#high notes: chapter twelve

[soft4gguk]

to build a home | chapter twelve

Pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

Genre: strangers to lovers. angst. fluff. smut.

Word count: 18k (hehe)

Warnings: this is so long i don’t know that i remember every single thing i must’ve included here but i’ll try my best lol. angst!! this is a very angsty chappie but it’s needed ok? so sad so sexy oc. jungkook is a dick twice!! for like a second but its bc he’s scared :( & stressed. Unprotected sex (don't!!! xo). they dirty talk a lot acc. i think thats it? i hope thats it lol. 

Author’s note: it’s a sunday and we have a new tbah chapter!! thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart for waiting. and for giving me such a warm welcome and giving my writing so much love, even amidst my absence. i really hope you guys enjoy this installment of to build a home! i poured my heart on this and i enjoyed it so, so much. it felt like the good old days!! do let me know what you thought - i feel like there’s so much to UNPACK for this one. i love you guys x a million. thank u for reading <3 

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Chapter Twelve

The sun stirs you awake this morning, its rays sneaking their way inside your room with every gust of wind that makes the curtains dance and the moment you regain the smallest bit of consciousness, you know it’s too early. You’re not meant to be awake for another hour or so but after a minute of tossing and turning, you begin to feel the sleep drift out of you. Your mind fills with thoughts and things to do, feelings and their unresolved natures. It’s Monday, after all, lots to do, lots to feel and certainly lots to confront. 

You slip out of the comfort of your blankets and pillows, putting your headphones over your head and pressing shuffle on the first playlist you find, cranking the volume a little too high in hopes that it will quieten the sea of thoughts that begin to whirlwind inside your mind. You make your way to the kitchen and almost miss the peace and quiet of six a.m., specially here. When the world is still asleep and it’s just you and you can let yourself fall into the long process of making yourself a cup of coffee. More than a process, you’d call it a ritual. You find it good to just stare at your hands at work, resilient in providing sweet satisfaction in a matter of minutes. And so, despite the lack of peace and quiet this morning provides, you get to work. Grinding the coffee beans until they’re silky smooth, pouring the water into the bottom of your italian press and putting it all back together to rest at the stove top. Until all there’s left to do is wait. Wait, wait, wait… 

“I love you.”

You wish it was those mere words that were pressing on you. But it was more. It was the way you felt his body weight on top of yours grow tense. The way the seconds felt like minutes, and then hours, until not even in proximity could you feel him close. How the air felt dense around you and your nerves got the best of you. 

“You don’t have to say it back. I’d say it was a heat of the moment thing but… I don’t think that makes any difference.” 

It all echoes inside of your head. Inside of your chest. Your words, the stutter, the awkward laughter that followed as you tried to brace yourself for whatever came next. Only nothing did. 

He didn’t say it back. 

He didn’t say it back when the high came down and you both wrapped your bodies around each other. He didn’t say it back as he kissed you, slowly and with that lazy characteristic that takes on when he’s sleepy, but not less filled with intention. He fell asleep first, his body impossibly flushed to yours, your fingers carded in his hair for hours as you laid awake, unable to reconcile sleep. 

He didn’t say it back when his lips on your cheeks woke you up the next morning. It was sweet, your mind blank with the exception of the bliss his touch basked you in. He kissed and touched, he pleased. But he didn’t say it back. 

He didn’t say it back throughout the day but by then your mind had fallen at ease, taking you by surprise, even. It was a lazy Sunday morning that turned into a lazy Sunday afternoon, nothing but peace and leisure as the three of you spent the day by the pool. Snacking on whatever the season had turned ripe and sweet. It was a perfect summer day and as Soori splashed about and you looked into each other’s eyes in pride and joy, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to tell you.

But he didn’t say it back. Not when you said goodbye after putting Soori to sleep, not when he kissed you and said he’d see you tomorrow. Not when you turned around, stealing one last glance at him, lingering for a second too long in awe of his beauty as he smiled and leaned by his doorframe, taking you in. Not even when he called you to make sure you’d gotten home safe and his silence and yours filled the line right as you were about to hang up. And then you didn’t, and you waited, until the line disconnected. 

Your coffee overheats as you go back and forth, one cruel thought after the other, and it’s the lid jumping and splashing the liquid everywhere that brings you back to your small kitchen. 

“Shit.” You remove the pot from the stove and let it rest for a minute as you clean up the mess. Getting lost in your thoughts again because, hey, at least you woke up early, so as to give you enough time to let the overthinking make you clumsy. 

Ten different things go wrong before you’re finally able to sit down on your couch, freshly brewed iced americano in one hand, your journal and pen in another. All you need to do is let your thoughts leave you. Yes, that’s exactly what you need to do. You need to come back to yourself as you sip your coffee slowly and fill an entire page worth of your feelings. It’s catharsis in it’s purest form. A foul-proof method, at that. 

Only it isn’t. You fill the pages with sentences like,

Why didn’t he say it?

I should’ve not acted like it meant nothing to me. It meant the world to me. 

He means the world to me.

I love him. 

Does he not love me back?

And the one that filled the pages the most,

Why doesn’t he love me back?

And by the time you’re ready to leave the house, you’re still a ball of unresolved emotions and a chaotic neutral feeling taking over your every being because all you want to do is scream but you’re running late to see the root of all your problems. 

~

Thankfully, the root of all your problems walks inside his kitchen that morning holding what you believe is the cure of all that is wrong in the world: his daughter. 

“Oh my God, you look so cute,” and she does. A smile that makes you melt, two pigtails held by tiny pink bows and an oversized Winnie The Pooh t-shirt that brings her whole look together. “Good morning, baby.”

The moment she falls into your arms you feel an ease run through you that makes you submit to the harsh edges of the world, waving white flag. She’s foul-proof magic and method. 

“Good morning,” he says, giving you a smile that almost washes away your uncertainties. 

“Good morning.” You take Soori from his arms and return the smile, but he can tell it’s not quite there yet. Not that he thinks much of it – your morning meet ups in the kitchen are always cordial but not overly so, you wouldn’t want Mrs. Chae to suspect anything. – 

“I have a busy week coming up.”

“You do?” It’s a question that translates to, you didn’t mention that and Jungkook doesn’t miss it in your tone. 

 “Yeah. So I’ll probably be home a bit late. No more than an hour, though, is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Thanks!” He’s nonchalant as he walks up to the kitchen island, greeting Mrs. Chae and moving quickly through his iced americano. 

He leans against the counter, scrolling down his phone, not a care in the world. A particular sip has him choking on his coffee and he coughs a little. Inside, you smile. And yes, that’s not the proudest you’ve been of a feeling but can you be blamed? He doesn’t look like his coffee splashed all over his kitchen counter this morning because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he confessed his love to you and you didn’t say it back. Matter of fact, not saying it back is the least of your concerns. He didn’t say anything! No reaction, nothing. You hope he chokes on his coffee again. It’s harmless, in your defense, most women would be hoping for bloodier, more treacherous things. He’s lucky you don’t- 

“‘Kay. Gotta go. Have a nice day, Mrs. Chae!” He walks over to you, taking Soori from your arms and showering her cheeks with kisses as he makes his way to the doorway. She’s getting better at the goodbye part of the mornings but Mondays are always tricky. 

“Have a nice day.” You smile, a bit forcibly. 

“Aw,” he frowns, pouting, and you think he almost gets it, but no. “You tired, baby? Mondays can be hard.”

You want to gasp. No, really, it takes all the strength in you not to gasp. “Yeah, slept horribly, actually.”

“Take it easy today. You two should take a nap in my bed.” You nod and agree and he hugs you after he passes Soori to you, pulling her in as well. It’s a little three-way-hug and it makes your heart feel a little comfort, even amidst the chaos. 

“You take it easy, too.” Your hand finds his and you squeeze, even if for a second. 

“Bye, baby.” He kisses you. “Bye, baby!” He kisses Soori. And off he goes. 

This is pretty much what your entire week looks like. Going to bed late, head swimming in thoughts. Waking up an hour before your alarm rings, head swimming in the said thoughts. Breakfast before Lucy is up, so you can leave right as she wakes up, because a part of you knows she’d know, and that you couldn’t handle it. Lucy cares. Lucy would ask you a thousand questions, or encourage you to talk about it, or she would simply wrap you up in a hug that would send tears to your eyes that would turn into full on sobs by the time she was done putting her loving on you. So you lie to her; tell her Jungkook needs to be at the office earlier this week, and she buys it, no questions asked. 

 You walk half of your commute, and then take the bus, mainly to kill time. On Wednesday you think you could probably just take the bus right away, be early, make up some excuse to Mrs. Chae and go up the stairs, to his bedroom. You could watch Soori for him as he gets ready, you could take him in as he prepares for the day, you could ask him to be five minutes late so he can kiss you silly and extinguish the fire of doubt that keeps growing thicker, taller flames inside your heart. But, could you? Could you do all that? Have you fallen into enough familiarity as to do that? You thought you had, now you’re not so sure. 

Spiraling. That’s what your week looks like. You meet him in the kitchen, bask in the peace Soori brings you the moment she wraps her arms around you (she’s a hugger now) and try to suppress the witty remarks that threaten to leave your mouth, fueled by sarcasm and anger, every time you speak to him. But most days, you’re just sad. So sad you have to fake a smile, or make a grand effort to hold a conversation. Not that you have many. Jungkook is busy, morning and night. Something about a new property they’re getting ready to acquire - a future addition to The West End Collection. Each day the stress and tiredness reflects on him more, his energy plummeting. He says something about timezones and having to reply to emails at three a.m. so you assume it’s an international transaction. Nonetheless, it’s all assumption, you guys barely talk. And you get it. Jungkook is a busy man – he owns hotels, for Christ’s Sake! – And under any other circumstance, his distance and your lack of communication combined wouldn’t worry you, it’d simply be that, circumstantial. But right now, all it does is fuel the overthinking and self-doubt.

