#did this as a warm up which ended up taking much longer than expected

[jettorii]

i missed them for a hot minute

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა skin — chuuya nakahara

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. chuuya's acting different… but you brush it off and don't think anything of it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, suggestive but sfw, f!reader, domestic life, established relationship, implied dubcon, open ending, horror/mystery elements, wc: 2.5k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. i'm a bit nervous to see how this will be received, so pls reblog or drop a comment if you enjoy <3

part of my summerween series !

the scent of freshly brewed coffee and your favorite breakfast food are the first things that you smell when you wake up. for a few moments, you think it’s a dream — when’s the last time chuuya cooked this early in the morning? you half expect to walk out there and wake up again later, finding that you’d never opened your eyes at all.

but when you roll out of bed, tug a robe over your shoulders, chuuya is there, a presence larger than life, almost, standing in front of the stove, and you are undeniably awake.

you wrinkle your eyebrows together, glancing at the plates scattered across the counter. in your two years of marriage, this is the first that you’ve seen such a display. chuuya isn’t a morning person, he never has been, and usually something quick is enough to settle his stomach for a while.

“chuuya?” you asked, sitting at the table, his back still turned to you. he’s fully dressed, hair falling in loose waves over his shoulders, burning brighter from the sun filtering in through the window. “what are you doing?” 

your husband turns, smiling at you over his shoulder. as always, it takes your breath away. he is so handsome, sometimes, it makes you forget yourself. “can’t i cook for my beautiful wife?” he asks, sliding a cup of coffee to you on the tabletop. 

you smile, as his hands graze your temple, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you never cook breakfast. you don’t like it.”  besides, this is far too much for two people to enjoy.

he laughs, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then the small, confused wrinkle between your eyes. it slips away as you sit up straighter, capture his lips with your own, tasting the coffee on his mouth.

“but you do,” chuuya says.

you’re honestly indifferent towards breakfast, but you let it slide, tucking your chin into your hand as you watch him work away. if he wants to do something nice, you’re not going to stop him. “weren’t you supposed to leave for a job this morning?” 

chuuya shrugs, “i’m reassigned, i guess the boss wanted to send akutagawa instead. i’ll be staying in the city for this one, so you won’t get the chance to miss me.” 

it makes sense now, why he had so generously made you breakfast. you stand, taking a longer sip of your coffee, before going to wrap your arms around his stomach, smell the hot food that wafts from behind him. “oh, so you had some time to kill?” you tease, running your hands across his abdomen. “and you decided to cook instead of doing… something else?” 

your fingers trace a pattern around the zipper of his jeans, which are steadily growing tighter. chuuya grabs your wrist, tugs your hands away with a pointed look. “yes,” he says, through his teeth. “and you’re making it difficult.” 

you lazily grin back, pressing one last kiss to his jawline before grabbing your coffee again, and standing beside him at the counter. 

chuuya cooks with a precision that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before, delicately measuring each ingredient, tapping them into the bowls and pans. usually, he goes by his own instincts, and while he is by no means a great cook, he pulls things together in a way that only he could do. now, though, he seems almost uncertain, like he’s silently praying that everything will turn out alright.

“chuuya?” you ask, watching him carefully. his face contorts strangely as he looks over at you, but then it clears up, and he smiles, looking just as warm as he did the moment you walked into the room. 

“yeah, baby?” 

you want to ask him if he’s feeling alright—but that would shatter the mood, wouldn’t it? the serene morning bliss that has settled between you, as it so rarely seems to anymore. and it’s a blessing, not to have to watch him walk out that door and put himself in danger, able to spend more time with you. 

shaking your head, you smile, and kiss him on the cheek softly. “never mind. i love you.” 

“love you too.” he says it back immediately, which is also a little unlike your husband. there is always a pause before, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to maintain this sort of affection, like it’ll be taken away if he dares to speak the truth. he cherishes the love he has for you in that tiny pause, before relinquishing it, shoulders only relaxing when he sees you standing there, safe and sound. 

but it’s been years since you’ve been together. you’re married, settled down — as settled as he can be as a mafia executive. perhaps he’s just relaxed into the fact that your love is eternal, and he's more confident in the notion that it won’t be taken away from him. 

the rest of the morning passes quickly, when you and chuuya find yourselves back into bed, mouths still tasting of coffee, the windows open just enough to clear out the smell of sweat between you, and the pans that have not fully been scrubbed. 

at some point, you feel asleep, and you wake back up, overheated from the sheets tucked closely to your naked body. the sunlight filtering in through the glass is worse than metal of a furnace. your hair sticks to your scalp, and you spend the next half hour in the shower, dreading the looming months of summer and the heat that comes with it.

although there’s plenty of things for you to do while chuuya’s gone, you don’t feel like doing much of anything. just one of those days, you reason, even if it’s hard to rationalize that, when chuuya’s out there risking his life, and you’re inside, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and the picking up books you can’t bring yourself to read.

it’s a blur of a day, between very slowly making your way through the pile of laundry you’d forgotten to fold, and cleaning the sheets that had been washed just a few days earlier. chuuya returns, and suddenly, your foul mood caves into something much more pleasant, that pit in your stomach dissipating. 

you still worry about him, constantly, even though you know he’s chuuya nakahara, and there are very few things on this earth that can challenge him. still, he’s your husband—you can’t help it.

chuuya kisses you as he returns, smiling into it, his fingers curling into the hair behind your ears. 

“i can make dinner tonight,” you say, even though you don’t really feel like it. but he sees right through it, just like you knew he would. you can’t hide much from him. 

“it’s okay. i’ll pick something up. know you haven’t been feeling up to it this week.” 

you smile and kiss the palm of his hand, the leather of his glove cool against your mouth. how nice it is to be so loved by him, to be seen, for even the simplest of signs. “okay. thanks.” 

he nods, leaves to retreat into the bedroom and change his dirtied shirt into a clean one. it’s then, that you notice he’s laid his coat across the back of one of your chairs — unusual, for him to wear it so far into the house. 

you furrow your brow and pick it up, planning on hanging it on the rack by the door. but you notice, then, that it’s an older one, different from the coat he normally wears. the designer is the same, but there’s a hole in the pocket, which tells you he didn’t care enough to have it fixed. 

an odd feeling twists itself inside you again. a bout of paranoia, likely. that’s all, isn’t it? you’re just having an off day, an off week, and you’re projecting that onto your husband, for no reason at all. 

a sigh escapes you, and you shake your head, simply hanging it back up on the coat rack, when you notice his hat isn’t there either. 

you frown, glancing back over your shoulder to the chair, the rest of the room. chuuya hadn’t been wearing it when he’d walked in, and you can’t remember seeing it on the rack before he left this morning. 

which was odd. chuuya never went anywhere without it.

you jump, a vibration pulling you out of your thoughts, your cell phone ringing, buzzing on the table right by the doorway. it’s chuuya’s name flashing across the screen, a photo of him bright under the glass.

“hello?”

“hey, baby.” 

you release a breath at the sound of chuuya’s voice. it instantly relaxes you, even though you, really, have no reason to be so alarmed.

your shoulders sink down, the tension draining from your body, and you smile instead, amused that he’s calling you from just one room over. the affectionate name twists your stomach up in butterflies and knots, and you roll your eyes. “hi, chuuya.” 

“you have time to talk right now?” 

“i suppose.” 

“you suppose,” chuuya replies, snorting. “and here i thought you’d be happier to hear from me. i was about to apologize for not calling you earlier and everything.” 

that’s a weird thing to say, you think. “chuuya, you know, you didn’t need to call. you could’ve just walked back in here.” 

there’s a pause on the other end, a muffled sound in the background, like he’s getting out of a car. “what do you mean?” 

“i mean you could’ve just walked back in here.”

he doesn’t seem to understand, and fakes a laugh. “very funny.” there’s a voice on the other end, and chuuya says something to the sound, before turning his attention back to you on the phone. your brow furrows, eyes drifting over to the door. “anyway, i only have a few minutes, but—”

 “chuuya,” you say, feeling a tiny rush of fear swallow you. something is wrong. there’s no one in your house besides you and chuuya, and he’s been in your bedroom for minutes. you turn back around, facing the front door. "where are you?” 

“huh? i’m in osaka, remember? i told you about the entire thing last night.” he sighs, something between irritation and amused fondness.  “we had a pretty long conversation about it.” 

“osaka?” you repeat. “but—i just saw you. just a few minutes ago. just this morning”

there’s silence on the other end of the line, as chuuya breathes, gathers his thoughts. you can tell, even within a second, that he’s either trying not to panic, or let his confusion give way to anger. “no, you didn’t. i left early this morning, you were still sleeping—”

“who are you talking to?” 

you freeze. it comes from chuuya, but the chuuya that’s behind you, not the one you’re talking to on the phone. there’s a pinched look on his face as you turn, pretending like nothing is wrong. a guarded expression that wasn’t there before. 

your mind goes blank as you stare at him, mouth growing dry. “i—”

“say dazai,” chuuya says through the static of the phone. you’re not sure how he heard the imposter at all, but it settles you, snapping you back into action.

“dazai?” you nearly spit.

it’s not often you chat with dazai, of all people, on the phone. you’re not particularly close. but it’s a good call by chuuya. dazai wouldn’t be keeping tabs on the port mafia member’s whereabouts, wouldn’t know that chuuya was out of town, and akutagawa was never reassigned. but he’s still dangerous. still someone that could be a threat to whoever is pretending to be your husband.

“dazai," you continue, recovering from your questioning response smoothly. "can i call you back later?”

chuuya speaks to you the other line, playing along. “i’m going to call someone to come over there. pretend like nothing’s wrong. everything will be okay.” 

you feel tears prick the back of your eyes — you don’t want chuuya to hang up, but if the fake chuuya finds out you know, it could be an even worse outcome. 

“okay. got it. i'll call you tomorrow then.” 

“i love you.”

you resist the urge to answer the sentiment, and hang up the phone. 

the fake chuuya stares back at you, as intently as you stare at him, neither of you blinking as you put your phone back into your pocket.

“what did dazai want?” he asks, standing straight, his back tense as you take a step forward. 

there are a lot of weapons hidden around this house—chuuya has more than a handful of enemies, and wants to be prepared in case they ever find where he lives. where you live. 

you’d thought it overkill. now, you’re grateful to have at least a fighting chance; if you can only get to the pistol that he keeps in the closet, at the end of the hallway. 

“he’s working on a case. thought i might have some intel. i told him i’d look over the details tomorrow.” 

“i see.” chuuya — not chuuya, you remind yourself, even though he’s wearing his face — nods. he watches you walk closer the closet door, eyes darting between the handle and your body. his eyes flash. 

“you know,” he says, crisply, stopping you in your tracks. “i thought the phone might cause some issues. should’ve blocked the number this morning. amateur mistake on my part.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean your husband called, didn’t he? the real one.” not chuuya smiles, but it’s ugly, almost as if it’s contorting, melting off his face. “you know he’s been gone all morning. it wasn’t him who made you breakfast, took you to bed after.” 

nausea fills your gut, and you look away, swallowing down the disgust that you feel. you can’t think about that. not now. 

“although, you wouldn’t have known by the way i touched you, would you? how i knew exactly what you enjoy. i have every one of chuuya’s memories now. i know all about him, all about you.” he takes a long stride. you’re both just a pace away from the door, from the gun. if he has any of chuuya’s strength, you’ll lose—you’re no match for that kind of power. 

you just need to hold him off, long enough for whoever chuuya sends over to help you. 

“and also,” the fake chuuya continues lazily, a laugh clipping at the end of his words. “i know about the gun you’re looking for.”

there’s a dark grin on his face that propels you into action. you lunge towards the closet door, throwing it open, and chuuya lets you. he laughs darkly, doesn’t make any attempt to stop you from fumbling around the inside of closet for a gun that he put there. it doesn’t take you long to figure out why.

the gun isn’t there.

thank you so much for reading! ❤︎ title and inspiration come from ep 1.06 of supernatural- tag list: @little-miss-chaoss @erebus-et-eigengrau @soleelia @k0z3me

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 2. the journal

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Your memories still remain out of reach, so you ask Joel to tell you a bit about yourself, and with the help of a journal you kept, you begin to learn more about the person you became in the past ten years, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Chapter Warnings: language, eating, alcohol use, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

"Did'ya get any sleep?"

You glanced up at Joel as you walked side by side towards the dining hall.

"No," you admitted, looking straight ahead again.

After Joel left you in his - your - bedroom, instructing you to rest on his way out, you found you could do anything but. Your mind was spinning with all of the information you had just learned, and you weren't sure which topic consumed you more: the end of the world or the supposed love of your life.

The longer his words set in, the more you were finding it difficult to look at him. It was such a strange feeling, having this large, burly, gruff man proclaim his love for you, to say he would stop at nothing to make you feel the same way, to insist you were meant for each other. It seemed so out of character, though you hardly felt like you knew him. But even now as you walked down the street, you noticed how some of the people in town glanced at him. Moving quickly out of his way.

It wasn't just you who found him intimidating.

You were distracted as you walked, curiously peering into storefronts and repurposed buildings when a group of children playing a game of tag nearly ran into you. At the last moment, Joel tugged your arm, pulling you into his side just in time. The children seemed to realize their mistake because their laughter quickly stopped and the smiles fell from their faces as they looked up at him.

"We're sorry, Mr. Miller," a young boy no more than eight years old said.

Miller. You never even bothered to ask his last name.

Joel just grunted and they scurried away, no doubt eager to escape his glare. You chanced a look at him, studying his stern expression when you realized he was still holding you against him. He was warm. Warmer than you expected. And solid. You cleared your throat and stepped away from his grasp, muttering your thanks and glancing around the busy street to avoid the disappointed look in his eye when it became clear you weren't comfortable with him touching you.

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your jeans and continued to walk in silence down the main road. A few people shot you curious looks or did double takes as they walked by, and you had to assume if Ellie heard the news about your accident, then others had, as well.

The Tipsy Bison came into view at the corner of the street, made obvious by the large crowds of people gathered outside.

"Does everyone have to eat here or are you allowed to have food in your homes?" you asked him, and he looked down at you, surprised by the question.

"We got food. It's not like a prison or somethin'," he said with a chuckle. "Most folks like to come here to socialize, but sometimes we cook dinner at home," he stopped short when he realized he never asked you what you preferred. "Did'ya wanna stay home instead?"

"No, this is fine," you told him over your shoulder.

"You sure? Maybe it's too much right now," he replied, jogging a bit to keep up.

"I'm sure. You won't leave me, right?" you asked, looking at him nervously.

"'Course not," he said, trying to hide his grin. He liked that you wanted him around, even if it was only because you didn't know anybody else. It was a start.

When Joel swung the door open, holding it wide so you could enter first, it might have been your imagination but you thought the loud chatter simultaneously died down for a split second. Then Joel stepped in beside you and the volume rose once again.

You wanted to look around and take in the rustic atmosphere but you could feel the eyes on you as Joel led you through the crowd, the scrutiny making you feel extremely out of place, so you kept your gaze pinned straight ahead. Following dutifully behind, you watched as people automatically moved out of his way, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea, until he reached a table in a somewhat quiet corner of the dining hall. He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, his hand still resting on the back, and it took you a second to realize he was waiting for you to sit so he could push it in. You quietly thanked him then finally looked around the room.

The dining room had tables scattered around, and as far as you could see, they all appeared to be taken. People were standing in groups, drinking and laughing and eating and you wondered how in the world your table wasn't taken. You were about to turn and ask when an older man approached your table.

"Hey guys," he said, pulling out a pad of paper from his pocket. "What'll it be?"

You went wide eyed for a moment, looking around trying to figure out what your choices were when, much to your relief, Joel spoke for you both.

"Still got any of that stew left?"

"Sure do. Few guys got lucky earlier today, too. Got two deer, so we'll be havin' more soon," he replied, jotting something down on his paper. "Two whiskies?"

Joel was about to nod when you spoke up for the first time.

"Just water for me, thanks," you said, and the man nodded his head.

"Thanks, Seth," Joel said as he walked away.

You glanced at Joel quickly, awkwardly catching his eye. It felt too much like a date. Dropping your gaze to the table, you tried to think of something to say.

"Probably a good idea, skippin' alcohol," he said. "Didn't even think about it, what with your head and all."

"Yeah," you said, your hand coming up to gently touch the stitches. "Besides, I don't like whiskey, anyway," you added. Joel laughed softly as he watched you shift nervously in your chair.

"What?" you asked with a frown.

"Nothin'," he replied, still staring at you in disbelief. "Just ever since you got here you've been tossin' back whiskey better than most of the men. You must've gotten a taste for it at some point."

"There's no way," you said, scrunching your nose when Seth put down Joel's glass in front of him. He stared down at it wistfully, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, lost in thought.

"Whiskey's how we first met," he said softly, still staring at the glass. You tilted your head towards him, waiting for him to continue. "When you first arrived, you were like a caged animal. You came here lookin' to blow off steam," he said with a distant smile. "It was a slow night. Just you and me and a handful of others. You were tossin' that shit back like it was nothin'."

You watched him as he reminisced. His eyes shone brightly and a small smile played on his lips, it almost felt like you were intruding on something special.

"When me and Ellie first arrived, no one really went outta their way to talk to me. I preferred it that way. Was used to bein' on my own," he continued, looking up at you now. "But that night, you sat down next to me at the bar like you had been waitin' for me or somethin'. You asked me if I was drinkin' for fun or drinkin' to forget. Those were the very first words you said to me."

You were completely silent as he spoke. The way he told it, it felt like you could see the scene playing out right before you, the way he remembered every detail left you in awe.

"What did you say?" you asked a little breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down at the table.

"Drinkin' to forget."

You waited for him to elaborate, but when it became apparent he wasn't going to, you asked him another question.

"Then what happened?"

He raised his eyebrows and hummed, a slow smile stretching across his face before he answered.

"You told me you could help me have fun and help me forget," he said, and you could feel the heat instantly flush your cheeks.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, covering your mouth, utterly mortified. "Please tell me you're joking."

He shook his head, still smiling at the memory. You glanced around the room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"So then, did we...?" you trailed off, gaze still fixed on a spot on the wall.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course we did. I'm no saint," he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ," you said, burying your face in your hands. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

"It's not. Well, not anymore. You had an edge to you when you first arrived. Most do. Survivin' out there does that to you," he said, taking his first sip of whiskey.

You sat in silence for another minute, contemplating asking him what he knew about your life before you met him, but ultimately deciding against it. Maybe another time.

"Where's the bathroom?" you asked him, and he pointed down a small hallway near the bar. You thanked him, his eyes trailing after you as you made your way through the crowds, only dropping his gaze once you were no longer in view. It was a strange thing, recounting stories for you like that. At first, the memories made him smile, but once he saw the lost look on your face he felt the sadness creep back up, settling deep in his chest, and he wondered if he would ever get you back.

You knew you were in the bathroom too long. You knew he would likely be worried, but you just couldn't stop staring at your reflection in the mirror after you washed your hands. Who was this person staring back at you? She looked older and weathered and tired. Your fingertip gently prodded at the bags under your eyes and then a small scar on your chin. What happened to you out there to make you the person Joel was describing? What did you have to do to survive? And did you really want to know the answer?

The door swung open, startling you as three girls around your age entered the bathroom. Their giggles stopped when they saw you and you watched them exchange glances in the mirror before a pretty girl with long, blonde hair greeted you by name. Turning around, you gave her a smile, hoping they would go about their business so you could slip out of there, but of course the pretty girl wanted to talk.

"We heard you had an accident, are you okay?" she asked, and she sounded sincere, but something about her smile made you think twice.

"Yeah, got a few stitches but it should be fine," you said, your eyes flicking to the other two girls, giving them each a smile. They looked at each other and smirked before heading towards the bathroom stalls, leaving you with just the blonde.

"So, is it true? Did you really lose your memory?" she asked, her voice low as if it were a secret, and finally you were able to pick up the vibe. You had been to high school before the outbreak. You had encounters with these types of girls before. Friendly to your face, vicious behind your back.

"Uh, yeah," you admitted, and she gasped as if she felt bad, but you saw the way her eyes lit up.

"So you don't remember, like, anything?"

"Well, I remember before everything went to hell," you told her, "but I don't remember this place, no."

"Oh, wow," she said, and you heard the toilets flush before the other two girls exited the stalls, grinning conspiratorially at the blonde. "So you don't know anybody here?"

You shook your head, feeling uncomfortable with the line of questioning at this point. What was she really getting at?

"That must mean you don't remember Joel, right?" one of the girls at the sink piped up. You looked at her briefly over your shoulder and shook your head, turning back to the blonde but not before you caught the look in her eye.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, giving you a pout. "Does that mean you aren't together anymore, or-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and Ellie stormed in. Her hard gaze drifted around to the three girls and she gave them a look of disgust.

"Scram, vultures," she told them, and the blonde made a face at her before flipping her hair over her shoulder and heading to one of the stalls. Ellie called your name and you scurried over, allowing her to lead you back out into the dining room but not before she gave the other two girls a few choice words.

"Don't talk to them, they're nasty," she told you as you weaved your way through the crowd. Joel's eyes instantly found you once you were in view and you saw him straighten up in his chair.

"You okay?" he asked, and you could see the genuine concern in his face as you sat down. You were about to answer when Ellie plopped down on the other side of him and spoke first.

"Angie and her little sidekicks cornered her in there," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Already sniffing around for scraps."

"What do you mean?" you asked her, but just then Seth arrived with your meals and you never got an answer.

"Stew again?" Ellie asked, scrunching up her nose.

"It's good," Joel told her before taking a bite. You looked down at the bowl and you were inclined to agree with Ellie, but you swallowed the food down anyway, just grateful for something to eat after such a long day.

"Aren't you going to eat?" you asked her, noticing she hadn't ordered anything and instead was busy sketching in a journal.

"Nah, I'm going to Dina's later, I'll eat there," she explained without looking up.

"Who's Dina?"

"Oh, my girlfriend," Ellie explained, glancing up at you briefly. "Sorry. I still can't get used to this. It's so weird you don't remember."

"Don't be out too late. You got school tomorrow," Joel reminded her. Even though he wasn't Ellie's father, he seemed to have quite the knack for being a dad.

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, giving him a weak, two-fingered salute before hunching back over her journal. You heard some familiar giggles coming from somewhere behind you, and when you turned to look, you locked eyes with the blonde girl from the bathroom - Angie - who was holding some drink in her hand, her two friends flanking her sides as she strolled past your table. Her eyes drifted briefly to Joel before she passed by, then turned her attention to her friends, disappearing into the crowd.

"Who is that?" you asked, realizing you never really got much of an explanation. Joel and Ellie responded at the same time.

"Nobody."

"Joel's ex."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as Joel glared at Ellie.

"What? She woulda found out eventually," Ellie protested.

"She ain't even an ex," he said, turning to you now. "Just a mistake I made one time before you even got here," he insisted. The tone in his voice made it sound like he was trying to reassure you there was nothing to worry about, but of course, the information didn't phase you.

"Okay," you replied with a shrug. He examined your blank stare for a moment, searching for a glimmer of recognition. The disappointment in his expression every time something like this happened was becoming too much to bear, so you dragged your eyes off him to glance around the crowded room once again. You found Tommy leaning against the bar and you stood up.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I need to ask Tommy something," you said. "I'll be right back."

His eyes followed you as you pushed your way towards the bar, his heart feeling like it was going to break. He wasn't exactly looking for you to have an overly jealous reaction to hearing about another woman from his past, but your casual indifference hurt more than he expected. When you first found out about Angie, you insisted you weren't jealous but the way you sneered at her going forward, combined with giving him the best sex of his life later that night told him a different story.

"You think she'll ever get her memory back?" Ellie asked, still focusing on her drawing. Joel sighed and dragged his hands down his face.

"I don't know, kid."

"What'd you need to talk to Tommy for?" Joel asked once you both arrived back to his - your - home. You had wandered into the kitchen, Joel hot on your trail.

"Oh, I just had a question about something I saw when we were out there today," you explained, and he raised an eyebrow for you to continue. "There were dead bodies when I came to. They looked all decayed and... subhuman. Now that you told me about the infection, I wanted to ask."

Joel watched you open and close cupboards until you found the glasses, then picked one out to fill with water.

"So you ran into some runners," he said, and you nodded. "Did he happen to mention how you hit your head?"

Your hand froze, your glass halfway to your lips as you considered his question.

"Actually, no, he didn't," you said, setting down the glass and looking up at him.

"Yeah, he didn't really tell me, either," he replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "When he told me you hit your head and you were havin' trouble remeberin' things, I just came runnin'."

Guilt washed over you yet again as you thought about Joel being told the news and how panicked he must have been. He practically ripped all the exam room doors off their hinges to find you, only to be met with a stranger when he finally did.

"Well, I can ask him tomorrow," you finally said, putting your glass in the sink to avoid looking at him.

"Yeah," he replied, trailing off a bit. He was still lost in thought, trying to remember Tommy's exact words when you walked past him towards the stairs.

"You're tired?"

"Well, it's been a long day," you told him, pausing on a stair to look back down at him.

"Right, 'course," he said, shaking his head and following you up. When you got to the doorway of his bedroom you paused, looking up at him. It seemed like he was struggling to say something, his mind working hard to find the words, but instead he just gazed down at you, brown eyes all wide and soft.

"Don't suppose anythin's comin' back to you yet?" he finally asked, and you hated seeing that look. That same hopeful look you kept seeing right before you opened your mouth and crushed him. This was hard for him, you knew that, but the way he kept looking at you was making things so much worse. The pressure you felt to become this person he was expecting you to be was overwhelming. You opted to drop your gaze to the floor and slowly shake your head.

"That's okay," he said, and you dragged your eyes back up to him. "Maybe tomorrow."

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."

He sighed and glanced at the door to the spare room.

"You need anythin', I'm right next door," he said, hitching his thumb to the side and giving you a lopsided grin, but you could still see it in his eyes. The disappointment. The sadness. The yearning. And it was making you feel sick.

Just as he turned to head towards the spare room, you spoke. "Joel?"

And he eagerly swiveled back around.

"I'm gonna try really hard to remember," you said earnestly, looking deep into his eyes.

"I know," he replied with a sad smile. He gave you one more look before heading into the spare room and softly closing the door behind him.

Joel slept like shit.

No surprise there, really. He hadn't slept without you in years. He had hoped the whiskey would have helped, but he was wrong. His mind was racing as he tossed and turned, and by morning he had foolishly convinced himself that you would be back to normal after a good night's rest. He got up early and made coffee for the two of you, like he always did, then tended to the fire in the living room. The nights and early mornings were frigid, but the days were warm. The first sign that fall was approaching fast. He was just putting the poker back when he heard the bedroom door creak open upstairs and his heart jumped into his throat excitedly, but when you descended the stairs and locked eyes with him, he knew nothing had changed. He didn't even bother to ask. You didn't look at him the same way you used to. You used to smile and gravitate towards him, your hands always seeking out his, your eyes playful and loving, but now you looked at him like he was a complete stranger. Devoid of all affection, the only thing that remained was a forced politeness.

