#but at the moment this is the first part of the first chapter

[biteofcherry]

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; manipulation; blackmail; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; sexual tension; masturbation; sex; hint of choking kink;

word count: 12.5k

Author's Note: So this kinda got out of control. At first it took me so long to even start this chapter and then I couldn't stop writing 🤭 For me there are six hot pressure points in this part. I'm curious which bits you were screeching at, if they're the same as mine. Including one specific thing that is so outrageous! But also so fucking hot... And for that one you have to blame thank @buckets-and-trees, because she encouraged me to write it.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 7. Burning needles

~ * ~

The life after signing your soul to the devil shouldn’t be anything but thorns and turmoil, but your body felt so deeply, deliciously relaxed and warm. Cozy even, as morning light filled the spacious bedroom and brushed warm streaks on your naked back.

Hotter pressure was at your front, where your body rested sprawled halfway atop Steve. 

It seemed neither of you moved much through your sleep. You chose to believe you were both simply too fucked out, than consider you may like being cuddled to him like this. 

There was no sane way someone would enjoy the intimate, soft proximity of their captor; even if his body was big and warm, sinfully shaped and adorned with tattoos which called for admiration.

Steve had one arm thrown across his face, the other loosely draped over your thigh. Your leg was hiked across his hips. If you moved it, your calf would rub against the cock that was nestled against the curve of it. 

Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s chest, one of your hands splayed on his inked pectoral. Diamond on your finger shone brightly, catching sun in its perfect cut. 

With your sleepy eyes barely half-open, you stared at the sparkle that was so beautiful you had to remind yourself to hate it for what it symbolized. 

Another glint caught your attention. 

Your gaze shifted above the outline of Steve’s impressive body, landing on the blade laying at the edge of the bedside table. The sight of it evoked an immediate shot of heat as you remembered what Steve did with it. How the threat of it spiked your arousal so high you lost control of your body’s reactions. 

You didn’t want to unpack that mess; not at the moment, possibly never. 

A blade the bastard had custom made for you, to deliver torment that was a dark sort of pleasure, but which was, after all, a weapon. One you could use to defend yourself. Or to threaten in return. 

You peeked at Steve’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, soft curve of lips that were as lethal as the rest of him. The arm over his eyes cast a shadow onto his cheeks. He appeared to be soundly asleep. His chest rising and falling in regular intakes suggested the same. 

Slowly, you inched your hand further up his body, toward his shoulder. If anything, you could play it as your body’s unconscious movement in your sleep. Or curious exploration of dark, twisted ink. But Steve didn’t even stir. 

You had to move your whole body to reach across the space between you and the bedside table. That didn’t rouse him either. Only the hand on your thigh squeezed your flesh as a small huff left his lips. 

Though another part of him reacted to your squirming.

You gulped, feeling the twitch of his cock against your leg. For a long moment your attention focused on it and nothing else. 

You had to snap yourself out of it, reminding yourself there was another task at hand; more important than reminiscing on how that velvety hardness felt in your fist. How unbelievably hot it was to stroke him into readiness as he watched your splayed, defenseless body, which he was about to possess thoroughly. 

But there was something else that you needed to curl your fingers around. Holding your breath, you grazed the ornamental handle with your fingertips. The knife swayed, nearly slipping further away. Finally, you got a hold of it, without losing balance and waking Steve up.

The knife was surprisingly light in your grip. Used only to kitchen knives, you didn’t know exactly what to expect from a switchblade. The fact it was wielded by Steve made you imagine heaviness and cold, a dreadful repulsion. Instead, it was perfectly balanced and quite elegant.

You tilted it back and forth, watching the reflection of your own eyes in the polished blade. Then you moved it lower, sliding the silvery edge mere inches from Steve’s chest. 

Slowly, you aimed it toward his throat. 

You didn’t press it against his skin, but hovered so close to where his pulse point beat steadily. 

He was a monster. He broke into your life with force and put you up on strings, which he planned to pull for the rest of your life. 

“You have to put a lot of force into it, if you want to do a single, clean cut.”

Your eyes snapped to Steve’s face instantly. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his voice was clear. Not a hint of drowsiness, which meant he was probably awake for at least a few minutes. 

Surely, when you were attempting stealthy moves to grab the knife. 

Your hand trembled as fear shot through you. A ruthless mafia boss caught you holding a knife to his throat. There was no way anyone daring to do that would be left alive. 

But Steve didn’t grip your wrist to prevent the strike. He didn’t throw you off, nor attacked you to choke the life out of you. 

He was fucking sprawled lazy and content, with his hand still on your thigh and his dick growing harder against your leg. Not the least intimidated, or worried.

Perhaps, it was his confidence in being able to prevent a real threat, if you went to make that cut. Or maybe he knew that you didn’t really have it in you to go for blood.

Steve stirred, moving the arm that was thrown across his face. He stretched it out, then slid it down your back, boldly palming your bare ass. Your body’s reaction to his touch made your hand jerk, the blade almost nicking his unblemished skin. 

He titled his head to look at you. Icy blue eyes held a light, almost warm reflection. Due to the sunlight, undoubtedly.  

“Craving to do it? To kill me?” Amusement laced his tone, but there was also some twisted hunger for a bloodthirsty wrath on your part. Like he waited for you to snap.

You shifted your gaze from his eyes to stare at the switchblade in your hand. You reached for it in some desperate hope to feel safer with it, but you brought it to his throat more out of curiosity than actual desire to cut it. 

A part of you wanted to find out how it felt to wield it, to find out if the rush of power at having someone at the sharp point of it was so addictive that conscience laid quiet. 

Honestly? You felt nothing of the kind. Surprise at how light and smooth the handle was in your hand, yes. How it shone, nearly pretty like a jewelry accessory. But you didn’t feel any safer than you had simply laying in Steve’s arms. 

“One, I’m not you.” You replied, partially resigned that you didn’t show a streak of courage to really threaten him. You couldn’t imagine yourself threatening anyone, much less taking someone’s life. 

Steve seemed to have zero remorse in that matter. 

It should repulse you. It did. At first, at least. 

“Secondly, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shifting your gaze from the silvery blade back to Steve’s eyes. 

“I’m your wife and the word of it surely got out to everyone, all your enemies included. If you die, I become an easy target. They will assume I know your secrets and find means to torture them out of me. You staying alive is my only security.”

It was scary to admit, but remaining at Steve’s side and under his care not only saved you from his wrath, but also from any other monster out there. 

“Besides-” you couldn’t help the eye roll as you moved your hand away from Steve’s throat-  “I’m sure if I maimed you, Bucky would introduce me to unimaginable suffering. And I don’t feel like being impaled on a hook in a meat freezer while he slowly cuts away my skin inch by inch.”

Steve snorted at that. A short huff of laughter that shook his chest and your fist holding the blade along with it. 

“I don’t think he’s ever done that, but I’ll let him know you have ideas to improve his craftsmanship.” His eyes sparked genuine amusement. 

Worse, it made the corners of your mouth itch to tilt up in a grin.

That mirth on Steve’s face morphed into something darker. Hungrier. The hand on your thigh started moving, sliding up your hip and further along your ribcage. There was no way to hide the full body shiver that rocked your form, or the goosebumps rising in wake of his touch. 

His fingers skimmed down your arm and wrapped around your wrist. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over. 

His body followed, pinning you down across the foot of the mattress. He clenched his fingers on the wrist of your hand that was still holding the knife. He pressed his thumb into a point below your own and your fingers spasmed open in a short zap of pain. The knife fell out of your grip. 

Steve picked it in a flash. 

Air stilled in your chest, becoming a hot pressure that urged your heart into a staccato. You stared up at Steve, defenseless against the strong body and the blade that was now in his hand. Again. 

“So soft,” Steve hummed, slowly gliding the back of his hand - the same one that was holding the knife - across your chest.

His knuckles pressed slightly into your breast. With his knee, he nudged your legs wider apart; settling his hips between your thighs. Pulsing warmth of his hardening cock pressed into your lower belly.

“You rather have me wielding the knife, Princess?” He asked, angling his hand so the wide side of the blade grazed your skin. “Do you want me to use it again?”

A shot of electric current flipped a switch in your brain, connecting straight down with your clit. 

When you held the knife yourself, there was no such visceral reaction to its lethal potential. But as soon as the blade was in Steve’s hand, your blood was rushing. To your horror, you realized it wasn’t just fear that pulsed in your veins.

Your breath stuttered as Steve moved the blade down your side, making you feel the slide of it, but not even scratching your skin. As he reached your thigh, Steve changed the hold on the knife. Instead of the cool, sharp blade whispering against your heated skin, you felt the blunt, harder touch of the ornamental handle. 

Its rounded tip touched your skin as Steve moved it along the juncture of your thigh. He dipped it lower. When he angled his own body to the side, you realized where his hand was headed. 

Straight to your core. Not with the threat of the blade hurting you, but the shimmery handle the width of two digits which would press and slide between…

Oh God! Your brain screamed at you, all the while your pussy spasmed, priming itself for the wicked intrusion.

No! Remnants of your resolve tried to fight the reaction of your body, raging against the temptation to let him do it. But there was already so much that Steve took from you, you didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction of having you so willing and needy. 

You wouldn’t let him reduce you to basic instincts, with no memory of morale.

Though your thighs were spread wide and your clit tingled, you pushed past that need. You shoved your hands between your bodies to form a barrier.

“No, I don’t.” You scrunched up your nose, bracing your half-closed fists against Steve’s chest, but not really pushing him away.

There was a pause; a shortened breath between one raindrop and another, as you waited for the pushback. 

“Okay then,” Steve’s eyebrows arched in a semi-unbelieving grimace, but he pulled away. 

Simply pulled away. 

Your hands fell down onto your chest, having lost the warm, solid wall of muscles to press against. Steve sat back, resting against the headboard, with lazy bliss glowing on his stupidly beautiful face. 

One of his legs was stretched forward, foot almost touching your hip, while he bent his other leg and rested one of his arms on the knee. Unabashed, Steve made no move to cover his half-hard, heavy cock. Only played with the knife in his fingers.

“Okay then?” You frowned, completely unprepared for the turn of events. 

“Just like that?” You lifted your head enough to stare at Steve, without having his lower body in your direct line of vision. 

“You said no.” Steve shrugged, tilting his face toward the sun filtering through the pearly white curtains. 

“And you respect a no, riiight.” Where the snort came from, you had no idea. Instead of being relieved and thankful that the bastard let go, like you had asked, you were digging into the topic with near childish petulance. 

Because this was some bullshit! To have him comply with your refusal, while he breached every boundary you tried to set before. A flash of suspicion rose that maybe he wasn’t pushing, because he already got what he wanted and there were other, very easy ways, to get his dick wet. Other women to use the knife on, or whatever other depraved tools.

“In my life I make people do many things they don’t want to, but I have no need to take your body by force.” Steve didn’t sound particularly guilty of the way he was reaching his goals. 

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curved - “Especially not when you give it so willingly.” 

“Bullshit!” You jolted upwards. 

Driven by the sudden annoyance, you forgot that you were naked and the way you braced your hands behind yourself only made your chest push forward. 

“What about last night?” You glared at Steve. “There was nothing willing-”

“Princess,” Steve looked at you, amused, “last night you didn’t utter a single No.” 

Your mouth opened to counter this outright lie, but Steve beat you to it. With a very pleased smirk to his equally irritating calm tone:

“You claimed that you won’t be wet. But you were. You argued that you won’t want me. You did. But not a single time have those sinful lips of yours formed the word No or Don’t regarding anything I did to your body.” 

Lips still parted, you hoped for your brain to come up with any argument to topple Steve’s theory. Though last night wasn’t a haze, but rather a whirlwind of sensations and brain-melting pleasure, your mind had some trouble remembering exact words. The more you thought about it, however, the more Steve’s version appeared true. 

Worse, even. 

Because you had said Stop at one point. A pleading mess on the verge of cumming, you asked Steve to stop and put the knife away, too afraid it would really hurt you.

And he complied. 

Like he stripped you of any defenses against his machinations, binding you to this dark life you never wanted to be a part of, he knocked away your argument about him brutally taking from you what you didn’t want to give. 

Your fingers curled, gripping the sheets as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. At that smug smile and flickers of delight in his ice cold irises. 

“Aaargh!” You let out an outraged shrill. 

“I fucking hate you!” You scrambled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. “I should’ve stabbed that knife into your carotid!” 

Steve’s low chuckle only added to your fury, making you slam the bathroom door so hard the mirrors on the wall wobbled. 

There was this urge to smash something, break it into pieces and stomp on it over and over again. Preferably Steve’s dead, limp body. But there was no way that you would be able to deliver anything beside a meager punch, which he’d probably block anyway. 

If he caught your arm as you tried to hit him, you’d feel even more anger. And he would probably be even more amused, keeping you caged in his arms while you trashed helplessly. 

That’s what you were against him - helpless. 

Not only regarding his power, with which he could wipe you and your family out of this world and not a single cop would investigate the disappearance. Steve also made you defenseless against your own body’s reactions. 

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when his actions rewired your brain, but never before him have you ignited for sexual acts so kinky. 

Maybe it was some self-preservation instinct? Maybe your brain sent a signal to your cunt to get wet and horny for Steve’s dark brand of sex, because otherwise he’d get mad and kill you?

But he just fucking proved that he wasn’t pissed off with your refusal. 

You decided to not think too much about it. Preferably, not to think about Steve and sex at all, not in one line of thought. 

Since he, oh so magnanimously, stated that he won’t take you by force, you were adamant on saying no for the rest of your life. 

Straightening, you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely stopped another curse from spilling from your lips. There was no other way to describe your look than thoroughly fucked. 

And kinda itching for more, but thankfully your brain was back behind the wheel and there was no way it would let you dwell on the wetness between your legs and the cause of it. 

You turned around, aiming for the impressive, luxurious shower stall. As you reached your hand to turn on the water, your gaze landed on the sparkling diamond on your finger. It truly was beautiful, but you wanted to flush it down the drain. It would be a pity, but you’d have a solid argument to why you weren’t wearing it. 

Then again, perhaps Steve wouldn’t even care about it, since he had the paperwork and your last name changed to prove the marriage. 

You took the ring and the wedding band off of your finger and left them on the counter.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, you tried to focus on things other than your evil husband. First, you did your best to stay in the moment and focus on each body part you thoroughly scrubbed - sensations and the scent of shower gel, not the memories of how Steve touched you, fucked you, filled you. Then you made a list of important tasks awaiting you at work: new projects, some meetings, lots of boring, but absorbing paperwork. 

You were so successful in occupying your mind, you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening. 

When you turned off the water a moment later and opened the glass door of the stall, the sound of flushing the toilet froze you in place. Your head snapped up. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched, trying to hide behind the shower casing, but since it was clear glass it gave you no cover. 

Steve had already moved from the toilet to one of the two sinks at the long bathroom counter. With his back to you, he looked up into the mirror to meet your gaze in the reflection while he washed his hands. 

He had to wait a moment for your eyes to catch up with his, since your gaze was elsewhere.

Because he was still fucking naked!

“Using the bathroom, obviously.” He said, tone light and highly amused. 

You dragged your eyes up from his firm, perky ass and up the wide planes of his back. You noticed some scars among the splashes of tattoos. 

“But I’m in it!” You protested, once you finally shook yourself from the daze. 

Steve didn’t seem apologetic for his intrusion. But he was never apologetic about anything. He straightened, rolled back his shoulders - which resulted in your eyes greedily following the play of his muscles. Your thighs clenched. 

He turned around and started walking towards you. Your skin was already heated up from the hot water and steam, yet it seemed a much hotter wave was still able to raise your inner temperature as he came closer. Shamelessly naked. 

Your fingers clenched on the cutting edge of the glass as you tried your hardest to not drop your eyes lower and watch how his cock moved with every step Steve took. 

“You already saw me naked.” He shrugged as he stepped right beside you. 

You twisted, your back hitting the tiled wall as he leaned forward. Steve didn’t touch you, but you still felt his power pinning you in place.

“As I saw you, wife.” 

He breathed that last word into your ear; a hot, seductive puff that threatened to weaken your knees. 

His hand slipped into your wet palm, the pressure of something small and hard needling your skin. Your ring and the wedding band. A silent reminder, if the word wife wasn’t enough to put you back in your place. 

Then he stepped away and into the shower stall, turning his back to you as he switched the water on. 

You bolted forward, grabbing a fluffy towel and running with it out of the bathroom. You cared less about dripping water on the bedroom floor than about staying there and letting him watch you. Or maybe being tempted to look at him yourself. 

You wiped yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body. Skipping over the abundant layers of your wedding dress that lay forgotten on the floor, you walked through the door opposite of the bed - into the huge walk-in closet. 

You saw it before. When Steve made you pack and bring your belongings to his house before the wedding. Two of his men carried the suitcases and boxes, a housekeeper and another unknown person were waiting to help you unpack. It was weird and uncomfortable, having two strangers fold and hang your clothes. But it was efficient, at least. 

Maybe they were also there to check, if you hadn’t smuggled in some weapon with which you’d kill Steve. 

Now everything was perfectly arranged. Steve’s clothes on one side of the closet, yours on the other side. You noticed his side wasn’t very colorful, not that you dressed in all shades of the rainbow. 

Again, it hit you how contrasting your lives were.

His dark, earthy and navy tones versus your whites and pastels and occasional pop of color. It was stark, the contrast. At the same time, it was in some way aesthetically pleasing. Intriguing, how that grim roughness fit with the soft lightness. 

You put on a pair of leggins and a simple, cotton t-shirt with a faded Little My cartoon. Sparing one glance at the messy bed, you left the bedroom. You’d rather find yourself in a different space than one with sheets crusty with your mixed spend and the damn knife placed in an open velvet box on the bedside table. 

There was no one else in the house, but you knew it was only for the appearance of the wedding night and the first day of being a married couple. Steve’s people were guarding the perimeter of his property, but no in-house staff was going to come today. 

The next day, however? It was going to be a brutal return to normalcy, which you anticipated and loathed both.

You’d get back to work, which was a blessing as it gave you the opportunity to be as far from Steve as possible. It would also be awkward and hard, because you’d be learning a completely new routine.

Like waking up with Steve in the same room (unless, hopefully, his criminal work would keep him occupied for long nights). 

Learning to function with household staff around - he had a housekeeper, a gardener, a private chef. Who, from what you read on the nicely scribbled note left on the kitchen counter, prepared a few dishes for you and left them in the refrigerator. Along with instructions on how to heat it up, so it tasted the best. 

Being driven to work, because Steve already announced you wouldn’t be taking your own car anymore. You doubted he cared much for your actual safety, but it was important to maintain the illusion of a lovely husband protecting his wife. 

Maintaining illusion would be a new skill you had to hone. 

So many people expected to see a happy, newlywed wife. Your own family, most of all. They would already be suspicious that you got back to work so soon after the wedding, but you found it a true blessing that Steve didn’t come up with a honeymoon idea.

You couldn’t think about honeymooning with Steve. You couldn’t even think about the night and having to be back in that bed where he also would be. 

With a properly reheated panini sandwich, you walked around the house; giving yourself a tour, before Steve would. No room was locked, so you assumed he kept his dirty work in another place. 

A small blessing, truly. You weren’t sure how you’d react to dead bodies and blood in the house where you lived.

It was already hard, since it was here that you heard Felix’s last words and saw him being dragged out to his end. 

One of the rooms on the ground floor was a spacious office. Quite surprising that it looked like an actual office, not a torture chamber. Despite being certain of bloody ways Steve gained some goals, you suspected that running a successful crime organization nowadays meant keeping a lot of civilized appearances and just being a beast at negotiation. 

“There’s an unused room upstairs. You can turn it into your office, if you need a home one.” Steve’s voice startled you, but fortunately you didn’t let it show. 

“That would be great, thanks.” You nodded, swiping your gaze around his office once more.

To have a room separate from his, where you could hide and bury yourself under work would be wonderful. Perhaps there would be a pull out couch on which you could sleep, instead of in your marital bed. 

You turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had a plate of his own. Not with panini, though. No, he reheated himself some of those seasoned ribs from the reception. 

And ate it with his fingers, winking at you as he sucked his fingertips clean.

You were damn proud of yourself for not reacting to his obvious provocation. You remained completely indifferent. 

Somehow, you managed to keep it up even as Steve continued to follow you all around the house. Wearing only sweatpants and a white beater. You did not look at how the cotton stretched on his torso, or how his tattoos were on display, or at the outline of his cock. 

“There are two guest bedrooms,” you pointed out as you walked downstairs after seeing the rest of the upper floor.

You didn’t think Steve was a man who often had guests over. He probably never had. Unless he was keeping those rooms ready for some kidnapping victims, to store them in human conditions until ransom was paid, or whatever. 

“Yeah. But you don’t have enough stuff to claim one as your additional closet,” Steve snorted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And no, you can’t use one as your bedroom.” 

You huffed, annoyed that he instantly figured out what you were planning on doing. Miffed that he didn’t agree with that perfectly reasonable idea, too. 

“Why not?” You demanded, stopping mid step. “It’s empty. I could sleep there and you keep the master bedroom, we stay out of each other’s hair and no one from the outside would even know.”

“Married couples sleep together.” Steve continued walking. 

You couldn’t see his face, since he was a step or two in front of you, but you were sure the bastard was fucking smiling.

“Married couples get divorced!” You countered, tilting your chin up and marching forward in a slightly petulant, stomping kind of way. 

You were about to pass him when Steve’s arm was suddenly around you. He yanked you to his front and kept you to him, despite you trying to push away. A look from those blue eyes froze you in place. A promise of violence flashed in the frosty depths; though you weren’t sure which part of you he’d destroy in retribution. 

“ ‘Til death do us part, Princess.” 

Steve’s low voice not only reminded you of the vows, but was a new promise itself, which drove a dark, searing bolt through your chest. And into your pussy.

It was scary. Downright terrifying, to have this monster lay his possessive claim on you. 

It was also exhilarating. 

Your heart paused for a moment, then sprinted into aching pounding as Steve finally released you and walked away.

You were becoming more and more aware of the hard work you’d have to do to preserve your soul, as Steve’s darkness appeared to be corrupting you inch by inch. Such charismatic power was a deadly temptation, tricking certain unfulfilled needs with promises of satiating. 

You haven’t yet figured out what exactly was missing in your life that your body so eagerly reacted to Steve’s magnetism. You thought yourself happy with the life you had. Content and proud, eager to deal with the new challenges that taking over the health center provided. 

Perhaps you weren’t actively dating anyone recently, but you weren’t desperate for intimacy. You took care of your needs.  

Besides, Steve’s kind of closeness was never your brand of preference. 

There had to be something, however, that yearned to be filled and what Steve happened to accidentally ignite. If you found it, you could look for alternative ways of fulfilling them, efficiently cutting yourself from Steve’s influence. 

Nothing came to your mind. Not in the long hours you spent poking around the mansion, rearranging your belongings, eating more leftovers. 

There were moments when you had to postpone deep thinking, because your brain alerted your body of Steve’s presence. He appeared in random moments, slipping right next to you in the most casual way; not breaking the boundaries, but pushing against them with a brazen attitude. Increasing your irritation.

Or was it frustration?

No, it surely was annoyance and it flared when you exited the bathroom later in the evening. 

You paused a few steps away from the bed (the sheets have been changed and since no one from the staff came that day, it had to be Steve who replaced them). Your gaze was drawn to the door, to the idea of finding yourself in a different room. 

Steve was already in bed, his face pinched in concentration as he typed quickly on his phone. He didn’t even glance your way, but a breath before you even shifted your weight to make a step in the direction of the door he spoke up.

“You may hide in layers of fabric,” he jabbed at your long, silk pajama pants, “but you’re going to sleep in this bed.” 

You turned your head his way, opening your mouth to reply, when Steve tossed his phone aside and looked up at you. Serious, on the very edge of impatience. 

“If you try to hide somewhere else, I will simply drag you back here. So it’s best you lie down and snuggle up, since it’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

Unfortunately, you believed him. You’d test his words, if you had the slightest hope of him just getting tired of your rebellion and leaving you be. But you learned Steve wasn’t a man who gave up on his goals. 

He simply switched from gentle methods to brute force. 

You had no doubt that he would drag you back to this bed over and over again, no matter how hard you fought, how loud you screamed, or cried. So it really was best to not waste your energy on battles you couldn’t win. 

Though it didn’t wipe away the need for huffing angrily as you curled on the far edge of the bed, wrapping the comforter around yourself like a shield. You almost lifted your hand and flipped Steve off, when you heard his snort. 

Smothering him with a pillow, or reaching back for that knife and actually jabbing it into his heart, was becoming a very tempting course of action when you woke up the next morning - with his body too close to yours. 

His arm was thrown over your middle, his hips touching your ass. And your nipples were painfully hard against the fabric of your top. You lost the protection of your comforter, but since it fell down on your side of the bed, it seemed that you were the one to have kicked it away. 

The shower you fled into didn’t help easing your nerves, because once again Steve barged into the bathroom while you were still inside (even though you were sure you locked yourself in). 

Then there were soft voices coming from downstairs as you descended after finishing your makeup and dressing for the day. A voice you didn’t recognize - possibly the chef, or the housekeeper. 

And one very familiar voice. Which shouldn't be here. 

Instant need to get Natalie right out of the house that was the beast’s lair, to protect her from getting tangled in this web of darkness and crime, died the moment you realized she was quite comfortable moving around the kitchen and talking to the chef. 

As if she was familiar with the layout and rules of the house.

Your assistant opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of chilled soda, while exchanging some humorous comments about the chef's sister. 

“What are you doing here?” You stared at her dumbfounded. 

Before Natalie swallowed the sip of soda and explained, pieces had already fallen into place. 

She was the one who told you how influential Steve was, how he had people in every place in the city and far outside of it. She rescheduled your meetings to disarm you of any arguments you might have had against meeting him that cursed day. She was the one who encouraged you to work with that cop and knew about the time and place of the meeting - which Steve interrupted right on time, saving you from harm. 

She was his spy all along. 

“You work for him.” Your tone was heavy with bitter disappointment. 

Natalie didn’t seem embarrassed about the reveal. Nor apologetic for not telling you the truth sooner. 

She was reporting to Steve all this time. Probably telling him all the fears and vulnerabilities you shared with her. 

And you were such a fool, worrying for her the previous day when you saw her flirting with Bucky. Because you wanted to warn her of him, protect her from him. While she was probably already fucking him for who knows how long. 

“Did he buy you when he came to me, or did he own you before?” So much venom poured into your voice, but the betrayal hurt too much to stop it. 

The anger you felt at her was so much different from what gnawed at you with Steve. Him pushing your buttons and stripping you of defenses made you flame up. Natalie’s indifference to her betrayal of you filled you with so much cold. 

“You forget-” her eyes were trained on you, her voice a stoic drawl- “if there’s someone he really owns, it’s you.” 

The cut was well aimed. Lethal in its delivery. 

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you. His hand a searing brand on your lower back. You wanted to jump away from his touch, but it was the only grounding you had at the moment as the rest of your safe world crumbled around you. 

“You’re here, good.” Steve addressed Natalie’s presence. 

His voice held no hint of that teasing, velvety caress that grazed your skin the previous day. He was the cold, focused king of the underworld again. 

“Nat’s going to drive you to work. And from work.” He announced, pushing you slightly forward as he moved toward the kitchen island himself. “She’s your bodyguard.”

“She’s fired,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

There was enough control taken out of your hands; enough humiliation. To think you’d be forced to work with watchful eyes studying your every move and reporting to Steve of every misstep you took, every weakness you showed, was beyond what you could handle. 

“She’s not.” Steve’s voice was so calm and confident, you wanted to grab the pan from the chef’s hand and smack him with it. 

But you didn’t. You knew it was one of the games you wouldn’t win, anyway. 

Weird, how Steve considered potential changes to his plans, including your determination to keep the center, but wouldn’t budge for things that regarded you directly. You wondered, if he relished in the torture he was putting you through. 

“She’s already proven herself to be worthy of the task of protecting my wife.” Steve threw that word - wife - so casually, as if it was the most natural thing to say. As if he was ready to keep repeating it for the rest of his life. 

His other hand glided along your arm, pulling it away from your chest where you held your arms crossed. His fingers circled your wrist and pulled your hand up. With a warning tsk, he slid the ring and the wedding band back onto your finger. 

Because once again you tried to leave it behind. 

You blinked, processing Steve’s words, as you allowed him to slide the golden brand of his ownership onto your finger without a fuss. 

You didn’t think he meant the fact Natalie told him about the meeting with Duvall and Batroc. The word protection was deliberate here and there was only one other instance when it wasn’t Steve the one who came first to your aid. 

“That night, at the parking lot-” you looked at Natalie, who presented the most chill, unbothered stance.

All this time you thought she’s so efficient at organizing and handling work under pressure, while she probably had the cold blood of an assassin. 

She shrugged at your realization, but didn’t deny that she was the one to save you from the  goons who tried to kidnap you. Since she didn’t see it as anything big, anything beyond doing her boss’ orders to keep an eye on you, you weren’t going to thank her for it. 

“Come, eat some breakfast before you go to save the minds and frustrate yourself further,” Steve pointed to a chair by the kitchen island, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee for himself. 

Your appetite was lost. You didn’t want to be here any second longer. While less than half an hour ago you dreamed of finding your solace in work, you didn’t want to be there either. Not after the newest revelation. 

Turning on your heel, you marched upstairs to grab your handbag; only marginally caring for the awful impression you had to have made on the chef, whose name you didn’t even get, because you didn’t introduce yourself. 

You didn’t spare a second glance toward Steve as you stormed downstairs and toward the door. You kind of hoped that Natalie would stay inside, treat herself to some breakfast and whatever morning briefings a mob boss and his people had. You’d gladly stay outside in the peace and quiet of no fucking mafia people. 

But a car was already waiting for you; the back side door open.  

You wanted to ignore Natalie all day, as well poor, confused Peter who didn’t do anything wrong, but who was, after all, hired because Steve demanded it. Unfortunately, beside being named your personal guard, Natalie was also a fucking brilliant assistant. 

No, not Natalie. Natasha. 

Which she mentioned so casually as she parked the car. Apparently she didn’t have a preference for what you called her and a vicious streak inside of you wanted to spit out the word bitch. 

With anger constantly bubbling under your skin, you hissed your sharp answers to her questions and reminders. 

The day was a nightmare. When you returned home, all you wanted to do was to unwind in some way. But you hated exercises. Well, maybe hate was a too strong word, but you weren’t a fan of those beyond going for long strolls and swimming. 

You also didn’t want to get drunk. Not in a place where Steve would be and the alcohol would strip you of your perfect control over yourself; potentially enhancing uninhibited desires Steve’s brutal aura stirred. 

As you walked into the bedroom, your gaze fell upon the big bed. Neatly made. Fresh sheets bearing no proof of the mess you made when Steve fucked your brains out. 

Your fingers immediately started working on undoing your buttons and zippers, peeling off each piece of clothing at a rushed pace. The way Steve fucked you on your wedding night would be perfect for reducing your tension into a whocares puddle. 

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Ever again. 

But you could give yourself a release without the devil’s assistance. 

The shower was truly blissful. Not only relaxing your muscles with heat, but your fingers brought you delicious pleasure. Twice. 

Sparkling diamond of your engagement ring and wedding band were left on a pile of cotton pads on top of the bathroom counter. You refused to touch yourself with any remnant of Steve lingering.

Pleased with yourself (and with the orgasms), you rolled into bed before the sunset; falling asleep right as the sound of the door being opened downstairs announced your husband’s return. 

You didn’t care. Your brain and body were too exhausted from everything that happened in the day. Too relaxed, as well. They shut down before Steve even made it upstairs, saving you from any interaction with him. 

Unfortunately for you, your brain was well rested in the morning. Your body, too. So rested, it seemed ready to follow an urge that was supposed to be satiated. 

You woke up with your body plastered against Steve’s. Your boobs were pressing into his chest, your nipples stiffening the more awake you become. His hand was splayed on your hip, his knee wedged between your legs. 

Just between your knees, but you still felt it as if the pressure was right against your pussy, causing your clit to throb in desperate plea for attention. 

If his hand moved between your bodies, those thick fingers dipping between your thighs to greet you… 

A quiet whine nearly tumbled out of your mouth, but you quickly covered it with a fake yawn as you rolled away. He muttered something and in your peripheral vision you saw him rubbing his face and opening his eyes. 

But you were already locking yourself in the bathroom. 

And cursing in aggravation as you noticed the rings back on your finger. 

Later that day, you used the handheld showerhead to allow yourself that nearly painful release, which seemed to shake your body to the very toes. Something your clit forgot astonishingly quickly when Steve’s very late return (it was well past midnight) stirred you from your slumber. 

Just in time to see the outline of his body in the semi-darkness of the bedroom as he dropped his pants to the floor. 

You kept yourself in a state of near-wakefulness that night, to hold your body in position on the far edge of the bed, so that you wouldn’t roll anywhere close to Steve's body. 

It was a blessing when Steve didn’t come home at all the next night. The fact the image of his face was clear in your head as you closed your eyes to get yourself off, was a minor inconvenience. 

As was the annoying realization that your fingers, which were the most skilled at touching you how you liked and pressing those good spots, suddenly felt disappointing. 

Your confusion with yourself grew daily, especially on days when you had zero interactions with Steve, yet your body felt the most tense and out of control then. Instead of enjoying the freedom and comfort of his absence. Then on afternoons and evenings when he came home unusually early and joined you in whatever you were doing, your pulse picked up. 

Sometimes you would sense the sweat and gunpowder still hanging in his scent, or notice a splash of dried blood on his clothes. Which should repulse you. 

It didn’t. Quite the contrary, it made something in you tighten, your skin itching to have Steve’s merciless hands on you. Same hands which undoubtedly have delivered pain, or even death to someone before he returned home. 

It took a lot of strong will to not press yourself against his side while you sat on the couch watching a movie, seeking a friction that would snap Steve into taking you ruthlessly. 

You became more distracted at work. More restless at night. Regular orgasms brought pleasant relaxation, but felt somewhat… bland. 

Restoring to your final resource, you took out a small velvety box hidden in the depths of the closet, under a bundle of winter clothes. The pretty, lilac bunny vibrator winked at you when you opened the box. You took it with you to the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor as you writhed in your first orgasm. 

Blissed out smile didn’t leave your face as you got out of the bathtub two hours later - water gone cold and your skin pruned. 

You almost giggled as you tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. You heard voices downstairs. Steve was talking to someone. Feeling a rush of adrenaline (a kick of thrilling excitement mixed with a shy kind of fear), you quickly put the vibrator back into its box and buried it under layers of clothes. 

It should’ve been more than enough. It certainly felt like your brain was switched off completely, not a single care bothering you. 

Yet, flashes of absolutely sinful, depraved images haunted you in your sleep. 

You had no control over your body as it rolled onto your back while you slept. No awareness of your legs spreading and your own hand reaching down to touch your wet pussy. Which was as dripping and sticky as in your dream.

In which dead bodies of faceless men were scattered around the floor of some warehouse. While you were on the bed that stood in the middle of it. Steve was in front of you, standing at the foot of the bed. His rings-adorned fingers were curled around the front of your neck. His lips curved into a sinister smirk as he urged you on.

Urged you to move your hips and slide your wet pussy up and down the handle of the knife embedded into the mattress. 

You woke up abruptly. Right before dream Steve was going to allow you to cum.

Your eyes opened wide, your mouth gasping for breath. You felt your own fingertips touching your sticky folds. Your nipples were hard, pointing towards the ceiling. 

There was also another sensation; of someone else’s touch. 

Steve’s hand had a strong grip on your thigh. His cock was throbbing against your side. 

Holding your breath, you kept staring at the ceiling. As if suddenly you found yourself in a horror movie, you were too scared to turn your head and look in the devil’s blue eyes that watched you with hunger. 

You knew that if you spread your thighs an inch more, if you let out any needy sound, if you turned your face to his, Steve would aid that burning fire. 

His fingers would slip where your own couldn’t satisfy you. His mouth would close around your nipple, bite into your breast. He would roll on top of you and stretch your fluttering cunt on his thick cock. 

The need for him was growing more maddening with each shaky breath. Still, you kept staring up and willing every part of your body not to move. 

Steve squeezed your thigh and you bit your lip in time to stop the moan from spilling. A moment later his touch disappeared. He rolled onto his back, then sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and you sighed in relief. 

Then you had to squeeze your thighs and roll onto your side, biting into your pillow to muffle the desperate, angry scream. 

Because you heard the sounds of Steve’s pleasure.

A mixture of shameless grunts and moans, with the faint slick echo of a hand moving along a cock. 

You should be disgusted by it, not wetter. 

Not only was he jerking off a few steps away from you, but he left the bathroom door open so you heard him. And your traitorous body responded, eager to beg him for torment and release, just as your dream self had. 

You avoided Steve’s gaze the whole early morning, despite both of you not catching any more sleep and pretending nothing happened. Well, you pretended. Steve strutted around like a peacock, with no care for your visible vexation. Your shower was on the cold side and your throat parched, even after gulping three glasses of orange juice. 

Working seemed impossible, too. Every few minutes your brain would suddenly switch the channel from focused to flashes of the depraved wet dream. And your wet reality. 

Because to your great dismay, Steve wasn’t only a demon from your dreams, but looked and acted the same tempting, dangerous way in broad daylight. 

You spent the first ten minutes of your lunch break chugging cold water and pacing around your office, trying to at least reduce some of the physiological tension. Maybe you really should start running, or do some crossfit. Just so that your body would die from exhaustion and save you further humiliation.

You paused, seeing through the window a familiar silhouette cutting the inner courtyard of the center. 

