore i’d just pass her off.” he shrugs.

that sobered bada right up.

she runs a hand down her face, cocks her arm back, and swings. hitting the man full force in the face, knocking him to the ground.

“BADA!” you yell, barely able to hold her anymore. you quickly drag her outside and make her sit down on the curb. “what is your problem?” you ask, inspecting her hand.

“my problem? you. you’re my problem. you’re so fucking… oblivious. i’m in love with you and you’re constantly flirting with other people and sleeping with other people. you’re mine. i don’t want anyone else touching you the way i should be touching you!” bada grabs your hand and drags you towards her car.

“what are you doing?” you whispered.

“showing you that you’re mine.”

part 2 maybe?

#bada lee #swf2 #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #imagine #bada lee smut

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vienssunshine · 4 months

Text

Good Luck!

pairing: Maki Zenin x fem!reader nsfw/cw: dom!Maki Zenin, hate/breakup sex, alcohol wc: 3.3k author’s note: this is inspired by good luck babe by chappell roan description: a bad breakup compels a male distraction, that is, until you run into your ex.

You stumble into the corner of the hallway and the man you’re pulling along doesn’t even ask if you’re okay. Or maybe he does, you can’t hear over the music blaring through your friend’s apartment. Either way, it doesn’t matter, you’re fucked up and need to be touched, now.

The door of the closet barely closes before you shut your eyes tight and pull him into a kiss. Immediately he slams the tip of his tongue against your sealed lips, demanding an entrance that you concede, opening your mouth up to him and the wet thick muscle that he plunges in and out of it. Only then you realize you’ve been holding your breath, and you shakily release it through your nose while his palms land on your waist, fingers slipping under the fabric of your going-out top.

His hands crawl up to your breasts, pawing them, and he groans your name into your mouth. You go to moan his back, but you think you’ve forgotten it. Shit, did you even ask? It doesn’t matter, you don’t need to know it. There’s no feelings, no hard conversations, no real connection. He’s just a man, and that’s what you need him to be.

You don’t want to think about it anymore, and your tug at his shirt prompts him to pull it off fast. So easy. Too easy. You rake your hands over his chest; the hair covering it is rough and prickly. So you move your hands to his head instead, knocking off his ugly baseball cap so you can spread your fingers through his short hair. He grunts, pulling your hips close to his. The raging hard-on pushing through his pants stands in stark contrast to the fact that you’re not wet—it just isn’t the same. No, you push the thought out of your head, you’ve got to keep trying.

Hand in his hair, you bring him down to your neck, having him kiss and suck at it. It feels okay, you could make it work. You tilt your chin up, close your eyes, and think of–

“Are you kidding me?” A voice pierces through the haziness of your head.

You pull the guy off of you and look over to see a figure leaning against the doorframe. Your drunken state does little to buffer the feeling of your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Maki crosses her arms. “What, only a week since we broke up? And you’re about to fuck some dude?”

Said dude puts his hands up. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to get in between anything.” His voice is laden with vocal fry and a lot more nasal than you thought. Well, you were preoccupied with doing things that didn’t require it.

Maki nods her head to the party, “Why don’t you go join everyone else? I need to have a little chat with my ex here.”

Defiant, you grab his forearm. “No, stay,” you coo. You spare Maki a seething glare when you say, “We were just starting to have some fun.”

He looks to Maki, whose gaze remains icy and strong, leaving no room for opposition. Decided, the man scrambles to get his shirt from the floor and side-steps past Maki, giving you only a glance as he says, “Uh, I’ll just…I’ll see you later? Okay?”

He doesn’t wait for your response before he’s gone.

You scoff and begin fixing your disheveled shirt. Just as expected for a man, to be entirely useless and not give you what you want.

“Get that out of your system, then?” Maki taunts.

“I would have, had you not-so-kindly interrupted,” you retort.

“It was more like your hookup was interrupting the party.”

“It was not,” you counter.

“The door was wide open. It’s like you were begging me to see.” She scoffs. “Is that what that was? A set-up to make me jealous?”

You refuse to let yourself ask whether it did in fact make her jealous.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” you respond, “And not that I need to defend myself, but it wasn’t a set-up, it was real.” With a flippant shrug you add, “He’s really hot.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t into men.”

“Well, I’m definitely done with women,” you say, “Men are just easier.” You press your lips together before finishing with, “You don’t get hurt.”

Maki watches you, evaluating your statement. You might have given a little more insight than you meant to.

She takes a breath and says, “So you’re just done with women, then?” She steps forward. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“You don’t know what I want,” you return, leaning back against the wall.

“I think I do.” Maki closes the closet door behind her, dimming the room so the only light is what’s coming through the crack of the door. Even if it was pitch-black, you would know her eyes are trained on you; you can feel their weight. She moves forward and places her hands on the wall behind you, her palms planted just above your shoulders. You don’t want to admit it, but it flicks on a small flame in your lower stomach. It makes you actually feel something.

You glare at her, “Even if you do, it doesn’t matter. We’re broken up.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore.” She leans down into the crook of your neck, her breath ghosting over a now racing pulse. You stiffen, careful to not move an inch; you’re not sure what you’ll do if the lips you’ve been missing for days meet your skin. She moves to the other side of your neck, as if a puma circling its prey and deliberating where to strike. “I don’t like seeing you in pain,” she whispers the words against you, “Seeing you frustrated.”

“Fuck off,” you snarl, but your voice wavers. “You’re the reason I’m like this.”

Maki hums. “Then I should take responsibility.” She closes the gap, running her lips up your neck to your jawline until they’re right in front of yours. With her face so close, you’re able to feel her words: “If you’ll let me.”

You’d like to blame it on the alcohol, you really would, but you’re clear-headed and resolute when you smash your lips to hers. Like a hit of a drug, in a second your body fills with bliss. It’s so natural, fulfilling. It makes sense. She’s been gone only a week, but it feels like an eternity passed.

Maki’s hands drop from the wall as she draws you into her, deepening the kiss. One arm snakes around your waist and the other up your back so her fingers can tangle into your hair. You let out a sigh of pleasure, but it’s really one of relief. Then, with a firm grip on your roots, she pulls your head back, exposing your throat so she can duck down and greet it with eager lips and experimental bites. The sensations, unpredictable and delightfully rough, have you melting into the wall behind you, the arms she has wrapped around your body keeping you upright.

“Fuck, Maki,” you gasp, trying to hold your little moans back. Her attention on your neck, especially your pulse points, is sending sparks of pleasure down into the rest of your body. Your head falls back even further into her hand and she tightens her grip on your hair, sending tingles radiating all over your scalp.

“Yeah?” she says, certainly leaving a mark just above your collarbone, “Gonna say you missed me yet?”

Your hand lands on the back of her head, pushing her further into your neck, not willing to entertain her with a response. She grins against your skin before sucking another mark onto your collarbone, hard. Your hips shift, thighs rubbing together subconsciously, affected by the warm desire building between them. And with her body pushed into yours, Maki’s able to feel every squirm, every indication that she’s got you worked up and needy.

She releases your hair and brings her face back up to yours. You draw her into a kiss that quickly becomes open-mouthed and messy. The hand around your waist comes up and pulls at the bow tied between your breasts, undoing it with one swift movement so the top falls open, revealing more of your chest.

“Wearing something so easy to take off? Yeah, you really wanted to get fucked tonight.”

You huff. “So hurry up and do it already.”

Maki pushes the loose fabric away, indulging in the sight of how your bra lays over your exposed chest. If you weren’t feeling so impatient, you would be pleased at how long it takes for her to drag her eyes over you, drinking in every detail like it’s the first time she’s ever seen your body like this.

“I think I’ll take my time,” she concludes, kissing just above your bra, making your breath hitch, “Been so long and all.”

“More reason why we shouldn’t wait,” you grit out, running your hands over her neck and into her hair. It’s so hot in here, do closets usually get this hot?

She pays no mind to your argument, kissing along the lining of your bra and letting her fingers roam over your breasts. It feels so nice, her lips on your sensitive skin, especially with the occasional swipe of her thumb over your hard nipple pushing through your bra. It’s just that you’re aching much lower than where she’s kissing.

Maki’s not going to go down there, at least not yet. Her sadistic streak will drag this out at a glacial pace until she gets what she wants: the admission that you’ve been missing her as much as she’s been missing you. It doesn’t make you very happy to give into her, to admit you were wrong about breaking up with her and your pursuit of male affection. But you’re really struggling here. You’ve been so worked up, so sexually frustrated and pissed off that you turned to men. Men! And that idiot couldn’t even get you wet, let alone make you finish. Now you’re with someone who can, and, after a week of frustration and bitterness, god do you want to feel better.