You said good morning and headed into the kitchen and Joel wondered how long it would take for you to come around. Less than a day ago, you looked at him in fear, but now you seemed at least comfortable in his presence. That had to count for something.

He must have looked like shit because when he joined you in the kitchen, you eyed him up and down curiously.

"Have you been up for a while?"

He shook his head and picked up his mug, taking a sip and hoping the caffeine would bring him back to life.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Not great," you admitted, pouring your own cup of coffee. "It really hurts. I think whatever meds the doctor gave me yesterday wore off."

Without even thinking, Joel quickly closed the distance between you to examine your injury. You startled a bit when he came up behind you and lifted your hair, but for his benefit, you tamped down your reaction. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he gripped the nape of your neck to angle your head downwards in order to get a better look. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you focused on his fingertips pressing tenderly into your skin. You heard him murmur to himself, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and you realized just how close he really was. Aside from pulling you out of the way so the kids playing tag wouldn't knock you down, it was the first time he had really touched you, and he was so much softer than you expected.

"Don't think it's infected but let's go see the doc, just to be sure," he said, his hand still on your neck, his other hand pushing your hair away.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally allowing yourself to take in a shaky breath as you waited for him to release you.

As if he realized what he was doing, he let your hair fall back into place and let go of your neck, his fingertips lightly trailing down your spine before falling to his side, making you shiver and step away.

"Sorry," he said. "Should've asked to look first."

"It's fine," you told him, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on your neck his fingers just touched.

As you walked side by side to the infirmary, his stony expression slid back into place. Gone was the softness you witnessed in his home. His hardened gaze drifted around the street, then to the watch towers, taking everything in. Studying. Calculating. And that was when you realized there were two Joel Millers: the one who the rest of the town viewed as gruff and callous, and the one you saw in the kitchen that morning, soft and gentle.

You wondered how many people got to see the latter version.

Nick examined you again in the same room as before, but this time, Joel was there watching his every move like a hawk. You could practically see the tension radiating off Nick's shoulders as he moved around the room. He examined your cut carefully, Joel's eyes never once leaving his hands, confirming that it was not infected before parceling out ten little white tablets of extra strength Tylenol into a small baggie and advising you to use them sparingly as inventory was low.

"That's it?" Joel asked incredulously.

"You know how it is, Joel," Nick said, but you heard his voice waver when Joel stood up from his chair. "Meds are hard to come by, we gotta be smart-"

"She hit her goddamn head so fuckin' hard she's lucky she remembers her own name and you're givin' her Tylenol?" he seethed, and you could see his neck growing flush with anger again.

"Joel, calm down, it's fine," you said, sliding off the table. Turning to Nick, you were about to voice your thanks when Joel cut you off.

"It ain't fine. What's it gotta take to get somethin' that actually works?" he huffed, taking a step forward and making Nick shift his weight nervously. "She gotta be missin' an arm? Maybe if she hit her head hard enough to forget what fuckin' planet she's on?"

"Joel, that's enough!" you snapped with a frown, and much to Nick's relief, Joel instantly backed off. He turned and paced around the small room, his hand rubbing over his mouth as he tried to calm down.

"What about my memory? Is it a bad sign I haven't remembered anything yet?" you asked Nick, and Joel paused somewhere behind you to listen to his answer.

"Well, the brain is a tricky thing," he began, his eyes darting over your shoulder briefly. "It could be weeks, could be months. Without any imaging, I wouldn't be able to tell you much more than that." You nodded and swallowed nervously before asking your next question.

"Or never, right?"

Nick took a deep breath and looked at Joel over your shoulder again before responding.

"It's possible."

You heard Joel's boots squeak against the linoleum floor and without even looking, you knew he was anxiously pacing around again.

"Alright, thank you. We'll get out of your hair now," you said, turning to corral Joel towards the door.

"Regardless, I'd like to see you again in a few days so I can take a look at those stitches," Nick said, and you agreed while pushing a muttering Joel back out into the hallway.

"I'll get you better meds," he said as you both walked out of the infirmary. "I got patrol tomorrow mornin', but I can go out after. There's a small cluster of houses we never did a full sweep on. Maybe-"

"The Tylenol is fine, don't go through the trouble. You could get hurt," you said, shoving the baggie of pills into your pocket.

"Tylenol ain't gonna do shit. I don't want you bein' in pain if there's somethin' we can do about it."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to temporarily relieve the ache in your head until you could get home and take one of the pills. You gave Joel a sideways glance, studying him as you walked together. He was brash and rude and aggressive, but you were learning that side of him came out when he was being protective over the ones he loved.

Or when he was trying to hide who he really was.

"So, everyone pitches in around here, right?" you asked, trying to change the subject. "You do patrol. What do I do?"

You paused at a crossroads, trying to remember which way to go, when Joel's hand on your elbow guided you in the right direction.

"You work patrol, too, but you ain't doin' that anymore," he said, letting go of your elbow after holding on for a moment too long.

"Well, obviously. I don't even know how to ride a horse," you said with a snort. "So I guess I need to find a new job, right? Who do I talk to?"

"Why don't you slow down a minute?" Joel said with a chuckle. "Let that pretty little head of yours heal up before you go lookin' for work."

You weren't going to say anything about his comment. Although it took you off guard, you realized he had habits that were going to be hard to ignore and you didn't expect that to happen overnight, but he seemed to realize what he said on his own and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"It's okay. I know this is difficult for you," you said, shooting him a sympathetic glance as you climbed his porch steps. He swung open the door and followed you inside, where you made a beeline for a glass of water so you could take one of the pills.

"We got a lotta history, you and me. It's hard to start over," he said as he watched you toss back the Tylenol with a wince. You examined his face closely and pulled out one of the stools to sit down. You leaned forward, forearms resting on the cool countertop before replying.

"Tell me a story."

He raised an eyebrow at you but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up a bit.

"What kinda story?"

"A story about us. You just said we have a lot of history together. Let's hear some of it," you replied with an encouraging smile.

"You sure? Thought you'd wanna go lay down," he said, but he eagerly pulled up a stool across from you.

"I think I can handle one little story," you told him, then watched as he stared down at his hands on top of the counter, deep in thought. When he thought of one, a slow smile spread across his face and his dark brown eyes flicked up to meet yours and you saw that softer side of him again.

"Alright," he said, settling back a bit. "So I told'ya last night how we met."

You cringed, remembering the story of a much bolder and seductive version of yourself, and nodded.

"Well, after that night we started seein' each other for a few weeks. It was just casual, nothin' serious," he said, looking down at his hands again. "I convinced you to sneak around so no one would catch on, and you grew tired of that. Rightfully so. I was bein' an asshole."

You watched him pull at a loose thread on the cuff of his flannel shirt, his eyes still cast down and you were beginning to realize it was due to shame.

"So anyway. One day you came over to, y'know..." he said, and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. "And you confronted me about it head on. Demanded to know why I wanted to keep you a secret. Thought I was ashamed of you - which I wasn't," he said quickly, his eyes finally meeting yours again. "But I had been through a lot of shit and I just didn't think I could give myself to someone like that again."

"What kind of shit?" you asked quietly, but he just lightly shook his head.

"One story at a time," he told you with a sad smile. You chewed on your lower lip as you waited for him to continue, his focus back on the loose string while he collected his thoughts.

"So I explained I had a hard time lettin' people in, that I wasn't capable of carin' 'bout anyone like that anymore, and you said to me, 'I know who you are, Joel Miller. Don't give me that bullshit, you're just scared.'"

He stared into your eyes, letting what he said land and hoping to see a flicker of the woman who spoke those words, but you just continued to look at him, waiting for him to finish the story like it was about somebody else entirely.

"Well, you were right, obviously. You always are," he continued with a smirk. "It knocked me on my ass. And I didn't know what was more difficult to believe: that you knew me better than I knew myself, or someone like you wanted anythin' to do with me in the first place."

You smiled and dropped your gaze to the counter, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, but so far, these stories don't sound like me at all," you admitted.

He took a deep breath and finally stopped fidgeting with his sleeve.

"A lot's happened in ten years. Stuff that changes people. But I don't care what version of you's here, I love all of you."

You kept your eyes glued to his hands. You wished you could say it back. You knew he wanted to hear it. Maybe one day.

He tapped his finger on the counter, pulling your attention up so you were forced to look him in the eye.

"You fought for me that night, now I'm gonna fight for you, okay?" he said, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to acknowledge him. When you nodded sheepishly, his shoulders relaxed.

"So you're saying I fell in love with you because you were an asshole?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Joel laughed heartily and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nah, you didn't love me then," he said, still smiling.

"So how did I fall in love with you?" you asked, and his tongue clicked against his teeth.

"You're gonna have to wait to find out," he replied with a wink.

It wasn't his fault, but the rest of the day you could feel Joel looking at you. He was examining you, waiting to see the woman he fell in love with, and the pressure was beginning to be too much, so you made up an excuse to go lay down in his bedroom. He had mentioned he had patrol in the morning. Maybe some time away from him would help you relax.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The distant sound of children laughing outside through the closed window and then the door to the garage swinging open and shut acted as a soundtrack to your overactive thoughts. You almost had to laugh. It felt like your mind was constantly working, churning up information and digesting it only to always come up empty.

Absolutely nothing seemed familiar. Nothing about this place or these people felt like home.

You wished so badly you could remember something. Anything to make you feel like you belonged there. One little shred of hope was all you were looking for.

And then you remembered the journal.

Sitting up in bed, you tucked your legs underneath you and reached over for the black book. You fingers hesitated for a moment on the cover. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but how could that be when it was your own?

Taking a deep breath, you flipped open the journal and began at the beginning.

Right away, you could tell you wrote the entries. There was no doubt in your mind. Aside from your handwriting, your typical disorganization shone through like a beacon on every page. You occasionally remembered to notate in the margin the date, or your best guess at the date, but more often than not you were left with very little context for each small paragraph you read.

You were disappointed to realize the journal seemed to begin after you had met Joel. A big part of you was very eager to learn more about the person you were before finding Jackson, but it seemed as though you would have to depend on others to tell you stories you hopefully had relayed to them in the past.

The first page looked to be a list of items you had jotted down that didn't make much sense, but maybe when you first found the notebook, you hadn't intended to use it as a journal.

Socks, colored pencils, sunflower seeds, cards.

Flipping the page, you skimmed a short paragraph about a cabin you stumbled upon when on patrol. Again, it was more notes than anything of any substance. A description of approximately where it was in relation to Jackson along with a note to 'mention it at the next town hall meeting'.

Finally something interesting on the next page, you read a short paragraph about someone named Maria having a baby girl, and you frowned when you read the line Joel handled it better than I expected.

Continuing on, you read an entry about Christmas: Joel found me the softest sweater, it almost felt brand new. I really don't know how he managed to find it and I described the house I grew up in to Ellie and she drew it perfectly, I can't believe how talented she is.

One paragraph in particular grabbed your attention. It was about two people, and based on the context, it sounded like you were close friends. For the first time since we got here, I had the same day off as Ben and Lisa. We went fishing together and brought a lunch. It felt just like old times. As weird as it sounds, sometimes I miss being out there with them. We made a good team.

Maybe this Ben and Lisa would be able to answer some questions you had about yourself. Based on what you just read, it sounded like they knew you before Jackson.

There was a lot more to read, but the next page stopped you dead in your tracks. Your heart began to beat faster as you stared at the four words. Just one sentence, no explanation. A shiver slowly trickled down your spine as you sat there, unmoving, as your vision narrowed on the page: Joel lied to me.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[brooooswriting]

Hi! Could you please write a Leighton x r where r has too much to drink and forgets that Leighton is their gf and they are all flirty

My idiot

(Not the biggest fan of this one)

You’ve always been in flirt, ever since high school that was what people knew you as. It wasn’t really intentional, more just your personality and sure, sometimes it was just fun. College started the same way, you flirted here and there on purpose and the rest of the time it was just your personality.

At least until you ended up with Leighton. You didn’t change your personality but you kept it down and never flirted with anyone, but her of course, on purpose. She didn’t expect you to change and she thought it was kinda funny when people thought you were flirting with them right in front of her.

“I’m so hyped for this party” Bella told you four as you stood in their dorm with a shot in hand. All of you cheered as you were just as hyped, it had been way too long since the last one.

“Me too, but she should still drink responsibly” Kimberly said as you immediately refilled the glasses. You knew that she only meant it in a good way and you loved her for that, she was a great friend but you were going to a frat party and that was only possible if you were drunk.

“Kimberly, love, take this and shhh” you smiled kindly as she laughed. She knew you didn’t mean it in a rude way as you gave her a warm smile and she took the shot like you told her to.

“Damn, this queue is way too long” Whitney whined, earning a sigh from Bella before she suddenly gasped. And a gasping Bella was never a good thing, not once.

“I have an idea” she started and carefully looked at Leighton which made you even more weary of the idea. “Leighton, don’t kill me. But y/n should go up there and flirt us in” you could see Kimberly’s breath hitch and yours did too.

“I mean if it’s okay for y/n and he doesn’t touch her” you were surprised but only gave them a nonchalant nod as you were fine with whatever. “Well, go get us in baby” she pressed a couple of kisses to your lips before letting you off.

It didn’t take you longer than 5 minutes to get all of you in. Now you had to make sure that you weren’t going to see him in the house again as that would be more than uncomfortable but at least Leighton didn’t have to stand in the cold air anymore with her short black dress.

“Omg y/n, let’s get shots” Lila said as soon as you walked in which made all of you laugh. You gave her a nod before turning to your group.

“You guys want one too?” As all of them nodded you wandered off with your friend to get them. But you should have known that Lila wasn’t gonna let you off that easily.

“Can we have 10 shots please?” Lila asked the ‘bartender’ who quickly handed them to her.

“The fuck are you gonna do with 10 shots buddy?” You laughed.

“The question isn’t what I’m gonna do with it, the question is what we are gonna do with it. And we are gonna drink 2 each now and then we can go back and you can drink one with your girl” you would have loved to fight her but it would have been useless. So you clicked the cups and downed both of them shortly after another.

“I’m never getting drinks with you again” you laughed as you took the rest of the shots and went to find your group. “Ah, here we are. One for each” you handed out the shots until all of you had one, so you could settle next to Leighton your hand resting on her lower back.

Lila said something inappropriate as a toast and all of you downed the shots. “Why were you guys gone so long?” Your girlfriend asked as she leaned into you.

“Lila made me take two shots right there” you giggled, the alcohol hitting you slightly. You could feel the blondes snort against your body which made you smile wider.

“Leigh, can you wingman me?” Bella asked her once she spotted a dude she liked. You gave her a short nod when she asked if it was okay to leave you for a moment and kissed her before also wandering off.

“Y/n, didn’t think I’d see you here” Caneen greeted you as you nearly ran into you. “Come and be my beer pong partner” he dragged you away before you could say anything.

Once you won the game, you looked around to find your girlfriend send you a look clearly asking for help as somebody kept chewing off her ear. You excused yourself from the game and walked up to her, your hand wrapping around her waist. “Sorry, can I steal my girl really quick?” You didn’t waist for an answer, just pulling her away by her waist. “Jeez, that guy was boring” you whispered into her ear as you pulled her further which made her laugh.

“You’ve only listened to him for a couple of seconds, he was talking for like 10 minutes before you came” she groaned which made you laugh as you finally arrived at a secluded, quieter corner.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you the whole night. You look really hot in that dress” you grinned. Leighton leaned against the wall as your hands caressed her waist, sometimes dipping down a bit.

“Mhm, how hot do I look?” She flirted. You started to kiss her, leading you two to make out for a moment. The alcohol made you more needy as you have barely seen each other the whole time. But it seems like it wasn’t over as there suddenly was a knock on the door.

“Y/n, Caneen is down there about to get in a fight. Come and calm him down, that idiot isn’t listening to me” Lila screamed making you sigh as you had to pull away.

“We are just too popular” you joked to Leighton who also groaned and buried her face in your neck. “I’m coming L” you gave her another kiss before walking downstairs with the other girl. You calmed down the situation as you pulled the man away and promised him more drinking. Stupid decision.

The next thing you really remember was seeing a really really pretty and hot blonde girl dancing with an Indian girl and two other people whose backs were facing you. “Lla, m gna get ‘at grl over there” you slurred pointing to the woman which made your drinking partner gasp.

“You wkd mije such a hot couple” she slurred just as much as you did. You walked off to find the pretty girl and talk to here.

“Hey there” you said with the most charming smile you could muster and you were more than happy to see that she smiled back as she greeted you. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and that if you’re single I’d love to have your number” she stared at you for a moment deciding whether you were really too drunk to know that she was your girlfriend or if you were kidding.

“Are you being serious?” She asked, her eyes scanning your face as she and Whitney had to hold in their laughs. You gave her a nod as you slightly leaned against Lila who was just as drunk.

“Yeah, I mean I can only imagine that your personality is just as beautiful as you. So can I have your number cause I lost mine” you flirted again, Lila adding a ‘period’ which made Whitney break. She had to take a step back as she laughed.

“I’m sorry but I got a girl, her name is y/n” Leighton said seriously and watched your face fall before it suddenly lit up again.

“My name is y/n” you suddenly exclaimed, a happy look on your face that then fell again. “What’s her last name?”

“Oh it’s Y/l/n” the blonde was actually amazed. How were you so damn drunk?

“Damn she’ll never be as good as this girl bitch. She’s the one” Lila hyped you up as you gave the hot girl a sad smile.

“Well, I wish you all the best” you mumbled and were about to turn before the girl next to you suddenly gasped.

“Oh my god, Y/n that’s your last name. You’re y/n y/l/n” now it was your time to gasp which ultimately made your girlfriend break out in laughter.

“I’m your girlfriend?”

“Yes, yes you are” she couldn’t help but giggle when she saw how big your eyes were as you stared down at her with love.

“Damn I’m lucky, you’re so hot”

“I’m the greatest wingman ever. Now I’m gonna find someone hot, so bye bitches”

Once Lila’s support was gone you had a hard time standing which the blonde seemed to notice as she put her hands on you to support your weight. “Would your heart skip a beat too if we kissed now?” You flirted again, your brows raised a bit as you bit your lip.

She snorted a bit and nodded before hoisting your arm around her so she could walk with you. “Let’s go back” she said, not yet walking as she wanted you to be ready.

“Can I follow you home? My parents told me to follow my dreams” it was hard to make out your slurred words but she still could which made her laugh even more.

“Sure, let’s go” with her arm around yours waist she led you to say goodbye to her roommates before walking out with you.

“Who would have thought that I’d leave the party with the prettiest girl?” You asked, your voice was so genuine that it did in fact make her heart skip a beat. Sure, she knew that you loved her and that you thought she was pretty but the fact that even when you were black out drunk and couldn’t realize who she was, you’d always come to her.

“You’re an idiot” she mumbled with a smile that even showed her teeth. You didn’t hear her as you kept on talking about how pretty she was. Once she finally got you into her dorm she gave you your pjs that you left at hers. As she moved to help you change you suddenly pulled back.

“No! I got a girlfriend! Don’t touch me” you grumbled as your back was turned towards her. Your shirt came off easily but you struggled with the clip of your bra as you just couldn’t coordinate your hands so she stepped closer to do it for you. “Don’t touch me! I’m taken”

“Y/n, baby. It’s me, Leighton?” She immediately heard you sigh happily as you turned your head to look at her, which was followed by a happy smile. Once you have her the okay she opened your bra and helped you put on your top. The moment you were changed you fell into her bed, burying yourself in the pillows and the thick comforter. It didn’t take long for the blonde to join and you clung on to her as soon as possible.

She knew that tomorrow your headache was going to kill you and that you weren’t going to remember most of the night. But the memory of you trying to hit on her because you couldn’t remember that you guys were dating was going to stay forever. And she’s never let you forget it, ever.

[divorceconnoisseur]

There's a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Eddie's face wavers for a second before he snorts, running his hand down his face. "What are we even doing here, man?"

Steve falters, the inanity of the situation hitting him. "I, uh, I think we're about to actually fistfight over-- over who a bunch of 14-year-olds think is cooler."

Eddie considers that briefly, tapping his fingers against his mouth before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I've heard of worst causes. Dukes up, Harrington, let's go!" Eddie pushes up his sleeves and waves his fists in the air cartoonishly as he starts to circle Steve.

Steve laughs, following Eddie as he goes like a compass drawn north. "Oh yeah, man? To the death, right?"

"Of course. Is there any other kind of fight?" Eddie says, overly serious, and abruptly tackles Steve.

They wrestle for a moment, and it's playful and stupid, but it still takes Steve an embarrassingly short amount of time to get Eddie in a headlock.

"This is just sad, man," Steve teases as Eddie struggles. "Those guns just for show, then?"

"Oh shit oh shit not the hair please, please have mercy O King Steve," Eddie laughs breathlessly.

Steve considers it-- Eddie seems to take as much care in his hair as Steve does, and real respects real-- and in that moment of hesitation, Eddie hooks his leg around Steve's and pulls.

Steve yelps as Eddie cackles, dragging them both down into the grass.

He hits the ground with a choked gasp, breath knocked out of him, and he squints up at the sky, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a grin.

He turns his head to say something to Eddie but loses his breath a second time for a very different reason.

Eddie's still giggling to himself in little fits, winding down, and there's a lightness to him at this moment that Steve's never seen, only heard described by the kids pre-Vecna. Laughter suits Eddie Munson, much better than terror or guilt or seriousness, and Steve's suddenly aware that he would do anything in this moment to keep that surprised look of happiness on his face a second longer.

Eddie catches his eyes and turns his head toward him. He's got grass stuck in his hair, and Steve doesn't think before he reaches over.

It's soft. Softer than he was expecting. He's careful not to catch any of Eddie's hair as he pulls out the grass and ends up lingering longer than he means to, setting a curl back to rights before realizing that this is, like, maybe a little weird.

He jerks back, and the back of his hand brushes Eddie's cheek, which is-- which is--

Warm. Soft, too, but with the rough start to stubble, and the feeling of it lingers against his hand like a brand.

Eddie's eyes, dark and impossibly wide, watch him, quiet for once. He wets his lips before speaking, and Steve's eyes catch on that, too, before darting back up to Eddie's. Which, god, what even was that? Why-- why is he--?

"A draw, then," Eddie says, turning over onto his stomach and kicking up his feet, and the weird atmosphere vanishes like it never was. "You are a worthier opponent than I realized, Steve Harrington."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says, relieved and disappointed. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Eddie clicks his tongue and fans himself. "You're too kind."

Steve looks away, tracking the clouds passing overhead. "No, really. I know I haven't exactly been, y'know, the world's best welcoming committee-"

"Was pretty convinced you hated my guts, yup." Eddie agrees, nodding.

"I don't. I never did. You're just--" Steve wracks his brain, trying to fit a word to the squirming feeling in his chest that Eddie inspires. "You're really good, y'know?"

"I... don't know, actually." Eddie's voice goes flat, and when Steve turns back to look at him, he's looking at Steve like he's a live snake, or something else dangerous and close to his vulnerable bits.

"You're good with the kids. Good for the kids, too. God, Will's really opened up since he joined your dumb nerdfest. You're good with and to the girls, too, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and probably anyone else that crosses your path. You are, patently, a good dude."

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, but Steve barrels on, feeling electric and more than a little crazy. "And, and it's just-- I don't know, I just--"

"Harrington, if you're about to tell me you think I'm a better man than you, I will lose it," Eddie interrupts regardless, voice high and reedy. "I know you're being, like, genuine and honest right now, but I will laugh in your goddamn face-"

"No, it's not that."

"Okay, I know this directly contradicts what I just said, but the speed with which you said that... Ouch."

"No," Steve shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. It's-- it's not a competition."

Eddie's eyebrows leap up. "It's not? I invite you to remember what we've spent the last few weeks on."

"That was just an excuse," He snaps his mouth closed the second the words leave his mouth.

"Excuse?" Eddie repeats slowly.

"I just. I don't know, man. Maybe," he swallows. "Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of you being good to me."

"... Why not?" Eddie asks, eyes focused on him, open, not judging, and god, this is exactly what Steve was worried about.

Eddie looks at him, and Steve--

Kisses him. Can't really do anything else but kiss him.

And when Eddie, after the longest moment of Steve's life, starts kissing him back? It's like the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

Turns out it's not the kids' attention he'd wanted-- or not just the kids' attention, anyway.

When Eddie pulls back, lips red and wet, eyes dark and focused just on him, Steve knows he's finally won it.

[nattblacklupin]

Sleepless nights

Pairing: High lord! Eris x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Nothing much, maybe a little bit suggestive towards the end

Summary: High lord of the autumn court helps you sleep

Masterlist

After the war, nightmares plagued your sleep every night. You can't remember the last time you slept the whole night, always waking up because of the terrors that followed you every time you dared to close your eyes. No sleep tonic is helping you. Not even your high lord powers could protect you. Leaving you desperate and hopeless for anything that can help you.

Madja recommended taking your mind off by busying yourself with work, so you don't have the time to think about anything else. That's why you're currently sitting on bed in autumn court, your room not far away from the high lords. As an emissary of night court, you travelled there to strengthen the relationship between the two courts. The sudden death of Beron forced Eris to take his place sooner than expected. Lucily, it wasn't drastic for the plans of your court.

It's not like you cared about them that much, but you sweared to be loyal, and you will be loyal to your court till the day of your death.

After half an hour of restless tossing, you decided to go on a walk around the house. Not expecting to meet someone at such an hour, you threw a light silk robe over your shoulders. Quietly slipping away from your room, you mindlessly started walking - letting your body guide you away from the room.

"Still awake, princess?" You swiftly turned started that someone was awake now. Focusing on the person your shoulders visibly releaxed and you let out signt you didn't even know you were holding in. "You scared me, Eris," coming closer to him, you couldn't help but admire his beauty. He had a strong and sharp jaw, which made you wonder if it would cut you when caressing it. His eyes burned with fire that burned brightly even after surviving things that you could never imagine. "I'm sorry if I woke you up." He probably was tired after a long day of duties, and you woke him up. Feeling guilty you averted your eyes from him.

"It's quite alright, I wasn't sleeping anyway," daring to look into his eyes to examine him even further. You could see the dark purple circles under his eyes. "You're not the only one who struggles, don't worry," his hand fixed stray strand of your hair that escaped the braid you put it in. It felt so natural, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch, never feeling more comfortable than right now. "You can sleep in my bed if you would like to." Pointing with his chin in the direction of his bedroom.

You wanted to refuse him. Sleeping with him in the same bed was highly inappropriate. This is still a work trip, and you don't think Rhysand would be happy if he knew about it. But Eris warm was attracting you like moth to light, it wrapped around you in cosy warm cocoon. "Only if you don't mind my snoring," Eris laughed at your joke. "I won't mind your snoring, only if you don't mind me stealing your blanket." Opening door to his room and guiding you inside with his hand on your lower back.