What the hell was Barnes doing here?

Your fingers clenched on your water bottle as you watched him stride through the sensory garden and toward the door in the far corner. It led to an old office. Or what used to be an office, but got flooded many years ago and now served more as a storage room, since there were more important rooms and projects to invest into than renovating one, single space. 

“I swear, if he’s here to bang Nat-” you muttered angrily under your breath.

But when you yanked your office door open and stepped outside, Nat was sitting behind her desk. Pristine and sharp, like a blade herself. She arched her perfectly sculpted brow at you, but didn’t say anything when you grumbled that you’re going to the garden. 

If Barnes wasn’t here to mess around with her, it meant he was here for business. His business meant Steve’s. Who was, after all, so very set on getting his hands on the health center and you still didn’t know why.

You marched through the courtyard, gaze laser focused on those doors behind which Bucky’s all black silhouette disappeared. 

Admittedly, you were a bit scared of Bucky. Less than you were of Steve, but still. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you if you confronted him about any shady stuff (not without Steve’s permission), but it didn’t ease the pounding of your intimidated heart. 

When you yanked the door open and stepped inside, you expected to see Bucky alone, or maybe with some henchmen that snuck in earlier, doing something nefarious. For a split of a second you feared you were going to see a dead body. But the room you walked into still resembled that old room with three different desks, some chairs, broken cabinets and various smaller items gathering dust. The only difference was that they were pushed against the walls, creating free space in the middle of the room. 

However, you did not expect to see another pair of blue eyes beside Bucky’s. 

Steve held your gaze once your eyes landed on him. And though a part of you screamed at you to turn around and run away, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even shift your eyes, ensnared by that dark pull. 

The air seemed to thicken around you. A heavy wave of stifling heat rolled up, engulfing you in the clogging, sticky memory of your wet dream and the following mess. 

The way Steve tilted his chin, how he looked down at you with an expecting challenge that slipped into boredom, because you weren’t picking it and thus wasting his time; it made you snap from the haze.

“What the fuck?” You frowned, stepping further inside. 

You kept your shoulders pushed back, your hands at your sides, as you attempted to maintain the professional power of a health center’s director. 

Neither of them responded to you. Steve held your gaze a moment longer, then turned to Bucky, who wasn’t even looking your way. 

“Make sure it’s ready by Wednesday.” Steve gave him instructions, ignoring your presence and demand. “Barton will be back Tuesday evening, so he can start the next day.”

Barnes simply gave a nod and left. No more words between them, no gestures that would indicate Steve ordered him to leave, so the two of you were alone. Rather Bucky would be leaving at this moment whether you were there, or not. Your presence marked as insignificant.

It pissed you off further. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You stomped forward, not giving up.

“The center’s functioning won’t be disturbed.” Steve dragged his gaze down your form as you stood in front of him. His answer not an answer at all.

“With what?” You braced your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath to quiet the tone of your voice. It was unlike you to raise your voice and to hold it in rage for more than one outburst. 

You were proud of your professional approach, even in highly stressful situations. Granted, you weren’t facing a benefactor, nor an official of any kind, but you were determined to remain in control with Steve, as well. More so than with anyone other. 

But his mere presence had your neuronal system overheating, recording and sending signals from so many parts of your body at once.

“Nothing that concerns you.” 

The way he said it… He wasn’t just avoiding the topic, he was dismissing you. 

Then the bastard dared to step around you and walk away. 

You snapped. There was no logical thought behind your actions as you grabbed a heavy, crystal ashtray from one of the desks. 

You threw it at Steve. 

Your aim wasn’t the worst, but the bowl was heavy and Steve was moving. It flew past his head, quite a distance away from causing any potential harm. It thudded against the door and fell to the floor where it broke into three chunks. 

A blur of movement filled your vision, before you even registered what you’ve done. A hand was squeezing the front of your neck as you were forced to scramble back. 

Air wooshed out of you when Steve slammed you against the back wall; with less force than you’d expect him to use on an actual enemy, but enough of it to remind you he was no gentleman. 

His body pressed into you; massive, strong, terrifying. 

He kept you pinned in place, one hand on your throat was enough of a warning for you to struggle only for breath and not fight him. Steve’s other hand squeezed your side, thumb pressing so hard above your hip bone you were certain there would be a bruise. 

A flare of fear cut through your blood, but with it came another rush. A wild pulse of thrill. 

“You best beg me to fuck that frustration out of you now,” Steve’s voice was a slice of heated scythe cutting through your composed walls.

“I’m not-” you stopped immediately when he clenched his fingers tighter.

“Princess,” he hissed in a warning. “I know you’ve been touching yourself. Playing with your needy pussy, using your pathetic toys. And still it was my name you moaned in your sleep, when you were dreaming of what you really crave.”

Tears welled in your eyes, only partially from your air flow being constricted. Most of all, it was the aforementioned frustration that squeezed salty drops. 

You hated him; hated how he made your body weak and desperate for him. 

You’d love nothing more than to deny any of his claims and walk out with your head held high. But your knees were too weak, your pussy already throbbing and primed for him. If you even managed to step out of the room, your frustration would bring you to a boiling point and make you crawl back to him. 

“Need me to take out my gun?” His words brushed against your cheek like a caress.

Whether it was that contrasting softness of his voice, or the image of the deadly weapon being pushed under your skirt, it made you clench around nothing. 

You shook your head. 

“Need you-” you finally whimpered. “Need you to fuck me.” 

Steve swallowed your next sound. He squeezed his fingers once again, forcing your mouth to open to gulp precious air. But he gave you none. Only the taste of him, the demand of his tongue that played against yours as his fingers would against your clit. 

With his other hand, he yanked your pencil skirt up; sharp moves tugging the clingy fabric. Then air was swiftly filing your lungs and rushing to your head, as he released your throat and used both hands to turn you.

He pushed you forward and bent you over one of the dust covered desks. Splaying your hands on the hard surface, you pressed your face against one palm and arched your back, pushing your ass up. A streak of shame burned your skin, but the need for Steve’s cock was too great. 

There was a jangle of belt buckle being undone and a cool wisp of air licked up your wet slit when Steve pushed the strip of your soaked panties to the side. 

“Fucking drenched, Princess.” He groaned, most pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy. 

“You did this to yourself,” he scolded you, dipping two of his fingers between your folds and smearing your sticky mess around. “Denying yourself, though you know how much your body loves what I do to it.” 

“You won’t say no from now on, right?” A single digit pushed inside and your legs wobbled.

You moaned, trying to push back against his hand and get more. So much more. But he was unyielding, repeating his question in the same patient, merciless manner. Until you clenched your eyes shut, crying in frustration - “I won’t! Please!” 

His fingers withdrew. A low chuckle responded to your whine. But the pressure of his cock against your hole rewarded your reluctant submission. 

The moan that spilled past your lips as he sank deeper reverberated through the empty room. You shifted your head, biting onto your hand to muffle the sounds that Steve would undoubtedly cause you to make. 

He wouldn’t have it. 

Growling his displeasure, Steve gripped both of your wrists and pulled your arms behind your back. He crossed your wrists together and held them in one of his hands at the small of your back.

Then his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you bent and lodged on his dick while he took three steps back. There was no surface you could brace yourself upon, nowhere to press your face into to cover your cries and moans. Bent over, your legs shaking, Steve’s strong hold was the only security you had from falling. 

It also allowed him to move your body the way he pleased. 

One testing thrust had you jerking forward, your head bowed down and a cry spilled out along with a drop of your spit. 

Steve readjusted his hold on your wrists then started pounding into you. It wasn’t the sinful, gracefully primal way he fucked you on your wedding night, but a forceful taking reflecting your frustrations of the past weeks. 

And fuck you needed it exactly like that. 

Each slam had you mewling, your pussy fluttering around him. Much to Steve’s delight. 

“That’s it, Princess,” he goaded. “Let me hear you.” 

The angle, the force of it, the sense of being completely at Steve’s mercy, had you coming sooner than anticipated. 

Your walls clenched hard. Your whole body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed into you with the power of a sea storm. That was it - the pleasure you seeked for weeks, so numbing and good that nothing but a hum of blood filled your head. 

No self-induced orgasm felt like this. 

Steve’s hand moved from your hip to your neck, curling at the front of it and pulling your head back. His other arm released your wrists, but wrapped around your middle as Steve made you stand up and lean your back against his chest.

He was still hard. Still lodged deep in your quivering cunt. Fucking you through your orgasm. 

He slowed, but in this new angle his cock seemed to sink even deeper inside. Crown of his dick brushed over that ultrasensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back. Your ass was squished into his hips, coarse hair on his thighs grazed your skin with each thrust. 

“Is this what you dreamed of?” He groaned into your ear, filling you in a firm stroke.

You shook your head, unable to form a sentence beyond a breathy moan. 

Cool metal of his rings was pressing into your neck, his other arm squeezing your breasts upwards, crumpling your pristine blouse. His heavy boots bracketed your pretty pink heels as his fat cock speared into your creamy cunt over and over again. 

“What was it then?” Steve snapped his hips in a sharp move, making you cry out loud. 

“The knife-” you managed to rasp out as you felt another climax coiling up low in your belly.

You didn’t tell him any of the sordid details, but revealing it was the blade you were dripping for in your dream was enough to make Steve laugh in triumph. 

The vibration of it not only shook your chest, but seemed to jolt down to your pussy.

“My fucking dirty Princess,” Steve sucked on your earlobe, quickening his pace. “You won’t hide those dark needs anymore. I’ll play them all out for you. Show you new ones.”

“Now-” he kept his hand on your throat, but moved the other one south- “Cum for me again. Wanna feel it squeezing me as I fill this married pussy.” 

Steve’s fingers slipped over your clit, drawing rough circles on your swollen nub. A shot of pressing pleasure made you arch against him, a gurgled mewl pitching in your throat. You gripped Steve’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex with each powerful snap of his hips. 

A few sharp strokes more and warm, thick seed was coating your walls. 

Steve’s moan was the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. Its deep, dark undertone tipped you over the edge. 

Your head was spinning, though Steve didn’t clench his fingers on your throat too tight. It was the amalgamate of everything: his cock throbbing inside of you, spilling more cum and filling you; your pussy was fluttering like crazy, a fairy on a rush attempting to grab each drop and stuff it into the right place; your half-conscious mind registering that you were in your workplace. 

Wrapping an arm around you once more, Steve moved your joined bodies a few paces backwards. Movement jolted his dick, causing your pussy to clench in response to renewed friction. 

Then he was pulling you down with him as he sat on one of the forgotten chairs; the wood creaking from the weight. He kept you on his cock, splaying his fingers sticky with your slick over your thigh. A few breaths later his hold on your throat eased. But you kept your head tipped back on his shoulder, unfocused gaze staring at the white ceiling.

Until Steve used his fingers to tilt your face for a kiss. 

Slow, but no less weakening. 

His tongue teased your lips open. His fingers were a pressure against your cheek, reminding you of who held the reins, even if he coaxed your response with surprising gentleness. Shushing your tiny moan by sucking on your bottom lip.

Echo of your ragged breath mingled, your heart pounding in your chest as you stayed in Steve’s lap. You didn’t think you had the strength to stand back on your feet just yet. You also weren’t sure he would let you. 

So you rolled your head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stared into the space, unfocused. His mouth pressed a kiss over your galloping pulse point, then he scraped his teeth along your shoulder. 

“Smuggling tunnels.” Steve’s words stirred your post-orgasmic brain mush. 

“Huh?” You lolled your head to the side to squint at his profile and try to make sense of his words.

“That’s why I wanted the center.” He explained, lazily roaming his fingers over your clothed body. “Entrance to the smuggling tunnels is exactly here. They were set up in the prohibition era, then supposedly locked. But not all of them. Not this loop. And according to the plans Tony provided, the web of tunnels stretches to the very harbor.” 

You blinked, processing his words. It was quite hard to take the seriousness of this information while your pussy was still pulsing and leaking cum. And while Steve’s hand was fondling your breast. 

“Tony? As in Tony Stark?” Your mind shook off remnants of haze. 

“Mhmm,” Steve nipped your shoulder. “Howard never uttered a word, though he knew of the tunnels. After his death, Tony went through all of his old man’s secret nooks and found those plans. Among other things. Tony knows how to make good deals and he’s going to gain a lot from giving me the information about the tunnels.” 

You wanted to rage, because it sounded so… insignificant. So small. Smuggling tunnels being the reason why Steve Rogers turned your life into a neverending torment. 

The logical brain knew that for a mob boss, an unknown to the police route of smuggling that would provide unlimited profits for decades, was worth one meager life. It was worth much more. He would really have killed you back then, if you didn’t comply with his marriage whim.

“Why do you tell me this?” Your nose scrunched up and a displeased whimper left your lips when Steve’s softened cock slipped out of you. 

His fingers touched your cheek as Steve’s cold blue eyes seared into yours.

“Because you’re my wife and you asked.” 

You didn’t read it in any falsely romantic way. Steve wasn’t going to be sharing his feelings and burdens with you. But he knew the power he held over you and had the privilege of being blunt, certain that you wouldn’t spill his secrets anywhere. Because he owned you. 

“Speaking of which,” he lifted you up easily and put you back on your feet. 

Which shook slightly, your pink heels barely holding you upright. 

A dollop of cum dripped down from your pussy and splashed on the floor, before you reached between your thighs with a grimace and adjusted your soaked panties back into place. 

You quickly pressed your thighs together and rolled down your skirt. Steve was tucking himself back into his pants and you tried not to glance at his cock shiny with your juices, nor at his fingers that smelled of your arousal when he pressed them against your cheek earlier. 

You were adjusting your blouse when Steve caught your wrist. His irises reminded of a cold, but clear mountain lake - as disquieting as tempting to dip in it. It was a depth from which you’d never breach the surface.

“We have an appointment at six. I’ll pick you up myself.” He announced.

“Appointment?” You frowned.

“Since you keep losing your ring-” Steve lifted your hand up to your face, your finger bare where the sparkling diamond and wedding band should be. 

You left them in your office, taking them off as soon as you walked in. Just to feel the victory of not wearing them for a few hours. 

“- I’ll get you a permanent brand.”

Your frown deepened. Your gaze shifted between your finger and Steve’s face as you tried to decipher what he meant. What was he going to do? Hot-glue it to your finger? You didn’t think it was possible to nail a ring to a bone, or was it? 

Steve’s thumb rubbed your bare knuckle. His low purr, as sinfully sounding as it was, scared you. 

“My name is going to look so fucking good on your skin, Princess.”

It took you a moment. Mostly because your mind couldn’t simply accept the idea that your husband would do something like it. But you quickly realized that he would. Considering everything he’s done so far, this was the smallest of crimes. Like nothing.

“I’m not getting tattooed!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp. 

He didn’t budge.

Stepping even closer, Steve held your hand trapped between your bodies as he gripped the back of your neck with his other hand.

“Yes, you are.” He stated calmly. 

“You will be a good girl and sit in the chair while my name is branded into your skin. Or-” you never knew threat and amusement could combine, but Steve’s eyes glinted that exact, lethal combo- “I’ll drug you and have it done while you’re out of it.” 

Your own eyes widened, fear muffling any outburst of rebellion that you might’ve dared to voice. 

Somehow the idea of being drugged and having something done to you, while you were unconscious, terrified you more than having a loaded gun pressed against your cheek.

“Either way, it’s happening. But I know your stance on the substances messing with the brain, so I’m sure you prefer to be conscious.” Steve’s mouth curved into a smile of a predator that knew his prey had nowhere to go. 

And he was right. You would fight him, but the threat of being pumped with some unknown drug stopped you from trying. Even if Steve made sure to apply the cleanest anesthesia medication, you wouldn’t want to risk it. You knew too well how the smallest doses of narcotics and psychoactive substances influenced the brain. Or rather massacrated it.

“I’ll wear the fucking ring,” you pleaded, though rather petulantly.

“Great!” Steve flashed you a smile and kissed the knuckle of your ring finger. “But you’re still getting that tattoo, Princess.”

No amount of glaring and arguments worked to even irritate Steve as he took you to the tattoo parlor later that day. He was so set on his decision, nothing would deter or delay it. Not even your fear as your hands visibly shook when he accompanied you inside the empty tattoo shop. 

Judging by the address and the interior, it wasn’t a random place either. 

It seemed like one of those tattoo shops that require booking half a year in advance. It wasn’t a bright, safe space, either. Nor the typical rock and heavy metal design. Dark; a mixture of wood and leather. But no harsh tones, no collages displaying various works, no neons. Almost like a spa. 

A very intimidating spa. 

This place definitely didn’t do butterflies or overused tribal tattoos. 

It would, you thought, be a place where people working for the most dangerous branch of the mafia had their skin inked. 

“Rogers.” A gruff voice greeted as you followed half a step behind Steve.

Your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s. At first because he made you hold his hand as he helped you out of the car, but as you stepped into the parlor you felt fear of pain spiking so high you needed to lean against something. 

Unfortunately for you, Steve was the only solid rock you could lean on at the moment.

A big, rather scary looking man walked out from a darkened backroom. He was a few inches shorter than Steve, but no less broad. Wearing black head to toe, his tattoos were like a refreshing splash of color that instantly drew attention.

Steve had quite a few tattoos. A lot of them. But this man was covered in ink. 

His whole hands, sleeves of his arms. Vines stretched even up his neck. Only his head was clean of any print. His hair was buzzed, his dark beard trimmed. Yeah, he definitely could be a mafia’s tattoo artist slash silent killer. 

“Will this do?” The man showed Steve a design on a small piece of paper, not glancing your way even once, even though it was you who was going under the needle. 

He either didn’t care, since you weren’t the one paying for this whole ordeal, or he didn’t want to piss Steve off by looking at the mob boss’ wife. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Steve nodded his approval then tugged on your hand. “Come on, Princess. Get up on the chair.” 

There was no point in postponing the inevitable and you’d rather save yourself the humiliation of Steve putting you in the chair by force. Which he would. So you complied, though you still glared daggers at him. 

He remained indifferent, taking a seat on a small rolling stool and staying at your side. If it wasn’t to ensure you wouldn’t bolt, you might think he did it out of care. 

Turning your head away from Steve and the spark of delight in his eyes, you focused on the gloved hands of the tattoo artist. Fingers of your other hand squeezed into a fist as the man prepped the skin of your ring finger. 

“I suppose you don’t care that the bastard is making me do it?” You dared to ask right as the man was about to transfer the drawing onto your digit. 

He paused. With him paused your heart, waiting for reaction. Waiting for salvation, though you suspected it was a fool’s hope.

The man’s eyes lifted to your face. He watched you for a long, silent moment. Then huffed a short laugh and smirked.

“I get why you picked her,” he addressed Steve. Who was sitting beside you, completely unbothered and now grinning smugly. 

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked down at the outline of the tattoo that was being transferred onto your skin. Not a drawing, but words that would wrap around your knuckle the way a ring does. Though most lettering would be visible on the outside, like a diamond would, ends curved into the inner side of your finger.

A bold, but neat cursive. Big letters. 

Steve

And above it, slightly smaller, but equally brazen reminder.

‘Til death

[yoonieper]

For the Birds— Prologue | JJK

I want you to stay even though you don’t want me.

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri) 

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff

♡ Rated: D for Disappointment

♡ Series Warnings: Lots of smut (not always healthy), cheating, discussions of depression, this series includes Jk in a pretty toxic environment, degradation (not the sexy kind), manipulation, and overall Jk being in an emotionally abusive situation! This chapter is not too bad, but please read with caution going forward!

♡ Chapter Warnings: Jk sad boy, Yuri being… :/, oral (f. receiving), masturbation (m)

♡ Word Count: 12.6k

♡ Summary: As the son of the CEO at Golden Tech, a marriage was arranged in the name of business. Jungkook really tried to make the most of his situation and be the best husband he could be, but no matter how much he tried, his wife just doesn’t seem to want him. Then you… you came into his life and his eyes couldn’t help but wander.

♡ Now Playing: LOVE. by Kendrick Lamar (feat. Zacari)– see masterlist for full playlist!

♡ Betas: Thank so much you to @illyrian-book-lover and @teawithhoneyandlemon for reading this part for me! If you’re interested in betaing future parts, dm me. If you're interested in becoming a permanent beta for this series please first click here and refer to 'details about the job' section for more details and dm for any questions you might have! 

♡ Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this for a while, but I got sudden inspiration to finish the prologue~ This series should get pretty exciting, so stay tuned! ← Omg y’all the prologue has been in my drafts since 2020 :’) This series has gone through a lot of evolution that I might talk about in the future. This series is very different from where it started, but the prologue has always remained vastly the same, so it has a special place in my heart! Hope you enjoy the series my friends, this one is very emotional, so prepare for the rollercoaster ahead! I’m excited to show you what’s to come <3!

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

main masterlist ✩ series masterlist » coming on 6/30

“Secretary Yu, could you remind me of the schedule for the day?”Jungkook let his disgruntled sigh fill the room as he rubbed his temples, doing anything he could for a chance to soothe the subtle pounding in his head. Displeasure was painted all over his features, and his eyes were tightly closed while he listened to his assistant’s clicking heels stop in front of his desk. 

The room was dark, but that hadn’t kept his retinas from burning any less as he looked at the woman in front of him— he didn’t know at this point if it was because of all the crying or the exhaustion from waking up so early. The day had only just begun, and he already wanted it to end; to just climb back in bed, sleep away his troubles, and forget everything that transpired over the last 24 hours. Hell, maybe there was still a chance he was asleep, and that this was all just a bad nightmare his brain had conjured up in nervousness.

“Director Jeon? I didn’t expect you to be in so early.” Secretary Yu Min-ju tried to smile but the furrowing of her eyebrows made it obvious she was a little confused. This hadn’t been part of the plan they discussed. Jungkook didn’t let the moment linger, instead, gave her a firm look of exasperation that made her hastily pull out her tablet to find his schedule. 

Her usual cheerfulness was not what he needed today. 

Min-ju couldn't stop the smile appearing on her face when she saw its rare emptiness. “Your hard work these past few days has paid off. Today is pretty light. A meeting with the financial team at 12, and then another meeting at 1pm with Mr. Cho. You should be able to go home after that.” The secretary warmly smiled.

Jungkook’s eyes drifted down to the picture sitting on his desk as she spoke. It was of him and his wife on their honeymoon last year to The Maldives. They had been walking on the beach and his mother had texted and begged for a picture of the new couple; Jungkook could do nothing but oblige. Yuri had clung onto his shoulders when he held up his phone, and upon counting down to one, gave him a surprise kiss on the cheek leading to Jungkook’s eager, unnaturally wide smile being captured forever and memorialized on his desk. He couldn’t help but frown. 

He wanted to be excited, craved for it, yearned for it, but home was the last place he wanted to be right now. All that hard work for nothing. For once he wished he had more to do, anything to keep his mind busy.

“Didn’t I have deadlines for a few upcoming reports?” He suddenly questioned. 

Min-ju looked farther down her list and she nodded. “There are a few documents that need reviewing and signatures, but a majority of them aren’t due till next week. But you don’t need to—“ 

“I’ll get them done today.” Jungkook’s tone was astoundingly emotionless, completely void of the delightful emotion he had spoken with in the days leading up to today. Min-ju was at a loss for words. She knew how hard he worked to free up his day for the special occasion. What's with the sudden change of plans? What happened? 

It was Jungkook himself who had requested for her to try and free his schedule so he would be in the office for as little time as possible. There was no joy or giddiness behind his eyes like she had expected. Min-ju had pictured her boss walking in with a strange cheerfulness in his mood, rainbows and sparkles practically dancing around him as he skipped through the halls and greeted her good morning. But his tone lacked spirit altogether. Jungkook was like a husk compared to the person she said goodbye to the evening prior. 

“I— uh alright, I’ll make sure to send them to you later sir.” Min-ju bowed, before she scrambled away. 

Jungkook listened intently to the way her heels tentatively clicked while she walked out, it was at a certain speed that told him she was rushing to get out of there. As soon as the door closed behind her, he let out a loud sigh as he leaned back in his chair. 

What a fucking disappointment this whole day turned out to be.

Jungkook had planned today to be one of the most preeminent days for him and his wife as a couple and those plans were all squashed within a second last night. It had been playing over and over in his head since he woke up this morning.

He tangled his hands in his hair, his grip growing tighter and tighter on his short locks as the reality of the situation hit him for the billionth time. It just wouldn’t stop, replaying in a loop hoping something might change. That he’d wake up from this nightmare, or maybe even realize something that in the heat of the moment had gone entirely unnoticed— anything to explain what happened. Last night still didn’t feel real. 

The cancellation had been entirely unexpected.

•────•──────────•────•

Last night Jungkook had been in high spirits all day. A radiance was cast on his features by the pure, exorbitant elation flowing through his body. It was like the most beautiful display of fireworks were going off all at once, tickling his insides, and making the smile on his face grow so wide it hurt his cheeks but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. After all, tomorrow was going to be the turning point for their relationship. Something was about to happen, he was sure of it.

Jungkook was lying on their shared bed, having just recently come out from the shower. His hair was still slightly damp, and a giddy smile was plastered on his face as he scrolled through his phone. He was eagerly reviewing their itinerary for their plans tomorrow. 

D-day. The day that Jungkook and his wife were meant to celebrate their one and a half year anniversary. It might be a weird occasion to commemorate, but after being apart for too many holidays and milestones for various reasons, Jungkook went out of his way and made it a point to plan something to make up for all the lost time. 

He let his attention turn from his phone and settled on his wife who was meticulously going through her nightly routine at her vanity. His smile softened as he silently watched her dab night cream across her cheeks. 

How was this his life?

Sometimes it was a little hard to believe Yuri was actually his wife, it was almost intimidating at how beautiful she was. Her eyes were round yet sharp in their gaze as she focused on the mirror. Her skin was usually so soft but it shined even more so at that moment from all the various oils and moisturizers she made sure to use every night. Her long, dark hair flowed nicely down her back but was pushed out of her face by a cute, fuzzy, gray headband. And even in pajamas, she managed to carry this level of elegance that pulled him in so easily. 

Jungkook bit his lip to contain the smile that was threatening to envelop him entirely. 

The outfit was especially a big deal. It was different from the shorts and tank tops she’d normally wear. It had been his idea to start the celebration with matching pajamas, a slight preview to the day he had planned for the both of them. Jungkook’s heart had hammered in his chest when Yuri relented and agreed to wear the set he had given to her before she went to shower. It matched his own exactly. It was nothing too special, but a nice way to bring them together before the big day. A simple, gray pajama-button-down-classic; the material was so soft and he knew Yuri would look just as amazing as it felt. 

She always did.

His excitement was almost overflowing, Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from getting up so he was right behind her. He wrapped his arms around her small frame, and gently placed a quick peck on her neck. 

“I’m so excited for tomorrow~” He hummed lightly into her skin. 

Yuri didn’t say anything, her attention trained on her reflection. 

“What about you? Are you looking forward to spending the day together and doing all the fun stuff I have planned?” He sang. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew it sounded cringey, but for once he didn’t care. He just wanted to hear it, that she was excited to be with him.

Yuri’s gaze eventually flickered over to him before she turned around to face him. 

“Jungkook, I have to tell you something…“ She sighed. He tried to ignore his uneasy feeling about her tone. 

“Oh, you did?” Jungkook attempted to fight back his disappointment. That wasn’t what he hoped she’d say. 

“Yeah, I did,” she muttered. He hated the look on his face as he peered into the mirror. A slight frown had dimmed down his smile, and he wanted to do anything to wipe it away. There was no time for frowning, he didn’t want to ruin tomorrow before it even started. He shouldn’t overthink it.

“I had something I needed to mention too.” He went back over to the bed. “I wasn’t able to get out of my meetings tomorrow so I’ll have to go in for a few hours, but I promise I’ll come straight back here.” He had really tried, but there was no way to reschedule them any further into the week. At least that was the only thing on his agenda tomorrow, however, he had wanted to take the day off completely and spend it with his wife. 

Jungkook saw Yuri’s face drop. 

“Don't worry, I’ll be here all morning! I worked hard to clear my schedule as much as I could, it’ll just be two meetings and then I’m back.” He tried to smile. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind the brief interruption too much.

“Actually—“ Yuri dragged it out as she looked back into the mirror to make sure she rubbed in the cream well, “I have plans tomorrow.” She put it frankly. 

Jungkook blinked a couple of times before a look of confusion settled on his features. “Plans?” His voice had grown small. It didn’t have a reason to yet, but maybe all along he knew where this was going the minute she brought it up.

“I have a friend from when I went to school in the US coming to visit.” She mumbled. Jungkook couldn’t hide the disappointment from showing. 

“Oh? Um…”

“We’re planning to spend some time together, so…” 

“When will you guys be done?” He questioned, still a little shocked that she was just telling him about this now, the day before their plans. “Hopefully we can work around it. Maybe you guys could meet up while I’m gone so it doesn’t mess up—“ 

“Jungkook, this is going to be an all-day thing.” He could see the way Yuri watched his expression from the mirror as the gears started turning in his head, now realizing what that meant. The silence that settled in the room was painful. 

“But… but we had plans.” 

“I know we did, but—“ 

“But?! Yuri I told you weeks ago!” Jungkook retorted. He was angry now. He didn’t want to be angry.

“Weeks Yuri, weeks!” He continued, unable to process this was happening. There was no way she could have simply “forgotten” about the day they were supposed to spend together. He’d literally been talking about it since they both agreed to do this a few weeks ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He accused, confused how news like this would just go unsaid. 

“She just called me two days ago,” Yuri argued, as if that would make this any better. 

“Two days ago— and you didn’t say anything until now?” He was baffled. There was no excuse why she couldn’t have brought this up sooner. 

“Well— look how you’re reacting.” She scoffed and crossed her arms.

That just set him off even more.

“How I’m reacting, Yuri?! We talked about this for weeks; it’s the only thing I’ve been talking about for the past few days. I’m sorry that I was excited to spend the day with my wife.” Jungkook exploded at her. He was furious, and he didn’t like it. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. 

Yuri didn’t say anything but instead rolled her eyes.

“And you can’t just cancel?!” He finally asked, getting up and pacing around their shared room. 

“Jungkook, she's my friend! I haven’t seen her in a while and—“

“But what about me?!” He snapped. The words seemed to hang in the air, a painful silence following it. Jungkook noticed the look on her face, and he sighed as he sat down at the edge of the bed so he was facing her. He ran his hands through his hair and took a couple deep breaths to get himself to calm down.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that… it’s just… Yuri, we've been married for a year and a half and I feel like I hardly know you. I know this is technically only meant to be business, but I thought we said we’d try and make this work.” He cried as he grabbed a hold of her hands. He looked her directly in the eyes, wanting her to know that he meant every word. 

Was he really asking for too much?

“We’ve hardly gotten time together since our honeymoon. Our schedules are full, and I know that’s not our fault, but I just wanted some time alone with you even if it was only for a day.” He pleaded; the desperation was so evident in his voice. He felt pathetic. 

“We can do that any day. My friend will only be here for the next two weeks.” Yuri acknowledged before she turned back to her vanity. 

“And why can’t you just hang out another day?” He asked, defeat overtaking him and his efforts to convince her. There was no point really. It seemed she had already made up her mind.

“I said she’s leaving in two weeks. We only have a limited time to hang out before she’s catching a plane back to California. Besides, we can just do something after she leaves. We will have all the time in the world when she’s gone in two weeks.” Her words were punches straight to the heart. She always says that when she needs to cancel plans— that next week never comes. 

Her excuse was ridiculous, but this wasn’t the first time it had happened. He’s used to it now and knows there isn’t really any point in trying to negotiate. 

“Yuri, I have a business trip that week.” 

“Well what about the—“ she was cut off. 

“You have a shoot in Hawaii that week.” Jungkook just sighed and got back up to sit on his side of the bed. “We can just forget about it all together in that case.” He fumed as he flipped over, now too upset to even face her right now. 

Part of him was hoping she’d just say “Never mind, I’ll just reschedule,” jump in the bed and cuddle with him because she realized just how much this meant to him, to herself, and to them both as a couple. Everything would be fine and–

But no… Yuri just sat there, seemingly unaffected by the cancellation of their plans.

He began to think it was a little sad at how upset he was. Yuri didn’t care; maybe he truly had made this a bigger deal than it needed to be. She was right in some sense— they live together and can plan something any day of the year. 

But it still hurt that just for this one day, Yuri didn’t want to spend time with him. 

•────•──────────•────•

It did not get any better the next day. He woke up in a bad mood. She wasn’t even there in the morning. Everything just made him upset: Yuri’s cold, empty side of the bed, he forgot to turn off his alarm so he missed his opportunity to sleep in, and he nearly slipped in the shower as he was ranting to himself about how dumb this was. Their annoying, squeaky bedroom door that Jungkook’s been meaning to call someone about. Even the milk for his cereal pissed him off because he asked Yuri last night to pick up more while she was out but of course, she forgot, and he forgot to tell their cook about it thinking she’d get it, so he only had a little left for his breakfast this morning.

The last place he wanted to be was at their apartment so he left for work as soon as he was ready.

Jungkook took out his phone knowing he had some time to kill and he needed someone to rant to or else he was going to go crazy. A few minutes later, like the trusty friend he was, Jimin was bursting through the door like he was the Kool Aid man, ready to listen to all of Jungkook’s problems. 

“Ok, who’s ass do I need to kick?” Jimin came in, hands up, ready to fight– which might have been Jungkook’s fault with the ambiguous text he sent to his hyung. Saying “the world’s ending, need help now!” might have been a little too drastic, but it felt appropriate at the moment.

“Mine...” Jungkook groaned, his head was on the desk but he could hear Jimin’s footsteps hurrying over, before taking a seat in the chair in front of his desk. This was routine at this point.

The two of them had been friends for a number of years now. Jimin was two years older than Jungkook and had mainly been friends with his brother at first. But when Junghyeon left, apparently he decided he needed to leave his big brother duties to someone, and he thought who else would be a better fit to watch over him than Park Jimin? Those were Junghyeon’s words when Jungkook first mentioned that he was getting close to his old friend. Jimin occasionally checked up on him when he was still in high school, and their bond grew really strong soon after Jungkook had started college. Jimin became his guide as he navigated adult life and a very real friendship was born from his brother’s efforts. 

When Jimin graduated, it only felt natural for Jungkook to extend an invitation to work at his family’s company, knowing how good of an addition he would be to the team. As of about three and a half years ago, they’ve also been work buddies. 

“So,” Jimin stretched it out. “What is it this time?” He asked when Jungkook still hadn’t said anything. 

Silence followed.

“Is this about Yuri?” Jimin finally questioned, that being the most obvious, considering Jungkook shouldn’t even be in right now.

The younger man nodded. 

Jimin hummed as he thought about it for a second. “Ok, is this another rant about your sex life because I have some—“ 

“No, no, no, well… maybe, yes? I don’t know hyung, I'm just…” All Jungkook could do was sigh, his frustration getting to a boiling point again. 

“I’m guessing with the way you’re acting, things didn’t go as planned…?” Jimin asked wearily, knowing precisely what Jungkook had in store for today. He’d helped Jungkook plan it out. The first thing that was supposed to be on the itinerary was waking Yuri up with a good time. Jimin was the one to suggest it, but the fact he was in a bad mood was enough to let him know things hadn’t gone the way that they’d discussed. 

“The whole plan didn’t happen,” Jungkook lamented as he leaned back in his office chair. He could feel Jimin’s confusion without even having to look at him. “She canceled our whole day because of a friend visiting from the US.” He scowled and saying it out loud made it sound even more unreal. 

Jimin blinked a couple of times, obviously just as confused as he was. “A friend?” 

“It’s something she knew about two days ago before even bringing it up last night. It wasn’t even a full day before our plans!” At least he could’ve gotten a heads-up. He wasn’t sure what that would have done, but at least he could have had more time to cope with the disappointment.  

“What?” Jimin questioned in disbelief. 

“And maybe, maybe I’d get it if today was the only day they could hang out, but she said they’re going to be here for the next two weeks.” Jungkook was getting angry all over again. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Jimin repeated, honestly just baffled. 

“And! And when I asked her why they can’t just hang out the next day, she said it’s because they’re only here for a limited time and that we can just hang out whenever!” It didn’t make any sense that she would say that when Jungkook had to spend days working into the early hours of the morning trying to clear his schedule enough so that they could have some time together.  

“What the fuck…” Jimin looked just as confused as he felt. 

“I know, it’s ridiculous…” He trailed off with a laugh, but the pain from the sudden cancellation made it hard to even pretend this was anywhere near comical.

“Jungkook, I think that’s a lot more than ridiculous…” Jimin tried to reassure, his tone quickly turning sympathetic.

“I know we’re arranged, but I just… I thought being married would be more than this, you know?” He leaned back in his chair. Jungkook simply had dreams for his future and this wasn’t anything he pictured it would look like. 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. You both agreed to try and she has never given you a reason why she’s practically avoiding you.” Jimin said, recounting the fact this wasn’t even the first time something like this has happened.

“I’m wondering if it’s me. Maybe I’m not doing enough or maybe I’m doing it all wrong? Right? It had to be something I did.” Jungkook tried to rack his brain, thinking of anything he did that might have made Yuri so upset at him.

“I don’t think it’s your fault. You’re trying your best. It doesn’t make sense to me why she did this. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone, but I don’t know… maybe she wants her space.” Jimin suggested, it being the only explanation he could come up with to make sense of her behavior. 

The words sat in the air for a second, a painful second, like the wrong note reverberating at the end of a musical piece. Jimin didn’t notice the shift fast enough before Jungkook suddenly sat up to look at him, and his brows were furrowed like what he said was crazy. 