You fold. “Maki…please,” you say, “I need it. I need you. I’ve…missed you.” The words ring dangerously true, and, for a second, you worry that’s all she wanted, to be able to say “I told you so.” She could leave right now, entirely satisfied by your desperation.

Maki tortures you with the few seconds she stays quiet, savoring the words she’s been trying to get you to concede. “Glad you admitted it,” she finally says, looking up from your chest with a glint in her eye that can only be described as devilish before she sinks down to her knees, hands traveling down your waist to your hips as she goes. Her attention elsewhere, she misses your equally devilish grin, so pleased with her decision. Even at the cost of your ego, you love getting what you want, and with Maki, it’s worth it.

You shudder when her fingers unbutton your shorts and then dip into the waistband and pull them down. Your hands settle on her shoulders as she runs her hand down the fabric of your underwear to nestle into the crevice between your legs.

“So wet already,” she says, rubbing the wetness seeping through your underwear between her fingertips. “So fucking desperate.”

“Put your mouth to better use,” you say, tugging your underwear down to mid-thigh.

“If that’s what my girl wants,” she says, finishing your movement, pulling your underwear down to your ankles with your shorts.

“I’m not your girl,” you argue, kicking off the fabric pooled at your feet.

“We’ll see how you feel later.”

Her fingers splay out over your hips, holding you still as she admires the mess she’s made out of you. Her hot breath fans against the wetness spread between your thighs, only reminding you of how soaking wet you are from hooking up with her for just a few minutes.

Maki puts her hand in between your thighs, once again running her fingers over your folds, only, this time it’s without the buffer of your underwear. You squirm a little, but her hold on your hip keeps you in place. She doesn’t make any attempt to avoid your clit, brushing against it as she dips into the wetness of your folds. The sensation is raw, and you squeeze at her strong shoulders every time she does it.

Then her fingers, thoroughly coated in your wetness, move back to your aching hole, circling and prodding the entrance with her fingertips. Your lower stomach tenses, anticipating the moment she’ll fill you and bring about the sensation you’ve been so desperately trying to replicate.

Instead, she leans forward, placing a kiss on your mound, before opening her mouth and latching it onto your clit, giving it a harsh suck.

“Maki!” you cry out, either from the shock or the pleasure, before slamming your palm over your mouth. You drop your voice to a whisper-shout. “You can’t surprise me like that, we have to stay quiet,” you say, eyeing the door.

“Keep it down then,” she mumbles into you, fingers digging into the softness of your sides. Her eyes flutter closed and she leans forward to encircle your clit with her mouth again, resuming her licking and sucking. You fight with yourself to keep the reactions internal, but it’s a losing battle, forcing you to clamp your hand over your mouth as you pant and moan.

This is a reason why you broke up. She’s always pushing you past your limit, like fucking you loudly in a closet at your friend’s party. It’s why you went after a man, because it would be quick, emotionless, and quiet. But, you don’t think that kind of hookup would have turned out to be nearly as hot as this one.

Her tongue swipes over your clit, lathering the bud with its delightful wet texture. Heated pants from her mouth warm your mound and folds. The hand not tasked with quieting your noises tangles into her hair as she goes down on you, leveraging a handful of her dark locks to move her head along with the pace that’ll get you there.

Tingles shoot through the sides of your abdomen when she presses her tongue flat against your clit, applying a pressure that has the dormant energy in your stomach making itself known. The sensation only intensifies when two fingers slip into you—with no warning, of course—but you find it hard to take issue with it because of how quickly they begin massaging your insides in the exact way you like.

“Bet that man wouldn’t think to touch you here,” Maki says, pushing her fingertips against your g-spot. She seems pleased when you moan from it. “Wouldn’t know how you like it, either.” She resumes licking you while pumping her fingers in and out, the sound of wet slick and moans filling the closet. The two-front stimulation has your thighs shaking, your poor body barely able to handle how good she’s making you feel.

“Fuck, Maki,” you moan. Your fingers covering your mouth have fallen open, the gaps letting your shuddery breaths through. Head clouded by lust, you don’t make an effort to muffle yourself again, every thrust of her fingers pushing any rational thought threatening to form from your head.

“I missed this,” she whispers between licks. She grins against you, “I know you did too.”

“Fuck–ah–fuck…you…” you get out.

“Mhmm,” she hums, amused.

“This is so…god, it feels so good–m’gonna…”

“Gonna?” she prods, “Keep talking if you want me to keep going.”

Your head falls to the side. “Gonna cum, I’m gonna cum for you. I feel it…I’m almost there.”

Her fingers curl deep inside you, pushing against the walls, intent on realizing your words.

“I feel it,” you repeat, delirious, “It feels so good, fuck, Maki, you make me feel so–”

Your fingers knot into her hair when it happens. A wave of pleasure slams into you and your head falls back against the wall, whole body shaking and surging with pleasure.

“Fuck, ohmygod,” you moan, ecstasy pushing up through your abdomen and down into your thighs.

You whine her name, begging for reprieve, but she doesn’t listen. Her tight grip on your hip offers you no escape, and she keeps licking and sucking until she gets every drop of pleasure from your orgasm out of you.

When she’s finished with you, only then can you crouch down against the wall, unable to remain standing. Your breath comes out rapid and uneven and you clutch Maki’s forearm until you can speak again.

“Too much for you?” Maki says, brushing your disheveled hair out of your face, “Still want a man instead?” She punctuates the taunt with a kiss to your cheek.

Though your instinct is to tease her back, to deny what you feel, you get out a ‘no’ before turning your face to meet her lips and bring her into a breathy, undoubtably sincere kiss. “I don’t want that.”

“Good,” Maki responds, before kissing you again.

There’s a knock on the closet door. You both snap your heads towards it; the crack of light shining through is now obscured by a figure outside.

That man’s familiar voice, entirely unpleasant to hear again, travels through the door. “Hey, sorry, I just…uh…can I come in real quick? Are you done talking?”

“What the fuck?” Maki whispers to you.

You pull your shirt back on, hurrying to tie it. “I–I don’t know–” you raise your voice to call out to him, “Just one second!”

“Uh…okay,” the man answers.

You drop your voice back down to a vicious whisper, “I told you we were too loud!”

“We?” Maki questions, grinning.

You huff, yanking your underwear and shorts back on. “Yes we were too loud,” you say to her, moving on to fixing your hair. Why did Maki have to make such a mess of it? She stares back at you, smiling and unconvinced. “Just…whatever,” you say, taking Maki’s hand and standing up.

You crack open the door, still flustered, with cum dripping down your legs that you have to hope he doesn’t notice.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you say, playing it as cool as you can. Maki snickers.

“Hi,” he responds with a wave. Then he drops his hand back down to his side before peering past your shoulder to notice Maki behind you.

You force a smile. “So…can we help you?” you ask.

“Uh, yeah. I left my lucky hat in there and I need it for beer pong.”

“Your hat?” you say.

“My lucky hat,” he corrects.

“Right,” you say, turning to look into the closet. Sure enough, there’s a baseball cap upside-down in the corner of the closet. “Oh, yeah, it’s just right over there.” You step out of the way so he can reach over and grab it.

He puts it on—backwards—and says, “Thanks for the help, ladies.” His eyes flick from your face to Maki’s and he clasps his hands together. “Y’know, you’re both pretty hot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Thanks?”

“So…would you like…want to have a threesome?”

Maki rolls her eyes and with a dry laugh says, “You’re not our type.” She wraps her arm around you and pushes past the man in the doorway.

He watches you both head back to the party. “Uh, so is that a no?”

#jjk smut #maki zenin #maki zenin smut #maki zenin x reader #maki x reader #zenin maki #maki zenin x you #maki x you #lesbian jjk #maki zenin lesbian

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tsunami-of-tears · 4 months

Text

Haunted – Part One

Elain x Medium!Reader (sapphic) Rhys x Medium!Reader (platonic)

AO3

Summary: When Amarantha heard of the strange fae girl who could communicate with spirits, she had her hunted down and brought to her court Under The Mountain. Now trapped with the High Lords, Y/N seeks comfort and protection from Rhysand, and the pair develop a secret friendship. Once freed by Feyre’s actions, Rhys brings Y/N back to Velaris with him.

A/N: I’ve decided to split this into multiple parts as it’s lengthy. Part One is the backstory for Y/N and Rhys Under The Mountain and when they first arrive back in Velaris. I just adore the friendship Y/N develops with Rhys ❤️ He really does like to collect strays 😂 Thank you @shadowdaddies for asking about this WIP, I don't think I'd have worked on it otherwise!