You quickly lay in his bed with blanket to your chin, hoping that the dark will shield your reddened cheeks from his burning gaze. Having a crush on the male for years now didn't help your situation in a bit. Your cheeks are getting red the longer you are in his room, in his bed thinking about his strong frame that will lay next to you. What if he wraps his arms around you? What if he's feeling the same as you, and this is his flirting strategy?

Eris laid next to you, laying on his side facing you, looking deeply into your eyes. "You're beautiful." If you weren't focused just on him, you wouldn't probably even hear it. But you're glad you did, finally mustering enough courage to do the thing you been thinking of for such a long time now. You gently cupped his cheek in your hand, looking deeply in his eyes. You kissed him. Your chest explodes with feeling you never felt before making you feel everything yet nothing at the same time.

Unhurriedly parting your lips from him, you gasped for air. "Y-you're my mate," realisation making you push Eris on his back and straddle his lap. His hands took hold of your waist, caressing you softly. One of his hands moved to the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. Kissing you with more intensity than you ever been kissed before.

Eris kissed you like there is no tomorrow, not letting you go until you were gasping for air, wishing for more. You parted from him, looking deeply into his eyes. The high lord under you just smirked while playing with your hair.

"Took you long enough, princess"

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 9 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

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

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mutual pining, angst, SLOOOWW BUURNNN

words: 9.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 9 ► the silence is one thing that i’ll remember you said. well, it’s better than nothing when nothing’s all that you left

The next morning was warm.

It was such a stark contrast to last night that you couldn’t help but still feel phantom shivers on your skin when you got off the bus to stretch your legs. It was still two more hours to Oslo, and it was unreasonably early to be awake, considering you did not return to the bus until sunrise—a mere half an hour before the scheduled departure for Norway.

Everyone else was still asleep, which made sense: they must have returned to the bus sometime very late, too. Granted, when you and Jungkook reached the restaurant on Strandvägen yesterday, your team was no longer there—but that didn’t mean they went to sleep as soon as they returned.

To be fair, you hadn’t expected to find them at the restaurant anyway. But after the abrupt end of your conversation with Jungkook on the bridge, you had hoped for a distraction. Something to take your mind off the uncomfortable gaping hole inside you.

Jungkook had suggested last night that you take a taxi back to the tour bus, and you were almost ready to walk back on your own.

It confused you—this unexpected longing for something you dared not name—but it also frightened you. Therefore, you were glad that when the bus reached Oslo, Jungkook was still asleep.

You felt like you needed a minute—to convince yourself that whatever you thought you’d felt in the air last night was more wishful thinking than anything else. Because here’s the thing about wishful thinking: it was yours. And everything that was yours, you could extinguish. You could put it out like you’d done countless times before.

So, several hours later in Oslo, you gave Yoongi very strict instructions to keep the band close and make sure they rested before tomorrow’s performance. And then you took your girls to explore the city, sightsee and drink as much coffee as you could find.

Unfortunately for Jungkook, sightseeing was something he also wanted to do with you once you arrived in Oslo. He had a lot to tell you; he knew he owed you an explanation. He just wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened, let alone what hadn’t happened.

But when he woke up on the bus, you had already left, taking Maggie and Luna with you. So, not only did he have to wallow in his thoughts, but he also had to deal with a sulking Taehyung, who never openly admitted why he was sulking, but it was obvious enough. Even though he texted Luna all day, she wasn’t physically there with him, and that wasn’t enough.

Jungkook was annoyed. He should have seen this coming—he tended to sleep in while you tended to not—but he realised he had expected you to stay. He’d expected a reaction. Perhaps he’d hoped you would demand that he explained himself and why the two of you had gone from I-miss-you to let’s-walk-and-not-look-at-each-other.

Your reaction, however, was no reaction at all.

You and the girls went out, which for the three of you, meant getting ice cream and walking the city streets until you found something interesting. Sometimes this took up the whole day. You loved it—especially today.

But then, just as you were approaching what looked like a castle with crowds of tourists flocking to it—Luna discovered it was the Royal Palace, which should have been obvious, but you and Maggie still ooh-ed and ahh-ed at Luna’s Google Maps skills—your phone started to ring.

Licking your ice cream hurriedly so it wouldn’t melt completely while you talked, you walked away from the girls to take the call.

You were half-expecting an emergency, but before you could really be disappointed that you had to end your excursion, you noticed the unknown number on the screen of your phone. You briefly considered not answering, but you saw that the number had an area code from home.

You thought it might be your brother calling. Once again, you considered not answering, still angry at him for his recklessness and your mum’s tears. But responsibility won over, and you picked up.

On the other end of the line was a man asking for you. For a moment, you were confused, because the voice sounded familiar, but the owner of it didn’t seem to know who he was talking to.

“This is she,” you responded to your own name. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, you sound so different for some reaso—it’s Nick,” the man said, and you stopped chewing on the waffle cone of your ice cream in surprise.

Nick Zhou had been your supervisor after you graduated and started to work at the company where you now managed Rated Riot. Back then, you were just an intern before being promoted to assistant manager for an indie rock band with the ominous name The Jungle Will Get You, when you were only 23 years old. Nick was their manager then, and he never admitted it, but you knew he’d pulled some strings to get you that job.

A little over a year later, you took over the management of Rated Riot, and you haven’t spoken to Nick since. He went on to manage Reconnaissance, one of the biggest alternative rock bands in the country, if not the world. Just being their manager made Nick more popular than Rated Riot at the moment.

You thought things had worked out well for you both, so there was simply no reason for you to stay in touch.

You figured the reason he was calling you now had to mean good things for Rated Riot. Supporting Reconnaissance on tour? Perhaps a collaboration?

“Nick!” was the first word out of your mouth after the surprise had subsided. “So nice to hear from you again.”

“I heard you were in Europe? That’s huge!” he said, which was kind of him, because Reconnaissance were selling out stadiums.

“We are, yeah. Oslo right now,” you said, smiling at Maggie, who approached you and tugged on your arm like a toddler wanting to go on a ride at an amusement park. Except in this case, the ‘ride’ was a wine bar down the street from the palace. You nodded, and that was permission enough for her to jog over to Luna and drag the two of you towards the bar, never mind that it was 3 PM. You said into the phone, “how are you? You’re going to Australia soon, right?”

“Next week, yeah,” Nick said. “The new album’s coming shortly after that.”

“Ah, another tour,” you said with a teasing chuckle—you knew how much Nick hated flying. Even the Reconnaissance members talked about their ‘air-sick manager’ in almost every interview they did. “Good luck in advance!”

Nick chortled in irony. “Thanks, I’m going to need it. That’s actually, uh, the reason I’m calling.”

Your heart rate picked up as the ice cream melted in your hand. “Yeah?”

“Yes. See, we had some—er, situations,” he paused here as if searching for a better word. After he didn’t find one, he continued with the one he had picked, “and because of these situations, I’m putting together a new team. With the new album coming out soon, we’re on a really tight schedule.”

“Right,” you said. You could already hear him asking if Rated Riot would like to be the supporting act, and maybe even participate in Reconnaissance’s new album.

“Well, that’s why I’m calling you,” he said. “The management here is just me and this guy, Mark, who can’t dial a phone number to save his life, but he’s a great sport. Keeps the band alive. But I need more people. Preferably someone with, uh, experience.”

He paused meaningfully, but it still took you a minute to realise that he hadn’t contacted you about Rated Riot. He had contacted you about you.

You watched Maggie and Luna enter the wine bar, take your ice cream from you, and make a beeline for the cash register, all while you stood in the doorway.

“I’m—uh—Nick.” There was an uncomfortable lump of surprise in your throat. Your hands felt sticky and your mouth felt dry.  “I’m—I manage Rated Riot.”

“I know,” he said, “and they’re a very promising band, tons of potential,” he paused here, hesitating, “but I thought—well, this is sort of different, isn’t it?”

You would have scoffed if you weren’t so stunned. “Well, of course.”

“Yeah. So, I just—we need an assistant manager. Fast,” Nick said. “And you were the first person I thought of. I mean, we’ve worked together before. I know your strengths and I admire your work ethic. I think you’d be a great addition to our team.”

Overwhelmed, you barely managed to find your words. “I… appreciate the offer. But I don’t think I can just—”

“Think about it, okay?” he interrupted you, aware of the abruptness and sheer mass of this offer. “We’ll be back from Australia next month, so you don’t need to give me an answer right away. Just—the sooner the better, of course. But you can think about it. I just wanted to let you know that I have an opening, and I’d love it if you joined us.”

“I—okay.” The faint smell of grapes and old wood around the wine bar seemed to grow stronger the longer that you stood here, still frozen. “Thank you, Nick.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” he said. “Take care, yeah?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, you too. Thanks again.”

The three beeps after he ended the call reverberated in your head, and it was another half-minute before you moved the phone from your ear. You looked at it in disbelief, as if it had been someone else who’d just had this conversation, and you had merely overheard it.

In an attempt to ground yourself, you tried to simplify your loud thoughts into whispers of an adequate noise.

There was an opening to be Reconnaissance’s assistant manager.

You’d have to take a step back, do more mundane tasks, similar to the ones you did back when you were Nick’s assistant that first time. But if you said yes, you’d be working with one of the biggest bands in the world right now.

But you couldn’t leave Rated Riot. You were their manager. You believed in them, and you loved everyone on this team.

“You look like you just found out Santa isn’t real,” Maggie’s voice brought you back to the present. She had come to get you, so you’d stop blocking the entrance for others. “Who was that?”

You still felt very hot and half-choked, so you tried to loosen the collar of your white tank top. The denim jacket you wore over it didn’t help much with the heat inside of you, either.

“Um,” you looked around as you slipped out of your jacket. “Can we get some wine first?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

You nodded, and before you could give a verbal response, Maggie was already calling out to your friend, who was about to place her order, “Luna! Grab some doubles! We have something going on.”

It took the girls about two minutes to find a table—granted, a couple of tourists who saw Maggie dragging you through the wine bar while you were trying to regain proper consciousness got scared and left, which helped a lot—and settle down.

As soon as you took the first sip, catching the rich and savoury taste—perhaps a bit too savoury; it immediately made you scrunch your nose—Luna scooted closer to you on the navy-coloured velvet couch.

“What happened?” she asked. “Who was that on the phone?”

You set your glass down. “That was Nick. My former supervisor. Before I started to work with Rated Riot. He, um—he manages Reconnaissance.”

“Oh, shit!” Maggie exclaimed at the same time as Luna muttered, “I don’t really know them.”

“Oh!” Maggie gasped, turning to Luna. “Wait. Weren’t you at their show a few days ago? I saw on your Instagram.”

“Yeah, Taehyung took me. He brought me to the after-party, too, but—” she paused as she noticed that Maggie’s eyes looked ready to pop out. She explained, “oh, that was just to babysit Jungkook. He’s the one who really listens to Reconnaissance. I don’t know any of their songs. They sounded good, but I’m—”

“Oh my God!” Maggie gasped again. She had glitter in her eyes and all over her face. “Wait until we get back on the bus! I probably have five different notebooks full of their song lyrics. You’ll love them.”

Luna nodded her head once, then paused in the middle of the second nod. “Wait, you brought those notebooks on tour? Aren’t they heavy?”

“Kind of. But I like to have them with me. And I keep adding to them, so—” Maggie stopped when you picked up your glass again. Your movement seemed to remind her what the topic was before she digressed. She leaned back in her bright yellow armchair. “—which is not the point. So, what did that guy want? Nick.”

Both girls turned their attention back to you.

You took another sip of your wine and said, “well, I thought he wanted Rated Riot.”

Swirling her glass, Luna asked, “he didn’t?”

“He didn’t,” you confirmed. “Apparently, he wants me.”

Luna was the first to understand the implication as her eyebrows lifted and her chin dropped. Maggie, on the other hand, looked at Luna, and then back at you.

“Like… to work with him?” she asked. “To manage Reconnaissance?”

“Well, obviously not to perform with them on stage,” Luna said to her impatiently, then turned back to you. “Why does he want you?”

“He said he needed to find an assistant manager quickly,” you explained, “and since he knows me, he thought I’d be... suitable. For that job.”

You didn’t know what words to choose so you wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable talking about this. And, as you sat here with your friends and your glass of wine, you realised that a part of you didn’t believe you were even ready to work with someone like Reconnaissance. For the most part, you were terrified of it.

You hoped Rated Riot would reach their level one day, that’s true. But starting to work with a band that was already so outrageously popular felt a bit like being thrown into a pot of boiling water.

“Well, what did you say?” Maggie asked.

“I said no,” you replied, your vision blurring again. “I think.”

The two girls spoke up at the same time.

Luna repeated, “you think?” while Maggie asked, “why not?”

They exchanged a look – Maggie, surprised; Luna, slightly accusing.

“What?” Maggie said in response to her look. “This is big!” She put down her glass and leaned over to touch your knee, wanting to emphasise her point, “I love you, okay? And I love working with you and everyone else here, and I know you do, too. But this is just… huge.”

“I know,” you said, your gaze still wandering along the tiled wall behind Maggie’s armchair. You felt disoriented and the wine had very little to do with it. “But I—I mean, I can’t just leave.”

“I think you should talk to the guys,” Luna suggested. She managed to come to terms with the heaviness of the offer that Nick had made much faster than you did. It helped, of course, that she wasn’t the one who had to make a decision here, but she was making a reasonable point regardless.

“Yeah,” Maggie agreed, pointing at the girl on the couch next to you, and nodding eagerly at you. “Yeah. You should.”

You looked at both of them, then down at your glass, as if you could take a sip and it’d give you very clear directions of what to do next.

“But what can I say to them?” you asked. Then, in a voice meaning to imitate yourself, you said, “‘I might have an opportunity to leave you and work with a much bigger band.’ No. No, I don’t think so.”

Maggie squinted at you, unsure if she was the only one confused again. She asked carefully, “you… don’t think you’ll tell them this? Or you don’t think you’ll work with Reconnaissance?”

You finished your wine and set the glass back on the tray. The other girls’ glasses were still half-full.

“Neither, probably,” you replied. “I’d be—you know. If I went to work with Nick, I’d be fetching coffee for the other staff members and filling out paperwork. I already do that for Rated Riot anyway, but I don’t mind, because I don’t think we’re at a level where I’d need an assistant. But I—I want to reach that level with them. I want to be here every step of the way.”

If you’d lifted your eyes from the table in front of you, you would have seen the soft smile on Luna’s face. Instead, you heard it in her voice when she said, “that makes sense.”

Finally, you looked at her. “It does?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, I think you should sleep on it,” Maggie said, a different voice of reason. “Make sure this isn’t something you’ll regret later. Oh!” she clapped her hands. “You can even make a pros and cons list!”

You smiled while Luna snickered. She said to you, “pro: obviously, you wouldn’t be managing your ex-boyfriend—”

“Um?” Maggie cut in. “Con: you wouldn’t be managing your ex-boyfriend.”

Luna frowned at her. “How is that a con?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Have you seen her ex-boyfriend?”

Luna’s frown dissipated as she laughed, and even you chuckled, too.

In her whole life, Maggie might have had one and a half doubts about not actually being gay; she was simply an artist to the core. And she was very vocal about how unbelievably easy it was to photograph Jungkook when he was on stage. He was, in a truly annoying way, effortlessly photogenic.

“I guess that’s a pro and a con,” you said. There was a lingering smile on your face—this time, the wine did have something to do with it.

When paired with the sudden anxiety of Nick’s offer, the wine helped you distance yourself from the last conversation you’d had with Jungkook. And maybe it was better, you decided, that your friends didn’t know about the walk you two had taken. You preferred the conversation as it was now — cosy, safe, and almost buoyant.

“Is there a time limit?” Luna asked suddenly. “Did Nick tell you a date?”

“No,” you said with a sigh. “He said he wanted an answer soon. So I don’t have to decide right this second. But I’m not really considering it, to be honest. It’s a great opportunity, sure, but I think working with Rated Riot is a great opportunity, too.”

Both girls nodded in unison, their expressions brightening. Slowly, as you felt the support in their warm gazes, the atmosphere in the wine bar began to lighten, too. They understood. And they agreed with your point.

Luna teased, “does the band pay you extra when you say nice things about them? Because I really love Rated Riot.”

You chuckled. “I wish they did.”

Maggie lifted her glass. “Be careful. If you start complimenting them to their faces, it’ll go straight to their heads. And then we’ll have to give their shows an R rating.”

“Well, that would help them live up to their name,” Luna pointed out and the three of you burst into a fit of giggles again—partially because of the wine, but in your case also because of relief.

Nick’s offer and the confusing feelings from last night did not seem all that troublesome at the moment. You could almost forget about them, focusing only on the way things were right now.

You were happy like this. You didn’t want anything to change.

As dusk fell, Jungkook began to hover his finger over your name in his contact list. Just then, Sid burst into the otherwise empty bus and slammed the door with so much force that the whole vehicle swayed a little.

Startled, Jungkook looked up.

“Dude!” he called out, poking his head out of his bunk to see his friend’s proud face. “Gentle.”

“I have the best plans for us tonight,” Sid said as if he hadn’t heard him. “You will not believe the kind of bars they have here in Norway.”

Although Jungkook doubted that the bars here were any different from the ones back home, he still climbed out of the bunk, more intrigued by the idea of having company than by the supposed uniqueness of Norwegian bars. “Yeah?”

Sid’s smile grew wider still when he saw the same reaction mirrored on Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Let’s go.”

Jungkook hesitated. He had told you last night that things wouldn’t be the same between him and Sid when they returned home. And he meant it; he would have preferred to spend time with you—right now and back home. But you weren’t here, and while he was waiting for you, everyone else made different plans. Even Taehyung. And Jungkook hated being alone.

Grabbing his jacket, he climbed out of the bunk and allowed Sid to lead him outside, where the rest of their friends were already waiting.

They were like a herd of sheep, Jungkook thought unexpectedly while Sid ushered him out of the bus, the way they followed Sid. Why didn’t they ever protest or suggest their own ideas?

But as he looked at his friends – Jude and Minjun fighting over something on Jude’s phone, shoving the device in each other’s faces and shouting; Sid smacking them both on the backs of their heads, providing his own wisdom to their argument – he knew.

They stayed quiet, because the four of them were always together in the same way: with Sid in the lead, and the others following behind him. That’s the way it has always been. Jungkook knew that if one of them had a genuine problem with this, he would not be taken seriously. Or it would be the last time he could call them friends.

It was either this, or nothing at all.

That night, the four of them ended up in a cocktail bar in Oslo, a significant distance away from the tour bus and the rest of the crew. Jungkook didn’t understand why Sid had chosen this particular place until his friend winked and gestured towards the stairs leading to the basement.

“What’s down there?” Jungkook was dumb enough to ask.

Grateful for the chance to show off, Sid grinned and draped an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders as he led him—along with Jude and Minjun, who were looking around like this was a zoo—to the basement.

“Only the greatest thing to come out of Europe,” Sid explained. “You can thank me later.”

He didn’t.

It was an underground burlesque club with only three dancers, all of whom appeared so intimidating that Jungkook was convinced they could stab the four of them with their nails alone, if any of the boys looked them in the eye for too long. He didn’t dare to try.

Sid loved it.

Jungkook preferred the bar upstairs.

Minjun seemed to agree, so the two went back up for another round, while Jude stayed back. Despite occasionally acting like he hated Sid’s guts, Jude always stayed close to him, almost like an addict, who knew that this drug was bad for him, but still couldn’t break the habit.

“Do you think they’ll make it out alive?” Minjun asked as they waited for their drinks at the bar.

“I don’t think they’re getting out at all,” Jungkook replied. “It’s like siren screams for Sid.”

“That’s true. And if Sid stays, Jude stays.”

Jungkook nodded, his expression grim.

“So, D-11,” Minjun said. It took Jungkook a second to realise that he was counting down the days to the end of the bet. “How’s it going?”

He gave his friend a look. “I’m in a bar with you. How do you think it’s going?”

Minjun smiled and nodded to the bartender to thank him for bringing the drinks. Then he held his glass out to Jungkook.

“A toast,” he declared. Jungkook rolled his eyes and picked up his own glass. “May you win this bet, because Sid on a motorcycle is a menace I want nothing to do with.”

Snorting, Jungkook clinked his glass against his and they both downed their drinks in several big gulps.

“He’s not getting the bike,” Jungkook said, setting his glass down with new-found determination. Hearing Minjun mention the possibility of Sid winning the Katana made it feel more realistic. He had to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Do you need my help?” Minjun asked as if reading his mind.

Jungkook looked up from the bar top. “You couldn’t help even if I asked. We signed an agreement that we wouldn’t tell her.”

“You and Sid signed it,” Minjun pointed out. “I was just the person who typed it all out in my fucking Notes. I’m not legally bound to abide by the conditions of the deal. And, actually, neither are you. It’s just a—”

“Why would you help me?” Jungkook interrupted. His friend’s final sentences had evidently flown over his head. “I’ve hardly got anything to offer you in return.”

Minjun shrugged. “I just don’t want Sid to win.”

Jungkook swallowed. He found himself hoping, suddenly, that there was more to this. That if he really kicked Sid off the tour and out of his life, there would at least be one person who wouldn’t leave with him. One person who would stay.

“I don’t know what you could do,” Jungkook said. “Putting in a good word for me probably wouldn’t do much.”

“No?” his friend said, then looked down at his glass thoughtfully. “Okay. We can go full mentalist on her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Dropping certain objects in her living space that leave imprints of you in her subconscious,” Minjun said completely seriously. “It’s simple.”

“Dude.” Jungkook blinked. “I don’t know where this—this Sherlockian shit is coming from, but I’m not going to mess with her head.”

Minjun was about to scoff, but held back because the offence on Jungkook’s face at the—apparently, preposterous—suggestion seemed genuine. As if Minjun didn’t know what he was saying. As if this was serious, and Jungkook didn’t want to ruin it by playing games.

Minjun pointed out, “but you already are messing with her head.”

If possible, Jungkook looked even more appalled. “I’m—that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what’s the difference between what you’re doing and what I’m suggesting?”

“Well, I’m not trying to—I’m not sneaking around and forcing her to think about me,” Jungkook said, looking away from his friend and meeting the bartender’s gaze. He nodded, and the man behind the bar approached the two friends with a bottle of whiskey.

“It’s not force, technically,” Minjun explained as they watched the bartender refill their drinks. “It’s just how your brain works. You see something that reminds you of someone, and it sticks with you whether you’re aware of it or not.”

“I’d like for that to happen naturally,” Jungkook said, aware that he was the naïve one here. But he liked to think of it as hope. And he had that right—he was the only one who really knew you. The only one who could guess whether you were thinking about him or not.

Minjun shrugged and picked up his glass as soon as it was filled. “It’s your call. I’m just trying to speed up the process.”

Jungkook brought his own drink to his lips, but paused when Minjun spoke up again.

“Let me ask you something, though,” he said. “Before you get too far ahead of yourself.”

Even before he heard the question, Jungkook already felt queasy. “What is it?”

“Do you genuinely want to get back together with her?” Minjun asked.

There seemed to be no ill intentions behind the question, but Jungkook spent a full minute watching him and reading his expression.

Minjun was quick to notice his uncertainty. He reassured, “I’m asking because I care. Not because I want to make fun of you. I know you love her, but this—well, I’m just wondering if you want to act on these feelings.”

Jungkook looked down again. “Yeah, uh, I do. It’s not just about the bet for me.”

Minjun had suspected as much, so he wanted to broach the subject when no one else was around.

“But you still think making a bet out of it is the way to go?” he inquired.

Jungkook knew where this was going. And he still tried to appear nonchalant.

“I mean, I’m in this mess anyway, so why not actually win this?” he replied with a laid-back shrug that was so laid-back, it only amplified the fact that it was not laid-back at all.

“Jungkook,” Minjun said, startling him. Normally, the four of them addressed each other as ‘dude’ or the occasional ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’. Hearing his name felt strange, almost foreboding.

“There’s so many reasons why not,” Minjun continued. “The most important one being that you come out of this as a winner twice. You get her and you get the bike. But all she gets is the realisation that someone she’s letting back into her life has lied to her.”

Defensively, Jungkook demanded, “when did I lie?”

“You’re getting back together with her because of the bet!”

“It’s not because of—it’s not just because of the bet. I just told you.”

“But she doesn’t know about it,” Minjun countered, poking holes in Jungkook’s feeble defensive shield. It was more like a flimsy piece of paper than a shield, really; just something he’d hoped to fool himself—and you—into believing. “She doesn’t know what else is at stake. It’s not fair.”

“Okay,” Jungkook turned in his seat to face Minjun, leaning his elbow against the bar top. “What are you trying to tell me? That I should lose the bet on purpose? To show her that I care about her more than anything else?”

“No,” Minjun replied, less confident. Jungkook was likely not aware of this, but he could be very intimidating. For Minjun, who considered himself immune to most forms of intimidation after years of being friends with Sid, this was unusual and unsettling. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m just suggesting you think about it. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

Jungkook swallowed, his throat dry.

He knew that he had already drawn a subconscious line between simply wanting you back and wanting you back to win the bet. He worried about the exact thing that Minjun had just mentioned—that he couldn’t have both. He worried that it wouldn’t be fair to be with you again if he won.

This was what stopped him on the bridge. It’s what haunted his mind every time he thought about talking to you.

Deep down, he knew he would have to make a choice: either he won the bet, or he got back together with you.

And yet, he couldn’t let Sid win. The thought pressed on his mind with so much weight that he knew it wasn’t just you that he didn’t want to lose, and it definitely wasn’t just his bike. It was a matter of pride, too.

He was proving a point for all the years that Sid had asserted his superiority over him.

“You know, that never made any sense to me,” Jungkook said. Alcohol helped him feel more confident and less self-conscious. Maybe he should stay tipsy until the end of the bet. “That’s the whole point of the cake. You get it, and it’s not just there to fucking look at. It’s there to be eaten.”

Minjun could tell Jungkook felt defensive, so he didn’t take the aggression personally. Instead, he took a sip of his drink.

“Whatever, man,” he said. “It’s your life, in the end.”

“Yeah. It is,” Jungkook replied so firmly that it just sounded childish. He tried to soften his tone, “I appreciate yo—your concern, but I got this.”

“Okay,” his friend agreed because that was easier. They could have been at it for hours—and God knows, Jungkook and Sid had been at it for hours—but Minjun didn’t think it was worth it. He concluded, “that’s fine.”

“It is,” Jungkook agreed.

But it was clear that it wasn’t fine. Jungkook looked flushed as if he’d bathed in a barrel of whiskey, not merely drank two glasses of it.

After about half an hour, the silence became heavy. At first, Minjun had thought that he would rather throw himself down the stairs than return to the basement where Sid and Jude were. But now that seemed like a better alternative than sitting here with a sulking Jungkook.

“You know, uh, I think I’m going to go check on Sid and Jude,” he said while Jungkook ordered another—his fifth—glass. “Don’t want them to die in Oslo. Too big of a hassle to bring their bodies back home.”

Jungkook’s lip did not even twitch. But he nodded and Minjun slid off his chair. He glanced back at his friend as he went, not wanting to leave him alone, but also feeling like Jungkook was already alone anyway, even with him here.