But then it’s midday and you remember how he kissed you in the morning before he left, and your thoughts quieten. Instead, they’re replaced by that pink, fuzzy feeling that your body recognizes as him. The feeling that belongs to him and him only. And on the bus ride home you replay the way he kissed you goodbye, no one around you, and able to take his time. His hand resting on your cheek, his lips parting your mouth, the small sigh of relief that never fails to leave him whenever he deepens the kiss. This cloud of comfort the memories put you in inevitably land you back to square one, simply for the fact that they remind you of the one thing that presses on to your heart the most: you love him. 

~

By the time Friday rolls around, you’re so exhausted from the marathon taking place inside your head that the moment you make it home, aided by the quiet and solitude that falls into your apartment – courtesy of date night for Lucy and Jimin – your body starts to ache from exhaustion. 

You change into an old t-shirt and shorts, put your hair up in a bun and decide you will be treating yourself to take out. You get cozy, blanket tucked under you as Gilmore Girls – your comfort show – plays on the TV. Scrolling lazily through the food delivery apps, you ponder on what to eat. You want something that screams sad girl stays home because non-reciprocated love is too heavy of a burden to bear. Pizza, pasta, a burger. Maybe some ramen! Or a burrito, that never fails. Or perhaps just dessert. Perhaps that’s what you need. A shock to the body in the form of sugar. But amidst your indecision your lids fall heavy and you’re out cold before the clock can mark eight p.m. 

And you sleep. You sleep through the night, a deep, dreamless slumber that makes you pay for all the sleepless nights you put your body through. You barely move an inch throughout the night, Gilmore Girls serving as a soft lullaby in the background until Netflix gathers that you are not, as a matter of fact, still watching. You could probably sleep through the morning, and if you really tried, you could probably sleep through the afternoon if you cozied yourself up just right, but the universe has other plans. More like, Lucy and Jimin have other plans. In their defense, you are running late for book club. 

Their hushed little giggles as they enter the house is the first thing you hear in the depths of your subconscious as the noise attempts to stir you awake. But it’s to no avail. Your mind ignores it eventually after it goes on for a minute too long. The second attempt is their hushed chit chat that takes one too many pauses as it gets lost in the giggles and pecks they share in between. 

“Shhh. You’re gonna wake __ up!” It’s Jimin, your subconscious recognizes that much. 

“Hmm,” more giggles. “She should be in the shower right about now. She has book club, remember?”

“Shit, that’s true! Hey, we can fuck in the kitchen again?” 

“Jimin, oh my god. Shhh!”

You frown, but your mind refuses to fully wake up. 

It’s the wet noise from their kisses that finally do it, at a third triumphant attempt. You jolt awake, turning to the direction of the kitchen where you see the image that matches the dirty little noises they make. Lucy opens her eyes for a split second as Jimin presses her against the counter and she all but screams when she sees your head peeking from the sofa, hair a mess and a scowl painting your features. Jimin shrieks follow a second later. 

“Shh. Shhhh!” you say. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:15!” Lucy yells, still startled. “What are you doing here? Are you feeling okay? You look… under the weather.”

“Yeah __ you look rough,” Jimin says. 

“Aren’t you two just sweet? I fell asleep on the couch,” you stumble as you make your way to your bedroom, still groggy from sleep. “Shit. I’m gonna be so late.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make you some coffee and a sandwich to-go,” Lucy says, peeking inside your bedroom. 

“Thank you, Lu. You’re the best.” You brush through your hair, incredulous as to how it got so messy through the night. 

“Of course,” she says, lingering in your doorframe. “But seriously __, are you doing alright? I’ve barely seen you this week.”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Long hours at work, that’s all.”

She smiles. “I’m gonna tell Jungkook not to work you too hard when I see him today.” You look at her, confusion lacing your features. “Dae’s birthday party, remember?”

“Oh, shit. That’s today. I totally forgot.” 

Now it’s Lucy’s turn to look confused. And rightfully so. I mean, what would warrant a reaction like the one you just had? You love Dae. And she knows that any excuse to see Jungkook puts a giddy, little smile on your face, like a teenage girl. She calls it the puppy love stage, and is convinced you’re deep into it. You can’t blame her. A week ago you would have agreed. But today you were hoping you could avoid all thoughts of him. Come up with some excuse, tell him you’re feeling a bit under the weather and that you’d take the weekend to recover. But your plans of drowning your feelings in pizza, ice cream and Gilmore Girls (not necessarily in that order) just tumbled to the ground. You do, in fact, love Dae and wouldn’t miss his birthday party for the world. 

“I’ll just be a little late,” you smile, disguising your thoughts. “So, you know, I can come back and shower, seeing as I won’t have time to do that.”

You’re not entirely sure she buys it, but she offers you a smile and heads to the kitchen to make you breakfast. That act alone makes you want to cry. 

It’s gonna be a long day. 

~

It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Perfect for a pool party. Mai had hired a very capable catering company that was in charge of feeding both the adults and the kids at Dae’s birthday party, but Taehyung had gotten a new grill and he could find no better day to break it in than today. And even though she insisted, it was to no avail. They were grilling – the finest cuts of steak, at that – and opening the nicest bottles of wine. His first born was turning five and they had a second one on the way! He takes a minute to take it all in, sighing in pure, blissful satisfaction. There was only one person whose grilling skills could come close to his, and he knows that much because he taught him. 

“What a good day, isn’t it, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook nods, taking a sip of his red wine as his eyes scan the scene before him. Kids running around everywhere, scattered all over Mai and Taehyung’s garden. A huge bouncy castle with a water slide happened to be the main entertainment of the day, making him question how he was going to top it up with his Iron Man act. His friends all gathered to celebrate Dae, whom he loved and couldn’t believe was turning five. He also couldn’t believe he was still a bachelor when he was born, not envious of his friend’s new lifestyle, and now… well, look at him now! His eyes scan the place for Soori, who’s in Kenny’s lap as her cousins play around her. She smiles and claps, eyes wide as she kicks and screams in joy and he can’t believe she’ll be able to keep up with them soon. 

“Can you believe we’re dads?”

“In awe of it every day, actually. Can you believe we’re actually good at it?” Taehyung looks at Jungkook, who’s deep in thought. 

“No. Takes me by surprise every day,” he says, and Taehyung likes the way Jungkook gives himself credit, despite it all. 

“Can you believe Jimin is well on his way to settle down?” Taehyung says, gaze diverting forward. Jungkook follows his line of vision and understands exactly what he’s talking about. There they are, Jimin and Lucy. 

“About time.” And he’s only half joking, but the truth is, Jungkook hadn’t seen his friend this happy in years, and he’s got Lucy to thank for that. They all do. 

“Aw, imagine how cute their babies will look like,” Taehyung says, earning himself a frown from Jungkook.

“Keep your baby fever in your pants, please.”

“Oh, if only you knew.”

Jungkook looks at him and it takes him all but a second to know what he’s talking about. 

“Really?” Taehyung just shrugs, but he smiles bright and big, and his happiness is contagious. “Bro, seriously. You have to learn to shut your mouth. Mai is gonna kill you! Again!” and of course, Jungkook is alluding to the very first secret Taehyung couldn’t keep from his best friend. That first secret is turning five today. 

“Don’t tell her I told you, bro.” He sounds like a child, and Jungkook can’t believe he’s officially a dad of two. 

“Oh, I so will.”

“Fucking traitor.” He says. 

“Hey, congratulations. I’m so happy for you guys.” 

Taehyung brings him in for a hug and it ends as quickly as it begins. “Shh, sh. She’s looking this way, act cool.”

“A fucking child.” 

“You’re the child! I’m older than you by almost two-”

Jimin walks behind them, taking them by surprise when he throws his arms around their shoulders. “Children, please. Settle down.” 

Lucy giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend’s goofy nature. She loves that about him. Matter of fact, she’d just told him, for the very first time, that she loved everything about him. That she loved him. This came after Jimin had blurted it out, in the middle of a very mild argument over the best Shrek movie. She loved him so much she’d decided to overlook the fact he said it was the fourth. Everyone knows it’s the second. 

“Funny. We were just talking about you.” Taehyung says. 

“Nothing but compliments and praises, I’d imagine!” He says. His friends both shrug at the same time, earning themselves a scowl from him. 

Jungkook turns to Lucy, smiling at her before asking, “Hey, have you heard from __? She told me she’d be here.”

“Oh, she overslept this morning, didn’t even have time to shower. So she just went home to freshen up before the party.” Lucy replies, finding it a bit odd that he isn’t aware of your whereabouts. 

“Ah,” he ponders on this for a minute. “I see.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Her smile is kind, almost like she knows. And oh, she knows. Only she can’t put her finger on it entirely. She knows something’s mildly off, but everything seemed fine at surface level. Ultimately, she didn’t want to pry – knew that often her overthinking led her to worry for no reason – but also, her gut was almost never wrong. 

Jimin’s voice brings her back from her mental gymnastics. 

“Babe, let’s go get our bathing suits on! I’m so going on that bouncy castle.” 

“Please don’t do anything stupid. And don’t break the bouncy castle, the deposit on it alone was more than your Saint Laurent boots.” Taehyung tells him, nonchalantly, back at work on the grill. 

“Bro, it’s like, 30 degrees outside. Take those off.” Jungkook adds. 

“Do not address me, flip flop man.” 

Taehyung’s head snaps. “Hey, what’s wrong with flip flops?”

Jimin scans him from head to toe, stopping at his feet. “Everything.” And like that, he’s gone. 

