#again. I will literally not argue about this. The Vibes are there. I know I’m right | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungkoode · 2 months ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 17

˗ˏˋ reconnecting ˎˊ˗

"Fridays are not always the best day of the week, you can vouch for this one at least. It's Emma's birthday party and you're not sure you two still vibe together or not after all this time. And coming home... you don't expect Jungkook to be awake, especially not with your cold war going on. But he is."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9,6k

content: begrudgingly gift-shopping, hidden treasures, old vs new friendships, reconnecting, pretty girls and the inability to discern whether it's flirting or polite talk, AM talks, actually listening (thank god, progress!), and vanilla kink striking again because jungkook in this fic has free will and i cannot control him

✧ author's note ✧

WASSSSSUPPPP my peoplessss!!

Okay so here’s Chapter 17—aka the chapter where all of you start collectively projecting your unresolved issues with your high school best friend, your fuckboy roommate, and your local pastel/goth lesbian duo. I say that with love.

Now LISTEN. I keep raising the bar for this story like but honestly?? That’s on YOU. You absolute feral gremlins with your “when’s the next update” comments like I’m a vending machine that dispenses emotional damage. (It’s fine. I thrive under fear and pressure. You’re welcome.)

About this chapter!! So my initial plan was for Nix to buy Jungkook an actual vinyl player… until I did the research and realized those bitches go for 150-300 bucks even secondhand. Be fr. They are NOT in a relationship. This man is her hot emotional disaster roommate who’s been beefing with her for three days and literally slammed a door at her. I would not spend a single euro on that man beyond what is legally required. Fifteen dollars for a John Mayer record? That’s the sweet spot. It says “I hate you but I know what music you like and I think about you when you’re not around and that makes me want to bite drywall.”

Also: if you know that Inside Wants Out is an early acoustic EP that’s kinda slept on but has a few gut-wrenching tracks about vulnerability and romantic ambivalence… well. Have fun.

Now shut up because I love writing female friendships and this chapter is my offering to the goddesses of sapphic chaos. Yeji and Irya being absolute queens??? We love. But also EMMA. Emma and that awkward tension of do we still fit? Did we ever really know each other or was it just proximity and hormones and being stuck in the same suburban hellscape? That shit is SO REAL. Reuniting with old friends is like a spiritual liminal space and I needed to capture that gnawing weirdness.

AND JIMIN. The eyeliner scene??? I almost CRIED writing it. I had to pause. That man is so soft it makes me want to shove him into a pillow fort and protect him from the world. He’s so good. He sees her, without wanting anything in return. You better analyze it or I’ll strangle every single one of you.

Now. Regarding the very tense bathroom cologne scene. I was actually going to drag the cold war out longer, truly. I had plans. But Jungkook opened his slutty little mouth and said, “No, actually, I’m feral and I’ve been suffering in silence and she smells like sex and nostalgia and I must act.” And what was I supposed to do? Argue? Please. I have 0 narrative agency here. That much is clear.

Also his birthday is coming. So like. I didn’t want to enter that subplot with them still fake-ignoring each other like divorced parents. You’re welcome.

ANYWAY. The next few chapters are slower paced but VERY important. It’s all those little moments where the characters start changing without realizing it. The kind of growth you only see in hindsight. The slow part of the slow burn. But I swear to god I’m obsessed with how it’s turning out and I just want to share it with you and roll around in the angst like a dog in grass.

Okay that’s all. I love you. Go scream in the comments or eat drywall. Or both! <3 Mwah.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Fridays aren't supposed to sneak up on you like a debt collector with something to prove.

Usually, you spend the whole week crawling toward Friday like it's an oasis in the desert of your existence. Monday is hell. Tuesday is hell's waiting room. Wednesday offers a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the week won't actually kill you. Thursday is its own special brand of torture—so close to freedom you can taste it, but still trapped in the purgatory of obligation.

And then: Friday.

Glorious, beautiful Friday.

Except this one. This one materialized out of nowhere, ambushing you with its presence and the sudden, horrifying realization that you have exactly zero hours to prepare for what's coming.

So here you are, somehow already standing in a flea market that smells like mothballs and questionable life choices, watching Yeji hold up a fishnet... something against her body while Irya coos over crystals that probably came from the dollar store.

"What do you think?" Yeji asks, draping the fishnet monstrosity over her shoulders. "Is it giving 'fashion-forward' or 'I found this in a dumpster'?"

"Definitely dumpster," you mutter, eyes scanning the crowded stalls without really seeing them.

Because your mind? Your mind is elsewhere—specifically on the fact that you still need to find a birthday gift for your insufferable roommate.

Jungkook.

Just thinking his name makes your jaw clench.

It's been three days since your argument, and the apartment has been a cold war zone of pointed silences and aggressive door closing.

He wants to be petty? Fine. You can be petty right back. Twice as petty, even. So you’re not talking to him either.

"Hello?” Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You've been staring at that old guy selling taxidermy squirrels for like, two minutes straight. Should I be concerned?"

You blink, refocusing. "What? No. I'm just... looking."

"For what exactly?" Irya appears at your side, a small purple crystal clutched in her palm. "You said you already got Emma's birthday present."

"Just browsing," you lie smoothly. "Flea markets are full of... treasures."

Yeji snorts. "Since when do you care about 'treasures'? Last time I dragged you to a vintage store, you said it smelled like 'dead people's closets.'"

“No I didn’t.”

"Right." Yeji doesn't look convinced, but she's already distracted by a display of chunky silver rings. "I'm gonna check these out. Meet you at the food trucks in twenty?"

You nod, grateful for the chance to browse alone. Not that you have any fucking clue what to get Jungkook. What do you buy for someone whose entire personality seems to be "brooding film student with inexplicably good taste in coffee"?

It is like an abandoned warehouse, this flea market—stalls crammed together in haphazard rows, hipsters and bargain hunters elbowing past each other, haggling over everything from antique doorknobs to hand-knitted beanies that look like they were made by someone's cat…

You wander aimlessly, passing stalls selling vintage cameras (too expensive), artisanal coffee beans (too obvious), and leather-bound journals (too pretentious, even for him).

Nothing feels right.

Not that it matters—it's just a stupid obligation gift. You shouldn't care this much.

But you do. And that's annoying as fuck.

Then, a rickety table stacked with milk crates catches your eye—or rather, the handwritten sign that reads "RECORDS $5-20" in faded Sharpie.

The elderly man behind the table looks like he's been selling vinyl since before your parents were born, his weathered hands carefully flipping through a box as a customer asks about some obscure band.

You wait until they leave, then approach, trying to look like someone who actually knows something about records. The crates are dusty, disorganized, with no apparent system. Just hundreds of albums crammed together like sardines.

"Looking for anything specific?" the old man asks, voice gravelly from what you assume are decades of cigarettes.

"Just browsing," you say, already flipping through the nearest crate.

Most of the covers are faded, corners bent, some with water damage or mysterious stains you'd rather not identify. You recognize maybe one in ten artists—a lot of jazz, classic rock, some folk singers your dad probably listened to in college.

This is stupid. You don't know what you're looking for. Jungkook collects vinyl but doesn't even own a record player. What kind of pretentious bullshit is that? It's like buying books just to display them on a shelf without reading them.

You're about to give up when your fingers pause on a familiar name.

John Mayer.

The album cover is slightly worn at the edges, but otherwise in decent condition.

"Inside Wants Out," it says in simple white letters against the picture of a dude (you guess it’s John) in the background.

You don’t recognize it at all.

But Jungkook listens to him. His vynil collection is basically a shrine to him.

So you ask "how much?", holding up the record.

The old man squints. "Fifteen."

Fifteen bucks. Okay, that’s... actually reasonable. Not so expensive that it seems like you care, but not so cheap that it looks like an afterthought.

Just a casual, "hey, saw this and thought of your weird vinyl collection" kind of gift.

Perfect.

"I'll take it," you say, already digging in your bag for your wallet.

The man slides the record into a paper sleeve, takes your money, and hands you your change with a nod.

Transaction complete. Gift acquired. Problem solved.

You tuck the record under your arm, feeling oddly satisfied despite yourself. It's just a record. Just a stupid birthday gift for your annoying roommate who thinks he knows everything about everyone, including your taste in men.

But as you weave through the crowd toward the food trucks, you can't help but wonder if he'll like it. If his face will do that thing—that brief, unguarded thing where his eyes light up before he remembers he's supposed to be all cool and detached.

Not that you care. You're just fulfilling a social obligation. That's all.

That's absolutely all.

"Did you actually buy something?" Yeji asks when you reach her, eyeing the record under your arm. "Since when are you into vinyl?"

"Just decoration. For the vinyl wall.”

Irya peers at it. "John Mayer? Isn't he like, your dad's music?"

"He's not that old," you find yourself saying, then immediately wonder why you're defending John fucking Mayer of all people. "And anyway, it was cheap."

"Whatever you say." Yeji shrugs, then holds up a small paper bag. "I got those earrings we saw last week. The ones that look like little daggers."

"Nice," you nod, grateful for the subject change. "I'm starving. Can we get food now?"

As you follow them toward the food trucks, you resist the urge to check the record again, to make sure it's not too scratched or damaged. It doesn't matter. It's just a record. Just a gift.

Just something to cross off your to-do list before Emma's birthday tonight and Jungkook's surprise dinner tomorrow.

Nearing the trucks, suddenly everything smells good. Too good. The kind of good that makes decision-making a fucking nightmare.

You slow your steps, scanning the options.

One truck’s got sizzling skewers of grilled meat, charred at the edges, dripping onto soft pita. Another is doing fresh arepas, the scent of melted cheese thick and indulgent in the air. A few feet away, some guy with tattooed knuckles and an unreasonably aggressive beanie is ladling out steaming bowls of Vietnamese pho.

And then there’s the birria taco stand—because of course there is—and the line is criminally long, people clutching Styrofoam trays of consommé like their lives depend on it.

Your stomach rumbles.

By the time you settle on something—one of those ridiculous but beautiful smash burgers, glossy brioche bun soaking up all that greasy, caramelized goodness—you barely get your wallet out before Yeji hip-checks you out of the way.

“I pay, I pay, I pay,” she announces, tapping her phone against the card reader with swift finality.

You blink. “Okay, what?”

Yeji grins, entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, I’m obviously paying for my beautiful girlfriend, and I kinda figured I’d put you in the package deal.”

You snort, giving her a shove. “Fine. But beers later on me.”

“Deal,” she says easily, tossing the receipt onto the counter like a Wall Street exec closing a million-dollar deal.

Irya latches onto your arm, steering you out of the way so Yeji can continue flirting with the guy behind the counter—some blue-haired, too-many-rings kind of guy who’s already leaning into it, smirking as Yeji compliments his “artistry” with the grill.

“She’s ridiculous,” you mutter.

Irya hums, but there’s amusement in her eyes as she grabs your food, balancing her own order on top of yours. “Just my type of ridiculous.”

You shake your head, leading the way toward a set of old picnic tables at the edge of the food truck lot. The wood is worn, graffiti-scratched and dented from years of use, but it’s clean enough. You drop into a seat, setting your tray down, and Irya follows, sliding in across from you.

She sets her elbow on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm, and smiles. A lock of blonde hair falls loose, catching the light, and she tucks it back behind her ear absently.

“So, Emma’s birthday tonight?”

You unwrap your burger, glancing up at her. “Yeah.”

She studies you for a second, eyes warm. “Excited?”

You hesitate.

“Yeah,” you say again, but it comes out different this time. Not untrue, exactly, but not as sure as it should be.

Irya notices. Tilts her head slightly, patient, the corners of her mouth tugging into something knowing.

“You don’t have to be.”

A breath of something close to laughter slips out of you.

“I mean, I am excited,” you say, because you are. “It’s just—it’s been a while. We used to be really close in high school, but then, you know… life.”

Irya nods, thumb idly tracing the grain of the table. “She’s in Columbia, right?”

“Yeah. I stayed in-state for a bit before moving here. Different cities, different schools, different everything.” You shrug, picking at the edge of the wax paper lining your tray. “We tried to keep in touch, but it’s not the same when you’re not living through the same things anymore. And then you just… don’t talk as much. And then that becomes normal.”

“And now?”

“Now she’s in the city, and I guess we’re both trying to reconnect.”

“That’s good,” Irya says, and she means it. “It’s nice when people want to find their way back to each other.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down at your food, pushing a fry through the puddle of ketchup on your tray. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Irya watches you, quiet for a second. Then—

“She’s inviting a lot of people, right?”

You nod, grateful for the slight shift in direction. “Yeah. Told me to bring people, too, so I figured you and Yeji. Maybe Jimin.”

“Jimin would love that.” Irya grins. “He’s been in study-group hell all week. He deserves some fun.”

“You think?” You manage to say whilst chewing on the potato. “I thought I wouldn’t be doing him any favors. Like, he’s the type of person to say yes just out of obligation. And I didn’t want to pressure him into anything.”

Irya makes a soft sound of amusement, propping her chin in her palm. “Nah. If Jimin really didn’t want to go, he’d find a way to say no without actually saying no.”

You pause mid-chew. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’d do that thing where he apologizes like, three different ways in the same sentence, but somehow, you still walk away not totally sure if he said yes or no.”

You snort, swallowing. “Okay, yeah. That sounds about right.”

Irya grins, poking at her fries. “And anyway, he actually likes going out. He just overthinks it first.”

“You say that like you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” she says breezily. “I have classes with him. I watch it happen in real time.”

“Real time?”

“Oh, yeah. Like, someone invites him somewhere, and you can see him start to spiral. Like, ‘Okay, but what if I go and I regret it? But what if I don’t go and I regret that instead? But what if I go, but it’s not fun? But what if I don’t go, and it was fun, and now I’m missing out?’” She mimics his voice, exaggerated and tragic, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but that is a valid crisis.”

“It is,” Irya agrees, laughing too. “But the point is, once he actually gets there, he has a good time.” She levels you with a look, half teasing, half expectant. “So invite him.”

You sigh, reaching for another fry. “Fine.”

And then—

“I got us free dumplings.”

Yeji appears out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to Irya and dropping a white takeout box onto the table like she’s just secured a goddamn business deal.

You blink. “How?”

She shrugs, already reaching for a dumpling. “Wouldn’t take my money.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Irya hums, all faux-innocent. “Didn’t happen to have anything to do with that very long, very intimate conversation you were having with the guy behind the counter, did it?”

Yeji smirks around a bite of dumpling. “I dunno. Did it?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Men and their non-existent gaydars.”

“Right? Kinda sucks when she grabs all their attention,” Irya smiles, reaching for a dumpling of her own.

“Not my fault he was easy to entertain,” Yeji says, looking entirely unbothered. “Anyway, eat. They’re fresh.”

You don’t argue. The dumplings are good—warm, crisp at the edges, the filling rich with just the right balance of spice.

Yeji watches you for a second, chewing thoughtfully. “So what were we talking about?”

“Jimin,” Irya supplies.