Wordcount: 3.4K

Warnings: Reader can speak to the dead, so this is very grief/loss heavy and there are lots of ‘ghosts’; general trauma themes (+ healing); Amarantha, the Attor + UTM; mentions of physical torture and suicidal ideation.

Cold, spindly fingers grip my arm tightly as I’m dragged closer to the dais by the Attor. He shoves me down, pinching sharply into my shoulder and forcing me to kneel before the High Queen. My knees throb upon impact with the red marble. The smacking sound of skin on stone echoes through the hushed hall.

I feel eyes on me from all sides, from the surrounding fae that make up Amarantha’s court. Their chatter dulls as they take in the commotion.

The Attor stands straight behind me and announces his findings, “As you commanded, your Majesty. The spirit girl.”

Amarantha drums her fingers along the arm of her throne, her dagger-sharp red nails clacking against the stone. “Ah yes, I've heard many stories about this one,” she says, smiling cruelly. “Girl, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” I respond flatly, quickly remembering to add ‘Your Majesty’ at the end.

Amarantha toys with the gold chain around her neck, and the charm– no, the bone– hanging from it. “Jurian, what do you think? Do you think the claims are true?”

The man standing beside the Queen steps forward with his arms folded across his chest, his form flickers as he moves. He is human, or was, judging by his rounded ears. “Do you truly care for my thoughts, or do you just like to hear yourself speak?” Jurian asks, rolling his eyes. Those eyes - so alike the one on Amarantha’s finger...

I push myself off the ground and stand up tall, shrugging off the bony clutches of the Attor. “Jurian would like to know if you truly want his opinion, or if you just like the sound of your own voice.”

A gasp ripples through the court and Amarantha gives me a serpentine smile. “So, the little pet does have teeth–” she looks down, inspecting her nails, before returning my defiant gaze– “but can she use them?”

“Rhysand,” Amarantha calls across the court.

A handsome man steps forward, amusement flickering in his violet eyes as he takes me in before bowing deeply to Amarantha. He straightens, inclining his head, “Yes, my Queen?”

“Look into her mind, can she truly speak to those that have departed this mortal realm?”

The male, Rhysand, bows his head again and I feel a night-kissed breeze caressing my senses. ‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,’ a deep, soothing voice says directly into my mind.

How are you doing that?

‘I’ll explain later. For now, be careful what you say. Her sister, Clythia, is a very sore spot.’

I’m not afraid of her.

Surprise and amusement that is not my own ripples within me. ‘I know,’ the voice says before fading away without a trace.

Rhysand rises, addressing the Queen. “Her power is real, Majesty. She can see Jurian standing beside you. He looks quite well, considering...”

Amaranth claps her hands together at his confirmation. “Wonderful, this is wonderful news. Oh, you and I are going to have such fun together.” She waves a hand towards me, my dismissal. “Attor, take her to her room. I don't feel like speaking to the dead at present.”

————

I finally have some privacy in my chambers. The room is small and plainly furnished. There’s very little warmth amongst all the dark stone, I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to fight the growing chills.

I’m alone for the first time in many years. Not even the dead walk these halls, so I only have my thoughts to keep me company.

I feel relieved that being tortured was not in the Queen’s plans for me, at least not yet. And I’m fortunate to get a room instead of a cell. Yes, I think I can make this work.

A soft knock sounds against the wooden door, jolting me from my thoughts.

Has she changed her mind about sparing me?

I move swiftly to open the door; hoping to find a friend, not foe, on the other side of it.

The handsome male from earlier, Rhysand, is lazily leaning against the wall across from my door, picking at the embroidered collar of his black jacket.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he purrs, pushing off from the wall. “May I come in?”

I step back and allow Rhysand entrance. His power swirls around him as he moves, like a cloak of liquid night.

“I apologise that there wasn’t time for proper introductions earlier. I’m Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court,” he offers, bowing his head to me.

High Lord. Of course.

At Rhysand’s admission, memories of Prythian’s history flood my mind. I recognised his name, and the black clothes should have been a giveaway… But his actions thus far did not match any of the stories I’ve heard about the formidable High Lord.

Rhysand gives me a sad smile. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but unfortunately we’re both stuck here. Do your best to keep out of trouble, and don’t do anything to piss her off. You’re now a member of this dreadful court, so you’ll need to attend all the festivities.” Rhysand emphasises ‘festivities’ with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“Me? But I’m no one special.”

Violet eyes bore into mine as if they could see into my soul.

“You are special. Amarantha covets power - that’s why we’re both here in this position. My kind is called daemati. I can enter minds - make someone my puppet, read every single thought they’ve ever had, or I can destroy them from the inside out.” Rhysand looks to the floor, unable to hold my gaze as he continues.

“I don’t like to violate people that way unless absolutely necessary. I only got a glimpse of your thoughts, but it was enough to know I can trust you. I have to wear that mask around the others, but I’ll try to help you however I can.”

“Thank you. I don’t understand why you’re helping me, but I appreciate it. And I won’t tell anyone about… this.” Whatever this is.

Rhysand looks back at me, nodding once in acknowledgement. “Dinner is in two hours. You’ll need to dress up, I’ll have some of my handmaids come to assist you. Do not show any weakness here. She detests it and will destroy you.”

As Rhysand is about to leave, a woman with large batlike wings manifests beside him. Her form shimmers, her skin a dull pallor. She reaches out as if to touch his inky black hair but her hand doesn’t make contact. The woman’s hazel eyes portray endless love and sadness. “Y/N, please tell Rhys that Juno is proud of the male he’s become.”

He freezes as I relay the message from the beautiful woman. A single tear falls, leaving a trail of silver down his cheek.

“I didn’t think she was watching,” Rhysand whispers. “I don’t deserve her pride.”

I softly wipe away his tears, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “We don’t show weakness out there, but you can with me.”

Rhysand nods, squeezing my hand back. “Deal. And the same applies to you,” he says.

I feel a flash of heat down my forearm. My brow scrunches in shock as I drop Rhysand’s hand and pull my sleeve up. On my arm, there’s a mark that wasn’t there before. A mass of black whorls around a crescent moon.

Rhysand smirks at my contorted expression. “It’s a Night Court tradition to mark our bargains with a tattoo.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m aware of the practice, but you could’ve gone with something more inconspicuous.”

“I think it suits you, Y/N,” Rhysand says, his grin wide. “And as we’re now linked for life, you can call me Rhys.”

Rhys winks at me as he heads towards the door, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Prick.

‘I heard that.’

I smile smugly, shutting the door in Rhys’s cocky face. Prick is a much more suitable nickname.

————

The following morning I am summoned to attend the High Queen’s court. Rhys stayed true to his word about helping me, sending his handmaids to dress me.

I never needed such finery in the villages I frequented. Before Amarantha, I travelled between a few temples, offering my services to the Priestesses. Gods, I miss my old life - the days spent on the open roads, the peace I could bring people. There was no peace to be found near Amarantha.

The twins, Nuala and Cerridwen, help me into a gauzy white dress. There are enough layers that it’s not seethrough, and the panels float around me as I move. They dust my face with a light powder and line my eyes with black kohl. They also do my hair, braiding the top section and leaving the rest to flow freely down my back.

I get a glimpse in the mirror before I leave the room, doing a double take at the female staring back at me.

She looks like a ghost.

Amarantha’s eyes track me as I walk the length of the room towards her throne. She smirks as I bow deeply before her.

“You wished to see me, Majesty,” I say, keeping my head low and eyes on the floor.

“My my, don’t you scrub up well when you’re among civilised company,” Amarantha sneers. “Rise, girl. I wish to speak with my sister. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

Beside Amarantha, Jurian scoffs.

“It doesn’t work like that, Majesty,” I retort.

Amarantha narrows her eyes at me. “And why not?” she demands.

“I can communicate with the dead, but it’s on their terms. If they do not wish for me to see them, I cannot make them. And I can’t make them talk.”

‘Careful…’ Rhys says into my mind.

I’m speaking the truth. That is not a weakness.

Jurian pushes off the ledge he’d been leaning on. As he speaks, I will my eyes to glaze over - a little trick I picked up, making my powers appear more tangible to those who cannot see what I can.

“Clythia won't come near her while I’m here,” Jurian explains. “My soul is tethered to the pieces she’s kept of me, her cruel trophies… As the bitch is quite fond of my eye, I can’t leave. I don't believe you’ll get the pleasure of meeting her sister.”

“What’s happening?” Amarantha demands. “Rhysand, what is she doing?”

Rhys steps forward, “My Queen, that look, the hazy eyes, it means a spirit is calling to her.”

I let the fog fade from my eyes, turning to address Amarantha again. “Majesty, Jurian is tied to those objects you hold. Clythia will not come near him.”