Jungkook had always been good at isolating himself, even when surrounded by other people. Honestly, Minjun wasn’t sure if Jungkook even realised that he wasn’t sitting at the bar alone. He told Minjun once that he couldn’t stand silence, but Minjun knew that sometimes, Jungkook’s thoughts overwhelmed him without his consent. And once he got lost in his own mind, the rest of the world ceased to exist for him.

However, now that he was truly alone, Jungkook was struck by the heavy weight of his solitude. He would have agreed with Minjun – he really did have a monumental talent for disassociating anywhere, anytime. But to be able to drift off into his thoughts and turn the crowd into a blur, he needed a crowd in the first place.

Now that he was alone, all he could think about was that he was alone.

He certainly wasn’t going to follow his friends into the basement, so he got a few more drinks into his system for courage, and pulled his phone out—a painful reflex—to dial your number.

Needless to say, by the time you answered—it was 1 AM, but, of course, you answered—he was already slurring his words as he tried to explain why he’d called.

“Are you drunk?” was your first question as soon as you heard him try to introduce himself—pointlessly so, because at that point in your life, he was the only person who called you after midnight.

“Of course,” he said, with hints of offence in his voice. Why would he not be drunk? he rationalised.  “Do you want to come?”

He heard shuffling on the other end as he played with the napkin on the bar top. Funnily enough, despite his mind feeling pleasantly numb, he still felt twinges of anxiety in his stomach.

“Where even are you?” you finally asked. He was too drunk to notice the coldness in your voice.

“Sid took us to some bar,” he replied. “In Oslo.”

While you were relieved that Sid hadn’t driven them out of Norway before Jungkook even performed here, you also felt concerned that Jungkook was so disoriented that he needed to remind you of the city you were in.

“Are the rest of the guys there?” you asked. His friends were useless, of course, but perhaps Minjun could be trusted to take care of Jungkook if he blacked out.

“They’re downstairs,” he answered. “There’s some club. I didn’t want to go, so I called you. Do you want to come?”

You were confused by the repeated question—was this a matter of you wanting to come, or were you obligated to come as his manager?

He sensed your apprehension through the phone despite being intoxicated.

“I’m trying to see you,” he explained, his tongue struggling to bend the right way. All his Rs sounded like sloppy Ls and Ws. “You weren’t there when I looked for you earlier today.” You heard a bang – he’d slammed his palm against the bar top, forcing the nearby glasses to rattle – and he continued, whining now, “why are you so difficult for me to find?!”

“You’re drunk,” you stated in response. “And you’re not making any sense. Can you find your way to the bus, or do I have to pick you up?”

Half-mumbling, half-whining something incoherent, Jungkook leaned his arms on the bar top. He rested his head on them and pressed his phone against his ear harder as if that’d make you understand him better, make you enter his head somehow.

“You should come,” he said. “I’ll order for you.”

“How about you tell me exactly where you are first,” you replied.

He did – to the best of his ability in his current state – but Google Maps could hardly help you find the directions for “then we took two left turns and came up in front of his huge red brick building, might have been brown, I’m really drunk.” Finally, you managed to get him to just send you his pinned location and headed over there.

He stayed on his phone after you hung up, opening the Notes app and scrolling through his older notes to pass the time.

Some of them were lists of things he wanted to remember – films to see, songs to listen to – while others were harder to decipher: drunken reminders he had made for himself and forgotten as soon as he sobered up.

Some of the notes were song lyrics, and some were just your name—he’d begun to type out a message? a letter? and abandoned it, scared of the weight your name alone carried—and his finger lingered on those for a minute before he pressed the New Note button and began typing immediately.

Normally, he didn’t write lyrics when he was drunk. Tipsy, maybe—one of Rated Riot’s most popular singles was born after he and Yoongi tried absinthe for the first time at one of the label’s parties last year—but never so drunk that the room felt wobbly.

He kept pressing the wrong buttons on the keyboard and autocorrect kept making it worse; shocking even his drunk mind with how completely wrong the corrections were.

But he managed to get two full lines – I fucking miss you when I drink / You burn my throat when I sing – and he stared at them for a minute, a deep frown on his face.

He hated it. Deleting the words with angry force on the backspace button, he began typing again, feeling furiously alone with every passing minute that you didn’t come—and knowing that when you did come, you would be you. And he couldn’t love you the way he did.

For years, even when he thought—hoped—that the feelings he had for you were not real, even as he insisted to his friends that he couldn’t possibly still love you, even as he tried to meet someone new despite only seeing faint echoes of your absence on every face, even then he wrote about you each time that his mind wandered.

You continued to be the subject of his music, the lyrical lover in every song he wrote.

Now, as he entered line after line, the lyrics writing themselves as he watched the screen, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest—as drunk as his mind was.

When the absence of you is all that inspires / I allow for the pain to turn into fires / It will burn when I write, when I think, when I sing / Flames will turn to ashes, turn to words, turn to ink

He held his phone with one hand as he folded and unfolded a napkin with the other one, reading the words and then re-reading them again.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it. He needed Namjoon to take a look at this—the producer knew better—before he could show it to anyone else. Especially before he sent it to—

Jungkook jumped up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and his vision seemed to brighten when he recognised you.

“I came as quickly as I could,” you said, out of breath as if you had run all the way here. You took a seat on the stool next to him at the bar, using his shoulder to steady yourself as you climbed onto it. “Where’s your tail?”

Even drunk, he understood you meant his friends.

“Downstairs,” he said, nodding his head towards the door leading to the staircase in the back. “Drinks?”

You assessed him. He didn’t appear to be in need of having his stomach pumped, but he was slouched over the bar, tightly clutching his phone in his hand, which was a good indicator that the night should have ended there.

“I think it’d be better to—”

“Strawberry daiquiri,” he said loudly—to the bartender, but it took you a second to realise that—then he turned to you for confirmation. “Right?”

“I’m not drinking,” you replied firmly enough for him to give you a long look.

“Why not?” he asked. The bartender politely waited for your consent before he started to make the cocktail. “You’re not driving.”

You swallowed. There were many – countless, really – reasons why not. You were confused about yesterday, confused about Nick’s offer, confused about what you were doing here tonight.

This was dangerous. Reckless, even, and very out of character for someone like you. You knew you shouldn’t dive head first into this, not after what happened—what didn’t happen—yesterday.

But you gave the bartender a light nod.

“One drink,” you said. “And we’re going back.”

But, of course, going back is not at all what you did.

Jungkook, his highball, your daiquiri, and you all found yourselves on the empty terrace on the roof not ten minutes later.

It was a relatively warm night, but it was the empty space, the dark night and the faint scent of rain that captivated you more than the warmth. It was so beautiful here; very hard not to be grateful to be alive on a night like this. And you realised you didn’t blame Jungkook for making you come here, after all.

“What were you doing before I came?” you spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the night.

Jungkook took a sip from his glass and placed it on the small round table between your patio chairs.

“Writing,” he said.

You were surprised. “Writing?”

“Yeah.”

“As in, song lyrics?”

“Yeah,” he repeated. Then—his mind travelling a thousand miles per hour—he added, “you know, I wrote “Haunting” about you.”

Weirdly enough, while alcohol made most people sleepy or, at least slower, it seemed to ignite Jungkook’s mind instead. He wanted to see your reaction when he said this. Wanted, even drunk, to see if there was a reason for him to worry.

Meanwhile, you needed a moment to process what he’d just said and, even then, you weren’t entirely sure if you understood him.

“I—you did?” you stumbled, awkward.

“Yes.”

You looked away, the song fresh in your mind, because it wasn’t just the first Rated Riot song that you’d heard. It was also one of your favourites. You loved the ethereal melody—a strong focus on piano, the guitars reduced to the background and the bass only joining in on the chorus—and Jungkook’s raw vocals as he sang about resisting his dark urges.

You knew all of Rated Riot’s lyrics—hearing their songs every night paid off, but you’d have been lying if you said you didn’t like to listen to them in your free time as well—but it was the first verse and, particularly, the breathy, pained voice with which Jungkook sang it that always tugged at your heart:

It's wandering in my mind / It's haunting my daydreams / I follow after it, blind / I fall apart at the seams

After a minute, you finally spoke—awkward as you explained the meaning of his own lyrics to him, “I always thought it was about… well, searching for thrills even though that’s not good for you.”

“It is,” Jungkook said. “The beginning is. But the chorus is about you.”

Before you could ask anything else, he mouthed the lyrics under his breath so quietly that you were unsure if you weren’t only imagining him singing it since you’d listened to the song so many times before.

Can I find you when I break? / Can I find you when it’s too much? / Can you forgive all my mistakes? / Can you save me with your touch?

Jungkook had written plenty of songs on his own, but from what you’d heard in the studio, his lyrics used to be too abstract. That was the main reason why Namjoon used to scold him.

“It lacks feeling!” he’d shout, agitated by his own expectations for the vocalist. “It’s like you’re singing about a bag of bricks!”

You knew that many of Jungkook’s early songs didn’t have a specific subject in mind. In this particular case, you assumed he was singing about someone—anyone, really—extending a helping hand or providing a shoulder to lean on. It was a comforting song, nothing more than that.

Jungkook was almost grateful for the surprise on your face—he was worried you’d tell him that you knew. He’d always thought it was obvious that this song was about you. After all, you were the only one who was always there for him.

And, in any case, who else would he write about if not you? As soon as he was criticised for lacking emotion in his lyrics, he started to write from experience. And you were his experience.

But, of course, you didn’t think to look for yourself in his lyrics. You didn’t want to find yourself there.

And now you weren’t sure what the appropriate response was when someone told you they wrote a song about you. “Thank you” didn’t seem sufficient, because the song was about you, not for you. “I love it” also didn’t capture it, because you didn’t love it because it was about you. You just did.

So, you remained silent, watching the lights on the skyscraper across the street and the reflection of the dark clouds in the dark windows. The people behind them were likely asleep, resting before they started their day in a few hours.

“I think…” Jungkook began, his sentence ending sooner than he’d expected. His eyes were glossy when you looked at him. “I think I’m writing about you again.”

You swallowed and nervously bit your lower lip. The night was warm, but the wind on the roof was relentless. You couldn’t help shivering.

Your mind was running before you could stop it. You didn’t want to resume your conversation from Stockholm; it had managed to be too much by not being nearly enough. You couldn’t return there again.

But you still asked, “what were you writing?”

“About missing you.”

You sat there, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your dark jeans with the tip of your index finger. You tried to suppress the anticipation building in your stomach before it could fully manifest. Before it could turn into a terrifying disappointment. Before it could show you that you were lying to yourself when you said you’d moved on.

“Please don’t ask me why I’m doing this now,” Jungkook said in a strained whisper.

Your voice faltered as you said, “I won’t.”

“J-just so you know, I felt the same way back home,” he said. “The only difference is that here in Europe, you have no choice but to be around me.”

The implication was clear, even if his voice wasn’t accusing you of anything. He believed you were only spending time with him because your job required you to.

“I don’t… avoid you back home,” you defended weakly—the only way you knew how right now.

Last night, you’d told him you missed him and it didn’t end well. Actually, it didn’t end at all—it sort of hung over you and made this conversation uncomfortable. Like a scratchy sweater, rubbing on your skin in all the wrong ways.

“I know,” he said. “But you never put in special effort to see me, either.”

You took a sip of your cocktail, tossing your head back to finish it.

Placing the glass back down on the table between your seats, you finally said, “I didn’t know you wanted me to, until you brought it up the other day.”

“Yeah. I know that, too,” Jungkook said sadly. His moves mirrored yours as he picked his glass up, but stopped before bringing it to his lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. About Stockholm.”

The pounding of your heart was very loud, and your voice was very quiet.

“What are you sorry for?” you asked.

He looked down. “There were a lot of things I wanted to say to you, but I… didn’t know how. It got kind of, um, weird.”

He scoffed at his own choice of words, and you realised that you weren’t alone on this rooftop. There was Discomfort, Awkwardness, and Avoidance dancing around you two.

“It…” you began, but words didn’t come easy. “It shouldn’t have been weird.”

He shook his head. He was worried that this would happen. Worried that you’d take responsibility for last night. You’d say you were the manager, so you should have known better. Should have set stricter boundaries. Should have never crossed them.

Now, you added tentatively, “I-I mean, we’re friends, right?”

You could have smashed your glass on his head and that would have hurt less than the cursed word.

This wasn’t about friendship and you both knew it.

But you needed to feel better. Last night had scared you, he could tell as much. And now you needed to make sense of it. You needed to find a way to interpret it in a way that felt right to your standards.

Normally, he would have helped you. Anything to make you feel comfortable, that’s all he wanted anyway.

But, tonight, he was drunk. And so in love with you that it hurt.

“I don’t know what we are,” he said.

Your hands were restless as you tapped your fingers on your legs.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” you said. “For us to be friends.”

“It is what I want, but it’s also—it’s much more than just—I’m sorry.” He slid his palms over his cheeks and pressed his hands together against his lips. “I don’t know how to—I could never put my thoughts into words in a way that wouldn’t be too much. Or too little.”

He thought that if his friends would have been here, they would have laughed. Four years he’s wanted you, waited for you, but pretended he didn’t.

Clearly, he needed lessons on how to openly discuss his feelings.

He inhaled—or tried to, anyway—and picked up his drink. You took this as an opportunity to look at him.

“You’re, um—you’re good at putting them into song lyrics, though,” you said.

He chuckled weakly and placed his empty glass down next to yours. There was Sadness, too, twirling on the rooftop. And faint traces of Regret.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I’ll write another song about how much I want you.”

You inhaled too sharply to appear nonchalant. The consecutive “another song” and “I want you” pulsated painfully in your chest.

Alarmed by the sound of your breathing, Jungkook turned to look at you.

“I—sorry,” he said, reading your expression. “I can’t say that, right?”

The fingers of your right hand nervously grasped at the fingers of your left. You regretted not wearing longer clothing that you could pull on.

“No, you, um—well, you can say whatever you feel,” you said. “I just, uh… you know that I can’t say it back.”

He observed your fidgeting and initially interpreted it as discomfort. But now he believed it to be something else—a more prominent emotion, brought on by something other than just this conversation.

Uncertainty.

You said you couldn’t say it back. You meant that you weren’t allowed to, as his manager.

But you didn’t say that you didn’t want to say it back.

His voice trembled when he spoke, the words pouring out in one breath, “but what if we weren’t working together? What if we were somewhere in Oslo, on the roof of some bar, just the two of us? And this fucking never-ending Scandinavian wind, of course,” he paused when he saw a small smile make its way to your lips. “But the wind isn’t telling anyone anything, either. Wh-what would you say then?”

You looked up as if you could actually see the wind. You didn’t know what scared you more: thinking what it’d be like if you weren’t working together—because a few hours ago, that possibility seemed almost real—or admitting your thoughts out loud.

It returned, the heaviness of anticipation that you’d felt last night. You were very naïve to think you could stop it from coming back. To think you could quench the wishful thinking.

This anticipation seemed to control you more than you could control it.

“I’d say that this wind feels like we’re back on campus, loudly talking about our mid-terms and chasing after loose papers that wind had blown out of our hands,” you said. There was a reluctant, nostalgic smile on your face. “Then returning to my dorm room and listening to my neighbours argue about their dead plant, even though they’re both guilty of not looking after it. T-this feels like back then.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked near desperately.

You exhaled, but did not reply. Your skin tingled with pins and needles.

“It’s me,” he said, his tone gentler now. “There’s no one else here.”

And there it was – the moment that didn’t come in Stockholm.

Dizzy, you said, “I feel the same way as I did back then.”

Jungkook held his breath.

“I really need you to tell me,” he pleaded, “what way.”

You pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and focused on suppressing the goosebumps that arose on every part of your skin that his eyes touched.

“Just… exhilarated. From life. From love,” you spoke, your eyes fluttering to him. Frightened by the intensity of his gaze as he watched you, you looked back at the edge of the roof. “From you.”

You heard his breath quiver.

“Look at me,” he asked in a stern, yet powerless whisper.

You did—and he forgot what he was going to say.

He felt like you were both back there again, too. Like nothing had changed—because nothing had, not fundamentally—like he could reach out and you’d be there. Providing him with the noise he needed to not feel alone, and the comfort he needed to not feel overwhelmed.

Neither of you realised that he had leaned in until you felt the warmth of his breath—laced with a strong scent of whiskey—on your lips. Until your lungs started to burn from holding your breath so hard. Until you parted your lips slightly and the oxygen that slipped in was so full of echoes of his taste that you felt the roof turning upside down.

He closed his eyes as he lingered millimetres away from you, the close proximity putting you both in a trance so painfully blissful that not connecting your lips seemed almost sacrilegious.

You were hypnotised, too overwhelmed by the familiarity of the feeling—the barely thereness of his lips against yours—to think of anything else.

You couldn’t pull away.

But, in a blind panic, he was the one who did.

Blinking in surprise as he moved away, you found yourself frozen, eyes locked on the empty space in front of you.

Jungkook stared at the ground, breathless and wide-eyed.

Even drunk, he couldn’t do this.

There was Minjun’s face in his head—his initial discomfort the first time he found out about the bet. There was the conversation in the bar—and the cake metaphor, even though Jungkook thought he neither had the cake, nor could he eat it. There was Sid in his head, too—his smug grin as he insisted Jungkook would lose.

He couldn’t breathe.

He could hear white noise in place of thoughts, and something else, too—his own screams.

What did I do, what did I do, what did I do, what did I—

You couldn’t hear his attempts to inhale because as soon as he pulled away, your own thoughts grew louder. The realisation of what had happened again—what had almost happened again—was so strong, it almost pushed you down to the floor. You had to grip your chair not to double over from the weight of it.

You knew he was drunk, despite seemingly sobering up a bit on the roof. And he pulled away. Meanwhile, you’d had a few drinks tonight and you were going to let him—were waiting for him to—kiss you.

Somehow, he’d managed to exhibit more rationality while intoxicated, than you could while nearly sober.

You stood up.

Pausing for a second as you debated if you should give him an excuse for why you were leaving, you mumbled something about calling him a taxi, and walked away without turning back.

The door slammed shut behind you, but Jungkook still didn’t dare to lift his gaze. He was too focused on clenching his fists so he wouldn’t throw the empty glasses down the side of the roof.

Alone on the staircase, you welcomed the emotion that had trailed after you all the way from Sweden.

You were angry.

But not at this. Not at what could’ve happened and didn’t. Not at him, not for leaning in, and not for pulling away.

You were angry at yourself. For letting yourself wish for something you shouldn’t have wished for. And for feeling disappointed when your wish didn’t come true.

Twice, you’ve found yourself on the edge of almost. Twice.

Last night, you’d told him it was easy to get overwhelmed by all the memories that your time together has brought back. But perhaps it wasn’t him who got overwhelmed. Perhaps it was you.

Perhaps seeing each other so often had blurred the lines, and you found yourself forgetting. Found yourself yearning. Hoping.

But the fact remained—and you repeated it in your head over and over again as you climbed the stairs down from the roof, clutching the railing as if your life depended on it—you broke up for a reason. You broke up for a reason. You broke up for a reason.

It was shocking how little that reason mattered when you closed your eyes in the taxi ten minutes later, and all you could picture was what it would’ve been like if you’d been the one to close the distance between your lips tonight.

And as thoughts of Reconnaissance and Nick’s offer returned to your mind on the ride back, you wondered if tonight was a pro or a con.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “careful what you wish for”

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[eoieopda]

Hi Jade 🫶🏻 I have a drabble request if you’re still taking them: Jungkook gets home from tour and is just the clingiest, cutest, softest bf 🙏🏻

yo this idea has me weak 🥲 i hope you like this!

Judging by the clattering in your kitchen, your jet-lagged boyfriend had finally emerged from his seemingly endless slumber.

You’d been awake for four hours, and out of bed for three. It took longer than expected to carefully untangle yourself from the knot of his limbs, but he slept through your escape. And Bam’s excitement at having an awake parent to play with. And the unavoidable clang of pots and pans as you cooked a breakfast now finally in the hands of its intended recipient - at 2:00 in the afternoon.

You heard the floorboards creak as he shuffled out of the kitchen. His movements were incredibly slow as he padded up the hall to join you in the living room, like all the sleep he’d gotten hadn’t recharged his battery. Also audible was the faint crunch of newly toasted bread, which tugged the corner of your mouth into an involuntary smile.

Jungkook always needed a snack to hold him over until he brought his actual meal to a table. After all, he might waste away in the few moments it would take to make himself a place. You always joked that his stomach was a bottomless pit, but he maintained that he only ate this much when you were the one cooking. And when you scrunched your nose at his flattery, he’d kiss it until your cheeks turned into roses. Then he’d kiss those, too.

Laying on the couch with your legs stretched out across the cushions, your head rested on a plush, velveteen pillow. The heels of your hands were anchored against your chest as you propped up this week’s novel. You had to peek over the top of it to see Jungkook appear in the doorway.

Bleary eyes squinted against sunlight as he looked for you. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up over his hair, but you knew without looking that it was sticking up in every possible direction - which always confounded you due to how deeply he slept. Immovable, powered off completely. His shoulders still carried the weight of his exhaustion; and his cheeks puffed out as he attempted to chew what you assumed was - at minimum - half his slice of toast.

Of all the versions of him, this one was a hard-fought favorite of yours: the silly, sleepy, soft Jungkook. The one that stirred the butterflies in your stomach just by existing, too out-of-it to notice the effect he had on you.

He groaned as he bent over to put his plate on the coffee table. You expected him to take his usual spot at the end of the couch and pull your legs over his lap like he always did. This time, he deviated from the pattern. Not waiting long enough for you to set your book down, he wiggled his head between its bottom and your chest, and then let the weight of his body slump down on top of yours.

You giggled as he slid his hands underneath you and wrapped you up in his arms. With his chest pressed against yours, you could feel his deep, contented sigh as it left him. No longer accessible, you closed your book with an unseen smile and tossed it gently to the rug below. You couldn’t see how it landed, but you hoped it was graceful.

“You left,” He mumbled sadly with his face tucked under your chin. He breathed slowly through his nose; every warm exhale tickled the bare skin of your neck.

Your now-free hands settled into a familiar routine. One rested on his back; the muscles of which, you noted, had become much more defined since he left for tour ten weeks earlier. The other hand pulled back his hood in order to thread fingers through his soft - albeit messy - tresses. Fingernails scratching gently over his scalp, you chuckled, “You had your leg draped over me, pressing into my bladder. When I came back from the bathroom, you were spread out over the mattress like a sleep-deprived starfish.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” He cooed, squeezing you tighter. “The second-worst part about leaving is having to sleep alone. I forget how to share, and then you have to deal with the consequences.”

“Second worst?”

“The only thing worse than going to sleep without you is being awake without you,” he explained it casually, as if it wouldn’t make your heart do somersaults.

But it did, because this soft, sleepy man was yours - he was home - and he said things like that just as easily as breathing.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

careless whisper by george michael , gojo , angst

WC: 2k

CW: cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reader has female pronouns (referred to as madam and birthday girl), alcohol consumption (all characters are of age), swearing

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to the event taglist): @chosolovers @ssetsuka @ichikanu

listen to this while reading

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For one night, one night alone you were going to put all of your suspicions and past hurt aside and enjoy the party. After all, it was your birthday so the night was supposed to be all about you.

Shooting a smile at your boyfriend across the room you can't help but feel your stomach flutter as he shoots you a wink and begins making his way through the crowd towards you. Stopping in front of you he sweeps forward in an exaggerated bow, extending his arm.

“Madam Birthday Girl, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Laughing at his antics, you relax, reassured by his usual behavior. Of course everything was normal between the two of you. You were just being paranoid. Placing your hand in his, you allowed him to escort you onto the dance floor.

I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

Wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying slowly to the music you rested your face against his chest and enjoyed the peace of the moment. Or, at least you tried to.

As soon as your nose brushed his blue button up your senses were invaded with some sort of expensive oriental perfume, meant to be subtle with rose and jasmine. But judging from the way your nose burned, whoever had been wearing it must have been wearing a whole bottle for the residual left on his clothes to be so strong. Nothing like the one or two spritzes of understated wildflower perfumes you preferred. 

Fighting the urge to gag at the overpowering scent, you looked up over his shoulder in an attempt to get some fresh air. Instead you were confronted by lipstick stains on the edge of his collar. Bright pink lipstick stains, which couldn’t possibly be yours, because you would never wear a color that garish. 

Suddenly you no longer felt like dancing, and as the song’s outro played you decided to give him one more chance to explain himself after the party. If he couldn’t do that, then the two of you were done. Looking up into his eyes you gave him a forced smile, a small part of you screaming that this was going to be the last time the two of you danced like this.

As the music dies, something in your eyes

Calls to mind a silver screen

And all its sad good-byes

After the song ended Gojo watched you walk away, unsettled by the finality in your eyes. Had you figured it out? Did you know where he had been before the party? Who was he kidding of course you had. As much as the two of you had danced around the obvious truth for months he knew that you knew. He had fallen in love with your quick wits and intelligence. There was no way you hadn’t put two and two together.

But despite forgotten dates, the nights he came home late or not at all, the perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to his skin, he dared to hope that you would just keep pretending not to know. That things could stay the way they were. If only you weren’t so smart.

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

Walking across the room you mingled with the guests, accepting birthday wishes and engaging in small talk. Heading over to the bar, you got a refill on your drink and leaned against the bar sipping it. You heaved a sigh, wishing the entire thing was over and that you could just go home. A large warm hand placed on your shoulder interrupted your stewing, causing you to turn around.

“Oh! Geto! Hi! I wasn’t expecting you to come. How are you?” You were surprised to see none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Geto Suguru. The large man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly at your surprise.

“Sorry, I was in the area and decided to drop by. I’m doing okay, but actually I’m here to ask you that. I’m really sorry about what Satoru did. It was fucked up. How are you doing with the breakup? I may be his best friend but just know that I’m always here for you-”

“Wait, what? The breakup?” You were confused. You hadn’t even told your best friends about your plans to confront Satoru, seeing as you had only made up your mind a few minutes ago.  “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ We had a conversation and Satoru promised me-” Realization lit up in his dark eyes. “He didn’t do it, did he? Oh that son of a-” He stops, looking at you guiltily.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. You should hear it from him. I gotta go now.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your gut.

From across the room, Gojo watched his friend leave, knowing that whatever had just happened between the two of you could not not have been good. Not wanting to obsess over what Suguru could have said, he turned away and jumped into a conversation. Whatever was said had been said already. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

Time can never mend

The careless whispers of a good friend

If he had watched a few seconds longer he would have seen you shake yourself then chase after his friend, looking for answers. Darting around guests and avoiding dancing couples you caught up to Geto just outside of the building.

“Wait!” You yelled, hurrying to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave like that! I need to know what you mean.”

Not turning, Geto shook his head. “Trust me on this one. You don’t want to know. Let him tell you. I’ll make sure he does, but you shouldn’t hear this from me.”