Yeji groans. “Ugh. Tragic little academic. Is he still alive?”

Irya nods, popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Barely. But we’re dragging him to Emma’s party tonight, so he might actually remember what fun feels like.”

Yeji quirks an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Emma?” She flicks a glance at you. “Your other friend? Birthday girl?”

You take a sip of your drink. “Mmhm.”

Yeji hums, tapping her chopsticks against the takeout box. “Bestie competition, then.”

You nearly choke. “Oh my god.”

Irya grins, delighted. “It is kind of serious. High school bestie versus new college besties.”

Yeji tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know, man. Legacy friends have an unfair advantage. History. Nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” Irya sighs, fake mournful. “How can we ever compete with the memories?”

You level them both with a flat look. “You’ve known me for a month.”

Yeji leans back. “It’s been a whole month already? Woah.”

“We’re joking. I’m sure we’ll get along.” Irya adds.

You snort, shaking your head.

Yeji watches you for a second, still smirking, but then the expression shifts—just a little.

“Are you excited?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because it’s unexpected, but because it’s… genuine.

You pause, setting down your cup.

“Yeah,” you say, slower this time. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while, so it’ll be—nice. A little weird, maybe. But nice.”

Yeji nods. “You gonna introduce us?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

Irya arches her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You groan. “Oh my god, what is that supposed to mean?”

Yeji shrugs, reaching for another dumpling. “I mean, if she’s bestie material, we gotta vet her.”

“Shouldn’t she be the one vetting you two? She’s known me since I had braces and a regrettable side bang phase. Feels like she’s got seniority here.”

Yeji gasps. “Wow. So you’re saying we have no authority in this situation?”

“We really don’t.” Irya muses, almost singsonging.

“I don’t know,” Yeji muses, tapping a finger against her chin. “I feel like we bring some very important qualifications to the table. For example, we met Y/N when she was already in her fully realized, evolved form. We didn’t just settle for her because we grew up in the same town.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”

Yeji nods, completely serious. “Yeah, we got to make an informed choice. Handpicked, if you will.”

“Wow, lucky me.”

Irya grins. “So lucky.”

You shake your head, reaching for another fry. “Just… behave.”

“I always behave,” Yeji says, smirking. “You’re just afraid we’ll be better besties than Emma.”

You scoff. “That’s not even remotely the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?” Irya prompts, head tilting to the side.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud feels like giving it weight. Giving it power.

You exhale. “It’s just—there’s a difference between keeping in touch and actually knowing someone after years apart. And I guess I don’t know if we still… fit the way we used to.”

That quiets them for a beat.

Yeji tilts her head, watching you with something unreadable in her gaze. Irya rests her chin in her palm again, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

“That’s fair,” Irya says, voice softer this time. “It’s weird when people grow in different directions. Sometimes you come back together. Sometimes you don’t.”

You nod, not entirely trusting yourself to speak.

“But hey,” Yeji cuts in, voice as casual as ever, “if she sucks, at least you’ll have us.”

You huff a laugh. “So generous of you.”

She winks. “I know.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter.

You stare at your reflection, one eye perfectly winged, the other a smudged disaster—like your life, really: half put together, half absolute chaos.

You lean closer to the mirror, squinting at your uneven eyeliner with the kind of intense focus that FBI agents would reserve for defusing bombs or something. You've been at this for twenty minutes now, and your right eye is starting to look like it's been drawn by a five-year-old with a crayon during an earthquake.

"Fuck," you mutter, reaching for a cotton swab.

Third time's the charm, right?

Or maybe fifth.

You've lost count.

From the living room, Griffin's thunderous purr competes with Yeji's animated voice. She's been trying to convince Yoongi to produce some track for her for the past fifteen minutes, her persistence almost admirable if it weren't so clearly futile. Yoongi's monotone responses barely register over the distance, but you can picture his expression—bored, unbothered, probably wanting to kill himself before engaging.

"Orange cats are literally the basic bitches of the cat world," Yeji declares loudly enough for you to hear. "Black cats have personality. They have depth. They're mysterious."

"Tell that to Griffin," Irya responds, her voice warm and amused. "He seems pretty content being basic on your lap right now."

"That's cats for you," Yeji sighs dramatically. "The least person who wants them is the one who gets them."

You smile despite your eyeliner frustration. Because it’s ironic—Yeji, who swears black cats are superior, is now trapped under Griffin's substantial orange weight.

That's karma, feline edition.

You’re wearing a dress to the gathering—the same one from that night in January. You've worn it exactly once since buying it, and now it's making its second appearance.

It's not like you planned it this way. It just happened to be the perfect outfit for Emma's birthday dinner.

(At least that's what you tell yourself as you deliberately avoid examining your motives too closely.)

Emma. Your high school friend. Your only real connection to your life before college.

Before this apartment.

Before Jungkook.

You haven't seen her in months (since that night in January), and there's a strange anxiety bubbling in your stomach that has nothing to do with your makeup struggles.

You did vibe back then. But… was it a ‘we vibe because we are going out’ situation; or was it because you two actually connected?

People change. You've changed. The question hanging in the air is whether you've changed in compatible ways.

At least you won't be alone tonight. Emma said you could bring friends, so naturally, you are bringing them along.

You dab at your eyeliner again, smudging it further. Great. Now you look like you've been punched. Or crying. Or both.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your silent self-criticism.

"Come in," you call, not bothering to hide your frustration. It's not like anyone in this apartment hasn't seen you in various states of disaster before.

The door creaks open, and Jimin's face appears in the gap, his expression shifting from curious to sympathetic as he takes in your makeup situation.

"Having trouble?" he asks, stepping into the small bathroom.

The space immediately feels warmer with him in it. Jimin has that effect—like a human comfort blanket.

"What gave it away?" you deadpan, gesturing to your face. "The fact that I look like I let a toddler do my makeup, or the fact that I've been in here for half an hour?"

He laughs softly, the sound gentle and reassuring. "It's not that bad."

"Liar."

"Okay, it's a little uneven," he admits, moving closer to examine your handiwork. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face with unexpected intensity. "Let me."

Before you can respond, he's taking the eyeliner from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a brief moment of warmth.

"You know how to do this?" you ask, surprised.

"I have sisters," he says simply, which doesn't really answer your question, but you don't push it. "Close your eye," he instructs, his voice soft but confident.

You comply, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand steadying your face. His touch is light, precise—and you can’t help but feel this is some sort of significant moment.

"Stay still," he murmurs, and you can sense the smile forming on his lips.

The eyeliner glides across your lid with surprising smoothness. One stroke, then another. No hesitation in his movement. You're impressed and a little confused by his skill, but mostly grateful.

"Where did you learn to—"

"Shh," he interrupts. "No talking or I'll mess up."

You fall silent, letting him work. There's something about Jimin that's always made you curious. He's like a book with half the pages glued together—what you can read is beautiful, but you sense there's more to the story.

"Done," he announces after a moment, stepping back to admire his work. "Take a look."

You turn to the mirror and blink in surprise. The wing is perfect—sharp enough to kill a man, as Yeji herself would say. It matches the other eye exactly, creating a symmetry you couldn't achieve on your own.

"Jimin, this is..." you trail off, turning to face him. "How are you so good at this?"

He shrugs, a small, almost shy grin playing at his lips. "I just have a steady hand, I guess."

There's more to it than that—you can tell by the way he avoids your eyes, the slight flush creeping up his neck. But something tells you not to press further.

Everyone has their secrets.

Private pieces they're not ready to share.

You, of all people, know that.

"Well, whatever the reason, thank you," you say sincerely. "You just saved me from looking like a hot mess at Emma's birthday."

"Happy to help," he replies, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You look beautiful."

The compliment is simple, genuine, without the weight of expectation or desire that usually accompanies such words from men.

It's refreshing. Because you feel like Jimin sees you—really sees you—without wanting anything in return.

"We should probably get going soon," he says, glancing at his watch. "Yeji's been threatening to leave without us for the past ten minutes."

"As if she would," you scoff, reaching for your lipstick. "She's too excited about meeting Emma and judging her worthiness."

Jimin laughs. "True. Though I think she's more excited about the free food."

"Priorities," you agree with a smile.

You apply your lipstick—a muted berry shade that complements your eyeshadow without being too dramatic. The final touch to your appearance. Not too casual, not too glamorous. Perfect for a birthday dinner.

You've always loved makeup, the ritual of it, the transformation.

Not because you're trying to hide or become someone else, but because it's an extension of yourself—another form of expression.

You're so tired of those cliché "not like other girls" characters in movies and books who supposedly wear nothing but mascara yet somehow have flawless skin and perfect brows.

As if enjoying makeup somehow makes you shallow or less authentic.

The truth is, most girls you know love makeup to some degree. Some for the artistry, some for the confidence boost, some just because it's fun. And you're no different.

That doesn't make you basic or vain—it makes you human.

A human who happens to enjoy the satisfying swipe of a good lipstick.

"Ready?" Jimin asks, holding the door open for you.

You take one last look at your reflection. The girl staring back looks put together, confident.

Whether she actually feels that way is another story entirely, but hey—fake it till you make it, right?

"Ready," you confirm.

You're halfway out the door when you pause.

Something's missing. The final touch.

"Oh, wait. Cologne."

Jimin nods understandingly, already retreating toward the living room. "Don't take too long or Yeji might actually follow through on her threats this time."

You turn back to the bathroom counter, sliding open the narrow drawer where your collection lives. Four different bottles stare back at you, each with its own personality, its own statement. Your fingers hover over them, indecisive, until they land on one particular bottle.

Amber, its color.

The golden liquid catches the bathroom light, glowing like trapped sunlight inside the crystal bottle.

You haven't used it since... well, since that night in January. You've been saving it for special occasions, though what constitutes "special" has remained conveniently undefined.

You lift the bottle, turning it in your hand. You apply it to your wrists, your neck, your ears. And before you can overthink it, you bring it to your nose, inhaling lightly.

Memories unfurl instantly, blooming in your mind like clouds puffing up in a winter sky. They tumble through your consciousness, overwhelming and vivid, making it hard to breathe—though you're not entirely sure you want to.

His hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to leave phantom marks that lingered for days afterward.

His slicked chin when he smiled up at you from between your thighs, all smug and proud for making you cum with his tongue.

His infuriating, satisfied smirk that somehow annoyed you, but also turned you on.

Rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, soft eyes in the aftermath.

You distinctly remember that was the first time you had thought Jungkook looked cute. Not just hot or sexy, but genuinely cute in a way that had caught you off guard.

And you didn't even know his name then.

The door swings open without warning.

You nearly drop the bottle, fumbling to catch it before it shatters against the tile floor. Your heart leaps into your throat as you look up, startled.

Jungkook peers inside, and you both freeze, staring at each other like you don’t know which one of you should stay and which one of you should leave. His eyes flick from your face to the bottle in your hand, recognition dawning in his expression.

A long pause.

Your eyes drift down his torso, inevitably.

He's wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places, hair rumpled and messy. His rainy-like scent envelops the cramped space, mingling with the lingering notes of vanilla on your wrist like they’ve always belonged together.

His eyes drift too. Drop lower, taking in the dress hugging your curves, fingers tightening on the doorframe, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

You watch the subtle movement, the physical manifestation of restraint, and feel an answering tightness in your chest.

You haven't spoken since Tuesday. Since the fight about Jason. Since he suddenly starting talking about vibes like he’s the type of guy to trust his gut.

And maybe he is.

And maybe you aren’t.

"Sorry," he says finally, breaking the silence. "Didn't know you were in here."

He avoids your gaze.

You don’t know if that makes you angry or anxious. It’s hard to determine what’s crippling your chest.

"It's fine. I was just leaving."

Neither of you moves.

His eyes drift to the cologne bottle again. Recognition, desire, frustration.

Then, he masks it.

But you caught it.

He remembers the fragrance.

And how could he not? When he constantly praised it that night, how it rested on your skin, how good it made you smell, how fucking good you tasted.

"Going somewhere?" he asks then, interrupting your conflicting thoughts.

"Emma's birthday dinner," you reply, voice tight.

He nods slowly, gaze returning to the dress. The dress from that night. The dress he peeled off you with those same hands now gripping the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him anchored.

You should move. You should cap the cologne, put it away, walk past him and join your friends who are waiting. You should maintain the cold war you've established since your fight.

Instead, you find yourself asking, "Did you need something?"

He purses his lips. "Just needed to pee.”

"Right," you say. "I'll get out of your way."

You cap the cologne, and you just know his eyes are tracking your every motion. Because that’s Jungkook for you—when he’s focused on something, it’s obvious.

You move toward the door—toward him—and it’s like suddenly, the small bathroom feels impossibly smaller. Like there’s not enough space for both of you and all the unspoken words crowding the air.

You'll have to squeeze past him. There's no way to avoid it.

His grip on the doorframe tightens further, as if he's holding himself back. From what, you're not entirely sure. Touching you? Yelling at you? Both seem equally possible.

"Excuse me," you murmur.

He steps back marginally, not enough to clear the path completely.

Like he’s hesitating.

Like he doesn’t know whether he wants to move for real, or stay rooted in place.

“Jungkook,” you say, and his name feels strange on your tongue after days of not speaking it. “Move.”

“You smell like that night,” he settles for staying instead of moving, voice dropping lower, annoyed. “You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.”

Your breath catches. Heat blooms across your chest, up your neck.

“That’s not—” you start, but the lie dies on your lips.

Because it is. Of course it is. You knew exactly what you were doing when you reached for that bottle.

You see his jaw work. His tongue peek against the inside of his cheek. His eyes lock into yours like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t.

“Have fun at your dinner,” is all he comes up with, stepping aside.

The movement feels like it costs him something.

You move past him. Take a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Jungkook aside.

Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Emma, about reconnecting with a part of your life that existed before this apartment, before him.

But as you step into the living room, you can still feel the weight of his gaze on your back, can still smell the amber scent on your skin, can still hear his voice in your ear.

You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.

And the worst part is, you don’t know why or how—but maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.

The restaurant is too loud, too crowded, too New York—but Emma’s hug is warm, and that makes up for it.

“Finally.” She squeezes you tight, like she’s trying to merge your atoms together. “You took forever.”

Yeji, behind you, snorts. “Blame her eyeliner existential crisis.”

Emma pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Oh? We still doing that?”

“We are always doing that,” you deadpan.

She laughs—her laugh. It’s the same as it was in high school, loud and full, like she actually enjoys things instead of just tolerating them. That hasn’t changed. Neither has the way she looks at you, eyes scanning your face, taking you in like she’s checking if you’re still the same person too.

The answer? You don’t know.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you guys,” she says, looping an arm through yours.

You let yourself be pulled in—into the restaurant, into her world, into the crowd of fifteen fucking people all squeezed around a too-small table in the back corner. She moves through the chaos easily, hand on your wrist, steering you like she used to when you were seventeen and invincible.

“This is Yeji, Irya, and Jimin,” you say as you go, pointing them out like exhibits in a museum.

Emma grins at them, all effortless charm. “Your uni friends. I’ve heard so much.”