Taehyung and Jungkook return to grilling duties, diligently at work and in total silence for a couple of minutes, so as to recover from Jimin’s brutal abuse towards their choice of shoewear. 

It’s Taehyung that breaks the silence first. 

“So… you and __, seems like it’s getting pretty serious, huh? Plus, you’re happy. I can tell. We all can, to be fair.”

He laughs, and when he does, it has a bite to it Taehyung wasn’t expecting. “So, I get laid and it shows?”

Jungkook doesn’t mean it. Not the words he uttered, or the edge that laces his voice. Not even the breath he took right before he spewed their venom. He regrets it the moment they leave him. 

Taehyung winces. “What the hell was that, man?”

“What exactly?”

“I’d like to believe you’ve passed the point of just fucking ___.” Taehyung can’t even call you the nanny anymore, his words faltering for a second before saying your name. 

Jungkook chuckles, and again, he doesn’t mean it. His friend can tell, which concerns him more. He wouldn’t press if he didn’t know he was lying through his teeth, lacing it with fire just to reinforce a point he didn’t believe himself. 

“So, when she stays the night, what exactly do you think we do?”

Taehyung shakes his head and it’s him who’s chuckling this time. “You’re such a pussy.”

Jungkook’s head snaps fast, an immediate frown taking over his features. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it fucking means. You’re a pussy. Love looks you right in the eyes and you fall into the most cliché tale of fearing it so much it makes you, quite frankly, an asshole.” Jungkook winces at the word love, though Taehyung doesn’t notice – heavily invested in shaking some sense into him. 

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend what it feels like,” he continues, voice taking on a softer tone. “To lose something so abruptly that it makes you feel like everything that follows will hold the same fate. You didn’t have a choice – when you gathered all that strength and courage for Soori, you didn’t have a choice. You gave her love when life was throwing the opposite your way, that was brave. Do the same for yourself. That same courage, choose it.” He throws a punch at his chest, right where his heart is – it’s not forceful but it makes the youngest tumble backwards slightly.

Jungkook stares at his friend, his heart taking on a wave of feelings that pass him by too quickly for him to grasp, let alone process. It’s anger first, sadness following, and when it crashes, they land in fear. Square one, too weak to say much, he just stares at Taehyung – his expression dumbfounded but above all, pained. 

For a second, as Taehyung stares into his eyes, he sees a wide-eyed twenty-year-old Jungkook. Puffy cheeks and cherry hair, a heartthrob to everyone’s knowledge but his own, making him all that more charming. Jungkook tries to find words – anything to form a shield, to dismiss his friend’s words and take the easy route out of this conversation, this feeling, you. But in an instant, he’s reminded of how hard “easy” can be. How much pain comes with the strain of fighting and how the other side of that pain can be almost sweet – vulnerability. 

The words that follow make Taehyung feel nostalgic. 

“I talked to my dad – well, more like- he talked to me.” Taehyung nods, already knowing where this is going. “He knows. About __.”

“Okay… and what seems to be the problem?”

“In his eyes, everything. It almost felt like he was putting some sort of blame on me, for everything that happened with Ira. How it affected our family,” Jungkook pauses, the word family leaving his lips in a tremble. “They think she’s going to cause the same societal hysteria – if not worse. The CEO dating the nanny.” He huffs, shaking his head in disbelief and even though he laughs, it lacks humor. 

Taehyung’s one for big words but quite frankly, what he says next is the most accurate answer he can find, looking at his friend in the eyes as he says, “So?”

Jungkook looks at him, hesitating for a moment. “What do you mean so?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you just took his opinion and went with it. I don’t believe for a second you just agreed with him. Not even to get him to stop talking. I know you better than that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Exactly. So, what seems so be the problem, because your parents trying to discipline the twenty-eight-year-old? I’m not buying it.” Jungkook holds his gaze for a second before it drops to the floor, shoulders dropping in defeat as a sigh follows. “Life gets hard and the way things come to be, the circumstances we face, yeah – those are hard. But never loving. Loving is easy. That’s why it’s worth it.” 

Jungkook’s about to tell him that a week ago, you told him you loved him, and that he didn’t quite know if you meant it. He’s about to tell him that he didn’t say it back – that fear got the best of him. That all the possibilities of everything that could go wrong presented themselves to him like a movie. Frame by frame, so vividly that it physically pained him, making his body grow rigid and cold. He’s about to tell him that the biggest fear of it all was the possibility of you leaving, just like Ira did. But it’s right in that moment that he hears Soori’s shriek. It startles him at first, he thinks something must’ve happened to her, that she’s hurt, or perhaps just fuzzy and needs him. He drops the tongs he’s holding and is ready to run over to her. And then he sees you, fully stopping in his tracks when he realizes she’s perfectly fine – she was just excited to see you. 

Kenny hands her over and you take her into your arms, rocking her from side to side as you hug her to you. You feather kisses all over her face but she barely lets you, too excited and jumpy in your hold. She points at the red balloons that adorn the garden and you go wide eyed in excitement. Dae runs over to you and you kneel down, Soori still in your arms, and bring him in for a hug. He tells you things that Jungkook can’t make out from a distance but he, too, is going wide eyed in excitement. You motion to a box that sits by the sofa, neatly gift wrapped in Iron Man print. He claps and jumps and takes you by the hand, walking you to the table that holds all his birthday gifts. It’s only after you’ve helped him place your gift at the very top – as per his request – that your gaze finally meets Jungkook’s. 

You look beautiful, and when you smile at him he can feel his heart physically stop for a beat too long. Your long hair dances in the wind, and some gets tangled in Soori’s fingers. Even she looks at you in awe. You’re wearing a sage green summer dress that hugs your body in all the right places and then just flares out, accentuating that contrast you naturally hold. Very sweet but so very woman. 

He could stare at you for hours. 

And for his despair, for the most time, he does. 

~

You do a great job at seamlessly avoiding Jungkook. 

Now, it’s not that you want to avoid him. It’s more so that you don’t know how to face him. You’re afraid that anything he says or does could trigger a response inside of you that you won’t be able to control. Perhaps you’ll cry, or snap at him. Perhaps you’ll go completely mute. At this point, you don’t know. You tell yourself this is the price you pay for leaving a feeling untreated. But what could you do if the treatment to your feelings is standing at 5 foot 10 in total oblivion?

That much you know. Jungkook is oblivious as to how you really feel. And you can’t fully blame him for this because a. You’re the one that said he didn’t have to say anything in return and, b. Oblivion makes him look so small in your eyes. I mean, you’re out here sitting with your female rage, plotting his revenge, laughing a little too hard when he steps on a lego – in full Iron Man costume, may you add – and he just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know. Because if he knew, he wouldn’t be stealing glances your way. Or letting his hand linger a little too close to yours when you stand next to him as Dae and his friends tell you what they’re reading in school. Or when you pass Soori to him, your arms getting tangled together. Or when you both reach for the same cupcake, the same glass of wine, the same deviled egg! He lingers like you often do when you’re in public and have to be kept a secret. When touch and proximity are scarce and you have to milk every touch, every word, every glance. 

In Jungkook’s eyes, your distance is simply discretion, because for Jungkook, your words were a heat of the moment thing. A testimony of how good you two had made each other feel. I mean, despite the way your words affected him and welcomed a new set of fears he wasn’t quite planning on having with you, he let you get away with it. He felt, in a way, that he was doing you a favor. I mean, you did sound embarrassed and almost avoidant when you said it. So why press on it? Why put the two of you through the stress of having to navigate your feelings? All of this made total sense to him when he woke up Sunday morning and decided to not give his mental chaos another thought. Why would he, when he could just enjoy you instead? 

Despite said female rage, the day turns out to be magical. Dae’s charmed by all the love he receives and even takes a power nap halfway through it all because he’s so exhausted from fun and play. But once he’s up, he’s unstoppable again. Running, swimming, singing and dancing, his fifth birthday party is a success. And now, with sun kissed noses and sugar rushes, his friends begin to say goodbye one by one. This is your queue, you think, and you walk over to Mai to thank her for having you. 

“What? No! Don’t leave now. The party’s just getting started. For us, at least,” she winks at you, motioning to the glass of wine she holds. It’s apple juice, only you don’t know this. 

“Uh,” you can’t come up with any excuses. 

“Plus! Don’t you wanna stay to see Dae opening his presents? It’s my favorite part of the day.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude-” you know that for Soori’s birthday at least, that moment happened after all the guests had left, and it was just their close group of friends. You feel out of place.

“Nonsense. He wants you here. We all do. I do,” she grabs your hand in hers and you give her a little nod before she’s dragging you back to the party. 

You enjoy yourself more than you’d expected. In between conversations, left over finger food and really good wine, the evening passed you by. You enjoyed getting to know everyone better and found particular joy in seeing them in this dynamic they seemed to be very familiar with. Of course, this was all accredited to the years they’d spent together. You couldn’t help but find it quite amazing; the fact that the majority of them had known each other since high school, all through college and adulthood. Parenthood, too, for some of them. Every act of service, word spoken and inside joke was laced with something that words couldn’t quite describe, but if you were to try, you’d label it as family. Simple as that. They were family. Seeing how quickly Lucy was weaving her way into their friendship group made you feel so happy for her. And it was in that instant that something told you that she’d stay forever. Not a doubt of it. She belonged – here, with Jimin, surrounded by love and family. She just belonged. 

Dae opened his presents and each reaction was better than the last. He was in a total high and the only thing that made winding him down for bed easier was Mai telling him that the faster he went to bed, the quicker he’d wake up to a room full of brand new presents he could play with all day long, if he so pleased. That and the fact that his cousins were staying the night and by the time Taehyung was done scattering his room with sleeping bags for the kids, the place looked like a campsite. 