“I’m pretty sure I already know.” The words fly out of your mouth before you could stop them. “He’s cheating on me, right? Listen, I need to know. I’m probably going to break up with him tonight. So it doesn’t matter anyways. Just tell me.”

Rubbing his face with one hand he sighed and chuckled without humor. “Of course you know. Jesus this whole situation is so fucked up.” He turned around and looked at you properly.

“Let’s go find somewhere to sit. This might take a little while.”

To the heart and mind

Ignorance is kind

Geto had left a couple of minutes ago, leaving you sitting on a sidewalk bench organizing your thoughts. Fighting the urge to cry, you were unsure why the pain in your chest was so sharp. You had been almost positive, he was cheating on you, so why did it hurt so bad to have your suspicions confirmed? It wasn’t like the knowledge was anything new to you.

Maybe it was because you now knew that the woman was the daughter of a wealthy family close to the Gojos. Maybe it was because you knew that it had been going on for months, and when Geto found out he had made Satoru promise to either end things with the other girl or break up with you. Maybe it was knowing that after making that promise Geto had found him with the other woman again, leading him to assume Satoru had broken up with you. 

Whatever it was, it fucking hurt. Letting out a small sob, you clutched your chest feeling your heart break. Unable to stop the tears from spilling over your waterline you opened your phone and texted him that you knew before you could back out.

But as you wiped your face and headed back to the party because you would be damned if you let him ruin your night, a small part of you wished you hadn’t discovered the truth.

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

After receiving your text, Satoru watched the entrance intensely, waiting for you to return. The second you step through the door he locks eyes with you, gesturing towards the outside, mouthing that he wanted to talk.

Instead of turning around and walking back outside so the two of you could talk like he had expected, you just strolled into the party and joined a group of your friends. Whipping out his phone, he tried to send you a text, only to discover that he had been blocked.

Then the panic set in as he started trying to make his way towards you. But at that moment a popular song came on over the speakers, and the crowd became rowdy, making it impossible for him to get to you. It was like the crowd was against him, pushing him back towards the edge of the dance floor instead of across it to where you were.

Didn’t they understand that he needed to get to you? That he need to explain himself? He wishes the crowd would just disappear. That it was just you and him, with nothing else in the way.

Tonight the music seems so loud

I wish that we could lose this crowd

As he continues to scan the crowd for you, he finally catches sight of you dancing with your friends, laughing and singing along to the song. Shouting your name, he waves frantically, but the venom in your eyes when they meet his make his voice die out. 

Maybe it was for the better that the two of you didn’t talk right then. You didn’t seem like you were in a place where you would be able to talk reasonably. Turning, he decided to head out for the night and give you the space you so clearly needed. He would just talk to you tomorrow.

Maybe it's better this way

We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say

The next day when he went to your place to talk, Satoru was greeted by a box of all of his things sitting outside of your apartment and a post-it note declaring that the two of you were over. And despite all of his screaming and pleading and banging on the door, you didn’t come out that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Now it’s been months, and he’s given up on winning you back. It’s clear you have no interest in hearing him out. And in those three months he had come to realize just how much you had meant to him. You were his better half, the one he truly loved. The other woman he had cheated on you with couldn’t hold a candle to you. 

If only he hadn’t been such an idiot. Maybe if he hadn’t been so conceited and cocky he would have seen the value in what the two of you shared and the two of you would still be together. Maybe the two of you would have spent the rest of your lives in happiness together. But that’s not what happened, and now he was all alone. 

We could have lived this dance forever

But now, who's gonna dance with me?

Years had passed, and he was still alone. At first he had tried dating to get over you, but after realizing that the first girl had a similar smile to you, the second had the same shade eyes as you, the third your hair color, he stopped. 

It didn’t matter how hard he subconsciously tried to find girls to replace you. None of them were ever going to be you. And the guilt he harbored over the way he treated you would follow him into the grave. He lost the best thing that ever happened to him. There was no recovering from that.

And I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Note: to the people who asked to be tagged on the poll, i haven't added you to my event taglist yet, it was just for this fiic dw. however if you would like to be added, let me know!!

[hwajin]

#! — ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ | hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

wc: 2.2k

warnings: unprotected sex, piv, coming inside, very short mention of self-consiouscness, very very soft tho

all right reserved, reposting/ translating not allowed

A handmade sandwich and a glass of water in each your hand, a smile accompanying your movements as you made your way to Hyunjin’s studio. It was long after midday by now, and except for the breakfast you shared you hadn’t seen your boyfriend otherwise – he surely needed nutrition with all the painting he busied himself with, though it was only a disguised pretext to see him. You missed him, after all.

You opened the door to the room, not bothering to knock – Hyunjin was rarely found without his headphones when losing himself in art, previous attempts of letting your presence know had always led to nothing. He never minded it, argued he didn’t care much for privacy when it came to you, anyways. It somehow was the single most romantic thing he’s ever admitted to.

The smile that had been painted onto your features beforehand widened now that you got to take a look at your boyfriend – fluttering white cardigan thrown over his body, not bothered to button it, leaving his torso exposed, porcelain skin littered with colours of velvet and blue. His hair up in a messy bun, dishevelled strands escaping their confines. Barefoot and utterly in peace – there was no sight you adored more than this.

As expected, thick headphones accentuated his ears, allowing him to immerse fully in whatever fantasy, vision he was creating. So far only hues painted the canvas before him, yet you were certain you’d end up loving his work like any other he’s made.

Hyunjin hasn’t seen you yet, engrossed fully, his side turned towards the door you came from, his back to the big window that granted him natural sunlight throughout noon. Eyes concentrated and lips bitten, used up brush in big hand and head tilted to his right to offer a new perspective. You closed the distance between you with slow steps, cautious not to scare the man – which was never to success, he was a scaredy cat if you’ve ever seen one. When you came to life in his peripheral vision he jolted in surprise, making you giggle at his antics – just like you expected. A light blush creeped around his ears and neck, his coloured hands making haste to remove the headphones, faint music filling the room quietly when he laid them onto a small table next to him. He offered you a smile, and you placed the plate and glass next to the discarded source of music, making your way behind Hyunjin to properly see his art. Your hands hugging around his figure, hands laid on his chest loosely and head by the side of his. A kiss planted to his cheek, then to the lobe of his ear, to his nape lastly. His heart increased in speed at the acts of honey love, and he hummed in content, fingers finding to entangle in yours.

“What are you making?”

Barely a hushed whisper, your voice daring to disturb the quiet of the room.

“Mhh, I’m not sure to be honest, just painting whatever comes to mind.”

His voice as quiet as yours was, and you hummed in understanding. You liked whenever he did that. When he had uncertain visions in mind and let his hands wander across the canvas, without plan or the need for perfectionism – those had always been the artworks most to your liking. Hyunjin was aware, hence dedicated most of these to you. Thinking you could never grow tired of the way the sun irradiated the drying watercolours on the 80 x 120 centimetre big sheet you observed it a bit longer, before discarding from Hyunjin’s figure with an “I like it, it’s pretty already.”, and another kiss to his temple.

“You’ve been in here the whole day; I’ve brought you some food and water.”

Hyunjin’s warm hands wrapped around your wrists, disturbing your making way to the nutrition you brought and pulling you closer to his body instead, parting his thighs to make room for you in between. You standing to face him now, his touch dancing above the silken fabric of your nightgown, right above your hips. You hadn’t minded to change out of your nightly attire today, deciding to lazy around to your hearts desires. Hyunjin had mentioned that he loved whenever you paid no mind to change your outfit, when he could catch glimpses of you in a state of utter relaxation.

“What's the time?”

Hyunjin looked up at you, puppy eyes and smitten voice, hands caressing the curves across your body. His lips connecting to your chest, littering sugar coated kisses on the bare skin.

“Almost five.”

Your voice breathless, hushed as you felt his touch against the small of your back, arms engulfing you in his embrace, caging you into confines of love and longing.

“Hmm.”

A hum past his lips and absentmindedly, as though he didn't really want to know the answer to his question, he kissed down your gown, mouth touching tummy above fabric, hands ruffling up the layered cloth to enclose you deeper. Big palms finding your bare thighs, fingers fisting around the silk to guide it up, to reveal your nude form from the waist down, besides the underwear you’ve thrown on. Lips connecting to the plush of your stomach, to the curve of your hips, to the space underneath your navel, right above your waistband. Your breath shortened in intervals as you let Hyunjin explore your body, your fingers tangled up in his hair, disregarded hair tie around your wrist. He left a trail of wet kisses anywhere he touched, from your middle down to your thighs and back up again. He played with the waistband of your underwear, only teasing his plans though not yet conforming. Waiting to test your limit, possibly. Or simply wishing to take his time – you had nowhere to rush, after all.

After minutes the man looked up at you from beneath his lashes, eyes big and pupils widened, pleading expression laced behind sinful look. He was sweet, he was enticing, he was irresistible.

“C’mere baby.”

Getting a hold of your leg, pulling it over his own thigh to allow you a seated position atop of him. Something you’ve always been self-conscious about, something Hyunjin always put effort in to reassure. He wanted to know you in comfort and utter bliss whenever with him, always despised possible doubts and worries of self-worth you grew around him. After all he was crazy over you wholly and undoubtedly, convincing you of it felt his duty.

By now you’ve grown fond of his doting character, were brave enough to open yourself to him thoroughly. Straddling his lap momentarily, clashing your lips against his softly yet with an underlying passion only lovers could bear. The kiss was heated though in absence of vulgarity and lewdness, your blood flooded with infatuation and devotion instead. Secured hands around your waist, holding body against body and chest to chest; leaving your hands to go to work, to wander south and across the exposed skin of his body, tracing the shapes and forms his muscles painted, and unmaking the strings of Hyunjin’s sweats, pulling on the fabric only enough to reveal what needed. You parted from the kiss to ruffle up your dress, to slide your laced underwear past your thighs, only the needed amount as well. Hyunjin watched you breathlessly, observing your every gesture, your every change of expression. Took notice of the fervour in your eyes, the haste in your attempts to undress; nothing that left him cold, everything that made him catch your breath in another kiss, one hand leaving your waist to hold at the side of your face, wet mouth against wet mouth, and quiet sighs filled the golden room.

One of your hand finding your core, his own ones too unwashed to prepare. Minutes passed of exchanged kissing and tempered moves of sin – arches of backs and clawing of shoulders – and before you knew Hyunjin’s right migrated in between his thighs, his left pulling your body yet an inch closer to line up himself with your core. A few tested touches against your slit, penetrating then when your eagerness was undeniable, when a whimper fell past your lips and your head fell heavily into your neck at the long-awaited contact. Hyunjin himself sighed out in nothing but pure bliss, stilling inside you for a moment to let you adjust. It was you who started moving first, impatience lacing your thrusts, pleasure painting your eyes and scrunched features – it was one of Hyunjin’s favourite sights, though he’d been too shy to ever admit to it. He watched you in awe as you moved against him, hips as though a mind of their own, head lost in satisfaction long ago. His hands held your hips secured, his thighs flexed to offer stability. Your fingers groped at Hyunjin’s shoulders, sneaking beneath his cottoned shirt, and he adored the light sting it provided – it was purely intimate, nothing but mimicked love in the way you moved.

Only after four minutes or five your efforts grew sloppy. Your thighs felt weaker against Hyunjin’s own, your hands clawed into his body more helplessly, grunts of exhaustion and hardship meeting Hyunjin’s ears. You’d always grow tired faster than your boyfriend, though that was never a reason you didn’t put in the effort. He adored you for wanting to please him, though he wasn’t one to let you struggle. With two steady hands beneath your bum, he picked you up, standing and making few steps to seat you down on the vast windowsill of his studio. Surprise fell over your features, yet it took a reassuring smile from Hyunjin for you to fall into blush and flusterness, followed by a chuckle of the man; you were adorable in any moment as sinful as may be, toothrottingly sweet in his eyes at any given occasion. It ignited a wish within him to care for you, to pepper you in tenderness and amorousness whenever possible.

“You’re tired, let me take over.”

Repositioning between your thighs, moving deeply inside you in mere moments anew. Your head fell back, a broken moan gushing out your throat. You steadied yourself with two hands behind your back, old wood against your palms, back arched and core close to Hyunjin’s. His own hands laid at your thighs, white gown entangling in between his fingers. He didn’t mind it anymore, mutual thought of release the only subject on his hasty mind. His cottoned shirt fell past his shoulders now, meeting his arms midway, giving you a provocative sight, toned arms and pointy shoulder on display. Your own cloth felt dishevelled, one strap fallen long ago, though you paid no mind.

Continuous motions of waves against your hips, the soft slapping of skin a sinful reminder of your doings. The gentle music out the headphones remained a quiet source of music you barely took in, concentrating rather on each other’s voices – it was music enough in the other’s ears. Groans past Hyunjin’s lips, confessions of adoration, high pitched whines. Scattered breath on your side, held back whines and sighs, affirmations of love. The sun behind your body illuminated Hyunjin’s features in fine gold, in beauteous shimmers you wished would settle on his fair skin in permanence. Your gown felt delicate against you, a contrast to the roughness of Hyunjin’s hands. Groping at your thighs, caressing the soft of your hips, exploring the expanse of your body. With every further thrust his audible pleasure increased in volume, and it was the prettiest sound you’d ever hear, though you were too shy to admit to it. You moved to hold his face in your palm, slightly sweaty against his cheek though he tendered against it, closed eyes and flared nose against you. A hum past his lips, a thrust against your hips and you whined out in unison, your hand falling to his neck, holding for support. It wasn’t long until Hyunjin’s face nestled in your nape, if due to exhaustion or the wish to be closer you were unsure, though didn’t mind either reason. You allowed him in, raked head to the side for more access, relished in the pleasured sigh he let sound against you. Taking in your smell, grazing teeth against sensitive skin, and you were ready to fall off the edge with him. A whine of his name past your lips and he was aware, keeping his rhythm as steady as his exhaustion allowed him to; his knees wavering with his standing position, his upper body falling against yours – though he didn’t dare mess up his tempo, kept a steadiness until your legs hugged at his waist in achieved pleasure, and your back arched with heaving chest against him, until a scream of gratification ripped past you. Hyunjin followed shortly after, stuttering hips as he released within you, with heavy sighs and cursed confessions, holding your body as close as ever.

Coming down from the bliss you didn’t move for several moments, embracing the other in intimacy, relishing in two-natured isolation. Honey dripping kisses and sweet confessions followed, filling the room in sugar glazed sounds. You were Hyunjin’s greatest muse, the sole reasoning behind the hours he spent in this very studio; him your most adored artist, the reason you found joy in the beauty of the world he portrayed.

@etherealeeknow @linoskitty @unexceptional-h @rseanne @diue @es-kay-zee @urcracksisx @jeyelleohe @yunkiwii @etheralsung @nyrasneedy @seochhj @spidercomics @chans-starlight @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @sstarryreads @svintsandghosts @bokjaz @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry

[honeypiehotchner]

baby, please come home (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Merry early Christmas! It’s becoming a little tradition for me to write a Christmas one shot with Hotch every year. This year it’s smutty! (You’re welcome) If you don’t celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays! And enjoy this one shot full of filth to get you through the end of the year. Love y’all mwah 

Summary: Hotch has been overseas for three months and counting, and now it looks like he won’t be home in time for Christmas.

Warnings: beard!Hotch (yes that’s a warning), mention of marriage, Hotch is a (playful) asshole, smut 18+ only pls minors dni!!!, unprotected p in v (wrap it irl pls i beg), oral (m and f receiving), sleepy sex, cockwarming, lots of teasing, Hotch being pussy whipped as one of y’all said on one of my other fics 🤪

WC: ~3k

Christmas is your favorite time of year.

You have no idea why, since all your family did on Christmas was bicker and fight when you were younger. You received presents that confused you, like chocolate “coal” in your stocking and underwear under the tree (because you didn’t “believe” enough, apparently).

Somehow, through it all, you made it your own. The twinkling lights, the fun decorations, the music that you can’t ever get enough of. It’s nostalgic, for a time you never really experienced, but wanted to so badly. The happy holidays. The happy family around a warm fire.

Now that you’re older and on your own, you make it perfectly catered to you because that’s what you deserve.

This year, that means decking the hell out of the apartment. Especially since it looks like you’ll be spending it alone.

Your boyfriend — well, fiancé, except he refused to corner you into a decision right before he left to go overseas, even though you told him you didn’t feel cornered at all — can’t be here, not like he hoped. He went overseas three months ago, expecting to be back after only three weeks. But his assignment is taking longer than he expected.

Much longer, because now he won’t be here for Christmas. You’re trying not to let it tear you up inside.

It’s not like he can control his assignment. And he’s apologized — profusely — multiple times. So much so that you’ve told him to stop. He’s forgiven. It’s alright. You understand. Christmas can wait. You’ll leave the decorations up (which you do anyway) and Christmas can happen once he’s stateside again. No worries.

It does hurt, but you can’t tell him that. Again, not his fault. And he’s already worrying about so much over there. Not to mention, you only get to speak to him once a week. You’d rather spend that time focusing on good things.

You head downstairs to pick up your package, which is another box of lights. You want lights around every doorway, and around the ceiling in the living room. And a few more strands on the tree. Okay, maybe you should’ve ordered another box.

As you ascend the stairs to get back to your apartment, you think of Aaron’s face, how he’d look at you if he saw these lights. How he’d shake his head with a smile, quietly take everything from you, and hang up the lights exactly where you want them.

You wipe away a stray tear as the elevator doors open on your floor. Unlocking the apartment door, you decide the best way to get through this is blast your favorite Christmas music and put on your comfiest pajamas. Maybe some hot chocolate, too. Maybe a Christmas movie on the TV instead of music. You’re pulling out all the stops.

+++

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays on the TV while you sip your hot chocolate, gazing around the room. You’ll need to find a chair tall enough so you can reach the ceiling.

God, if Aaron saw you standing on a chair, he’d kill you. One time, you were standing on your desk chair to reach the top shelf of your bookcase, and when Aaron walked in, he promptly wrapped his arms around your body and hoisted you down.

“This is why I’m here,” he had said. “I’m tall enough to reach these things so you don’t have to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, but you were busy!” you argued.

“Never too busy for you, honey,” he said, grinning as he kissed you, then reached for the exact book you needed.

Before you realize it, you’re grinning too, thinking of this memory. You wish he was here. You know he wishes he could be here, too.

Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so damn important. You wish you could talk to him more than once a week, and at least Skype with him or something. All you’ve been able to do is talk to him on the satellite phone, only when he calls you, because the number changes every so often. And sometimes the calls end unexpectedly, other times he has to go (but at least gets to say goodbye), but regardless, they’re never long enough.

It’s unfair. It sounds childish, but it’s true. It’s fucking unfair.

“Ugh,” you groan, wiping angrily at your cheeks. Get it together. It’s time to decorate. Aaron will be home soon.

You have no idea when. But soon sounds better than eventually.

You set your hot chocolate down and grab the lights, getting ready to turn this place into a damn Winter Wonderland.

Halfway through the movie, you have the lights around the ceiling and are working on tearing open the next box. Next on the list are the doorways. You should have enough for the bedroom, bathroom, office, and spare room doorways. Not sure about the kitchen, though. You might need another box. Damn.

“Damn,” you say out loud when you find a knot in the strand. Huffing, you sit down on the couch to begin the detailing process. It’s always a hassle.

Especially when you have your favorite movie playing, so you keep getting distracted. Eventually, you resign to watching the screen and detangling later. You probably won’t sleep tonight anyway, so you have all night to keep decorating.

Right as your favorite part is on, there’s a knock on the front door.

You’re not expecting anyone, so you ignore it, hoping whoever it was will leave. Or got the wrong apartment, maybe.

But they knock again. Jesus. Fine.

You leave your (second) mug of hot chocolate on the kitchen counter as you make your way to the front door. You lift onto the balls of your feet, looking through the peephole, and—

“What?” you whisper to yourself, fumbling with the deadbolt and yanking the door open. “What? Aaron?”

You leap into his arms, not caring that he’s in the hallway. Who cares? He’s here. He’s home. Finally.

“Hi honey,” he whispers, close to your ear. “I missed you.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” you murmur, tears springing to your eyes and flowing freely. You sniffle into his neck, inhaling sharply. It’s really him.

He carries you just inside the door and shuts it, giving you both some privacy. He wraps his arms around you even tightly, exhaling. He’s needed this hug badly for weeks. Ever since he landed over there, really.

You lift your head to look at him, eyesight still blurry with tears. “You’re really you? I’m not dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming, honey,” he says, then kisses you sweetly. “I’m here.”

“Thank god,” you breathe, pulling him back in for another kiss.

Here is when you notice his face. It’s not clean shaven like it usually is — which you understand. There isn’t exactly time for shaving overseas or even razors available to shave with, you imagine. But it’s…different.

The last time you saw him with a beard is when he had a few days off, and he didn’t shave. But that was a few days. This is…almost three months worth.

“You okay?” Aaron chuckles. You’ve just been staring at his face, with your palms cupping his cheeks.

“You have a beard.”

“I do,” he grins. “Do you like it?”

“Still deciding,” you admit. “I’m so used to you with a clean face.”

“Me too,” he says. “I’m ready to shave, if I’m honest.”

You shake your head slowly.

“No?” he raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Mm,” you pause, your mind running wild. It’s been so long since you’ve hugged him, felt him. Who can blame you for your mind venturing to…other activities. “Reasons.”

“Oh?” he bites back a smile, adjusting his arms around you, widening his legs. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what you’re doing. “What are these reasons?”

“I think you know,” you tease.

“I think you’re being shy,” he teases you right back. “C’mon,” he nods, his jaw moving underneath your palms. “What is it?”

“Just…” you pause, burying your face in his shoulder. You’re still too shy to ask for what you want, especially something like this. It feels so embarrassing.

“Take your time,” he coos. “You know you need to ask for what you want.”

“Can’t you just read my mind this once? Profile me?”

“It doesn’t work that way, sweet girl,” he says. “What is it?”

“I just missed you,” you deflect with a shrug, but nothing can hide the temperature your body has risen to. “That’s all.”

“Mhm,” he hums. “And how did you miss me?”

He’s relentless, and you hate him for it, but you love his shit-eating grin just as much.

“I missed you being inside me,” you admit. “And…” you trail away, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“And?” he presses, though he knows exactly what you mean.

“And…” you try again. “And, I missed it when you— you know. Put your…yeah.”

He laughs, fingers squeezing your hips, massaging soothing circles. “What are we going to do about you being so shy?”

“I’m trying!” you protest. You’ve never been good at wording these things. He knows you so well that you’re used to just letting him take the reins. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, honey, I’m sorry,” he calms down, moving his hands to rub up and down on your arms. “Let’s go to bed.”

You deflate, thinking you’ve ruined the moment. “Bed?”

“Unless you’d rather I eat you out right here, yes,” he says.

You gasp. “Aaron!”

“What?” he laughs. “Come on. I’m not teasing you anymore, let’s go.”

He takes your hand and guides you down the hall to the bedroom. You sulk the entire way.

“You’re an asshole sometimes, you know,” you mutter.

He spins around and scoops you up in one swift movement, plopping you down on the bed just as quick. You squeal once you land, all of it happening so fast. He grabs a pillow and places it under your hips, and you just know this is going to be a long night.

You squirm, though, not uncomfortable by him but impatient. And awkward. It always feels weird after it’s been so long, but only because you get in your head about it. Aaron doesn’t ever make it awkward or uncomfortable. He does the opposite.

He kneels before you, tugging your pajama pants down, taking your underwear with them. He leaves gentle kisses in his wake, covering every inch of your skin until you’re practically on fire.

It’s different with the beard, obviously. A little scratchy, but good. Soft. Arousing in a way you didn’t think about.

“God, I missed this,” he says, mostly to himself as he spreads your legs.

His lips travel further, to your inner thighs and over your mound, but not where you need him. Until he covers you with his mouth in a sudden movement.

You squeak and he hisses, pulling back. “Sorry, honey, I’m— Fuck. Okay.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, mistaking his words for something else.

But when he looks up at you, your stomach flips.

“I’m okay, I’m—” he pauses to smile. “You’re so beautiful, I just— It always gets me.”

“Aaron…” you pout. How is he so sweet when he’s between your legs, with a mouth that sinful? How can honey and desire drip from the same tongue so effortlessly?

“You tell me if it’s too much,” he says. He looks wild, like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. “I know you’re sensitive and I might get a little carried away.”

You reach your hand down to ruffle his hair, smoothing it out before messing it up again. And tugging, pulling his head closer to your core. He smirks.

“Go ahead,” you tell him. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Ever.

He dips his head and covers you with his mouth, his tongue delving inside of you immediately, his favorite thing to do. It’s different with his beard, but the sensation is far more arousing than it is anything else. Your grip tightens in his hair and he groans into you. He loves it when you do that, as if you have a choice. It’s almost always an involuntary reaction to his actions. He knows your body so well, even after time away.

He barely comes up for air before returning, wrapping his arms around your thighs, keeping them open. You buck your hips further into his mouth, crying out when he sucks on your clit. Your toys can’t compare to him. They’ll never measure up to his tongue. Or the way his stubble feels.

One orgasm down and he’s already chasing you toward another. Both of your hands are in his hair, holding on for dear life, and he’s nearly incoherent. Another orgasm rips through your body, leaving your legs shaking as he soothes you with gentle touches.

But it’s still not enough.

You claw at his shoulders until he gets the message and crawls up your body, face to face with you, his beard shiny with the remnants of your climax. His hair is everywhere, all your doing, and his grin is wild as he leans in to kiss you.

“Inside me,” you whine, working on kicking his pants down his legs.

He laughs as he helps you, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down. He barely has time to kick them off with his boxers before you’re gripping his hips, pulling him in. You hook your legs around him and pull him closer, making his arms falter. He feels his head brush against your core and he cusses, leaning his forehead on the bed next to you.

“Come on,” you murmur, still impatient. “I’ve missed you, please, I need you—”

“I know, I know,” he coos, lifting his head to kiss you. “I know. Let me get a—”

“We don’t have time for a damn condom, Aaron, get inside me now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and if he wasn’t so sweet, you’d slap the shit out of him.

“Yes, please, I’m serious, can you just— Fuck.” He pushes inside of you in one motion, giving you everything like you’ve asked, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“Better?” he asks, smirking into your neck.

You nod, whimpering, rocking your hips already, begging him to move. So he does.

There’s a certain way that Aaron moves that in unlike any other experiences you’ve had. And maybe it’s simply because he took the time — and wanted to take the time to get to know your body. Now he knows exactly what rhythm you need, whenever you need it, without you having to ask.

Though, sometimes you are impatient and you try to speed things up, the way you hook your heels together and lock him in. His only response is to do as you wish, and wrap his arms around you, between your body and the mattress, to keep you as close to his chest as possible.

“There you go,” he whispers, mouthing at your neck. In between his own heavy breaths, he quietly coaxes you toward another edge. “Let me feel you, honey, let go. You can let go.”