Jimin, ever polite, smiles back. “All good things, I hope.”

Emma does not confirm or deny, which says enough.

There’s a blur of names you won’t remember—Emma’s friends, classmates, people who probably have their lives together in a way you do not. Someone pulls her into another conversation, and you hover awkwardly at the edge of the group, watching her slip back into a world that isn’t yours.

It’s strange.

You used to know everything about her. Every inside joke, every dream, every late-night insecurity whispered over FaceTime.

But now—now you’re an observer.

A guest.

Still, when she sits, she grabs your wrist again and tugs you down next to her.

“So,” she starts, picking up her glass—red wine, something deep and rich. “Are you finally admitting that I was right, or are we still in the denial phase?”

You blink, thrown. “About what?”

She gives you a look. “Do I have to spell it out?”

Your stomach knots.

Jungkook. She means Jungkook.

You exhale through your nose, reaching for your water instead. “We are so not doing this here.”

Emma grins, but she lets it go—for now.

Instead, she leans back. “God, I forgot how exhausting socializing is. I swear, law school is turning me into one of those people who can only function in coffee shops and libraries.”

You snort. “You were already that person in high school.”

“True,” she concedes, tilting her glass toward you. “But now it’s worse. Now I actually enjoy tax law. Like, genuinely. It’s fascinating.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Swear on my life,” she says, amused. “You should see me in my internship. I get excited about deductions. I have a favorite tax loophole.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Emma just grins. “Give it time. One day, you’ll come to me, desperate for tax advice, and I’ll be your only hope. And I will lord it over you.”

“You wish.”

“Oh, I know.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your lips twitch. It’s easy, falling into conversation with Emma. Easier than you thought it would be, considering how much has changed since high school.

“So, what’s the plan then?” you ask, nudging your knee against hers under the table. “You still set on Seattle after graduation?”

Emma hesitates. Not in a bad way—more like she’s holding onto something, waiting for the right moment.

“Actually,” she says, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about Europe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Europe?”

“Yeah.” She leans forward slightly, eyes lighting up. “I did a summer program there—France, Italy, Greece, Spain. It was insane. I loved it. I don’t know, I just—” She exhales, shaking her head like she can’t quite put it into words. “Seattle was always the safe plan, you know? The practical one. But now? I keep thinking about the Mediterranean coast. The markets, the people. It feels like people there work to live, not live to work like they do here in America.”

You watch her carefully. Emma has always been a planner, a strategist. She doesn’t make decisions lightly.

And yet—she looks alive talking about this.

“So, what?” you ask. “You’re gonna become a tax attorney in Greece? Help rich expats avoid paying their fair share?”

Emma snorts. “God, no. If I go, I’d probably work with international firms, corporate law, maybe even consulting. It’s different over there, you know? Taxes, policies, loopholes—everything shifts depending on the country, the treaties in place.”

“You realize you sound even worse now, right?”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “At least I’m passionate about something.”

You hum, thoughtful. “So, Europe.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

But you can tell, just from the way she says it, that it’s more than a maybe.

It’s funny. The last time you saw her, she was talking about Seattle like it was inevitable. Now she’s talking about the Mediterranean coast with the kind of quiet certainty that makes you think she’s already half there.

People change.

You’ve changed.

And yet, it feels like nothing between you two has changed at all.

Emma eyes you for a long moment, then smirks.

“Your turn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve barely told me anything about your life,” she says. “How’s English? Still planning on breaking the hearts of young, impressionable students as a professor?”

“First of all, no. That is not the plan. And second—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t look the part,” she teases. “The eyeliner? The whole vibe? You’d have students falling in love with you instantly.”

“I hate you.”

She grins. “I missed you too.”

You feel it, then—the warmth of familiarity, of friendship. It settles in your chest, light and unburdened, and for the first time in a while, you think:

This is nice.

Even with the changes, even with the time apart, even with the half-truths lingering at the back of your throat—this is still Emma.

“Come on,” Emma nudges your arm, eyes gleaming. “Let me introduce you to my favorite tax nerds.”

You groan, but let her pull you toward the other end of the table. “If I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.”

“They’re fun,” she insists, dodging between chairs and half-full wine glasses. “For tax people, anyway.”

The group is mid-conversation when you arrive—something about offshore accounts, corporate loopholes, and why the ultra-wealthy pay less in taxes than you probably spend on coffee each year. (Fascinating.) Chris and Max, two guys who both look like they were born wearing pressed button-ups, are deep in debate, hands gesturing, voices overlapping.

But the girl sitting across from you—Nina—just listens, quiet, observant.

She clocks you the moment you sit down. And you clock her right back.

Dark brown skin, black curls tucked behind one ear, a delicate gold necklace resting just above the collar of an oversized sweater. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal slender wrists, and she has the kind of presence that doesn’t need to fill space to be felt.

There’s something measured about her. Something thoughtful. Like she only speaks when there’s something worth saying.

She’s pretty.

Really pretty.

But it’s more than that. She’s composed in a way that makes you hyperaware of yourself—your posture, the way you’re holding your drink, the way she looks at you with a quiet, unreadable expression.

“Hi,” she says, voice smooth, accent lilting ever so slightly.

It’s just that—simple. Friendly. Maybe.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

Emma gestures between you. “Nina, this is my friend from high school—the one I told you about?”

Nina hums like she remembers, tilting her head. “The one who thinks tax law is boring?”

You blink. “Emma told you that?”

“She warned me in advance,” Nina says, lips twitching. “Said you might try to stage an intervention.”

You shoot Emma a look, but she’s already sipping her wine, unbothered.

“Well,” you say, turning back to Nina, “I was going to be polite about it, but now I feel like I have a responsibility.”

That gets a small smile out of her. Just a slight curve of the lips, like she’s amused but won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much.

You don’t know why that makes you want to push, just a little.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “what is it, then? The thing about tax law that actually doesn’t put you to sleep?”

Nina considers this. Takes a slow sip of her drink. And when she speaks, it’s not rushed—it’s careful.

“It’s not about the numbers,” she says, setting her glass down. “Not really. It’s about human nature. About how people behave when they think no one is watching. Governments set up incentives, and people react accordingly. It’s a game of strategy. A reflection of what a society actually values, not just what it claims to.”

You weren’t expecting that answer.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. “So, what—you think taxes are, like, a moral compass?”

Nina shrugs. “Not a moral compass. But they show you what people are willing to bend the rules for. What they think is worth cheating for. And that’s… interesting, I think.”

You watch her, trying to get a read on her. She’s got this almost effortless kind of intrigue—the kind of person who could make anything sound poetic if she wanted to.

Emma groans. “Oh god, don’t encourage her. She’ll start talking about capital gains tax next.”

Nina lifts a brow. “It’s actually fascinating, if you—”

“Absolutely not,” Emma interrupts. “Nope. I refuse.”

You smirk. “I don’t know, Em. I kind of want to hear her out.”

Emma glares at you. “Do not encourage the tax philosophy.”

But Nina is looking at you again. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way that screams I’m interested. But in a way that’s… present. Attentive. Like she actually finds this conversation worth having.

And maybe that means nothing.

Or maybe it does.

You’re not sure.

Which—God, why is this always harder with girls?

With guys, it’s obvious. But with girls—well. You think she’s enjoying this. But is she just enjoying it, or is there something else there? Is this just conversation, or is it something that, in hindsight, will feel like a moment?

You have no fucking idea.

The conversation shifts after that—Emma talks about her summer in Europe, Chris and Max start debating New York’s best pizza, someone brings up an upcoming bar crawl.

And then, at some point, Nina glances at her phone before looking at you again.

“You mind if I get your number?” she asks.

Casual. Easy. Nothing in her tone suggests it’s anything more than that.

“Emma talks about you a lot,” she adds, mouth twitching slightly. “I feel like I should probably fact-check at least half of it.”

Emma swats at her, but you barely register it, already pulling your phone out.

You’re not reading into it. You’re not.

But also—

You kind of are.

Still, you hand your phone over, watch as Nina types in her number, then passes it back. Just a name in your contacts now. Simple. Unassuming.

You have no idea if you just made a new friend or if this is something else.

And honestly?

You kind of like not knowing.

“Well, well, well,” Yeji drawls, sliding into the conversation without invitation. “Are we allowed to sit, or is this a tax-exclusive gathering?”

You exhale. “Jesus, Yeji.”

“What? We were getting bored.” She drops into the seat beside you, tossing an arm over Irya’s chair. “Jimin’s been overanalyzing the condensation on his glass for the past fifteen minutes, and Irya’s just been smiling at people like a lost pageant contestant.”

“I was being friendly,” Irya corrects, unfazed.

“You were being too friendly.”

“Networking,” Irya insists, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I love people.”

“You do,” Emma says, delighted. “It’s terrifying.”

Irya beams, pleased. Yeji just sighs like she’s accepted her fate.

Nina watches all of this unfold with quiet amusement, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You two are together?”

Yeji tilts her head. “That a problem?”

Nina meets her gaze evenly. “No. It’s nice.”

It’s a simple statement, but it rings genuine, like she’s not just saying it to be polite. Yeji studies her for a second longer before nodding, satisfied, and pulling Irya in to kiss her temple.

Emma turns to you, grinning. “Your friends are so much more fun than my law ones.”

You smirk. “That’s because they have souls.”

Chris, still lingering in the tax-law-heavy end of the table, lifts a hand in protest. “Hey.”

Yeji ignores him completely, waving to Nina instead. “So, you’re a tax philosopher?”

Nina looks faintly amused but nods. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Cool, cool,” Yeji muses, reaching for Irya’s wine and taking a sip before Irya can protest. “And do you also believe that money isn’t real?”

Nina tilts her head slightly, considering. “I think it’s real in the sense that it determines the way the world functions. But I also think it’s one of the biggest shared delusions humanity has ever committed to.”

Yeji brightens. “See? This is the tax conversation I want to be having.”

You roll your eyes, but Nina takes it in stride. She’s good at this, you notice—letting conversations unfold naturally, never forcing her presence but never fading into the background either.

Across from you, Jimin has settled into his usual quiet observation, sipping his drink slowly. He’s not uncomfortable, just taking it all in. He catches your eye at one point, a small look that says ‘you good?’

You nod, barely perceptible.

He doesn’t push. Just gives a small nod back and turns his attention back to the conversation. Just listening in.

Emma leans in slightly, nudging your arm. “I like them,” she murmurs.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Yeah?”

She hums. “They make you lighter.”

It’s such an Emma thing to say—blunt in a way that doesn’t feel invasive, just observant.

You don’t respond right away, but you don’t need to.

She’s already grinning like she knows the answer.

The apartment is quiet when you finally get home, the only light coming from the TV screen where some game is paused.

Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, controller resting loosely in his hands, looking like he's been there for hours. He glances up when the door closes behind you, expression neutral.

"It's late," he says, not quite a question.

You drop your keys in the bowl by the door. "Yeah."

"Had fun?" He unpauses the game, thumbs moving lazily over the controller buttons. His character on screen walks aimlessly into a wall.

"Yeah," you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief. "Emma's friends are cool. We ended up at this bar in Brooklyn after dinner."

He makes a noncommittal sound, still not looking at you.

"Jason wasn't there, though, so don't worry," you add, unable to help yourself.

That gets his attention. His thumbs still, and he scoffs, a short, sharp sound in the quiet apartment.

“You know I don't give a fuck about that guy, right?"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, heading to the kitchen for water. "Because you seemed to have very strong opinions about him on Tuesday."

The controller drops onto the couch as he turns to face you fully.

“Look," he says, voice tight with frustration. "I don't give a fuck who you fuck or who you date. Seriously. Not my business."

"Yup. Three rules," you start, unscrewing the cap on your water bottle.

"One, no one knows," he recites, cutting you off.

"Two, if somebody asks, we're just roommates," you continue.

"And three," he interrupts again, more forcefully, "no feelings. I know the fucking rules, Phoenix. I helped make them."

You take a long drink of water, studying him over the bottle. His hair is messy in a stupid endearing way, and there are shadows under his eyes.

"So what was Tuesday about, then?" you ask finally.

He exhales slowly, jaw working. "I told you. The guy gives me bad vibes."

"Bad vibes," you repeat flatly.

"Yeah. Bad fucking vibes." He rubs a hand over his face. "Look, I know how it sounded, okay? But it's not—" He stops, frustrated. "It's not about you. Or us. Or whatever the fuck we're doing."

You consider him for a moment, then set your water bottle down and cross to the couch, sitting on the opposite end.

"Explain."

"What?"

"Explain these 'bad vibes.' Because from where I was sitting, it sounded irrational."

"It's not—" He stops again, shaking his head. "You know what? Forget it. Not my problem."

"Jungkook."

He looks at you, surprised by the use of his actual name.

"I'm trying to understand," you say, softer than you intended. "So explain it to me."

He studies you for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if you're serious.

Finally, he sighs. "He's fake."

"Fake how?"

"The way he talks. The way he looks at you when you're not watching. The way he touched your arm in the car." His words come faster now. "The way he asked about your schedule, your classes. The way he positioned himself between us. It's all... calculated."

You frown. "That's a lot to read into a few interactions."

"I know what I saw," he insists. "Guys like that... they start small. Compliments. Attention. Making you feel special. Then it's suggestions about what you should wear. Who you should hang out with. What classes you should take."

His tone is raw, really raw, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard him talk like this.

Like it’s personal.

“You're saying he's controlling."

"I'm saying he could be." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Look, I've seen it before, okay? People who seem perfect on the surface but underneath they're just... manipulative. They make you think everything's your idea when really they're pulling all the strings."

You're quiet for a moment, processing.

"This isn't just about Jason, is it?"

His eyes flick to yours, then away.

"I told you. It's not about you or us."

"But it is about someone."

He doesn't answer, but his silence is confirmation enough.

"Mia?" you ask softly.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay," you say, respecting the boundary even as curiosity burns through you. "But that's why you're worried about Jason? Because he reminds you of her?"

"Not of her specifically," he says after a pause. "Just... the type. The signs."

You pull your legs up onto the couch, turning to face him fully. "What signs?"

He looks at you for a long moment, like he's deciding how much to share.

"The perfect act," he says finally. "The way everything seems rehearsed. The charm that never quite reaches their eyes." His voice drops lower. "The way they make you feel like you're the only person in the room, but it's not because they care about you. It's because they want something from you."

"And you think that's Jason?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. But my gut says something's off with him."

You consider this. "Your gut's been wrong before."

A bitter smile twists his lips. "Yeah. More than once."

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s like you’re both still processing the words exchanged.

"I'm still going on the date," you say finally.

He nods, looking away. "I know."

"But I'll... keep what you said in mind. Watch for the signs."

He glances back at you, surprise flickering across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy being manipulated."

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it.

You kick his thigh lightly with your foot. "Asshole."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Brat."

Silence again. His forearms are resting on his knees, hands crossed together as his gaze remains unfocused.

"So," he says eventually, "how was the birthday girl?"