And so the night was drawing to an end as you all sat by the lounge area in Mai and Taehyung’s backyard. Music playing softly from the speakers, the half eaten Iron Man cake on the table and a string of memories recalled by each of them as they reminisced. 

“Time flies,” Namjoon says. 

“I can’t believe you were the first one to have a kid.” Yoongi tells him. 

Hobi wraps his arm around Kenny, bringing her closer before he says, “how could you not? He’s always been very daddy.” They all laugh at his choice of words. “I didn’t mean it like that. Filthy minded, the lot of you.”

“I thought it’d be Jin,” Yoongi defends. 

“Nah. I always knew it was gonna be Namjoon. You left us too soon, bro.” Jungkook says, wrapping an arm around him and pouting. 

“Excuse me?” Iseul gasps, scowling at him from the warmth of Namjoon’s embrace, at the other side of him. 

Jungkook smiles at her cheekily, pout growing even more. “I love you. You know that. Matter of fact, you left us too son, bro.” He says this to Iseul. 

“Exactly. I was fun,” she says, crossing her arms as she falls back into the couch. 

“You still are! We all still are!” Seulgi says, raising her glass. They all join, and you laugh as you hear them add commentary like, “yeah, but at what cost?”, “I have chronic back pain.” and, “I fell asleep five minutes into a movie last night.” 

“God, I haven’t even been inside a club in years. What’s good nowadays? __? Lucy?” Jin asks. 

You both look at each other, not very familiar with the clubbing scene anymore. 

“Candied Star,” says Jimin, voice going low. 

“Shame on you, bro.” Yoongi tells him. 

“What the fuck is Candied Star?” Asks Hobi. 

“It’s a club!”

“It sounds like the name of a very blonde, very busty 90s pornstar.” Says Mai and they all laugh. 

“I actually used to love that place. It’s pink and excessive. And the DJ’s solid.” You say. 

Jimin claps once, body jolting, having a full eureka moment. “We’re totally going tonight. Saturday’s are the best nights!” 

“I’m so in. Taehyung’s fancy wine made me drunk, it’d be a waste to just go home.” Lucy adds. 

“You’re welcome, kid.” Taehyung raises his glass in her direction. 

“You coming, __?” Jimin asks you. 

You can’t fight it when your eyes land on Jungkook. His are on you already and again, you both linger in held glances for a second too long. You know he can’t go as he has Soori tonight. And you know your female rage wants to keep at a distance from him, so this is the perfect escape plan. But your heart takes one look at him and you want no more than to go back home with him. Have him all to yourself, crawl under a blanket with him and just hug him to you in a way that says, “I’ve been wanting to do this all week.”

“I’m in!”

And that’s the thing about untreated feelings: they rebel against you, even if the heart is waving white flags. 

~

See, you might not be one for crowded spaces and shitty music. You might be an Elton John fanatic, technology denier, gardening grandma attire wearer old soul. This might all be true, yes. But right next to that truth coexists a side of you that simply can’t help but love the fact that you’re twenty three. You’re twenty three and that means that on a saturday night, your responsibilities are at the bottom of the pyramid. You’re twenty three and there’s something about tonight that exacerbates the fact that you’re young and can allow yourself to be a little stupid. 

Candied Star is exactly what you described it as: pink and excessive. You hadn’t been here in months and perhaps that’s what makes it all the more alluring. You swiftly make it inside, courtesy of Jimin, who has a certain power over every bouncer and PR in the city. You could get used to the VIP treatment, if you were to confess. The line was going down a mile and you could see it from the taxi as you made your way to the club. The music is good from the get go and nothing about the atmosphere feels menacing or intimidating. Candied Star is for the cool kids. And what you mean by that is, Candied Star is for the girls, the gays and the allies. Nothing about this place caters to the male gaze and in a way, it’s so freeing. 

The moment you step foot inside you begin to let loose, and it’s not too long after that you’re being found by a troop of beautifying fairy godmothers that circle around the three of you, bedazzling your faces until the strobes inside the club hit you and you’re drenched in glitter and sparkling. The music aids the cinematic feeling of the night and when Jimin hands you a drink, it’s pink and shiny and you don’t know why but it just makes sense that it is. “It’s strawberry gin,” he says and you all bring your glasses together and cheer for a cause you’re not aware of but that demands celebration as you scream and sing and dance. 

By your third sparkly, strawberry gin, you’re the life of the party. 

No, really. You are. 

“I didn’t know __ had that in her!” Jimin says to Lucy, who admires you in awe. 

“Oh, but she does,” she yells over the loud music. 

The same people that put beads and glitter on your face are the ones that encourage you to get on top of one of the tables and give it your all. You’re not much of a dancer but in that moment, something in you releases in screaming color. Maybe it’s the song that plays that you vow to never forget. Maybe it’s the smiling faces that surround you and cheer you on. Perhaps it’s finding Jimin and Lucy in the crowd, smiling at you. You beckon them over and it takes them a while to get the hint but when they do, the crowd is parting for them and they’re being cheered on. You help them get on the stage – yes, a table, but it’s your stage – and you dance. You dance and sing and yell words to songs you didn’t even know you knew, or that maybe you thought you’d forgotten. 

But how could you forget? How could you forget how young you once were? How could you forget how young you are now?

~

Jungkook rocks Soori from side to side, bottle in hand as she begins to drift off in between suckles. The way she fights sleep to keep eating makes him giggle and when he does, her eyes snap open once again, seemingly more alert than the last time. 

“Shh, shh… sorry, baby. Sleep,” he whispers and his voice soothes her as he feels her little body relax in his arms. 

Night feeds are a rare occurrence nowadays but today was an exception. She’d had a fun day outside of her routine and the moment Jungkook had parked the car on his driveway, she’d woken up, more alert than ever. So here they were, in the middle of her nursery as Jungkook added a little bounce to his step the closer she got to finishing her bottle; the rhythm he’d mastered and could confirm worked like a magic trick to put her out cold and fast. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this moment. She was growing way too fast before his eyes and these moments reminded him of when she was a little baby. When she depended on him way more than she does now. When she couldn’t crawl, let alone be so close to walking as she was now. Her eyes open yet again and he looks at her, smiling. She smiles back and he starts humming a soft melody in hopes of putting her to sleep. It has no rhyme or direction and he tries to think of something. He sings to her, and it’s a song he’s heard you sing to her, too. 

Jesus freaks out in the street

Handing tickets out for God

Turning back, she just laughs

The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man, he makes his stand

In the auditorium

Looking on, she sings the songs

The words she knows, the tune she hums

She finishes her bottle, eyes blinking once, twice, before her long eyelashes meet her cheeks. She nuzzles her face closer to Jungkook’s chest and his heart breaks and mends all in the span of a second. He sings softer this time.

But, oh, how it feels so real

Lying here with no one near

Only you, and you can hear me

When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

Soori falls into deep sleep and Jungkook holds her. He lets himself have her in his arms for a little longer. He thinks of all the parenting books he’s read in the past year or so, making himself chuckle as they would absolutely not approve of this. But he doesn’t care. He knows he’s doing the right thing. And perhaps he didn’t know this a couple of months back – a couple of months back he felt like he couldn’t get anything right – but now, looking down at her, he feels confident. He knows he’s doing the right thing because Soori? Soori is perfect. Soori is the best thing he’s ever been good at. Soori is his biggest and most exciting project. And as she sleeps soundly in his arms, it hits him. He’s doing a good job. 

He sings the same song to her two, three… four times. On and on. And at some point, the words start catching up to him in memories of you. He doesn’t want to sulk. He knows you should, as a matter of fact, be out there, having fun with your friends and dancing the night away at some club with a questionable name. But he can’t help but miss you. He thinks of you, because lately, every corner of his house reminds him of you. And yes, it aids his sulking but it’s also nice to just picture you everywhere. He thinks of you rocking on Soori’s chair, watching them, you’d probably be singing along with him. Or perhaps you’d be in his room, waiting for him on his bed, a book in hand, because you always carry one in your bag. 

He laughs as he remembers a conversation you’d had with Lucy right before you left for the club. 

“Wait, I’m not very dressed for the club…,” you say. 

Lucy looks at you, huffing. “You’re never dressed for the club.”

“No, Lu, seriously. I have a copy of Sense and Sensibility in my bag right now.”

“I guess Jane Austen is coming to Candied Star, then!”

And it was so you. Jungkook had never read Jane Austen, but the title alone was so very you. 

Finally, he’s putting Soori in her crib, making sure she has all her friends around in case she wakes up through the night and double checking the baby monitor before he’s gently closing the door of her nursery after he takes one last glance at her. He can’t see much, just one of her cheeks pressed against the mattress from between the wooden bars of her crib. He laughs softly, nose scrunching in endearment. 

He walks inside his room, retrieving his phone from his back pocket and throwing it on his bed. He’s about to turn around but he deflects, reaching back for his phone. He’s got a couple of notifications adorning his home screen – Mai had sent pictures from today to their group chat, his mom had texted him saying they needed to talk and he had a couple of work emails he did not want to get into right now – but none from you. Jungkook sighs, throwing his phone on his bed once again and making his way to the bathroom. 

He showers, taking his time to take the day off. Standing in front of the massage jets for a long time and in days like these, time felt like a luxury. He washes his hair, his body, lets the water run down on him. He takes his time and once he’s done, he walks over to his bed, tapping on his phone in quiet hopes that he’ll see your name on his screen. Nothing. He grabs the device to put it to charge but he changes his mind halfway through, bringing it with him to the bathroom. 