You’re a whimpering mess as you nod, the sensations too much after time away, and yet exactly what you needed. It isn’t long before he works you to your third orgasm, and you cling to his shoulders as you ride out the high.

You always know when he’s about to cum, the way he presses his hips impossibly close to yours, holding himself inside of you as deep as he can. You feel the telltale twitch, his breath hitches, and he collapses.

It’s been a while since he’s let go inside of you, and the consequences will be dealt with in the morning, but right now, it soothes you. Right now, it’s the warmth that you need.

+++

You fall asleep in each other’s embrace, Aaron behind you with his arm draped over you. But it isn’t long before you’re waking up to movement in the bed.

“Sorry,” he whispers into the dark. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’s the matter?” you ask, rolling toward him, and when you do, you feel the issue. You can’t help but giggle.

“Sorry,” Aaron sounds embarrassed. “I was just gonna get up, you go back to sleep.” He tries to move out of bed, but you grab onto his arms, pulling him back down.

You shake your head, even though he can’t see. “You’re not going anywhere when I’m right here.” Fully awake now, hungry even. You snake your hand down to his erection, smirking when he hisses as you wrap your hand around him. “I’ve missed this,” you say, moving gently. “Can I?” you don’t need to clarify what you want.

“You’re not too tired?” he asks, but you’re already pushing the covers back.

“Never,” you murmur, stretching out, your mouth now even with his pelvis. You take him into your mouth, humming contentedly. You never thought you’d miss something like this, but you missed everything about Aaron.

His moans are quiet and his hands are gentle against the back of your head, slightly pressing you down further. You don’t mind. If anything, if you were both more awake, you’d want him to hold you down.

Just when you think he’s almost reached his peak, he pulls you off of him. He says he wants to be inside you. You couldn’t think of any place better.

Slowly, with pauses to kiss you because he can’t help himself, he maneuvers you until you’re back the way you were sleeping. With him behind you, he pulls your leg up, placing a kiss behind your ear as he enters you once more.

It’s blissful. He holds you tenderly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against him as he rocks into you.

After you both reach your highs once again, you fall asleep with Aaron still inside you. Normally he tries to move, but you know he missed you, because this time he only moves closer.

As he kisses your temple, he whispers, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 5: Kiss With A Fist/Human Nature

A/N:

Ya'll. Writing this chapter felt like a marathon. But I think I'm ultimately very happy with it. Please let me know what you think!

This chapter is a bit longer, and I think it deserved to be named after two songs because of that. "Kiss With A Fist" by Florence + The Machine definitely fits the first half of this chapter and was one of the first songs I added to my playlist when writing this story, so I knew I wanted to use it for the big public confrontation.

The vibes toward the end are different. I discovered this song earlier this week and haven't been able to stop listening to it, so maybe I'm just reaching to try and justify including it lol. But "Human Nature" by Barrie is what I decided to use for the second half of this. Cause they're spitting facts when they say "Human nature doesn't always come easy" lmfao.

This is far from the end of this story, but it may be a second before you hear from me, depending on how busy the next few weeks are. I say that - watch me turn around and post something this weekend lol.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me thus far. I love you and I'm so grateful to know you're along for the ride.

---

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

---

Barbara Howard did not take days off. It was only recently that she allowed herself her first mental health day, and while she could see the benefits, she had been eager to get back to her classroom, her students, her best friend, and even her coworkers. The life of a teacher was unpredictable, and the life of a teacher at Abbott Elementary came with its own unique set of challenges, but Barbara had seen a lot in her decades of teaching. With some hard work, support from her fellow teachers, and the grace of God himself, she had seen and survived it all. Barbara Howard could conquer anything thrown her way.

However, if Barbara had the magical gift of foresight, she might have chosen Monday morning to take her second mental health day in her entire history at Abbott. 

As it was, Barbara could not see into the future, and so she entered the teacher’s lounge at 6:30 AM, on the dot. She claimed her usual spot, made herself a cup of coffee, and began sorting through her lesson plans for the week. She enjoyed her few moments of serenity in the lounge prior to the arrival of her more talkative coworkers. It wasn’t unusual for Melissa to arrive a bit later, especially on a Monday, so Barbara thought nothing of her absence. She politely greeted Janine and Jacob as they entered together; she did the same for Gregory shortly after. As the three younger teachers gathered at their table and discussed their weekends, Barbara continued her work, occasionally reacting to what she overheard. And when you entered the lounge, your first time visiting in the morning, Barbara was mildly surprised, but she shot you a warm smile all the same. She noticed you seemed to be a bit tense, but she chalked it up to the fact that you were still very new. 

Melissa had talked her ear off about you last Monday, of course, explaining your tardiness and the shots you’d taken at her about her age. When Barb pressed her for details about your confrontation and what you’d said to each other, she simply said, “I took care of business, a’right?” 

While Barbara agreed it was unprofessional of you to arrive late, she also knew Melissa better than anyone else in Abbott did; she knew Melissa could take things too far. Melissa was as passionate as they came, which meant she was one of the best teachers at the school. On the flip side, she also had a short fuse. Barbara knew she didn’t have all of the details, but she didn’t think much of it - you were a sub, after all. She expected she’d never actually meet you. 

So when you arrived in the lounge for lunch the day after your explosive argument, she was shocked. While skeptical of you, she couldn’t help but admire your tenacity. You’d come face to face with the wrath of Melissa Schemmenti and still returned to Abbott. You’d introduced yourself, and as far as Barbara could tell, you were perfectly polite and well mannered. The displeasure and hostility radiating off of Melissa was felt by everyone in the lounge, but aside from giving her close friend a pointed look, Barbara chose to ignore it. 

You’d continued showing up the rest of the week, greeting Barbara every day before taking a seat with Janine and Jacob, as well as Gregory, occasionally. The younger teachers seemed to have taken an instant liking to you, the four of you sharing stories from previous schools or discussing the latest movie releases. You’d even had a good-natured exchange with Ava one morning. The principal had leant against the corner with her phone and talked you through her “roster”, whatever that meant. Barbara was sure she didn’t want to know. 

Barbara observed how seamlessly you integrated into Abbott’s social circles - with the obvious exception of the red head who always sat to her right in the lounge. Melissa pretended you didn't exist, which would have been fine if it wasn’t the elephant in the room. Your first day in the lounge, Janine had tried to talk to Melissa about you. She’d turned to Melissa with a huge grin on her face and said, “Man, Melissa, you’re so lucky to have such an awesome sub as your aide.” 

Melissa had glanced at Janine over the rim of her cat-eye glasses, and in a sharp tone, retorted, “What sub?” That’s all it took for everyone in the room to grasp her unspoken message: If you value your life, drop it. The only reaction Barbara saw was a sharp flash of your eyes before you turned your back to the older woman and called Janine over, changing the subject. 

But last Friday, Melissa caught up with Barbara after the school day ended and explained that you’d just given her two VIP tickets to the Eagles game on Sunday. If there was anything that would help Melissa forgive your transgressions, it was that. Once again, Barbara found herself impressed with you - you took the initiative to make amends and you’d knocked it out of the park. She was happy for her friend. She’d told Melissa, “Just think of how much you’ll be able to accomplish now that you and that young woman can work together. Now, you and Gary go enjoy that ball game.” 

A week after your first morning at Abbott, all of the water was seemingly under the bridge, and the staff room could breathe easy again. No one paid much mind to the anxiety radiating off of you. For the most part, the energy in the room was calming as the day began. 

The sudden CRACK of the door slamming into the shelves violently ripped the room’s occupants out of their morning zen. It was enough to cause everyone to nearly jump out of their skin. Heads whipped in the direction of the doorway as Melissa’s furious form charged into the lounge. Her attention was initially on Barb, but as she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes locked on you. The blush of fury rose instantly in her cheeks. She ripped her bag off of her shoulder and tossed it in the direction of her regular table, nearly hitting Barbara in the process, and as her eyes narrowed, you could practically see the steam rolling off of her as she hissed out, “You.” 

And that’s when Barbara knew any chance of a peaceful morning had gone out the window.

—----------------------

As your weekend began, it didn’t take long for it to sink in that you were well and truly fucked. You completely failed to consider the consequences of your little scheme. There’s no way in hell Melissa wouldn’t be out for blood at the start of the next school week. The smartest thing to do would be to never return to Abbott, move to a new city across the country, and change your legal name. You went back and forth between chastising yourself for being ridiculous, and being so ridden with anxiety that you couldn’t eat. You felt so stupid - what did you think would happen? 

Ultimately, you reached a point where you couldn’t handle the crushing weight of what you’d done alone, so you’d spilled to Ava. Her response had been about the least reassuring thing she could have said.

You did WHAT? I didn’t know you were crazy like that! You’re gonna die girl. I’m not even joking. We gotta go out this weekend, cause it’s your last one alive. I’ll make sure you have fun tho. Do you own any latex?

After refusing Ava’s offers to make your last days on earth worthwhile, you spent most of the weekend drowning in anxiety and imagining how Melissa would bring about your demise. You decided you had to do your best to prepare. You literally couldn’t afford to not go back to Abbott, especially after getting your headlights repaired Saturday afternoon. Under the anxiety, you could feel the ember of your rage, still pulsing with a red-hot glow, so you decided to grasp ahold of it. What you’d done was shitty, sure. But compared to smashing headlights? All you’d done was get even.

Seeing as you couldn’t afford to uproot your whole life and leave Philadelphia, the next most logical thing to do was to never be caught alone in a room with Melissa ever again. You were pretty sure this was something you could pull off - you figured you had two weeks left at Abbott tops, and as long as you had kids or other teachers in the same room, you would have witnesses who could recount your violent death should Melissa murder you. 

This is what caused you to arrive at Abbott on Monday morning a full hour and a half before you needed to be there. You’d dithered in your car for about fifteen minutes, debating driving away and then talking yourself out of it. Eventually, you braved the outdoors, darting into the building and down the hallways as quickly as you could. You practically sprinted past Melissa’s classroom door - the lights were out, but even though you logically knew she wasn’t in yet, your mind conjured a vivid image of her jumping out of the shadows like a monster in waiting. You slowed down and tried to control your breathing as you entered the teacher’s lounge, and you were immediately soothed to see how many people were already there. Even better, Melissa was absent. 

As you passed Barbara, you gave her a hesitant smile. You actually liked Barbara, as much as you can like someone who’s polite and whom you don’t know very well. You figured it may be the last chance you get - surely the woman would turn against you once Melissa told her what you’d done. Janine, Jacob, and Gregory were all sitting at your usual table, and after preparing your morning coffee, you quickly situated yourself in a seat, thankfully facing the door to the lounge.

“Hey!” Janine said, shooting you her adorable, slightly gapped-toothed smile. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, uh… it was fine,” you said, your eyes darting toward the door as it opened. Not Melissa . “Mostly caught up on chores… had to get some work done to my car, fun stuff like that.”

“Car problems are tough,” Gregory said, spooning a bite out of his bowl of plain oatmeal. “What was wrong with it?”

“Uh…” you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to share what was really wrong. It would inevitably lead to questions and the last thing you wanted was for everyone to know the details of your feud. It was one thing for everyone to know Melissa didn’t like you - there were very few people Melissa actually liked in general. But it was another entirely for them to know she’d smashed out your headlights. Something generic - a bad alternator, maybe - would suffice.

You didn’t even get the chance to lie.

Despite the fact that you could see the doorway, the resounding SMACK of the door slamming open still made you jump. Before your brain knew what it was processing, in stormed Melissa Schemmenti, thick heels clacking on the linoleum tiles. She wore a form fitting pink sweater, the neckline questionably appropriate, and skin tight black pants. Her saint necklaces shimmered from their home on her collarbones. You supposed she wanted to look hot when she killed you.

It only took a moment for her eyes to lock on you, and in that moment you knew things were about to get ugly. To your surprise, seeing the flustered state she was in created a feeling of immense satisfaction. She was furious because your plan had worked. You didn’t even fight the smile that began to find its way onto your lips. The anxiety wasn’t gone, but you relished in the triumphant feeling of landing a critical hit. 

“ You,” she hisses, tossing her bag from her shoulder. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife. 

Your eyebrows shoot up, feigned ignorance in your voice as you point at yourself and respond, “Who, me?”

She starts toward you, and everyone else at your table scatters. You’re shocked to see Janine step in front of you, her hands up placatingly. “Melissa-”

“Shut it, pipsqueak, and get out of my way ,” she growls, her gaze over Janine’s head burning holes in you. 

“Hey!” You spit out, anger spiking and crowding out your anxiety. You’re suddenly standing. “Don’t call her that!”

Janine turns to you, holding a hand in your direction now too. “It’s fine, she calls me that all the time-” 

“It’s not fine!” You shout, fists balled. Your eyes are glued to Melissa’s. “You think you can say and do whatever you want because no one will stand up to you. Well, I’m not going to put up with it!” 

“Oh my god, please stop this. I will never psychologically recover from seeing your dead body,” Jacob pleads, wedged between the corner of the room and the fridge for cover. 

“Can’t believe I was dumb enough to trust ya,” Melissa growls. “And after all that bullshit about ‘olive branches' and bein’ cordial.”

You smirk. “Oh, right! How was the game?”

Melissa starts forward again and Janine has to physically hold her back. She’s shockingly effective in spite of her small stature. 

“Ya know I didn’t get into the game! Gary and I went all the way to the stadium, but you gave me fake tickets! We wasted our whole afternoon and got harassed by security!” she shouts. 

“So what are you gonna do about it? Beat me up? Call the cops on me?” you challenge.

A deeply offended look crosses Melissa’s face as her jaw drops. “Are you callin’ me a snitch?” she snarls. She surges against Janine one more time, who manages to keep her back again. “That’s low, even for you!” Melissa says nastily over Janine’s shoulder.

“Oh, that’s low?” You ask incredulously. “Low like smashing someone’s headlights out?” There’s an audible gasp from Jacob in the corner, and you feel the heat of everyone’s gaze turn from you to Melissa, the whole room enthralled by your verbal tennis match. 

Melissa glances around her before pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Ya can’t prove that was me!” You thought someone would have to have been born yesterday to believe that; anyone who worked at Abbott knew that’s exactly something Melissa would do. 

“Oh yeah, because everyone else here keeps a bat taped under their desk like a neurotic asshole!” you proclaim, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“I’ll show you ya stronza- ” Melissa hisses, pushing past Janine and beginning to reach for you. Your arms come up to instinctively protect your face, but before she can reach you, a figure closer to your height blocks your vision.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Barbara Howard bellows. The whole room comes to a standstill, frozen in time. Even Melissa has been stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide in shock as Barbara looks accusingly between the two of you. You feel immediately ashamed. “Are you both not grown adults? I cannot believe the absolute foolishness I’ve just witnessed!” She rounds on Melissa. “Especially from you!” 

“Barb, she-” Melissa starts. 

“I don’t care if she insulted your cooking to your face, you do not behave like catty teenagers! We are professional, grown people! Acting like this in front of your peers? Disgraceful! ”

She rounds on you, her eyes narrowing. “And you. To think that I was beginning to think highly of you. You went to all that trouble to make fake football tickets, just to get back at Melissa? Have you ever heard the phrase ‘An eye for an eye’ ?” 

The pit of shame in your stomach is sickening as you slowly lower your arms, your eyes unable to meet Barbara’s. Feeling like a petulant child, you couldn’t help but mutter, “She started it.”

“And now I’m ending it!” Barbara yells. You feel her grip the sleeve of your sweater and pull. You stumble after, seeing her grasp Melissa as well. “You are both coming with me!” The rest of the lounge doesn’t move a muscle as Barbara Howard physically drags you into the hallway. 

She marches with both of you in tow, Melissa sending you the nastiest glares she can muster from the other side of her friend. Stopping in front of a classroom full of bright colors and tiny chairs, Barbara turns to both of you. “This has gotten completely out of hand! You are both going to sit in my room and we are going to work through this. I don’t care if it takes all day - you will NOT be allowed out until you can act like civilized adults!” She folds her arms and gestures her head forward. You stare back for a moment, thinking she must be joking, but the woman doesn’t budge. After a moment longer, you enter the classroom. You’re followed closely by Melissa, who stalks to the other end of the room. 

Barbara closes her door and pulls down the window blind. She turns to you both, her eyes closed and her shoulders rising in deep, even breaths. Eventually, she opens her eyes, and commands, “Take a seat.”

You glance around and only see chairs for children. You begin to protest, but the look on Barbara’s face prompts you to simply grab the nearest chair and plant yourself in it. Your knees are comically close to your chest and you don’t know where to put your hands. You settle on resting them on top of your knees. Melissa is pacing back and forth, muttering to herself - you guess she gets to ignore Barbara’s request. 

“Now,” Barbara begins. “We are going to talk out your problems so we can put this whole mess behind us. Your students deserve you at your best, and you cannot be your best when you’re at each other’s throats!” She’s stern, chastising, and you feel ridiculous. “Where did all of this animosity start? Why are you angry with Melissa?”

You can’t help but scoff because the answer should be obvious. Barbara presses her lips together in annoyance and you quickly reply, “Well, where do I begin? Aside from smashing my headlights out, she’s done nothing but disrespect me since I stepped foot in her room. She was insulting me before she even learned my name!”

“I never learned your name,” she pipes up spitefully, and you whip your head around to glare at her. 

“Memory not as good as it used to be?” you retort. A muscle in her jaw jumps out as she clenches her jaw, her face coloring once more. 

Before she has a chance to rip into you again, Barbara cuts you both off with a stern, “Knock it off!” She looks exasperatedly between the two of you before pinching the bridge of her nose. “The Lord is testing me today,” she whispers to herself, shaking her head. She turns her attention to the fiery woman across the room. “Melissa?” 

Melissa comes to a stop, planting herself and leaning her weight onto one hip. She rolls her eyes, gesticulating wildly as she speaks. “If we’re goin’ back to the start, then first things first, she strolled into my class thirty minutes late. Didn’t even have the decency to apologize.” 

“You didn’t give me a chance to!” you protest. “I hadn't even stepped into the room before you were criticizing me. It’s not like I did it on purpose, it was a complete and total accident. And then you started insulting how young and inexperienced I look.” 

“I was just givin’ you a hard time, that’s all,” she says indignantly. “How was I suppose ta know you can’t take a joke?”

Your head whips toward her. “And smashing my headlights? Was that a joke?” you retort incredulously. 

Her eyes narrow and her tone is venomous as she hisses, “Nah, that was for throwin’ away my school supplies, stealin’ lunches, and callin’ me a bitch.” 

You hear Barbara’s sharp inhale and jump to defend yourself. “Those supplies were all broken or unusable! You have so much on your hands with two classes and I was just trying to help you. Also, Janine gave me that lasagna because I forgot my lunch, I didn’t steal anything. You wouldn’t give me a chance to explain myself before jumping down my throat. Not to mention calling me degrading names in Italian!” 

Barbara raises an eyebrow and gives Melissa a knowing glance. “Melissa uses gabbortz quite often, it’s nothing to get offended over,” she says, an attempt to reassure you.

Melissa’s eyes dart to Barbara’s as she huffs, “Uh, it’s gabbadost , Barb. And I mighta used somethin’ more… vulgar.” To your disbelief, the red head practically looks sheepish at this admission. Her arms cross in front of her as she shifts her weight, and your eyes are drawn to how the motion causes her cleavage to swell ever so slightly. Feeling heat flood your cheeks, you dart your eyes all over the room, attempting to find something else to fix them on. Luckily, neither woman seems to notice. Barbara’s eyebrows are furrowed in an inquisitive way that suggests she’s waiting for the shorter woman to elaborate. Melissa lets out a puff of air. “I mighta used the ‘P’ word, a’right?” 

Barbara’s eyes widen as her mouth drops open in a gasp. “The ‘P’ word? Melissa Schemmenti, you don’t mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, the one I save exclusively for Kristin Marie. That ‘P’ word.” You don’t know who Kristin Marie is, but Barbara looks positively scandalized.

Tearing her eyes away from Melissa, Barbara stands and turns away from both of you, hands on her hips and head shaking in disapproval. As she takes her turn pacing across the room, the disappointed silence from the older woman allows the weight of the last week to settle on you, and you find yourself suddenly exhausted. You lean forward, your head in your hands and the shame rising inside of you like a tidal wave. How did you get here? 

“Well, I think you both have been sufficiently horrible to each other,” Barbara says, turning toward you. “Now explain how this has all made you feel.” 

You and Melissa groan in unison. “Come on, Barb,” Melissa starts, but Barbara holds up a single admonishing finger to silence her. The Italian woman becomes subdued immediately, and you notice how different Melissa’s reaction is to being silenced by Barbara.

“How has this made you feel?” the older woman presses, her tone of voice a warning to comply. Melissa leans against the wall, refusing to budge. You all sit in tense silence for what feels like an eternity, and you wish the floor would swallow you up. She was using the same tactics on you that you might use on two fighting eight year olds.

Eventually, you can’t handle the tension any longer and you burst out, “I feel totally disrespected!” You look to Barbara and she gestures for you to continue. “I uh… I feel belittled, and like you don’t take me seriously, but I think the worst part is I never got the chance to prove to you that I belong here… you wrote me off before you even met me. I’ve worked hard, and I love what I do, so to have you disregard me right off the bat, just because I made a mistake and I look young… it felt pretty shitty,” you admit, the confession coming out of you in one long rush. 

“Especially because… I was excited to work with you,” you add quietly. You’re suddenly enamored with the floor, unable to bring yourself to look either woman in the eye. You feel exposed and vulnerable, and you’re majorly uncomfortable with it. 

You’re forced to endure your feelings of discomfort for a few more torturous minutes. Suddenly, your eyes widen in shock as a husky voice meets your ears, and it takes a moment for your brain to process the words. 

“I guess I feel a lot of the same,” Melissa admits. You raise your gaze to meet hers, and she’s staring at you intently, the earnestness reflected in her jewel-green eyes making your heart skip a beat. “Felt like you didn’t really care when you were late. Some a’ these kids? They got plenty of adults outside of these walls that don’t really care. That’s the last thing they need here. And then ya walked in and you look so young… I couldn't resist teasin' ya. But then you got me back and I got defensive, and I shouldnt’a.” She shifts her weight, casting her eyes to the floor. “I bought all those supplies with my own money,” she admits. “So seein’ you throwin’ em away, it really rubbed me the wrong way. But… you were right. I was tryin’ to stretch em when there was no more room to stretch. And then seein’ my lasagna on your desk… I know I can be a real hot head, and I took it out on ya and it wasn’t fair.” 

As you look at Melissa, her red hair shining under the fluorescents and her evident unease at her own candor, there’s a swelling feeling in your chest and a warmth slowly spreading in your limbs. “Melissa,” you say, and her head snaps up to meet you. You search her eyes, waiting for her to snap at you for using her first name. She doesn’t. She simply waits, holding your gaze, and you can’t quite read what’s behind her eyes, but you suspect it’s something far softer than she’s shown you before. 

You allow yourself to swim in those emerald pools for just a second longer before you admit, tenderly, “I’m sorry.” You see her shoulders drop ever so slightly, tension releasing as she allows your words to sink in. “I’m sorry for what I’ve said about your age. I’m sorry for throwing your things away without asking. And I’m really sorry about the Eagles tickets. That definitely wasn’t my finest moment.” You say the last bit with a touch of humor. You pause for a moment, before adding, “I’m not going to apologize for the lasagna, though. Janine insisted on giving it to me, and it was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever tasted.” 

You see her eyes widen, her brows raising in surprise. A genuine satisfied smile graces her lips, and you can’t help but momentarily wish things had been different over the last week so you could have seen more of those. That smile made her entire demeanor change. 

“Well,” she says, eyes flashing with her own humor. She shoots you a sly grin, and you return a small smile of your own. “If I’m bein’ real with ya, I’m impressed. Fake tickets? Pretty diabolical,” she continues, admiration in her voice. Her smile fades, though, and she brings her hand up, pressing a knuckle to her lips briefly in thought. She sighs, murmuring, “I’m sorry too. I shoulda given you a chance before jumpin’ to conclusions. And, uh… I’ll pay for ya to get your headlights fixed.” She mutters that last part, and you notice that she didn’t apologize for smashing them - but you know it’s as close as she’ll come, because you’re not sure she entirely regrets it. You’ll take what you can get.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and once again you suddenly can’t look at her anymore. Luckily, Barbara draws your focus to her as she clears her throat. You both look toward the older teacher as she stares down at you, a smug, triumphant smile dancing across her full lips. 

“Now, was that so hard?” She asks, her voice teasing both of you. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe fully again. Melissa rolls her eyes, pulling herself away from the wall, but you detect a hint of relief radiating off of the woman as well. 

“Don’t expect us to hold hands or nothin’ Barb,” she says as she heads for the door. When she reaches it, she pauses and turns to you. She considers you for a moment, and you begin to feel warm underneath her gaze. Finally, she says, “Well, ya comin’? We got lessons to plan for the day. How do ya feel about teaching Science?” Her tone is gruff, commanding, no nonsense. The carefully curated tough exterior of Melissa Schemmenti is back in place. But you’ve seen the slightest glimpse of the human being underneath.

“Right behind you,” you reply, and a tentative grin breaks out across your face as you stand and begin to follow the short woman. You pause briefly though, a thought entering your mind, and you turn to Barabra. Your hands grasp each other behind your back as you rock forward onto the balls of your feet, and you convey your gratitude by giving the older woman the warmest smile you can muster and uttering, “Thank you, Barbara.”

She returns your smile, her own radiant and warm, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve been blessed a bit. “My pleasure, dear. Go on, I’ll see you at lunch.” You nod in agreement, and turn on your heel, following after your lead teacher. You’re not friends - seeing as your time is limited at Abbott, you don’t imagine you ever will be. But you feel lighter, and there’s a newfound respect for the short woman. And for the first time since you stepped foot inside Abbott Elementary, you feel excited for the day before you.

-------

A/N:

Yes, I'm sorry, Gary will be briefly mentioned/perhaps even making small appearances. Stay strong lol. Controversial opinion but I don't hate Gary. Did I think he was good enough for Melissa? HELL NO. Do I think he should have respected her wishes and listened to her when she explained her boundaries? HELL YES. But ultimately he was just a big dumb guy who was infatuated with Melissa Schemmenti, and to that, I relate. Still, I wasn't mad about that split.

Fun fact - if you've watched season 3 episode 4 already, I wrote the Ava roster line before that episode aired. I died laughing when the kids were talking to Gregory about his roster. We don't need to talk about the firefighter exchange... denial is my favorite state.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Shanks rocks up to Lucky and Buggy’s wedding

Interacts with Lucky for like a minute: “you know what, this is nice, real nice, how about instead of it being your wedding (to buggy) it becomes mine”

Got inspired, did a little drabble

Frankly, this whole situation was embarrassing. Not only had you stupidly promised your hand in marriage to a god damn clown, you had now allowed yourself to be captured by said clown. Ashamed was not a strong enough word for how you felt.

Luckily for you, you'd been able to afford yourself some time away from what is regrettably your fiance by insisting that it was traditional for the bride and groom to not see each other right before the wedding. Admittedly, you didn't care much about it, you just wanted to give yourself some time alone and a chance to escape.