You're surprised by the question, by his apparent interest in your life outside this apartment.

"Good," you say. "Different, but good. She's in Economics. Has a serious boyfriend. Wears a lot of beige."

"Sounds thrilling."

You laugh despite yourself. "It was actually nice. Weird, but nice. Like visiting a place you used to live but don't anymore."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Did your new friends play nice with your old friend?"

"Yeji, Irya and Jimin?" You smile at the memory. "They were on their best behavior. Well, Yeji's version of best behavior, which means she only made three inappropriate jokes and only drank half the table's wine."

He snorts. "Sounds about right."

"Emma liked them, though. I think." You pause, considering. "It's strange, bringing different parts of your life together."

"I bet it is," he agrees quietly.

You look at him, really look at him, sitting there in the dim light of the TV. For once, there's no smirk on his face, no challenge in his eyes. Just Jungkook, tired and rumpled and unexpectedly honest.

"Why were you still up?" you ask suddenly.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"It's 3 AM. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugs, defensive again. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd play for a bit."

You glance at the TV screen where his character has been standing in the same spot for the past ten minutes.

"Right."

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't help the small smile that forms. "Just... nothing."

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn't press.

"I should get to bed," you say, standing up. "It's late."

He nods, picking up the controller again. "Yeah."

You're halfway to your room when his voice stops you.

"Phoenix?"

You turn back. "Yeah?"

He’s staring at you, but it’s not the usual smirk. No.

His eyes flick downward. To the floor, like he’s seriously considering his next words—or rather, if he should vocalize them at all.

But then he looks up at you again, seemingly decided.

"You..." he starts, licking his lips like he’s trying to pull himself together. But he’s failing. "You know you smell fucking delicious, right? Like, it’s so fucking unfair."

Your pulse stutters. "Excuse me?"

"The cologne," he says, standing up. "You’ve been driving me insane the whole night. The whole apartment smells like you.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, heavier. "I didn’t wear it for you."

"No?” His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite—like he knows exactly how full of shit you are. "The cologne from that night. The dress from that night. And I’m supposed to believe that’s just a coincidence?"

"It is," you snap back, defensive even as your pulse betrays you by speeding up.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—or maybe just like he can’t believe you.

“Fuck, Phoenix," he mutters, voice dropping into something rougher, more dangerous. "Do you have any idea how good you smell? How much I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you again?"

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat—an audible hitch that makes his eyes darken further.

"We’re fighting," you remind him weakly.

"Are we?" He steps closer, until there’s barely a whisper of space between you. "Because right now all I can think about is how wet you were for me the first time I smelled that shit on your skin."

You retreat physically; even though mentally you’re honestly already naked for him.

"Four days," he muses, tone dripping with frustration, almost needy. "Four days of smelling your shampoo in the bathroom, that stupid body lotion, and now—now you pull this shit. That’s fucking cruel, Nix.”

"You could’ve apologized," you point out dryly.

"For what?" He scoffs like the idea itself is offensive. "For telling the truth? For saying Jason gives me bad vibes?"

"There it is again," you say, crossing your arms over your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever energy he’s radiating right now.

It doesn’t.

He exhales softly, eyes flicking to your lips before moving back up.

“I’m being for real, Phoenix. Your vanilla shit drives me nuts,” he confesses bluntly.

Then llicks his lips, considering what he’s about to say

But says it anyways.

“I jerked off after you left.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

"Couldn’t help it," he continues. “The smell of your cologne... seeing you in that dress again... I couldn’t get the image out of my head."

"What image?"

"The first time," he says slowly, like he wants every word to sink into your skin and stay there forever. "In that room. The way you tasted... the sounds you made when I had my tongue inside you."

Your legs threaten mutiny.

"And now?" You force yourself to ask because silence feels dangerous—like it might give him permission to keep going without restraint.

"Now?" He repeats, almost hushed. "Now, I’m… really craving vanilla.”

You should walk away—should turn around and retreat into your room where things are safe and quiet and not vibrating with tension so thick it feels alive—but instead?

Instead, your feet betray you by staying planted firmly in place: "Eat some cookies.”

“I want to eat something else.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

He purses his lips. Tongue drops to lick the lower one. Gaze flickers to your mouth again before they come back to your pupils.

“You don’t?”

And the way he exhales it, like the mere idea of you saying no pains him—it melts through you.

Especially when his hand finally finds its way to your waist (warm and solid and grounding despite everything else about this moment feeling anything but grounded).

All thoughts of resistance evaporate faster than they came.

"I do," you hear yourself reply.

And when his lips brush against the sensitive skin just below your jawline?

You realize two things simultaneously:

One: You were never going to walk away from this moment no matter how much logic tried to intervene earlier.

Two: Logic doesn’t stand a chance against lust when Jungkook looks at you like this.

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nathanbatemanfucker · 3 months ago

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Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

vuelve a mí masterlist

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully, it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed.

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore.

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on.

Joaquin included.

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him.

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it.

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good.

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of.

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place?

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you.

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses?

What have you done?

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up. “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind.

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres x f!reader #captain america brave new world #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres fic #marvel fanfiction #joaquin torres fanfiction #x reader #arson writes

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luveline · 8 months ago

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Hey!! I love love LOVE your criminal minds content so much, especially the Hotch with unexpected daughter reader. Is there any chance you’re gonna write more for that series? I’d literally take anything, the comfort vibes are off the charts with your works and I need some Hotch comfort. But no worries if not, hope you have a great week <33

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Jack peers at you from over the furthest armrest. “Y/N. Are you grumpy?”

“Do I look grumpy?” you ask.

“Yes.” He pokes his eyebrow. “You do.”

“My face is betraying me then, because I’m not grumpy.”

“Mine does that to me all the time but mom doesn’t believe it.”

You give him a small nudge. “Your mommy probably knows you better than you know yourself, like, knows how you’re feeling before you do.”

“But how does she know?”

“I think it’s because she loves you. She really loves you, babe. You’re lucky.”

“So lucky.” He climbs over the armrest and onto the couch, smiling at you politely, like a friend he’s just found at school.

You try to see the similarities in your faces. He looks more like Haley than he does Aaron. You look more like your mother, too. There are bits of Aaron in both of you, yours not quite as physical —Jack’s tame when it comes to expressing emotion, and you both talk in a measured tone. (Though your tone is coincidence or genetics, but not learned. You’d have to have known him growing up for it to be learned.)

“Did dad tell you what mommy said?” Jack asks.

You glance over his head but see no one. Aaron said he was going to get chips for movie night, and Haley tends to find things to do. “No.”

“It’s a secret.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says.

Your stomach feels not your own. “I won’t,” you promise.

“Mommy says you’re here too much.”

You nod slowly. Jack frowns at you as though waiting for you to be upset, but you’ve suspected she thinks so for a while. It’s not something you blame her for.

Jack watches you.

“Dad got really mad.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. That must’ve been scary.”

Jack drops his face into your arm. “No. Dad doesn’t yell. But he slept in my room with me.”

“Want a hug?” you whisper.

Jack squirms under your arm. You pull him toward you and try to divide your feelings into boxes. Embarrassed and horrified and a little annoyed that Haley thinks you’re here too much. Sad and again embarrassed that Aaron defended you.

This is Haley’s house, and she never signed up for you. She’s never made you feel unwelcome but that doesn’t mean she wants to see you every Saturday. You're a huge new wedge inserted in their married lives, and now you’re affecting Jack, making his parents argue.

“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly flooded by a wave of hot, awkward regret.

You knew when you found out that Aaron was your father that you would change his life. You’ve always hoped it would be for the better, but maybe it isn’t.

“Jack…” you say. What is it about hugging him that makes you feel like crying? “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s not your fault. I like you here. You’re fun.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

He looks up at you. “Will you stop coming over?”

“I guess it’s up to your mommy.” You falter. “Jack?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry if having a new sister isn’t as fun as you thought it would be. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I guess I did.”

“Mom says everything is hard now.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in efforts to hide how you’re feeling. “I’m sorry. Um, listen, can I have a big hug? I just remembered I have to go help my mom at home.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Sorry, Jack.”

Jack gives you a hug. You gather your things and rush to the door to shove your shoes on, but your dad catches you before you can leave.

“Where are you going?” Aaron asks, his smile falling.

“I–” He makes you nervous, and you know your stammer gives you away. “I forgot I had to do the laundry for my mom tonight, if I don’t do it she’ll be mad for days.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to her tomorrow,” he suggests gently.

“I better go.”

“Honey, what’s really going on?”

“The laundry is really going on,” you say, unconvincing. “I have to go, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, I’ll see you on–”

You open the door before he can finish or offer a hug, image of him in his loose t-shirt carrying a tray of sandwiches burned into your guilty conscience.

—

You don’t see Aaron for three weeks before he corners you. You owe your great avoidance to his busy job, but it didn’t feel good to reject him, to refuse to make time for him as he does for you.

“You!” he says, clearly kidding but not entirely where he’s waiting outside of your university building. “Beautiful young woman in the blue! I have some questions for you.”

It’s so absurd for him that you immediately burst into shy laughter. “Dad, what?” you ask, hiding your face.

Classmates part around you, seemingly unperturbed.

Aaron retrieves his badge. “See this? I could detain you, but I won’t if you come quietly. In fact, if you don’t argue I’ll buy you lunch.”

“You’d buy my lunch regardless.”

He grabs you. Kindly, but grabbing all the same, like he’s worried you’re about to scarper. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks, giving you a quick hug. You feel tenseness in his arms you're unused to, hear a sadness in his voice that makes your throat burn.

Putting a table between you helps marginally. Aaron pretends he doesn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him and the Hotchner house, and you’re more than happy to go along with it, until.

“I have something to tell you,” he says.

You press against a piece of soaked fruit with your spoon. “Okay.”

“Haley and I are probably going to separate.”

You bite your tongue so hard it makes you flinch, spoon scratching the bottom of your bowl. “What?”

“We’ve been having problems ever since Jack was born.”

You stare.

Aaron is very still. He talks carefully. Not without emotion, but stilted, perhaps. “I’m not as good a father as I wish I were. And Haley sees that. Sweetheart, I haven’t ever wanted to burden you with the, uh, less than happy details of my life. I think you’ve suffered me enough. But I’m telling you because I know Jack told you about my most recent argument with Haley.” He smiles at you. “Honey, we fight too much. That day, it was about you, but it’s not all about you, and she doesn’t… Haley’s a good woman. She is. I’ve changed her life a hundred different ways and she hasn’t had many choices, and she…” Something vulnerable crops up, a wavering in his breath. “Sometimes I think she isn’t fair. She holds me to standards I can’t reach, no matter how hard I try, but we’ve stopped arguing about it so much recently, and I’m afraid that that’s… the death knell.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

“I’m going to keep trying. I don’t want to lose her.” He drinks what’s left of his soda and presses his napkin under the edge of his plate. “But I won’t lose you, you know? I just want you to understand that you’re not the problem, and you never could be.”

“I don’t want to add another thing to your levy, dad,” you say, still soft.

“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, tied with your brother, of course. You aren’t a thing to be added to anything, you’re my daughter, and Haley might not like it but my home will always have a place for you.”

What if that’s the problem? From his perspective, you’re not a hindrance to his marriage so much as a separate issue, but from your own, it sounds like you’re just making things worse.

You’ve missed him, though, and you can’t argue that his reassurances aren’t working.

“It’s not that Haley doesn’t like you,” he adds, reaching for your hand, “more that she’s unhappy. I’m sorry that that’s something you had to carry.”

You often think to yourself that Aaron talks like he’s telling a story. He’s so calm and steady, the same as the feeling of his thumb on your wrist.

“I’m sorry I stormed out.”

“I wouldn’t call that storming out,” he says. “You’re too quiet sometimes. I wish you’d be upset out loud.”

“I just don’t want you to fight about me.”

“Honey,” —he holds your eyes, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze— “I’m always gonna fight for you. That’s what fathers do.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 8 months ago

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Crashed

Word count: 876

Pairing: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Lando Norris' peaceful Sunday brunch with his girlfriend Y/n in Monaco quickly turns into chaotic fun

______________________________________________________________

Lando Norris and his girlfriend, Y/n, were enjoying a peaceful Sunday brunch at a cozy little café in Monaco. It was one of those rare, perfect mornings: the sun was shining, the coffee was strong, and they had no plans except to relax. Lando was mid-sip when his phone started buzzing incessantly on the table.

"Group chat," he mumbled, glancing down with a sigh. Y/n smirked knowingly. The Formula 1 drivers' group chat was infamous for being total chaos, and it seemed today would be no different.

Charles Leclerc: Oi, Lando! Where are you? We’re all in Monaco, and you’ve gone radio silent. You ghosting us or what?

George Russell: Bet he’s with Y/n. You know how he gets. Suddenly, we're not cool enough for him. It’s all brunch and romantic walks now.

Charles Leclerc: Right? Ever since he started dating Y/n, he's become so… couple-y.

George Russell: Proper couple vibes. They’re probably sitting there, sipping overpriced coffee, talking about feelings.

Lando smirked, typing back as Y/n giggled next to him.

Lando: Confirmed. We’re having a romantic brunch without you peasants.

Y/n leaned over, chuckling as the messages flooded in.

George Russell: Whipped. So whipped.

Max Verstappen: He probably ordered avocado toast. That’s peak Lando.

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t even eat avocado toast!”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You literally had it last week.”

He shot her a look but couldn’t argue. Before he could come up with a witty comeback, more messages lit up the screen.

Carlos Sainz: Leave Lando alone. He’s probably just trying to enjoy some quality time with his girlfriend while you lot are sitting alone in your hotel rooms watching Netflix.

George Russell: How is that any worse than watching him awkwardly try to impress Y/n with random facts about coffee beans?

Pierre Gasly: Bet he told her something like: ‘Did you know this is a single-origin Ethiopian roast?’

Y/n burst into laughter. “Okay, that does sound like something you’d say.”

Lando’s eyes widened. “I don’t—well, okay, maybe once! But it was a fun fact!”

Suddenly, Carlos chimed in again.

Carlos Sainz: Real talk though, why wasn’t I invited to brunch? I’m in Monaco, too. You didn’t even text, bro.

Pierre Gasly: Same. Feel the betrayal. I’m coming to crash it. You owe me.

Lando quickly typed: Lando: Please don’t. Seriously, we’re fine. I’ll catch you later.

But it was too late. Y/n giggled as they saw Pierre’s typing bubble pop up again.

Pierre Gasly: Nah, I’m close. Be there in 10.

Lando groaned, throwing his phone on the table. “Of course, he’s coming.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pierre strolled into the café like he’d planned to be there all along. With zero hesitation, he sat across from Lando and Y/n, grabbed Lando’s plate, and took a huge bite of his toast.

“Are you serious?” Lando asked, glaring at him as Y/n laughed beside him.

Pierre grinned, chewing thoughtfully. “You didn’t invite me, so I invited myself. This is what you get.”