“Space? We have space all the time, this was the one day I wanted us to be a couple— or at least try and be a couple.” Jungkook chided and Jimin immediately knew he didn’t phrase that in the best way.

“I meant it more so for yourself. I’ve seen and been in enough relationships, situationships, you name it, to know when to back away. Things are obviously going to be even more complicated because you’re in an arranged marriage. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but maybe taking a step back so you don’t get hurt is something to think about.” Jimin laid it out plainly, but Jungkook maintained his hard expression. If anything, he seemed even more displeased. 

“I have to make this work. I’m obviously not doing what she wants!” Jungkook seethed.

“We have no idea what’s going on. I’m just trying to stop you from getting hurt.” Jimin's gaze filled with sympathy, but Jungkook just seemed to grow more angered as he rolled his eyes at him. 

“Like you would understand— everyone wants to be around you.” Jungkook scoffed, turning away. 

Jimin sat there for a second, dumbfounded, wondering where that came from. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone likes you! Everyone practically flocks to be around you. You have no trouble in relationships– yet I can’t even make the one woman I’m married to at least be comfortable by my side.” Jungkook cried out, and it was here that any anger that was threatening to boil over cooled the minute Jimin saw the wetness in his eyes.

Jimin had only been a bystander for the last few years in Jungkook’s life, but he could hardly comprehend this was the same man he’d been friends with for years now. 

Jungkook had gone from the guy who shied away from relationships, to suddenly being the only married man in his friend group.  

He could never forget the day that Jungkook came to his apartment late one night, it felt like forever ago now. Those were different times; they weren’t the same people anymore. His eyes had been wide and petrified, like he’d just seen a ghost. It practically took the whole night to get it out of him that apparently his parents had made some kind of deal and were basically forcing him to get married to solidify it. 

Jimin could hardly keep up after he’d finally managed to get him to speak, and a lot of it went over his head. To be honest he didn’t believe it even after Jungkook explained it over and over again. It didn’t sound real. Whose parents would make their twenty-two year old son get married without at least talking to him first? It didn’t make sense.

It also didn’t make any sense considering Jimin had been the listening ear to how well their three dates– yes only three dates– went before the engagement.

“They were ok.” Jungkook would sigh, before showing a picture of her and talking about how much he struggled to say anything because of how nervous she made him.  

In the months leading up to the marriage, Jungkook had eventually heard the details of the deal, and that’s when the mood started to shift. Jungkook’s protests grew quieter to the point the wedding day managed to come and go without any intervention. Jimin still didn’t believe it, even as he saw Jungkook stand at the end of the aisle, even as he watched them get pronounced husband and wife, even as he witnessed the contract getting stamped, and even as he helped Jungkook pack to move to their new shared apartment after they came back from their honeymoon.

It didn’t feel real, but Jimin tried to remain as optimistic as Jungkook appeared when he came back.

“We said we’d try.” Jungkook told him with a toothy grin. The honeymoon had been good apparently. 

But that optimism was short-lived and Jimin was forced to sit back and watch as something in his friend shifted. Things weren’t right in the relationship, that much he was sure of. Jungkook had finally said something towards the beginning of the year. It was small things at first, things Jungkook made sound like the typical lovers’ quarrel. But as time passed, it grew more vague, unusual, and desolate. It was never detailed enough for him to get the full picture, but he could see the way Jungkook was practically deteriorating right in front of him.

He had no idea what was going on, but it was moments like this that made his blood boil. Jungkook was normally a closed-off person. He didn’t share his problems with others easily. For him to come to Jimin to talk about his issues in his marriage made him wonder how bad the situation truly was. The alarm bells wouldn’t stop going off in his head. 

“Jungkook, what’s going on?” Jimin sat up and rubbed his friend’s back. Jungkook’s office was dark but when he lifted his head, Jimin could see that the tears had finally started running down his cheeks. 

“Hyung, it’s me right?! I don’t understand why she… w-why she…” He stammered. The words caused the emotions he’d bottled up to spill over, and the tears became uncontrollable. 

“I must be doing everything wrong, right? Am I really that bad? I just… I just wanted to spend some time together. Am I really that bad of a husband?! I try so fucking hard, I swear I do, I just— Hyung I don’t know what else to do…” Jungkook ranted, sounding so dejected. 

Jimin only felt the fire burn harder ​​while his brain worked to try and understand Yuri. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, that there had to be some rational explanation that he just wasn’t seeing that would explain why every chance Jungkook made plans for them to be together, something had to get in the way. The only thing he could see was how much this affected Jungkook, and she was starting to piss him off. 

He got up and went behind Jungkook's desk so he could give him a hug, the younger man only sobbing even harder in his arms. Jimin didn’t say anything, instead ran slow, comforting circles over his back. 

Jimin couldn’t help but think that he needed to talk with Yuri. They weren’t close but hopefully they’ve met on enough occasions that he could have a comfortable conversation with her to at least get her side of the story. It would be the opportunity to try and get the chance to understand what was going on. Maybe then he could actually help Jungkook try and win her over.

The moment was interrupted by the blaring ring of the phone that sat on Jungkook’s desk, letting them know that Secretary Yu was calling. Jungkook quickly tried to wipe his eyes, doing his best to pull himself together, but Jimin stopped him in his tracks, already picking up the phone before he could object. 

“Hi Secretary Yu~” Jimin chirped, putting on that notorious charm that so easily put people at ease. “Yeah it’s Jimin, I’m taking over the phone for this one….. uh huh, right, wait but I thought— ohhhh, really…?… I see….. Yeah, I’ll let him know, he’s right next to me…. Nice talking with you…. bye.” Jimin frowned as soon as he put the phone down. 

“She said we have a meeting we need to go to. Apparently, finance has an emergency that we have to oversee.” His eyes remained trained on Jungkook as he grabbed some tissues, seemingly trying his best to switch back to boss mode. 

“Sorry, I probably look very pathetic right now,” Jungkook sadly chuckled as he wiped his eyes, but Jimin wasn’t having it. 

“Stop calling yourself pathetic. It’s alright. Cry as much as you need to,” Jimin attempted to reassure him when he noticed Jungkook’s lip still quivering. He looked like he was on the verge of another breakdown. “Don’t push yourself, we still have a few minutes before the meeting starts.” He tried to get Jungkook to slow down but he was already up and out of his chair.

“I’m fine… I just really needed that. This will be good, don't worry.” Part of Jungkook wondered if he was trying to convince Jimin or himself. 

He walked over to a mirror. “Are my eyes red?” Jungkook questioned, worried that it looked like he had been crying his eyes out. 

Jimin walked over and shook his head. “Just a little, but no one will notice unless they knew what you were doing.” 

He nodded, affirmed. “Ok, let’s do this.”

With that, Jungkook pushed through the door, passing Secretary Yu’s desk as she got up to join him, along with various higher up employees who had gotten the message about the meeting. 

Secretary Yu pulled out her tablet and moved a little closer. “Director Jeon, I just wanted to quickly give you a better brief of the situation before the meeting starts.”

“Go ahead…” Jungkook’s voice was shaky, but he hoped she didn’t notice.

“Production had encountered an unexpected issue. Good news is that it has been solved already so there’s no need to worry about it. The bad news is that we can’t use any of the inventory they made prior to the fix.” Secretary Yu tried to speak calmly but grimaced when she noticed the change in her boss’s demeanor.  

Jungkook’s eyes widened, and he stopped dead in his tracks. All the executives that were walking behind them came to a sudden halt along with him, making everyone nearly bump into each other. 

“Wait, what?! But production had been running for–” Jungkook didn’t need to finish that, already knowing the answer. It was far too long and their launch date was about a month away. 

This was bad. 

“What was the issue?” 

“I’m not sure yet—“ The ‘what’ didn’t really matter right now, all that meant was this launch was screwed. 

Launches were some of the most important moments of the year. The fact it had been slated for the last quarter of the year, the most important quarter for a company like theirs in turning up profit, they had been counting on it even more than normal. This put everything in jeopardy, particularly anything they had planned for next year. This line had already been delayed to the utmost limit because of numerous other complications so delaying it was almost entirely off the table. 

“Just great huh. Really fucking great. This day can’t get any worse can it—“ And he should have learned that words like that challenge the universe to see what other shit it could throw at you. 

They finally picked up their hurried pace to the meeting room, but right as Jungkook rounded the corner he collided with something hard and suddenly he was cold and soaking wet. Jungkook just stared down, his suit covered in what he could immediately smell was coffee. A sliver of luck for him was that it was iced, but that didn’t stop him from being covered in coffee— he could only imagine the stains on the beige fabric.

Part of him wanted to scream but as his eyes trailed up to see a woman frantically picking up the cup and her scared, apologetic eyes when she realized it was all over him, he found himself unable to speak. Jungkook immediately knew he had never seen you before; he would have remembered you. 

Your red blouse was tucked into your short pencil skirt, which perfectly fitted to your form. Your legs were long as you stood up, accentuated even more by your tall, black stilettos, and Jungkook couldn’t stop the way his eyes ran over the exposed skin. What seemed to hold his attention the most was your vibrant, red lipstick. For a second he was left a little dumbstruck and forgot about the coffee that was everywhere. You were beautiful, ridiculously beautiful, it was almost crazy. For a second he wondered why you were here and not walking down some runway or the face of every brand imaginable. 

He would have noted this a lot more if he didn’t have coffee soaking into his clothes. Right now he just saw you as another problem, making his day that much worse. It was one of his favorite suits too, he wore it to make himself feel a little better about today, but you… 

Things just can’t get any worse.

•────•──────────•────•

This can’t be real. 

It was your first day and all your worst fears seemed to be manifesting. You slept through your alarm, you missed your bus, and your much needed caffeine was all over this handsome stranger— though you really couldn’t say you saw that one coming. The embarrassment you felt creeping onto your cheeks in front of all the people staring at you in the hallway was enough to melt you into a puddle. Worst of all, your supervisor who was walking right next to you saw everything. 

It couldn’t get much worse.

“I’ll clean this up. I’m so sorry! I should have paid more attention to where I was going!” You panicked as you scrambled to find something to help fix this. You looked to your supervisor, but he seemed even more distressed than you for some reason. 

You finally turned back to the stranger and his gaze met your own for a brief moment. His eyes were wide and looked almost like a kicked puppy at how much sadness filled them for a split second. It really was only a second before you noticed the more expected glare of annoyance. 

“Just,” He sighed. “Clean this up, okay? Director Son, please tell the team I’ll be a bit late. Hyung, can you…?” Jimin quickly nodded before speeding away. 

Jungkook just walked past them, not bothering to acknowledge anyone any further. In truth, he was a second away from bursting into tears again, but they didn’t need to know that. Instead, he just hurried off to the bathroom and waited for Jimin to bring the spare suit he kept for emergencies such as these. 

It seemed things could get worse.

Your eyes were wide as you watched him swiftly walk past you, not even bothering to look at you. You knew he had every right to be upset, but he was a bit rude. It was clearly an accident and he didn’t even give you time to apologize properly. 

“Yah, what’s up with that guy?” You mumbled. His annoyance had been a disease and it was quickly spreading.

“That guy?! Y/n do you know what you just did?!” Your new boss was clearly exasperated and that just made you a little confused. It was then you noticed everyone who was still in the hallway had their eyes on you, their hands were over their mouths, and they all had this look of horror on their faces like you had just committed the worst crime imaginable. 

“Who was that…?” You finally questioned, your heart already beating out of your chest.

“I swear you’re going to get us both fired and you only just got here. I swear…” Director Son rubbed his temples and cursed silently to himself, a look of worry speedily etched its way into his features. 

“Director Son, what did I just do?” You asked, growing even more anxious. He finally turned to face you. 

“Y/n, that was Jeon Jungkook.”

You still looked confused and this made him laugh— a worried, nervous laugh that made you know you had royally fucked up.

“You just spilled coffee all over the CEO’s son.” He put it plainly. It was only then that the pieces of the puzzle came together and started to make sense. 

What….have…you……done?

“That’s my boss, your boss, everyone who works on this floor’s boss.” The words only seemed to set the reality into both of you. 

“We’re going to have to pray. Get on our hands and knees, beg for forgiveness, and hope he doesn’t fire us or tell his father.” Suddenly, Director Son sprinted to the office area and returned with a bunch of napkins. 

“We have to see him in the meeting too. What am I going to do?” Director Son said with apprehension, throwing his hands up in the air. He already had so much bad news to deliver and now his newest employee had spilled coffee all over his boss. 

He was fired for sure. 

You hurriedly went to help him start cleaning up the coffee, but you were barely paying attention. You were just dazed because, at this point, you were convinced you were about to get fired on your first day. 

Suddenly, someone else was coming up beside you. “What a great entrance, huh?” A deep voice chuckled as he put more napkins on the ground. 

“It’s only my first day and I’m already ruining everything.” You huffed, getting the feeling you wouldn’t be here much longer. 

“You have to admit it was pretty funny~” 

You stopped. “No, it wasn’t. Do you know how humiliating that was?!” You finally turned to see yet another handsome stranger, but this time this guy had a warm, welcoming, boxy smile on his face. 

“I do, but it made my day better. Nice to meet you, I’m Kim Taehyung!” He stretched out his hand. 

You smiled weakly, feeling better that someone could laugh about this. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you Taehyung.” You said as you quickly shook his hand.

•────•──────────•────•

Jimin burst through the doors, emergency suit already in hand.

“You alright?” Jimin questioned as he set the suit on the counter. 

Jungkook turned toward him, clearly teary-eyed. He shook his head. “I just want to go home.” He tried to laugh as he started unbuttoning his shirt. He would have been better off not coming in today.

“Maybe you should. Today just doesn’t seem to be your day, huh?” Jimin tried to joke and smiled when he saw Jungkook chuckle. 

“I have meetings later though. I have to stay till then.” He just sighed. Jungkook had already felt guilty about leaving and hardly being at work today because of his plans with Yuri, but going home right now seemed selfish considering the dire situation. He didn’t want people to think he was running away and leaving them to deal with this mess alone. It’s not like he had anyone waiting for him back home anyway. There was no need to rush anymore.

Jungkook spent most of his time at the office more than at home. He wanted to show that he was working hard, it was something he knew was essential to gaining everyone’s trust. Since he was still pretty young, people often doubted his leadership, but he earned his spot in the company just like everyone else did. Jungkook had been working here since he was nineteen, interned even longer, and started off at the bottom like everyone else. He didn’t want to be the spoiled, rich kid inheriting the company simply because his father is the CEO. He wanted to make sure that by the time he became CEO he would have built up the same respect that the rest of the employees held for his dad. 

As a result, leaving earlier or taking days off was something he tried to steer clear of as much as possible, but today… things just weren’t working out. He feared that being here any longer might make him explode. 

Once they figure out this whole situation, he’ll immediately go home after his last two meetings are over. Right, that was the smart thing to do. He couldn’t risk having a breakdown in front of everyone. 

“Hyung…” Jungkook said suddenly after he managed to get his pants up. Jimin hummed. “Thanks for being here with me.” His voice wavered slightly.

“Of course, I’ll always be here when you need me.” Jimin said softly. Jungkook was extra sensitive today. He usually was able to reserve the waterworks for sad movies or when he was alone in the apartment, but today he couldn’t seem to keep his emotions at bay. 

When they both came out of the bathroom, Jungkook and Jimin hurried to the meeting room ready to assess the current crisis at hand. Everyone was already in their seats when they walked in, and upon seeing Jungkook, they scrambled out their chairs to stand up and bow. 

Jungkook took a seat at the head of the table and Jimin in the seat to his left. Director Son was already standing at the pedestal in the corner of the room with a gloomy expression practically carved into his features. This was probably even worse than what he was told, judging by the solemn tone of the room. 

He was antsy to hear just how bad it was, and was about to tell Director Son to continue, when he spotted you at the end of the table. 

“Director Son,” Jungkook said, curiosity peaking. He knew pretty much everyone who worked on this floor, but you were definitely not familiar. 

“Who’s she?” He pointed directly at you, making your attention turn toward him. 

Director Son scrambled from behind the pedestal, realizing he had forgotten to introduce you because of the incident earlier. 

“My apologies, sir.” Director Son addressed Jungkook before turning towards you and motioning for you to stand. You quickly bounced on your heels, not wanting to piss him off even more. If Jungkook didn’t fire you, surely he would. 

“Everyone, this is L/n Y/n. She’s our newest member of our financial team. It’s her first day here.” Everyone gave you strange looks as most people here at this table had witnessed the incident earlier.

It’s like you made the worst first impression you possibly could have. 

The silence was deafening as everyone stared; you were tempted to run away, fake your death, get a new identity, and attempt to start your life over knowing things couldn’t get much worse than this. It took a moment, but eventually Taehyung, who sat right beside you, started clapping— slowly but surely everyone joined him. You looked down and smiled, mouthing him a thank you before you sat down. 

Your eyes flickered over to Jungkook who was still staring at you. Your skin warmed as his gaze bored into you. 

“Thank you, you may begin.” Jungkook finally said, leaning back in his chair. 

A new line of products was supposed to be released shortly before the holiday season— namely a new line of TVs that had already been delayed multiple times, all for various reasons during development. They had been forced to push the date back as far as possible, right to the point before there would start to be major repercussions. Production had promised that they would be able to meet this new date, and production began a few weeks ago. Jungkook had thought the most troubling stage was over and the only thing that was left was handling this launch with the marketing team now. But a malfunction that was only realized this morning had been noticed, and all of the inventory they had managed to produce before today was completely unusable.  

To make matters worse, the date they needed to have everything shipped out by was too close to have the now scarce inventory hit even the low range of their planned profit margin. It was a disaster and after Director Son explained the issue, Jungkook was ready to pull out his hair. Of course this had to happen today, of all the fucking days everything just had to go wrong. He couldn’t even think straight as everyone around the table started suggesting ideas, too busy trying to pull himself out of the funk that made him practically useless. He was convinced he was cursed, that had to be it because how does this all happen in one day?

This fuck up jeopardized everything— it was their biggest source of profit for the year and they thought they’d be able to make up for all the delays by having it at such an important part of the year. They already decided to invest extra in advertising to help boost sales far beyond what they’d traditionally expect. Now without the numbers they had planned for, the profit they had wanted to reach was virtually impossible. This was detrimental to next quarters budget and especially the following year. Any plans, projects, anything they had planned was now at risk, and— 

The meeting ended up going on for quite a while. Everyone panicked as they tried brainstorming ideas that could be used to rectify the situation: 

Some suggested seeing if they could push the launch back, but at this point that was even more disastrous than just releasing whatever they can manage to get done. Others suggested that this fell on production and that they should use intimidation to try and make the numbers get as close to what was planned. Jungkook normally was against ideas like that, but it was mind boggling how poorly these products had been handled so far. He had already been planning to meet with the executives over at the factories to figure out who he needed to hold liable for this. Others went on about distribution, how their department who handled Seoul, should be prioritized and that they should focus on the bigger stores, such as malls, in order to hopefully increase the chances of selling everything they could to at least get the highest profit they can. It went on and on. Another radical suggestion was increasing the price of the line of TVs to try and force a similar profit margin.  

People just kept going and going and Jungkook was ready to bang his head against the table to hopefully get himself to wake up from this nightmare. Everyone was so loud as they bickered and fought that their way was better, and he tried his best to suppress wanting to just scream for them to just shut up and walk away from the situation all together. He was overwhelmed and it was even worse that he felt unhelpful, all efforts went to keeping himself firmly planted in his chair and not letting the tears spill over again.

What ended up surprising him was that it was you who came up with the best solution. In between all the nonsense, you were also very vocal during the meeting. You were knowledgeable as you spoke, asking questions any time you could and also giving your two-sense on the suggestions the rest of the team kept spewing out. Most of your takes he found himself easily agreeing with as you countered how none of those ideas worked. If Jungkook hadn’t encountered you before, he wouldn’t have guessed you were the same clumsy woman who spilled coffee on him earlier today. It was absolutely shocking considering the fact that today was your first day and you had only been briefly filled in on the situation. 

Eventually though you had given your own opinion and one that stood out from the masses.

“Do nothing.” You had put it so simply. You argued that there was nothing that could be done and instead that they should just send out the inventory they created after today, though less of it, as planned and capitalize on the opportunity to create even more demand for the line. If production could get their shit together and deliver the product as promised, plus with the added reputation of the company, they should certainly sell, and sell quickly. While this would not prove fruitful immediately, during the time they would work on getting the next shipment together, this would create a demand that would hopefully be able to make up for any losses encountered during the launch.  

It wasn’t the best considering what they had thought this new launch would bring, but it was the best idea he heard all afternoon, and the one he ultimately picked they should explore further. The team first had to crunch the numbers to make sure they could afford that type of risk, but at the moment, waiting, letting the scarcity create demand, and gently still pushing the production team to try and get the inventory as high as possible, was what he sent everyone away with in mind.  

Jungkook wanted to hate you, you had basically ruined his favorite suit, but seeing you in this meeting had him momentarily forgetting about the incident in the hallway. He never really considered firing you. Despite being incredibly petty about the suit, he didn’t want to take his anger out on you or Director Son. This meeting just made him realize how great of an addition you would likely be for the team. If this was your first day and you had already managed to help work out a crisis, he could only imagine what you would do for the team’s future. 

But today just wasn’t the day he could forgive you completely. 

Thanks to you he was able to go home around the time he had planned. Since the entire financial team was there, they were quickly able to cover the points of their original meeting that was scheduled, and he ran off directly afterward to meet with Director Cho in his office for a discussion about marketing. It was still in the afternoon by the time he got back to the apartment. Part of him hoped he would find Yuri waiting for him with open arms, and they would leave together to start their day as he had planned. 

It was wishful thinking, but that didn’t stop the disappointment from burning his heart when he came back to find it exactly how he had expected.

Empty.

Jungkook sighed and kicked off his shoes. Today was horrible. 

He was about to head straight for the beer they kept in the fridge, but the various ingredients he found inside gave him an idea. If he didn’t try at all, how would he ever make this work? As much as Yuri hurt his feelings, he would still put on a happy face and be a good husband. 

He got straight to work, tying up his apron and rolling up his sleeves. 

Jungkook first contemplated what should make, and he decided pretty quickly once he double-checked what they had. Then he moved on to pulling out all the ingredients and putting them onto the counter. 

He wasn’t a master chef or anything, Jungkook had hardly cooked for himself his entire life— his parents always had a chef to prepare their meals. It was when he moved out that he realized how much he enjoyed it. It wasn’t too often that he cooked, but when he did, it always brought him so much satisfaction knowing he made it. Not to brag, but despite his lack of experience, Jungkook could easily follow a recipe and turn out with something pretty decent at the end. 

He decided to go with gimbap— it was relatively easy to make and increased his chances of not messing it up. By the time he had the rolls cut and ready on the plate, the sun had gone down.

Jungkook smiled as he looked at his creation. It was a little misshapen and the ingredients were spilling out from the sides, but he had high hopes on how it’d taste; he’d thrown in all of his favorite ingredients. It was cute and showed it was made by his own hands. He hoped this would be enough for them to at least spend a little time together when she got home. 

He sent her a quick text telling her about a ‘little surprise’ waiting for her at the apartment and to hurry home as soon as she could. He even added a heart at the end, a sign of peace, so they could put what the day could have been behind them and move on to shaping what they could make of it now.

Jungkook let out a satisfied sigh before taking off his apron, grabbing one of the nicer containers they owned, placing the food inside, and setting it on the dining table ready to be eaten whenever Yuri came back. 

He hoped this would be enough to get her to come home soon. 

He changed into more relaxing clothes and headed straight to the couch, deciding to continue that show he had started a little while back. He hadn’t planned to be here long; for some reason, he pictured Yuri bursting through the doors at any second, but he should have known he would end up disappointed yet again.

After more time passed, Jungkook eventually pulled out his ice cream and the beer he’d promised himself not to go for. 

He was depressed. It was worse than when he was in his office earlier. He wanted home to be his escape from the day he had, but it only made the problem worse just like he feared. All he could do was drown out his darkening thoughts with comfort cream and beer. 

Even more time passed by and there was still no Yuri. At this point, Jungkook had to call Jimin knowing he couldn’t be alone right now. He was on the verge of another breakdown. 

True to his nature, his hyung was at their apartment in no time. 

Jimin’s face fell the minute Jungkook opened the door. His friend looked even worse than when he left the office, his eyes were lifeless behind the smile he tried to show. It hurt even worse when he noticed the uneaten dinner on the dining table. He could see Jungkook had pulled out all the fancy candles, plates, and silverware, but they remained untouched; clearly, he was waiting. 

“Sorry I called you so late… I just didn't want to be alone right now.” It was more than that, and Jimin knew it. 

In truth, the thoughts that seemed to keep echoing in his head worried him. Not even his favorite movie could take his attention away from the harsh realization of what he was facing right now. He knew not even Yuri coming home at that very moment would solve everything. He just needed someone to talk to, someone to distract him from his thoughts.

Jimin pulled him into a hug before guiding them inside. They both ended up sharing a few beers together, Jungkook venting nearly the entire time. It was good and played as the much needed therapy he wanted. 

It was well into the night that after a few crying sessions and more beers, Jungkook was tipsy and better enough to send Jimin away. 

It was late, really, really late. 

He sent a few more texts to Yuri, now starting to get worried. None of them were answered.

The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that this wasn’t the first time it’s happened. She’d ghosted him before, leading Jungkook to nearly have a panic attack before she came back, claiming her phone had died. He just hoped maybe that’s what happened today. 

More time passed by and his eyes started getting heavy as he continued to stare at his TV. He probably would have fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the sound of beeps from someone putting in the passcode for the door. 

Jungkook sprung off of the couch as the door opened to reveal the girl he’d been wanting to see the entire day. Yuri slowly closed the door behind her, probably thinking he was asleep. All the lights were off except for the TV. 

“Yuri?” He asked hesitantly, a bit scared he was dreaming. 

She quickly turned around as soon as she heard his voice. 

Part of him was tempted to yell, even scream at her for abandoning him the way she did, but he was in no mood to pick a fight. Instead, he steadily waddled over to the front door where she was standing, careful not to bump into any furniture but the room had started to spin.

Jungkook was a bit stunned when he noticed her outfit. It was dark, but he could still see she was wearing this short, little red dress that seemed to sparkle even in the darkness. He had a feeling that she and this mysterious “friend from the US” had probably gone out to a club. He didn’t even feel like interrogating her. Nope, instead he finally made his way over, wrapped his arms around her frame, buried his face into her shoulder, and bathed in her warmth. 

Maybe he was a little more than tipsy…

“Missed you so much…” he whispered quietly into her skin as he placed gentle kisses on her shoulder, the slur in his words even noticeable to his ears. 

Jungkook felt her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, a wave of excitement that he’d been missing all day washed over him. 

“Did you really?” She lulled like a siren’s song, leading him down a path to forget everything that happened. He wanted to say something, but being drunk left him unable to form any cohesive thoughts to convey his feelings; the hurt he felt being abandoned, how much had he wished he spent this entire day running around Seoul with her by his side, how much had he hoped she would just come home so they could, at the very least, share a meal together. All of these moments, memories, time, and energy wasted.

But he didn’t want to turn this into another fight, instead he just nodded into her skin. “So fucking much.” It was a little more crude than the romantic declaration he was going for, but it didn’t matter. He meant what he said, he really did miss her. 

Yuri hummed lightly into his ear, and he couldn't stop himself from pressing her against the wall, pulling back slightly so they were eye to eye, and resting his forehead against hers. Her presence was intoxicating, in a way that made all the worries so easily wash away. He was supposed to be mad, he had every right to be, but for some reason that didn’t stop his hand from coming up and his thumb gently caressing her cheek; so soft and warm.

He was definitely more than a little drunk at this point. Not to the point he was confused where he was, but he was faded enough to be wobbly on his feet, and the liquid courage was certainly flowing through his system to make him bolder than usual.

A moment passed, one that if he was more sober, he would have thought through more. Did he want this? Should he turn back? But whatever he felt in the past, it didn’t really matter anymore. His wife was here now, he should be happy. 

If he was questioning it anymore, the look in her eyes was enough for that seesaw to finally land. It was sultry, like she wanted him to forget and he wanted to as well. 

Jungkook felt the rush surge faster than any rational thought could stop, his lips were on hers in a haste to finally feel her. It was slow at first, Jungkook wanting her to know just how much he wanted her to be here with him. It made him feel so warm, the affection he’d been craving for all day was finally happening.

He couldn’t stop himself from pushing her further into the door and picking up the pace. It all happened so fast.

Suddenly his tongue was down her throat, he could taste the sweet alcohol she had probably drank, and with the fleeting reminder of the dress she was wearing as his hands ran up her thighs, an odd sense of possessiveness came over him. He had no idea who she was with, if this “friend from the US” even existed, but he had the odd feeling of making her remember exactly who she was to him. She was his wife, everyone, everywhere should know that. 

Jungkook hastily picked her up and put her on the kitchen counter that was closest to him. His hands roamed her sides, tracing every curve with a hunger and need that saw no end. Soft sighs of pleasure fell from her lips as his hips steadily rocked into hers, and he relished in any sound he was able to draw out of her. All he wanted to do was make her feel good, that’s all he ever wanted. Her hands gripped his shirt tightly and he wished for nothing more than for her to rip it off of him. His skin burned and pleaded for more. As much as he enjoyed kissing her like this, this wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He picked her up again and led them over to their shared bedroom, he didn’t even bother turning on the lights as he gently laid her on their bed. Jungkook quickly slotted himself between her thighs and dived straight back to her lips. 

His mind felt fuzzy, maybe it was just because he was more drunk than what he thought, but as he ground himself into her clothed core, the sudden realization of everything hit him hard. 

They haven’t had sex in months, literal months since the last time he felt the warmth of her walls around him. They’ve done other things, but full-blown sex…

“Yuri… please….” He cried as his hand traveled under her dress to hover over her panties. Yuri quickly nodded and that was all he needed to lose his mind. 

He pulled her dress up and moved down so he was staring at her clothed core. 

He quickly pulled her panties down her legs before his face was buried between her thighs, and he was diving in for his rightful meal. Jungkook was good, using his tongue to work her clit and he had two fingers buried deep inside her, all the while he was practically fucking the mattress in a haste for any kind of friction. 

When he said they hadn’t had sex it was more so that Jungkook hadn’t been touched in months. Jungkook was a good husband, always there to take care of his wife when she wanted him. But she never let him take things further. This was just another running problem in their marriage. His sex life was pretty much nonexistent. He never wanted to be that guy, and especially with the fact that their marriage was relatively new and they were still getting to know each other, he knew sex was going to be a tricky subject. 

There were clear boundaries set, and he was okay with taking things slow right now, but does it leave him frustrated sometimes? Yes, extremely. 

The amount of times Jungkook has done this for her, he knew her patterns and how to get her cumming on his tongue in no time. Her moans and pleas were all music to his ears, knowing he was doing something right for once. 

By the time he pulled away, Jungkook was hardly keeping it together. He practically ripped off his shirt and pants, tossing them off the bed somewhere into the abyss of the darkness. 

When he turned back to her, he was practically drooling at how fucked out she looked; Yuri’s hair cascaded around her, reminding him of the angel she looked like on their wedding day, and her dress was pushed up to her thighs and the straps were brought down revealing her tits. 

Oh fuck. Now, now, now. 

Jungkook hurriedly kissed her, before reaching over to his nightstand, and opening the drawer to grab a condom. The box wasn’t right there so his hand had to search and feel his way around— it didn’t take long, but it was too long in his desperation when he was finally pulling one out.  

“Jungkook, wait… what are you doing?” Yuri asked once he finally managed to pull one out of the box. 

He looked at her hoping this didn’t mean what he thought it did. He kissed her again and buried himself into her shoulder. “Baby please… wanna feel you…” he pleaded, grinding slowly into her heat. A moan fell from his lips, the friction was desperately needed. He would take anything at this point. 

“Been so long… I missed you.” It was bad. His body was crying out for something, and he wanted Yuri to give him just that. It was starting to hurt. 

“But it’s late, Jungkook. I’m tired.” Yuri sighed, making his heart drop. 

“But…but…” he mumbled. He moved so he could see her face and he could immediately tell she wasn’t joking. 

“It’s fine, I promise I’ll be quick. You worked me up so much, just—“ 

“Jungkook, not tonight, okay?” She grumbled, clearly done with the moment they shared. This is what happens all the time. He didn’t know why he thought it was going to be different considering the occasion, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a bit disappointed. 

Jungkook just sighed and rolled off of her. His skin burned with need and he knew he had to do something. It hurt, it had been so fucking long.

He tried not to be mad but he was. He hurriedly got up from the bed. 

“I’m going to take a shower… a very long shower.” He huffed.

“Jungkook you better not do that shit in our—“ was the last thing he heard before he slammed the door. 

He tried to be calm; he didn’t want to get mad over something like this. The marriage was still new, there were going to be hurdles. It happens. 

Today had just been terrible. All the emotions he had tried his best to suppress were coming out; he was angry, he was depressed, he was frustrated. There hadn’t been one moment that he felt like things were okay, today had been just as horrible as he thought it would be and then some since he woke up this morning.

All he wanted was some type of relief. 

He quickly turned on the shower to hopefully stop her from hearing him, and got to work pleasing his body in the only way he could. His hand covered his mouth while the other traveled down his body, finally grabbing a hold of himself. 

He thought about how today would have turned out if it went the way he wanted. Jungkook would have woken his wife up with every affirmation of how much he loved her, how happy she’d made him since they got married, as he showered her with all the praise his mushy heart would come up with in that moment. 

Jungkook wouldn’t have wanted to leave her that morning, but duty calls and with the taste of her still on his tongue he would have gone to work. It was hard to be apart for those few hours. He would have struggled to keep his eyes off his phone as she cutely texted and pleaded for him to be home soon because she missed him so much.

The minute he would have returned Jungkook could hardly get inside before she was tackling him with kisses. She would have been already dressed for their day out, wearing that pretty off-the-shoulder dress with flowers all over it, knowing how much that one drives him crazy. But none of that mattered because the dress was hitting the floor before he could close the door behind him.

Another moment of passion and love as they did it right there on the floor. Jungkook would have been enthralled by her warmth and her love. She would have let her heart’s declarations spill from her mouth continuously as he held her in his arms; that she wanted him here, that she cared for him just as much as he did for her. 

Then they were finally able to pull away from each other. It was just long enough that Jungkook could whisk her around Seoul to all the destinations he’d planned to take her. They’ve both lived in Seoul for most of their lives but Jungkook made sure to pick obscure but momentous places around the city that he was sure she’d enjoy:

 A jazz lounge for a late lunch, he’d seen videos of the band that played there and he knew it would have been perfect to have in the background as they conversed. He also planned to take her to the mall– one of her favorite spots to go with her friends. He hoped to share some of that excitement and treat her to whatever she stumbled across that day, showing his wife just how much she means to him. He had pictured holding the bags while she dragged him along to wherever she wanted to go, sitting down for hours as she tried out dresses and him struggling to convey that he really meant it when he said she looked beautiful in whatever she put on. There was so much more, a day full of wonders, kisses, hugs. But the night would have ended with a nice, romantic walk by Han River, enjoying the sights and scenery in the cool September air. They would have hopefully gotten the chance to stop by this dessert place Secretary Yu told him about that she promised Yuri would love. Maybe they would have kept walking as they ate and talked their hearts out. Jungkook had practiced all these cheesy lines he hoped she would have liked, at least laugh at, anything to see her smile. 

It would have been magical and when they would have made it back to the apartment, they would’ve immediately gone back to the room to end the night with a bang. She would have felt so good, he knew she would. He probably would have lost his mind just having his wife close and by his side. His heart would have melted every time she would look into his eyes. Her hands on him, pleading, pleading for him to make her feel good. 

No, maybe… maybe even in this reality, the one where he had a horrible day, even then it would have been so nice to be with her. That’s all he wanted.

He whined and whimpered as his thumb traced along the tip, precum leaking profusely. His hand made quick work of its strokes, hastily trying to chase the pleasure he’d been denied of the whole day. 

He had to resist the urge to scream when he ended up spilling all over his hand, stomach, and thighs. It had been way too long. 

Jungkook ended up in the shower not too long after, the water cool against his skin to keep the burning desire for more at bay. Instead, he just thought about his day, how shitty it was. 

Like of all days, he got coffee spilled all over him? It sounded like something out of a sitcom.

But you… 

Suddenly he thought back to you, your long legs and red lipstick. You were definitely one of his saving graces. Without you, he would have been stuck worrying about this launch. That wasn’t completely alleviated, but the team had texted throughout the day that your method had looked promising, and especially considering what they already invested into advertising, the wave of demand would hopefully nearly double by the time the next shipment rolled out. Though it wasn’t going to be exactly the profit they had expected to bring in from this quarter, this method should hopefully in the long run make up for the botched launch.

Without you he might have still been at the office, the teams and him trying his best to come up with some sort of solution in dealing with the consequences and ramifications of such an unexpected fuck up. It was still odd that it had been weeks since production started, and they had only noticed this malfunction now…  

He needed to head down to the factories and see for himself what exactly happened, but he already had a few names in mind of people who might not be here for much longer.

But he wouldn’t worry about that now, instead his mind drifted back to you during the meeting today.

He already knew working with you was going to be interesting, and despite the rough start, he was looking forward to seeing where you might go. 