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, does his skincare. A notification pops up. It’s from The New York Times. He rolls his eyes, staring at the screen until it goes blank. He tells himself not to act so childish. He brushes his hair, applies three different products he doesn’t quite know the purpose of. He taps on his phone again, even though he knows he’s not going to find anything new. And he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t and he shouldn’t. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to pry you away from the fact that you’re twenty three years old, and that you should be doing exactly what a twenty three year old should be doing on a saturday night. God knows nobody stopped him, so he doesn’t want to stop you. But he’d be lying if he said that when Jimin invited you to the club, his blood went a little warm. Not fully hot, no. But a little warm. He wanted the night to wrap up so he could approach you and ask to give you a ride. No one would suspect, I mean, he was just doing you a favor, as your boss. But the moment he got you alone in his car he planned to kiss you until you had no choice but to follow him home. And he’d hold you and stare at you and kiss you until it paid for how little he got to do it this past week. He missed you. And he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked today. At how beautiful you probably look right now, dancing and smiling. Probably a bit tipsy by now because he knows how much of a lightweight you were.

He gets in bed, attempting to get comfortable under the covers. He turns the TV on, plays the cooking channel, dims the lights, then turns them off. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb but then chooses against it, just in case. Just in case you called him, giddy and with slow, slightly slurred sentences like you had that one time. And if that were to be the case, he’d ask you to come over. He’d feed you carbs, get you in the shower, in his bed. And then tomorrow he’d wake up next to you and- he stops himself. Because if he lets his mind go any further, he’s gonna be the one calling you. And asking you to come over – begging for it if need be. 

But even in his rationality, he hopes. Fighting sleep, just in case. 

You never call. 

~

“Pretty,” you say. Because it is. The city, the lights, even as they pass you by faster than you’d like. Your head is out the window, merciless wind hitting your face as the car picked up speed, making your hair dance behind you and your eyes water, smudging the glitter that adorned your cheeks. 

“It certainly is, but hey, __, maybe get back in here?” Lucy tries to reason with you, but it’s to no avail because your arm joins your head and the way the air feels like a heavy mass attempting to go through you is almost hypnotizing. 

Jimin peeks from his seat next to the other window. He giggles when he sees you mid trance. “Is her seatbelt on?”

“Yeah,” Lucy says as she tries to pull you back in. 

“Leave her be, babe. She’s having a cinematic moment.” 

“I’m scared she’s gonna want to jump out or something.”

Jimin laughs at this. “She won’t. Come here.” 

And so Lucy does, stealing glances your way from time to time to make sure you’re doing okay and won’t do anything crazy like fly out the window. 

That’s not what you want, though. You’re simply admiring the view. It feels so good. It feels so good to forget about what pains you for a night. It feels so good to not think about him, even though this thought alone requires you to think about him. You chuckle. Who cares? You’re not thinking about him, even if you are. Your drunken state tells your brain that you’re free of the Jungkook chaos you’ve been in for what feels like way too long. And when your heart tries to meddle, telling you not to be such a fool and reminding you that a week ago you poured your heart out to him, told him the biggest, most important words – the ones you searched for the most in your love stories – right around this time. Who cares? Who cares, you keep reminding your heart, demanding it to let it go, even if just for tonight. 

“We can cry tomorrow,” your voice is but a whisper that gets muffled by the wind, one that only you can hear. “Who cares tonight? Who cares, who cares, who cares…”

You can hear the beginning chords of a melody that you think you recognize coming from inside the car, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It comes to you slowly though, and when you almost have it, you look behind you and see Jimin and Lucy singing along to the beat of the song. And then it hits you. Your body is inside of the car and you lean forward, hand on the driver’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” you say to him, “you’re speaking to my soul! And I don’t know if I like it. Turn it up.” He smiles, chuckling at your words before his hand reaches for the console, the song resounding all through the car. 

You lean back on the seat, looking at Lucy before linking your arm with hers. The three of you sing, loud and drunk and happy. 

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

You can say it's just the way you are

Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe (well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe (well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

~

Your head pounds and at first, you don’t understand why. But it pounds so hard it snaps you back into consciousness. Once you are relatively awake you understand why. Not only are you deadly hungover but you’re also in the middle of what you can only describe as chaos. Your window is wide open and there must be a traffic jam going on outside because cars are honking left and right. Elton’s halfway through Tiny Dancer because clearly the first minute of that didn’t do its job at waking you up, and there’s a knock at your door. 

“Come in,” you say, as you switch off your alarm and try to drown out the outside noises by putting a pillow over your head. 

“Good morning, lover.” Lucy enters your room, and when you glance at her from an inch left uncovered by your pillow, you see she’s holding a tray. Iced americano, avocado toast and a sunny side up egg that smells delectable are just a couple of things that make her the best friend in the whole world this morning. The second one is the fact that she’s closing your window and suddenly, it’s peace, quiet and a feast in your room. 

“I’ve done nothing to deserve you.”

“You’ve done plenty.” She smiles and it’s sweet, just like every inch of her. 

“Good morning, dancing queen.” Jimin waltz inside your room, shirtless and with Lucy’s cow print fuzzy headband on his head. 

“I shouldn’t have to see this first thing in the morning, but it’s the price I pay for dancing on top of tables like God did not intend.” 

“Oh, no. I think God was in that room last night.”

“Babe,” Lucy whines. “Leave her alone!”

“Why? It was fun! You’re fun, __. You should come out with us more often, they gave us a bunch of free drinks just because we knew you!” 

You throw your pillow at him and he shrieks and runs away. Both you and Lucy laugh at his theatrics. 

“1 to 10 how much did I embarrass myself last night?” You ask as she hands you your pillow back and you return it to its rightful place over your head. 

“Like, minus 0. You genuinely were the life of the party. All you did was dance and drag everyone along!” 

“I’ll believe you. Thank you for breakfast, Lu.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “Hey, Jimin and I are going to his parent’s beach house for the week. We leave today.” She almost looks apologetic when she says it.

“That sounds so nice, Lu.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice takes on the tone she uses when something floats above her head in worry. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But,” she pauses for a second, looking into your eyes. “Are you?”

“Me?” You ask, incredulous and you can see it in her face – how little she buys your act. “I’m fine, Lu. Just tired. It’s been a long week and honestly I probably just need some rest. I’ll try and take loads of naps today.”

She just stares at you for a couple of seconds, deciding your fate. Will she let it slide? Will she press? Will she give you the words of comfort you’re so very sure could make you cry right now and dismantle your lies? 

“You should try and get as much rest as you can.” And the only reason she says that is because they’re running late. 

“And you have fun,” you hug her. “Don’t worry about me, seriously. I’ll rest loads and probably clean around, do some laundry, maybe get some writing done. Ooh, I could meal prep for the week!”

~

You lose a sock on your way to the living room from the kitchen. It makes you stop in your tracks as you glance back and try to see where you’d left it. But it’s nowhere to be found. Oh, well. You shake the can of whipped cream you’d retrieved from the fridge, the cherry on top the most perfect Ben & Jerry’s flavor that has ever existed – chocolate fudge brownie, of course. Your mouth waters at the mere thought and you can’t resist the temptation of having whipped cream at such close proximity and so you swirl a hefty amount inside of your mouth. In perfect cinematic nature, the song that you’ve had on repeat for the past forty five minutes breaks into the chorus (yet again) and now the whipped cream can is your microphone and this living room is your stage. 

You said, "Baby, no attachment"

Your voice is hoarse, the remnants of yesterday’s fun and today’s chaos. 

But we're

You trip on an iPhone charger and it almost sends you flying. But it doesn’t, so you take the opportunity of being jolted forward to add flair to your performance. 

Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out

Is it casual now?

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach

Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends

It's casual, if it's casual now

Then baby, get me off again

If it's casual, it's casual now

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears touch your lips, warm and salty and it only makes you sing louder because at this point, you’re just letting yourself go a little insane in the privacy of your own home and the solitude that has been granted to you this sunday morning. So you eat ice cream at 11 a.m. and listen to feminine rage songs. More like, one single feminine rage song. And the more you sing it, the sadder it gets. The girls aren’t enraged. The girls are just sad. 

I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner

Your parents at the table, you wonder why I'm bitter

Your hands come up and you spin as you sing and cry. 

Bragging to your friends I get off when you hit it

I hate to tell the truth, but I'm sorry dude you didn't

I hate that I let this drag on so long, now I hate myself

I hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

The song ends and a second later, it starts again. You let it. Most of the lyrics don’t even apply fully to your situation and you can begin to recognize this as your steam is blown and you tire yourself out. And yeah, the lyrics may not all apply to you but some do and it feels good to scream them out loud and to get mad. 

You send a flying kiss to Chappell Roan and thank her for her services. 

~

“God, you’re such an asshole.” Your words are directed at Mr. Darcy, who’s been getting on your nerves for the past hour or so. “But you’re so beautiful. And I know deep down you’re a good man.” And it’s then that your eyes begin to well up yet again. Pride and Prejudice always gets to you. 

Your eyes leave the TV screen for a split second so you can draw your head back and take a bite out of your pizza. It’s delicious – cheesy and delicious, and just what you need. Dancing, singing and crying must burn more calories than you think because that was a workout and now you were exhausted and famished, even though you were halfway through your pizza already. 

“I mean, there you are! With your stupidly good looking face and your bad manners,” you point at Mr. Darcy on the screen. “And all because you can’t tell the girl you love her! Elizabeth, you deserve be-”

Halfway through your speech, you get interrupted by the insistent buzzing that comes from your phone. Your eyes scan the couch on the search for it but it’s nowhere to be found. You shove blankets and pillows aside and the more it buzzes, the more frantically you search. You find it under your pizza box right before it’s about to disconnect, quickly sliding your finger across the screen so you can answer the call, not having time to second glance at the contact. 

“Hello?!” You yell into the receiver. 

You hear Jungkook chuckle from the other end of the line and you quite literally choke on your spit, making you cough wide eyed and surprised. “Woah, woah. You okay?”