Y/n covered her face, laughing. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Just as Lando opened his mouth to protest, his phone buzzed again.

George Russell: Wait for me. I'm on my way too. I can't miss this.

Charles Leclerc: Me too. Lando’s face must be priceless right now.

Y/n leaned over to read the messages and giggled. “You’re going to have the whole grid here by the end of brunch.”

As if on cue, George and Charles soon arrived, each pulling up chairs as if they were part of the original brunch plan. George waved casually as he slid into a seat.

“I told you,” George said, smirking. “You can’t have a romantic brunch without us. We’re like your annoying little brothers.”

Lando slumped in his chair. “This is not how I envisioned today going.”

Y/n chuckled. “You should’ve known. It’s never just ‘us’ when you’re involved.”

Carlos arrived next, holding up his hands like he was walking into a crime scene. “I didn’t want to intrude, but since everyone else is here…”

Lando shook his head, trying to contain a smile. “Of course, you’re here too.”

Carlos sat down and grabbed the menu. “So, what’s good here? You guys ordering pancakes?”

Finally, Max strolled in, looking entirely unsurprised by the chaos. He glanced around at the full table and shook his head. “This is why we can’t have nice things, Lando.” He grabbed Lando’s coffee without hesitation. “I’ll just take this.”

Lando threw up his hands in mock defeat as Y/n tried not to burst into laughter. The entire grid was now surrounding their table, chatting and making themselves at home. What was meant to be a quiet, romantic brunch had turned into a full-blown Formula 1 summit, with Y/n as the honorary member.

Charles grinned at Lando. “So, how’s your romantic Sunday brunch going now?”

Lando glanced around at the chaos, George making jokes, Pierre stealing more food, Carlos debating whether or not to order a mimosa, and Max texting under the table while sipping his coffee.

“Just perfect,” Lando deadpanned. “Exactly what I had in mind.”

Y/n squeezed his hand, smiling sweetly. “You love it.”

Lando sighed dramatically but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

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zev-zev · 2 months ago

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i will truly never get over just how beautiful silverv is written. like getting to see “the johnny silverhand” in action, catching glimpses of a man who’s just…well let’s be honest, not a good man. he treats alt like shit, treats rouge like shit, and treats kerry and the rest of his band pretty much like shit too. he left kerry without so much as a goodbye—all just to go on an arasaka bombing run. we see him literally pick alt over rouge and then turn around to beg rouge for her help in saving alt.

like of course johnny is an unreliable narrator and you can’t really take his word on everything but— i think some truth lies within. and i think we get to see it as he genuinely changes because of v.

and yeah you could argue that it’s just the construct and yada yada but the construct was created with the data of rocker-boy johnny silverhand on it. it’s data of his angry, former self right after blowing up arasaka. it’s his personality from when he was in the war— data literally created with him wrapped all up in a bundle of rage…so why does he change? he didn’t change for kerry. didn’t change for rouge and never got the chance to change for alt. i mean sure the relic’s data could be written to adapt and evolve, and i don’t know if it did evolve or if it could, i’m not sure but still. i genuinely just think v is the one who changes johnny. johnny’s engram is supposed to completely take over v, and while it clearly does throughout the game(and ofc this is all a special circumstance bc the relic’s data believes v was dead before it started taking over their psyche etc etc), it wasn’t supposed to be the other way around. and v doesn’t take control of the relic or anything, i know, i mean it in a way that instead of johnny’s relic outright taking over, v somehow changed johnny’s data as it ate away at v themselves. the instructions for the relic were clear and yet…when we, the player, meet johnny, he was very much that asshole from his former glory days come back to life again— where he literally threatens to kill v and just take the body…multiple times…but by the time v and johnny find his unmarked grave, johnny has changed.

he, in the softest tone we’ve heard from johnny up until this point, tells v that they’re the closest person to him by a long shot. how he’s always been such an asshole and used every person in his life for his own selfish needs but it’s v that ends up being the only one who gives a shit about him. and now he truly desires to be the person to save v, even as the relic is in the process of actively killing v against their will. he was so upset about the thought of fucking up what v and he had, and when you point it out that he almost did fuck that up? he’s scared of losing v. asks for a second chance, begs v to let him make things right! for the both of them. definitely something the old johnny would have NEVER done. (not to mention the ost during this scene? god, how hauntingly beautiful it is. also it gives off this vibe of how truly lonely johnny is and would be w/o v.)

and then there’s v. sitting on some rusty-dusty piece of metal, carving johnny’s initials into said metal just to leave something behind of him, whether he was buried there or not; v still made it apparent that they cared for johnny. and proving it even further when johnny asks what they would really write, if he had a proper burial and headstone. and without hesitation v tells him, after everything they’ve been through— the hurt, the venom laced words, wanting each other dead—“the guy who saved my life.”. and you could argue that v just means the relic saving them from the bullet dex dishes into their head but i truly think it’s so much deeper than that. after everything? johnny lying? cursing v’s every waking second? using v for his own selfishness—his old self—and v still picks the moment johnny literally saved their life? like v could have very easily instead made a joke about the situation. or tell johnny they’d write something harmful or meaningless on his grave to get back at johnny for all the shit he’s put them through but no! with their own soft voice, they tell johnny the one good thing he’s done in his “life”, sitting atop his “grave”, is that he saved them.

idk i have so many silverv thoughts because they’re written plain as day as soulmates. like platonic, romantic or whatever, they’re soulmates— literally meant to be. if it had been anyone else’s head, johnny might not have become someone “different” from his former self. and v would still have their life, sure, but even then they changed too; changing from wanting johnny dead to panicking at the thought of johnny not being there with them?

UGHHHH. they give me the biggest brain-worms. i love silverv so much.

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yourbiggestcrybaby · 6 months ago

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Sweater

Billie Eilish x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: A sweet moment with Billie takes a turn when you accidentally wear her sweater in public, and the paparazzi go wild. While the internet freaks out, Billie’s calm, teasing vibe makes it all feel less overwhelming. At the end of the day, it’s just you and her.

ICL this is literally drabble… (like 800 words 😭) I haven’t written in a while because school is getting insane, but this is based off a request I got that I deleted (oops).

I reply to requests within 1-2 days for anyone wondering, but some I might not do if they don’t fit my writing (I will be posting rules for requests soon!)

No warnings

The hotel room smelled faintly of lavender and Billie’s favorite candle, the one she insisted on bringing with her everywhere. The room wasn’t extravagant; it was simple, low-lit, and felt like her—calming, familiar. You two had been staying here for the last week or so as Billie was finishing her tour.

Billie was perched on the edge of the couch, her oversized black sweater swallowing her frame as usual. She was scrolling on her phone, but she looked up when you stepped out of the bathroom in your tank top and joggers, makeup-free and yawning.

“You look comfy,” she teased with a small smirk, putting her phone aside.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you shot back, plopping down beside her. Her arm immediately wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you closer into her warmth. The hotel room might’ve been quiet, but the closeness, the way her thumb absentmindedly brushed against your arm, made the space feel electric.

Being with Billie like this felt unreal, but it had to stay a secret. Both of you were too famous, too in the public eye. You already struggled with the publicity and constant paperazzi and you knew if people found out about your relationship it would only get worse.

“You’re shivering,” Billie murmured, breaking your thoughts. She looked at you, her eyes soft with concern. Without waiting for you to respond, she tugged her sweater over her head, leaving her in a plain T-shirt underneath. She held it out to you. “Here, take it.”

“Billie, no, I’m fine!” you protested, though your teeth betrayed you by chattering lightly.

“Stop arguing and put it on. You know you want to.” She flashed a playful, crooked grin that made your heart skip.

With a roll of your eyes, you took the sweater and slipped it over your head. It was soft and oversized, the sleeves falling well past your hands, and it smelled like her—vanilla, a little musk, and something else uniquely Billie.

“You look better in it than I do,” she said, leaning back with a proud smirk.

You playfully nudged her with your shoulder. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

You stayed like that for a while, Billie humming softly as her fingers absentmindedly played with yours. It was easy to forget the world outside, the pressure of fame, the cameras waiting for either of you to slip.

The next morning, you woke up late, Billie still sprawled out beside you, her hand lightly resting against your back. You had a meeting to get to, though, so you carefully got out of bed, letting her sleep. You were already running late when you grabbed your stuff and threw the sweater on again without thinking—it was warmer than anything else you had packed.

The paparazzi were waiting outside.

You weren’t thinking about it as you stepped out of the building. Your sunglasses were on, your head down as your driver opened the car door for you. But the cameras flashed, the murmurs and shouts growing louder than usual.

“Wait, is that Billie’s sweater?”

“Are they dating?”

“That’s Billie Eilish’s! She wore that last week!”

You froze for half a second before sliding into the car, heart pounding. Of course they recognized it. You weren’t just anyone; you were you, and anything you wore or did could be picked apart by millions of fans online. By the time you got to your meeting, your phone was already blowing up. Texts, notifications, mentions—it was chaos.

Back in the hotel room, Billie was scrolling through Twitter when you walked in. She looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you know we’re dating?” she asked, holding her phone up, a picture of you in her sweater plastered all over the screen.

Your cheeks burned. “I wasn’t thinking… I just threw it on because I was late.”

She grinned, leaning back against the couch. “So, what’s the plan? Do we deny it? Play dumb?”

“Let’s play dumb,” you said quickly, sitting beside her and burying your face in your hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Billie chuckled, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Honestly, it’s kind of funny. Let them freak out. We’ll keep them guessing.”

You peeked at her, still mortified, but her amused expression made it hard to stay embarrassed. “You’re taking this way too well.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for a moment. “It’s just a sweater. They don’t know anything real. And besides, if the world thinks you’re mine…” She smirked. “They’re not wrong.”

You groaned, but you couldn’t help smiling. Billie always found a way to make everything feel right.

#billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fandom #billie eilish #x reader #celebrity #celebrity fanfiction #fanfics #celebrity x reader #celebrity reader

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kennedyhateskanye · 1 year ago

Text

Across the ellieverse

An: you guys ate up my horny looser!ellie??!!??? I’ve been silently consuming Ellie Williams smut fan fiction for like a year now and it’s so silly and fun that I wrote something that made people horny. Swear I’ll write another one once I perfect the concept in my little Neanderthal mind.

Concept: there are so many distinct versions of Ellie on here that you guys write about, and I am so attracted to each and every one of them. This is kind of a conglomerate of some of my favorites.

STRICTLY 18+

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Hockeyplayer!ellie who calls you a puck bunny and smacks your ass when you ride her thick strap, she’s got that hockey accent and it comes out stronger than usual when she’s inside of you. She pumps hard cause sports have turned her into someone so cocky and vain. It makes it feel even better when she gets off the ice after a rough game, yanking jerseys and shoving players to protect her goal tender. she takes her mouth gaurd out and pumped full of the pride from her fresh win, she fucks you doggy style in the locker room with her jersey between her teeth exposing her flexing abdominal muscles. Insists on you wearing something cute, but not too slutty to her games because she doesn’t need her teammates getting a peak up your skirt while they’re waiting in the box by the stands.

Looser!ellie who whimpers when she pushes her fingers inside you for the first time, practically drooling while she heavy breathes. She’s got a shocked look on her face the whole time, taking in the smell and taste of pussy since shes never experienced it before. Her plaid boxers are soaked when you let her play with your cunt. she whispers things like “oh my fuck” under her breath as she whines from the sight of your sloppy pussy swallowing her fingers. The first time you two properly made out and she got to grope your tits, she was literally eyes blown wide mouth open. Her voice cracked as she said “mm is this okay” whimpering as she smooshed your tits together, SALAVATING at the sight. That night while you kissed sloppily she found herself rutting and against you in her jeans, she was so embarrassed but she just couldn’t help it.

Toxic!ellie who wants you to know she could have anyone she wants, when you argue she sends you the old photos she has in her my eyes only, of her fucking girls like they were an expendable commodity. She knew you’d be too jealous not to forgive her, afraid she’d go out and fuck some girl if you carried on pouting. While she pounds into you she presses down on your tummy, leans into your ear and sternly says “take it bitch”. You two were constantly on again off again, you’d make it a couple days without talking to her after your friends finally convinced you she was horrible for you, and to block her. then you’d get a text from a ‘text now’ number saying simply, “let me the fuck in, I’m at the side door.” She knows how addicted to her you are, and she makes sure to bring it up when she’s slamming you into the mattress, ass bent over the bed, and ripping your skirt up over your legs. “You know you can’t go without this dick, can you?” Of course, you give into her mind games “n-no! Fuck, mmmm I can’t go without it”

Pornstar!ellie who knows your the real star of the show, makes sure the livestream gets a good view of your pussy as she rubs your clit, smacks it, and asks the chat a series of questions. “Isn’t this pussy so pretty” “what should I do to it ?” “How long do you think she’d last if I tied and vibed her today, I know you guys fucking love that” “she won’t stop squirming, what should i do to make sure she sits still and shuts the fuck up, I’m trying to film”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #tlou2 #ellie tlou #fic rec #smut

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yailtsv · 5 months ago

Note

Paige Bueckers x reader picking out Christmas decorations and decorating

Day 3

Santa tell me - p.b

Sum: shopping for and decorating your new off campus apartment

Warnings: fluff

Note: I’m gonna be honest I do mention one of my favorite books in here and I definitely didn’t have that planned, I just wrote the (my) sentence and realized it sounded like THAT one sentence in that book and just went with it.

Pair: Paige x gf!reader

Wc: 1.2k

My masterlist

“What about these?” Paige said lifting a box of pink and purple ornaments, you nod your head “Put them in the cart” you say gesturing to the cart with so many rainbow lights, colorful garlands, Christmas mugs, pre lit flocked garlands, wreaths, glass table centers, ect… your goal is for your apartment to look like Christmas Wonderland with a mix of Gingerbread House hence the colorful and bright decorations.

Paige put the ornaments in the cart and kept looking down the aisles, putting what she thought was cute in the cart - and also what matched the vibe you were going for obviously. “We should get cookies while we’re here” Paige suddenly said “Ok, we’ll stop by when we’re done.” You reply not even questioning her making her smile cheekily and go to the next aisle - which was a danger zone

“Babyyyy” she yells in the next aisle, making you roll your eyes at her completely ignoring that she is literally in public yelling like she’s at a sports game but you don’t say anything knowing she’ll be pouting for however long she decides she can go without your attention. Making your way to the next aisle you see her grinning excitedly in the middle of the aisle and see all the fake trees surrounding her “what’d you need?” You ask kinda already having a feeling on what she wanted

“You don’t have a tree correct?” She asks grinning making you shake your head “no it was on the list” and she looks even more excited with you saying that “look there’s a 9ft tall tree on sale! You save $50” Paige says pointing at the tree she’s talking about “baby, that won’t fit in my apartment. “ she looks like she’s about to argue that statement making you speak again before she can “and did you look at the width? That’s most of my living room taken up by the tree. I didn’t measure how tall of a tree we needed but I know my apartments not 9ft tall. I’m sorry baby. Is there a smaller version of that tree or were you just wanting it because it was 9ft tall?” She just looks at you giving you your answer making you chuckle a little “see if there’s a tree you like better that’s a little bit smaller, after that I think we’re done after we get the cookies” you tell her making her start looking down the aisles.