[geekforhorror]

lost in the fire

pairing: married james kelly x fem!reader

summary: you move to a new town where you meet your new hot neighbor james and he offers to help you out.

word count: 1.3k

warnings for this chapter: flirting, mutual pining, reader is unaware he’s married yet, pet names, and a bunch of fluff.

based on this post

You finally did it. After months of trying to find a new house, you finally found one that resonated with it you. It was a rather small and quaint town which may not have been appealing to many, but it was to you. You had lived in the city for your entire life, and you hated it. You hated the bustling streets filled with traffic and loud sounds. It was time for change. And that’s exactly what this town would be for you.

As you stepped out of your car, you started to walk in front of your new house and took in the scene before you. The house was beautiful itself as well. It stood behind a white fence in all its glory, white pillars and all. Your dad had suggested this house and even helped you put a striking downpayment on it. You were a daddy's girl through and through. Your father had always been your rock along with being your biggest supporter whenever it came to you making decisions like this. Unfortunately, the town was too far away from the city for him to visit so suddenly.

All of a sudden, a ringing in your pants pocket breaks your train of thought and sends you back to the present moment. You grab your phone out of the cramped pocket and look to see who could be calling you. To your surprise, it was the moving companies phone number, which you knew you had to take. You accept the incoming call before you're met with a man's voice. The call starts off fine, but not for long. The representative goes on to tell you that the moving van broke down mid-route and they have to get the parts from a shop in the city.

"You've got to be kidding me. Are you serious right now?" you ask out of frustration before groaning at the news.

"Sorry ma'am. The worker at the shop said it won't be ready until tomorrow," the man explains.

Great. This is just what you needed.

"Thank you for letting me know," you say, trying to mask even more frustration.

"Of course. Have a great rest of your day," he says.

"You too," you say before hanging up the phone and stuffing it back into your pocket.

"New in town, huh?" a man standing across from you says.

He had dark brown hair with these piercing blue eyes that felt like they were staring you in your soul. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt which showed off his toned biceps and tattoos that adorned his forearms. The man was at least in his mid-thirties, but that didn't stop you from admiring how he looked.

Fuck, he was hot.

"Yup, just got here from the city," you reply.

"Nice. Say uh... I couldn't help but hear your frustration on the phone," he says awkwardly.

"Turns out the moving van with most of my stuff in it broke down and won't be here until tomorrow," you explain to him.

"Classic moving companies, am I right?" he says with a chuckle.

"Between the two of us, I knew something like that was going to happen. I was just praying it wouldn't," you say, returning the laugh he had given you.

"Do you have any stuff I can help you with, miss?" he asks you.

"You don't have to call me that. Just call me by my first name," you say with a grin before telling him your name.

"I'm James," he says before extending his arm, trying to initiate a friendly handshake, which you graciously accept. "I live right across the street."

"Nice to meet you James," you say warmly, grateful that you had a nice enough neighbor rather than a grouchy one.

"So do you have anything for me?" James asks once more, reminding you in case you had already forgotten his question.

"I have some glassware in a big box that I didn't trust the moving company with because of how much is in there," you say to him before motioning him to walk closer to your car. "Let me pop the trunk," you say before undoing the clasp of the key hook that was connected to your jean shorts. You press the appropriate key and before you know it, the trunk pops open smoothly. Once its done rising, James grabs the heavy box like its nothing.

"I got it," he says confidently.

You motion him to follow your lead and he does so accordingly. You unlock the front door and swing it open wide enough. You take a step inside and you're amazed by how beautiful the interior is even though you had toured it before. It had this cute staircase with a beautiful banister accompanying the side of it, sleek marble floors, and a tiffany fixture. It was perfect.

“Where should I set this down, sweetie?” James asks you.

You blush at the pet name he had given you out of nowhere and try to keep your composure, but there was no use. Your cheeks had betrayed your efforts as they became a rosy red color. “Oh um… you can set it down there,” you stammer as you point toward the kitchen table.

Following your instructions, he walks over to the kitchen before setting the fragile box onto the table. “Alright, there you go,” he says with an evident smile and a nonchalant tone to his voice.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asks you, looking for an excuse to overstay his welcome.

“I just have some boxes of clothes I need to get out of my car, I’ve got it from here” you say.

“Alright, sweetie,” James smoothly answers, the name rolling off his tongue as if his voice was made of sweet honey.

“Thank you for your help, James,” you say gratefully.

“No need to thank me,” he responds jokingly.

“No seriously I owe you one,” you say sheepishly.

“I’ll hold you to your word,” he says while pointing at you with a faint grin.

“Maybe I could give you my number in case you want to claim that favor of yours sometime,” you say, the redness returning to your cheeks. Fuck.

“Sounds good to me,” he says, taking sight of your face and how it was practically glowing in his presence. He yanks his phone out of his back pocket before unlocking it and opening the contact app. He types in your name the appropriate field with his swift fingers, double checking to see if he spelled it right. Once he checks, you recite your phone number to him before he types each digit in and clicks save.

“Alright there we go,” James says to you.

“It was great meeting you James,” you beam.

“I could say the same. It’s nice to know that you’re nicer than any of the other neighbors. They’re either old and cranky or just assholes in general,” he warns.

“I appreciate the heads up,” you say, thanking him for what seemed to be the millionth time this afternoon.

“Well I should probably get going,” he says which you slightly frown at.

“I’ll follow you out. I have to get the rest of my boxes anyway,” you say to the man.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says even though he didn’t want to leave either, yet trying to play it cool.

The two of you start making your way toward the front door before he opens the door for you. “Such a gentleman,” you mock jokingly at which he playfully rolls his eyes at. After you step outside, he turns to look at you.

“Hopefully I’ll see you around?” he phrases as a question, hoping you would give him an answer that satisfied him.

“You definitely will,” you reply, making him smile just the tiniest bit.

“Glad to hear it,” he responds. “I’ll see you around then,” James concludes before walking away from your house

“Bye James!” you yell loud enough for him to hear now that he had made it across the street. He turns around, waving goodbye to you. You already miss your new neighbor, but you knew you would be seeing more of him. You were just praying he would call in your favor sometime soon.

You decide to finally make it over to your car to retrieve the last of the boxes, but only before you see James walk into his house.

You were definitely going to like it here.

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @myheartwillgoon2022 @camiemorgan8 @demieyesore @midnight--raine

[calicoheartz]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ; 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒

read part one here ✧･ﾟ

꣑୧ — summary | you and Paige had been inseparable since the two of you were younger, she's adored you since the day she laid eyes on you. with you oblivious to her feelings, how does she plan on making you see her the way she sees you? (continued)

wc ; 758

— warnings | friends to lovers , kinda slow burn , mainly fluff & a tiny bit of angst

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : here’s part 2 to “from the start” ! If you haven’t read the first part , make sure to check it out before reading this one ! Enjoy besties ◡̈

Our time together became more frequent. We’d hang out at the park, grabbing ice cream and talking about everything and nothing. Paige’s presence was a comfort I had come to rely on, though I still didn’t see the deeper meaning behind her actions.

One night, as we lay on the grass watching the stars, Paige turned to me, her expression serious. “Have you ever thought about the future, like what you want to do, where you want to be?”

I shrugged, my eyes fixed on the twinkling sky. “I guess I haven’t really thought that far ahead. What about you?”

Paige hesitated, then said softly, “I know one thing for sure. I want to be with people who make me happy.”

I turned to her, meeting her gaze. “You’ll always have me,” I said, not realizing how much those words meant to her.

Our high school prom was approaching, and everyone was buzzing with excitement. I hadn’t thought about asking anyone, but Paige had already made up her mind.

“Hey, who are you taking to prom?” she asked casually one afternoon.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

Paige bit her lip, gathering her courage. “How about we go together? As friends, of course,” she added quickly, masking her true hopes.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” I agreed, genuinely pleased at the idea of spending the evening with my best friend.

Prom night arrived, and Paige looked stunning in her deep blue dress. I couldn’t help but stare, suddenly aware of how beautiful she was. We danced and laughed, and for a moment, I felt something shift in my chest, a strange new feeling I couldn’t quite place.

The weeks following prom were a blur of final exams and graduation preparations. Paige and I spent even more time together, making the most of our last days of high school. One evening, as we sat in my room listening to music, Paige turned to me, her expression unreadable.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“Of course,” I replied, sensing the seriousness of the moment.

“I’ve… I’ve had feelings for you for a long time,” she confessed, her eyes searching mine for a reaction.

I blinked, stunned. “You mean, like… more than friends?”

Paige nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Yes, more than friends. I’ve been trying to show you, but I guess I wasn’t very good at it.”

I sat there, processing her words. Suddenly, everything made sense—the notes, the little gestures, the way she looked at me. My heart pounded as I realized that maybe, just maybe, I felt the same way.

“Paige, I… I think I’ve been blind. But now that you’ve said it, I realize that I care about you too. More than just a friend.”

Paige’s eyes lit up with hope. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirmed, reaching for her hand. “I’ve always felt something, but I didn’t know what it was until now.”

With our feelings finally out in the open, Paige and I embarked on a new chapter of our relationship. It was a slow burn, as we navigated the transition from best friends to something more. There were moments of awkwardness and uncertainty, but also moments of pure joy and tenderness.

We spent the summer together, exploring our new dynamic. Each touch, each kiss, was a revelation, deepening our bond. Our friends noticed the change, and they were happy for us, having seen the connection we shared all along.

There was a tiny bit of angst, as we worried about what the future would hold, especially with college on the horizon. But we faced it together, confident in our love and the strength of our friendship.

As we stood on the threshold of a new adventure, hand in hand, I realized that Paige had been right all along. The magic of our connection was undeniable, and I was grateful every day for the love that had been right in front of me all these years.

Years later, as we walked down the aisle on our wedding day, I looked at Paige and saw the same shy smile that had captured my heart so long ago. She had adored me from the start, and now, I could finally say that I adored her just as much.

[stargirl-angelina]

★··To all the boys I’ve love before au··★

-> Part 1 ♡

-> PeterKavinsky!Lando Norris x fem!LaraJean!Reader

-> Based on To all the boys I’ve love before & P.S I still love you (films not the novels) — expect some changes in plot, but I will try to stay true to the essence of tatbilb 🤍

Summary: y/n's love life goes from imaginary to out of control when her secret letters to every boy she's ever fallen for are mysteriously mailed out.

reader is pretty non-descriptive to hopefully have all the girls experience their Lara Jean moment. Pretty much all characters from the movie names (except, Peter, the reader and John) aren't changed to make it easier to follow, but you're free to imagine them looking however you like! <3

Warnings: some swearing, this is my first written fic, so I can't say it will be amazing...

word count: 4.1K

not proofread <3

moodboard

It all started with a letter. Not just any letter, but a love letter—a heartfelt confession of emotions you could never muster the courage to voice aloud. Writing these letters became your sanctuary, a way to cope. This secret ritual, performed in the solitude of your room, was your way of capturing the intensity of your feelings for every boy you ever adored. It all started with Kenny from camp, he was your first letter, and from then, you never looked back, using letters as a way to express your infatuations. As a junior in high school, with a closet full of these unsent love letters (five to be specific), each one sealed and addressed, but never intended to be sent. You know, that this ‘routine’ of yours is somewhat embarrassing, objectively speaking. But you also believed that no one would ever find out…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You sit cross-legged on your bed, the soft hum of your ceiling fan barely masking the silence of your messy room. Clothes are strewn across the floor, a mix of sweater and jeans that never quite made it back into the closet. Books and notebooks are piled haphazardly on your desk, remnants of late-night study sessions and abandoned attempts at organisation. As you absentmindedly doodle in your journal, your mind drifts to the bittersweet task of planning what to bake later for the school fundraiser. After going to the airport of course, the dreaded day has arrived, Margot is leaving.

Brownies, you decide, rich and chocolatey, a perfect outlet for the sour feelings churning inside you.

Margot's departure for university in Ireland looms large over you. The thought of her leaving tugs at your heart, more so because she isn’t just any sister—she’s been like a second mother. Growing up without your mom meant Margot had to step up, taking care of you and Kitty with a maturity that she was in a way obligated to develop. Now, as she packs her bags and prepares for a new chapter in her life, the reality of her absence begins to sink in. Her leaving is more significant than you ever imagined.

Margot's departure is filled with a quiet melancholy that seems to seep into every corner of your home. You and your family pile into the car, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of you as you drive to the airport. Kitty chatters nervously, trying to lighten the mood, but the reality of Margot leaving casts a long shadow. At the airport, you hold back tears as you watch her embrace your dad and Kitty, her brave facade cracking just a bit as she whispers words of reassurance. When she turns to you, you cling to her tightly, not wanting to let go. The finality of her departure hits you hard, and you find yourself wondering how you will manage without her guiding presence.

The ride home is subdued, everyone lost in their thoughts. As you walk back into the house, the emptiness left by Margot's absence feels overwhelming. It’s not long before Josh shows up. He didn’t come to the airport—Margot and him left things on awkward terms, you're not even sure if they’ve officially broken up. His presence in the living room a little stifling, sitting where him and Margot usually would have.

Baking was supposed to be an outlet but as you watch Josh in the living room chatting up your dad. “Josh, you know, you are always welcome here. Margot would have wanted it like that anyway.” Your dad says with a certain cheerfulness, you wonder when Margot is going to break the news to your father and cringe slightly. The interaction reminds you of the latest letter you wrote—to Josh. He was your childhood friend long before he became Margot’s boyfriend. 

Writing to him felt like a betrayal, but your feelings for him were hard to ignore. Now, with Margot gone, the awkwardness between Josh and you has only grown, and you’ve distanced yourself from him. The Sunday night family movies, a tradition that once brought comfort, now feel strained. Your dad invited Josh to stay, something that was unquestionable when he and Margot were dating. But now, the dynamic has shifted. You used to be so close to Josh, sharing secrets and laughter, but that changed when he started dating Margot. Now, you use Kitty as a buffer, letting her carry most of the conversation with him while you keep your distance.

After Josh leaves, the house feels even quieter. Kitty, sensing the heavy atmosphere, suggests watching another movie. You reluctantly agree, not wanting to disappoint her. You settle back on the couch, trying to focus on the screen, but your mind keeps drifting back to Margot and Josh. Despite your best efforts, exhaustion takes over, and you drift off to sleep midway through the movie.

As you sleep, Kitty’s curiosity gets the better of her. She had seen you put a box in your closet earlier and now, with you sound asleep, she decides to investigate. Ever mischievous and inquisitive that one, she tiptoes into your room, careful not to wake you. Opening the closet door, she spots the box tucked away on the top shelf. With a determined look, she climbs onto a chair and reaches for it. 

Kitty's eyes widen with excitement as she opens the box and discovers your collection of letters. Each envelope, neatly sealed and addressed, is a treasure chest of secrets waiting to be uncovered. She can't resist the temptation to read them, flipping through the letters one by one, her eyes growing wider with each confession.

You didn’t know it at the time, but that simple act would change everything.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The following day at school starts off like any other. You shuffle through the morning routine, attending science and history classes that blur together in their usual monotony. Your mind is elsewhere, replaying the events of the weekend.

After lunch, you and Christine (Chris) head to PE. The thought of track practice makes you groan inwardly—running laps around the field has never been your idea of fun. Chris, feels the exact same way, both of you can’t muster much enthusiasm. The sun beats down on you as you lace up your sneakers, and you join the rest of the class on the track. As you start jogging, your mind drifts again, Chris runs beside you, chatting animatedly about her weekend, but you only half-listen, lost in your own thoughts.

PE drags on, each lap feeling longer than the last. when suddenly, you noticed a figure approaching from the sidelines. It was none other than Lando Norris.

Lando, the typical heartthrob, with his easy smile and athletic build, a star on the Lacrosse team and ,not to mention an “old” crush of yours, currently dating Gen.

Gen, who used to be your close friend until high school politics drove a wedge between you. She became popular, and you found solace in your friendship with Chris. The reasons for your falling out with Gen were still unclear, but the snarky comments she hurled at you in the hallways were a constant reminder of the rift.

Lando cut across the field, heading straight for you. The sight of him made your heart race for reasons beyond the exertion of running. Seeing him approach with a letter in his hand was like a scene from a nightmare. He held up the letter as if it were evidence in a trial, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Hey, y/n!" Lando called out, his voice carrying over the sounds of students and the wind. "I got your letter."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. All you could see was the letter in Lando’s hand, the one you had written in a moment of vulnerability and foolishness. The confession of feelings you had kept hidden now exposed for him to see.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the dread rising within you. The humiliation and fear were too overwhelming. The last thing you remembered was Lando's puzzled face as everything went black. Your knees buckled, and you fainted, collapsing onto the track.

When you came to, slowly, the world around you came back into focus. Lando kneeling beside you, his face filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft but urgent. He gently helped you sit up, his hand firm and reassuring on your back. As you took in your surroundings, you noticed Chris and the other students in the corner of your eye being dismissed by the coach, who was giving instructions that PE was over and it was time to head to the showers. The class began to disperse, leaving you and Lando with a bit of privacy, as much privacy as you could really have on an open track field.

Before you could fully process what had happened, your eyes caught sight of Josh walking towards you, holding another one of your letters. The shock of seeing him with your letter sent a fresh wave of panic surging through you. The world seemed to slow down as you tried to think of what to do, but your mind was a whirl of confusion and dread.

In a moment of sheer desperation, you acted on impulse. You grabbed Lando, who was still kneeling beside you, and pulled him towards you. Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you kissed him, hoping to divert Josh’s attention and create enough of a distraction to escape. Lando's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. The kiss felt surreal, like something out of one of your dreams. His lips were so…soft, it was like nothing you had ever imagined (and you definitely had imagined). But there was no time to dwell on the sensation. As soon as you pulled back, you saw the stunned expressions on the faces around you. Josh had stopped in his tracks, his eyes filled with confusion and hurt.

Unable to handle the chaos that had just unfolded, you bolted. You ran off the track, your heart pounding in your chest, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Lando yelled after you. “y/n! Hey y/n!” but you didn’t stop until you were far away from the field, seeking refuge behind the girls locker room. You leaned against the cool metal of a random locker, trying to catch your breath and calm the storm of emotions raging inside you.

Hiding, you fumbled for your phone and quickly texted Chris, asking her to check if the coast was clear. You promised you would explain everything later. Each second felt like an eternity as you waited for her reply. Finally, your phone buzzed with a message from Chris: "You're good to go. Lando and Josh are out of sight."

Sighing with relief, you carefully made your way back to the main campus, your heart still pounding from the earlier chaos. As you approached your locker to collect your bag, you prayed for a moment of peace. But as if things couldn’t get worse, you bumped into Lucas, another recipient of your letters, standing right by your locker. 

"Hey, y/n," Lucas greeted you with a calm smile. "I got your letter."

Panic gripped you again, but before you could spiral further, Lucas continued, "I’m gay, just so you know. But I appreciate the sentiment." His nonchalant tone and the sincere smile on his face eased your worry about his reaction. You managed a weak smile in return, grateful for his understanding.

It was then you realised the full extent of the situation—all your letters had been mailed. The world seemed to tilt again, and you felt like you were spiralling out of control. A feeling that can only be described as a mix of anguish and embarrassment clawed at your chest as you hurriedly said goodbye to Lucas, mumbling an excuse before rushing off.

You made a beeline for the parking lot, cursing yourself for parking so far away. What could you really do? You were still a new driver, and your skill level was basically 2/10 when it came to parking. Finally reaching your car, you fumbled with your keys, your hands shaking. You managed to unlock the door and slip inside, leaning your head against the steering wheel as you tried to steady your breathing. Your mind raced with thoughts of the letters, the confrontations, and the uncertain future that now lay ahead.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

As you pull into your driveway, you decide then and there to take your bike for the rest of the semester. The thought of navigating the chaos of the school parking lot is too overwhelming, and biking feels like a simpler, quieter escape. Finally, feeling a small sense of peace, you turn off the engine and step out of the car. But of course, that peace is short-lived. Just as you close the car door, you hear the sound of another vehicle pulling up. You turn to see Lando stepping out of his jeep, parked on the street right in front of your house. How did he even know where you lived? 

"y/l/n," he calls out, his tone playful, almost like a nickname. His casual demeanour contrasts sharply with the turmoil inside you. You and Lando walk silently to your front door, the tension palpable. You’re honestly avoiding the inevitable conversation, your mind racing with what to say. As you reach the doorstep, he breaks the silence. "We need to talk about what happened today," Lando says, his voice serious now, eyes locked onto yours.

Just as you’re about to explain yourself, another familiar voice interrupts. Josh emerges from the house next door, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. You’re not surprised—living next door, it was inevitable that he’d want to talk to you at some point.

"Are you and Lando dating or something?" Josh asks bitterly, his eyes flicking between you and Lando, but mostly focusing on Lando.

Before you can utter a word, Lando steps in. "Meet me at the diner on 4th Avenue later," he says, his tone firm but not rough. "We can talk then." His simple request makes your heart flutter, the unexpected gentleness in his voice catching you off guard. You nod, unable to find your voice, and watch as he walks back to his jeep and drives away.

Left standing on your doorstep, you feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. “Norris, really y/n – him?” Josh says with a tinge of disappointment. 

“What about him?” 

“You're dating?”

“Is it really that unbelievable…” you said a little offended.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a sweet innocent girl and he is a dick.”

“You make me sound so boring, I’m not that innocent.” you say joking with him a little and a small sigh escaping you.

“Josh, can we talk another time, I’ve had what feels like the longest day.” Although it is not exactly what Josh wanted, he sympathises and gives you a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, before walking back home. You know you have to face this, but for now, you take a moment to breathe and steady yourself. The quiet of your home offers a brief respite. 

“Daaaaaad, have you seen the box Mom gave me? Round, teal, has a bow…” you call out, your voice echoing through the house as you frantically search your room.

“No, my angel,” your dad responds from the kitchen, his voice warm and reassuring. “Are you sure you didn’t put it with the Goodwill stuff?”

“I know for a fact, I never took it out of my room,” you reply, sounding a little desperate as you continue rifling through your belongings. The box holds sentimental value, a cherished gift from your mom, but right now it the cause of all your problems.

“Well, honey, have you looked thoroughly?” your dad asks, his tone calm yet concerned.

Sighing, you pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I have, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” you say, trying to sound more composed than you feel. The box will have to wait—you have more pressing matters to attend to.

You glance at the clock and realise you need to get ready to meet Lando soon. The thought of the upcoming conversation makes your heart race, a mixture of nervous anticipation and curiosity about what he wants to discuss. You push aside your worry about the box for now and rush up to your room, focusing on the immediate task at hand.

As you brush your hair, you catch your reflection in the mirror and take a moment to give yourself a pep talk. “You’ve got this,” you whisper, trying to boost your confidence.

You grab your bag and head out the door, letting your dad know you’ll be back later. Hopping on your bike, the cool evening air brisk as you make your way to the diner on 4th Avenue. The walk gives you time to gather your thoughts, mentally preparing for whatever conversation awaits you with Lando.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You sit down on a stool at the diner, the familiar setting calming your nerves slightly. This place has always been a sanctuary for you, a spot where you could escape and find some peace. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations around you are comforting in their routine. “You want the usual drink, hun?” a waitress who recognises you asks, pausing with her notepad ready. “Um, I’m actually just—” you start, but are cut off by Lando sitting down beside you and interjecting. “Yes, she’ll have the usual. Make it two, in fact,” he says with a confident smile.

The waitress nods and gives you a cheeky smile. “There’s no way Mister Lacrosse Star wants a large strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream,” you say, bantering to hide your nerves. “It’s not my typical go-to, but if you like it, it must be good,” Lando replies smoothly. You can’t tell if he is flirting with you or just being friendly, but either way, it makes you smile and almost blush.

The milkshakes arrive, and you both start sipping, the awkward but comfortable silence stretching between you. Your eyes meet, doing most of the communicating. You start avoiding his eyes, 

“So, I guess you want to know about the letter…” you say, breaking the silence.

Lando looks up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, his hazel-green eyes telling you everything you need to know.  “Oh my days, this is so embarrassing,” you begin, feeling your cheeks heat up. “But do you remember in grade 7 when we all played spin the bottle at Gen’s birthday party? You kissed me. It was my first kiss, and I developed a serious crush on you.” He giggles a little, his laughter light and infectious. “Don’t laugh!” you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

“When I have a crush, I write a letter. And right now, you, Josh, and Lucas have received those letters I wrote.” You feel a bit of relief from telling the someone your secret. “Jeez, y/l/n and I thought I was special or something,” he jokes. “And that’s why Josh reacted to you like that earlier. Sorry about that, by the way.” “Isn’t he with your sister, Margot?” Lando asks, eyebrows raised. “They actually broke up…” you say awkwardly, shifting in your seat.

You explain the rest of your situation, hoping he would understand, and also apologising for the abrupt kiss. To your surprise, he is okay with it. He then lets you know that Gen actually broke up with him. You are surprised but don’t pry; you both chat some more, and you don’t even notice how comfortable you have got with him.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve never had a boyfriend?” he asks, smirking at you.

“No,” you say, dropping your eyes to avoid his gaze.

“And you like this Josh guy…”

“He dated Margot; he is practically off the table,” you say, feeling a bit of frustration.

“I have an idea. Don’t shoot me down until I’ve said everything,” he says, leaning in closer.

He explains his plan, suggesting you fake date each other. His goal is to make Gen jealous. He also believes that Josh will make a move on you if he sees you with him. You have no idea what’s gotten into you, but something about the plan feels right in the moment. Maybe it's the thrill of doing something so out of character, or perhaps it’s the trust you feel with Lando sitting beside you.

“Okay, I’m in,” you agree, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The next day at school, you open your locker to find a note from Lando. “Meet me by the bleachers and we can make some rules ;)” it reads. You smile to yourself, feeling a flutter of excitement, and let Chris know not to wait up for you after class.

“Lando?” you call out as you approach the bleachers, catching his attention. To your surprise, he hugs you before you both take a seat. You pull out your binder and a piece of paper with a “contract” of sorts.

“I knew you would come prepared, y/n,” he jokes, laughing. You laugh as well, the tension easing between you. You both read over the makeshift contract, discussing the terms. He stops at one of the clauses, raising an eyebrow. 

“You want me to put my hand in your back pocket?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“It’s from Sixteen Candles, the opening image. It’s a couple thing,” you explain, shocked he didn’t recognise the reference. You add “watch Sixteen Candles” to the contract. “I can’t have you humiliating me, plus it’s a classic. Oh, and more importantly, we also cannot let anyone know this is a fake relationship.”

“Duh, first rule of Fight Club,” he says nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Are you serious? Okay, we’ll have to watch Fight Club together, and then we watch that candle movie of yours.”

You smile, saying, “Agreed.” You both go over the rest of the terms in the ‘contract’. Lando stops you before you sign, noticing a clause that surprises him. It says, “No kissing.”

“How is anyone going to believe you are my girlfriend if I can't kiss you?” he asks, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“You may be a casanova, but I’ve never had a boyfriend before… I don’t want all my firsts to be fake. If I’m going to make out with someone, I want it to be real,” you sigh.

“You kissed me first.”

“Well, if we are counting, you technically kissed me first… in grade 7. Sorry, but this is non-negotiable,” you say, making Lando giggle. You end up writing “NO KISSING” at the top of the contract. “Can I add one thing before we sign? How about I write you notes every day?” he suggests. You feel touched by the idea. “Really, you would do that?”

“Sure. Gen was always getting on me to write her notes and I never did, so if I start sending them to you, it will definitely piss her off.”

“How romantic!” you say sarcastically.

Raising the stakes, Lando then says, “And you will come to all the parties and my lacrosse games.” You further raise the stakes, “Then you have to drive me and my sister to school.”

“Fine. But you have to come on the ski trip.”

You start thinking to yourself…the Adler High ski trip was infamous for being the location where more students lost their virginity than senior week and prom combined. You have never been. Obviously.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you say, “That’s like three months away. Do you really think we’ll still be doing this then?”

“Let’s call it a contingency. No one would ever let their boyfriend go on the ski trip without them—so if we’re still doing this when the trip happens, you’re coming,” he says confidently.

You are almost certain that by the time the ski trip comes around, Lando and you will be ancient history. That is the only reason you say, 

“Deal.”

You both sign the piece of paper, sealing your agreement with a firm handshake and a hint of excitement for what’s to come.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

thank you for reading | angels asks are open 💋

spoilers (not really but you have been warned)

Oscar is our John Ambrose Mcleran

as we know Peter is end game in tatbilb, to accommodate my love triangle there will be two ending for this mini series.

I also want to say a huge thank you to everyone that has been liking, re-bloging and commenting on my post. I am incredibly grateful for everyone's kindness, and reception to my ideas! 💕

[nightcolorz]

I would love to hear your thoughts on autistic Armand, if you haven’t already spoke about this! Imo he’s very autsitic coded, and it’s very precious to me as an autistic iwtv fan :]

OMG!!! RUNS AROUND. Yes lmao I talk about this a lot actually it is one of my favorite Armand things to meta about bcus I’m also autistic and he is my special interest🙏I was trying to find some of the stuff I’ve written about autistic Armand but tumblrs search engine makes it near impossible to find anything so I gave up 😭, but believe me they r out there. Even tho I talk about this a lot I would love love love to talk about it some more for u anon because I can never get enough of armandtism.

I first figured Armand was autistic when I was reading the vampire Lestat because when he is first introduced he is completely non verbal and only communicates through the mind gift. through further explanation it’s very much implied that he does this because he finds putting his thoughts into words hard and he considers just projecting them into peoples brains much easier. Armand speaks out loud for the first time like more than halfway through the book, and lestat is surprised to hear him lol. This is super autistic I feel like that’s obvious 🙏 it’s basically the vampire power equivalent of using a non verbal communication device. Armand having trouble with connecting with people, understanding how to “fit in”, and talking r prevailing parts of his character throughout the whole series (not just tvl) which solidified my headcanon into basically a canon fact in my mind lol.

When Armand is first introduced in iwtv his strangeness is chalked up to his vampirism, but it’s soon revealed throughout tvl and qotd that Armand is considered a strange outcast by other vampires. The things he struggles with r unique to him and r not representative of vampires in general. His otherness/strangeness can also not be chalked up to his trauma or his age turned because Armand was also an outcast as a young child. It’s described in the vampire Armand that Armand was not understood by his parents or his community because he was obsessed with and freakishly good at painting. His community interprets his unusualness as a sign of some divine intervention, the priests believe he is a saint or a prophet sent to earth, even at times saying things implying that he is “not human”. Unusually high quickly developing skill in childhood is an autistic trait, as is hyper fixation on an activity/topic that becomes a core identity factor and prevailing obsession. The affects of Armand’s trauma only worsen the severity of his autistic traits. C-ptsd and autism often overlap and coexist in autistic people who were traumatized in childhood, which seems to be Armand’s case.

in queen of the damned Armand is at his peak autistic lol, I feel like this is when most book readers gain that head canon. The Devils minion chapter revolves around Armand using Daniel as a guide to help him learn how to be “normal” and to blend in to the modern age. Armand can’t seem to figure out how to blend in on his own because he is unable to understand social norms of any time period enough to integrate himself into society. Armand is in love with technology and what most would consider monotonous sensory experiences. He stares at his own reflection for hours, he loves kitchen appliances and watching ingredients whir in blenders, cameras, he watches the same movie over and over again and never gets bored of it. The way Armand fixates on technology really reminds me of how a lot of autistic people played as children. He enjoys repetitive, sensory behaviors over “fun”. For Armand this means watching the same things repeatedly, which is a form of visual stimming. There r moments where Armand is trying to understand his world, but is so blind to what he is trying to understand that he goes about his discoveries wrong. Such as in qotd when he tries to interrogate strangers to gain information on societal norms but he only gets uncomfortable glances. Armand is desperate to understand and to connect but he is consistently inherently alienated, whether it be from humanity or from other vampires or from himself.

Armand also can not process his memories comprehendingly. This is part trauma part autism, but autism is def a factor. Because of his repressed trauma induced memory loss Armand finds it difficult to talk about himself to people. This is worsened by Armand being unable to comprehend the aspects of story telling that he needs to be able to tell people about his life. Armand explains to Daniel that he vividly remembers small details, such as dates and weather, but he could not tell Daniel what “things were like” because he “doesn’t know what that means”. Literal thinking, the inability to grasp vague, fiction based concepts like narratives and metaphor, and strict fixation on minor details like numbers, are all autistic traits!

Armand also struggles heavily with emotional regulation. He is described as often having intense and extreme meltdowns where he cries and screams and breaks things. Armand is easily bothered, in tva he mentions that he covers his ears when he is overwhelmed. The vampire Armand begins actually with Armand becoming overwhelmed in public and trying to escape to an attic so that he can be alone in silence. Armand copes with his intense emotions by putting on a mask of neutrality. He is often described as expressionless and blank, uncanny. But this is a mask, and when Armand can no longer mask and his disguise lapses his facial expressions r described by lestat as being so over the top and emotional that they are disturbing and weird. Over the top unnatural facial expressions as well as blank unreadable ones are both autistic traits. For Armand he is naturally overly emotive to the point of being considered horrifying, and he hides this by taking the opposite extreme. Either way, either expression Armand puts on causes him to be socially outcast.

Armand often describes feeling like there is something wrong with him that causes him to be isolated from others and he’s not sure what it is. In prince lestat he tells Gregory that he doesn’t know why it’s so hard for him to have relationships when other vampires are fully capable of doing that. In the vampire Armand he explains to David that he’s crazy because his mind isn’t built right and his senses are tripled so he shouldn’t bother trying to understand him. I rlly relate to this as someone who felt like I was from another dimension as a child bcus i didn’t know the unspoken life rules everyone else did.

Armand is often treated like a child by the other vampires and assumed to be emotionally immature and too fragile and insane to be helpful. Armand says in the vampire Armand that he doesn’t consider himself an adult because he can’t function like one. This could be due to the age he was turned, but it’s shown to us that characters like Benji and even to an extent Claudia r able to self regulate and function appropriately despite being turned even younger then Armand was.

in conclusion, book Armand is an autistic person who was never given proper support or understanding because the environment and the time period he was born in decided to alienate him further rather then work to help him socialize and learn appropriate skills, and because of the necessities he has been deprived of and the horrible trauma he endured Armand is never able to learn to function in the way he was likely capable of. this recessive quality in pair with his autism caused Armand it be unable to cope or self regulate or learn ways to understand himself since he wasn’t given a chance to in his formative years. He’s a great representative of what many autistic people who experienced intense child abuse experience.

Im rlly happy with the shows portrayal with Armand so far partly because he is omg, so autistic. Show Armand shares so many of book Armand’s autistic traits. inability to understand himself or others, fixation on small details but inability to understand the big picture, etc. even his iPad is autistic asf! My ipad is my comfort item that I carry around with me to self sooth, and this is def the vibe Armand’s iPad gives me in the show. Even assads performance is autistic! He is able to play Armand masking and Armand unmasking, the stilted expressions he gives and the blank stares, the uncomprehending earnestness. AGHHHH!! Assad stims with his fingers when Armand is nervous too which is just an amazing touch. I hope the show explores Armand’s autism, because that would literally be a dream come true. Even still, for now I’m satisfied.

thank u so so much anon for the ask this made me so happy 🙏❤️ autistic Armand means so much to me and has gotten me though some tough times. Understanding and analyzing Armand helps me understand myself better and feel more comfortable with how I am. Earlier this year I gave myself a concussion because I was harmfully stimming during a meltdown, and while I was in the emergency room I was holding the vampire Armand and imaging that he would relate to what I was going through. So yeah he is very special to me too! And once again it makes me so so happy that u got me to talk some about it. I hope this was coherent or interesting lol I felt like I was all over the place

[causenessus]

cold kisses

part 0.12. MEN ARE STUPID

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . uncomfortable by eyedress

she feels stupid waiting for him in the kitchen. if he's upset with her she doesn’t want to be the first thing he sees in the morning. but she wants to fix what she did wrong or at least talk to him about it. she wants to show him that she cares.

so she keeps waiting. her head almost gets the best of her and she’s about to take refuge back in her own room when his door creaks open. 

she’s silent as she watches him navigate through the kitchen. she hates this. she’s never had to feel uncomfortable around him, as if she was walking on thin ice and one wrong move could ruin everything.

she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s watching him, and he doesn’t look at her. she looks down at her fingers, splayed on the kitchen counter, and begins to pick at them to try and calm her nerves. “...i don’t mean to bother you, but i just wanted to check in on how you’re doing,” she finally speaks up.

“i’m good,” he responds, placing down a mug he’s grabbed from a cabinet above.

“are you?” she answers quickly and then immediately tries to soften the blow, “i mean, i’m just worried. you won’t look at me. i feel like i did something wrong.”

he pauses for a moment before resuming what he’s doing. “you didn’t,” he replies quietly. it’s clear he wants her to leave it, but she can’t bring herself to. she wants to talk to him. she likes to talk to him. she likes him.

“then why won't you look at me?” when she says it out loud, it sounds pathetic. “i feel like there is something. i don’t want to assume, but i can’t help but overthink this. is it because i was out with atsumu yesterday?”

he finally looks at her but she immediately regrets asking him to do so in the first place. he looks nothing like how he acted and spoke with her when they were texting yesterday. “why would i be mad about that?” he asks. “we’re not actually dating or anything, i don’t care who you're with.”

everything seems to freeze for a moment. the world goes silent. even her pulse she could hear so loudly only seconds ago has paused, and she keeps looking forward. no longer at him, just on the wall past him. she doesn’t blink, she doesn’t breathe, she doesn’t move because it’s all she can do to keep herself from falling apart. she’d been the one to read everything wrong. she had let her feelings get the best of her. they'd agreed to pretend to date and she had selfishly pushed further past those boundaries; he had just played along. “yeah. you’re right,” she almost gives up trying to hold herself together when her voice cracks, “sorry i asked. see you later.”