You hate that he cares. And you hate his little chuckles and how quickly he can disarm you because you feel the way your voice is about to go soft on him. You make sure to clear your throat (and shake the softness off) before replying.

“Yeah, yeah. I just have a bit of a sore throat.”

“So it was a good night, I presume.”

“Yeah, actually. The best.”

Your words are fast and sharp and Jungkook feels the sting. But nonetheless, he’s still oblivious. He blames the sting on his own childish ways of missing you too much even though he’d seen you every day this week. He blames it on the part of him that went to bed last night stubbornly wishing you’d be next to him. And so he opts to be bigger and better than his feelings, collecting himself before he responds.

“I’m glad, baby.” You’re quiet on the other end of the line. “Hey, so… we were just at brunch with my parents.”

“How’d it go?”

“Same old,” and it was true. It’d been awkward at first but then simply filled with small talk and the three of them swooning over Soori, to Jungkook’s fortune. “But I was thinking maybe I could pick you up and you could come over? We could lay by the pool, I could make us some dinner later…”

Your eyes scan the room. They land on the pizza box and then on Mr. Darcy on the TV, mid-sentence in what is probably useless words because none of them are what he actually feels. 

“I have a terrible hangover, being out by the sun would probably make it worse.”

“That’s ‘kay. We could watch movies instead.”

You sigh, your heart breaking at your coldness when you say, “I’ve had a long week, I think it’d be better if I just took it easy today and got some rest. I’m sorry.”

And as oblivious as Jungkook could be in the moment, no oblivion could stand between him and the way your words break something inside his heart in more ways than just disappointment. 

“Oh,” is all he can say. 

“But you guys have fun, okay? Give Soori kisses from me and enjoy the water. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” Jungkook wonders why the pet name he’s grown so familiar to calling you feels so foreign as they pass his lips now. “Bye.”

You linger. You wait, in silence, the soft static and words left unsaid. 

“Bye.”

I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you and I hate that you don’t love me back and I can’t do with hating that I love you and I could never do with hating you because I love you. 

When you fall asleep around thirty minutes later, it’s with heavy eyes and tears you’d been collecting ever since. You fall asleep before Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth can get their happy ending. 

~

Monday morning feels like hell. Getting out of bed feels nearly impossible and when you finally muster the strength to do so, you feel a headache coming up that threatens to linger for the whole day. You take some Tylenol, caffeinate yourself and eat whatever you can stomach. And since you hadn’t taken the time to make yourself an elaborate breakfast, you get fifteen extra minutes that you use to make yourself look better, in hopes that it helps you feel better. You take your time as you brush through your hair and get really close to the mirror as you apply your makeup, blending and dusting products on with more care than you have in years. You can feel the heat that takes on the day, despite it only being 7 a.m. and so when you stand in front of your closet you try to keep it light. You settle on a pink linen dress that’s a bit too short but still acceptable to go serve your duties as a nanny. And perhaps vanity could cure a broken heart because by the time you leave the house, your strut has a bit more of confidence to it and your mentality consists of more who cares rather than why me?

You settle on the bus seat, reaching for your book but there’s something about Sense and Sensibility you’re simply not in the mood for today. And so you put your headphones on and scroll through your playlists. You’re just a girl, so of course there’s a perfectly curated selection of songs for any occasion and so today’s choice is one titled so sad, so sexy. It’s feminine rage meets bad bitch anthems and your subconscious decides it’s this episode’s soundtrack. 

Mrs. Chae greets you at the door, like every morning, only today she smiles a little wider. 

“You look very pretty today, ___.”

You smile at her, asking her about her weekend as you make your way to the kitchen. You offer to make her some coffee as she gets Jungkook’s ready and it takes a little bit of insisting but she finally lets you treat her. As the minutes pass, though, you start feeling nervous. You hadn’t quite planned how you’d manage your feelings when you saw Jungkook this morning and every little noise has you jumpy and alert. You get Soori’s breakfast ready, cursing how quickly porridge cooks and your immaculate fruit chopping skills, because you’re done faster than you’d think and now you’re hands free and anxious again. 

“Mrs. Chae, let me help you fold laundry.”

“Fold laundry?!”

“Yes! I’m quite good at it. I worked at a little boutique all through my teenage years.”

“No.”

“Please. Just Soori’s at least.”

She looks at you intently for about five seconds, narrowing her eyes. “Her clothes are in the pink basket.”

You do a little cheer and thank her and she shakes her head at you but you can see the way she smiles. You get to folding her tiny clothes, cooing at how cute and tiny they are. You laugh at how her funny t-shirts that have kermit the Frog, Bluey and Wonder Pets prints get mixed with her nicer pieces that are full of tulle and fancy fabrics or are full on designer. But your favorites are the mini versions of Jungkook’s clothes that he always pairs with pink bows or colorful socks. It makes your heart melt. 

“Good morning,” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your trance. “Why are you folding laundry?”

“Don’t look at me, Mr. Jungkook,” Mrs. Chae defends, placing the tray that holds his iced americano on the kitchen island. 

“It relaxes me,” you say, arms reaching for Soori who falls straight into them. “Good morning, munchkin. You hungry?”

“I have to leave now. Emergency meeting at the office.”

“But your coffee,” you hate that you care, but you do. Not to mention that it already worries you that it’s all he has for breakfast. 

He doesn’t look up from his phone when he says, “At the office. Have a nice day, Mrs. Chae.”

You follow him as he makes his way to the door. You can tell he’s stressed just by being in his proximity and it almost reminds you of when you first started working for him, those very first cold and distant weeks. But when he turns around and takes Soori into his arms, he softens and grows mushy again. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Be good for daddy, okay?” He kisses her cheeks. “You’ve recovered, I hope.” He says this to you. 

“Good as new.” You force a smile.

“I’m glad. I’m gonna be late again today, we’re hoping to close this deal this week and we’re in a time crunch. I’ve told Suelgi to pick Soori up in the afternoon-”

“What? Why?”

“Well, you stayed with her last week and-”

“Yeah, that’s my job. That’s what you pay me to do, remember? Also, it messes up with her routine so I’ll keep her and we’ll wait for you right here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“___-” you don’t let him finish, fearing to fall into a conversation you can’t have right now. You grab the back of his head and bring him close to you until your lips are on his. You feel him relax against your touch and he deepens the kiss, even if for a brief second before you’re pulling away. 

“Have a good day. We’ll see you tonight.”

~

On Tuesday you keep your anxiety at bay by making Soori a really elaborate breakfast. And you’re speaking the whole ordeal. Eggs, cherry tomatoes that you cut up really small, all her favorite assortment of fruits (blueberries, strawberries and pears), avocado that you mash and season with salt, pepper and lemon juice. You even cut her toast in tiny hearts that adorn the corners of her plate. When Jungkook walks inside the kitchen that morning, you’re getting started on her meal prep for lunch. Cooking for Soori wasn’t really on your job description but you liked to be as involved as you could in her feeding and so you’d silently taken on the responsibility. She liked to watch you cook, clapped along as you played music and danced around the kitchen, giving her a show. 

You don’t hear him come in and Jungkook takes the time to let himself stare at you. Amidst the stress and exhaustion, you’re pure sunshine that creeps into his home each morning and for that he’s grateful. If yesterday you threatened to make him late for work, which he really couldn’t afford this week, today you’re making him wish he could throw all the contracts out the window and live in a world that rotated around your axis. He doesn’t know if it’s the way your lips are a tone redder today, or if it’s the way you have your hair up in a bun that somehow looks both disheveled and put together, thin strands of hair framing your face as you concentrate on the way your hands carefully peel the pear. You’re pouting, the way you often do when you’re focused on something and he thinks about how quickly he can get out of this kitchen so he can kiss you. You’re also wearing red, which is a color he doesn’t often see you sport but he makes a mental note to store it under favorites. Your dress is tight around your waist and then flairs out and he knows it’s short because the weather is hot and you know how to dress for it. Jungkook begins to feel hot, too. The straps are held by a bow that rests on top of your shoulders and one of them falls down your arm and he swears to himself this all just happened in slow motion. 

“Mr. Jungkook, good morning.” Mrs. Chae places the tray on the kitchen island with a little more force than she’d originally intended. This makes you jump and it takes Jungkook about a beat too long to come back to his senses. 

“Good morning,” he clears his throat when his voice falters. 

Oh, damn you, Jeon Jungkook in dress pants and a white shirt that hugs your body a little too nicely to be true. 

“Nana,” Soori shrieks, excited to see you as you walk over to them. 

“Hi baby, I missed you.” The moment your arms outstretch towards her, she’s falling into them. You look at Jungkook. “Hey.”

“Hey- how are you?”

“I’m good. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Both Mrs. Chae and Soori stare at the two of you in confusion. 

“Nana,” this time she tries to get your attention, hitting you with her plush toy. You notice it’s shaped like a mille-feuille, courtesy of Lucy. 

“Is she- is that what she calls you?” Jungkook asks.

“I don’t know… it’s the first time she does it more than once in a row.”

“Cute,” he says, smiling. His face grows serious again when he sees Mrs. Chae smirking from the corner of her eye. 

“She’s cute. Want breakfast, baby?” And Jungkook is so entranced by you this morning he almost says yes. “We’ve got blueberries and strawberries and pears. Can you say pears?”

“Nana,” she smiles and is immediately forgiven. 

When you’re by the door saying goodbye, Jungkook’s about to kiss you, and there’s nothing in the world he wants more right this second. And as he leans in and mentally chants victory, his phone starts ringing. It’s Jin, and he knows it’s important. He should’ve taken his call ten minutes ago. His eyes close for a second, sighing in frustration before he picks up the phone. 

“Yeah, talk to me.”