After her going back and forth between the two tree aisles for at least 10 minutes she walks back over to you with two trees making you look at her confused “Just hear me out alright? This one would be the “main” tree so it would go in the living room, it’s 6ft and a pink flocked one - you love pink and it would go with the gingerbread house vibes you are wanting. Then this one would go on the table in the door entry hallway, it’s 2ft and a regular flocked tree - it would give you the perfect mix of christmas wonderland and gingerbread house” Paige say’s pointing to the trees she’s talking about when describing them

“Alright put them in the cart. Thank you for coming with me” you tell her as she starts doing what you told her to do “always” she says leaning over to you and giving you a kiss.

You guys end up putting a few more decorations in the cart before you guys make a pit stop at the clothing section, picking out matching pajamas. Once that was done you guys make your way to the fridge area getting pre-made cookie dough and milk then finally making your way to the checkout and leaving the store.

Right when you guys got home Paige set everything she was carrying in the living room making’s you do the same, she then started digging through the bags until she found the milk,cookies, and pajamas. Handing you one of the sets “Go get dressed, I’m gonna start the cookies”

You nod walking into the bedroom and getting dressed into the pajamas. While you’re in the bathroom that’s connected to the bedroom, taking your makeup up off Paige enters the bedroom and starts changing into her pajamas. “I set an alarm for 15 minutes for the cookies” Paige says walking towards the bathroom after getting changed and leans against the door frame, watching you wash your face now. “Ok. I’ll be done in a minute, you can start decorating.” You say rinsing off one of your face products “it’s fine, I’ll wait.” She says walking into the bathroom and wrapping her hands around your waist making you push yourself back into her “I’m not doing anything entertaining, you see that right?” You say with amusement in your voice that she would rather stand here watching you wash your face than start decorating for Christmas. “Everything you do is entertaining because you’re doing it.” Paige says rubbing your stomach “Did you start reading ‘the deal’?” You ask Paige suddenly lifting up and looking at Paige through the mirror “What? No?” She says almost defensively making you giggle and give her a look through the mirror “Alright! Alright! Fine you caught me! You’re always talking about the series so I decided to borrow your books and see what the hype was about.”

“Awwww you love me” you coo turning around in her grip after drying your face and wrapping your arms around the back of her neck “was my love ever in question?” She says hugging you tighter into her chest “no” you smile “But I think this might take the number one spot on my favorite romantic things you’ve done for me now.” Paige rolls her eyes with a fond smile on her face “I’ve done so many things and reading the book series you talked about takes the number 1 spot?” She asks amusingly, and you just nod making her shake her head and then lean in again and giving you a somewhat passionate kiss.

It’s now been at least an hour and a half, the cookies have been baked and most of the house has been decorated, the tree is the only part left. You guys have Christmas music playing on the tv and have Christmas candles lit makings the environment seem very Christmasy.

After a lot of arguing over the tree pieces you both finally got it built and fluffed, ready to decorate now. You guys started with the lights and then put up the garland, now time for the ornaments - which honestly was the hardest part because you and paige both kept getting distracted by eating cookies and paige turned on a Christmas movie as background noise (movie as background noise never works)

But eventually you guys got back to work and finished putting the ornaments on the tree, once that was done you guys decided to clean up and then start doing some online shopping - cause why not?

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #uconn x reader #wnba x reader #paige bueckers fic #yailtsv works—★

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bonkybuchananbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

There She Goes (1)

Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

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chapter warnings: swearing. thats all!

A/N: suddenly im trusted back to my 2018 marvel phase with an unhealthy obsession with bucky barnes! i wanted to give bucky barnes a 2000s romcom trope and so here it is. hope yall like it! lmk what you guys think, this is like a pilot episode tbh.

btw, you guys have a nickname. i'll alternate between that and (Y/N).

Word count: 2k

'(Y/n), no.'

‘(Y/n), yes.’

‘(Y/n), you can’t just ditch your world tour just because Star Spangled Spandex and I are having a pissing contest!’ Tony yelled.

‘Come onnnnn Tony! I want in on this tea! And besides, what's got you and Cap’s panties in a twist?’ you questioned.

The two of you were sitting in front of each other, with the Avengers common table between your bodies. On the far side of the room was Peter, sitting on the couch and drinking orange juice from a straw while he watched you and Tony argue.

Spiderboy finished the drink a minute ago, but he was still sucking on the straw, which made an unbearably annoying noise.

‘Can you fucking stop that!?’ you screeched as you hurled a ball of photokinesis towards him. Peter yelped as he rolled to his left and dodged your attack, which resulted in the incineration of the couch.

‘You asshole! Are you trying to kill me!?’ he exclaimed, as he clutched onto his chest.

‘Stop clutching your pearls Penis Parker.’ you snarked.

Tony stared at you incredulously. ‘You are so getting me a new couch Sunshine.’

You hated it when he called you that. You had photokinetic power, which in Layman's terms was being able to manipulate light at will and shoot power blasts. But Tony always insisted on calling you Sunshine because you were literally a ball of light.

‘As I was saying Tony, why are you and Cap fighting again?’ you questioned.

The man in front of you sighed. ‘He wants to bring Barnes into our Tower. And for obvious reasons I don't want him here.’

‘Tony you gotta stop restricting hot men from living here. I want my daily fix!’ you pouted.

The older man scoffed. ‘And that's the other thing! Even though you're a superstar and an Avenger you act like you don't have paparazzi in your closet! Keep your shit together Sunshine, I don't want another PR incident!’

‘Listen! Thor is so kissable. It just so happened that he turned his head while I was trying to kiss his cheek. And it was also a coincidence that the paparazzi were also there. Don't you want to kiss him too?’ you argued.

‘She's right you know, Thor is a very kissable guy.’ Peter muttered with his mouth full of popcorn as he watched the two of you like a tennis match.

Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette boy. ‘You’re in hot water kid.’

‘I’ve been in hot water for the past month.’ Peter muttered.

‘Anyways… I’m still staying to see this lovers quarrel between you two. It's like watching a divorce and it's sooooo juicy.’ you said with a toothy grin.

‘Listen Sunshine, this isn't worth missing your show on. Besides, why would you miss the chance to shake some ass with Megan Thee Stallion? I clearly remember you complaining to me how she was impossible to get a hold of for your tour.’ Tony pleaded.

‘Hm.. how about we compromise? You come down to Texas with me tonight, and Cap too. I want to see you guys argue after my show.’ you proposed.

‘Girl please, you think Sir Chasity can handle all of that seeing you and Meg shake some ass on stage? He's clearly a Victorian child and it's going to kill him.’ He scoffed.

In the corner of your eye, you see Peter ferociously shake his head in agreement.

You rolled your eyes and got up. ‘Whatever. At least I tried. It's been so boring lately here at the Tower. Would it kill for a girl to find some juicy entertainment? It seems to only happen when I'm gone on tour.’ you mumbled.

Peter got up and shuffled towards you and grinned at you with a mouthful of food. ‘Don’t worry (Y/N), if there's a earth shattering danger, we’ll give you a call.’

‘We? Kid we speaking French now?’ Tony exasperated towards the boy.

‘Boringgggg. Just give me a call when you finally let Mr. Armed and Dangerous live here, and I might just move back here for good.’ you announced while you walked your way out,

‘Stop going after abnormally tall and muscular men Sunshine!’ Tony called out behind you.

‘In your dreams Stark!’ you hollered back.

Skipping a step as you strutted to the elevators, you smiled to yourself. Growing up, you were the complete opposite of who you are now. Orphaned and alone because you were a freak of nature, you turned to music and singing to soothe the pain in your heart. Music saved your life, and it raised you to fame. The Avengers side gig was only an accident; you were discovered by Tony when you shot one of his satellites down from space. But now, you were quite fond of the man you now considered to be your uncle, and the whole team. And you couldn’t ask for anything else.

Humming your way down as you patiently rose the elevator, your tune was cut short when you arrived at the ground floor. The elevator opened, and you came face to face with Sam Wilson.

‘Well look who it is! It’s the superstar Sunshine!’ He greeted you with a wide smile.

‘Sammy! I missed you cutie!’ you squealed as you engulfed him into a hug.

‘Woah! Didn’t know I was being missed baby! Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be in Texas right now?’ he questioned.

The two of you walked towards the lobby of the Avengers Tower and stood near the entrance. ‘Yeah, I was about to head out actually. Talked with Tony a bit since I heard what was going on with him and Cap.’

Sam scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, it’s been rough. Steve’s visiting Bucky at his place right now, and I just left. Is Tony still against him moving in here and being a part of the team?’

‘To be honest Sammy? I think I made it worse.’ you laughed.

The Falcon left out an airless laugh. ‘Of course you did. Now, get out of here! Your fans are waiting for you.’ he said as he lightly shoved you towards the door.

‘Now hold on! Come with me!’ you invited him, grabbing his arm.

‘And why would I?’

‘I’m performing with Megan Thee Stallion tonight. I thought you would know since I'm performing in Texas tonight.’

Sam’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch before he yanked you out with him. ‘Well, what are we waiting for!?’ he excitedly said while you let out a hearty laugh.

—----------------

While you loved performing at concerts, you hated the extreme exhaustion that came with it after it was all done.

You sprawled out on the back of the Quinjet, breathing deeply as you tried to cool down. Your belongings were scattered on the floor of the jet, and they gently swayed as Sam flew you back to the tower.

‘Man oh man, that was an awesome show! And when you brought out Meg? I thought I was about to lose it when she gave me a shoutout.’ Sam sighed dreamily.

‘You’re welcome Sammy! Now, I think you owe me something in return.’ you declared softly. You didn’t have the energy anymore. Once you reached back to the Tower you were going to crash.

‘And what would that be, Sunshine?’ he teased.

Before you could answer, your phone rang. It was Tony.

‘What’s up, Tony Stank?’

All you got back was a sigh.

‘So… you’re not going to ask about how my night was?’ you snarked.

‘I’m sure your night was one hundred percent better than mine. Listen Sunshine, you got what you wanted.’

‘Tony, oh my god. You did not.’ you said as you suddenly sprang up.

‘Wait what’s happening?’ Sam questioned as he looked back at you.

‘Eyes on the sky Birdy! I’m not trying to die tonight!’ you exclaimed at him.

‘Tony if you’re not lying, I could kiss you over the phone right now!’

A retching noise came out of your phone. ‘Save that for Manchurian Candidate, (Y/n). Just get here safely and you’ll see him.’ Then he hung up.

‘Sam if you don’t hurry up I will jump out of this jet and go back to the Tower myself. A new man has entered my roster!’ you declared.

‘You got it baby.’ Sam laughed as he accelerated the Quinjet to get the both of you home faster.

—----------

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Bucky muttered softly as he looked around the empty common room. He nervously played with the string of his worn down backpack, which held his entire life.

“Buck, listen. You can’t just isolate everyone. You need this.” Steve gently reprimanded him.

The former Winter Soldier’s eyes warily scanned the area and sighed deeply. “Listen, Tony doesn’t even want me here.”

The Captain placed a firm hand on his best friend’s metal shoulder. “Hey, if T’challa was able to make it up with you, hell, the government pardoned you! I’m sure Tony will eventually come around too.’ he conveyed.

‘Hey, you said a bad language word Cap.’ you called out.

The two super soldiers turned around to see you and Sam standing.

Steve sighed. ‘Come on (Y/n). It’s been years.’

‘You already know I’m never going to let you live this down Stevie.’ you sassed back.

‘Stevie?’ Bucky questioned the nickname under his breath.

You cocked your head and smiled brightly when you set your eyes on the gorgeous brooding man. Hastily making your way in front of him, Bucky tensed up at your foregoing attitude as you stuck out your hand.

‘I believe this is the first time we ever met! My name is (Y/n) (L/n). It’s so nice to see a new face here everyday, I was starting to get bored of everyone here.’ you introduced yourself.

Bucky simply stared at you. He swore that you were slightly glowing, and not because you were so chirpy.

‘Aw, you don’t mean that Sunshine! You’re telling me that you’re bored of me?’ Sam playfully whined behind you.

You shot a playful glare at your friend.

‘Sunshine?’ Bucky questioned. ‘What’s with these awfully affectionate nicknames?’ he thought.

A tense smile broke out on your face as you turned around to face Bucky. ‘An unfortunate nickname that I’m stuck with due to my unique abilities. And no, I’m not showing it right now.’

Staring back at the man, you suddenly became very self aware. ‘He’s got the same gorgeous eyes as Thor’ you thought.

‘Also, that nickname is not the only thing you’ll be stuck with.’ Tony suddenly called out, breaking your train of thought.

Whipping your head to the open kitchen, Tony is standing with his arms folded. He shot you a deadly smile.

‘Alright, Stonks. I can smell your plan from here. What do you have to say to all of us here?’ you shot at him.

The suave man took striding steps towards you and the three men beside you. Stopping in front of you, he gripped both of your shoulders as he smirked at you.

‘You got what you wanted Sunshine. Since you wanted Mr. Armed and Dangerous to say here so bad, he’s going to be yours and Steve’s responsibility!’ he declared.

‘What?’ Bucky blurted.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Steve exclaimed.

Sam stifled a laugh.

‘Oh god.’ you muttered as you brought your hands to your face. ‘This is going to ruin the tour.’

Tony let out a hearty chuckle, but was cut short when you gasped.

‘Wait! Oh my god are you serious Tony? I get to be with him? Like a lot?’ you asked excitedly.

Bucky, who was clearly bigger and stronger than you in any way, shape or form, stepped back from your sudden outburst. Sam eyed him weirdly.

‘Uh, yeah? Also, you’re awfully excited for someone who just said their tour was ruined.’ Tony nervously said.

Steve shot Tony a wary look. The man simply shrugged.

A small light started to flicker out of your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight. You made your way towards the super soldier as you grabbed onto his flesh arms and gave a side hug.

The ex-assassin froze at the sudden physical contact as you started to flicker more out of excitement.

‘Oh we’re going to be such good friends!’ you squealed.

James Buchanan Barnes, a man who was once greatly feared, was now scared for his life. He gave Steve a deadly stare. His best friend simply shrugged and returned a smile.

Oh God, what did he get himself into?

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chukys-mouthguard · 1 year ago

Note

#2 fluff/angst for quinn hughes pls !! love ur writing !!! 🖤

Prompt: “Your last emergency call was you crying over not having any more sweets at your place, so excuse me for being distrustful.”

Note: Quinn just gives me the vibes of being someone that gets overly annoyed with your “emergency texts” to the point that he ignores you any time you say it’s an emergency figuring you’re being dramatic 😂

Thank you so much! 🫶🏼 I’m so happy to hear you enjoy my writing, hopefully you love this!

“Quintin, fucking, Hughes!”