Amarantha sighs loudly, inspecting her nails. “Of course not, why would she want to be near that filthy human? I have no further need of you today, but I will come up with some other uses for your talents,” she sneers.

I bow again and turn, moving to the back of the room to watch the rest of the proceedings.

————

I very quickly fell into a routine Under the Mountain.

The twins would dress me for court in the morning, making me look like the living dead.

After breakfast, I’d attend the throne room with the other High Fae. Court politics were… complicated. Fortunately, I had little involvement in this.

Then there were the balls and dinners of an evening. They were always a big event, with gruesome entertainment most nights.

I barely stomached the cruelty. After the first dinner - I spent the rest of the night throwing it up. The torment was only made worse when I was forced to communicate with the poor souls Amarantha tortured for sport. I spent many nights lying in bed, replaying the horrors in my mind.

As each day passed, it grew harder to live with myself and the things I was forced to witness.

My bargain with Rhys was the only thing keeping me going.

I began to look forward to his sarcastic comments in my mind while the other members of the court bickered.

When sleep couldn’t find us, we’d spend the night talking down our bargain bond. We exchanged stories of our lives before and made many grand plans for after. We knew they were unlikely to be realised, but our dreams were all we had left.

One day, Rhys tells me of dreams he’s been having—dreams of a human girl. For the first time, he could see her clearly, she must have come over the wall somehow. She was in Prythian.

‘I don’t know what it means, but maybe she’s the one we’ve been waiting for,’ Rhys ponders.

If only I was a seer, that would be a much more useful power.

————

That human girl was indeed who we were waiting for.

That stupid girl, entering into the bargain with Amarantha.

Like he did for me all those years earlier, Rhys helped Feyre as much as he could.

At first, I was doubtful that Feyre would complete all the tasks. When she showed up that wyrm and then threw the bone at Amarantha, I knew she was special. I finally allowed myself to have hope.

Then she died.

I watched as Amarantha snapped her neck. Watched as her life force left her body, though a spark glimmered near Rhys’s chest. Somehow, he held on to her, keeping her soul from moving on.

Once she’s made, I can feel her powers blooming, an echo of each High Lord, mixed with something else. Being brought back left a trace on her soul.

————

Amarantha had been defeated and we were free. Most of her court had left Under the Mountain already, the nastier fae made themselves scarce promptly after Tamlin killed her.

I’m not sure where I’m going to go. My family were long gone, along with the village I once called home. Now, Rhys was my only friend, and he had his own family to get back to.

A rippling black cloud blooms in front of me, and Rhys materialises. His black hair is dishevelled, his eyes wide with shock. Even his movements seem rattled.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, but he can’t meet my gaze.

“Don’t lie to me, you don’t have to tell me here or now, but don’t lie.” I reach for his hand, squeezing it firmly.

“It’s Feyre,” he says.

“Is she okay? She’s gone to be with Tam–”

“She’s my mate,” Rhys says so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. His confession stuns me.

“Oh Rhys, I’m so sorry. We’ll work it out, you have that bargain.”

“Yeah, I- I don’t know,” he shrugs, defeated. “If she’s going to be happy with Tamlin then that’s all I want.” Rhys pauses, still unable to look me in the eye. “Anyway, let’s go home,” he says, schooling his features into his signature smirk and extending his hand to me.

“Home?” I question.

“Do you think after everything that I’d leave you here? You’re coming with me.” He smiles softly before taking my hand in his and winnowing us away.

————

We materialise in a living room decorated with tasteful but eclectic furnishings. It’s warm and inviting, especially after those years under the mountain.

A blonde female enters the lounge room as we appear. Her mouth widens in shock and she drops the mug she was holding which shatters on the floor, spilling brown liquid all over the worn rug.

She lets out a sob and runs to Rhys, wrapping her arms around him. He holds her in silence, stroking her long golden hair as his eyes well with tears.

Two winged males enter the room with a short High Fae female.“Oh my gods,” one of the males whispers.

Rhys turns at their entrance and embraces both males. Everyone in the room has teary eyes, even me, while I stand awkwardly to the side.

I’m not usually a crier, but we got out. The weight of that fact is heavy on my soul.

Rhys releases his family and extends his hand to me, pulling me closer. “Everyone, this is Y/N,” he says before introducing each of his friends - all names that I’ve heard before. People that I never expected to meet in person. “Y/N helped keep me sane Under the Mountain. She’ll be staying in Velaris for the foreseeable future.”

Amren steps forward, observing me. I take a step back as her power overwhelms me. She is not from this world.

“What are you?” I ask softly.

“I was going to ask you the same question, girl.” Amren tilts her head to the side as if studying me. “You’re not of this realm, not entirely.”

Rhys cuts in, “Amarantha was using Y/N for her abilities. She can communicate with the dead.”

Cassian pales beside me, his face contorted in shock. “Cauldron boil me, you can - talk to ghosts?” He shudders.

“The living scare me more than the dead ever did,” I reply.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mor quips before pulling out a bottle of wine and enough glasses for everyone, seemingly plucked from the air. “Settle in, you’ve got 50 years of gossip to catch up on,” she grins.

‘Is there somewhere I can go while you catch up with your family?’ I ask Rhys down our bond.

His concern ripples back in response. ‘You’re family now too, but I understand if you need some space.’

Rhys smiles at his cousin, “We’ve waited 50 years, I think we can wait a few more minutes while we get settled. Y/N, I’ll show you your room.”

I smile and nod as Rhys takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. He squeezes firmly, the way we always do.

“There’s a few empty bedrooms up here, you can take whichever you like - that one–” he points to the door at the end of the hall– “overlooks the garden.”

“Thank you, for everything.” I pull him into a tight hug and he kisses me on the top of my head.

“Go on, tell me if you need anything,” he taps on his temple.

I nod, “You go on, your family are waiting.”

————

Rhys was right. The view of the garden was a nice change after being stuck under the mountain for the last 10 years.

I’ve bathed, but even after scrubbing myself raw, I can’t quite shake the dirty feeling. My skin is red and angry, but I find a lotion in the bathroom that helps soothe it. The lavender scent fills my nostrils.

We got out.

I dress and decide to go downstairs. I feel restless inside and don’t want to be alone with my thoughts any longer.

Rhys looks up as I descend the stairs and he smiles widely at me. “There she is. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah…” I look at the door, and the coloured light streaming through the stained glass panel. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Rhys nods. ‘We’re free,’ he says down the bond. ‘You can go wherever you wish.’

I walk towards the door, hesitating at the threshold before finally stepping into the sunlight.

I pause, feeling the warmth on my skin, a sensation I never thought I’d feel again. In the distance, children are playing and I can hear people talking and laughing as they go about their days.

I shut my eyes, letting the sounds of the city fill my head, enjoying the peace that the chatter brings.

We made it.

“I can’t quite believe it myself,” Rhys says from beside me.

I open my eyes, turning to look up at him.

“We got out,” he says. “It felt so hopeless at the end there.”

“I thought I was going to die Under the Mountain,” I confess quietly. “That she’d tire of my party tricks and amuse herself by torturing me. I would’ve welcomed it. An end.”

Rhys turns to look back at the house, at his family through the glass panes, “No one else understands.”

I take his hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Our bargain still stands.”

Rhys squeezes my hand back. “Always. Now I’d really like for you to show off your party trick for Cassian. If you’re up to it.” Rhys smirks and I raise a brow. “He’s creeped out by anything that’s not tangible. If you can pretend some spirit is angry with him, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Oh I see, you brought me here to be your jester.” I give Rhys a playful shove with my shoulder. “Come on, let’s do it. You can feed me intel so it’s extra convincing.”

“Oh, you’re evil,” he chuckles darkly. Rhys holds the door open for me, and we step inside his home together.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acomaf #acosf #acowar #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand #elain archeron #elain archeron x reader #elain x reader #rhysand fanfic

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lovexjoe · 2 months

Text

The Hotel

warning: S M U T with Michael Vargas

You and Michael have been bickering the entire way to this hotel and you couldn’t wait to get there so you guys could finally be separated. Following you across four states was insane, but discovering he’s a US Marshal and you were under witness protection definitely topped it off. Your mother was a piece of fucking work. What happened to the communication is key? She clearly skipped that shit in the parental handbook. Michael didn’t mean what he said at the restaurant. Everything that happened that night at the bar was real. He’s been fighting himself since. You catching him and having him at gun point turned him on.

Look at you using his tips and tricks against him. He wondered what other things he could teach you and you’d just obey. He fucked up his cover, but he realize he gets to have you in closer proximity so he wasn’t gonna complain. The fact that you walked into that restaurant with the gun and sat both of you down had him swooned. You were more badass than you gave yourself credit for. And rebellious slick mouth of yours…

“You afraid I might stab you with a chopstick? After you walked me through a kitchen full of knives? You realize how easy it would have been for me to grab one?”