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

nothing fun about this chapter??

special shoutout to the runnerup songs almost picked for this chapter bc there were many options

after you cry (the anxiety & willow), we had to end it (cuco), pain (pinkpantheress), weirdly enough the mortal boy king (the paper kites) and needs (verzache)

shoutout to my grandma who called my music taste depressing and lonely which is apparently true?? bc there were so many songs that went with this chapter

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @eggyrocks @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @skylarkalchemist @kunimix @sereniteav @kodzubaby @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @r0seandth0rns @gsyche @kitnootkat @seillarium @tamimemo @myromanempiree @coldcigarette @eclipticnikki @squiishymeow @vivian-555 @cryptictheseus @eclecticeggknightpsychic @kodzukein @kawaii-angelanne @luvly-writer @kodzuken-hoe @kodzuken88 @bookworm-center @theweirdfloatything @glitch-karma @spicana

[mariclerc]

just finished reading the new chapter of an unexpected role and MORE LILY x GRID INTERACTIONS PLSS

Thank you very much for this request!! I love writing Lily's adventures in the paddock, it seems very cute to me 🥺🥺🥺

An unexpected role (pt.6) | cl16

Summary: you revealed your little secret to your date, you didn't expect he would take it so well. Warning: none, just fluff as usual.

Follow the series!! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Sunlight streams through the window of the Ferrari motorhome. You're sprawled on a plush sofa with Lily, your two-year-old daughter, she sits beside you with a half-eaten cookie clutched in her hand. She giggles as a video plays on your phone, showing her interactions with the Red Bull mechanics earlier.

“Hey amore, are you almost ready?” he calls from another room.

“Almost, just gotta find Lily's lucky socks!” you say smiling.

Lily throws her head back and laughs, cookie crumbs flying everywhere. You scoop her up, tickling her tummy. Visits to the paddock are more frequent now, since the first race you and Lily attended everyone in the paddock and the teams love you both, it's like a breath of fresh air in the paddock, and not to mention the fans, after the initial hatred little by little they gave in and now they adore you two.

“Where did my little lucky charm get all this cookie on her, huh?” you say softly while looking at her.

“Dan-iel!” Lily says.

“Oh, Daniel spoiled you again, didn't he?” you shake your head.

Suddenly footsteps are heard approaching the room.

“There they are! My two favorite girls.” He says entering the room with a playful smile on his face. Charles ruffles Lily's hair, who squeals in delight. “Found those lucky socks yet?”

“Yup, she had hidden them in my bag. Naughty little girl.” You say with a giggle and then lean towards Lily and put on her socks and butterfly shoes.

Charles raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “How about a pre-race cuddle session to appease the racing gods?”

Lily claps her hands and squirms out of your arms, making a beeline for Charles. He scoops her up, showering her face with kisses.

“Careful, you might give her pre-race jitters!” you say laughing.

Charles winks at you. “Nah, she's got Leclerc blood in her veins, she thrives on competition. Just ask all the mechanics she's been racing around the paddock with today.”

“Speaking of which, did you see the fan videos circulating online? Lily giving Valtteri a high five was adorable.”

“I know, right? It's amazing how much everyone loves having her around. You'd think she's been on the grid since day one.” he smiles softly.

You lean in and kiss Charles softly.

“She brings a different kind of energy to the paddock, doesn't she? Reminds everyone there's more to life than trophies.” you whisper.

“Oh, absolutely! You and Lily are my lucky charms, my whole world! Now come on, let's get this show on the road.” he said while holding you close.

You hand Charles Lily's stuffed bunny, a constant companion on race days.

“Go get 'em, champ! We'll be cheering you on from the pit wall, as always.”

“Always.” he kisses your forehead.

He takes Lily's hand, leading them both out of the motorhome. As they disappear down the hallway, you can't help but smile. Charles may be a racing champion, but in this moment, you and Lily are his biggest victories.

***

Charles emerges from the motorhome, Lily bouncing in his arms, her hair bouncing in a mini ponytail. The paddock is a hive of activity, mechanics bustling with purpose, engineers huddled over laptops, and fans straining for a glimpse of their racing heroes.

A collective gasp rises as Charles appears, Lily's bright eyes taking in the scene with wide-eyed wonder.

“Buongiorno everyone! Ready for another race?” he says while smiling to the fans in the paddock fan-zone area.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Forza Charles! And ciao bella Lily!” says a smiling little fan while waving his hand.

“Ci-ao!” Lily says waving her little hand.

Charles chuckles, then spots Logan Sargeant strolling towards them, a grin plastered on his face.

“Leclerc! Looking sharp today, even with your little pre-race mascot.”

Lily reaches out, giggling. “Lo-gan!”

Logan scoops her up in a playful hug, earning another round of cheers from the crowd.

“Looks like you've got some competition this weekend, mate.” Logan giggled.

Charles feigns a frown. “Don't worry, Sargeant. I'm sure I can handle a little competition... Especially when she's this cute.” He winks at Lily, who giggles and buries her face in his neck. Photographers snap pictures like crazy, capturing the adorable interaction.

“Looks like someone's got a lot of fans to sign autographs for today.” You say walking behind them.

“Only the best fans, amore. Now, come on, let's get down to the grid. It's showtime!” He says, handing Lily back to you.

You follow Charles through the throng of fans, Lily nestled comfortably in your arms. As you walk, you hear snippets of conversation, all praising Lily's cuteness and the joy she brings to the paddock.

One little girl, clutching a Ferrari flag, yells out:

“Good luck, Lily! You too, Mr. Leclerc!”

Lily waves enthusiastically at the little girl, a smile splitting her face wide open. You glance at Charles, a silent understanding passing between you. This little girl, surrounded by the roar of the engines and the cheers of the crowd, is exactly where she belongs. The paddock may be her playground for now, but who knows? Maybe one day, she'll be the one stealing the show on the grid.

***

The roar of the crowd intensifies as they approach the grid. Charles, focused on the upcoming race, gives you a quick but reassuring squeeze on the hand.

“Alright ma belle, listen. I gotta get ready. You and Lily find a good spot at the pit wall, alright?”

“Don't worry about us, we'll be your loudest cheerleaders. Go get 'em, champ!” you say while nudging him playfully.

He leans down and kisses Lily's forehead.

“Be good for mama, okay? And remember, papa loves you the most.” he says to Lily and he gives her a little kiss on her cheek.

Lily giggles, clinging to her bunny plushie. A young Ferrari mechanic, a teenage girl with grease stains on her overalls, approaches you both shyly.

“Hey there, little super star. You want to see the car before the race starts? It's super fast, just like you!” the mechanic tells Lily timidly.

Lily's eyes widen with excitement.

“Would you like that, Lily?” you asked Lily while smiling.

Lily nods enthusiastically.

“Thank you so much, that would be amazing!” you tell the mechanic.

The mechanic beams, clearly delighted. “No problem at all! Follow me, little miss.”

The mechanic leads Lily, her eyes sparkling with wonder, towards the gleaming red Ferrari. You watch them go, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. The paddock, once a world of flashing lights and roaring engines, has become a second home, filled with people who adore your little family.

You find a spot at the pit wall, just as Charles takes his position in the cockpit. He looks out towards the crowd, his gaze locking with yours for a brief moment. You give him a thumbs up and a reassuring smile. He nods, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

The lights go out, plunging the grid into an electrifying darkness. Then, with a deafening roar, the engines ignite. Charles is off, a blur of red against the grey asphalt. You hold Lily close, her tiny hands clutching her bunny plushie.

“There he goes, baby! That's papa!”

Lily doesn't take her eyes off the track, her small voice joining the chorus of cheers as Charles battles for position. The race is on, and you know, no matter what the outcome, this day, filled with love, family, and the thrill of the race, the paddock visits will always be one of the best adventures for you and Lily.

***

Lily's eyes are glued to the track, tracing the red blur that is Charles' car with rapt attention. You, however, find yourself drawn to a group of young engineers huddled nearby. Their animated discussion, usually filled with technical jargon, has an undercurrent of worry that sends a shiver down your spine.

You catch snippets of their conversation: "front wing damage," "pit stop for repairs," "crucial time lost." A pit stop this early in the race could throw Charles' entire strategy off balance.

Anxiety gnaws at you, but you force a smile for Lily, brushing back a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“See that big red car down there, honey? That's papa! He's having a little trouble with his car, but the clever engineers will fix it up in no time, alright?” you whisper softly at Lily.

Lily nods, her brow furrowed in concentration. The little girl beside you, normally brimming with boundless energy, seems to have sensed the tension in the air.

“Why don't we send papa some good luck vibes? Close your eyes really tight and think of the fastest, strongest Ferrari ever!” you whisper again leaning closer to her.

Lily closes her eyes tight, squeezing her stuffed bunny with all her might. You follow suit, a silent prayer forming on your lips for Charles' safety and a successful race.

Suddenly, a flurry of activity erupts in the Ferrari pit lane... Mechanics scramble, tools glinting in the afternoon sun. Charles pulls into the pit box, the red flag forcing an unplanned early stop. You watch with a mixture of apprehension and admiration as the team works with lightning speed, their practiced movements a well-oiled machine.

Just as your heart starts hammering against your ribs, the pit stop ends. Charles, with a fresh wing and a determined glint in his eyes, roars back onto the track.

The red flag is lifted, and the race resumes with renewed intensity. The crowd erupts in cheers, their anticipation hanging heavy in the air. You grab Lily's hand, squeezing it tightly.

“There he goes! Now let's see papa show everyone what a true champion is made of!”

Lily beams, a spark of mischief returning to her eyes. She raises her tiny fist in the air, chanting along with the crowd. “Go papa go! Go papa!” she smiles shyly.

You watch, a rollercoaster of emotions churning inside you, as Charles battles his way back up the field. The race has taken an unexpected turn, but one thing remains certain: your family is in it together, for every pit stop, every thrilling overtake, and every victory (or defeat) that awaits your family on the racetrack.

***

Disappointment hangs heavy in the air as the winner's car streaks past the finish line. Charles follows close behind, his red Ferrari a blur of consolation. The crowd, initially buzzing with anticipation, erupts in a mix of cheers and groans. Lily, perched on your shoulders, scans the track with wide, confused eyes.

“Papa?” Lily asks you with a tender look.

“There he is, honey! Look, it's the red car!” You point to the part of the track where Charles' car is located.

Charles navigates his way through the final corners, bringing the Ferrari to a stop in the designated post-race area. The roar of the engine fades, replaced by a wave of mixed emotions washing over you. While a tiny part of you yearns for the elation of victory, the bigger part swells with pride at Charles' fighting spirit. He may not have secured the top spot, but he fought hard, his skill evident in every daring overtake and smooth maneuver.

Mechanics swarm the car, their faces etched with a mixture of disappointment and respect. Charles emerges from the cockpit, his helmet tucked under his arm. His expression is a mask of controlled emotions, but a flicker of disappointment momentarily clouds his eyes.

He scans the crowd, searching for his family. When he spots you and Lily, a wave of relief washes over him. He strides towards you, a determined glint returning to his eyes.

“There you are! Come here, mes amours.” He says addressing the two of you.

You weave through the throng of fans, a mix of congratulatory pats and sympathetic murmurs on your way to Charles. The air crackles with the post-race energy, a bittersweet symphony of cheers and dejection.

Charles scoops you both into a tight embrace, the familiar scent of adrenaline and sweat wrapping around you. You bury your face in his chest, offering silent comfort for a battle well fought but narrowly lost.

“You were amazing out there, Charles. We're so proud of you.” You whisper as you give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I know it wasn't the win we were hoping for, but...” he kiss your forehead.

He trails off, his gaze falling on Lily, who watches the post-race celebrations with a furrowed brow.

“Hey little champ, what do you say we celebrate papa's second place with some ice cream? How does that sound?” He says smiling at Lily.

Lily's face lights up with a radiant smile, all traces of confusion forgotten. “Ice cream! Yaaay!”

Charles throws his head back and laughs, the sound a welcome release after the tension of the race.

“See? Second place isn't so bad after all, especially when you have the best pit crew a driver could ask for.” He says smiling at you.

He winks at you, the familiar spark back in his eyes. You smile, knowing that win or lose, your family bond remains the strongest trophy of all. Together, you navigate the bustling paddock, Charles and Lily hand in hand, ready to celebrate his second place and the unwavering love that binds them. The race may be over, but the joy of being together remains the most precious victory.

***

As the three of you walk through the paddock, several staff members and the drivers stop to say goodbye to the three of you... In particular, say goodbye to little Lily, since she has become the little princess of the paddock.

Lily lets out a little scream when she sees Oscar. “Osc! Osc!” she says, jumping up and down and smiles when she sees the young Australian. “Mama! Can I... 'ay goodbye to Osc?” She asked you and you smiled at her.

“Of course you can, honey pie! But be careful, okay?” you said sweetly and she let go of your hand and walked towards Oscar.

Charles let out a small chuckle as the two of you looked at Lily walking towards Oscar, Obviously you two followed her closely, but without stopping her little adventure.

Oscar looked down to see Lily, who had a smile from ear to ear. “Oh, hello there little Lily!” He said giving her a smile and bent down to take her in his arms. “What are you doing walking around the paddock alone? You know it's bad, right?” Oscar told her and she just stuck her tongue out at him as a joke.

Lily turned her little head towards you and Charles. “Mama and papa, there Osc!” She said pointing to Oscar where you and Charles were standing, you smiled at the young Australian.

Oscar smiled at the two of you and moved a little closer to you. “Hey, congratulations on the podium Charles!” says Oscar, greeting Charles friendly. ��I got scared when I saw Lily walking alone in the paddock... Why did she come towards me?” He asked with a small grimace on his face.

You smiled softly. “Well she wanted to say goodbye to you.”

“Yes... And apparently she fell in love with you.” Charles said softly and Oscar's eyes widened.

“Oh, that’s so cute Lily!” he said as he hugged Lily.

“Bye Osc!” Lily said as she got out of his arms.

Both you and Charles said goodbye to the Australian and headed towards the exit of the paddock with a Lily who was somewhat curious about her surroundings.

***

When you got to the hotel room, Lily was quite exhausted from the day of adventures she had had, so, with the help of Charles, you gave her a bath and put her pajamas on. Between the two of you, you told her a bedtime story while she snuggled with her stuffed bunny Mimi.

Charles leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams my little one. I love you.” he whispered sweetly towards Lily.

“Luv you da!” she said a little sleepy.

You leave the joint room and you stood in your place. Charles turned on his heel and looked at you.

“Are you coming love?” he asked tenderly.

You blinked. “Yes... Yes honey, just give me a moment, okay?” You tell him and he nodded as he walked to the bed that was in the center of the room.

Carefully, you opened your travel bag and took out an envelope with some papers that you had been processing for a couple of months. With the help of Fred, Lorenzo and Pascale you were able to do this, you wanted Charles to officially be Lily's dad... And maybe they don't have a blood relationship or anything else, but the connection that exists between the two of them and, in general, between the three of you, is something incredible and even though neither you nor he are married, the fact that Lily bears his last name is more than enough for you.

You carefully walked back to the room with the envelope behind you. “I would like to give you this.” You whispered softly while you handed him the envelope and he sat on the bed.

He looked at you somewhat confused. “What is this darling?” he asked.

“Find out for yourself... Open it.” you whispered again.

He opened the envelope delicately and took out the papers, some contained the entire legal process to be able to have paternity rights, kinship by affinity and so on, until he reached the last one that said: Lily Marie Leclerc, he looked at you with watery eyes. “Honey... I.” he said with a small voice. “I'm... I'm her dad, chérie... Tell me it's not a dream.”

You smiled at him. “It's not a dream my love, you're officially her dad.” you said and hugged him with all your strength. “Happy Father's Day mon amour!” you whispered and placed several kisses on his face, he couldn't believe it, he was officially a dad.

“Oh god, this is.. This is the best gift I have ever been given in my life! Oh mon cœur, thank you for this!” He said now with happy tears running down his face and you smiled lovingly.

“It's nothing baby boy... I thought, well, we should make it official.” you giggled.

While you two were hugging each other, a new adventure began for your little family... The now Leclerc family and you simply couldn't be happier about this, because you and Lily feel happy, much happier than you both had been before you met him.

[kaszuma]

Mockery | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 0 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Mina Ashiro needed a team. But the moment she found one, she was at a loss at what to do when her Vice Captain and Lead Technician got off on the wrong foot.

warnings: Slight Kn8 B-side Manga Spoilers, Mentions of Soshiro struggling with self-worth, Mentions of slight animosity between you and Soshiro but nothing too major, First-time meeting, Mentions very few graphic depictions of slaying Kaiju.

wc: 9,712

–

note: Hello! Sorry for the long wait.

I originally planned to write Part 7 first. but decided to write Part 0 as a special chapter since I've hit a hundred followers. But by the time I finished, we hit 150. Thank you lots!!

There is less romance on this one, since it's a prequel to Part 1 of Certainly Yours. I originally wanted to incorporate a rivalry or an initial animosity between reader and Soshiro. So this was my best attempt on the subject.

There is a lot more interaction and inner pining because it's still in the initial stages in the relationship. And I had a difficult time cross referencing B-side manga with the things I've already written thus far. I’m disappointed we don't really have much information on Soichiro. And I have big plans to incorporate him in a separate part in much more excruciating detail later down the line. Involving jealousy..

Anyways. For now, I shall write Part 7 and give ya'll the comfort you need. Might be the big I love you's, you're looking for. Wink wink.

Also, please tell me if I missed any warnings. None of these are proof read and my phone lags really bad when I post 9k words worth of fanfiction.

–

The feeling of being needed was a foreign concept that Soshiro Hoshina had never experienced for himself.

The road that he paved himself had always been a lonesome one. Carved by the very callouses of his own fingertips. Where he'd dive headfirst into the nose of a cliff filled with criticisms and comparisons. The world familiar to him had always been accompanied by a sense of mockery for his craft. A sneaky way to bury his existence in the wake of the world that had been full of firearms and expert Kaiju exterminators.

In the face of it all, he had always been frustratingly average.

Not nearly as bright as the way his older brother had burned for the adrenaline of the battlefield. The use of firearms, specialized tools and weaponry that had been modernized to slay larger than life Kaiju. Had always been stacked against him. Someone who was not born with the innate ability to tackle such large threats. His use had been chained to the blade. One so sharp and pristined to the point of no return.

For as long as he remembered, it had always been like this.

Even before he had joined the Defense Force of his own volition. He had always felt inferior in the way his brother Soichiro had bested him in every sense of the word. A genius incarnation that had rarely been born into the Hoshina family's already impressive lineage. In a family who prided themselves as generational Kaiju-slayers.

By all means, Soichiro Hoshina was the perfect man born for the front lines. His presence alone dominated the field. Any Challengers he'd face would be a place where normal people would never be able to reach.

He mastered a variety of martial arts at a young age. Already flipping over instructors each time he was paired to a battle in an attrition of self-defense.

The sword techniques passed down within the generations of his ancestors, had all been perfected to improve upon his own. His sword an extension of his arm each time he wielded it. And in terms of firearms? Soshiro couldn't begin to imagine ever reaching the height of his brother's skill. The gap between them in terms of long ranged attacks had been far too large for him to delusionally think he'd ever make it. Let alone surpass.

And although their youngest was plenty good at the progress of his own swordsmanship. Soichiro was on an entirely different level than he was.

A genius, some would call him. A fact the younger Hoshina was far too aware of.

The dust he left behind when he ran forward was often a sight Soshiro was familiar with. Sweeping him off of his feet each time he'd issue a direct challenge with his older brother.

And although he hated to admit it. Soichiro Hoshina's existence was both an inspiration and a mockery to his own.

A frustrating truth that even he had no choice but to believe.

His enigmatic older brother had always been a person who was destined to become the Captain of the sixth division. And his junior of five years, who had not excelled in anything but his skill in close quarter combat. Had all but stood in his shadow, destined to live a much ordinary life as an instructor like his family suggested.

Not a single person expected him to keep fighting.

To keep swinging that blade of his which had been both a boon and bane for his existence in the defense force.

Each humorous jab, or critical comment directed his way, had always been replied with a simple smile on his cat-like features. Far too exhausting to correct the people who had never dreamed to understand what he wished for.

And even if they never did, even if no one ever believed that he'd be able to survive the chaotic life of killing a Kaiju with a blade alone. He'd fight tooth and nail if he had to, In an effort just to keep his style of combat alive.

Because swinging the sword had always been something he found extreme joy in.

He refused to let this be the written ending for his story. Refused to let fate decide on the path to his future actions. Not when his undoing had all been decided by his unlucky birth.

Had Soshiro existed in a different era, far away from Soichiro. Things may have turned out much differently, he imagined.

But alas, he was stuck fighting. Climbing the gritty stairs of progress. Dragging the heavy weights of his blades all the way to the bloody top. And It showed in the way he never stopped practicing. His personalized equipment had always remained in top condition. The sharp end of that thinly-cut mass of iron had always been razor edged and cut-throat in the way it was maintained. Not even a dent could be seen on the damn thing.

By all means the weapon he held had always been ready. Waiting in fact, for the day Soichiro would mess up and stumble.

And for some reason? Soshiro had a feeling that day would be today.

It was their usual four round duel. An agreement between brothers who'd meet up every afternoon at the end of their respective classes for the weekday. Books packed hastily in an effort to rush home so that they could clash blades in the open spaces of their house's courtyard.

It had been a daily routine at this point.

Often, Soshiro would be the first to come home. Dropping his bag onto the floor of his bedroom and rushing to wear his hakama which had been prepped on the foot of his bed. And the moment he puts it on, he shows no hesitation when he grabs an appropriately sized bamboo blade that he kept nearest his closet.

Soichiro, who was the last to come, had always returned home with his little brother already waiting for him at their usual spot. Stance wide and ready to begin their matchup.

And although he often found his determination awe inspiring.

The older brother was far too aware of his own blood's presence. His eagerness to catch him off-guard had been made clear. Always at the ready in the case he'd make a mistake so that he could close the gap in skill between them.

And Soichiro. Who was as equally as cunning as he is. Had always been one step ahead, at the ready for any of Soshiro’s practiced attacks that even he knew could catch up to him at any moment.

Genius my ass. What's the point of being called that when your younger brother was so close to surpassing you? His progress in the blade is abnormally fast.

And to Soichiro. It was utterly terrifying.

“Yer too stiff ya’ little wimp. How do you expect to swing and hit me when that stance of yours is too rigid.” Soichiro pointed out. His chin pointed at the darker haired boy's much smaller feet. The boy hadn't even hit a growth spurt yet. And at this point he had been much taller than Soshiro's current height. His little brother barely reached the waistband of his Hakama giving him an ample advantage in build.

“Tryin’ something new. Now shut yer’ trap and let me hit ya!” Soshiro replied. The same serious look plastered on his face.

And such a challenge is met by his brother's own smirk. “Quite the yapper today aren't ya?” He laughs.

“-Fine. If you managed to hit me once, I'll let you go at me for another round. That ‘a deal?”

“Don't even need to ask.” Soshiro smirks. And with quick footwork, the boy had already reached his older brother's inner circle.

His steps were precise in the way he wasted no unnecessary limbs in his movement. In three short steps he had been faced to face with him. The tip of his bamboo sword already pointed at the very sky. Ready to strike him in the shoulder in an attempt to have him drop his own weapon. A technique he had done plenty of times to Soshiro before.

But the braided haired boy had been quicker. More experienced for his age. Foreseeing the minor tells his brother would exhibit when striking his sword down. And he wastes no time, pouncing to the side. Narrowly avoiding the heavy hand that had almost hit him on the jugular. Where he knows would've hurt.

It was done in quick succession. Soshiro didn't even have time to realize that his brother had turned on his heel. His blade held with one hand, had swept the ground to hit his very ankle. Effectively throwing him off balance. Making Soshiro yelp as he landed on his rear. Sword slipping from the tight grasp of his fingertips which had not grown enough to garner a steady grip yet.

And he could hear Soichiro’s obnoxious laughter echoing from in front of him. Slapping his leg to try and calm his breathless laughter.

“Whoops, nearly thought you had me there didn't ya?” He places his free hand over his stomach whilst he slung his sword over his shoulder. Trying not to pop a vein while laughing so hard.

And the jolly expression on his face alone had made Soshiro grit his teeth.

“Hah!? One more round and I'll make ya’ eat dirt you big bonehead.” Soshiro had replied. Already scampering about to grab his sword from the sidelines. Readying his stance for another round.

But a little known fact about Soichiro is that his interests never linger on him for too long. Only allowing the younger boy a total of four rounds per day. No more, no less. Had that number exceeded. He'd spare no glance and show disinterest on entertaining the boy no more. And his laughter soon dies down.

“Nope, No way! That's the fourth loss in a row. That's ‘bout enough for today Soshiro.” The older boy shook his head nonchalantly. Fixing up the loose strands of his braid as he turned to walk away. Uninterested now that the battle had ended quickly.

“You coward–One more round! I ain’t done with you yet!!” Soshiro yelled. But he sees the way his older brother was already kicking the wooden sandals off his feet. Walking back inside where the scorch of the afternoon sun would not hit him. And mock reply he'd refuse much louder than before.

“Nope.” His mouth popped.

“Them's the rules, I'm afraid.. Now I’m starvin, let's go grab a bite to eat.”

He sees the way Soichiro had not spared a second to look back. Immediately making a beeline to the Kitchen where he knew a few snacks would be waiting for them.

But unlike the eldest, Soshiro had stubbornly stomped behind his brother. Trying his best to keep up with the older boy who had much larger strides in his steps.

“That ain't fair, you said you'd give me five rounds today!”

“I said I'd give ya an extra round IF ya’ managed to hit me. And beggars can't be choosers here seeing as how not one of your attacks managed to graze me at all.”

“-Looks like you'll need more trainin’ ya little twerp.” His hand had reached to pat him on the head. But Soshiro had slapped it away before it could ruffle the tips of his hair.

“Quit callin me twerp ya Bonehead! I'm not the one who's running away–Come back here so I can kick yer’ sorry butt!” He chased after him. A common sight for the household who often saw the siblings bicker with one another.

But Soichiro was too fast. The pleasant smile on his face remained as he grabbed a rice ball nearest the counter. All the while effectively avoiding the smaller one's tackles.

It had been a few seconds more before Soshiro would give up in his pursuit. The sound or his grumbling stomach made Soichiro want to laugh. But he figured he could spare the poor boy the embarrassment of pointing that out.

Eventually, Soshiro stopped. Grabbing a rice ball of his own, he chooses to sit at the tatami nearest the windowsill of their home. And with much delight begins munching on the rice ball with a fuming look on his face.

He hadn't given up..he’s just a little hungry. That's all. He reminds himself.

“One of these days I'll beat ya’ on the first swing. Just you wait.” And that sentiment makes his older brother smile.

“That so?” Soichiro replied. Sitting beside the younger boy who had taken large bites from his own food. And unbeknownst to Soshiro, a smile appears on the corner of his older brother's lips.

“Well, guess I should buckle up and train too. Wouldn't want my wimpy little brother here to get ahead of me. Now do I?” The younger one couldn't help but roll his eyes. Clearly unamused that his brother had taken to scorn him again.

“Train with what? You're already plenty good at everything else. Yer’ just being mean.” Soichiro couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's small pout. Already grabbing him another rice ball to hand to him, as a form of apology. And Soshiro wastes no time to accept his offer. Enjoying the fresh grains of rice wrapped in that salty seaweed sheet. A singular pickled plum had peaked from within the blankets of warm grains.

“Sure. But I ain't about to slack off and give ya an easy-win.” Soichiro chuckles. Though for some reason, his voice had been far kinder than usual. “-Besides…”

Soshiro pauses, raising a brow at his older brother who had stared at the golden rays nearest the open window. And a strange expression was etched on his very face.

“I'm willin’ to bet that someday..yer’ gonna find someone who's gonna need you. With or without that blade of yours.”

And he raises his head to meet his older brother's strange smile.

It had been a selfish, childish desire for sure. One that disliked the idea of his younger brother overlapping him one day. The sheer dedication and progress he had been making was a far cry to his own. But those words, he meant sincerely. And whether Soshiro was aware of that, he was sure that one day he'd at least think back on it as simply words of mockery to discourage him.

And he did not bother to correct him.

…

It had been a few years since then. And for some reason those words stuck to Soshiro like a moth with a lamp.

It was uncharacteristic of Soichiro.

Even after he cut ties with his older brother. He had always found that sentiment of his, strange. The enigmatic Soichiro did not usually go out of his way to comfort him. Let alone aid him in his training. In fact, he distinctly remembers all the times the braided haired boy discouraging him each time they dueled. Demotivated him to stop in his endeavors.

It wasn't uncommon for his anger to boil when it came to Soichiro’s demeaning behavior. His words, often echoing on days where he’d fail to prove his worth to the defense force.

And although he knew Soichiro was only teasing him. His constant onslaught of berations had made him think he needed to improve upon his flaws even more. His words of mockery, a lingering thought on the back of his mind that would've normally made a person give up. Had only strengthened his resolve. And his actions only lead to even longer strides of hard work that only evolved each passing moment he'd swing his sword.

So why was it that those words of his didn't sound like mockery at all?

Had his brother meant it? When he told him he'd find someone who'd need him with or without the skill of his blade?

It had been almost an entire decade since he last saw his brother. Who had gone straight ahead and became a captain of his own division. And Soshiro had just about joined the defense force. Hoping to prove his worth.

But that was easier said than done.

It wasn't until Mina Ashiro had walked in. Scouting him directly from the Kansai District. Offering him a chance to join the Third Division and rise to the top to become her Vice Captain. But even then, it had still felt like a blow to his existence who had been fighting just to stay in the game.

“I need your abilities. Will you join my force, Hoshina?” Captain Ashiro of the Third Division had spoken. Unabashed upon his entrance to her office. It had been one of those rare instances where he got to visit the Tokyo District. And he wondered if the woman in front of him was being serious in her resolve.

“Me?” He gives a wry chuckle. “Not sure I follow Captain.”

“You're a blade specialist. Yes?”

“That's correct.” He spoke with a weary formality.

“We can't overlook the possibility of miniature-sized Kaiju cropping down the line.” The Captain had spoken with determination. And her eyes meet Soshiro's with much the same determination she had when she first offered him a place next to her.

“When I need to shoot a threat, can I trust that you'll clear a path for me?”

…

Soshiro was frozen on the spot.

He was practically unable to answer her. Too shocked at the mere possibility of being offered a need for his skill with the blade. He had been forced to carry a gun with him before, and that didn't end well. Yet here she was, seeking assistance in a blade specialist who had so often struggled to keep up with entire platoons who had wielded firearms instead of steel.

So why now? Why was it when he resolved to only use blades did Captain Ashiro of the Third Division scout him out? Modern Kaiju of this day and age were large. Gigantic with plated shells that even firearms had struggled to pierce through. What good would a sword do in that situation?

And yet even then, he thought about it.

The possibility of fighting his way in the midst of soldiers who carried firearms and freezing rounds. The sheer thought of rushing forward and slicing Kaiju with the perfected combat abilities he had been polishing way before he had resolved to join the Defense Force.

But before he could resolve to make an answer, the door had opened. And you had entered the fray.

“Him? Well I suppose this isn't the first time the Third's willing to recruit strange people.”

Strange?

Soshiro had looked to the side. Catching a glimpse at your figure as you slowly closed the door behind you. Hands shoved to the front pocket of your lab coat as you walked right next to him. Saluting towards Captain Ashiro to formally greet her upon meeting her gaze.

“Captain.” You addressed. Right beside Soshiro. And you could feel his stares poking through your sides.

“At ease.” The Captain looks back towards him. “Officer Hoshina. This here, is the Third's Lead Technician. She's a weapons specialist and will be here to provide your support should you choose to join our division.”

The sweet smile on your face had not faltered. Taking you back to a relaxed stance as you came face to face with Soshiro’s own scrutiny. His raised eyebrow had been an indication of his hesitancy towards you.

Your eyes had made contact with his. And although squinted, you could see the glimpse of his wine colored eyes. Observing you thoroughly from head to toe.

You weren't exactly sure what was running in his thoughts at the moment. But his skepticism was met by a similar opinion of your own. Not entirely sure if he was as good as Captain Ashiro praised him to be. Though you had to admit, he was at least somewhat nice on the eye.

“I heard about you.” He tilts his head. Fox-like in his gaze. And a smile had stretched amusingly on the corners of your lips.

“Oh? Good things I hope?” He looked unbothered. Though in a sense that his kindness was only a front that he had all but gotten used to in hiding. Likely from your comment from earlier. And you had an inkling that he had a few things to say of his own. Sly in the way he'll word it.

”I suppose..” His reply was curt.

“Heard yer’ one of the few technicians that actually make Specialized Bioweapons, that about right?”

You nod. “Only for the strange ones.”

“-Ones that can't conform to the normalcy of standard firearms. Much like you, it seems.”

This makes Soshiro’s lips quirk. Suddenly very aware that your statement had been a jab of sorts. One he had gotten used to from his own division. And such a challenge was directly and expertly countered back in tandem.

“Well yer’ not so normal yourself ya’ know?” His accent had been made much clearer. And your eyebrows raise. Slightly irate in the way he jabbed at you. Though you let him continue, just to see if he could keep up with his own feist.

“-Heard you were the Technician that was kicked out for bein’ so stubborn to work with.”

And you had to hold back a wry chuckle. It seems his smile had a few sharp claws to fight back with. “So you've heard.”

“-But I suppose you too are used to that very sentiment, yes?” Your words seem to make that easy smile of his falter slightly. It was a miniscule comment, but judging by the way he had remained silent. The tension of the room grew weary as the two sparked a similar glare for each other. And although he found the situation slightly amusing, his displeased conversation had definitely soured his thoughts of joining.

Maybe the Third Division wasn't the place for him either.

What were the chances he'd have a different point of view should he switch divisions now? Your existence proved the very mockery his brother had implied. His Father who was normally supportive had not praised him for wanting to join the Defense Force when all he had was his skill in the blade. And the thought alone is enough to convince him otherwise.

Captain Ashiro's offer had been tantalizing, but not definite. And he has half a mind to excuse himself before things could escalate.

But as luck would have it. Captain Ashiro had been observant. Her intentions were never to have them be at odds with one another. And she clears her throat in the hopes she could ease the tension in the room slightly.

Administering as the only superior officer in the room. Who needed to take much responsibility.

“Sleep on it, Hoshina. We could use a close combat specialist like you out there.”

And whether or not she meant that. There hadn't been much time before an alert went off. A pin placed on his thoughts as he had found himself participating with the Third's mission to exterminate acid spitting Kaiju on the eastern side of the Kanto region.

…

Despite his hesitance. The thought of it still remained. And as if magnetized, he found himself willingly transfering to the Third Division. Somehow surviving a Kaiju attack that he had helped fend off with Captain Ashiro's help.

His sword. One he brought with him from back home. Had all been melted to the hilt. Its black steel had an unnatural wave of color on it. A result of his reckless actions when he remembered having to cut through the insides of a Kaiju's mouth. Saving both himself and a child from being devoured and melted.

Had Captain Ashiro and Okonogi; the Third's Lead Operations gal. Not hac impeccable timing, he was sure he would've been dead meat by now. And yet here he was, alive coupled with only a few bruises on his sore body.

After a few days, he had recovered fairly well since then. Deployed from the hospital after a back and forth discussion between the Tokyo and Kansai district. And he had finally gotten permission for his official transfer. h

His things were readily packed as he made his way to the bunkers of Tachikawa's base.

And just as he had stared at the broken blade, he had debated on whether or not he should've just thrown it out to get a new one.

It took ages to convince the Kansai district to forge him a blade. Steel that could withstand the strength of Kaiju skin. Or have a high enough melting point so that the acidic burns of its saliva and stomach were not affected by it. But that type of material was hard to come by. Let alone, he doubts command would grant him access to such weaponry when he had done nothing to prove his usefulness.

So even then, when he had been given the minimum necessity, he had been careful in its uses. Unsure whether or not his platoon leader would allow him to be given a replacement blade when he had so little opportunity to showcase his skill infield.

He’d likely have to ask Platoon Leader Ebina for a replacement. He had so few extra blades to spare. But the Third had at least been kinder to him than his last division. Surely they'd grant him better access to the weaponry of his choice, right?

Though just as he loathed the thought. His footsteps halted.

And in the middle of the empty hallways, nearest the corner where the sleeping quarters should be. Your eyes had met with his once more. The first time in a while since your encounter in the confines of Captain Ashiro's office.

“It's you.” You had spoken.

Suddenly aware that he had been staring at the broken blade in his hand. Unfazed by the heavy duffle bag he had carried with his other arm. The sudden softness of your voice had been unexpected to say the least. Given the last animosity you both displayed towards each other.

You walked closer to inspect the melted steel. Having already heard the report from Captain Ashiro’s latest mission. And for a moment, he feels as if you had looked almost displeased at the weapon. Guilty for having assumed the worst of him. “Looks like the acid's melted it down. I assume you have a spare?”

He nods. Sheathing the broken shortsword back in its holster. Making it look like it hadn't been broken at all. “That's right. Though I ain’t excited that I'm gonna hafta' throw another one out.”

This makes you smile. And his eyes had widened ever so slightly at the sight of your pretty teeth

So that's what you looked like when you smiled.

“Figures. It isn't very common for people to use steel against Kaiju nowadays. Let alone swords.” You spoke slowly. And this time, you see the way his mouth visibly frowns. A stark contrast to that usual unbothered smile of his when you had first met him.

“Well I ‘spose I'm not your common folk.” He spoke tight-lipped. And you cringe inwardly at your thoughtless words.