You don’t mean to be so cruel, but alas, you smile. 

~

On Wednesday, it’s Jungkook who opens the door for you and by the looks of it, he’s on his way out, phone pressed to his ear as he steps aside to let you in. 

“Yeah, if you could please have those papers on my desk when I get there- yeah. Thank you, Kay. You’re the best.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s mentally. Inside your head so he can’t see. If you had a dollar for every time you’ve heard Jungkook say she’s the best you’d have two dollars, which is two dollars too many.

“Hey,” he says, eyes still on his phone as he reads what you can see is a really long email. 

“Good morning. What’s going on?”

“I have to run. Soori’s in the kitchen, she’s had a bit of a rough morning. She’s having a bottle right now.” He types as he tells you this. You want to shake him and tell him to look at you. 

“Is everything okay?”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah, just- closing deals is hectic. That’s all. Everything okay with you?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Great.”

Great.

“Great!” 

“I’ll see you tonight?” 

“Sure.”

He presses his phone to his ear once again and turns around, walking towards his car, the loud beep startling you a bit as he unlocks it. You yell at him, mentally. Inside your head, so he can’t see. 

~

Soori was in fact having a rough morning, and her mood lingers throughout the day. She was a really good, happy baby so on bad days like these you knew something had to be bothering her. You’d found the root of the problem in the middle of a very dramatic cry, as her head swung backwards and her mouth opened to let out a loud wail. Her first back tooth was coming in. She was in pain, rightfully so, and nothing quite pleased her but you tried to do your best. She got extra cuddles and an extra morning nap. You’d made her strawberry juice lollipops so she could chew on for relief and mostly let her play throughout the day. She wanted to be held for the most part, though, and you had to admit you weren’t about to complain. You loved when she let you hold her and hug her and squeeze her. 

You’re halfway through a very softly sung version of Hey Jude when Jungkook calls you. It’s quarter past seven and you were winding down Soori for the night.

“Hi,” you say, voice a whisper so as to not wind her up. 

“Hey. How are you guys doing?”

“Good. She’s getting sleepy, she’ll be out in the next twenty or so. Her first molar is coming in, that’s why she’s fuzzy.”

“Oh, shit. Should’ve thought of that.”

“She’s doing okay now. She just needed extra cuddles.”

“I wish I could’ve been there today. Thank you, ___.”

“My pleasure. How’s your day? It’s late… are you coming home soon?”

And Jungkook knows you’re not asking for any other reason other than the fact you care about him. About his wellbeing and peace of mind. You took care of him in more ways than you probably realized because it just came as second nature to you, to be so caring. You, on the other hand, can’t help the way your heart plays onto the little fantasy. The one in which you wait for him to come home – a home of your own. He comes home to you after a long day and you sit on the couch and order take out and you make sure he has dinner because, to be fair, you’re not sure he does when you leave at night and the worry follows you until you get home even though you know that he can’t go hungry for more than twenty minutes. But you care, so you worry. 

Ugh!

“Yeah. I just have to go through,” he pauses, taking a look around him, “two more contracts. I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”

“I’ll give her a good night kiss from you.”

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you,” and you hang up because if you don’t, you’ll fucking blurt those three words at him again, because in your little fantasy, it’s only natural. It’s only natural that you tell him you love him before you hang up the phone. 

God, life was playing tricky, tricky games on your heart. Ones that you were out of ideas on how to defeat. 

~

Soori had knocked out not too long after that. She’d been visibly exhausted from the discomfort and pain she’d carried all day and you could only hope tomorrow was better. You make a mental note to search up some toothing relief methods on your way home. You give her two forehead kisses before laying her down on her crib, placing her little mille-feuille plushie under her arm. 

You make your way to the kitchen, turning on every light that you pass because if you were to be honest, Jungkook’s house intimidated you a little bit during the night. It was just so big and spacious, wide hallways that felt never ending. You liked how quiet it was, though. A sense of peace filling you as you put the kettle on to make yourself a cup of tea. His selection was impressive and you wondered why. You don’t think you’d ever seen him drink tea… you wonder if this was one of the remaining bits of Ira that still lingered around the house. There weren’t many, but it was impossible to fully erase her. There was a mug in the cupboards with the letter I and right next to it, one with the letter J. Her white Mercedes Benz that still sat on the driveway, too. And even though she’d cleared her clothes from the closet, you’d once seen a pretty black dress that you could only assume had once belonged to her. 

You opt for a fancy looking ginger and lemon tea, taking your time to let the leafs brew in the hot water. Thinking of him, of her, of Soori. Of how much you’d weaved your way inside his home, his family, without the details of what landed you here in the first place. I mean, you know some of it, but not the whole story. And then again, how much of a story was there? Her departure had seemed final and abrupt and in your anger, you doubted her words and explanations truly mattered. 

You move through the kitchen, down the dining hall and into the living room at a slow pace, taking it all in. You try to remember if you’ve ever been here alone, when it’s so empty and quiet but you can’t place any memory of the sort. You walk over to the big, tall bookshelf that stood against the wall. It was mostly for decoration, you’d assumed – a bunch of color coordinated books that matched the aesthetic of the living space perfectly. You recognize some titles and some others seem old. Pages on art, architecture, travel and fashion. Your eyes land on one that doesn’t seem to have a name, the spine empty in smooth leather. You reach for it, its weight sitting heavy on your hands. It was big, too and it looked like it held something important. Something that you couldn’t find in a bookshop or library. You know you probably shouldn’t, but your curiosity gets the best of you. You sit on the sofa, tea cup long forgotten on the table, lifting the heavy cover to reveal a white page that held a handwritten note. 

To our Soori Blue,

Our darling girl, you are so very loved, and this is your story so far. This is where you come from and this is how you were loved from the very beginning, even before you were here. When you were but a little star waiting in the sky for your mommy and daddy to multiply the love they have for each other to make you. You’re born from love, Soori, and your parents are proof of that, because they love each other so very much. Waiting for you was hard because we couldn’t wait to hold you and getting to be your Godparents is one of our biggest blessings. You are so loved, you are so special and you will always have us. 

Love,

Auntie Mai and Uncle Taehyung

 You turn the page, a picture of Jungkook and Ira taking most of the frame. They’re pulling faces as they pose for the camera and behind them is the city skyline and a sunset that paints the sky pink and orange. She blows a kiss and Jungkook throws a peace sign as he winks. Under the picture, a caption in neat black font that reads, “this is from the day your mommy and daddy first met. Everyone says it was instant: how they fell in love. I bet they would’ve not believed it if they knew that only a couple of years later, you’d be here!” 

The next picture is a magazine cover, Ira gracing the page, her long, blonde hair dancing in the wind, eyes not fully meeting the camera as she smiles. She looks carefree and young, a beautiful blue dress adorning her body, making her blue eyes shine even from a distance. “This is your mommy. Isn’t she so beautiful? She’s smart, funny, kind and loved by many people around the world. But no one loves her the way we do!”

You turn the page, a picture of Jungkook standing in front of The West End, bright smile on his face. “This is your daddy. He’s really good at his job! He’s funny, cool and generous. He can’t stay still and he’s good at everything he does, first try! We love him a lot.”

Their relationship pans over the years as you leaf through the pages. Ira and Jungkook at the beach, in very many destinations around the world, on Christmas and holidays, with their families and friends, in the comfort of their home and in events and galas. The day they made their relationship official, accompanied by, “it was out of a fairytale!” and birthday celebrations that said, “your daddy spoils your mommy so very much, we’re kinda scared he’ll do the same with you!” as Ira poses in rooms filled with roses and balloons and boxes full of presents. 

You pay particular attention at a picture of Jungkook and Ira, a selfie that seems to have been taken on film. They’re in the kitchen, bright smiles and red, puffy eyes, like they’d been crying. “On this morning, your mommy and daddy found out about you! They were a little scared, but so very happy. You filled them with light, Soori. Just look at those smiles! They couldn’t wait to hold you – it was going to be nine long months!”

Then it’s all of them, out in the garden, Ira in the middle as they point to her stomach. “And on this day we found out about you! We were so happy!! We’d never seen your mommy and daddy so excited, you had a closet full of clothes already and they didn’t even know if you were a girl or a boy yet!”

Ira in an ultrasound, “your mommy and daddy were so happy to hear your heartbeat for the first time.”

Jungkook kissing her stomach, “deep down, your daddy always knew you were a girl. Your mommy was convinced you were a boy, though!”

Jungkook and Ira standing in the garden, pink confetti flying over them. “You’re a girl, Soori Blue!!!!”

The pictures progress with the passing of time, each one with a caption full of hope and love. A picture of Soori as a newborn representing her birth, a carbon copy of Jungkook that makes your heart seize inside your chest. Then pictures of her with her uncles and aunties, their families, Jungkook and Ira, who kiss her each on one cheek in the majority of them. You miss the way Ira smile changes, the way her gaze looks empty after a while. All you see is love, what Soori is truly made of. 

You blame your next thought on how overly emotional this past week has been, how tumultuously you’ve experienced every feeling. 

“There’s all types of love, but never the same love twice.”

You wonder if that had been it for Jungkook. If he would ever be able to experience the love he had for Ira again. You wonder if perhaps he’d ran out of love to give and if that was the case, you couldn’t blame him. You reach the final page; a picture of the three of them, Jungkook holds Soori in his arms and Ira wraps hers around them. She’s looking at him, a smile on her face as they stand in front of the sea. The water is blue and the day looks bright and they’re perfect. They’re love. The real kind, your brain argues. The kind that takes years to nurture, the kind that faces adversities and triumphs. The one that reproduces itself into the most perfect combination of every good thing about both ends. Soori is only a couple of months old but she smiles into the camera and for the first time, you see both Ira and Jungkook in her. 