“Shut up”

The waiter walked over to ask “Can I get you something?”

“In a minute” He walks away just for you to continue with your usual sass.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you want to order a beer? Cause apparently the Marshals let their agents drink on the job”

Silence.

“What are you mute?! Speak!”

“You did tell me to shut up so you want me to speak now or continue to shut up?”

The death glare you gave him made it hard for him not to laugh. Boy is he gonna enjoy being this close to you. Hearing him say that he was just playing a role the night at the bar really stung. Everything else was falling apart so to add a shitty love life on top was just g r e a t.

Now here you two were outside of the hotel room waiting for Michael to open it. You wondered to yourself why there was only one key but you decided to ask questions later. You stepped inside, placing your suitcase under the bed. Michael doing his checks around the room.

“I’ll take the couch…”

“You’re not sleeping in here get your own room!” You crossed your arms like a brat. If he could put you over his lap and spank you: he would.

“That’s not how this works Y/N” Whenever he said your name your heart does flutters and your stomach dips.

“Well I’m not comfortable with that”

“And I’m not comfortable with letting you out of my sight. So….tie me up if it’ll make you feel better but neither one of us is leaving this room.” He walks up to the edge of the bed where you sat, arms crossed like a brat and he towers over you. You felt so small around him. Damsel in fucking distress.

“I’m gonna need my gun back” You shoved your bag towards him and headed over to the bathroom. Stripping down on the way over there, he took in your figure in your undergarments. He couldn’t believe you’d fuck your mom’s nurse. Bobby? He’s a fucking loser. He took his gun out of your bag and noticed your sketchbook. He recalled the Atlanta office giving him information on you and your recent activities. They definitely forgot to mention how much sass could occupy your petite body. He heard the shower turn on and the curtain pulled back so he took a look into your sketchbook which was also a diary.

Tonight I met a man in the bar. It felt comforting like I didn’t have to run any longer. I could just stay in one place and he’d protect me. He was handsome. I haven’t felt this nervous around someone since high school. I almost forgot what it was to feel attracted to the opposite sex. Just been running on auto pilot and since the incident….fear. He taught me how to shoot and I appreciate him greatly for it. The night ended with no kiss, but I achingly wish it did.

He smiles to himself as he turns to the next page it was a sketch of him at the bar. He was done talking shit. He joked out you being an artist but you were actually talented. His finger ran over the name you left under the sketch and his heart did a flip.

My guardian angel

It was gonna be a hard night to resist you. He knows the feelings were there on both sides. You thought it was unrequited but it was so far from it. He placed your sketchbook back in the bag. The shower turns off and he hears a “fuck” from the bathroom. This motel design was devious cause there was no bathroom door at all. Plus the huge mirror on the wall that could reflect your nudity was just adding fuel to the fire that is ready to ignite.

“Michael?” You poked your head out. He looks up your way, his stomach feeling those familiar flutters when he’s around you.

“I forgot a towel…” You looked at the fresh stacked towels on the couch then back on him. Those doe eyes of yours are gonna get you in trouble tonight. It poked a dominant side of him he didn’t know he had. He just wants to take you and having you a begging mess under him.

“Come and get it….” He sits down on the couch next to the towels. From this angle the mirror behind you was giving him a complete view of your ass and he couldn’t help the feeling of blood rushing to his lower region.

“If you wanted to see me naked all you had to do was ask.” You walked over there ready to reach over his lap for a towel. You had so much mouth for a girl who looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Tonight he was gonna fix it. He couldn’t control himself any longer. Michael gets up and stands behind you. You can feel the body heat radiating off the two of you. He leans down near your ear and whispers.

“Bend over for me…” he places a soft kiss below your ear and you followed his wishes. The arm of the chair was soft against your skin and had your ass perked up perfectly for him. You were excited and giddy. He glides his fingers through your folds earning a little shiver in response.

“Fuck, you’re soaking already” You heard him suck the juices off his fingers and you couldn’t wrap your head around what’s happening.

“You can touch me but you can’t kiss me? Such a gentleman…” you snorted just to earn a hard slap to your ass.

Oh! That felt good.

“Tonight we’re gonna learn how to listen and obey. Understood?” You look back at him and nodded.

“I can’t hear you….” He slides his fingers through your folds again, rubbing up and down.

“Y-yes…I-I understand.”

He pulls you up straight and turned you around to face him.

“Do you trust me?” He caress your cheek and you nodded as you nuzzle your head into his touch. As soon as your lips touched, all the fear you felt since the incident vanished. You felt whole again. His hands held you close, they were warm and rough but against your soft skin it was like a match sparking a fire. He pulls away, bending you back over the couch handle.

He spread your cheeks and dove in. His tongue devouring you from your ass to your pussy. Drowning in you, is what he wanted. To consume every bit of wetness you produced for him. You would have never thought he could be this dirty. Heaven’s a thing and you’re there right now because of his touch.

“Michael!” You reached for his hand and he held it for you as he thrusts his tongue into your hole. His beard getting drenched in the process.

“I’m gonna worship this pussy.”

You squeezed his hand letting him know you were close. You felt yourself about to release when the motions that brought you there came to abrupt stop. You let out a frustrated cry.

“That’s for having a slick fucking mouth.”

You heard his belt come undone along with jeans and boxers. His thick length slapped against your ass. He bites his lip as he slides his length between your folds, teasing your clit.

Hes so cruel

“P-please daddy. Just take it” Y/N begged. His ego grew. The fact that you fixed your slick little mouth to beg for him. Hearing you call him daddy made it even better because you were his princess after tonight. He was going to protect you. He was gonna love you.

“Such a pretty fucking princess for me”. He slips in and slowly thrusts in. Your pussy deviously clenching onto his length. He lifts one of your legs up on the couch arm to get a deeper angle. A sinful angle. He was hitting a spot you didn’t know could be touched.

“Uhhh fuck you’re so big!”

“God you’re taking me so fucking good. You’re so fucking good”

Oh you had a praise kink, there was a feeling unfamiliar in your stomach as he starts to pound into you. Your moans only motivating him to thrust all the way in.

“Look at you, clenching me as I praise you. You are soaking me. Fuck baby fuckkkk” he wets his thumb and starts to rub on your ass.

You didn’t even let him work it, you reached behind and assisted as you felt his thumb enter you. Jesus Christ. You were full. Full of him and that’s all you wanted. That’s all you craved. His free hand caress your breast. What a drastic turn of events the night took.

Neither one of you were complaining.

“Fuck I’m close” The sensation of his thumb and his thrusts had you shaking. You both shared an orgasm. He filled you up and held you close. He picked you up cause you could barely stand straight and laid you down in bed.

"Your guardian angel to the rescue"

You slapped his arm

"You read my sketchbook!" Your face turned red from the embarrassment.

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

@armandosbabymama @dyttomori @bbyplutosblog @vergilnelosparda @believeinthefireflies95

@ebsmind @hopetookourvibe @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @poppetbaby02 @bitchyglittersuit @marley1773

@jacobscipioswoman @sunrisesfromthewest

@midnightheat

#jacob scipio #jacob scipio x reader #michael vargas #pieces of her

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dreaming-tonite · 1 year

Note

Hello, I loved what you wrote about JasonX innocent virgin reader, could you do one like that with Dick GraysonX innocent virgin reader please!!!!

Warning: f!reader, first time, oral sex, fingering

Word count: 800

Dick would simply be the sweetest if you told him, midst making out on his lap, that you’ve never done anything like this before. Silly you, of course he could tell already! With your face so flushed and hands fumbling at his shirt just from some minor touching, it didn’t take him much guesses to figure out that you never went much further from here.

But you have nothing to worry about when you are with Dick. After all, he’d always taken such good care of you, hadn’t he?

He didn’t mind the way you clung to him desperately as he gently kissed his way down your neck (the first time he had gone below your jaw, may you add). In fact, it might have made him gloat a little when he could feel your body heating up at all the sweet nothings he mumbled against your skin as he licked and nibbled, large palms caressing the side of your thighs until he coaxed you to spread your legs for him.

Dick cooed when you twitched, your fingers clawing at the sheets as the pad of his middle finger traced the shape of your folds clinging to your cotton panties, a wet patch already forming on the fabric.

“Here,” he mused, taking you by the wrist and guiding your palm to the nape of his neck, where you instinctively started playing with his curls nervously, “here, here.”

He bit back a moan when you fisted his hair unexpectedly upon the feeling of his thumb pressing down on your clit, a charming smile tugging at his lips when he flicked against the hardened bud softly over the fabric.