You hadn't meant that. A force of bad habit it seems. One that came from a place of wanting to help.

A soldier’s life, especially one that dealt with monstrous Kaiju, had always tipped the balance between life and death. And you had thought it reckless to see him remain stubborn when you first heard your Captain praise Soshiro's skill in the blade. Your impression on him, had made you think he was a reckless fool who did not value his life. At least not enough to learn how to handle firearms.

Though now, after having witnessed his actions through Okonogi and a few key witnesses from that day. You knew that you had been wrong in your assumptions. Planning to make amends the only way you knew how.

Your place as a Technician who could only fight through the weapons you made. One that you hoped would help people survive. Even for just a minute longer, just to make a difference.

“I didn't-” Your words were cut short. Not entirely sure why your voice had cut from the tip of your tongue. So instead you move closer grabbing the hilt of his blade from his fingertips. And that alone makes Soshiro tilt his head in confusion. “Here, let me have a look.”

And he watches you admire the weight and feel of the weapon. Staring at the black leather hilt that he had so often found himself gripping. Enough to cause a few dents in the area. Only further proving his dedication to his craft. But he did not understand your actions. Far too vague in deciphering you when he barely knew much to tell if your actions had been one of curiosity or just sheer brazenness.

“Do you…have something against me? Or is there somethin’ I’m missing here?" He blurts out. Unsure if your earlier comments were made from a place of ignorance or as a way to insult his way of fighting.

And your eyes had so easily pried from the blade and back to his face. Surprised that the relaxed persona of his had momentarily disappeared.

And for a second, you felt the weight of added guilt in the way you had addressed him earlier.“Against you? No, I-”

You sigh. “Not really. If anything I'm interested in you.” Managing to blurt out, almost frowning at the way you stumbled to admit that. Somehow that had been hard to say in front of his face.

“That so?” He tilts his head with a smile. “And here I was, under the impression that you hated my guts.”

You had half a mind to roll your eyes. Make another comment that might've irked his feathers for a bit. But you stopped yourself. Finding the smile on his face much more pleasant than you had imagined. A far cry from the masked practiced one he had adorned when you first met him with. And this time, you had made an effort to be more sincere.

“You've gained my trust.” You simply spoke. This time in a much more pleasant tone than you had anticipated. “I was wrong. I misjudged your confidence for stupidity.”

His eyes had trained over each other. And silence swept over them before you spoke hesitantly once more.

“I thought you were unwilling to adapt to change. But I see now you are much more careful than I anticipated.” Your admission makes him look away momentarily. Suddenly unused to such sincerity after their last meeting.

“Your skill in the blade is impeccable. And instead of being stupid, I'll replace your weapon for you.”

He raises his brow. Not entirely sure what you were getting at until you held the weighted blade with one hand. Unused to the way you had spoken softly this time. Almost apologetic even.

“You mean replace my weapon of choice?” He had assumed as much. Maybe you’d hand him a gun and see just how terrible he'd be at it. But you had almost smacked yourself on the head for wording things so vaguely.

“No.” Your reply was immediate. Making it clear that you had not meant to insult his skill in swordsmanship. That much was for sure. And maybe that had been the first spark that finally got through the both of you. That you had not meant to offend each other. Not this time.

“I meant–the material your weapon is made out of. It's barely functional, let alone made for slicing thick-skinned Kaiju. I didn't mean too.. yeah.”

Your words had caught his throat dry. And Somehow the awkwardness you had displayed had made him chuckle in response. Amused in the way you too, had stumbled in your words when you had so confidently spoken to him last time. He wonders if you were even the same person who'd responded with the feist he had experienced first-hand. Jabs and all.

Normally conversations like these would lead to persuasion. A simple comment to get him to use other weapons. To give up on his hard work with the blade.

By all means, he was used to the impracticality of his craft.

He was good with the blade. A prodigy some would call him. But his weapon of choice had not been suited for practical use. Often delegated as a Martial Arts technique, required to join the Defense Force as a form of experience.

But it seems he had forgotten who he was talking to.

For you had not been a very practical person either. A technician who made specialized weapons for the odd who would not dare conform to the standard way of fighting a modern Kaiju. And this time, he understood the words you had struggled to say out loud. Your apologies were clear, and you wanted to help. Even if you did look adorably helpless in trying to offer that option to him. “So, what I'm getting at is that, yer’ offering to help me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause I have no idea how you survived for this long with such a flimsy weapon.”

“‘Scuse me?” He couldn't help but laugh a little more. Finding your bluntness a charm. Your aura had been quite different from his initial assumptions. And it seems you were just a bold individual who was unafraid of speaking the truth if need be.

And the thought alone made him smile. Much more genuine in the way he realized he'd be faced with.

“Normally people just tell me that I'm bein’ stubborn by sticking to the front lines. But never that..” He chortled again. Finding the amusement almost breathtaking to stand upright.

And the sound of his laughter had been similar to the pretty bells you once heard during the peak hours of a windchimes's ring. Nice and genuinely pretty.

If he had laughed like that everyday, it might make things a little harder for you to deal with. But you ignore the quick pace in your heart strings. Rolling your eyes as if nothing changed in your demeanor.

“Oh please. I've seen it from the Operations Room. You're more than capable. But the weapons they've given you are…subpar to say the least.”

“-If you actually want to do more, you're gonna need a stronger steel base than this.” You had flicked your finger against the holster of the blade. And the sound of contact had echoed to his ear. And suddenly he is all too aware of that soft smile plastered on your face.

A confidence brimming in you that told him all he needed to know. A thought that you'd help him. To stick by his side and pave a way for him. Starting with a better weapon.

“And I can help you. If you let me.”

“Oh. So you're offering to fix my blade for me?”

“Even better. I'm offering you specialized blades. Ones that won't break so easily.” You beamed. And the sight of your eagerness had made him almost giddy. It almost sounded like a pipe dream in the way you had offered no hesitance in supporting him. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the many who had given up on him.

“Though of course, you'd have to rise through the ranks. Command will only authorize special made weapons for the strongest Officers after all.”

“Like Captain Ashiro?” He had spoken out of turn. A tilt on his head at the memory of her rather peculiar specialty. “I assume you'd want someone who can dish out firepower as strong as hers.”

It was no secret that the Captain of the Third Division had an unusual affinity for firearms. Her large weapon was akin to a cannon, fit to destroy larger than life Kaiju should they appear before them. But you had all but shook your head at his comment. Already one step ahead to stop his doubts from formulating. And somehow, despite the difficulty in reading him. You found yourself able to at least grasp a feeling of his inferiority. One that had been beaten down on his very body that had made you feel guilty at the words he endured.

The very same words you've mocked him with.

“No. The rest of the command can have Mina Ashiro for all I care. It's you I want.” You pointed to him. your finger squarely on his chest. And he hopes you couldn't feel the vapid way his heart was hammering upon its contact with the fabric of his standard uniform jacket. Eyes fixated at your determination and unexpected confidence in him.

“But why? Wouldn't ya’ prefer someone more capable in both long and close range weapons?”

“Like who?” You had inquired. And suddenly his thoughts shift to that amazing but annoying recruit he's encountered during his entry exams. One that he had formed a small rivalry with since they had entered the force right around the same time.

“Maybe someone like Gen Narumi?” He shrugs. Though you could tell he was hesitant in his choice of words. Which makes you chuckle. “The soldier who requested a ridiculously large bayonet? No.”

Somehow that made Soshiro visibly relaxed.

“He’s good but there's nothing I can do that can help him further. But you on the other hand?”

He raises his brows. Seeing the way you tilt your head forward towards him. And his breath is caught on his lungs, unencumbered in the way you speak your mind openly and in confidence towards him. Comparison did not exist in your mind. And from the look on your eyes, there had not been an edge of doubt in the way you responded almost immediately to his doubts.

“I'd be a pretty bad Technician if I didn't see your uses beyond that sword of yours.”

“So ya need me?” He spoke incredulously. And although it embarrasses you, you give him a curt nod. That makes a chuckle escape from his lips. “And suddenly I'm beginin’ to feel special since I joined the Third Division.”

“Well, it's true. The rest may not be able to see it. But I know it.” You paused. Looking at him in sincerity. One that he was not used to seeing. And he flinches upon your hand grabbing his own. Feeling the way his skin had rich blisters that had been replaced with heavy calluses over the time he spent training.

“You'll save more lives than I can count, and the only way you'll do that is if you're given a proper blade.”

“-Created by yours truly of course.” You let go of his hand. Hopefully he hadn't noticed the red tint on your cheeks as you looked away. And his laugh is the first thing you hear that makes you want to admire his pretty face.

“Yer crazy..” He shook his head.

Though more of a vapid insult. The smile remaining on his pretty lips had indicated it was done on jest. And for a moment, you were suddenly all too aware of how husky his voice had been, or how much taller he had shadowed over you. Or how much better he looked when he smiled.

And you find yourself taking a few steps back. The broken blade already slotted on your shoulder. Ready to take it to your lab and get a head start on designing a suitable prototype for him.

“So I've heard. But the Third Division is already full of that, don't you think?” And he couldn't help but nod. Watching the way you had slowly walked passed him. Already unused to the given space you had provided. For a moment, he wished you had held his hand longer. It had made him miss the warmth of your closeness from earlier.

“I suppose so. It's a lot different from the Kansai district, I'll give ya’ that.” He turned. Watching as you retreated slowly. And with a single glance, you had all but piqued the very last of his interest.

Suddenly, it was like getting caught on a hook. And he’s afraid he'd be seeking you out everyday. If he can help it.

If you’d allow it.

“If they couldn't make you shine then I'll make sure to pave that way for you. No kaiju is gonna break that sword of yours.” You turn around. Already taking a step forward. Hiding your pink face from his sight. Which he was admiring rather languidly had you not turned your head.

“You have my word.” You had finished off. And before he could even reply, Soshiro was left in the empty hallways of Tachikawa base.

The sudden absence made him slacken, who had gotten so used to your comforting presence. But in spite of his disappointment, he somehow found himself smiling on his own.

It sure is strange hearing someone say that to him.

Mina Ashiro may have been the first to ask of him. To request an offer for his help in the field. His assistance would prove helpful in the face of her attacks, which was made for long ranged weaponry. And he had finally gotten a chance to prove his worth to the defense force. By means of paving a path to slay the Kaiju that got in her way.

But you had been the first to offer that yourself. To pave a path for HIM should any Kaiju get in HIS way.

You offered him a chance to shine.

And he'd be damned if he doesn't reach that expectation of yours.

The one who had challenged him to go beyond a greater height than he had ever envisioned himself climbing. To be needed.

It wasn't after half a month later had he come back boasting the highest melee kill count from small to midsize threats of Kaiju. His actions ebbing a spark in the third's outlook on Bladed users. Inspiring a few onslaught of officers to join a few joint training sessions held swordsmanship. The Kendo match between districts has become a much more popular feat than before.

Now, learning the blade wasn't a simple formality anymore. It had been another path forward. And although only a fool would continue to wield a blade instead of the practicality of long ranged weaponry. Hoshina Soshiro had been that very same fool. He who pushed forward like a madman and insisted on using his signature shorthanded blades, despite the odds stacked against him

And Mina Ashiro had placed a great deal of faith in him. Enough to promote him to a platoon leader. And eventually a Vice Captain of the third Division.

And your eyes had never lingered elsewhere in his pursuit.

Often following his line of sight when you'd seen him train on the very confines of the training room. And even now, you had stared directly at him. Unable to look away.

Not when he had entered your lab with the unusual formality of his standard uniform. His star studded pin hooked on the left side of his jacket's chest. An insignia that had been a symbol of his inauguration as the new Vice Captain of Third Division's upper ranks. His title attained by the mere fraction of his efforts and hardwork.

And you dare not face him with such petty grievances like you had in the past. A smile etched on your pretty lips as you greeted him in a mock salute. As if to tell him you had been expecting this day to come.

“Took you a while, Vice Captain. I almost thought you'd given up on me.” Your joke had made him let out a chuckle. Closing the door behind him as he walked up to your place nearest the desk.

“And miss out on yer’ startled face? Never.” He had spoken more informally than you had imagined. Which made you drop the mock salute you had given him. Rolling your eyes as you moved to stand. Heading to the next desk over as he followed you suit.

“I think you're the one that should be startled.” You had hinted with a giddy giggle.

The correction made Soshiro tilt his head. A sort of curiosity washing over him. And you watch as he closes the gap between his and the proximity of your bubble. Braving to graze his shoulders against you as he crosses your side. Eyes magnetized in the way it had seen your pretty smile. “Oh. Didya' have a surprise for me? Didn't peg you as someone who gave gifts often.”

And you lean forward, nearest his chest. As if to whisper your little secret that you've been meaning to show him for a while now. “In case you forgot, let me remind you.”

Upon landing his gaze on the small glass case on the desk, you had moved your hands to slowly remove the top cover. Revealing the two refined swords around the same length of his arms.

The outer casing, its holster. Was tinted purple like his dark hair. The hints of military green had no doubt matched that of their Combat Suit's design. And it veered to life the moment his eyes fell upon the familiar insignia of the Third Division's logo atop of its hilt. A sign that this weapon had been his.

Well at least, he assumed as much. Judging from the proud and almost excited look on your face. “I finished your swords.” You spoke factually. “Just need your verdict on the matter.”

His eyes had widened. This had been a stark difference from his previous blade. The way it was made was measured perfectly to the length of his arms. The sword bent in a grip for just the way he preferred it to. And its tip? The one where a pivot was placed had been an indication that it was designed so that he could connect the two blades. Form it into one long sword, if he truly wished to.

That alone was an indication that this was likely not a normal melee. Made of simple bronze or steel.

No.

This was a bioweapon. Made from Kiaju to kill Kaiju. One that was only granted to the strongest in the Force. One that had been ready for his use. Built in custom to his preferences. And their eyes met, only confirming his suspicions when she had given him an awkward shrug of her shoulders. Acting as if invisible ink had occupied the space between their feet.

“I said I'd make you a weapon that won't break easily, didn't I?” In an instant, a hot flush billowed in his cheeks. Much the same when your normally hidden shyness had finally resurfaced.

The rare times it did, he couldn't help but stare. Far too enraptured in the gap that had swung between your feist and your awkward responses. And he nods in turn. Suddenly aware that you had been doing such a task so diligently to perfection. “I don't know what to say. I didn't think you'd actually make it.”

You hear him chuckle. And your shoulder had pushed him forward. Towards the weaponry you had made for him.“Go on, it's not like anybody else can use it.”

Soshiro had looked at you, hesitant in the way you had so readily offered him such a gift. Your words had been proven in the way your assurances hit his heart. And his hand had a mind of its own as it grabbed the hilt of the blade. Sliding its cover right off so he'd have a chance to see the refined structure of the thinly cut mass of iron.

One he had been accustomed to weilding since he had been born.

Though instead. He was met with the dark shade of a similar material. Stronger than Iron, nor any steel for that matter. It was a blade far too distinct to forget. Luminous in orange hues as if it burned with the same heat that had allowed him to move in the enhancement of his suit.

And it had been clear this weapon was far stronger than the rest of his blade. Bound to cut a Kaiju's outer shell much easier than his previous ones would let him.

And the light one that breathed with an eery calm had reflected his own wine red eyes on the blade. The very movement caused a sound cutting through air when he'd expertly move it with his fingertips.

A sight of which had glued your eyes onto him. Finding his stupor rather mesmerizing than usual. His concentration had not been a rare sight for you, especially when you had caught glimpses of the many nights he'd spend alone in the training room.

But being this close. Seeing the joy nipping at his face. Somehow it makes your heart flutter strangely. And you had to shake your head to snap yourself out of admiration for the man. Suddenly focusing your attention back to blade one which vyed for his approval.

“So, do you like it?”

Soshiro had hummed. The usual grin on his lips remained unphased despite the giddiness in his chest. “Mmm...I ‘spose it's subpar at best.”

“Excuse me? Rude.” He laughs at your comment. And he puts the blade back in its holder. Already placing it on the back of his waist, right where it belonged.

“I'm kidding.” He spoke immediately after. A laugh bellowing from his abs. Though your scrunched nose had made it difficult for you to believe his immediate reply.

“No, I'm serious. You've outdone yourself sweetheart. Never seen a sword this sharp before..” He looks you over, admiring the easy smile on your face. That and the nickname seems to have made your cheeks flare up in surprise.

And he had to remind himself to engrave that very image of you on the back of his mind. Fearing that he may never get to see such a sight again.

“Well say that first! It's kind of difficult reading your facial expressions, you know?” You huffed. Though the easy laughter of his had remained. And a smile soon replaces your hefty frown.

“Sorry, sorry. Is there a price I hafta pay ya’? You know, for making me such a nice weapon and all that.”

You shrug, scooting your way right in front of him where he could just as easily close the gap between the two of you.

Have your chest pressed up against his, hand gripping the plush of your lower back. Admiring the gentle way you'd likely stare up at him with flamed cheeks. But he stops, already feeling too guilty to indulge himself further. And your reply had been quick enough to distract him from any incoming thoughts that had pushed his mind to try and get closer to you.

“Only your help, when it comes to a few suit upgrades.”

Help huh? He supposes this would be a good excuse to go see you more often. Though the simplicity of such a task was a little more suspicious on your part. And he had an inkling you had a few things in mind that involved more than just that.

But then again. He couldn't exactly read you either. Not completely at least.

Not yet.

“Quite demanding, aren't we?” He nods.

You had rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“You're the one that offered. But fine, be like that.” You had crossed your arms. Already backing away, and you had felt the way he had firmly pulled you back. Hand against your elbow. Making you face him whilst he tilted his head in your direction.

“Now, now..I never said anything about refusing you didn't I?” He chuckles. And the deep rumble makes your stomach churn in small caterpillars. Ready to form butterflies should he continue.

“Wasn't that already implied?” You spoke. Aware of the way his palms had steadied you by the elbows. The hint of warmth against his skin was almost tantalizing to make you lean forward. But before you had the chance to, he let you go. Leaving only an inch of space between the both of you.

“Shh..” His finger had raised itself against your lips. Shushing you before you could make another smart quip at him that was sure to insight another bout of witty banter. One that he knew he'd grown accustomed to in the future.

“I was just messing with ya'” He laughs. Only confirming that he had been hooked indefinitely by you. And he moves his free hand to tug your hair behind your ear.

“Do you, or do you not want to help me?” You had asked incredulously. Already finding his musings rather annoying. But the way he looked at you had your breath caught in your throat.

His gaze, although clouded by the silent promise to himself. Had not seen the way you too had a similar look on your face. And whether or not you had been aware of this promise. It doesn't fail to make your heart pick up its pace. His voice was almost reminiscent of prayer when he spoke your name in a whisper.

“I do want to help.” He spoke slowly. And your eyes flutter closed wondering if his touch would linger for a bit longer. But his fingertips remained curt. Pulling back just as soon as it grazed your skin.

“And how do I know you're being serious?”

“All ya’ have to do is call me. And I’ll Certainly be Yours, if you want me to.”

And he meant it. He was sincere in his intention to get close to you. To help you like you had sworn to him. Use his skill to protect you, should you ever need it.

And somehow, he is reminded of the time his brother had spoken to him long ago. Back when they were kids, dueling with simple bamboo swords back in the peace of their own home. Eating those childhood rice balls in the afterhours of their respective schools.

Soichiro be damned. Because somehow he was correct in his predictions. His words were every bit of a mockery to his craft. And although it was a rare sight to have him be soft in his presence.

Somehow, that was the one time he did so dissolutely.

And now, it looks like he's found someone who needs him. With or without that blade of his.

And this time, there was genuinely no sense of mockery in the way he had met you.

He only hoped he wasn't too late.

[quin-ns]

The blue VIII (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

A/N: the final chapter. I had a lot of fun not only writing but sharing my first series with you guys 🫶

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

You hadn’t planned on JJ following you inside, but a part of you knew he would anyway.

You were glad he did, because when JJ took you into his arms, you felt a wave of comfort that you desperately needed. You had so many days to prepare for this, but it still didn’t feel like enough. Thinking and talking about how to tell your friends versus actually telling them was very different.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized.

You tilted your head up and found JJ looking down at you. You wondered if he could see your guilt as the thought of backing out crossed your mind.

JJ leaned in after a moment. His lips ghosted yours as he muttered, “It’s okay.”

Someone cleared their throat, and it wasn’t JJ. The sound that filled the room came from near the doorway. You tensed and even though anxiety made you want to bury your face into JJ’s shirt, you turned your head.

John B stood a few feet in the doorway, a look of sheer embarrassment on his face. He scratched the back of his head, eyes not meeting yours or JJ’s directly.

“Was just coming to check on you guys…” he said awkwardly, gesturing to you and JJ. You swallowed and parted from JJ, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do. You failed to speak and so did JJ. “So is this a thing, or…?”

“We can explain,” you said, not even knowing how to begin.

“Yeah, we were gonna tell you guys, we just”—JJ shrugged and looked at you—“we just didn’t know how.”

Kiara and Pope picked that moment to come into the house. A spotlight might as well have been shining down on you. You’d probably be sweating in a minute.

“What’s going on?” Kiara questioned, looking between the three of you. “If you’re back to arguing—“

“Kie, stop,” JJ interjected, lifting a hand. “No one is arguing, okay?”

Kiara pouted at being interrupted. “Well what is it then?”

You locked eyes with John B. Your heart stammered in your chest, even as he deferred to you. You looked up to JJ and found him looking at you as well. They’d follow your lead, you could see it in their eyes. They had different tells, but you knew them well enough to figure this out. It was up to you.

You gave JJ a light nod. No backing down now.

“We have something to tell you guys,” you blurted out, facing the group.

JJ reached for your hand, and you saw the moment it clicked for Kie and Pope. Confusion set in, Kie with wide eyes and Pope with furrowed brows. John B’s smile was tight lipped as he attempted an assuring look.

“You… you um…” Pope began, like he wasn’t sure how the sentence ended.

“Yeah,” JJ said. “We’re together.”

You weren’t sure what was worse, the dead silence or the stares you were receiving. Time passed so slowly in those quiet seconds.

“How long…?” Kiara wondered cautiously.

“About a month,” you admitted. “We weren’t sure how to bring it up.”

“I can see why,” Kiara muttered. You heard JJ suck in a breath. “Sorry,” she apologized, actually sounding guilty.

John B shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders slouching. “Well it explains a lot,” he decided. His brows raised in JJ’s direction. “That's why you got so mad at me, isn’t it?”

“I was jealous,” JJ confessed. “I didn’t handle it well ‘cause she didn’t know and I didn’t think I could ever tell her how I felt.”

“I had no idea,” you added, hoping it was the right thing to say. You were at a loss for what the right thing was, truthfully. There couldn’t be a right thing to say in a situation like this. There wasn’t exactly a blueprint for how to explain your step brother was no longer that in your eyes, and that even more than that he was also your boyfriend. “This just sort of happened, but it’s working.”

There was a sense of relief that intertwined with your anxiety. At least you got the words out. They left your mind and now existed in open space. It wasn’t a secret anymore.

“I still have a lot of questions,” Pope commented awkwardly.

It was fair, you would too. So whatever they asked, you and JJ answered. Eventually the nervous energy in the room wore off and you were all able to move back out to the porch, where you continued the little Q and A. You and JJ told them everything. It was uncomfortable at first, especially when JJ started talking about the fact he’d struggled for so long with his feelings before you knew. You held his hand and couldn’t fight your frown as he voiced his former anxiety. It seemed like such a long time ago. You couldn’t imagine a world where JJ looked at you full of love and desire and you didn’t meet his gaze with the same emotions.

They finally got the truth about the night John B and JJ argued, about the movie, about the party—although, the detail about you and JJ sleeping together was one you consciously left out. The two of you were often on the same wavelength and silently agreed they didn’t need to know that much. The fact you both admitted feelings was information enough. Your friends could only digest so much in one night. Eventually JJ would tell John B and Pope on a guys day, and you’d have to tell Kie on a girls night, and they’d all talk to each other, and it would be a thing… but then it wouldn’t. That was usually how things went with this group. Everyone always found out everything eventually.

You and JJ took turns talking. It was the most you’d seen him open up in a while when it wasn’t just the two of you. Even though the looks on your friends' faces read like they were still unsure of how to react, your confidence grew. With every word of admiration JJ said with your name to follow, and how easily amazing moments with him appeared in your mind, you were certain you’d made the right decision. Your friends could understand that with enough time.

“I know—we know—it’s gonna take time to get used to,” you began, fiddling with your hands. They’d have to. They loved you, and they loved JJ. They’d have to accept the way you loved each other. “But do you think you can?” Wouldn’t they?

You looked between John B, Kiara, and Pope, and they exchanged glances between one another. You were sure JJ was doing the same as you.

“Yeah,” John B finally said. “You guys are our friends and if you're happy, then we’re happy for you.”

He sounded like he meant it, and as Pope and Kie nodded along, you could only hope they really did.

Your head hit the pillow with a giggle. JJ was all over you, pressing kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your chest… He slid down your body, lips leaving a trail down your stomach. His hands bunched in the dress you’d worn to dinner—your first official date out in the open—and pushed it up around your waist.

“You’re such a tease,” you said, face feeling warm as he pressed a kiss to your navel.

JJ looked up at you through his lashes and you just about passed out right there.

The day had been perfect. You needed a perfect day after telling your friends about the nature of your relationship.

You woke up with JJ’s arms around you and stayed in bed until you felt like getting up. Making breakfast wasn’t something you usually did, but Luke was absent from the house so you seized the opportunity to enjoy it. After that you and JJ went to an old movie theater you loved. He actually paid for your tickets to the first movie and the popcorn, but then you each got a thrill out of hopping between screening rooms, trying to see as many movies as you could before you got caught (which you didn’t, maybe they didn’t care enough to watch the cameras).

After, JJ took you to the house and you both changed into something nice. You didn’t even know he owned a pair of pants that went down to his ankles, and you laughed when he emphasized what a big deal it was that he was putting them on for you after you commented on it. You found a white sundress you’d been meaning to wear for the longest time but hadn’t had the opportunity to.

“It’s the perfect time,” he had said, voice full of admiration. “You look amazing.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you had tossed back, taking his arm as he led you out to his bike.

There was something about being dressed all fancy on JJ’s motorbike that felt as if you were in a scene from a film. Fear didn’t dare to creep in as you held onto his waist from behind—it knew it would be crushed by your joy.

The place you went was still on the Cut, but it was one of the nicest restaurants that your side of the island had. You would’ve gone to The Wreck, but today was just for you and JJ. Kiara wouldn’t have interfered, but you two wanted to be alone. Besides, you didn’t need Mr. or Mrs. Carerra giving you questioning looks when you and JJ ordered one slice of pie and two forks.

You weren’t even sure they had pie on the menu at The Wreck honestly, but the nice place you went did. Key Lime became a new favorite.

You talked, and laughed together, and flirted of course, and forgot the rest of the world existed. You’d never had a real boyfriend, but you could get used to this. That fact that it was JJ made it a hundred times more special. He was the one for you, you never could’ve sat across from anyone else and enjoyed yourself as much as you did with him.

You could hardly keep your hands off of one another when you got back to the house—which you still had to yourself. JJ guided you back to your room, eyes full of hunger and hands moving with intent. The fond recent memories collided with the sensations he inflicted upon you now.

You gasped when his fingers tugged at your underwear. You let him remove them without a hint of protest, and your lungs contracted when he dove between your legs without a word.

His mouth was heavenly, his tongue skilled as he ran it between your folds. You finally caught your breath when his nose rubbed against your clit.

“JJ, please,” you whined.

You felt him grin against you as he lifted his head just long enough to ask, “What is it, baby?”

Truthfully you didn’t know. Words failed you and that seemed to amuse him as he returned to eating you out like it was his favorite thing to do. It might’ve been, you wouldn’t put it past him.

Your hand tangled in his hair, tugging a little when the pressure began to build. He gripped your thighs in his strong, rough hands to keep them from squeezing around his head. JJ still needed to breathe, but you forgot that sometimes. He was so fucking good you didn’t even have to guide him. You just needed something to hold onto as he devoured you like a man starved.

His tongue worked magic between your legs, lapping at you in a way that had you tensing and shivering.

When your orgasm finally hit, you let out a moan of his name, thighs quivering around his head as he suckled at your clit. He didn’t even need to use his hands.

“I love it when you do that,” he complimented, voice heavy with arousal. Coming down from your high you couldn’t place him for a moment, only trying to catch your breath, but then he was above you. You smiled when you saw blue eyes and pink lips grinning down at you. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you managed, pressing up on your elbows to capture his lips. JJ sunk into you, giving you enough leverage to get him beneath you. You straddled him, your lips leaving his to say, “Your turn.”

Your legs laid across JJ’s lap as you laughed along with your friends. It was early in the morning, and you’d all decided to meet up at the Chateau to hang out for the day.

A couple weeks had passed since you and JJ told them all about your relationship. It was going better than you had hoped, which was an immense relief.

Not too long ago they couldn’t control their expressions—you’d catch the curious gazes and side eyes between them. Now, though? They hardly bat an eye when JJ reached for your hand or when you leaned on his shoulder. You tried to keep the PDA to a minimum, but it was easier said than done when JJ looked at you the way he did.

You honestly didn’t understand how you never noticed before.

Right now his hand rested on your thigh, his thumb gliding across your skin as you tried to keep up with what was being said.

“We’re still down to go to the beach, right?” Kiara looked around at everyone.

It wasn’t a particularly sunny day, but the plan had already been made and a few clouds weren’t going to hurt anyone.

“I've been needing a beach day,” you agreed, to which everyone nodded along.

John B clapped his hands onto his knees. “I’ll pack the cooler.”

Once that was done, you all loaded up in John B’s van and headed for the beach. He took the front and Kie took the passenger side, while you, JJ, and Pope hung out in the back.

JJ sat on the ground, his back against the wall. You sat between his bent legs, leaning your back against his chest. His arms locked around you, just holding you as you chatted to Kiara and John B up front.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Pope watching you and JJ. When you looked at his face, a hint of old nervousness threatened to appear. Then you noticed the smile. Just the slightest half smile with the corner of his lip tugged up.

“You good, Pope?” you wondered.

“Yeah, just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I’m happy for you guys.”

His sweet words almost brought tears to your eyes, which surprised you a bit. It was the first time any one of your friends had said something like that. The verbal acceptance made your heart skip as you tilted your head back to meet JJ’s eyes. Sure enough he was looking down at you, a smile on his face.

“Thanks, man,” JJ said to the boy across from you both.

“You guys are good together,” Kiara added from the front. She turned her body in her seat to face the two of you. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you this happy.”

As she said this, you noticed the way Pope watched her, while she seemed none the wiser. Had that been what you and JJ looked like from an outside perspective? The fact that no one suspected anything was nothing short of a miracle on his part. Things could’ve been a lot different if he had been asked too many questions at the wrong time.

You decided at that moment you wouldn’t mention anything until Pope or Kie mentioned it. It would likely be the former, it really seemed like Kiara had no clue. The thought crossed your mind that he could’ve talked to JJ, or if he hadn’t, that he should. JJ wasn’t someone anyone would think to go to for well thought out advice—he was a bit of a wildcard—but in this scenario he had been successful. It couldn’t hurt.

Although that could be saved for another time, another place. Right now you focused on what John B was saying, his head turning between the road and the back.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re not as handsome as me, but”—John B’s teasing was cut off when Kie swatted at his arm. “Hey! I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he assured quickly. You laughed while Kie shot you a wink and sat back right. JJ’s chest shook as he chuckled behind you, but his arms still tightened around your body. “Seriously though, what they said. You guys make a good couple.”

“Thank you, guys. That’s so sweet. It means a lot,” you said to the three of your friends.

“Of course.” John B threw a glance back towards JJ. “You got lucky, don’t let her go. ‘Cause she could do better.”

JJ took the taunt with a laugh. “I don’t know how she settled for me,” JJ joined in at his own expense. “But you’re not getting rid of me now.” That last part was directed at you. He rested his head on your shoulder and despite the odd angle, you managed to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good,” you said. “‘Cause I’m not letting you go.”

The beach was in sight in a matter of moments out the window. Since it was a random weekday where the sun wasn’t all that clear, John B found a place to park his van with no problem.

You hummed in content as you and JJ walked hand in hand into the sand. You managed to lay down a towel for yourself before the light breeze kicked it up. You laid out on it with a content hum. A lazy smile spread across your face as bits of sunlight managed to beam down onto you from behind the clouds. Nothing was going to keep you from enjoying the beach. JJ took his place beside you while the others made a mad dash for the water. It was probably colder than usual, but you knew you’d get in eventually.

Comfortable silence hung in the air for a while until out of the blue JJ asked, “You remember the last time we were here?”

“It’s been a while.” You tried to recall the last time you were on this beach, but nothing specific came to mind.

The clouds moved a bit, so you shielded your eyes from the sun as you looked up at JJ. He had his knees up and leaned on them. His thoughtful expression nearly had you sitting up, but you just got comfortable, and the look in his eyes was one you came to recognize. It told you not to worry.

“You and John B were chicken fighting with Pope and Kie. And I...” JJ chuckled in spite of himself. “I was so jealous.”

You turned to lay on your back. Memories that felt like ages ago resurfaced, but they really weren’t all that distant. You recalled the chicken fight, and how you’d all gone back to that Chateau. You fell asleep on the couch talking to John B and woke up to JJ in the chair across from you. That morning filled you with just enough suspicion that you guessed something was up.

“What made you think of that?” you wondered. “‘Cause we’re back here?”

JJ shrugged. He looked out at the water, then cast his eyes down to meet yours. A light smile appeared on his lips

“I just didn’t think this was ever gonna happen. Us, I mean.” JJ let his legs fall flat and you pulled yourself to lay your head in his lap. God, you loved his smile. “But I’m really fucking happy it did.”

You grinned, unable to help yourself. “I’m really fucking happy too.”

End.

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[blackseafoam]

Marked Part 1

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations :)

This is my first time writing fanfiction!

“Omega” felt like too sci-fi of a name for this universe so I changed it to “Meggy”. Everyone else is the same.

If you haven’t played RDR2 don’t worry, I’m not counting on every reader having done so. All you need to know is it’s about a gang of outlaws in 1899 running from trouble, chaos everywhere. The world is set in a kind of “fantasy” United States, where the places and cultures are heavily based on real life, but have different names for the most part. There are also some sci-fi elements to the world that I may or may not implement :) This takes place around the first chapter of RDR2 when the Van Der Linde gang is camped out at Horseshoe Overlook.

Word count: 2045

Rating T

The foothills above Valentine were peaceful, densely forested, and rarely traversed. Above the treetops the snowy peak of Mount Hagen shone like a beacon. Below the hillside the earth plunged into the deep and narrow Dakota River canyon. It was a perfect place to lie low for a while. Plan the next move.

Meggy sat on the back of her brothers’ wagon, the horses had been unhitched and were grazing on the small clearing where they had set up camp. The contentedness of the beasts calmed her. The two massive horses simply snacking away and existing, nothing else on their mind. She wished she could escape worry so easily as the breeze blew her short blonde hair and ruffled her skirt.

Swimming in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear her brother's voice calling to her until he was beside her. “There you are!” Hunter sighed with relief as he approached. “Are you… alright?” His tone dropped quieter. 

“Yeah, just thinking I guess.” Meggy swung her boots ponderously. She held something in her hands, resting on her lap. 

“What’s this?” Hunter came closer, looking at her hands.

Meggy froze. Frozen like she had rehearsed time and time again at the school. Bracing herself physically and mentally to be in trouble, again. She looked down with shame. 

Hunter parted her hands, revealing a tiny rabbit kit, its unweaned eyes still closed. “Where’d you find this?”

Meggy looked up and was confused to see her brother smiling. This was wrong. She should be in trouble for touching dirty animals. 

“Under the wagon.” She muttered, still not convinced she wasn’t about to be reprimanded, especially now that she had just confessed to a second crime: crawling around under a vehicle. 

“We should find its nest, it needs its mother.” Hunter took a step back. Meggy stared at him, her mind was still not catching up to the fact of what was going on. “Pick him up, let’s go look.” Hunter helped her off the wagon so she could safely cup the tiny creature in both of her equally tiny hands. 

“Look for a hole capped with fur, there might be tracks of bare earth in front of it, and cropped grass.” Hunters eyes scanned the forest floor for rabbitsign, Meggy watched him and then mimicked his movements. 

Hunter noticed that Meggy was uncharacteristically quiet as they searched. Did I do something wrong? Having a kid around had been an ongoing adjustment. In the short time she had been with them Meggy had shown a wide range of emotions, profoundly sensitive and resilient at the same time.. But this was the first time he had seen her freeze up like this. 

The kit began to squeak incessantly. Hunter saw a flit of movement near a Boulder. Meggy followed his gaze. A rabbit doe near her burrow. 

As they neared she scurried back underground, Meggy deposited the kit near the hole and they watched it crawl inside.

“Nice work, kid!” He held his hand out for a high five, Meggy flinched, almost imperceptibly, but Hunter noticed. 

In a moment the worry melted off her face and she grinned, slapping his hand with her new energy. “That was fun! Do you think I can learn to track like you someday?” 

“I think you just had your first lesson.” 

-

The next few days were a much needed break from action, for the most part. The gang lived on small game, wild edibles, and what was left of their canned goods. Wrecker showed Meggy how to pick the best firewood. Echo lent her a couple of his books, glad to have a third person around who knew how to read. Crosshair kept his distance, but patiently entertained some of her questions as he cleaned his rifle. Then sent her away after warning her to stay away from their munitions crate. 