This was made difficult thanks to you being stuffed in a wedding gown by a very nervous seamstress that you're 99% sure was here against her will and being locked in the dressing room once she was finished. You weren't about to give up, though. Maybe you could squeeze yourself out of the window?

The escape attempt was shot down almost immediately by a knock at your door. Without waiting for an answer, whoever it was unlocked it and let themselves in. You'd assumed it was Buggy being unable to wait to see you in the wedding gown, but instead a red haired man came in. You can't help but wonder if he's lost, his clothing looks far too casual to be wedding attire.

His smile was warm and he held out a hand to you, "It's nice to finally meet you! I never thought I'd see the day where Buggy got married."

You had no idea who this man was, but politely returned the handshake regardless. His hand was rough and calloused, he most certainly didn't lead a leisurely lifestyle. The sooner you could end this interaction and send him on his way, the sooner you could make a run for it. You laughed awkwardly, "Yeah, I never thought I'd see the day either."

The man raised a brow at your response, but didn't comment on how forced it sounded. You attempted to pull your hand away when the handshake went on for longer than you deemed necessary, but his grip was too tight. It wasn't until you pulled again, harder this time, that he realized what he was doing and let go.

Even he seemed a little startled by his own actions. He scratched the back of his head and chuckled, "Sorry about that, my crew and I were up all night getting ready for the wedding when we caught word of it. I guess I'm a little more tired than I realized." His eyes gave you a once over, fully taking in the gown you were wearing, "Oh, and you look lovely by the way, I can see why he's in such a rush to get a ring on your finger."

"Oh, thank you, that's so kind of you," your voice was borderline monotone. "Also it's fine, don't worry about it." His excuse made sense. With how many people there were that would happily end Buggy if it meant even a slightly improved chance at being with you, the wedding was rushed to say the least. You're pretty sure Buggy was actively hunting down someone to officiate the union as you spoke.

You honestly hadn't expected to see any guests here beyond Buggy's own crew, which again raised the question of: Who are you talking to?

Might as well sate your curiosity and ask, "So... Are you a friend of his?"

His brows raised and his eyes widened slightly. Were you supposed to know who he was already? Oops. He spoke up before you could wrack your brain for clues as to who he was, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't mention me, he's always been a bit... Moody. I'm Shanks, we grew up together."

Your jaw hit the floor. Shanks? THE Shanks??? The guy that Luffy couldn't shut up about?!

"Y-Y-You're the guy that gave Luffy his hat!" You pointed at him with a shaky hand as all decorum and manners went out the window from the shock of knowing who you were talking to.

Shanks laughed loudly, "The one and only. How is that kid anyway? Seems like he's still getting himself into trouble just like the old days."

"Calling what he gets up to 'trouble' is putting it mildly," that boy can't take two steps onto an island without toppling a government. "He's great though, especially after rescuing Ace."

"I was relieved to see him get out of there safely, too. It's still a bit hard to believe that Buggy is the one who pulled it off, though."

Ah. Yeah. It was hard to believe for you, too. And even more difficult to accept just what that meant for you. You deflated as you were violently reminded of your current situation, "Yeah, I can't believe it either."

"Is everything alright? You don't seem very excited about the wedding," Shanks narrowed his eyes at you, scrutinizing your face for any hints as to why you were acting this way.

You weren't sure if confiding in him was a good idea. He clearly held a level of fondness for Buggy, so it was debatable if he would want to help you escape or keep you here. But... It's not like you had much to lose at this point.

"It's, uh, kind of a funny story. You see, I might've said something along the lines of 'if you save Ace, I will marry you', but like, I didn't think he'd actually be able to do it. So now I'm kinda stuck in this mess where he thinks I really meant it, but I didn't, and we're getting married in like ten minutes give or take and I don't know what to do?" You can only hope that your hastily thrown together explanation not only makes sense, but also earns you some sympathy.

Shanks lips were pursed as he stared down at you, "I did find it odd that your door was locked from the outside."

Hope sparked in your heart. In a fit of desperation, you threw yourself at Shanks and held onto him while looking into his eyes pleadingly, "Please, if you can just get me out of this room, I will really owe you one!" You're sure that the Straw Hats can't be far behind. If you can just get to the shore, they'll likely be there and ready to save you.

His hand rested on your back to keep you steady. Then, it started to gently glide up and down the exposed skin, which felt distinctly not like it was for your comfort. Horror seeped into your very core as you saw an all too familiar gleam in his eyes.

No, please, no. This can't be happening again.

"It would be a shame to let this dress go to waste... Maybe we can continue this on the Red Force? How does that sound?"

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and you saw an absolutely enraged Buggy standing in the entryway. "What are you doing here?! Get away from my wife!"

"But you aren't married yet, she could still be anybody's wife," Shanks tone was teasing but the look in his eyes was anything but.

That set Buggy off and in an instant he was throwing knives right at Shanks who dodged them with ease. You were shoved off to the side as Buggy kept trying and failing to land a hit on Shanks. While the red haired pirate was trying to engage in some witty banter, the clown was having none of it and just shrieked various insults at him.

Using the chaos of the altercation, you quietly slipped out of the room and made a run for it. There wasn't a chance in hell that you were going to stick around to see who won that fight. Because either way, you would be losing.

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 9- FINAL CHAPTER)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Harry and Y/N spend some time apart before reuniting just in time for Y/N's next heat.

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8

Word count: 3.6K

CW: smut, knotting, p in v sex, heat cycle

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The plans for your time in Palm Springs are greatly altered due to your unexpected heat. Instead of hanging out with Harry’s friends, you’d been stuck inside a bedroom for over a day riding out the waves of your heat. And now that it’s over, you still don’t want to leave the house.

The day after your heat ended and Harry had joined you at the house again, you had constructed a nest. And now you want to stay wrapped in its safe walls with your alpha. It’s common for omegas to withdraw in the days after a heat, needing comfort and reassurances from their alpha. Harry is more than happy to provide, though you feel bad about keeping him locked up in the house with you. Each time you mention this he simply says, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He does encourage you to get fresh air, so you take some time to sit outside on the deck, soaking up the sun. It’s just warm enough in southern California that you’re comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt, which does brighten your mood.

But most of the time is still spent inside. The world seems too big at the moment, there are too many people, too many dangers. In your nest there’s nothing but warmth, and safety, and the ever-comforting scent of Harry.

He flies with you back to New Jersey and you're grateful. While you’re feeling better after a couple days of cuddling with Harry, an airport full of strangers would be a bit too much at the moment. He’s able to stay with you for two nights before he needs to leave and start getting everything ready for the next leg of tour. Before he leaves you build another nest in your home and he once again showers you with compliments about how lovely it is. You’re sad when you have to say goodbye, but he’s taken such good care of you that your omega is recovered by the time he’s gone.

You have a visit with your doctor the following week and discuss the heat you’d experienced. Luckily you don’t need to go into detail, just letting her know when it started and how long it lasted.

“That was a bit earlier than I’d estimated,” she says. “I was expecting the end of February. Is there anything that may have triggered it?”

You blush a deep red and reply, “I had just been knotted for the first time that morning.”

She gives you a reassuring smile and says, “That could definitely be the reason. I do have to ask, was this something you wanted or did the alpha force himself in any way?”

“Oh nothing like that! It was with my alpha, completely consensual. I was the one to bring it up.”

“Okay good. Well in that case, everything looks great. You should expect your next heat to be maybe mid-April or early May. This will be a full heat, so it’ll be longer and more intense than the other.”

“Right,” you reply, a tremor of nerves in your voice.

“There are some things we can do and prepare to make it easier if you’ll be solo during it.”

She hands you a pamphlet with some helpful tips and you sit quietly for a moment. Finally, you say, “I’m thinking of asking my alpha to spend it with me.”

“That sounds like a good plan, as long as that’s what you want. Make sure to talk about everything ahead of time alright? What you do and don’t want, any rules he needs to follow and ways he can take care of you.” She hands another pamphlet and says, “Here are some tips on how to prepare for a heat with an alpha. Yes, we have a pamphlet for everything,” she finishes and you both laugh.

“You mentioned he travels a lot, is he nearby now?” The doctor inquires.

“No, he's traveling at the moment. I probably won’t see him until April.”

“Okay, you may experience some touch deprivation symptoms again since you’re separated after a heat. Hopefully not too bad but just keep doing what you did back in the fall.”

“Got it,” you reply.

You talk a little while longer and finally you’re on your way home. You’re not thrilled that the depri might come back. The chills, exhaustion and itchiness are never fun. But hopefully this will be the last long separation you have from Harry.

There’s a lot you need to talk to Harry about, like spending your heat with you, and what your ideas for the future are, but you want to do that in person so it will have to wait until April.

It’s another long few weeks without Harry. The days are cold, and at first you’re not sure if it’s the touch deprivation that has you chilled to the bone, or just the wind constantly whistling outside.

But when it gets harder and harder to get out of bed, and headaches become a near daily thing, you have to admit the depri is back.

Harry checks in with a phone call or FaceTime at least once a day, and sends texts whenever he has a free moment. You know that he’s always there for you, but your omega doesn’t understand this. The lack of touch, lack of pheromones, just overall physical lack of an alpha after having him so close sends your inner omega back into a depression.

One week before you’re set to reunite with Harry he calls you just like normal. But it’s been an awful day for you. A couple of your coworkers had recently quit, leaving you with an insane workload for the following days. The milk in your fridge had expired, leaving you without your normal tea and cereal for breakfast. It was finally a nice day out but the chill in your body remains. And your headache is worse than ever, and has you practically seeing double.

All in all, you're at your breaking point. You’ve been hiding how bad it is from Harry, not wanting to add more stress to him while he’s in the middle of a run of concerts. But just because you don’t say anything doesn’t mean Harry hasn’t picked up on how you’re feeling.

A couple minutes into the call Harry says, “Is everything alright, love?”

“Yea, everything is fine,” you lie.

“Darling, please tell me what’s happening. My alpha’s been on edge for days and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.”

Suddenly there’s a feeling of guilt eating at you. It takes only a second to realize it’s your omega cowering at the fact you’ve upset your alpha. You have no choice but to explain the situation, so you tell him how you’ve been feeling.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re feeling badly again. I wish I was there to make it better,” he says once you’ve filled him in.

His kind words and gentle voice have tears springing to your eyes, but you quickly blink them back. Crying would only make the headache worse.

“It’s only a few more days, I’ll be okay,” you reply, annoyed at the shakiness in your voice.

The two of you talk a little longer and you’re truthfully feeling a bit better by the time you hang up. You spend the rest of the day working from your nest, the extra comfort helping as well.

That’s how you spend the next excruciatingly long week. When Harry finally knocks on your apartment door you open it immediately and slump into his outstretched arms. He somehow gets his bags inside, closes the door, and lifts you, carrying you to the couch.

He sits down and adjusts you so that you’re straddling his lap. Instincts lead you and you dive into his neck scenting him frantically.

“That’s it baby, I’m here. Take what you need, omega.” His words of encouragement help you settle, and soon you’re gently nosing along his scent gland. Once you have your fill you pull away, and Harry matches your shy smile with one of his own. He leans in next, kissing and licking along your neck to scent you in return.

Finally, you’re both satisfied and Harry moves to kiss your lips. You sigh against him, your entire being relieved now that you’re finally reunited with your alpha.

You spend a couple of quiet days together, Harry wanting to take it easy after weeks of touring on the other side of the world, and you recovering from the last of the touch deprivation symptoms. When you’re finally both feeling up to it, Harry makes reservations at a nice restaurant, wanting to take you on a date.

When you walk out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, Harry is standing there, looking absolutely stunning. You’re completely speechless looking at him, and he seems to be feeling the same as well.

He regains his senses first, walking closer to run his hands along your arms as he takes you in. “Darling, you look amazing,” he finally says.

You blush and reply, “Thank you. You look very dashing.” He smiles shyly at the compliment and then lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

“Shall we be on our way?” he asks.

“We shall,” you reply, feeling happier and lighter than ever.

The date confirms what you’ve been thinking for a while now. Harry is a perfect gentleman throughout, and the comfort and familiarity you feel in his presence is unmatched. Conversation never halts, and you’re as happy to listen to him as he is to listen to you. It’s a lovely mixture of lighthearted topics, with a couple more serious discussions thrown in.

After the last bite of dessert is finished, and the bill is settled, the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. You walk back home, enjoying the mild spring weather, Harry’s arm wrapped gently around your waist.

There’s a shift once you get back to your apartment. Both of your scents deepen, lust swirling in the air.

“Alpha,” you breathe out, turning so your lips ghost against his.

“Yes, omega?” he replies.

“Take me to bed?”

“Anything for you,” he says before immediately making good on his word.

The next morning you wake up once more cuddled next to Harry. He’s still sleeping, and you take the time to reflect on the night before. You’d done a lot of talking, and it seems that many of his desires and life plans line up with yours. That plus the undeniable connection between his alpha and your omega confirms that the two of you are right for each other.

You know you need to ask him about your upcoming heat, knowing that it could start within the next couple of weeks. You’re mulling over how to bring it up when he wakes up beside you.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice gruff from sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply. “How’d you sleep?”

“Wonderfully. Always do with you in my arms,” he answers.

He shifts so that he’s level with you and can press a kiss to your lips. You get lost in the moment, but there’s still so many thoughts swirling through your brain. Harry notices your hesitance and asks, “What’s wrong? What’s going on in your head, hm?”

You could lie and say it’s nothing, but he’s already opened the door for the conversation. After a moment to collect your thought, you state, “My heat should be starting soon. Maybe a week or so.”

He nods to show he’s listening, and you continue, “I was wondering if you’d want to spend it with me?”

“Baby I would love to. Is that what you want? Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m ready. And I would really prefer not to be alone. I want you with me.”

“Then I will be. I’ll be there the whole time. I’ll always take care of you, love.”

“Thank you,” you answer before bringing your lips to his again. It’s a sweet kiss, full of emotion and gratitude for this gentle and caring man.

Over the next week and a half, you and Harry plan for your first ever real heat. You look at the pamphlets, making sure to answer all the questions asked there, and filling in Harry on your preferences. You make a trip to the grocery store to stock up on foods you’ll both need. You blush when you see that Harry has also stocked up on condoms. While you both have said you want pups at some point, now is not the time.

One morning you wake up feeling extra clingy. You barely let Harry out of your sight. By early afternoon you’re turning on the air conditioning, claiming an early spring heat wave must’ve hit. Throughout dinner you’re itching with a desire to nest, which you begin to do the second you finish eating. It’s the first time you’re okay being away from Harry since you want to do this job on your own.

When it’s complete you find Harry as he’s finishing the dinner dishes. Without a word you take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

“Baby, it’s lovely,” he says when he sees the nest on the bed. “It’ll be perfect for your heat.”

“Do you think it’s coming soon?” you ask, looking for confirmation of what you’ve been questioning all afternoon.

“I do. Probably by morning, if your scent is anything to go by. How do you feel about it this time?”

“Still scared. But not as much as before. I don’t like that it’s going to be more intense and longer. But, you’re here so I think I’ll be okay.” You pause before correcting, “I know that I’ll be okay.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I promise to keep you safe, to take care of you however you need.”

“Can we take a shower?” you suddenly ask. Harry’s a little surprised by the ask, since you’d both already showered that day, but he agrees. He assumes that you want to make sure you’re both clean before entering the nest. It’s going to get dirty during your heat, but it’s important to start with a perfect nest to provide comfort.

After you’ve both washed you pull on boxers and an oversized t-shirt, the loose material the only thing that won’t irritate your sensitive skin. You climb into your nest, holding your hand to Harry in a silent invitation.

“Will you scent me?” you ask once he’s settled next to you.

“Of course, baby,” he replies before leaning in to fulfill your request. You fall asleep, wrapped in Harry’s arms and his delicious scent.

You don’t know what time you wake up, only that there’s no way you can fall back asleep even though it’s definitely still dark out. You’re burning hot, and there’s a feeling inside that you can’t describe. A desperate hunger, somehow mixing with a distinct emptiness. There’s a whining sound and it takes a moment for your fuzzy brain to realize it came from you.

The sound wakes Harry up, and he quickly springs into action.

“Hey baby, tell me what you need,” he says.

“Alpha. I need you alpha. Need your knot,” you reply. The little part of you that’s not fully under yet winces at how needy you sound, but soon Harry’s hands are on you and your mind goes quiet.

All you’re aware of is the feeling off his skin on yours. “Off, off,” you say repeatedly until Harry has removed your clothes as well as his.

“Please, alpha, I need you. Empty, so empty.”

“I’m here, omega. I’ve got you.”

You lay on your back, pulling your legs up towards your chest. It’s an exposed and vulnerable position, but one your inner omega knows will get you what you want. It works like a charm, and Harry wastes no time. His fingers reach you first and he growls at how much slick he finds.

Content with how wet and open you are, and moved by how intense your whimpers and begs are growing, he pulls on a condom and quickly lines up with your entrance. You sob in relief when he pushes inside, your hands moving to his back to hold him as close as possible.

As much as Harry normally goes slow with you, he knows that’s not what will help you. Maybe after a first knot he’ll be able to take his time, but right now he sets a quick pace in order to give you what you need.

Your voice reaches a higher pitch, alerting Harry to your impending orgasm. He moves a hand to your center, rubbing your clit to push you over the edge. The feeling of your walls contracting is enough to have Harry coming as well, emptying into the condom as his knot expends inside of you.

You both catch your breath and Harry smooths your hair out of your face.

“How was that, omega? Are you alright?” He checks in with you.

“Good, alpha, so good,” you mumble out, a blissed smile on your face.

“Rest, baby. I’ll be here to take care of you.”

With that, you close your eyes, succumbing fully to the haze of heat as your alpha licks at your neck, surrounding you with his scent.

Your heat lasts four full days, and when you wake up on that final morning you don’t know how to feel. Traces of desire still linger, but nowhere near the level it was at before. You’re aware of your need to use the bathroom, and shower, and eat. Your first thought is that you’re relieved that it’s over. Your second thought is that it really was not a bad experience. At all. Having Harry there took something you were dreading and made it into something so special and enjoyable.

The heat haze makes it so you can’t really remember the experience, but you can remember the feelings. And what you felt was pure love and contentment. There’s no hollow loneliness like the last time. Instead, there’s fulfillment, a sense that all is right in your world.

Harry turns, his lips subconsciously finding yours as he begins to wake up. You melt into the kiss, but he must notice a shift from the last couple of days. He pulls back to look into your eyes.

“Hi, baby. You with me?” he asks.

“I’m here.”

“How do you feel? Are you alright?” You can tell he’s worried so you’re quick to reassure him.

“I feel wonderful. You were perfect, alpha.”

You see the relief written on his face before he pulls you in for another kiss.

“As much as I’d love to stay in bed making out with you, I feel gross. And hungry.”

That’s all you have to say before he springs into action. The two of you take a quick shower together just to rinse off before he makes breakfast with all of your favorites.

Both of you are still quite sore, so you decide to soak together in the bath. Once it’s filled Harry helps you in before sliding in place behind you. The hot water feels heavenly, and the bubbles give it a nice relaxing touch.

You’re both quiet for the first few minutes, lost in your own thoughts.

“I should probably call my doctor,” you say, suddenly breaking the silence. “See if I can get an appointment before we leave for tour.” You feel yourself getting excited. In just a couple of weeks you’ll be going with Harry to Europe for all of his shows there.

“That’s a good idea. What are you going to do? Get new prescriptions?”

It’s a good question. Back in the fall when your old medicines stopped working you were devastated. All you could think about was surviving the few months until you could get new ones that will work again.

But now it’s different. You have an alpha. You have Harry. And the answer becomes less clear.

After thinking for a minute, you realize you know exactly what you want and you say, “I don’t think I will. At least not like before. I might get a low dose of suppressants to make sure my heats have a regular schedule. And most suppressants also double as birth control. But I don’t want to completely hide my omega anymore. I did it out of necessity, because those meds were the only thing that kept me healthy without an alpha. But that’s different now. Right?”

“Yes, love. It’s completely different now. You have me. You always will. And if you don’t want to go back on such strong medication then I support your decision. I’ll be here for you, no matter what.”

“Thank you alpha,” you say, and he replies, “Always.”

***

With Harry’s full support, you walk into your doctor’s appointment a week later with a plan. She also supports your decision to do a much lower dose of suppressants. By the time you reach Denmark for the first show, you feel better than ever before.

As you watch Harry on stage you know that you made the right decision. Sure, there are plenty of obstacles to overcome, but you’re confident that you can do anything with Harry by your side.

And when you hear him sing Fine Line live for the first time, you know that everything truly will be alright.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story! The main story is finished but I'm open to writing some extra oneshots so if you have requests let me know!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz@fictionalmensblog@buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging @jerseygirlinca@stylesfever@alwayslovingharry @daphnesutton @harrydeary

[forteafy]

Always | CL16

Summary: Neither you or Charles wanted to break up, not truly. Life hasn't been the same since, no matter how much work or fun you both tried. Will Charles drop everything on the one day you need him? Part of the 'Vices and Virtues' collection.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, stress, Charles Leclerc is written by women

Exhausted did not begin to describe the feeling seeping into your bones.

Silently, you fumble for the key in your back pocket; you’d strategically placed it there before leaving the restaurant, knowing by the time you’d be back, you’d be in no mood to root around your bag for it. The key rattles for a moment, the ornate door opening into your apartment, dipped in the orange glow of a Monaco sunset. 

You’d been in this new place for a little under seven months; at first you couldn’t bring yourself to even sleep in your new bed, knowing all too well that his body wouldn’t be beside you. No warm arms to circle you when tumbling in from an event, no hot breath to tickle the back of your neck when you awoke each morning. It had taken a lot of willpower (that, and your best friend buying you bedsheets so comfortable, you had to use them.) 

It had taken that time, but your life was finally beginning to feel like yours again. You decorated your apartment with plants and photographs of friends. The days were spent inviting over your loved ones to try food for the menu you’d thrown yourself into developing. Evenings were spent pairing wines to desserts and watching the sunset dip over the city you never wanted to leave. On the rare weekend off, when the city was placed into darkness, clubs and bar evenings beckoned your friendship group. 

Not you, not anymore. 

The vision of one evening was still painted in your mind. Five days. Five days after the breakup. The idea of going out had repulsed you, wanting nothing more than to curl up on your parent’s couch and wallow in self-pity around the belongings you had taken there and then. Unfortunately, she had other ideas, demanding you get dressed up and come out for an evening of drinks, to kiss a stranger or to at least take so many tequila shots you’d wake up with one in the morning. 

The epitome of ‘wet blanket,’ thoroughly described you that evening. No conversation had drawn you in, simply starting down into your untouched drink, waiting for one of your friends to be so wasted, you could offer to drive them home and escape this evening, no questions asked. When that had happened, a friend’s arm slung around your shoulder as you tried to lead her away from the pulsing music and fumbling hands on the dancefloor. You were almost at the exit, when your peripheral vision caught sight of a crisp shirt on a man, identical to the one you had bought your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend, less than two weeks ago. 

Ironic, because it was your ex-boyfriend sitting there. No, lounging back in a seat, a girl with the exact same hair colour as yours under his arm, her lipstick clearly smudged, the tint on his lips an identical colour. You didn’t think he would be sober enough to clock you, instead diverting straight for the exit, resting your friend in the back of your car as she sung to every song on the radio which seemed to remind you of him. 

You’d sworn off all partying after that evening, instead throwing yourself into work. Being the head chef at Monaco’s prime bay restaurant played handsomely, but their work demanded the highest calabar. If you weren’t at work, you’d be at home, cooking, researching; Sunday afternoon trips into the market in search of new flavours and seasonings seemed to be the closest you got to relaxation. 

 After the day you had, your bed was practically singing to you. There had been no end of deliveries, one group particularly enraged that their food had taken longer than expected to arrive. With no manager in that afternoon, you had to step out of your domain, apologising for your appearance and giving the table an apology dish, cooked by yourself. It must have paid off, seeing their smiling faces and ‘thank you’s,’ as you’d left the place yourself, finishing at a reasonable time for once in your life. 

The extra time you were not usually blessed with had given you the opportunity to look after yourself; scrubbing your face clean of the day, applying moisturisers and serums, a hair mask massaged into your hair. On instinct, you’d reached for a flannel to wipe your face dry, completely forgetting you’d thrown it into the washing basket earlier that day. Sleepily, your feet dragged you towards the cupboard, just in need of a new face cloth for that evening. 

You didn’t expect a lump to form in your throat. With a small gasp, you see the shirt crumpled at the bottom of your neatly stored cupboard. It’s red – that shade of red. A number sixteen was engraved across the back, his name spelt out across the shoulders. That goddamn shirt. You can still remember the day he had given it to you; you’d been sat up in bed, watching with teary eyes as he packed his suitcase, ready to jet away for race weekend. However, this was the one you couldn’t join. An important critic was coming into the restaurant, his review would make or break the kitchen in Monaco. 

Instead of tears and pleads not to depart, he’d carefully slipped his red shirt over your torso, the scent of him instantly wafting around your senses. You’d worn that shirt for practice, for qualifying, even under your chef darks that weekend. In your mind, that was what got you the stellar review, and him the first-place position he’d been working hard for. The moment he got home, your lips were on his and celebrations were held. 

Now? The shirt served as a memory, a painful one at that. Despite moving on, despite this sanctuary that you had built for yourself, he was still missing. Part of you didn’t think you’d be able to get over that. Not when every few nights, you’d come back to this cupboard, retrieve the shirt and pull the fabric to your chest under your duvet, almost like a dirty secret. Tonight, was no different; you kept the shirt close to you when trailing back to bed, tucking yourself into the soft cupboards, letting sleep overtake you in a matter of moments, the day draining you and the warm scent of him clasped to your body. 

Charles had always been a light sleeper; he’d found it especially hard since the presence of you in his bed had disappeared. He was a man of habit, he liked his pillow, the feeling of his favourite joggers wrapped around his legs. He craved your scent when he slept, whether it was feeling your body next to him, the hoodie he had snuck into his travelling case, smothered in your perfume. Nobody else he knew wore that same perfume; it was like a drug to him. 

He’d tried everything in the past seven months; no dating, rebounds, nobody could come close to you. That was why he laid in a stranger’s bed, eyes wide open and blinking up at the ceiling. The girl – Christ, he couldn’t even remember her name, was sound asleep, her head resting on Charles’ chest; something he usually despised. You’d never done that; you knew it kept him awake. Instead, you’d let him curl into you, hide your head in his neck, even go as far as to rest his head on your chest, running your nails through his soft hair. 

He wanted you. God, he needed you. Even if it was merely being in the same room, sitting opposite him on a couch. Charles had never gotten over the split; his background of the two of you resting on the nose of his car said that all too well.

His deep thoughts were pulled aside when he heard a slight buzzing coming from the floor. The buzzing continued for a few moments, signalling a telephone call; who on earth would be calling? He had no sense of time currently and tried his hardest to relax as the buzzing came to a stop. And then…it started again. Constantly. 