“Come on,” you buried your face into the crook of his neck as he hooked his finger into the elastic, his nail dragging alone your hips,” let’s take these off, yeah?”

Your pussy twitched at the vibration from the back of his throat, the stickiness evident against your skin as he peeled your underwear off.

“Dick…” you hid your face in embarrassment when he laid you on the mattress and trailed kisses along your abdomen, his handsome face now hovering above your bare cunt.

“Sh…” you could only see the wiggling of his eyebrows, but the breath fanning against your core still had your legs threatening to clamp tight around his shoulders, “lay back baby. Promise I’ll take good care of you, yeah?”

And Dick would never be mean to you, he couldn’t bring himself to be, even though the thought of making you squirm and sob while he forces your legs open does send a mischievous spark down his spine, that would be for later. For now, all he wanted was to make sure that his sweet little princess would be seeing heaven by the time he was done.

So focused, in fact, that he did not even notice that his skilful tongue and nimble fingers were far too much for you to handle.

He was slow and gentle at first, starting with languish licks along your sopping folds and tiny circles on your clit. But the first, real moan you let out put him in a trance, and he was far too tempted by the urge to hear more to notice your legs kicking and back arching off the mattress in orgasmic bliss.

Again, and again, and again.

One finger turned into two fingers scissoring against your walls, while his thumb tugged at the hood that covered your sensitive clit, his supple lips sucking and licking and kissing at the engorged bud. The hair at the back of your neck stood up when he slurped at the juices that ran down your thigh, his tongue only stopping when he was lapping up your arousal.

It felt so good it almost hurt, and you didn’t even know that you could cum so many times in a row.

He hadn’t even gotten to the actual sex yet, and you were already on the verge of tears.

“Dick, Dick!”

His name came out of your mouth as a pleading mewl, and he finally stopped. You gulped at the sight of your release glistening on his face, the wetness covering his strong jaw and lips. You could almost cum again just from the way his piercing blue eyes stared at you in earnest hunger from between your legs.

Your walls pulsed when he pulled his fingers out, and your face heated up when you saw the silver stringers that coated the slender digits as he spread them.

You already wanted him bad, but your body ached for him when he darted his tongue out and licked each of his soaked fingers clean, lips pulling away with a lewd “pop”.

“Please?” You tried your best to keep your wobbly legs open, batting your eyes at him in a silent plea.

Needless to say, Dick Grayson never needs you to ask twice for anything.

#this took a while because I simply don’t see as much appeal for the concept with dick #because I think it genuinely wouldn’t matter to him??? like he’d take things slow for your sake but it wouldn’t matter sentimentally #Jason though I see enough potential self loathing for there to be a conflict #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut

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goosewriting · 7 months

Text

Dinner Disaster

summary: after some flirting, reth finally asks reader out for dinner, but it doesn’t go as planned (follows the dinner disaster quest)

relationship: Reth x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Reth’s backstory and interactions, smooching

word count: 5.1k

A/N: literally no one asked for this but this game is consuming my very being to a molecular level, and this man is a big reason i’m obsessed. btw if any of you play palia or are interested in playing, hmu and we can add each other lol this is set some time after the flirting starts, after reader gets involved in his uh, side business. this is more or less how the quest played out in my head so, yeah, enjoy~

Navigation: Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Since you developed a real green thumb, to the delight and pride of Badruu, you have some extra apples from your tree that you don’t know what to do with. So, as with most of your garden surplus, you decide to bring them to Reth, who will surely find a good use for the produce.

You spot the freckled Majiri behind the bar when you enter the Inn, thinking that he’d probably make an apple pie with the fruit, and that you’d surely get a slice. Your mouth waters at the thought. You wonder when the cook will teach you the recipe; maybe you should ask him.

Reth’s working the register, finishing some transaction with another human customer, when you place the wooden crate of apples on the bar, and proceed to take a seat on the stool you usually occupy when you visit him at the Inn. Reth gives the apples a curious glance, and talks to you over his shoulder as he hands the customer some change.

“Thanks, babe,” he says without thinking, and you both freeze at his words, as does the human who just paid for a recipe. They shoot you a quick look with raised brows, then silently turn on their heels and walk out of the Inn. Reth slowly turns to you.

“Sorry, that kinda slipped out,” he says sheepishly, unable to meet your eyes. “Are we at the babe status yet?”

To be honest, if he had asked you first, you probably would have said no. It’s not your favourite pet name, and he could surely come up with something better. He often calls you sweet tooth, which you’ve actually come to like a lot. But hearing him call you ‘babe’ so matter-of-factly out of nowhere… You’re surprised to realise that you actually like how it sounded, how it sounds coming from him.

“I mean… If you want to be,” you answer after a moment, deciding to tease him a little. “Sure thing, babe.”

Except that it backfires and it ends with both of your faces burning up, which he tries to play off by clearing his throat.

“Yeah, I’ll still have to get used to it, too,” you chuckle, bringing a hand to your face in an attempt to cover up how flustered you got. “But I like it when you say it.”

“Noted,” he replies, then looks around the Inn to see if someone else will approach the register. As there’s no one else, he fully faces you, leaning slightly over the bar. “Say, what are you up to today?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” you reply, starting to count on your fingers. “Hunting, fishing, foraging. Then tending to the vegetable garden. I also need to craft a new chair. Why?”

“A-are you busy later tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your elbow and give him a lopsided smile.

“I’m never too busy for you,” you offer, and he smiles amusedly at your answer. “You have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner. At your place, maybe?” he asks. “I’ll take care of the food and everything. You just have to show up.”

Up until now, no one has actually visited your house. Sure, you upgraded from your first precarious tent to a proper building, and the Majiri came by every so often to say hi or bring you something, but no one has actually gone into your house. And for some reason the thought of Reth not only being at your place but also being the first one to do so, it makes you a bit nervous… but in a good way.

You realise that he’s still looking at you waiting for an answer, fidgeting with a loose nail on the wooden crate still on the bar.

“I’d love that, actually,” you reply.

“Great!” He looks actually relieved. As if I would have said no to you asking me out, you think, smiling to yourself. He’s so innocent sometimes. Reth takes the crate and shoves it under the bar somewhere.

“Then let’s say around 6pm?” he proposes.

“Sounds good,” you agree with a nod.

Ashura enters the Inn, giving you a warm smile and a wave from afar as he spots you. Given that it’s his boss and you shouldn’t be distracting Reth from work, you take it as your cue to leave.

“See you later then,” you say in a low voice so Ashura can’t hear you.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Reth gives you his usual goodbye. He winks at you and you merely roll your eyes as you turn to exit the place. And just in time, so he can’t see your flustered face. You can’t remember when exactly the winking started, but it never fails to make you weak in the knees.

Once down at the plaza, you refocus on your tasks for the day, mentally making a list of the things to buy, resources to mine and places to go. Then you head for your first stop with a spring in your step. Tonight can’t come quickly enough.

— — —

You come home with a backpack full to the brim of crabs, plants, stones and other goodies. As you set down your things on the grass with a grunt from the weight, you see your palcat coming out of the house to greet you.

“Hey there,” you say, crouching down to scratch her head. She purrs and meows happily. You recently got this companion, and it’s been nice having someone at home to come back to. She often accompanies you when you go out as well, but this morning she was feeling especially lazy and cosy so she stayed in bed. You walk to your storage crate, starting to put everything away, and your cat looks at you with a light tilt to the head as you tell her about your day.

“Oh and actually,” you finish your retelling with the big news. “We’re having a visitor today.”

“Mreow?”

“Yeah, him… So you have to be on your best behaviour, you hear me?” you tell your cat with an accusing finger pointing at her. “We have to make a good impression. If you’re good, you can have lots of treats later, okay?”

She meows again, and you like to think she just agreed; bribes with food always work, after all.

There’s still some time until six, so you tend to your garden, clean yourself and change into a new set of clothes, the nicer one. It’s the only one you own, and it was a gift from Jel. In fact, all the clothing you have was given to you by him in some way or another. You make a mental note to prepare a gift for him for helping you out so much.

Next to your house there’s a nice spot among the trees, near the pond, where you can hear the trickling of water. You grab a big blanket and a lantern, and set everything up for a picnic corner. Even if whatever Reth brought was more of a “plates and cutlery at the table” kind of meal, you could still come out here after and look at the stars a bit. Then, maybe you’ll find the courage to make a proper move on him… You imagine the both of you sitting on the blanket, illuminated only by the warm glow of a candle and the gentle moonlight, you take his hand, he leans in, and…

You mentally slap yourself to get rid of those thoughts, cheeks ablaze. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you reprimand yourself. He may be a bit of a flirt at times, but Reth doesn’t strike you as the type of person to take such feelings lightly. So you have to make sure that he even is into you in the first place. Like actually into you. Suddenly your whole mental scenario shifts, and as you take his hand, he pulls away, disgusted. But wait. Dinner was his idea. He even called you ‘babe’. Surely he must have some interest, right? You’re not just… a side piece?