Tech finally caved to Meggy’s insistence on riding one of their draft horses. He picked Marauder, the slightly less excitable of the two. The chestnut gelding was certainly not a kid’s horse, but as a retired warhorse, he was desensitized at least. Meggy was surprised at how much thinking went into riding, or maybe that was just because Tech was her teacher. He had a lot to say about riding technique. As he lunged Maurauder with Meggy astride, barely able to straddle the barrel chested beast, he rattled on about gaits, position, neck-reining, posting, side-passing, halting, and so on.

-

Meggy woke on the fourth morning. A wave of bliss washed over her as she sat up in her bedroll. The last few days had truly been the best ever, living off the land with her brothers who she didn’t even know she had until a couple weeks ago. They chose to risk everything to save her. 

She was still coming to terms with what they had sacrificed for her. Couldn’t help but feel a twitch of guilt every time she could sense them censoring their usual crass demeanor in front of her (even though Wrecker had already willingly taught her a few of his favorite curse words). She didn’t want them to change for her, but also didn’t want to be anywhere else in the whole world. Crosshair seemed especially snide about her presence, always keeping his distance and almost never speaking to her. 

She scanned the camp, the fire was still smoldering, the bedrolls still lined around it like a flower. Two of which were empty, one was neatly made, the other looking like a wild animal had escaped from it. 

She got dressed and walked around the wagon, surprised to see Hunter and Echo tacking up the horses. 

“You’re leaving?” 

Hunter looked up first “You’re up early!” He adjusted Havoc’s bridle. “Just getting some supplies in town, we’ll be right back.”

“Can I come? Please?!”

Echo glanced up at her,, and then looked to Hunter “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He said before going back to picking Marauder’s hoof, holding it on his thigh between his torso and what was left of his right arm.

There was a long silence. Echo could practically smell Hunter’s guilty look, even with the ass end of a horse between them.

“Of course you can come.”Hunter gave in. Echo rolled his eyes. 

Meggy tried to contain her excited squeal.

“Hunter, there are people looking for her, we can't bring her to town.” Echo spat as he stood up.

“Don’t worry, I have an idea.” Hunter smirked.

-

The world was so much bigger than she ever could have imagined. The trees flew by as the trio cantered down the wagon trail toward Valentine. Meggy rode with Hunter on Havoc, his black mane nearly whipping her in the face. The speed was terrifying at first, but Meggy’s fear was quickly replaced by excitement as they got closer to town. 

Her skirt had been replaced by a pair of extra trousers lying around, they didn’t have a belt small enough so a length of rope held them up. Finding a hat that didn’t look ridiculous on her was more challenging but a wool cap ended up being the best fit. 

Now hopefully anyone looking for a “girl kidnapped from the Saint Denis Orphanage” wouldn’t think twice if they saw a boy. 

Echo still didn’t think it would work.

-

The streets were still a sloppy, muddy mess from rain several days ago. Echo frowned as he dismounted and his boots sunk into the filth. They hitched the horses and went about their business, Echo to the gunsmith and Hunter and Meggy to the general store. 

The streets were fairly quiet, an early start to the day meant less eyes around.

Meggy marveled at the abundance of items in the general store as Hunter bartered with the shop owner. She had so many questions, so many items she couldn’t identify, but tried to keep quiet so her boyish illusion would remain uncompromised. Once Hunter had packed the new supplies into his saddlebag they exited the store. 

”G’morning, mister. Got a light?” A tall burly man leaned against the wall just outside the store. Meggy startled a bit, Hunter did not, he heard the lumbering figure approach while they were still inside. 

“Sure.” Hunter fumbled in his pocket for his lighter and handed it to the man. The flame illuminated his face, his eyes rimmed with the cracked tan skin of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. His battered brown hat and dirty blue jacket bore similar weathering. He took a long drag and handed the lighter back. “Thank you mister.” He blew out the smoke “and little miss.” 

Hunter nodded and began to walk away, then realized what the man had just said… “little miss”. It could be nothing… just a slip of the tongue… there’s no way someone this far out could know who she was. He quickened his pace as they rounded away toward the gunsmith. 

The man took one more drag from his cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray on the windowsill, as he did so he scanned across the street toward another figure sitting in front of the saloon. A shorter, thinner man with black greasy hair and a black hat, two long scars clawed from under his eye to the corners of his jaw. The blue-jacketed man gave a nod just big enough to be seen from the distance between them. 

Inside the gunsmith, Hunter spoke in a low voice from behind Echo “we should go.”  

“I’m not finished yet.” Echo was inspecting the quality of the bullets he was about to purchase. 

“Just get them and let's go.” Hunter murmured.

Echo gave an annoyed look, but reluctantly agreed and they paid the gunsmith. 

As they exited the store Hunter’s paranoia climbed several levels when he saw the stranger was gone, his presence replaced by his still smoldering cigarette. 

The trio hurried to the horses, mounted up, and headed back up the hill into the forest. 

“What the hell was that about?” Echo scolded once they were farther away from town.

“I just got a bad feeling.” Hunter checked over his shoulder for the fifth time in a minute, instinctually resting his hand on his thigh holster. 

-

“But we just got here!” Wrecker complained loudly, the only way he knew how to complain. The gang deliberated around their late morning campfire. 

“I agree, moving camp would be unwise.” Tech fiddled with some type of hardware from the wagon on his lap. “Moving around would only draw more attention from more people.”

Crosshair remained silent, dragging on his first cig of the day. “If you really think they were after Meggy, don’t you think that guy would’ve just taken us then and there while we were in town? Instead of now when we’re back with our full party?”Echo wondered.

“If he’s such a good bounty hunter that he found us all the way across three states, surely he could take on one guy, a gimp, and a child.” Crosshair smirked. 

Echo ignored his antagonistic younger brother.

Hunter sighed. 

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault, isn’t it?” Omega sulked in the grass, hugging her knees at her chin. Flowers she had picked drooping in her hands.

“Her situational comprehension is quite high for someone her age.” Tech observed.

“We’ll be fine. We’re far off the trail, hidden by the trees. I did my best to cover our tracks. Let’s just keep the fire small tonight, we’ll be fine.” Hunter reassured them. 

-

“Four men, two of them are the ones we saw in town earlier.” Arthur focused his binoculars across the canyon. “No wait, five.” 

“What’s the plan?” John shifted. 

“Bounty is for all of them, but the kid is the biggest reward.” 

“And we gotta bring them all back to Saint Denis?”

“Nah, I talked to the sheriff in town, said he can hold them until we can wire someone to collect. For a price.” 

“No way we can take all five of those guys.”

“For once, we agree, Marston.” Arthur noticed one of the taller fellows cleaning his rifle. “Poster said they’re ex-military.”

“What are they doing kidnapping an orphan?”

“I don’t know, but it can't be good." Arthur lowered the binoculars.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905

[undercoverpena]

3. sometimes it rains, pours

javier peña x f!reader* | chapter three of let us pretend

summary: peña has been back in Texas for all of five minutes, thinking he wants a simple life. but, when steve offers him the chance to gather information on a potential new player, he jumps at the chance. the only problem is, to do so, he'll need to go undercover with a female agent—and pretend to be her husband.

wordcount: 4.7k chapter themes: fake dating/relationship/marriage, forced proximity / sharing one bed, colleagues to lovers,no use of Y/N, *female agent has a nickname (sunny) for use undercover. an: brief mentions of sunny's dad, but minimal. thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for just holding my hand.

Of all of the mysteries Javi was trying to work out and the one which bothered him the most was why you weren’t sleeping.

It tormented him.

It layered itself on top of the long list of things he turned over when the world got quiet and most living things decided to rest their eyes.

And, because he wasn’t inattentive, he’d noticed it the first night, then the next. And then the next. Even told himself that if you wiggled again, he would ask if you were okay. But, he never did.

Then he managed to convince himself that the second night would be better.

However, last night had been the fourth night now and he swears he felt you shift every fifteen minutes from the moment he switched the lights off to when the sun rose.

Javi doesn’t like problems—doesn’t enjoy things he can’t solve—and while this current non-sleeping puzzle seemed unsolvable. He had worked out when you had a thought—an idea.

He had found a tell, a little one. A thing once he had noticed, he couldn’t unsee. The smallest of offerings you’d given him, likely unwilling and unknowingly, but it’s there, now allowing him to turn it over in his fingers and process it.

Because you tap. Either the heel of your foot against a chair leg, fingers on the desk or, in the case of last night, the nib of a pen—the hotels, in particular—against a notebook.

You made no notes, just dotting. Over, and over again. No pattern, no aim. Just tap, tap, fucking tap.

It was repetitive, a beat that haunted him long after you’d stopped—one that played over and over—it annoyed him. Made him pinch the bridge of his nose until it ached, it almost having given him a headache last night.

What eventually gave him the headache was the thinking it forced him to do.

It made a recess in his head open, and widen—something which pulsed, throbbed and irked him.

Because he supposed he could do more to calm you.

Not that he’s making it difficult. It’s just that he isn’t entirely sure he’s making it easy. He doesn’t want to confess that he’s unsure of how to be around a woman—in this intimate of a setting—without his body being the thing which is used for relaxation.

You require words. Ones he’s not sure he has. Because he isn’t sure he should be here.

If not for Murphy, he’s not sure he would be.

No one else from the bureau would think of adding him to a case, not with the way he left—not with the obvious way he’d blown open the situation in Colombia.

He knows he’s barely respected, rarely follows the fucking rules and most definitely isn’t someone an agent should follow in the steps of. Yet, you need something—he’d seen it in your eyes when he’d called you out on this being new, this being your first recon undercover.

The momentary panic, the fear. The way the walls of your home came crumbling down as if that was the concrete that held them together.

Which, in part is what actually brought the headache on. That he can’t work out why when he does drop off for an hour, he’s thankful to open his eyes and find you there, still breathing—that and the fact he’d spend half an hour attempting to work out what the idea could be.

Because you never unveil it.

Just sit in the armchair in the corner, focused on staring off out of the window, tap, tap, tapping away until you exhaled and mumbled about getting ready for bed.

Now, the only sound he can hear is the rain battering the windows. The way it slams into it periodically, guided there by gusts of wind he’s sure will do a number against the umbrellas he’d spotted in the hotel foyer.

“Morning.”

He hears you mumble it from over the pillows, all tinged with exhaustion, a slight croak to it over your usual pitch.

The pillow rustles as his head turns, looking up where he expects your face to appear—another thing you do, a habit, a routine*.***

Javi doesn’t fight the smile when it hooks into the corner of his mouth, he just lets it appear when he sees you. All fresh-faced, but with a pair of drooping eyes which spells out the lack of hours rest you’d managed to bank.

“Morning.”

He knows before you inform him, that today is a check-in.

Murphy had established that there were two kinds of check-ins. One in a coffee place not far from the hotel, with a coffee order that the two of you had needed to memorise. The other is via the phone he’d been given—an alias on the other end, a fake relative and a sea of questions he or you would have to answer.

From the look on your face, as you remind him, it’s mandatory—not easily swayed by the weather outside.

“Y’know, sometimes rules don’t need to be followed to the exact details, hermosa.”

Sliding from the sheets, he watches you stand—pulling open both the sheer drape and curtains, letting the grey ripple out over the room. He’s not staring at the rain slamming into the side of the hotel, he’s looking at you, look over your shoulder at him.

“Why am I not surprised that you think mandatory check-ins mean get here when you get here.”

He smirks softly, eyes crinkling with amusement as he sits up. "Well, if we're going to break the rules, we might as well make it memorable…"

Your left eye narrows, staring at him—purposefully keeping your gaze on his neck up, and not where the sheet has dropped off, having slid down to live amongst his waist.

“Could even have an extra hour or two in bed,” he continues.

The bathroom door clicks into place, leaving him alone with the sounds of the rain continuing to pour outside.

And, he finds himself smiling, knowing that even with how dreary it is outside, he’s not finding it half-bad being around you.

It isn’t just raining, it’s pouring.

A good enough reason he felt to not leave the hotel, and yet you’d given him a look—a softer one, more pleading than anything else. Your lips stained, curled up before it spread into a smile—easily able to spot the skin you’d picked at.

Please, you asked. And he’d folded easier than a piece of paper.

He still wasn’t sure why you asked, though. Just like he wasn’t sure why he was being dragged from store to store. Somehow, on some level, he knew better than to ask. Least of all under the umbrella.

The one he clutched in one hand, while your fingers slid over his forearm—just like you’d done yesterday.

Is this okay? You’d asked then, almost under your breath, barely heard over the rain pelting the fabric which kept you both (somewhat) dry. Of course, cariño, he’d replied, just about managing to pull you in by your waist when a car drove past.

He thought of asking is this? for several steps, until he’d watched the softest grin appearing over your face at the feel of his hand on your waist.

“Look at us, we’re almost acting like a married couple.”

Since the sighting of Big Plate—the apt name you’d both given to one of the targets—there had been limited sightings of anyone.

No mention. Not even a whisper.

He’d wondered if the lack of knowledge on who the two of you were had raised suspicion in that Cuban place. His brain racking to try and remember from your notes whether it was even a frequently visited place by tourists.

Whatever your thoughts on it were, you hadn’t shared them with him.

Instead, you kept them squirrelled away, buried in your mind—locked from sight, not even a flicker in your eyes when you were in the room, barely space between you or across from him in the hotel bar.

You hadn’t loosened up at the check-in, either.

It was brief, and quick—the way you bypassed the barista by giving a code in the form of an order that wasn’t on the board. It rolled from your tongue, nothing but sweetness and silk. Your head turned briefly, looking at him before wrapping your fingers around his wrist, pulling him with you until he was in a small room, being grilled on the things the two of you had noted so far.

“So, other than the sighting, y’both good?”

Javi had let you reply, choosing then to stuff his hand into his jeans as he leaned against the wall, trying not to smile at the look you shot his way before rolling your eyes.

“He’s being respectful, if that’s what you mean.”

“Makes a change,” Steve teased.

And it shouldn’t have bothered him. Shouldn’t have knotted something in his chest. He knew Steve hadn’t seen him the last time, wasn’t there for the last part of his time in Colombia—but, Javi had thought he’d done more to convince his friend of his changed ways in the time they had worked together at the end.

“We’ll be spending on the card today,” you had suddenly said, back straightening, fingers flexing periodically at your side. “A lot. Just so you know.”

If Javi had felt in the dark, Steve had looked like he’d been plunged into a cave.

Arms folding, the blond’s eyes narrowed. “You got a plan?”

“I’ve got an idea,” you replied—a silent exchange between you and his former partner.

Javi had waited for the no, for the needling for more of the plan, or idea. But, instead, Murphy had nodded.

What Javi hadn’t banked on was being forced around shop, after shop, and then another, after another.

Each time, he finds himself with a paper bag to carry, overflowing tissue desperate to escape out of the top, before it is being handed to him while you look at him like he is the sun you orientated around.

“In this one,” you say, moving closer, trying to curl more into his side as his hand instinctually comes around your waist—just like yesterday, “Be closer to me. Seem interested.”

“Interested?”

“Yeah,” you grin, lips spreading up into your cheek. “You know, like… like you would want to actually fuck me in the outfit.”

He’s smirking before he can tell himself not to. His brain sparking to life, a reply building on his tongue, but he swallows it, shoves it down, and lets it swim with his morning coffee and distaste for shops.

It’s why he doesn’t miss the way your eyes roll as you shake your head, almost sure he hears the words unbelievable from under your breath.

“It’s a nice shop—pricey.”

Javi almost says something, makes a comment, all snark and tinged in playfulness when the door to the place is opened by a man much larger than him. A series of things unfurling from there, a greeting, polite and sweet from someone half his age as they take the umbrella from his hand. Just as your hand slides into his, either to demonstrate his marital status or for comfort.

Then, he’s greeted by a floral scent. It bathes him, washes over him in waves, each time a different scent being picked up.

And that’s how he notices it’s expensive, before his fingers even brush over a label.

“Still anything I want, baby?” you ask, like your tongue churns honey.

It makes his throat dry, how sweet you can be—how easily you slipped into it, like you’d just been rolled in sugar and placed in front of him to tempt him. “Anything,” he replies, almost choked out, eyes looking you up and down as he watches you force your eyes away.

In the other places, he’d hovered. He’d let you glance around, mumbling here and there about what it is you’re looking for.

Here, he sticks to your side. His fingers brush over your lower spine, jaw ticking when you show him a label and he has to pretend to look unfazed by the series of numbers and where the dot is placed.

The two of you wandering for what feels like an age. As though he’ll look outside and see not only the rain has passed, but an entire season too. He nods or grimaces as you hold up things, his knuckles occasionally brushing over the back of your arm as you move through a rack.

But, then your hand landed on one hanger.

“You think your wife would suit this?”

Dropping his chin, he feels your eyes on him—all searching, waiting, expectant for something he’s not sure of. And so he runs the fabric between his finger and thumb, barely an inch between his front and your back. Eyes going from yours to your lips, wondering, thinking, dreaming.

Licking his lips, he exhales and breaks the spell. “My wife suits everything.”

“Good answer.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you turn to face him, feeling closer, even if you’re not. And it’s your turn to let your eyes flick to his mouth, and then to the dress in your hands.

“Think I might go try this on.”

“Okay.”

It comes out breathless, like the proximity had stolen all his confidence. Something tethering itself to you, snapping in the space between you as you head to the fitting room.

And he can only watch. Not even blinking until you disappear behind the thick curtain—the rings sliding along the pole.

Tracing his thumb over his ring, he realises he’s doing it again. His own pattern, a comforting motion he has begun doing since being around you. Running the pad against it, swiping over it in a back-and-forth pattern.

He’d thought by now he’d be used to wearing it. For it to feel like just another thing. But it doesn’t.

The only thing it doesn’t feel is heavy, weighted—and he supposes that’s because it doesn’t really mean much at all. Just one silent promise, one thing he‘d said to you but he wasn’t sure you realised he had actually signed on the line for you. That he’d keep you safe. Protect you. Do better than he has done before.

Tracing the back of his hand along his chin, he flicks his gaze to a black dress—eyes lingering on it.

He’s thought of her a fair bit since meeting you—Helena. The things he’d promised her too; the things she’d gone through when she thought it would give her things she wanted.

Clearing his throat, he banishes it away. Knowing later, when thoughts which plague him at night come, her face will be there. Letting his eyes instead glance around, take in the wall of shoes, and the rainbow of coloured dresses. Follows the store around until he spots the eager-eyed sales staff grinning in his direction—twirling her hair around her finger as he offers a smile.

“Mi sol—”

But, he’s barely had a chance to call to you when you’re stepping back out—

Flooring him.

For a moment—several seconds at the very least—you render him speechless. Thoughtless. His mind unsure of what to process first, where to linger his eyes, and at what point his tongue will stop feeling heavy in his mouth.

Because he sees legs. Gorgeous, beautiful legs. The hem of the dress skirting over the tops of your thighs, an outfit he suspects you’d never usually choose, but one you could definitely work.

From the sheepish expression appearing over your face, you can read his expression. Likely have him spread open like a book.

All he can do is swallow, eyes working up and down your frame as you move towards him. Not like anything he’s ever seen, not like anyone he’s ever known—pretty, but so unsure of it, it makes him want to do nothing but convince you of how your brain lies to you.

“So… you like?”

“I…” love it, he wants to say.

But he settles on placing his hand on your waist, letting his fingers brush over the material adorning your skin. How it slides over your waist, floats down.

“We’re being watched,” you whisper, lifting your chin, lips carved into a sinful sneer before your teeth bite at your bottom lip.

And, he knows it’s a performance. All part of the show the two of you have to put on.

But fuck, does he want nothing more than to kiss you. To yank you by your waist until you’re flush with him begging you to keep looking at him how you are right now.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks, face lowering, his nose tracing the tip of yours.

Smiling, you nod, all languid, soft—your eyes nothing but warmth as they hold his, more than that even, they’re hot, piercing. “You should kiss me, esposo.”

Blinking, his eyes must frown. His jaw ticks, and slides. Jutting to the side, his eyes drop to your mouth and his fingers tighten your hip.

“Sunny, you don’t have t—”

But, you close the gap instead. Not quite capturing his lips, but just the side of his mouth, soft—all too fucking brief. If he had processed it quicker, he’d have moved his mouth, caught yours, and allowed his bottom lip to slide between yours, even for a moment.

But it’s fleeting, an act—a display, rather than anything else.

“I’ll go get changed,” you whisper, voice low, fingers swiping over on your bottom lip.

You’ve never been more thankful to slip out of damp clothes and into warm ones—comfy ones.

A pair of sweats you’re grateful you slung between an array of other things that now brought some semblance of normality.

Because pretending is hard—especially when parts of the pretence aren’t really pretending at all.

You’ve grown to realise that you like his touch. Like the way, it’s tentative, cautious—as though he’s measured with it. Not wishing to push, not wishing to step over an invisible line that moves with each day the two of you grow more comfortable with one another.

The oddness of the situation doesn’t lessen, if anything it feels more challenging.

Things blur, making it difficult to unpick parts from others. Because while the two of you have collected very little—except that the place you frequented that first time seemed to have hit a nerve—you’re learning things about him, the man playing your husband.

Your thumb instinctively reaches out to brush over the back of your ring. Swiping over it, smooth metal greeting it as you dig your nail into the skin under it. How the skin is becoming smoother there from the general day-to-day wear of it—something which will outlast this, the thing between the two of you and the fake relationship you’ve built with him—

“You gonna share with me what that was.”

You look up, considering it. Trying not to stare at him leaning against the wall, running his hand over his jaw. It makes your stomach knot, makes you question the events of the day, and how you’d even begin to explain the experiment you’d not even been sure would work.

But, that’s when you see something twinkling, dancing in his eyes. His hand is slow in how it traces his jaw, tongue running over his front teeth.

“Well. We racked up a serious amount today, and I have a new dress and I’m pretty sure you made an impression on some sales—”

“Sunny.”

It’s not stern, but it’s not soft.

Least of all when he continues to look at you, waiting—an explanation needed to make heads or tails of why you essentially turned him into a carrier for you all day.

“We haven’t seen him. Them. And it made me think…”

You hear him exhale, just softly, moving from his position at the wall to move the coffee table and sink into the chair opposite you.

His knees are close, his face too when he leans forward and rests his elbows on them.

“We have an alibi, a story—but we paid cash. There’s no name to trace, there’s no… we look suspicious.”

His head tilts, and you watch as his eyes slide off to the side before they return. His tell, you’ve learnt. His way of acknowledging that a point has been made.

And it fuels you, fills you with some promise that you’re not wrong.

“People talk money, Javi. So, you spoil your wife in all the shops they dress their wives, their mistresses, their girlfriends… people will talk. And then maybe they won’t think we’re...”

“Cops.”

Nodding, you roll your lips. Then you wait, somehow for him to say something, do something.

“I just thought it would get us in a circle that could actually benefit us. But, I guess now…”

Your eyes slide to the bags. The many bags. The ones that had cut into his palms from how many there were—the array of clothing, all varying materials, perfume and accessories.

The tension thickens as you wait, needing him to say something. And slowly, he does.

It’s a smirk first, then a nod. His lips pull at both sides as though trying to hide how he really feels about it, until he shuffles forward—dragging the chair with him.

“Sunny,” he whispers, two fingers under your chin, lifting your eyes to him, “Good work.”

You don’t mean for it to slip out, or let him hear it, but you murmur a yeah?. Showing that doubt, that questioning, the bit you shove down each and every moment since you’ve been assigned this.

Just thankful you don’t speak the rest, don’t let it come out. Feeling his fingers drop from your skin. Watching him pull on the chair in front of you and collapse into it, thighs spread, palms rubbing at his eyes as his chest rises and falls, heaves—forcing the buttons to work harder than they should.

“I should have told you what I was thinking.”

Hands falling from his face, his brow arches. “Yeah. Would’ve been helpful.” You snort, eyes dropping. “But, we’re figuring it out—figuring us out.”

Nodding, your lips slide into a line, still avoiding him, suddenly finding an interest in the carpet.

“You should see if Murphy will let you keep the dress when we’re done.” That forces your head up, his lips sliding into his cheek. “You looked good in it.”

“You saying that because you’d like to see me in it again, Javi?”

Leaning back, he rests his elbow on the arm, fingers brushing over his nose. “If you’d let me, yeah.”

Smiling, you look down, at that thing bubbling in your chest. The thing which has been growing over the past couple of days—worsened by lingering eyes and sweet pet names.

“You’re not sleeping.”

You say it casually, let it float out—ripple. Watching it land on him, wash over him like a mist that makes him exhale and his chest expand as he lets in the air.

Swallowing, you take a shaky breath. “Not that I want—“

“It’s been… hard since I’ve been back.”

Nodding, you bite the inside of your cheek, sliding your leg out so it brushes against his, watching his lips briefly smile before flattening again.

You're not sure how to respond. A part of you wants to ask why, connect the dots to the missing pieces in your head, but another part of you wishes to give him his space—his privacy. Because it’s too much.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze—the one mixed with uncertainty and curiosity. "You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to."

A hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“But, can I do anything?”

Shaking his head, his fingers massage his temple, eyes closed—looking, for the first time since you’ve met him, as tired as you feel.

“Your turn.”

Raising your brows, you grin. “My turn?”

Nodding, he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Why did you hate that I said I liked your smile.”

“I… I did—“

“Don’t lie. It’s not nice to lie to your husband.”

Clicking your tongue, you exhale, nostrils flaring. “Well, only because you’re such a catch,” you snark, repositioning on the chair as you try to find words, any words. “My dad’s the one who called me Sunny. Said I always smiled. Good or bad, weddings or… I always made sure to smile.”

It begins to burn, that feeling in your chest. The one which feels bitter, like it’s eroding, drilling into you—just like it does every other time you begin to lift the lid. Telling him, letting it spill out, all of it, that it made him happy, made him less sad and lonely, him, him, him.

Lifting your eyes, you find him studying you—watching. His eyes slightly pinched at the sides, almost narrowed; his teeth nipping at his thumb as he clicks his tongue periodically on his teeth.

You're not sure you could ever explain it, what it feels like to sit under his gaze. Except that, it feels something akin to a summer’s day—all warmth, no rain. It brushes over you like a breeze, and you can see it, how he cares.

But also how easy it is to fall under the spell of him caring, how easy it is to lose yourself in it. In him.

“I like your eyes too,” he says, softly.

And you have to swallow. A thing you force, tilting your head to drive the point home. “Yeah, my ‘eyes’.”

Smiling, he drops his hand, eyes averted, an unreadable thing playing across his face before he sighs. “I mean it—just like I meant that you do have a nice smile.”

“When I show it though.”

“I… I deserved that.”

Rolling your lips, you smile, taking his hand, rubbing, your thumb over his knuckles. “Maybe you should do more to make your wife smile, Peña.”

“I’m not a comedian.”

“That’s not the attitude to have, is it?”

He has a nice laugh, you think. It rolls out, almost layered in dust. Like it’s been so long since he’s been able to

He seems to let the name slide, his finger tracing his mouth. “You think you can handle me trying to make you smile, mi sol?”

You’re not sure how to answer. Mouth opening and closing, but you tighten your hand on his. “You have nice lips by the way.”

And you don’t hate how warmth blooms in your stomach when his eyes darken, and his lips curl into a smirk.

Even if it’s short-lived, stolen, robbed by a knock at the door and an envelope slide under the door. One he retrieves as you shift, as you lift up in the chair—watching him turn over the orange envelope, spot the golden writing written in pretty calligraphy as he shows it you: Mr and Mrs Javier Peña.

“Think you got us noticed, Sunny.”

You suspect you should feel happier than you do.

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[reiderwriter]

Wished Away Entire Lifetimes

Chapter 6 of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Living with Spencer - even if it is because some psycho is trying to murder you - means learning more about him. You just hope that the reverse isn't also true as you keep your cards as close to your chest as possible.

Warnings: No smut, suggestive content, both reader and Spencer are horny as fuck the entire time, spoilers for Marley and Me, mention of a pet death in the aforementioned movie.

A/N: At this point, I have to admit to the audience that the plot has somewhat changed from my original intention, but I still have a solid goal in mind, so WHO CARES!!! Domestic Spencer! Dom can mean more than one thing, Amen.

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

Spencer's apartment was exactly as you remembered it, but this time around, it felt different. 

You quietly walked in and sat down on the sofa, trying not to be so obvious in your glances towards the bookshelf, trying to see if your message was still intact. 

“The kitchen's just through here, my bedroom, study,” he said pointing to each doorway, introducing you to a place you already had ingrained in your mind as the site of your biggest surprise. 

You nodded along awkwardly and shifted the bag of spare clothes and toiletries you'd picked up from your apartment on the way there between your hands. 

The shelves were still in order and, based on the updated collection of dust sprinkled about the place, hadn't even been perused in a while. You pouted a little, thinking about how you'd have to reluctantly forgive him for not messaging you. If he hadn't seen the message, then you supposed he was telling the truth about being busy. 

More of you wanted to wallow in your pettiness, to wait until he noticed himself that you were expecting. You did wonder how long it would take him. He was observant. You'd admitted that to himself when he'd first started mentioning case details and inferences months before in the office, but it seemed like people weren't hit forte. 

You were sure he could statistically tell you how big your baby was given the amount of weeks pregnant you were (the size of a plum, according to a Google search the night before) but you didn't think he'd be able to notice that you specifically were carrying said baby. 

It was, though, only a matter of time. 

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” He asked, staring at you with his brow furrowed, his tie slightly looser than it had been a few moments earlier. 

Now you were the thoughtless one. Your gaze raked down from his face to the loosened tie, the top buttons undone, the flash of skin at his neck as he swallowed lightly, obviously not as effected by your gaze as you were by his. 

“Yes,” you replied, letting your mind wander off to one of the two couched he'd fucked you on. 

“Y/N, you're not listening,” he said again, slightly irritated now. Somehow  that turned you on more. 

“Yes, I am.”

“What did I say then?” 

“I said I was listening, not that I cared.” 

He closed his eyes in a sigh before stepping closer to you and grabbing your bag in his hand. You quickly snatched it back and pulled it to yourself. 

You hadn't exactly packed much, but in your rush out of the door, hormones or something maternal had grabbed a baby grow and a teddy bear, and you knew the combination would cause questions you didn't have the patience to answer just then. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, signalling how tired he was with your attitude. You wanted to calm down and just apologise, but the part of you that had jumped at the sight of his bare skin was now itching for a physical fight. 

Emphasis, hopefully, on the physical part. 

“I'd rather you didn't go through my things, Spencer,” you said, throwing the bag back over your shoulder. 

“And I'd rather you listened to me instead of glaring at me, but here we are.”

Your eyes narrowed on him as you found yourself pitching forward, head tipping back as his hand caught the top of the strap and slowly pushed it down your arm. 

“There, now, let me show you the bed.” 

“Bed?” 

“You really weren't listening?”

“I tend to drown you out these days, I fear its a trauma response.” 

He scoffed and pressed a hand to the base of your spine, inching you forward as he held your bag for you. 

First, his hand on your arm, and then the one on your back - you really shouldn't have accepted his offer knowing you were going to spend at least a night and likely more frustratedly horny. 

You'd barely survived a day in an office with him, And that was before you'd been intimate. 

Now you had memories, and a reference point, and a goddamn bed. 

“Here. I'll clear a draw so you can unpack. Let me grab you some towels as well, and-” 

“What do you mean?” Your tone was brighter, less challenging now and more open curiosity, as if being mollified by his temporary kindness. The change made you uncomfortable.

He looked back at you with a wide-eyed questioning stare. 

“Hmm?” 

“Clear a draw? You keep clothes in your spare room?” 

He struggled for an answer for a second before meeting your eyes again with an almost apologetic glance. 

“Y/N, I don't have a spare bed. The other room only has a desk. The bed was removed when-” he trailed off, looking almost guilty as he spotted your embarrassed look. 

“Okay, and when were you going to tell me that?” You said, hands on your hips in an attempt at intimidation. His eyes dragging down your body said that it'd had the opposite effect.

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to you again, hands resting on your hips then stroking up your back until he was cradling your back, closing the gap between you until you were chest to chest. 

“You weren't listening, remember?" 

You desperately clung to that indignant annoyance as his gaze slid to your mouth, your hands pinned against his chest. You were painfully aware of the bed just inches behind you, wondering what his reaction would be if you just stripped off and climbed in. 

“I wasn't listening just now, but I sure as hell was listening on campus. Emily has a spare room, let me call her.”

“No,” he pouted, leaning forward to press his lips to your cheek. 

“Spencer!” You gasped at the unexpected move. If you weren't so delicately pressed up against his rising member, you'd accuse him of acting like a spoiled child. 

He did it again, switching to your other cheek. You pouted back at him, glaring at him when he surfaced from each kiss. 

“You know,” you said as he licked at the skin between your neck and your collar bone. “You have a job to do, right?” 

He hummed against your skin, lips rising to the sensitive point just below your earlobe. 

You breathed out a shaky sigh and tried again. 

“You can't just keep me in bed for two weeks,” you said, gripping his shoulders lightly, not sure whether you wanted him off you, or you wanted him buried deeper.

“I can't?”  

His lips rose again to your cheeks, but so his his hands, grabbing a breast in one hand as the other squeezed your ass, pulling you closer. 

“Spencer, some would think you hadn't had sex in months, come on-” 

“Haven't.” 

His hands were more insistent now, pushing up your shirt and finding your sensitive breasts. His wandering hands didn't care about your bra, they didn't care about how sensitive your nipples were because of the hormones, they didn't even care they were being a bit too rough as he pinched your nipples hard and pulled them upwards, a moan shooting from your mouth. 

It was so painful, so fucking delicious that you almost missed his words. You almost laughed at the irony that both your and his first fuck in months had resulted in a pregnancy. A dry spell ended by a shower of orgasms and a conception to boot. How lucky. 

Spencer was too busy for thought. 

“God, Spencer, if you're going to fuck me standing up, at least do it against a wall.”

He reluctantly pulled his hands away and his head, too, just long enough to glare at you. 

“Towels,” you said. “And a clear draw.” 

He nodded and finally removed his hands from you, though you had no doubt he'd be back on you the minute all the tasks for the day were done. 

“And Spencer?” You said, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He turned to look at you, and you let the question out before you could think about it too much. 

“How busy were you that you haven't had time to fuck in months?” 

If it were any other man, you'd have cringed at hearing your own question. But Spencer always answered so earnestly that there could be very little embarrassment with him. Just frustration and confusion. 

“I wasn't busy,” he said, already making his way out of the room, leaving his head peeking around the doorway as he finished his explanation. 

“I was in prison.” 

You spent the next 72 hours trying to wrap your mind around that declaration. Of all things he could've been doing, prison never came to mind. 

A vow of celibacy you'd believe. Just a general lack of game, you'd be a bit more hesitant to believe, considering his general attractiveness. A nasty case of (now cured) Chlamydia leading to almost a year sex free in recovery would be preferable. Or a stint in rehab for sex addiction, perhaps, considering how often his hands had been on you since arriving. 

But prison? 

What the fuck would they put him in prison for? 

While he'd run errands for you that night, you'd tucked yourself into his bed, not even bothering to change into your pajamas. You stripped off a single layer and climbed in, not stopping to let yourself contemplate that answer until the morning. 

Unfortunately, since you'd found yourself snuggled up to a hard cock 8 hours later, you didn't exactly have time to think about it then either, busy grinding against him wantonly. 

By the time his hands were gripping the flesh of your thighs grinding back into you on the edge of sleep, you'd been struck with your usual morning upset, and had sent yourself to the bathroom quietly to empty your stomach. 

He was still abed when you'd finished, and you decided to leave him there to think, and then you'd repeated that twice coming up with no logical conclusion. 

You'd finally given in and thrown in the towel when you realised you had Penelope’s contact details still and decided to ask her yourself. 

It was a relief to know that the man you'd created life with was not actually a murderer but actually wrongfully convicted. Especially since you were supposedly thrown into his arms (this time) by a murderer yourself. 

You did start to feel guilty about treating him like shit when you first met, though. He'd, supposedly, only been back from federal prison for a few weeks when he was thrust into your office, which probably explained his less than friendly nature. 

It didn't excise yours. 

You'd kept our distance enough in those few days to avoid sexual encounters, but you relaxed into his touch a little more after finding out. 

It came as a bigger shock than it should have that you enjoyed Spencer Reid's company. 

Bored out of your mind on house arrest, you'd taken to rooting through his bookshelves, and when he wasn't commenting on your bad habit of touching other peoples books or actually doing his job, he rooted with you. 

“Why do you have a copy of The Collector by John Fowles from a New York public library?” 

“It was from a case.”

“And why didn't you return it.” 

“Touché.” 

You'd rolled your eyes at him  and picked up a battered copy of Crime and Punishment from a lower shelf.

“Writing a book this long should be a crime, and reading it must be a punishment,” you grumbled to yourself as he laughed behind you. 

“I can finish it in three hours,” he said, trying not to brag but failing miserably. 

“You're bluffing.”

“Want to make a bet?” He smiled at you mischievously, and suddenly you saw the boy he must've been. Your heart panged as you wondered if your child would inherit that look. 

“Penelope said I shouldn't gamble with you. Las Vegas, right?” 

“Penelope?” he asked, and you realised your blunder. Technically, you still had yet to be introduced to the one woman tech show that was Ms. Garcia, and you scrambled for an excuse. 

“Emily made me contact her with all my passwords and tech info,” you said, technically not lying. 

“She's real friendly.” That was definitely the truth, and you prayed to god that he bought it. 

You didn't give him a chance yo interrogate further, simply throwing the brick of a Russian classic at him and grabbing a book yourself. 