Huffing gently, Charles removed himself from the figure, making sure to rest her head gently on one of the pillows. His body ached, he’d rested in such an awkward position, not able to get comfortable. Crouching, his hand fumbled to find his phone in his trouser pocket, the screen giving a dull glow, phone still vibrating. It must have been Arthur; maybe had one-too many drinks and needed a lift home. Pierre, possibly? With the time difference the two were currently in, he could have forgotten.

The last thing he expected to see was your caller ID, flashing on his screen. What on earth was happening right now? You hadn’t called, not since…since you had asked to come and pick up some belongings remaining at his home. He’d cried after you’d left that day, seeing the pieces of the life you’d built together disappearing around him. Then and there, he should have clung to you, begged you to stay, confessed the way he felt like there was no tomorrow.

Nothing in this world or the next could have stopped him from pressing the green button, holding the phone up to his ear, stepping out of the stranger’s bedroom and into their living room, still dipped in darkness.

“Hey.” Is the first word out of his mouth, voice still coated with exhaustion. “Are you okay?”

“Charles?” Your voice catches on itself; it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. The sweet accent sprinkled upon his English, taking you back to a time when he would mumble sweet nothings whilst you curled up together. “Oh my god, Charles- “

“Hey, hey. What’s happening?” His voice is already a comfort. The one comfort that you needed right now. 

“Eloise- the manager-“ Your words keep cutting off in your throat, a visible shiver running down your spine. “She’s walked out. They want me to go in and run the breakfast cooperate event- I can’t, I’m in the kitchen-“ You can feel your chest tighten, palms sweaty at the idea. “I need to do kitchen prep; nobody is answering their phones- “

How could you be surprised? It was almost four in the morning. 

“Okay.” Charles’ voice is firm, instantly stopping your ramblings. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Go and get everything you need. I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes. We can go in together; I’ll help you until your team arrive.”

The thoughts finally catch up with you – your ex-boyfriend, was up at four in the morning, ready to get up and go, probably sacrifice a night of sleep, probably an evening with a woman he was getting to know, for the sake of you. How on earth was this happening?

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely a whisper, laced with tears as you hold the mobile to your ear, eyes darting around the room in search of your work bag. You barely hear his response before Charles hangs up the phone, wiggling into his t-shirt, searching for his car keys. 

“Always.”

The sun was beginning to peak into the streets of Monaco; time had passed since the initial phone call between Charles and yourself. In nineteen minutes, he had gotten out of the apartment of the woman, slipped into his car, the drive to your new apartment almost memorised. It wasn’t disturbing; he drove past them to get to his own home. Every time he did, his heart longed to run to your front door and take you with him. 

Silently, he sends you a text to confirm he’s outside. You’re quick to respond, locking up your apartment. His eyes transfix on your body making its way towards his car; work bag resting on one shoulder, a slick black dress on a hanger resting on the other. You look so small, so tired, but undoubtedly beautiful. Charles wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms. 

A tumble of apologies falls through your lips as you climb into the passenger seat, placing your bag and dress onto the car floor. This time, Charles can’t help himself, leaning over the console awkwardly and wrapping his arms around you. Instantly, you…relax. It takes everything in your power not to melt into his touch, to proclaim your love to him once again. Instead, you feel his lips press to your cheek, before stretching back, nodding towards the seatbelt on your left-hand side. 

“Strap in.” He presses. “Let’s go.”

Part of you knew that this would always happen. Eloise never liked the transfer to Monaco, her heart wasn’t truly into the place, not like yours was. Nobody was as committed as you; that was said all too well as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, Charles closes behind you. On instinct, your hands find the lightswitch and power buttons, kitchen springing to life. 

The Monegasque can’t help but be in awe of the kitchen, sparkly floors, industrial cookers, giant fridges. He’d eaten here so many times before, from lunch dates with his friends and family to breakfast whilst he is waiting for you to finish your morning shift. He’d always sit by the window when alone; the views of Monaco were beautiful, and he could sometimes catch a glimpse of you running outside to the herb garden. 

“Okay.” You start, walking towards the fridge. You’d silently thanked yourself for preparation you had done last night; staying for a little longer to prepare whilst the rest of your team ran their dinner service had paid off. Charles followed your pace, standing next to the fridge you had opened, eyes being met with neat labels and containers. 

“We don’t need to start cooking yet. But when we do, this is where everything will be. Eggs, salmon, pancake batter…it’s all labelled.” You explain, the man nodding in confirmation. Your fingers slide out a large container of fruit, placing it down on a counter directly across from the fridge. He also notices a neat list tacked to the side of the fridge, your neat writing labelling that it was the opening list you had left yourself of remaining preparation. 

“What I do need, is this fruit cut up. Can you…” You trail off, motioning towards the fruit. 

“Of course, I can. Let me wash my hands and you go and get your things ready. You’ll come back to the most beautiful fruit.” He grins. You give him a quick nod before making your way to the kitchen door, the steps to the office around the corner. 

“If you want a snack or a drink- there’s a coffee machine at the back, just make sure that you press the green button first.”

“I’ve got it.” Charles responds, his hands under the sink, currently being doused in warm water. 

“Make sure that you’re using the right knife, hand away from the blade- “

“I guessed that much.”

“-And keep the-“

“Belle. Go and get ready.” The pet-name from so long ago escapes his lips without realising, but the faint tint on your cheeks means that you’ve noticed. Silently, you nod, leaving the kitchen with your bag and dress, your heart thundering like anything as the name rings in your ears. 

It opens a metaphorical can of worms for yourself; did Charles still feel some way for him to call you that? It couldn’t have been, surely. It had been too long. You were aware of his string of lovers through the past months, twitter and gossip columns littered with photos of Charles in clubs, girls falling for him at each step he took in those stupidly expensive shoes. 

And yet…you thought, brushing your hair into soft curls, opening your makeup compact to see how your appearance was fairing, he had come running the moment you had called. So many outcomes could have happened; ignoring your call, blocking you all together, answering the phone and telling you to delete his number. No. His voice had been soft, promising that he would be there to help you out. 

Belle. It wasn’t just a simple nickname. It had come out of an evening of babysitting Penelope whilst Max and Kelly took an evening to themselves. You had sat in the comfort of Charles’ sofa, the child curled up on your lap, eyes transfixed on Beauty and the Beast, playing on the television whilst the driver had started making his favourite girls some dinner. It hadn’t taken long for Penelope to notice that the yellow sundress you had worn was identical to the princess on screen, or at least, in her eyes. 

“Charlie!” She had pointed at the screen, before pointing back at you, grinning. “She’s just like Belle!”

“Hmm?” Charles looked up from the cutting board of vegetables, trying somehow to disguise the food from the child. He finally connects the dots, seeing the reference the girl had made. He can’t help the soft smile on his face, seeing his then-girlfriend smooth out the yellow dress. “She is, isn’t she?” He grinned, taking one of the flowers from the bouquet Max had bought for Kelly and then forgotten when dropping off Penelope. “She’s my Belle.” 

The nickname had stuck ever since then. His beauty. Every time you wore that dress, he had gone out of his way to present you with roses, a clear reference to the rose from the movie. Even as you had left his apartment on that fateful day, he had murmured the name to you as you’d left, a silent promise to himself that you would always be his belle. 

Even today, he had said it. You replayed the moment you’d left the kitchen in your mind, slipping into the dress that you had bought in. You huffed for a moment, trying to zip up the back of the dress, eventually finding an awkward angle, not even wanting to question how you’d get the garment off later. 

With a final look in the mirror, you nodded to your reflection, coming out of the office, the sales system and network set up for the day. You’d taken a handful of breakfast menus with you too; two servers and a bartender would be in momentarily, you’d left a message on the group page to inform them you would be running the morning, with a promise of celebration drinks that evening if everything ran smoothly. 

As you made your way down the stairs, heels clicking on the ornate flooring which connected each room, you could hear…music? Your questions were answered as you opened the door to the kitchen, eyes widening.

Fruit was cut up, cold cuts had been presented, bread samples ready for the customers, every single piece of preparation on that list you had created was complete. And in the centre of it all, Charles hummed along to the music playing from his phone, carefully slicing up some mixed berries for the smoothie packets. His eyes darted up when hearing the door open, lips parted slightly at seeing you look so…professional. You could leave anybody weak with that smile, the dress. 

“Look at you!” He cheers, letting his eyes drink you in. He steps away from the fruit, wiping his hands onto his jogging bottoms, before taking your hand in his. “You’re going to knock them dead.” He presses, lifting your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he can even realise. His eyes suddenly widen upon realisation, but when you don’t step away and instead just smile, he can’t help but calm a little. He never knows what would happen next, because the door to the reception area opens, the two servers and kitchen assistants filing into the restaurant, ready for their day. 

Charles drives you home after the cooperate clients have finished, singing nothing but praise and their thanks for a delicious breakfast. The restaurant had closed in order to prepare for their dinner service. The first thing you had done was run into the kitchen, pulling the entire team, Charles included into the tightest hug, thanking them all for the support you had given one another. No bad words could ever be said about you, of course the team wanted to help. They were all adamant in that moment that you and Charles must have been back together, dubbing him the ‘boyfriend of the century.’ 

Neither of you said nothing, instead just exchanging glances. 

The drive home was peaceful, sleep beginning to overtake your body. If it wasn’t for the dress, you would have fallen asleep there and then. Instead, Charles pulls up outside of your home, eyes staring over to you, a silent signal that you had arrived back. 

“Would you-“ Your lips are forming the words before you can stop yourself. “Did you want to come up for a drink? As a thank you.” You press. In your heart-of-hearts, you’re not ready to say goodbye to Charles. Not again. 

“Yes.” He responds almost too quickly, pulling his car into a parking space, engine shutting off and keys being removed from the vehicle. The driver follows you up the stairs to the comfort of your complex. He had never been to your new apartment. As the heavy door opens, he can feel his breath catch, a lump in his throat upon seeing all the belongings of yours, scattered around your new home. 

“So, this is it.” You explain, slipping off the heels by the front door, making a mental note to put them away later. “What kind of drink would you like? Something strong? Warm?” You attempt to wiggle your arms in an unruly matter to remove the garment. Charles sees you struggling, wordlessly taking the zip in his delicate fingers, zipping down the dress as he had done on so many previous nights. Your nod towards him thanks him, stepping into your bedroom to retrieve some comfortable clothing. 

 “Do you still have that tea?” He asks. “The cinnamon one?” He’d never been able to find it once you had moved out, convinced that it only existed when you were about. 

“Cupboard next to the sink!” You shout back, wiggling into some soft joggers, your body instantly relaxing around the cotton. When you step back into the living area, Charles is offering a mug of tea, a warm smile on his face. He’s found the proportion of milk and sugar that goes best for your taste; of course, he remembers that. The same way he remembers what end of the sofa you prefer to sit on, leaving space to nestle in beside one another. 

Silent sips are taken, before the mugs are placed down on the coffee table. When Charles arm comes back from resting down the mug, it finds itself behind your body, pulling you ever so closer towards him. When you don’t hesitate, he can feel his hear race. He’s certain it’s exploding when you rest your head on his shoulder, almost as if the previous seven months never happened. 

“Why did you come today?” You ask softly, not wanting to break the moment between the two of you. There’s no answer for a moment, Charles shifting slightly so he could catch your eyes in his own. He looks down to where your hands had become subconsciously entwined, seeing the way your fingers wrapped around his. 

“Belle, do you really think I feel so little for you, I wouldn’t come to save you?” He murmurs, leaning close enough to rest your foreheads upon one another. Your eyelids feel heavy, closing them and revelling in the touch that you felt, one you’d been craving for so long. A hand runs over your cheek, tilting your head upwards, hot breath dancing across your cheeks. 

“It was you. It was always you.” He murmurs, closing the gap between the two of you, his soft lips feeling at home for the first time in so, so long.

That night, you fall asleep in your bed properly for the first time in seven months. A warm body rests beside you, their face pressed into your neck in a silent comfort, hands entwined. Seven months was a long time, after all. There was a lot to make up for. 

charles_leclerc:

Liked by carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 708,502 others

charles_leclerc: Celebration swim for the new manager of Monaco Marina. I could not be prouder of you, Belle. Here's to your next victory.

view all comments:

arthur_leclerc: alright Ross and Rachel

f1paddockpercival: THEY'RE BACK OMG OMG OMG ITS HAPPENING

smoothchilisainz: children of divorce our day has ARRIVED

maxverstappen1: Did I miss a chapter mate? Congratulations!

schecoperez: Bringing the family in for lunch soon, we expect nothing but the best from our girl. Vamos!

Tag List: @ishwiya @stillbreathin @like-fire-love-blog @rafaaoli @deviltsunoda

[mountainsandmayhem]

Wings. Fire. Magic. Part 2

Joel Miller x Female Reader (18+)

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Joel takes you to The King despite your protests and everything he thought he knew is changed.

CW: I don’t want to give any spoilers so I’m just going to say that there’s some violence near the end. No smut, yet. 

A/N: Thank you @mermaidgirl30 for beta reading this for me and to everyone who has commented and reblogged the first part of this story.

Word Count: 3.2k

“You do know what the king will do to me, right?” You break the silence that has been surrounding you two since last night as Joel settles behind you on Remmer. The dragon didn’t leave your side all night, curling around you as you slept, keeping you warm and protected.

“The same thing they do with every other prisoner.” He says flatly, as if it’s not your life or the livelihood of your family that he’s about to doom. 

“He’ll either slice off my wings to take the power for himself or send me to a breeding camp.” Remmer shutters slightly underneath you before taking off for the sky. 

The sudden movement slides you back in the saddle, your body pressing against Joel’s strong chest. You can feel the cold buckles of his leathers pressing against your back and a dull ache thumps from your bandaged wing. He doesn’t push you off or adjust himself away from you, something in him has softened since he saved you last night. You lean back into him slightly to test his reaction. Even though he’s about to take you to The King, which will most likely end up with you dead, you somehow feel safe with him. That feeling of security only intensifies when he gathers the reins with one hand and then moves the other to wrap around your body.

The soft facial hair along his jawline tickles the shell of your ear as he says, “Typical Fae paranoia. You think everyone is against you.” 

You glare straight ahead at the clouds, “You saved me from sprites who wanted to slice me open for their own gain last night. Everyone is against us.” 

You scoot forward, no longer wanting any part of your body against his. Joel stops you, pulling you back against his body by your waist. His voice softens, thumb rubbing gentle circles along your side, “By not taking you to The King I’m equally as guilty. You know that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Joel Miller. Guardian of Dragons, Warrior and Keeper of The Realm.” 

Something about you using his full titles in that sarcastic tone sets his teeth on edge. He has sworn to protect The Realm. He had to once The King found out about Remmer, that’s how it works. You can’t raise animals capable of mass destruction and not swear some sort of allegiance to The King. 

He’s taken prisoners in before, dropped them with The King and thought of them no more. But seeing you on the ground, screaming for help as those males tried to take your wings…It reminded him of when he found Remmer.

She was just a baby, no bigger than a baby bear. Her little screams filled the empty forest and when he finally found the source she was chained down, men standing around her arguing over who would be the one to cut her wings. Much like Fae wings, dragon wings are sought after and poached; however, they’re only used for dark magic.

Something in Joel snapped at Rem’s sad cries. He killed every single one of those men, all fifteen of them, with just his axe and his bare hands. 

When he unleashed the chains around the little black dragon she just stared at him curiously with bright orange eyes. He did what his father had taught him and walked away slowly, never turning his back, and avoiding eye contact. She bounced along after him and sat at his feet when he stopped walking. They’ve been almost inseparable ever since.

Joel shakes his head, you stole from him. And he has to leave it at that, because if he thinks about it too hard he’ll turn around. When he finally caught up to you in the woods the other day he wasn’t expecting to find someone as soft and pretty as you. A pinkish blush spread across your cheeks from the exertion of running and flying as fast as you could. The orange glow from the stolen egg that you hid behind your back encased you in a warm and inviting glow. If it wasn’t for the terror in your eyes at seeing Remmer, and Joel’s anger at whomever took the egg, he would have dropped to his knees right there. Gave you everything you wanted.

She stole from you, he reminds himself again.

A little voice in the back of his head speaks up, to help her family. How many Fae are you about to doom?

He can understand that call from deep in your gut to care for family. He would have done anything to save Sarah. Anything. The small hand tattoo he has over his heart warms at the thought of her. She had succumbed to an illness that takes many human children born in this world. He held her frail body as she grew weaker and weaker. When she took her last breath in his arms it had almost killed him.

As you and Joel begin to descend below the clouds a beautiful castle appears. The King’s castle sits embedded in a mountain, almost as if the mountain grew it there. A winding stone staircase leads down to a colourful village, houses and shops in pastel pinks, yellows, oranges and greens run along the winding shore. The same turquoise blue water from the meadow fills the river, wrapping around the mountain and out as far as you can see. Along the front wall of the castle are blue and white flags with the head of a lion. They flutter in the breeze and your heart matches their rhythm. 

You are going to die today.

Your breaths start coming in rapidly and you squeeze your wings tightly against your back. Fear spreads out from your chest, it feels like millions of worms wiggling and inching across your body. 

Rem swoops down and lands on top of a large flat tower on the edge of the castle. You feel Joel hesitate behind you, and when you turn your head to look at him his Adam's Apple bobs with a hard swallow. He slides down the dragon, she lets out a whine and Joel walks around to meet her gaze.

“I know,” he says quietly, stroking her strong neck. 

What does he know? What does Remmer know? The fear intensifies, you’re going to be slaughtered. You’re sure of it. 

You stare at Joel from atop his dragon. He reaches a hand up to you and you slide your shaky fingers into his grip, the glowing green cuff that’s eradicated your magic sliding down your delicate wrist. Joel's jaw flexes when he sees it. 

You swing your leg off the saddle and stand on Rem’s bent leg. Joel reaches up and places his large hands on your waist, lifting you and guiding your body down along his until your feet are planted on the floor in front of him. You’re so close that when you look up you think you might see a hint of sadness and regret in his eyes.

He says something quietly to Rem before grabbing your arm and leading you down a long winding staircase, the top of this tower must be a landing pad for dragons and other beasts. When you reach the bottom, he hesitates again before stepping out into a wide, outdoor stone hallway. You hear Rem’s cries as she flies off of the tower. 

Joel’s grip tightens on the back of your arm as he leads you towards two large wooden doors, guards flanking on each side. Their armour is emblazoned with Lions heads on their chest. You think you might stop breathing, terror is coursing through you and you’re sure the only reason you’re upright is because of Joel’s strong grip on your bicep. You walk along beside him, counting the steps to your impending doom.

When the doors part, Joel leads you down a long great room. There’s guards posted up along the walls, standing below stained glass windows. They’re easily twenty feet tall, pictures of The King's triumphs painted in the glass. Each one more brutal than the next. 

At the end of the hallway is a small set of stairs, The King and a few of his advisors sitting up top. There’s a small audience of men around the bottom of the stairs. Joel comes to a halt and bows his head at The King. You stand still. Pleasantries or not, The King will hurt you. He’s much older than you expected, balding under his crown, sun spots and age lines across his face.

“Joel Miller,” he says. His voice reminds you of the calm before a storm, eerily peaceful yet sets you on edge. He continues, “Guardian of Dragons, Warrior and Keeper of the Realm. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Good day, your majesty. I’m afraid that I have brought you a thief. She tried to steal an egg. It was recovered unharmed and she has been cooperative.”

His thumb brushes along your bicep. Is he defending you? 

The King laughs cruelly. “Did you catch me a fairy?” 

Joel’s grip tightens on your arm. You told him this would happen. Neither of you respond to his question. 

“How old are you, fairy?” He almost spits the word fairy at you. 

“Six hundred and thirty seven,” you say, just above a whisper, your throat is so dry that it’s nearly impossible to talk. 

“Is it the dungeon or the breeding camps for you?” He says to himself. The vile king's eyes trail up and down your body. You’re above the typical breeding age, but at least in a breeding camp you know what to expect. 

His eyes meet Joels, “Does she have magic?”

“I’m not sure, Your Highness. I cuffed her as soon as I caught her.”

He leans over to one of his advisors, whispering to him with a cruel smile on his face, eyes locked on your body. You can feel him trying to burn through your clothes and if Joel wasn’t holding your arm you’d cross them over yourself. 

The King sits back, linking his fingers and resting his hands on his large round belly. Fae families everywhere are starving and dying, meanwhile this “king” is living a life of glutton. His lips curl up as he says, “undress her, someone fetch the sorcerer.”

Joel moves to step in front of you when two guards grab him. You reach out for him, suddenly desperate for him not to leave you. More green bands clamp around your arm courtesy of the guards before they move their bony fingers to the clasps and zippers of your leathers. The zipper sounds grind at your teeth as they begin to expose you to The King. You wouldn’t be surprised if he commanded each of these guards to take a turn before you were sent to whatever abhorrent punishment The King and his advisors had just decided on.

Your jacket is ripped from your body before a dagger is taken to the front of your shirt. Slicing through it like a boat on water, the sound of the fabric tearing ringing in your ears. The cold air hits your now exposed breasts and the men of the audience look as if they’ve grown hungry.

Your eyes search desperately for Joel as the guards move to remove your pants, he is nowhere to be found. The leather of your belt sounds like a knife against a stone as they yank it from your body. They lift you slightly off the ground, hoisted up like some sort of sick trophy, to remove your knee high boots, quickly followed by your pants being tugged at the hem of the ankle. 

You’re naked. Exposed. Just you and your wings.

A man with horn rimmed burgundy glasses and a sharp three piece suit of the same colour enters the room. The Sorcerer. He flicks a finger and a table with shackles at the four corners appears in front of you and the guards.

“On her stomach,” The Sorcerer says in a clinical voice, his shoes clicking on the cobblestone floor as he approaches you.

As the guards strap you to the table you finally catch the sign of Joel. He’s pinned to the ground by two guards, staring up at you with guilt and shame swirling through his warm brown eyes. 

You push your lips into a thin line and shake your head at him. You knew this would happen, and now you refuse to break his eye contact. You are going to make him watch what he’s done to you, what you warned him would be done to you.

You hear footsteps behind you and the back of your eyes burn with tears. A cold and sterile hand grips around the bottom top of your wing, hand brushing against your bare ass, before tugging hard. You stare coldly at Joel as The Sorcerer stretches out your iridescent left wing. The pressure behind your eyes builds. You’re going to die here.

“Amazing,” The King chuffs, he’s standing beside your right shoulder, your face turned away from him. “Six hundred and thirty seven, you say.” He’s not asking, mostly talking to himself as The Sorcerer moves to open up the other wing, the joint of it still wrapped in Joel’s bandage. 

The King’s sharp fingers move to remove the bandage and then he trails a clammy finger down your spinal cord and over the swell of one of your ass cheeks. A silent tear slips down your face as you watch Joel’s eyes turn dark.

The King scrapes his nails down the glittery, translucent proteins of your wings and bile rises in your throat. You feel the blood drain from your face as you continue staring down at Joel. 

“Can she mate?” The King asks.

“Flip her.” The Sorcerer says, the guards move quickly, armour clanging against each other as they fiddle with the chains holding you down. They flip you roughly, slamming you onto you back and then the chains click and rattle again to hold you in place. You stare up at the wood vaulted ceiling. There’s easily over a hundred onlookers, and you can feel their eyes roaming over your naked body. You feel sick.

The Sorcerer approaches, placing his glasses on the table beside you. You allow your cheek to fall to the table away from him, making eye contact with Joel once again. His eyes are black with anger, and when The Sorcerer's cold hands press on your lower abdomen Joel’s face turns almost murderous. 

Black mist snakes out from his palms, twisting and curling until it belts around your middle. At first it feels cold and tingly, almost like when you sit cross legged for too long and your foot falls asleep. Soon, the magic in it relaxes you, eyelids becoming heavy as you blink lazily at Joel. 

Just when you feel safe, the mist gets heavy, and then it starts to squeeze, pushing itself painfully into your skin. The pressure makes it hard to breathe and you try to cry out, mouth falling open in a silent scream. It feels like air is trapped in your lungs, it’s crushing you. Panic crosses your face as you stare at Joel. The world goes dark around you, Joel fading into the distance. You hear a sharp, cruel laugh before all your senses darken.

Joel 

My whole life I’ve been led to believe that Fae are paranoid and lazy. They steal for their own enjoyment and think the world is out to get them. Since meeting you, I’ve realized how very wrong I have been. And now you’re laying on a table, completely naked, being poked and prodded at for The King's own sick enjoyment. A king that I was led to believe was good and kind.

“She may be able to be bred,” The Sorcerer says, “but she’s old, so it might not take.” 

The King thinks for a while, his beady little eyes darting around her body. My palms tingle with the sudden urge to slam my beloved axe right across his face.

“Take her wings.” He says flatly before a cruel glint crosses his face, “but wake her up first, I want to hear her screams and watch the life leave her eyes as she dies from the blood loss.”

“Wait,” I call from the ground, panic swirling in my gut. 

The King looks down at me as if I’m mud on his boots. He flicks a hand upwards at the guards holding me and they lift me roughly.

“I’d like to take her as my slave.”

The king scoffs. “You what? Do you know how rare wings and magic Fae are?”

“I’ll give you three of Remmer’s eggs.”

The entire room goes quiet. For the past three hundred years, only dragon trainers have owned dragons. If they’re needed for war we, as Warriors and Keepers of The Realm, lead them. Kings are often tempted by the fiercest of dragons and Rem scares even the bravest of creatures, if only they knew she liked to play with butterflies in her spare time and used to be afraid of her own fire.

The king contemplates for a second, waving a hand again signaling for the guards to let me go. “I want eight.” He states. 

“I have three, I can bring you two more the next time they breed.” I focus on keeping my facial expression flat. 

The King stares me down, almost as if to see if I’ll flinch or back down. He makes his way back to his throne, hands linked behind his back as he saunters up the stairs. If we were alone I would easily kill that man with the lightest swing of my axe.

After settling down in his plush royal blue throne he says, “Deal.” 

I step towards you, still wrapped in that inky black mist, face contorted with pain and fear. 

“No so fast,” The King says, “it’s a deal, but I keep her wings until I have all the eggs.”

The Sorcerer snaps his fingers and the mist moves to blanket your entire body, melting the chains off of your milky white skin. He jerks his chin towards the sky and your limp body levitates off the table. You spin like meat above fire, and I suppose that that’s exactly how you’ve been seen your entire life, and I brought you to the fucking fire. 

The mist pulls itself together into a sharp line and slices down your back. I want to tear my eyes away at the carnage but I did this. I did this to you and I deserve to feel guilty about all of this for the rest of my life. 

Thick red blood coats your back before the mist travels over you again and cauterizes your wing joints. Two glowing blue scars is all that’s left. The black mist encases your wings, sets them high above The King's throne like a hunting trophy. 

Your body falls back down to the table and I walk over to you, keeping my face set in a hard line, not daring to give away my true feelings to The King.

===================================

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