Before you can spiral down further, you hear your name being called, although it’s not the voice you were expecting; this one is higher and has a slight lisp. You turn around to find Auni by the gate to your yard. You jog up to where he stands, smiling curiously. Sure, he delivers the mail twice a day, but usually you just find the letters in your mailbox as if they magically appeared; you never saw him actually deliver anything. You wonder if he has a new cool bug to show you.

“Hey Auni!” you greet the boy as you approach him.

“Hi, I have a delivery for you,” he announces, holding out something for you to take.

“Oh, what is it?”

“Reth paid me in cakes to have this brought to you asap, said it was really important.”

“Oh?”

You take the letter from him with a thanks, and he says his goodbyes. Why would Reth send a letter when he’s supposed to show up himself? Maybe it’s a treasure hunt kinda thing?

You open the folded piece of paper, which isn’t even in an envelope, recognising Reth’s handwriting, but it’s even messier and more hurried than usual. The curious smile on your face disappears, your brows furrowing as you read.

Hey, I feel like a HUGE jerk for doing this, but I have to cancel our plans tonight. Something came up that I can’t ignore. Next time we see each other I promise I’ll explain.

- Reth

It feels like your whole body suddenly runs cold, and your hands drop to your sides, your eyes looking ahead at nothing in particular.

Your cat, who had poked her head out the door when she heard Auni, seems to sense the shift in you and approaches, meowing softly, as if asking if everything is okay. You look down at her, and give a light shrug.

“Looks like we won’t have visits after all…” you explain, reading over the letter one more time, then letting out a deep sigh. “Let’s get you something to eat, c’mon.”

She seems to know those words, as she immediately stands up and circles around your legs. Following you inside, she waits for you to get the bowl ready, and once you set it on the ground, she happily digs in.

“Well, at least one of us got a nice dinner.”

You stroke once from her head to her long bushy tail, to which she comically lifts her behind, then you decide to turn in for the night and head to bed, not really feeling hungry despite the eventful day.

— — —

The next morning you wake up to the sunlight shining through your window and fully hitting your face; you forgot to close the blinds the night before. With a squint, you look down at the weight you feel on yourself and find your cat curled up on your lap, which gets a sleepy half smile out of you.

Picking her up in your arms, you go to close one of the blinds, then make your bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast. You start your routine like normal, having breakfast, taking care of the garden, going through your inventory to check what you need and what you can sell. You take your time, though, not really wanting to head into the village just yet.

By the time you’re ready to go, it’s almost noon. Usually you’d be at the inn in the morning to say hi to Reth and chat a bit before starting your day. And while you really don’t feel like talking to him after leaving you hanging yesterday, you also know that he’s probably beating himself up about it, even more so if you haven’t been seen all morning. So after heaving a deep sigh, in hopes of letting all anger and frustration exit your body, you walk through the gate down into the village. To your surprise and delight, your cat follows this time.

You make your way towards the central plaza, exchanging greetings with those who walk by you, stopping to have a short chat with Chayne, whom you probably don’t talk to enough. You make a mental note to remedy that.

Somewhere in your mind though, you know you’re just stalling; you should just get it over with. Reth probably has a good explanation. Besides, you don’t want to be mad at him or give him the silent treatment or anything. You miss him, and you do want to see him. You’re just… disappointed.

Taking one last deep breath as you stand before the Inn, you look down at your palcat and give her a nod. She meows encouragingly. You walk in through the open door, relieved to find it mostly empty. There’s very few people sitting at the tables in the corner, and Ashura isn’t at the reception desk.

Your eyes find Reth’s behind the bar, and he freezes for a moment. You approach him like you normally would, about to take a seat on your usual stool.

“Wait,” he says before you’re able to fully sit down. You merely shoot him a questioning look. He lowers his voice, shooting a quick glance at the people eating at the tables. “Let’s talk in the back.”

Reth scribbles something on a piece of paper and places it next to the till, indicating for you to follow him with a nod of his head. You pat the seat you meant to take while commanding your cat to hop onto it, and she does, so you tell her to stay there and wait. Then as you walk to where he said, you take a quick look at the paper; it reads “back in 5”.

You follow Reth into the back room, and you both come to stand in the farthest corner; since there are two archways but only one has a door, this will have to do to stay away from prying ears and curious eyes. You both talk in hushed voices.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says with a sigh, scratching his neck. He drags his eyes up to meet yours, scared of what he might find. “Please don’t be mad. Are you mad? You can be a little mad. I’m such a jerk–”

“Hey, no need don’t say that,” you interrupt him, and you just look at each other in silence for a second. “I mean, I’m upset, but not in a ‘mad at you’ way. More in a… ‘I was really looking forward to it and was bummed that you had to cancel at the last minute’ way.

“I was really looking forward to it too, it’s just…” Reth runs his hand over his face with a groan. “Yesterday was kind of a mess.”

“What happened?”

“Ashura caught me sneaking into the back rooms after hours. I panicked, so I lied and said I was actually planning a party for him, as a thank you. He liked that idea, so he got off my back, but now I actually have to throw him a dinner party with other people.”

You look to the side, unable to stop the scoff that escapes you. But it isn’t a mocking or offended scoff, it’s more of an amused sharp exhale.

For a moment, you think back to how you kind of ended up roped into his side hustle of smuggling illicit goods (especially Flow and ancient artifacts, which are very illegal), which is why he was sneaking around in the first place. You’ve been covering for him with Ashura and many others for a while now, and while at first it was more of a personal favour, now you're in too deep. Not that you mind, though. If you’re being honest with yourself, it adds a bit of an exhilarating factor to everyday life. You’re not entirely sure yet about the actual power and meaning of Flow in this society, but it seems to be connected to humans in some way, so you’re at least a little bit interested in it. If you have to investigate and interact with it in secret, then so be it; you also want answers as to what happened to humanity and how you landed here. Besides, it’s one more thing you two can bond over. Literally partners in crime. The thought makes you smile to yourself.

“You’re kind of bad at this whole criminal thing, you know?” you tell him with a playful grin. “Getting strangers involved, almost being caught by your boss.”

He doesn’t seem too amused.

“I know, I’m…” his demeanour shifts from annoyed at and with himself to almost shy, and he looks down as he bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’ve been distracted lately, is all.”

You hum in response, somewhat intrigued. When his gaze comes back up to meet yours though, eyes filled with yearning, the look he gives you makes your heart skip a beat, and suddenly you’re all too aware of how close you’re standing to each other. You need to wrap this up.

“So is there anything I can do to help you out?” you ask him.

“What? No, you really don’t need to. You’ve already saved my hide so many times,” he’s quick to dismiss your question. “Besides, cooking is one of the few things I’m actually good at, so I got that covered.”

Suddenly he looks like he just thought of something that you could in fact help out with, but he doesn’t want to say. You give his upper arm a soft push with your fist.

“C’mon, out with it,” you encourage him with a playful smile.

“Well…” His eyes linger for a second where you touched him. “I need to prepare everything, so I can’t be out and about actually inviting everyone to the dinner party.”

He takes out a paper from his pocket and hands it to you. You skim over it, seeing a list of names.

“If you could invite everyone and let me know how many guests will come, I can make sure to cook the right amout.”

“Got it,” you reply with a nod. “I’ll ask around and probably send Auni back to let you know. He told me you’re paying him in cakes for special deliveries. Think you can sneak another baking session in today on top of dinner? On my tab.”

“Sure thing,” he chuckles, then gets serious again. “And hey, I really am sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Reth, it’s okay, really,” you say, and he’s so close and he looks so sad, you want to hold his face so badly. In fact, your hand is already going up, but you pull back midway, fidgeting with the collar of your shirt instead. “Just… be more careful next time, okay?”

“Yeah…” he sighs. “And thank you, for the invites. I owe you. Again.”

“Yes, you do,” you chuckle. “Maybe I should start charging you with interest.”

He starts patting down his pockets.

“I don’t have any cash on me at the moment,” he says with a smile, playing along.

Your answer comes quicker than you can anticipate and you’re unable to stop your words.

“I was thinking more along the lines of kisses maybe…”

Both of you look at each other a bit shocked.

“Oh. O-oh,” is all he stammers.

Whatever confidence came over you for you to say that, immediately dissipates as Reth turns several shades of pink darker. The tips of his ears look like they might actually catch fire any moment.