You climbed onto the couch next to him, resting your head in his lap and began to read your book. 

“Time starts now, Reid. And I will be testing you after.”

“Sure, if you can stay awake,” he said, stroking your hair out of your eyes and leaving you in peace as he began his solo race. 

Spencer didn't let go of your off-hand comment, though. On the contrary, he let it spill over into his work life the next day as he watched Penelope with furtive eyes, wondering what the two of you could be hiding. 

He knew you were hiding something. You'd had the same look about you at the bookshelves as you did when you first insisted you weren't attracted to him. A mildly annoyed face and an unconscious bite of the lip, a glance to the right, and all of a sudden, he was dying to know what you were hiding.

“So far there's been little activity in the hunting grounds due to the vigilance of the girls on campus, but there have been a spike in reported stalking, and Penelope, how do you know Y/N?” 

He fought to get the words out, mollifying himself with the consolation that at least he got all the important information out first in the middle of the meeting. 

“Oh ho,” chortled Luke from the side, looking on amusedly as Penelope glanced about for help or a way out. 

“I don't know Y/N, I've never met Y/N. Why would you think I know Y/N? Who is Y/N?” 

“Slightly overkill, Penelope,” Emily said, collecting her papers and abandoning the other woman. 

The others followed suit as she gaped and sent pleading looks behind them. 

“Penelope?” Reid said again, and Penelope was annoyed to find his stupidly innocent puppy-dog eyes staring back at her and expecting answers. 

“No, no, no, no, I promised I wouldn't say anything, and I am not breaking a promise. Don't make me break a promise, Spencer, you know that's bad luck.”

She stood and tried to walk briskly out of the room, but he followed her still. 

“Penelope, please. I won't say anything.” 

“Yes, you will. You can't help yourself,” she said, stopping to talk to him for a second before quickly starting again, practically marching to her office. 

“Then tell me where you met, at least? I know it wasn't messages, Penelope, all her communications went through Emily. She's lying to me, and we have to keep her safe.”

They finally reached her office, and Spencer finally pulled out his final card. 

“I just want to keep her safe, Penelope. Just this one girl, just this once.” 

She looked at him with a shocked, heartbroken face, even as she knew he was manipulating her and caved. 

“She came to your apartment. A month ago. I was there picking up a book for you.”

“What was she doing there?” 

Penelope hesitated, trying to avoid the topic of your revelation, telling herself that if she didn't tell him about the baby, she hadn't actually broken her promise. 

“The emails. She found some emails from you in her spam folder.” 

“Right,” he said, blowing out a deep breath in relief. “Right the emails. She mentioned that.” 

Penelope, too, let out a sharp exhale, imagining the worst of it over now he'd stopped asking questions. 

Spencer made his way to the door before turning back and asking one more, though.

“Penelope, why did she ask you to keep this to yourself?” 

Penelope sent him an apologetic look, then zipped her mouth shut and threw away the key. He nodded and took his leave. 

Spencer was sure that there was an explanation for everything, that you'd probably just been embarrassed at turning up at his house and finding out he wasn't there. Maybe you'd even forgotten you'd been. 

But another deeper part of him was angry and unjustifiably so. You'd lied to him, and he felt sick, angry, violent, and like he'd love nothing more than to bend you over his lap and make sure you never did it again.

All of the unjustified anger he'd pent up in prison, the rough way he carried himself in the field now, his less than friendly exterior, it was bleeding into his relationship with you. 

He tried to damp it down, but he couldn't control it, and he was scared even as he opened the door to the apartment and prepared himself for an argument that would probably end in rough, probably progress-ending sex. 

And you had made progress in the last few days. He'd thought at the very least that you'd be a friend, albeit one he would love to kiss and sink deep into. Now he knew that he'd probably ruin all chances of that as he rounded the corner and prepared for a fight. 

He was angry, and, like it or not, he knew he was going to take it out on you. 

It was the sight of you on the couch that completely dissipated every negative emotion that he had. 

Your dress was loose and fell about you in a puddle, though it too was drowned underneath what looked to be every blanket in the house. 

Tara sat off in the corner silently watching you, and he gave her a stiff nod as she departed her protection duty for the day. 

“S-Spencer,” you sniffled, and his heart paced rapidly as he found your face stained with tear tracks, fresh tears still dripping down as well. 

He had just enough time to check you over for injuries before you had flung yourself into his arms and commenced sobbing like an absolute baby. 

“Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” 

Your breath hitched as you tried to speak, but you couldn't calm down and he walked you back to the couch, sitting down and letting you climb into his lap, straddling him as you once again buried your face in your neck. 

Five minutes later, you'd ceased with the dramatics, but you faced the awkward consequence of having to tell him now that you were crying because of a scene in Marley and Me. 

“It's s-stupid,” you laughed into his neck as you cuddled into him, further muffling your voice against his chest. 

“Just tell me,” he pleaded, stroking your back and hair. You looked up at him in his eyes, and then shook your head and retreated into the comfort of the crook of his neck, hips pushing closer into his as his hands rubbed comforting circles in your back. 

After a few rubs, it was quite obvious that his hands were pushing lower, and his fingers were close to grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Was it a movie?” He asked. You nodded. 

He looked at the screen and sighed. 

“Marley and Me?” He asked. You nodded again. 

“And the dog-” 

“He died, Spencer. He loved his family so much that he took himself outside so they wouldn't have to watch him die.”

“I know, Y/N, I know.” 

“He was such a good dog,” you said, blubbering again. 

“I know,” he said, gently kissing you. 

“You know, crying during movies is a sign that oxytocin has been triggered by the connections you feel due to vicarious social experience. Your attention is captured and emotions elicited by the movie's story.” 

He kissed you again, and you kept listening to his explanation, suddenly calmed by his gentle explanation. 

“Oxytocin is best known for its role in childbirth and breastfeeding, increasing contractions during labour and stimulating the milk ducts, but it's also released in response to positive physical contact – hugging, kissing, sexual intimacy and even petting animals – as well as through positive social interactions.” 

“Spencer?” You said, looking up at him again. 

“Yes?” 

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I do know what oxytocin is. I, too, have a PhD, you know.” 

He smiled shyly as he ran his hands down your legs and back up again, pushing your skirt up to the tops of your thighs before gripping the bare skin he found there. 

“I think I'd much prefer if you just kissed me again,” you said. 

And he did. 

With a tear, you'd lifted the anger that had built up all day, and now he was like putty in your hands, obeying his every command for physical attention. 

He kissed you hard, his tongue tangling with yours as your hips subtly shifted above his, stimulating areas that had been much too eager to be stimulated in the last few days. 

His cock rose slightly, filling with blood as you moaned gently into the kiss. 

He was seconds from pushing you into the couch once again and freeing his abused cock, plundering your depths once again, but gently this time. He had promised himself he'd make the third time a bed at least, but here he was. You had to stop sitting on sofas. 

But with a quick thank you and heavy eyelids, you pulled away and rested your head against his shoulder. 

In his shock and disappointment, it took him rather a long time to realise you'd fallen asleep in his arms. Though his body craved attention for his own, the weight of you on top of him was warm, and satisfying, and when the shock wore off and he'd blinked away any untoward thoughts, he pulled you in closer, sunk down into the couch, and slept with you. 

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @Chiyozai @iheart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @mggreidsreads @@farfromthehomelands @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfudidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @@nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @famouslynerdy @batrensworld @batrensworld

@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim @yourfavoritefangirl @waywardxrhea @Aliceofonederland @joshuafatubaee @jc10622 @timeboundkate @Roslxnxx @Gensthoughts23 @marvelshittt @lavvylove @Slitherss @mythumbhurts @Xiaexact @Honestlyloving @maryyy-8

[marigold-hills]

June 23: accident | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 584

PREVIOUS PART • FIRST PART

Time to be brave, Sirius decides, or this will never happen.

Opens his mouth wide, then closes it on a grimace. “No,” he says, “I don’t know how to yodel.” Claps, three times. Nothing happens. “I’m clapping, James.” Does it again, feeling ridiculous, eyes locked onto Remus.

“Oh!” James scrambles up, “yes, you are! Wormy-boy, up you get. Off we go. No, don’t grab your stuff. I’ll transfigure you a pair of trousers in the common room. Come on now, up up up with you.”

Peter, the poor man, gets bodily pushed out of the room, trying to pull his T-shirt down to cover his boxers. James sends Sirius a wink and a salute (the idiot child) and closes the door behind them.

“Remus, I… actually wait a second.” He pulls his wand out of his hair, letting it down, and spells the doors shut (then spells it again with an anti-unlocking charm).

Casts Silencio onto the room for good measure, because he wouldn’t put it past James and Peter to eavesdrop.

“Remus. I-” tries again, gets flustered because Moony is looking at him like that and what can he do but fall apart in front of him like a house of cards, fall onto his knees? “Fuck.”

“Mo réalta,” Remus takes over, getting up from his bed and crossing the room to sit next to Sirius, hand on his knee, “have you figured it out?” Because of course he knows, of course he’s there to guide Sirius through this (even through this).

“I have,” he admits, the words so easy they’re almost an accident. Too easy, he thinks. Nothing in his life has been easy and there is no way this can be the exception, there is no way he could get so lucky. He waits for the other shoe to drop, asks: “Did I take too long?”

“Of course not,” Remus laughs that Moony laugh that makes everything better. “You took as long as you needed.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I told you, didn’t I? That I’d be here? I would have waited no matter how long you took, love.”

Sirius folds into him, head on shoulder, hands gripping onto Moony’s thighs. “Thank Merlin and all his dead disciples,” he whispers into his neck, and out loud: “I’m sorry I made you wait this long.”

“You’re worth it. I would have waited a lifetime for this moment with you and if it never came, I would have been glad for what you’ve given me.”

Sirius needs to get closer. He does, pulling himself into Remus’ arms, onto his lap and still it’s not enough because the way Remus looks at him is enough to break every wall he’s ever put up.

Can accidents be deliberate? he’s left to wonder when the words come out and he both means them and didn’t choose to say them, but all the same: “I love you.”

Then there are hands cradling his face like he’s the most delicate sugar-spun thing, and Remus pulls him up so they’re eye-to-eye, so there could be no misunderstandings.

Sirius knows how Remus speaks. Hastily, broadly, with no care. Not now. Each letter is pronounced with purpose and with care, and he responds “I love you too, my star. Is tú mo ghrá.”

The hold he has on Sirius is so tender, he can barely stand it. Needs more, but is loath to break the moment.

“I see you,” Remus huffs out a laugh because his Moony knows him, always knows him.

NOTES:

Part 23! This is officially the longest fanfic I’ve written, at 12k words. Yay!

Is tú mo ghrá means “you are my love”

the next two or three chapters are just going to be smut. Don’t read if at work (or if you do, do so at your own peril ;) or if you’re underage etc etc

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui @annaliza999 @hihimissamericanbi @gipitothefrog @shamelesswolfstarshipper @a-pine-cone @cosmicweeds @cocoabutterandbooks @bloodoffire @residentdisaster @shamelesswolfstarshipper @ravenwordss @prancingpony42 @themoonlovesthestars @starving-marauder-lover

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[a-court-of-mischief-and-madness]

Midnight revelations

Part 5

Pairings: Eris Vanserra x Rhysand's sister reader!

Summary: After eris is severly punished by Beron what happens when he goes to his mate for help and they share an intimate moment? and to no surprise her overprotective brother Rhysand finds out?

A/n: hey guys, sorry to keep you waiting but I promise it's worth it. This chapter will leave you screaming and love struck just as it did to me. So I urge you all to enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of blood! , kissing! and alot of angst

Eris strode through the dark corridors of his father's palace, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He had been reckless, letting his emotions slip through his carefully constructed mask. Now, he had to face the consequences. As he approached Beron's chambers, he straightened his spine, steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation.

The door creaked open, revealing Beron seated on his ornate throne. His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as Eris stepped inside.

"Eris," Beron drawled, his voice dripping with malice. "I hope you have some good news for me."

Eris met his father's gaze, keeping his expression neutral. "I have been making progress."

Beron's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? Let's see if you're telling the truth."

Before Eris could react, Beron's power surged through him, invading his mind with brutal force. Memories flashed before his eyes: the dance, the touch, the revelation about her wings. Beron's fury erupted like a storm, and he yanked Eris's head back, slamming him against the wall.

"You dare defy me?" Beron hissed, his grip tightening. "You think you can hide things from me?"

Eris struggled against the pain, his vision blurring. "I didn't—"

Beron's fist connected with his face, cutting him off. The beating continued, each blow landing with savage precision. Blood dripped from Eris's mouth and nose, his body screaming in agony. Finally, Beron released him, letting him crumple to the floor.

"Pathetic," Beron sneered. "Remember, Eris, you are nothing without my favor. Fail me again, and the consequences will be far worse."

Eris barely managed a nod, his strength waning. Beron turned away, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than a broken toy.

With a supreme effort, Eris willed himself to winnow. He aimed for Lucien's room, but his injuries muddled his focus. The world twisted and spun, and he found himself stumbling into a familiar chamber in the Night Court.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

You gasp as Eris appears before you, battered and bleeding. He collapses to the floor, his breathing ragged. Without hesitation, you rush to his side, your hands trembling as you gently lift his head.

"Eris," you whisper, your heart breaking at the sight of his injuries. "What happened?"

He winces, trying to sit up. "My father." You don't need him to continue to know what he means.

Anger flares within you, but you force yourself to stay calm. You need to take care of him first. Carefully, you help him to your bed, grabbing a cloth and a bowl of water. As you clean his wounds, your touch is tender, yet your emotions roil within you.

"Take off your shirt," you instruct softly, your voice wavering with concern.

Eris's eyes flicker with a mix of amusement and pain. "Excited to see me naked, princess?" he teases, his voice a husky rasp despite his condition.

You scoff, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just take it off."

He smirks, wincing slightly as he lifts his shirt over his head. As the fabric falls away, your breath hitches. His torso is a canvas of scars, each one telling a story of pain and survival. The hard lines of his muscles are a stark contrast to the vulnerable expression on his face. Your fingers tremble as you begin to clean the blood from his torso, his skin warm under your touch.

"See something you like?" he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with a hint of vulnerability.

You roll your eyes, focusing on the task at hand. "Shut up, Eris."

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a thrill through you. "I know you do, princess. I see the way you look at me."

Ignoring his taunts, you continue to tend to his wounds. Your fingers brush against his skin, and each touch feels like a spark igniting between you. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with the weight of your unspoken desires.

Eris winces as you dab at a particularly deep cut. "Careful," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," you reply, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer than necessary. The tension between you crackles, an unspoken connection that neither of you can ignore.

His eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart race. "Thank you," he says softly, his voice sincere.

"Don't thank me yet," you mutter, trying to regain your composure. "We're not done."

You continue to clean his wounds, your touch gentle but precise. Each time your fingers brush against his skin, a spark seems to ignite between you. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with the weight of your unspoken desires.

Eris's breath hitches as you apply pressure to a particularly stubborn cut. "You have a delicate touch," he remarks, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Shut up," you reply, your cheeks flushing. "I'm trying to help."

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a thrill through you. "I know, and I appreciate it."

You finish cleaning his wounds, your hands lingering on his shoulders. The proximity is intoxicating, the scent of him filling your senses. For a moment, you both stay still, the world outside forgotten.

"Eris," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His gaze softens, a vulnerability you rarely see in him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For everything."

You shake your head, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. "Don't apologize. We'll figure this out together."

His eyes hold a depth of emotion you hadn't expected, and he leans into your touch. The connection between you is undeniable, a force that neither of you can resist.

Eris winces again as you dab a particularly sensitive spot, your hands moving with care. His sharp intake of breath makes you pause, your eyes meeting his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, but before you can pull your hand away, he catches your wrist.

His fingers, still strong despite his injuries, are warm against your skin. "Don't be," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His eyes darken, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, the tension almost unbearable. You are so close, your faces inches apart.

Eris's hand moves from your wrist to your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing yours with a fervent, almost desperate passion. The kiss is everything you had imagined and more. It is demanding, yet tender; fierce, yet gentle. His lips move against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away.

You melt into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, then to his neck, pulling him closer. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desire and something uniquely Eris. His hand tangles in your hair, the other resting on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The heat between you ignites, his kiss deepening as his tongue seeks entry, and you grant it eagerly. A moan escapes your lips, swallowed by his insistent mouth. You can feel his need, his desire, in every touch, every caress.

Eris's hand slips down to the small of your back, his fingers trailing fire along your skin as he pulls you even closer. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you and the searing heat of your kiss.

You break apart, gasping for breath, but Eris doesn't let you go far. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, unable to find your voice, your body still trembling from the intensity of the kiss. Eris's lips find yours again, softer this time, but no less passionate. His kiss is a promise, a declaration, and you know there is no turning back.

Eris abruptly pulls away, his breathing heavy and ragged. His eyes, dark with desire moments ago, now hold a conflicted look. "No," he whispers, shaking his head. "We shouldn't be doing this."

Your heart sinks at his words. "Why?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though you already know the answer.

"If my father finds out..." Eris trails off, his expression pained. "It won't be good. For either of us."

You see the torment in his eyes, the war he is fighting within himself. You want to tell him that everything will be okay, that you can face whatever comes together, but the fear in his gaze stops you.

Instead, you reach out, your hand gently cupping his cheek. "Eris," you say softly, your voice filled with compassion. "We'll find a way. We have to."

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch for a moment before pulling away. "You don't understand what he's capable of," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't risk you getting hurt."

You stand there, heart aching, not knowing what to say. The desire, the longing between you is palpable, but the fear is just as strong. Eris takes a step back, distancing himself.

"Come here," you whisper, holding out your hand.

He hesitates, but then he takes your hand and allows you to pull him into an embrace. You hold him tightly, feeling the tension in his body slowly ebb away. "It's going to be okay," you murmur, your fingers gently stroking his hair.

Eris buries his face in your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you. For a long moment, you just stand there, holding each other, drawing comfort from the closeness. You feel his breath warm against your neck, the steady thump of his heart against your chest.

Eventually, you guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. He looks so vulnerable, so different from the confident and often cold facade he shows to the world. You sit beside him, your hand still clasped in his.

"We'll figure it out," you say softly. "Together."

Eris sighs, the tension leaving his body as he leans back on the bed. You lie down beside him, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. His warmth is comforting, and you nestle against him, your head resting on his chest.

For the rest of the night, you lie together, holding each other. The worries of the world outside seem to fade away, at least for a little while. You feel his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, a constant reminder that he is there, that you are not alone.

As the night wears on, you talk quietly about everything and nothing, your voices barely above whispers. Eris shares stories of his childhood, moments that have shaped him into the man he is. You tell him about your fears, your hopes, the dreams you barely dare to speak of.

Eventually, the conversation dwindles, and silence settles over you. You feel safe in his arms, and as you drift off to sleep, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you will face them together.

----------------------------♧-----------------------------

As she slept soundly against his chest, Eris couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and peace that he hadn't felt in years. He looked down at her, her dark hair cascading over his arm like a silken waterfall, her violet eyes hidden beneath her lashes but vivid in his memory. She was perfect, more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, marveling at the way the moonlight caressed her features. The soft curve of her lips, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the way her lashes fanned out over her cheeks – she was a vision of serenity and grace. Each detail, each delicate line and shadow, seemed to capture the very essence of beauty. The moonlight painted her skin with a silvery glow, making her look almost ethereal, like a goddess descended from the heavens to bless him with her presence.

He had never felt so connected to someone, never felt so deeply that someone was meant to be by his side. Yet, with that connection came an overwhelming fear. What would his father do if he found out? What kind of horrors would Beron unleash upon her, upon them, to break them apart? The thought of Beron's wrath, his cruelty, sent a shiver down Eris's spine. He knew all too well the depths of his father's malice, the lengths he would go to maintain control and power. The thought of her being hurt because of him was unbearable.

He closed his eyes, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him. But as he held her, feeling the warmth of her body against his, he made a silent promise to himself and to her. He would fight for her. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, he would protect her. She was his mate, his love, and he would not let his father's cruelty tear them apart. He would find a way to shield her from the storm, to keep her safe and secure in his arms.

The memories of their time together flooded his mind – the stolen glances, the whispered conversations, the moments of shared vulnerability. Each memory was a thread that wove them closer together, creating a tapestry of love and trust that he cherished deeply. He remembered the first time he saw her, the way his heart had skipped a beat, the instant recognition that she was different, that she was special. And now, as he held her in his arms, he knew that she was the one he had been waiting for all his life.

Eris tightened his hold on her slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. The soft scent of her hair filled his senses, calming the turmoil within him. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but in that moment, as he watched her sleep, he found a sliver of hope. They had each other, and together, they could face whatever came their way. He imagined a future where they were free from his father's shadow, where they could live their lives without fear, where they could build a home filled with love and laughter.

With a determined heart, he allowed himself to drift into a light sleep, holding onto the promise that he would fight for their love, for their future, for her. His dreams were filled with visions of a life they could have – a life where they could walk hand in hand without looking over their shoulders, where their love could flourish without the threat of darkness looming over them. He dreamed of her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy. And as he held her close, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make those dreams a reality.

Eris's resolve solidified as he lay there, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. He would confront his father, face whatever challenges came their way, and protect her with every fiber of his being. She was his light, his hope, and he would not let the darkness of his past extinguish the bright future they could have together.

------------------------♧---------------------------------

In the morning, you woke up to an empty room. Eris had already left, leaving behind only the faint scent of him and the lingering warmth where he had lain. You sighed, sitting up and running a hand through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts. The memory of his touch, his kiss, lingered in your mind, a bittersweet reminder of the night before. Just as you were about to get up, a knock sounded at your door. You opened it to find Rhysand and the entire Inner Circle standing there, concern and anger etched on their faces.

Rhysand’s eyes were dark with fury. "Why am I getting Eris’s scent all over this room?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, confirming Rhysand’s suspicions. "Eris was here," Azriel said, his tone flat but his eyes watchful.

You swallowed hard, knowing you couldn’t keep the truth from them any longer. "He was hurt," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "He winnowed here after his father beat him. I helped him... cleaned his wounds."

Rhysand’s fury didn’t abate. "And what else happened?" he pressed, his eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated, not wanting to reveal the kiss, the undeniable connection you had shared. "Nothing else," you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through you.

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. "Do you have feelings for him?" he asked, his voice softer but no less intense.

You looked away, unsure of how to answer. "I don’t know," you admitted finally. "Everything is so confusing right now."

Rhysand’s expression hardened. "I can’t risk you getting hurt," he said, his voice firm. With a wave of his hand, magic swirled around you, locking you in your room. "This is for your own protection."

You gasped, rushing to the door, but it was sealed shut by his magic. "Rhys, please," you pleaded, pounding on the door. "You can’t do this!"

But Rhysand’s decision was final. "You’ll stay here until I figure out how to keep you safe from him and from yourself," he said, his voice echoing with finality.

As the Inner Circle left, you sank to the floor, feeling a mix of anger, confusion, and a deep ache in your heart. You understood Rhysand’s need to protect you, but it felt like a prison. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Eris, nor could you ignore the danger that came with it.

You needed to find a way out, to confront your feelings and to deal with Eris on your own terms. But for now, you were trapped, left alone with your thoughts and the ever-present memory of Eris’s touch, his kiss, and the undeniable bond that tied you together.

As the door sealed with Rhysand's magic, you collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down your face. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on your chest, and you sobbed uncontrollably, feeling both trapped and heartbroken. The bond between you and Eris thrummed with your pain, sending waves of your distress to him.

---------------------------♧------------------------------

Eris was pacing in his room in the Autumn Court, the lingering sensation of her presence still clinging to him. He felt her pain suddenly, sharp and overwhelming, cutting through his own thoughts. His chest tightened, and he stopped in his tracks, his hands clenching into fists.

"What is happening to her?" he muttered to himself, fury and concern warring within him. The bond was a constant reminder of her emotions, and right now, it screamed with anguish.

He tried to winnow to the Night Court, desperate to reach her and find out what was wrong. But as he attempted to break through the wards surrounding her room, he felt an intense pain, like knives stabbing into his skin. He recoiled, gasping for breath.

"Rhysand," he snarled, realizing the High Lord must have warded her room against him. "Damn him."

Eris tried again, gritting his teeth against the pain, but it was no use. The wards were too strong, a testament to Rhysand's determination to keep him away. He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration, leaving a dent in the wood.

----------------------------♧----------------------------

Sobs wrack your body, shaking you to your core as you hug your knees to your chest. Each sob feels like it tears through you, leaving you feeling utterly alone in the dim light of your room. The walls seem to close in on you, suffocating in their silence. You can sense Eris's anger and confusion through the bond, a tangible thread of emotion that ties you to him, even in your isolation. His fury and bewilderment only make you cry harder, your tears soaking your cheeks and dampening the fabric of your clothing.

You clutch your knees tighter, trying to draw some comfort from the small, enclosed space you create for yourself. The thought of dragging Eris into more danger gnaws at your conscience, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You don't want him to suffer because of you, to be pulled into the chaos that surrounds your life. But the idea of being kept away from him, of the bond being forcibly severed, is a pain that cuts even deeper.

Your sobs become quieter but no less intense, a continuous flow of sorrow that you can't seem to stop. The bond between you and Eris thrums with his emotions, a relentless reminder that you are not truly alone, even though it feels that way. You can feel his desperation, his need to be with you, to protect you. It mirrors your own, making the ache in your heart almost unbearable.

The room feels colder, darker, as your tears continue to fall. You bury your face in your knees, muffling your cries, wishing for some semblance of relief. The bond flickers with a surge of Eris's emotion, a mix of anger and helplessness that mirrors your own turmoil. You wish you could reach out to him, to assure him that you are okay, even though you are far from it.

As the minutes stretch into an eternity, your sobs begin to subside, leaving you with a hollow emptiness. You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within you. The bond between you and Eris remains, a faint but unwavering connection that offers a sliver of solace.

You wipe at your tear-streaked face, the physical act of moving helping to ground you. Despite the fear and uncertainty, you know that you can't give up. You can't let the bond be broken or allow yourself to be torn away from Eris. You draw strength from the knowledge that he feels the same, that he is fighting just as hard to be with you.

Slowly, you uncurl from your tight ball, feeling the stiffness in your limbs from holding yourself so tightly. You take another deep breath, willing yourself to find a way through the pain and confusion. The bond pulses gently, a reminder that you are not alone in this battle.

----------------------------♧-----------------------------

Eris knew he couldn't give up. He needed to find a way to help her, to comfort her. But the wards were impenetrable. He closed his eyes, focusing on the bond, trying to send her some semblance of comfort, even if he couldn't be there physically.

"Hold on," he whispered, hoping she could feel his words through the bond. "I'll find a way."

The pain of her emotions was almost too much to bear, but it fueled his determination. He wouldn't let Rhysand keep them apart. He would find a way to reach her, no matter what it took.

---------------------------♧-------------------------------

As the minutes pass in your room, the intense emotions within you begin to shift. The raw anguish that once wracked your body gradually gives way to a simmering anger. That anger then hardens into a determination you haven't felt before. You can feel a surge of energy building inside you, growing stronger with each heartbeat.

Your wings, shimmering with a golden light, unfurl with a sudden, powerful motion. The glow envelops you, filling the room with a radiant light that banishes the shadows lurking in the corners. It's as if the very essence of your power is awakening, responding to your resolve.

You stand up, your wings spreading wide, the power within you pulsating stronger than ever. The air around you crackles with energy, the force of your emotions manifesting in a tangible way. With a fierce, defiant cry, you channel that power into the wards that confine you. The magic shatters around you, fragments of the barrier dissolving into nothingness.

Without hesitation, you launch yourself into the air, your wings propelling you forward with an unstoppable force. The world below blurs as you fly towards the Autumn Court, your mind set on seeing your mate and ending this torment once and for all. The wind rushes past you, but you are focused, each beat of your wings driving you closer to your goal.

Your determination burns bright within you, guiding you through the night. The bond with Eris hums with a sense of purpose, the connection between you strengthening with each passing moment. You can feel his emotions mingling with yours, a shared resolve that fuels your flight.

---------------------------♧-------------------------------

As you land near the Autumn Court, you are immediately surrounded by guards. Their weapons are drawn, pointed directly at you, trapping you in an inescapable circle. The air is thick with tension as Beron approaches, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Well, well, look who decided to pay us a visit," he sneers, roughly grabbing your chin. "I thought I would have to plan a scheme to get those wings, but they, alas, have come to me." His laughter is dark and malicious, echoing in the silent night. "Foolish girl."

His grip tightens painfully, and he leans in closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Your mother was a whore," he spits, his voice dripping with venom. "She deserved to die, and you will too if you continue this folly."

You struggle against his hold, but his strength is overwhelming. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as fear begins to creep in despite your defiance. Beron’s eyes are cold and pitiless, and his grip on your chin is unyielding.

"Clip her wings," Beron instructs one of the guards, his voice filled with sadistic pleasure. "It's time for me to get all the power I need and end this once and for all."

Your heart races, pounding in your throat, and fear churns in your stomach. The guards step forward, their blades glinting ominously in the dim light. Just then, Eris appears, his expression dark and furious.

"Father, release her," he commands, his voice cold and authoritative.

Beron flashes Eris a cold look, and for a moment, it seems they are communicating silently, making some kind of deal. A cruel smile tugs at Beron's lips as he shoves you towards Eris.

"Handle her, then. She's your problem," Beron says dismissively.

Eris catches you, steadying you with a firm grip. His touch is surprisingly gentle, but his eyes burn with hatred as he turns to face his father. "Leave her to me. I will deal with her."

Beron gives a dismissive wave, turning away with a sneer. "See that you do."

Eris’s hands linger on your arms, his touch both a comfort and a reminder of the danger you’re in. He pulls you close, his voice a low whisper. "Trust me," he murmurs, his eyes flickering with an unspoken promise.

-----------------------------♧----------------------------

Eris guided her away from the guards, his touch both reassuring and protective. Each step they took was calculated, avoiding the areas where his father’s soldiers might be lurking. The tension in the air was palpable, and Eris's senses were on high alert, every noise making him twitch with anticipation. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to her, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, though she was trembling, her fear evident. "I managed to escape, but they caught me."

Eris's jaw tightened, anger and frustration coursing through him. "You're not safe here. My father... he's dangerous. You shouldn't have come."

"I had to," she replied, her voice steady despite the terror he could see in her eyes. "I couldn't stay locked up, feeling helpless."

Eris's gaze softened, a mix of admiration and frustration in his eyes. Her determination, her fire—it was what drew him to her, but it also terrified him. "You are the most stubborn person I have ever met," he said, shaking his head.

She smiled faintly, a glimmer of defiance in her expression. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's infuriating and admirable at the same time," he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of their situation.

As they stood there, close and vulnerable, the tension between them became palpable. Eris reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin. The contact sent a shiver through him, a reminder of the fragile connection they shared. "We need to get you out of here," he said, his voice low and urgent.

She looked into his eyes, feeling the bond between them thrumming with intensity. "What about you?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I'll handle my father," he said firmly, trying to infuse his words with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. "But you need to be safe. That's all that matters to me."

She nodded, but the fear for his safety gnawed at her. "Be careful, Eris. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I will be," he promised, his voice low and sincere. "Now, let's get you out of here before my father changes his mind."

They moved quickly through the labyrinthine halls of the Autumn Court, Eris keeping a protective arm around her. Each step they took was fraught with danger, and Eris couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He led her through secret passages and hidden corridors, using every bit of his knowledge of the palace to avoid detection.

As they slipped through a hidden exit, the cold night air hit them, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the Autumn Court. Eris felt a strange mix of relief and fear, knowing that while she might be safe for now, the danger was far from over. But with her by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope that they could face whatever came next together.

The journey to the Night Court was swift and silent, the landscape blurring past them as they moved. Eris kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. When they finally arrived at the Night Court, he gave her a reassuring nod before disappearing into the shadows. He watched her enter the townhouse, his heart pounding in his chest.

The entire Inner Circle was waiting for her in the living room, their faces etched with worry and relief. Eris remained hidden, his eyes fixed on her as she faced her friends. He knew the conversation that awaited her would be difficult, but he also knew she was strong enough to handle it.

As she stepped inside, taking a deep breath, Eris slipped further into the shadows, ready to return to his own world, his mind already planning the next steps. He had promised her safety, and he would ensure it, no matter the cost. His father was a formidable enemy, but for her, Eris would face any danger. As he disappeared into the night, his thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions—relief, fear, and a burgeoning hope that together, they could face whatever came next.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

Rhysand is the first to step forward, his eyes filled with guilt and regret. "I'm so sorry," he begins, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to imprison you like that. I was just so afraid of losing you, of something happening to you like it did to Mor." You see the pain in his eyes, the fear of history repeating itself, and it cuts deep.

"Rhys, I know you were trying to protect me," you say softly, stepping closer to him, your heart aching for him. "But you have to trust me too. I can handle myself." You hope your words convey the strength you feel, the independence you crave.

Rhysand pulls you into a tight embrace, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. You feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest, each beat a testament to his fear and love. "I promise, I'll support you from now on, no matter what. I just can't bear the thought of losing you."

You hug him back, your arms wrapping around him with all the reassurance you can muster. "I know, Rhys. I love you too," you whisper, your voice steady even as your emotions swirl inside you.

Azriel steps forward next, his shadows swirling around him protectively. "We all care about you. We just want to keep you safe," he says, his usually stoic demeanor softened by concern.

Mor nods, her expression gentle and understanding. "You have our support, no matter what," she adds, her eyes warm with affection and solidarity.

Nesta, who has been standing silently in the corner, finally speaks up. "We're family. We stick together, through everything," she says, her voice firm and resolute. Her words echo in the room, a powerful reminder of the bond you all share.

Rhysand releases you from the hug, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "We'll figure this out together, it will definitely take time for me to accept you and Eris but I promise I will try and no more forcing you to do anything you don't want to, sister" he says, his voice filled with determination and hope.

"That's all I ever needed to hear", you smiled and hugged him again

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @sunny1616 @st4r-girl-official @krowiathemythologynerd

[mylordshesacactus]

The Barrissoka Fusion You Never Knew You Wanted

So in celebration of FINALLY rounding out the originally-planned slate of barrissoka Disney AU/fusion challenge fics, I thought I'd put together a masterlist for those of you who are new, returning, or just never got around to them when they were first posted!

By sheer good luck, there are an even split of AU types--three fusions (ie, Star Wars characters adapted to a non-GFFA setting), and three alternate timelines (where the core setting is the same, but events developed differently--in this case, in a way analogous to the core plot of the movie the challenge was based on.).

Fusions

Through The Darkness And The Shadows

Setting: Fantasy-Medieval AU: Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young princess lived in a shining castle…

It'll Sound Like A Promise

Setting: Fantasy-Medieval (Scotland Redux) AU: Brave

A clan leader’s heir had to strive for perfection. That was why Ahsoka was currently hiding in a tree.

Look To The Sky With Hope

Setting: Pirates/Fantasy Age of Sail AU: Pirates of the Caribbean (62k, 5 chapters)

Anakin Skywalker. Every sailor knows that name. Captain of the ghost ship Twilight, ferryman of the dead. Some say he preys on merchantmen, out of vengeance for the loss of his ship and crew; others that he and the charred black phantom are an honest sailor's friend, a protector in the dark and the mist. According to Ahsoka, the truth is both and neither. But the Twilight is...well, it's not real. Barriss Offee may be new to this whole pirate thing, but she knows that. It's a legend, a story, a sailor's superstition; like mermaids and Fridays and the Kraken. The ship of the dead and its captain, they're just a myth. Aren't they?

Alternate Universes

Going My Way?

AU: Aristocats Podfic: By Writers_Block, available here.

Shipwrecked and stranded on a remote agricultural planet, Barriss Offee doesn't dare reveal her identity as a Jedi for fear of drawing unwanted attention that might endanger the younglings in her care. Enter the charming, compassionate young spacer Ashla, who drops everything to take the group under her protection and asks nothing in return, as Barriss grows more and more unhappy with the necessity of lying to a young woman who's been nothing but honest with them. Meanwhile, Ahsoka Tano and her master are on an undercover mission. She really wishes she could tell the scared young mother she's taken in that she's a Jedi, but, well. The mission has to come first.

Back To The Wind

AU: Cars. (I cannot emphasize enough that this is an AU and not a fusion. They are not cars. They are people. For the love of god. It's just a plot adaptation. Please stop asking me if they're supposed to be cars.)

A hyperdrive malfunction strands Ahsoka in a nearly-abandoned trading settlement in the Outer Rim. That's not the problem. While she works off her community service sentence, she ends up in the unofficial custody of a weirdly hostile Mirialan who won't stop giving her these long, searching looks and talking about the failures of the Jedi Order like she knows something Ahsoka doesn't. That's not the problem either. The problem is...Ahsoka's starting to wonder if she really wants to go back.

When These Moments Have Passed

AU: The Fox and the Hound

Jedi Master Plo Koon was sent to Shili to retrieve a Force-sensitive youngling...and arrived just a few hours too late. Years later, a Jedi padawan and an indentured bounty hunter find themselves in the same spaceport. They shouldn't be friends, not really, but...they're more alike than they are different, straining under the weight of roles they can't escape. That bond is stronger than the galaxy's expectations. Until it isn't.

Bonus

While these are NOT part of the very specific "I can turn any classic Disney movie into a barrissoka AU, fucking try me" original challenge that spawned all this, they're some very nice AUs and if you're into AUs in general, you'll probably appreciate:

Iced Offee, Caramel Twist

AU: Coffeeshop AU

(What? Someone had to write it.)

Mirror, Mirror

AU: Sith AU

(Series/Duology)