You yelled out into your boyfriend’s apartment as you slammed the door. Tossing your bag onto the kitchen counter as you removed your shoes.

Soon he’d appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he headed down the hall in your direction.

“Oh you think it’s funny?”

“Honestly, no, because now my floors are wet. Are you cleaning that up?”

Quinn crossed his arms across his chest as he looked you up and down. Eyeing your soaking wet frame that was dripping all over the entryway of his apartment. You’d been on your way to Quinn’s place when your car broke down about 5 minutes away. Naturally you called your boyfriend to come and pick you up, but he didn’t answer.

Figuring he maybe had fallen asleep or was in the shower, and it was only a 10-15 walk, you took your chances. However, you’d instantly regretted that 5 minutes in when it started to downpour. Of course trying to call Quinn again, but no answer.

“Quinn, my fucking car broke down and you left me to walk in the pouring rain! That’s kind of an emergency situation. Why didn’t you answer? I even texted you! Clearly you were awake, you just ignored me?”

He rolled his eyes as he went to grab a towel for the floor.

“I saw your text saying it was an emergency, but your last emergency call was you crying over not having any more sweets at your place, so excuse me for being distrustful.”

He tossed the towels onto the floor as he began cleaning up the water that pooled at your feet. A sigh leaving his lips as you were shocked that he actually seemed upset with you.

“Oh yeah, because a text saying car broken down, pouring rain, can you come get me please, is definitely not an indication that this is more of a fucking emergency then me not having sweets at my place during my period Quinn!”

He picked up the towels with a laugh as he shook his head, “have you been around you on your period? It’s literally world war three if you run out of sweets.”

Ignoring Quinn and his disgruntled attitude, you headed to the bathroom to shower. Quinn returning back to his room, rejoining the video games he’d been playing all night with his brothers.

He listened for the sound of the shower to cease to know you were done. Figuring he should be kind enough to take you some clothes, considering he did ignore you and force you to walk in the pouring rain.

Softly knocking on the door, Quinn held out a shirt and some shorts for you, flashing an apologetic smile as you thanked him and closed the door.

Despite your frustrations with Quinn, you couldn’t stay mad at him. It was only rain, thank god it wasn’t snow. Sure he probably could’ve stopped playing video games for the 10 minutes it would’ve taken him to come and get you, but it wasn’t worth you two arguing over or going to be upset.

Joining him in his bedroom, you wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug. Watching as he finished up his game, before turning things off for the night.

He relaxed in your arms as he sighed, “I’m sorry…I should’ve picked up. I just, you cry wolf a lot so I figured you were joking around.”

His hand taking yours as he pulled you into his lap, kissing your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you. Trying to show his sincerity as best as Quinn could. Feeling bad for getting upset with you when he was in the wrong.

“I get it, I often make up stories or exaggerate. But I mean…did you not hear the storms outside? I obviously didn’t lie about that.” You both laughed as he covered his face in embarrassment.

“Babe, with these headphones on and Jack and Luke screaming half the time, a murderer could come in here and I’m not hearing shit.”

You rolled your eyes as you kissed his lips, letting him know you weren’t upset. The situation easily being one to get over.

“Well, ignore me next time I have an emergency and I might just be that murderer who comes to kill you while you’ve got those things on!”

“Oh trust me, I’m never ignoring a single text or call from you ever again after tonight!”

#quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fics #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl blurb #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff

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belli5 · 1 month ago

Text

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝ Caught in 4k (Literally) .ᐟ ೀ A.S.

Aj getting forced to watch ship edits of him and Y/n on stream

˚₊· ᥫ᭡ Aj Shabeel x fem!reader ➜ Fluff —Disclaimer: Ik I said I’m gonna post more but I got exams next month and I’m tryna pass everything + I have to write and memorise an essay for the exam and I haven’t even started writing it.. I might make other parts for this because I’m having too much fun with this 😭 Masterlist

“Guys, chill! I said drop video suggestions, not expose me!

Aj was laughing, but the panic in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by his stream chat or by the tens of thousands of people watching his Twitch live. His camera was angled perfectly, lighting soft, headphones hanging slightly crooked over his curls.

He was just vibing, playing games, until the comments turned suspiciously united.

User1: React to Y/n edits

User2: SHIP EDITS AJ. SHIP. EDITS.

User3: @AjShabeel WATCH THEM

User4: Y/N DESERVES TO KNOW YOU BLUSH WHEN SHE LAUGHS.

Aj ran a hand down his face. “Nah, you lot are moving mad today. What kind of edits?”

The chat exploded again. He already knew what they meant. The Y/n edits. The ones he accidentally watched that one time after falling down a YouTube rabbit hole. The ones with slow motion and overly emotional music and suspiciously HD clips of the two of you, laughing, talking, even one where you threw popcorn at him in a Beta Squad video and someone edited it to look like it was a “lovers quarrel”

He clicked away from the game he was playing. “Fine. You want edits? Let’s react. But if I get bullied, I’m blaming you.

The chat spammed again as Aj opened TikTok and typed “Aj Shabeel and Y/n edits”

The first edited that popped up was with the song “Casual”. You in his hoodie. You shoving him during a challenge. You whispering something that made him crack up in the middle of a skit. The caption being “was it casual when he was fine with her touch?”

Aj hovered his mouse over the first video. “Alright. This is already a violation.”

He scrolled to next edit, the song of choice was “Not you too” by Drake, the intro being of you and Sharky laughing together with the lyrics “Hurting Deeply, Inside” and the rest of the edit being you and Aj.

User5: LOOK AT HIS FACE

“Why do y’all slow-mo this like it’s a romcom?” He groaned, hiding behind his hands.

He peeked through his fingers just in time to see a quick montage of you two in various moments, arguing over who cheated in Uno, you slapping his arm when he teased you.

“I’m not even mad,” Aj mumbled. “This edit is kind of elite..”

He continued to react to other edits, but one of the videos wasn’t really an edit, it was just a clip of you from your YouTube video.

It was a clip from a Q&A you did on your channel where someone asked if you had a crush on anyone.

You giggled and said, “Maybe… but he’s kind of dense.”

The chat started spamming again.

User6: SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU, BRO.

User7: SHES INTO YOU ITS INSANE

User8: AJ YOU BETTER NOT FUMBLE

“Wait, wait, pause,” Aj said, rewinding the video. He leaned toward the screen. “She said that recently. Is this real or edited?”

He pulled up your YouTube channel, clicked the Q&A video, and scrubbed through it. There it was again, you, eyes dancing with mischief, saying the exact same line.

He leaned back in his chair. “…Nah, you lot are gonna get me in trouble.”

User9: CALL HER

User10: TEXT HER RN

User11: invite her on stream

And that’s when you texted him.

Y/n: Why is my my name trending on your stream rn?

Y/n: Did you finally get exposed for watching those edits?

Aj stared at your message, blinking slowly.

Aj: They made me. I had no choice.

Y/n: Bet. Be right there.

Five minutes later, your name popped up in his Discord call. Aj looked like he was about to combust.

“Yo, yo, wait, are you actually—?”

“Hi,” You said sweetly, joining the call with your camera on. “Heard you’ve been watching fan edits of us, Aj.”

Aj looked off screen like he was searching for an escape hatch. “This is not how I imagined my Sunday.”

You laughed. “So.. did you watch a lot of them?”

He cleared his throat. “Um.. Yea, some.”

“Ouhh, okay.” You pretended to think.

He stared at you. “Have you watched them too?”

“Of course. The internet ships us harder than we do.”

There was a pause. You both heard it. Felt it.

Aj smirked. “Wait, what do you mean ‘than we do’? So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying,” you replied, eyes glinting with amusement. “You do giggle a lot when I’m around.”

“Wow. Assassination on my own stream.”

The fans were dying.

User12: someone screen record this

User13: They’re flirting

User14: Y/n said drop the act

“Alright, alright,” Aj said laughing again. “Next edit.”

You both watched the next one together, this time, it was a compilation of behind the scenes moments, you two bantering off camera, sharing snacks during shoots, you fixing his mic and him going quiet.

You didn’t say anything at first, but he noticed your smile often.

“You really keep quiet whenever I touch your mic.” You teased.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. You get all blushy.”

“You’re projecting.”

“Oh, I’ve got evidence. These editors are doing Lord’s work.”

Aj looked directly into the camera. “If this stream disappears from the internet tomorrow, no it didn’t.”

User15: You’re caught. JUST ADMIT IT

User16: AJ. Y/N. DATE. NOW.

User17: the chemistry is illegal 😪

“Okay, real talk,” you said suddenly. “Does it weird you out? The ship stuff?”

He blinked. “Not really. I mean.. it’s weird when people say we’re already married, but—”

You laughed. “The edit with our fake wedding photos is kind of fire, though.”

“I know right?” He said, then paused. “Why’d you ask, though?”

You shrugged. “Just making sure you’re not uncomfortable. I get shipped with people sometimes and it’s.. weird if we’re not actually close.”

Aj tilted his head slightly. “But we are close.”

Your smile widened. “Exactly.”

Another pause. Slightly more loaded this time. Aj rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, but like. If it wasn’t just edits..”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be.. you know. Weird. If people were right?”

Your heart did a weird little flip. But you didn’t let your voice waver. “Are you saying you want them to be right?”

He grinned. “I’m saying.. maybe I should thank the fans for giving me the push.”

Silence. The chat wasn’t silent, though.

User18: is this a confession? 😭😭

User19: STOP FLIRTING AND KISS ALREADY..

User20: I’m sobbing screaming throwing up 😭

You leaned forward. “Aj?”

“Yeah?”

“Next stream. We co-host. Watching our own edits. Deal?”

He laughed, eyes shining. “Only if we title it: ‘We watched our ship edits… and now we’re in love?’”

“I mean.. I’m down”

And just like that, the stream ended with Aj’s camera still rolling, the two of you smiling at each other like you’d just figured something out and thousands of fans losing their minds in the chat.

#belli5 #beta squad #aj shabeel #king kenny #niko omilana #sharky #chunkz #x reader #my man my man my man #beta squad x reader #aj shabeel x reader

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demonicbaby666 · 2 years ago

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Can i pls request, Reader and JJ are arguing, Reader confesses her feelings in the heat of the moment, and JJ kisses her. (Jennifer Jareau x reader)

Flirt

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff and bit of angst

Words: 4k+

Warnings: swearing and that’s about it

Summary: You and Emily flirt. It’s never amounted to anything and you’re more than happy about that because it’s all fun and games. Though everyone on the team seems to enjoy the laughs that come from all the interactions the two of you share, one person has never seemed that amused. JJ.

A/n: I’m not sure if this is the vibe you wanted but I hope you enjoy nevertheless! <3

It’s standard, expected even. Friends flirt, and it’s an unspoken agreement, but very much known, it’s all fun and games. The fact that Morgan and Garcia had subjected the whole department to a workplace seminar on appropriate work etiquette - chocolate thunder is not nearly heard as much these days - made you feel a hell of a lot better about the one-liners you and Emily throw at each other on a daily/hourly basis.

The work-wives dynamic you have going isn’t just fun. In truth, it makes workdays easier. The heavy loads brought on by cases take their toll on everyone, and, it’s fair to say, a laugh never hurts. No one on the team minds, well, almost everyone. Hotch, Morgan, Rossi and even Spencer all laugh along, encouraging nicknames, adopting them at times, but not JJ.

She’s never outwardly said anything. Then again, she never needs to. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she never laughs, smiles, or gets involved in the flirtatious banter you and Emily have. At first, it was easy to push aside and ignore, but after around four months of cheeky remarks from Emily and yourself and six months of working with the team, it’s hard not to pick up on the less-than-subtle eye rolls and disdain.

When the two of you are alone, it’s okay. It’s nice. You’ll joke, and now and then, she’ll throw around a particular comment that’ll make you blush, and it’s something you do in return. It remains a rarity, though. And you’re glad for it. Not because you don’t like JJ in that way. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. When JJ compliments you, you feel it all over your body, and you’re sure she sees it. It’s not nothing, and that’s dangerous in a place where workplace relationships are more of a no-no than a yes-yes.

In the office, no matter how hard you try to avoid her, you always bump into her, sometimes quite literally. The coffee you spilt on her white shirt you can still smell. It’s a fond memory, which is unexpected, but that’s only because the moment JJ looked at you, her lips curled up at the sides, and you’d both burst into fits of laughter before she asked to borrow a top from your go bag, a top you’d yet to get back, you never ask though.

JJ mainly keeps to her office, buried in mountains of paperwork. The few times she ventures out to talk to Hotch or visit Garcia, and you happen to run into her, it usually results in you stammering and sounding like a complete idiot, your words running away from you. It’s astonishing how easy it comes to you with Emily and with JJ, nothing. How it is you have blossoming feelings for JJ and can barely function and would sooner hit Emily over the head with a frying pan than kiss her - though you know she certainly wouldn’t disappoint - and can charm her to your wit's end, you don’t know. You know for sure that it’s inconceivably and utterly torturous.

“Hey, short stack,” Emily calls out when you're in her eye line. She’s carrying what is probably, her third coffee of the morning, if not her fourth or fifth, judging by the pep in her step at 9 am. She drifts towards your desk, wafting memories of laughter through rising steam.

“Where’s mine?” You nod to the mug in her hand and try to avoid yawning.

It’s a joke, and maybe it’s the early morning, or the caffeine has fried her brain, but Emily doesn't register that. She looks down at her coffee, back at you, repeats the process another two times, and then unceremoniously shoves the piping hot brown beverage at you. It spills over the rim, she hisses, and you chuckle. Compassion doesn’t come easy when you’re uncaffeinated and sleep deprived.

“Nuh-uh. That has enough sweetener in it to kill a small child.”

“Good thing you only act like a child then,” she playfully jabs, still holding out the coffee. It’s a generous offer, spur of the moment offer, but generous nonetheless.

Alas, you decline. Dropping your bags and shaking your head from side to side, you let out an amused sigh, “I’ll make my own love.”

The coffee machine isn’t far, and it’s non-negligible that you’re in dire need of caffeine, so you start walking over, assuming Emily is following close behind as usual. “Do we have a case?” you don’t bother turning, knowing she’ll be craning over your shoulder any second.

“Yup.” It’s not Emily, though, “I’ll be coming with you guys on this one.”

Turning slowly, you smile at JJ. With her sudden presence still registering, you don’t even want to think about how forced your smile may appear, even if it is genuine, “It’ll be good to have you around.”

She steps closer to grab a stirrer, and you ignore the tension working its way down your spine.

“It'll be nice to be around.” she smiles, and your knees go weak. There's something about her smile. Big, small, soft, forced, it’s never mattered. Every time your legs become jelly, and your heart beats faster.

It's a mystery how she has this much effect on you after six months. It's like the whole world goes hazy. All that matters is JJ, then before you know it, words aren't wording, and you're not, well, you-ing.