“But we can talk about payment later,” you’re quick to add, and clear your throat. “I’ll uhm, get your invites out. You better start on that food.”

“Right. Yes,” he says stiffly, and you both put some space between each other. “Thanks again. And sorry too. And–”

“Reth,” you cut him short again, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. See you later.”

“B-bye.”

You exit the backroom, calling for your cat, who walks around the bar to find you, and you make a hasty exit through the back, walking down the stairs to your left. As you pass the river, you consider for a moment jumping into the water to cool down. Maybe that would get your heart to slow down again. You fist your shirt over your chest where you can feel the pounding against your ribs.

An inquisitive meow from the side gets your attention back, and you look down at your companion, who’s looking up at you confusedly.

“Right. We have a job to do,” you say and go to take out the paper with the list from your pocket, except that it’s been in your hand the whole time, and it’s now crumpled and slightly damp because of how clammy your hands were. You cringe a bit at that, commanding yourself to calm down at once. Geez, get a grip on yourself, you think.

It takes a while to track Auni down after everyone else, given that he’s always out on his mail route or out and about exploring, probably trying to catch some bugs. When you finally find him, you give him the list of people who plan to atttend Ashura’s dinner, and send him to Reth to deliver the news with the promise of getting his sticky hands on more cake. This seems to do the trick, and he happily jogs off with the new list stuffed into a side pocket of his gigantic backpack. You look after him as his figure gets smaller and smaller, wondering how he’s even able to carry all that. His equipment is bigger than himself.

With a shake of your head, you bring your attention back to your own equipment, and get your bow and arrows ready. Today you’re hunting chapaas; Hassian asked for some meat and fur earlier this week and you haven’t been able to deliver yet.

— — —

You get back home relatively late, and when you do, the flag on your mailbox is up. Setting down your haul next to it, you get out several letters, looking for a message from Reth. And lo and behold, there’s one from him, this time properly written and folded into an envelope.

He says that in the end everything worked out, to which you sigh in relief. Ashura doesn’t suspect a thing apparently, and everyone had a great time. He tells you to meet him at your “private spot” tonight, he has something to give you.

You look at the time, then down at yourself; you’re looking pretty shabby after hunting for hours on end, kneeling down in mud and such. So you quickly change into clean clothes, wash your face and prepare food for your loyal cat. As she happily munches away, you grab your jacket and leave again. Nights can get pretty chilly here, you’ve learned.

It doesn’t take long for you to make your way to the inn, given that you’re essentially bee lining for it. Checking that no one’s following you or sees you enter the inn from the back, you quickly take a left and go down the stairs towards the storage room. Reth gave you the key to it, so you unlock the door and enter, quickly closing it behind you.

When you turn around, you’re met with the cook on the other side of the room, stopping whatever he was doing on the table, and he stands up to come and meet you.

“Hey sweet tooth, thanks for coming,” he greets you.

“Hey,” you smile up to him but he looks tense. “Is everything okay? I thought you said the dinner party worked out? “

“No, it did. It’s- It’s not that,” he curses under his breath at himself.

“What is it then?”

Reth sighs, and you can tell he’s trying to find the right words. So you give him a moment to gather his thoughts, waiting patiently.

“You know… I’m not used to asking for help,” he starts explaining. “Even as a kid, I wouldn't, and I didn't expect others to help, either. It was always just me and Tish against the world. And now there’s you.”

His cheeks flush ever so slightly, and you can start to feel yours mirroring his.

“Here you come, busting into my life,” he says with a soft smile, but it quickly vanishes. “And even though I keep messing up… somehow you’re still here. You’re not sick of me yet.”

You want to interject, as that “yet” doesn’t sit well with you, but he doesn’t let you.

“And more than that, you've put yourself on the line for me, more than once. I honestly don't understand why you keep putting up with me but… I really do appreciate everything you've done and how much you've helped me out, and Tish as well. But the cartel… I- I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. And I don’t want to scare you off either.” He lets out a shaky breath. “Whatever is going on between us, I don’t want to lose this. So let me make it up to you.”

He steps aside to show you what’s on the table: a container with your favourite food.

“And I know this is barely enough for everything–”

“Reth, please stop,” you interrupt him before he can spiral further, your voice soft. “I’ll take the food, thank you. It looks delicious. But you really don’t have to try to make up for any of the, uh, side business stuff. Sure, the dinner didn’t work out, but if you say we just have dinner another day, then that is enough for me.”

You step a little closer, your hand tentatively reaching out for his.

“And you don’t have to worry about scaring me off.” Your voice is nothing more than a whisper now. “I also don’t want to lose what we have. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reth looks down at your hands as he shyly intertwines his fingers with yours, and when his eyes come back up to meet yours, they’re full of something… new. His gaze flickers down to your lips for a second and back up, and you wonder if he can hear your erratic heartbeat. You’re standing so close to each other right now, it wouldn’t take a lot to close the gap.

“That said, though, about that payment I mentioned…” you trail off.

His jaw clenches, and he looks to the side, pulling back away from you ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he questions rather bitterly. “About me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He sighs, eyes cast down at the floor.

“People will talk. They probably already are. With my reputation and all… I strayed from my Path. Most days I’m convinced people don’t even like my soup. I’m nothing more than a scoundrel.”

Your free hand comes up to gingerly hold his chin and turn his face to make him look at you.

“First of all, I don’t care what people say,” you start refuting his arguments. “Maybe I still don’t understand Majiri tradition, but I think you should be free to choose your own path with no expectations, and change it if you find it doesn’t suit you. And I like your soup. Also, I think being a scoundrel is part of your charm. Is that a bad thing?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, and when he does, his voice is so small you almost miss it.

“You’re too good for me.”

You pull back slightly to fully look at him, and it breaks your heart a little how earnestly he means that. So you let go of his hand and hug his torso instead, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t know what happened that makes you think that, but I will try my best to show you how wrong you are. You deserve good things, Reth. Whatever it is you want, you’re allowed to pursue it.”

He hugs you back, tightly, so you place a kiss to the only place you can reach, which is his jawline just below his ear. You feel him tremble, but if it’s from relief, anticipation or something else, you can’t tell.

“Right now what I want is you,” he says after a moment.

“Then what are you waiting for.”

Reth lets go only enough for you to come back face to face with him, and he doesn’t waste a second to capture your lips with his. At first it’s shy, new, a sequence of soft pecks, testing the waters. When your hands travel up his chest to cup his face, he relaxes a bit more, kissing you more confidently. His hands slip underneath your open jacket, holding onto your waist and pulling you to him.

His kisses grow more intense, hungrier, and his tongue finds its way to yours. You can’t help the low moan that escapes you when he presses you further into him, and he practically swallows it.

As he takes a step forward, you take one backwards, then another and another, until your back hits the door, and you’re being squished between the rough wooden surface and Reth’s body trying to get impossibly close to yours. The impact makes you grunt, and he responds with something between a sigh and a growl, moving away from your lips to attack your neck. You welcome the break to take a breather, panting, and you remember something.

“Wait,” you say between breaths, and immediately Reth stops his soft bites and licks on your throat, also out of breath, and worry starts spreading on his face.

“W-what? Is this okay? I–”

Your hand on his face gently covers his mouth to stop him from talking, while with the other you turn the key below the doorknob to lock the door, which you had forgotten to do when you arrived.

“Just don’t want to risk getting interrupted, is all.”

You take a moment to admire his slightly dishevelled form: the bandana is a bit askew, his pupils are blown out, his cheeks and ears a deep pink. You probably don’t look much different, to be honest. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to give him permission to continue.

“Let’s move away from the door, maybe–” you start, and within an instant, strong arms are picking you up under your thighs, carrying you over to the other side of the room and setting you down on the table.

“Better?” he asks, placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Better,” you reply with a smile.

“You said you’re charging me with lots of interest,” he mumbles into your skin as he starts again where he left off earlier. You can only hum in response. “And I plan on paying back what I owe.”

You pull back a little to look at him, and the newfound confidence and assertiveness in his eyes and voice send a pleasant tingle down your spine.

“I’m very much looking forward to it.”

— — —

A/N 2: what? goose being attacked by brainrot over a freckled red-head who seems confident on the outside but is actually riddled with insecurities and does some illegal stuff to keep his family safe? huh, bet no one saw that one coming 🙄 guess i have ONE TYPE, smh.

A/N 3: if this is something you'd like to see more of, feel free to let me know and i'll add palia to my taglist fandoms for you to sign up :D palia has now been added to my taglist! link in my pinned post~

#goose feathers #palia x reader #palia reth x reader #reth x reader #i don't even have a masterlist ready for this one #i have to make a new header lol #and yes i am planning on making this a series because i am delulu and 3 parters is my sweet spot apparently

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