You’re saved by Hotch catching your eye as he darts from his office to the briefing room. He waves a file, and the team makes their way over. You try not to stare at JJ walking in front of you. Her hair’s swaying, and if you don't avert your gaze, she's sure to turn around and catch you. There's a little voice inside you. It's telling you not to look away because if she does turn around, you'll see those eyes again, and your tummy will do that weird flippy thing that you'd only ever admit to yourself you've grown to love.

Pull yourself together! You scream to the insipid voice in your head.

You manage to look away. Appreciate the clarity of not being lovesick for two seconds before Emily swoops in, loops her arm through yours and forcibly skips you both into the room. It gets a chuckle from the team, and you glance at JJ to see she’s already got her head down, looking through the case file. She shuffles in her chair, you can only assume sensing your leering eyes, and without raising her head, she looks at you through her lashes.

There's nothing remarkable about how she looks at you; it’s rather ordinary, which motivates you to sigh and slump down on the nearest seat available. Everyone grabs a case file, and you spend that time contemplating who’s feeling more deflated, you or the indented cushion beneath you that is teetering on the brink of death.

It takes a particular type of subtly and poise to mask your rising self-pity, the likes of which you can only hope you possess. Around the table, everyone is listening to JJ, and you ought to do the same. It’s choosing the lesser of two evils, you either focus on what JJ is saying and risk looking like you’ve just been gut punched, or stare blankly into the space between JJ and the projector and come off as a well-rounded put together human.

The latter worms its way on top, the main victory point being that it’ll result in fewer questions asked. Through the garbling, a few words make sense, it’s enough to piece together, and you’re sure time on the jet will equip you with all you need to know.

“Wheels up in twenty.” That, you register.

You’re standing, then you’re walking, then you’re in an SUV, and someone’s talking next to you or, rather, at you. It’s hard to mind, though. Emily makes good background noise, and she seems to drown out the looming thoughts, leaving you to the blur of people and buildings passing by.

Footsteps soon reach your ears. Rossi’s perfectly polished shoes smack against concrete, then metal, as he ascends the stairs to the jet. You know you should get out; your legs, however, ignore this. Emily pulls the keys out and opens her door. Any second, she’ll pick up on your hesitance, and it’s game over. For the duration of the next two days, knowing her, she’ll be on the lookout for any suspicious activity regarding your behaviour if you don’t start moving.

So you move.

Following Emily, the hairs on your neck tingle, and a shiver runs down your spine, despite the warm spring breeze. The signs point to someone looking at you. Turning, you see JJ and Reid walking behind you, neither looking anywhere in your vicinity. JJ seems suspiciously interested in the jet's exterior. Nothing to call home about, though. In her defence, whenever anyone speaks to Reid, they find it hard not to let their mind wander, no matter how hard they are listening.

Nothing outside of the usual occurs when you get on the jet. You sit across from Emily as she slumps down on the first seat available by the front of the plane. It's not that you don't contemplate sitting anywhere else. Who are you kidding? It's not like you don't consider sitting next to JJ, but with all the awkwardness - self-perceived or very much real - you can't stomach the thought of infringing on her and precipitating another chance for you to make an idiot of yourself.

Chancing a look back at JJ, there's the faintest slither of disappointment that comes with watching her haphazardly throw her bag on the chair next to her. It’s unlike JJ to be so indirectly direct in deterring physical closeness.

It’s twenty minutes into the flight, and you and Emily are at it again. In both of your defences’, it wasn’t unsolicited. On the stand, you’d confidently plead you were rabbit holed into discussing how many times you’d had to pretend to act like a couple to deter leering men away, and on top of that, describe, in detail, how you’d mastered the fine art of always getting away with it. Apparently, small talk isn't a thing anymore.

It's been ten minutes of this, and you need to relieve yourself before the next onslaught of laughter results in a change of trousers. You nudge Emily, let her know you'll be right back and turn to head to the back of the jet.

It seems the new norm; whenever an opportunity to glance at JJ’s appears, you take it. Maybe it’s that you’re only just picking up on the habit, something to think about for the duration of the flight, perhaps.

JJ has scarcely moved, one knee up, head turned, eyes out the window. The bag remains unscathed, sitting idly and just as lonesome as the blonde. It's out of respect, for the booming thoughts going through JJ’s head and the physical presence of an ‘I don’t want company’ sign, you stay on your path. However, when you return, her bag is gone, her knee is down, and her attention draws to the direction of the toilet door closing.

The empty seat is beckoning you, calling to you, and though you have enough willpower to return to your own and pretend you haven’t seen anything, laugh about stupid late drunken nights, you choose to save the willpower for a rainy day and sit next to JJ instead.

“Hey,” it’s light, friendly and casual. Smashed it.

Blonde hair, partially bathed in unfiltered sunlight, glides over toned shoulders, and your stomach lurches. “Hey there,” she says. There’s a smile present that’s timid and, for some reason, making you feel a little uneasy because usually, JJ’s smile reaches her eyes, and this one doesn't. The blue orbs are illuminated only by the balmy glow slithering in through the window, and though they’re still as breathtaking as ever, there’s a sadness in acknowledging what’s not there that you can’t seem to shake. “You okay?”

A few seconds, a full minute? You don’t know how long you’ve been staring.

“Uhhh… ya, sorry,” you stammer over your words. There’s a curious look in her eyes, and her eyebrows knit together, “Tired, that’s all. I must have zoned out a little.”

The fingers lying over her knee twitch, and she inches forwards. There’s a split-second thought that maybe she’ll let them run their wanted course, seeking to provide some comfort by brushing over your arm or leg. They remain in her lap.

She’s touring your face, and it's hard to stay impassive when you’re starting to feel more self-conscious than a preschooler entering the lunch hall for the first time. There may as well be turbulence because your body is acting accordingly. You fidget. The paws of your fingers rub over the lines of your palms.

“Are you sleeping?” She’s settled on staring into the dark expanse of your under-eye circles that are half-hidden under shitty concealer.

The worry in her eyes that continuously search your face for an answer to her question is starting to drive you mad. You shrug and turn, relieved that the sinking in your stomach is less vomit-inducing, “Not really, but I manage,” you mutter, eyes wandering over the coffee pot and idle mug.

Whether she believes you is up for debate. A cold chill runs down your arms, and you can tell she’s still staring. A weight suddenly falls on your thigh. With enough speed to snap your neck, you turn.

It’s on fire. You’re sure that your thigh is about to burst into flames, along with your scorching cheeks. No. Your whole body is on fire because JJ’s smiling at you again, and her eyes have stopped searching for evidence of lack of sleep, and they are brighter, gentler and more compassionate.

“This is prime napping time,” she says suggestively.

“Tempting.” you chuckle, or more accurately choke out, shaking your head and paying attention to her hand now moving in circles. Yes. You’re sure. You are on fire. Scorching burning molten lava is slowly replacing the blood coursing through your veins, and you’re going to die on this plane.

Your eyes aren’t the only pair on JJ’s hand placement. As you lift your gaze, JJ’s flickers up too a moment later. Her smile hasn’t faltered. In fact, it may have even grown wider. But you aren’t sure because, at this point, you’re convinced this is all a hallucination.

Finally, she removes her hand to tap her shoulder, “I’m pretty comfy, you know.”

It’s baiting a child with candy, and it’s working. “Well…” you lower your head to the side, and you rest it on JJ’s shoulder, smiling at how easily and perfectly you fit together, “I’ll test that theory out and get back to you.” The end of the sentence is partially yawned out, sleep already weighing heavy on your eyelids.

Sleep hasn't come easy to you over the last week, and it’s a curious thing to ponder upon that JJ is the answer, yet, also part of the problem. Plaguing your mind with her incomparable beauty and so forth. For now, you were too delirious from waking up from the best nap you’d had in… forever…

It isn't hard to admit that JJ was right, she’s inexplicably comfy, more comfortable than your bed, but the brain fog that accompanies your light sensitivity, forcing your eyes closed again, has rendered you incapable of communicating that intelligently.

“I wish I could sleep on you every night.” you sleepily slur, nodding right back off to sleep.

It’s two seconds for you and twenty-three minutes for everyone else. You wake up, jolting your body upright. The words you’d said are still fresh on your lips.

“I-” turning to JJ, dread starts to set in. She’s got the most shit-eating grin on her face that she’s trying to cover with the palm of her hand, and if you weren’t morbidly embarrassed, you might have considered punching her.

She’s snickering now, her hands thrown up in mock surrender. “Theory proven.”

If looks could kill, she’d be stone-cold by now. The worst part is none of this is necessarily her fault, and you know it. She only tugged at a loose string you easily guided her to. Yes, it was pointed out to her in a state of delirium, but that is on your head.

“Bedhead,” JJ coughs, the sun hitting the side of her face angelically.

Pursing your lips and keeping your accusatory gaze fixated on her, you comb your finger through your hair. “Now you're just trying to get a rise out of me,” you grumble.

“Pfff,” she rolls her eyes, smirks, then looks at the papers scattered across the table, “You’re cute when you’re sleeping. Drool and all.”

She’s so fucking smug that part of you dies as a wicked, treacherous girly smile forces the sides of your lips to twitch. “I'm leaving now.”

You drop down across from Emily. She looks at you with an eyebrow raised, then at Reid and Morgan, thinking they might have some insight.

“I need a new mattress,” you huff before looking out the window for the rest of the fight, leaving Emily more confused than when you’d first sat down.

~~~

“Emily, you already know who you’re with,” Hotch smirks, “You both head to the crime scene.”

“God forbid they’re separated,” Rossi lightheartedly quips.

“Oh god,” Morgan sighs, a second too late to warn you.

Emily’s behind you. Her fingers come to your shoulder and dig in almost painfully, “My precious,” she says with her best Gollum impression, then hisses because you’ve delivered a swift elbow to her rips.

She relaxes her grip on you, and while everyone laughs at the idiocy displayed, you mockingly pout at her, “Want me to kiss it better?”

She smirks, “Save it for later,” she slaps your arm and starts walking towards the car, “Come on, let’s get going.”

From the passenger seat window, you see the team, and it’s the same old. Everyone’s dispersing, still smiling and relishing in the small break they got from the morbidity of the job, even if it was only for a minute, except, of course, one person. She’s looking off distantly again, fingers thrumming against her thigh, bottom lip between her teeth, and mindlessly nodding at something Hotch says.

Emily hits the gas, JJ becomes a moving blur, and then she’s gone.

About an hour later, you and Emily are walking into the precinct. Everyone’s heads turn as you both walk in, bickering.

“What's happened now?” Reid asks.

You shove your finger in Emily's direction, “She wouldn't let me drive.”

“Because you're a maniac behind the wheel,” Emily tries to reason.

“And you’re a spoilsport,” you grumble, sitting on a free seat between JJ and Morgan.

“I swear, sometimes you're like an old married couple, the two of you,” Garcia remarks over the phone and nods scatter around the room.

“Excuse me,” JJ stands up and leaves abruptly.

There’s a split-second choice to make, compliantly sit back, as you’ve been doing for weeks, or get up and find out what’s going on with JJ.

It takes looking at the team's faces to realise that if you don’t go, someone else will. Maybe it’s selfish. You know you’re probably not the person she wants to see, and deep down, you know she’s angry, and she’ll lash out. But maybe she’ll reveal the truth despite her rage, and that’s motivation enough to get up and chase after her.

“JJ! Wait up!” You call after her, picking up a light jog, your laden footsteps echoing in the small corridor.

She turns a corner and slips out a side door, likely under the assumption you don’t see her. When you open the door, a small side alley comes into view, and then you notice JJ with her back resting against a wall. She looks utterly defeated, but there’s a resting fire there that you see when she looks up at you.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You walk towards her.

Wearing that distant look again, she says, “It’s the case,” it’s so painfully obvious it’s a lie you can’t stop your brow from rising. She notices and rolls her eyes, “What?”

“Oh, come on, JJ. We both know it’s not the case,” you lean against the wall, turning to the side to look at her. She peers out into the alleyway, “You’ve been acting off all week.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she huffs, pushing herself off the wall. She’s probably right, but there’s no point in either of you going back inside when there’s a big chance your minds will dwell on this interaction.

You reach out and wrap your hand around her wrist, “JJ, talk to me.”

“Will you just drop it!” She yells, yanking her arm away.

“What's your problem?!” you’re sure people can hear you from inside, but the heat is rising within you, and JJ’s bringing it out more and more with her pointed glare.

“What the hell is your problem?!” She sneers.

“Really, JJ?”

“Yes.” she crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows expectantly, enough to push you over the tipping point.

“You know what,” you start, stepping forward, “You are! You’re my problem, JJ.”

“Oh.” She drops her arms down, and there’s a flash of hurt flickering over her features that’s not quite settling but not entirely leaving either.

You let out a heavy breath, “That’s not-”

“Forget it.” she steps away, and it’s infuriating because you’re being stripped of the opportunity to explain, and even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, she’s not giving a chance to think.

And now It’s late to stop yourself, the words are coming out without your consent, and there’s nothing left for you to do, “I like you!” you blurt out.

JJ turns on her heels. Her mouth is hanging open, “What?”

“I like you,” you say, this time a little quieter.

It’s a shock that she’s surprised, given that you have been under the impression you’ve been indisputably evident with your affections towards her.

“Honestly, I thought it was obvious.” You channel your inner voice, it’s small and meek, and you’re not pleased with the fragility of your voice, so you lower your gaze to your feet. A small rock takes your interest whilst you wait for the inevitable sound of JJ’s footsteps fading away.

Instead, they grow louder until the small rock is joined by a pair of black boots and a finger presses to your chin, forcing your head up. Then she kisses you.

It’s light, her lips brushing languishingly against yours, willing you to match their slow rhythm. It takes a few seconds, and you’re back in your body. You part your lips, letting the warmth of JJ engulf you. The kiss is slow and passionate. JJ moves her hands to your waist, pulling you closer against her and a sudden hunger grows low in your stomach, promoting you to nibble at her lower lip.

Your hands are on her shoulders, and she’s moving forward where there’s nowhere to go. You’re only aware you’re moving when you feel the cold surface of brick hitting your back.

A groan tumbles from your mouth, and JJ takes the opportunity to plunge her tongue in. It’s all teeth and tongues from there. You’re both panting and taking in gulps of air where you can, yet still refusing to unfurl yourselves from one another.

Eventually, the need for oxygen mounts to an all-time high, and you pull back, resting your head against the wall as JJ peppers kisses along your jawline.

“How did you not see?” you say between soft moans.

“I’m not a profiler,” JJ mumbles into your neck. She lifts her head, and you see her eyes are shimmering with humour.

“You’re also not blind.” you smugly point out.

“Neither are you.” She smirks.

A few seconds are spent simply smiling sweetly and dotingly at one another, eyes darting to and from eyes to lips. Then you’re kissing again, and the alleyway and the world seem to fade away, leaving only you and JJ.

Tags: @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @auggiewrites @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess | click here to be added to my taglist

#jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #Jennifer Jareau #jennifer jj jareau #Jennifer Jareau fluff #Jennifer Jareau angst #criminal minds

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