~

You’d placed the photobook right where you’d found it and for the past thirty minutes, you’d been staring at the glass doors that led to the garden, in complete silence, though your thoughts are loud. You don’t hear Jungkook come in and it’s only when he sits on the couch next to you that you fully notice his presence. 

“What a fucking day,” he sighs, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. 

You look at him for a long time, and he doesn’t acknowledge your silence. 

“You’re home now,” you say, even though it’s not the home you’d want it to be. 

“Yeah,” he looks at you. “How’s Soo?”

“Good. Sleeping.”

“Thank you for staying with her.”

“Of course.”

“I’m fucking starving,” he says, sinking further into the couch, his head turning to face you. “You hungry? Want some ramen?”

You simply nod and that has him getting up from the couch, hand reaching for yours. You walk into the kitchen together, your fingers entwined in his and the simple act sends electric currents down your body. It’s funny how unaware you can be about touch until it’s the right person’s skin against your very own, because what you feel right now, you hadn’t felt in days. 

You miss his touch instantly as he moves on to making dinner. 

“How was your day,” you ask, because you’re tired of the silence, and you’re tired of putting in an effort at keeping your heart quiet. 

“Long. And exhausting. Never ending, even.” And Jungkook doesn’t mean to whine and complain but then again, it’s not like he was lying. His day had been hell and just when he thought it was over, another problem presented itself right before his eyes. 

“What exactly are you working on right now?”

He looks up at you before he says, “I’m buying land to build a hotel in the Alps.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Funny, huh?”

“Your live is unreal to me sometimes.”

He pours water into a pot, placing it over the stove to bring to a boil. He stalls for a minute, remembering where they kept the ramen packets. “Yeah, to me too.”

You point to the cabinets behind him, and he gives you a quick smile in acknowledgement. 

“So, is that what’s taking up all of your time?”

“Yeah, sort of. It’s just a lot of politics and strategy. Meeting in the middle and settling and whatnot. Some of these people are so hard to negotiate with, though. They know real estate, but not hotels.”

“Well, I’d assume not many people do. And I’d assume what you know, you learned at a very young age.”

“Well, not quite. I wasn’t always interested in my field of work, believe it or not.”

“Nonetheless, you grew up around it.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a privilege that you have access to all of this knowledge. What you know- the way you know it, that can’t be taught in a classroom.”

“Well, no. It requires experience.”

Jungkook catches the way you roll your eyes, a huff leaving your mouth as you smile. 

“What?” He says.

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

You raise an eyebrow in defense. “Say what?”

“You know, give me the whole nepotism talk.”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiles but there’s nothing soft about the action. “Dinner’s ready.”

You stand in deafening silence for a minute, eyes on his, like this is the beginning of something you won’t be able to stop without someone getting hurt. 

“I think I’m gonna go home. I’m tired,” you say, turning around and getting ready to leave. 

“Oh, come on.” 

And that makes you stop in your tracks, turning so you can face him again, eyes narrowed and lips ready to spit venom if you so pleased. 

“I don’t feel like fighting with you right now, Jungkook.” And you could’ve left it at that, and perhaps it would’ve been better, but you don’t. “Oh, wait. I don’t have to do that. Because you seem to know what I want to say.”

He walks closer to you and nothing in his face tells you he’s about to extinguish the flames that seem to grow taller between you. 

“Your poker face isn’t all that good, baby.”

“I’m glad my intentions came across clear as day.”

He smiles, eyes diverting from you for a second before his gaze pierces yours once again. You inch closer to him and it’s barely noticeable, scowling back at him. Your blood feels hot and the flame grows bigger, more violent, only the fire gets lost in something else. Something that is only understood the moment Jungkook is pulling you closer and his lips are crashing onto yours in a kiss that makes the warmth travel throughout your body until the whole room is scolding hot. 

Your lips part but a second as you catch your breaths, chests heaving in sync, impossibly close. You try to find words, form a thought, anything that could leave your lips in a coherent sentence but you’re left with nothing. Blank, red, heat. It’s all you can think about. Him and his proximity. When Jungkook diverts his gaze from your eyes to your lips, it’s you that crashes your lips to his once again, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. Both his hands wrap around your waist, squeezing at the flesh and he curses the fabric that comes between his fingertips and your skin. He longs to touch you, he longs to have you and his life was starting to feel like a waiting game when it came to you. He didn’t think he could go a second longer entertaining it.

He walks you backwards until your back hits the kitchen island, flushing himself to you until he’s pressing you against it. Your hands roam down his body, starting down his arms and up his torso, until they’re on his neck again and you wrap your arms around it, hugging him to you. His hands travel to your ass, squeezing before he’s picking you up and sitting you on the counter, taking one step closer so he stands snuggly between your legs as they close around him. And you kiss. You kiss with intention but no direction, his tongue parting your lips and meeting yours halfway – sloppy, messy, needy. His hands travel under your dress until he’s squeezing the flesh on your thighs, drawing you closer to him. You loose track of time, not a care in the world but his lips on yours and so does Jungkook, who doesn’t realize how much he’s aching for you until your hips are involuntarily grinding against his. His cock jumps and he’s more alert of you than ever, a throaty moan escaping his lips as you repeat the motion. 

You feel it, too. And some part of your brain tries to tell you that your body’s betraying you. That you’re kissing him with the same mouth that holds secrets from him, anger even. But you don’t care. Your heart leaps the closer he pulls you in and your skin feels wired with electricity the more the sensation of wanting him begins to take over your body. You want him, you need him, and when he’s so supple for you the way he is now there’s no way you could deny yourself the pleasure of having him. 

Your hand begins its descend, squeezing at the nape of his neck, down his chest and toned abdomen, taking a detour to untuck his shirt from under his pants, letting your hands roam inside, feeling his warm skin against them. You feel the way he sucks in a sharp breath, tummy caving in at your touch in anticipation. You smile against his lips and he kisses you harder, palms squeezing your flesh. You finally give him what he wants when your hand closes around his cock, making it pulse against the fabric of his pants. The moan that escapes his mouth borders on a whine and it’s so delicious it has you throwing your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. His lips find your neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin, rejoicing in the little whines that you let out at the feeling. 

He breaks the kiss, reluctantly removing his hands from your body so he can unbutton his shirt, unable to handle the heavy nature the air has taken around him. You lean back, palms resting against the cool marble of the counter, cocking your head to the side and taking him in. You notice him noticing you, and you don’t miss the way he slows down his movements, taking his time all of a sudden, giving you a show. You smile, lip caught between your teeth and you feel the need to close your legs, an impulse reaction at the need of friction. Jungkook notices this, your body jerking slightly, face delirious, eyes desperate and he chuckles. It has bite and attitude, and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t get cocky now,” you say, brain short-circuiting when he finally removes his shirt.

“I won’t. Need you too badly to play games right now.”

His words barely register because as soon as they leave him, his lips are back on yours, twice as fervently as before, his purpose clear. You give into him, not wanting to play games either. 

“I need you to touch me, Jungkook.”

His hand comes down to your breast, squeezing and pulling sweet little noises from you. 

“Yeah, baby?”

Your hands find his waistband, undoing the button of his pants, his zipper following, until your hand is traveling down his boxers and gripping around his cock, making him hiss at the contact. 

“Oh, fuck.” His voice is hoarse, deep. Your hand begins to move, thumb collecting the pre cum before you’re circling it around his tip. He bites your bottom lip as you begin to stroke languidly, applying pressure here and there, teasing him. 

“Are you gonna fuck me in the kitchen, Jungkookie?”

“Yeah. It’ll ruin my mornings forever, though.”

You pout, mocking innocence. “Why’s that?”

“Every morning, when I walk in here,” his hands travel under your dress again, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. “I’m gonna see you behind this counter,” he kisses you, a gasp leaving your lips as he hooks his index finger down the side of your panties, a soft touch to your skin. “Making coffee, cooking breakfast.” His middle finger spreads your folds, a soft hum passing his lips when he notices how wet you are. “In your short little dresses, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I-I don’t,” and he doesn’t let you finish your sentence. Middle and index finger entering you slowly, eyes on yours as his face grows confused. 

“You don’t?”

“N-no, mm, Jungkook,” you plead.

“Say please.”

“Please.”

“You’re so good, baby.” He kisses you, fingers picking up pace inside of you, finding that spot that has you arching your back for him in no time. “But you know what?”

“W-what?” Your eyes snap open, silently pleading that he doesn’t stop. 

“I think you do know.” His fingers stop and he smirks when your face falls. Your eyes travel down, following the way his hand wraps around his cock, spreading your wetness all over it. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” He pushes your panties to the side before his tip teases your entrance, a moan escaping both your lips in unison. “And I think you like it.” He pushes inside of you and you sigh. He thinks it’s sweet, the way you react to him. You feel so good around him. He cups your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours before stealing a kiss from your lips. “Don’t you like it, baby?”

“Yes. I like it, fuck.” You don’t even knowing what you’re agreeing on at this point and you don’t care, too entranced by the way his cock stretches your walls so perfectly, hitting it so fucking good it’s almost like he was made for your pussy. And in this moment, Jungkook is sure of it. 

“Shit, baby. You feel so good.”

And sure, Jungkook could fuck you at this leisurely pace for the rest of his life, getting to feel every inch of you until it drove him fucking insane. But he wanted more – he needed more – and the way you were digging your nails in his biceps told him that you did, too. When he pulls away, you whine, narrowing your eyes at him and then rolling them when he simply responds with a, “patience.” He wastes no time removing your panties, throwing them behind him before he hooks his hand under your knee, bringing your leg up until your foot is resting against the kitchen counter. He starts fucking you again, but harder this time and the angle is so fucking perfect you swear you begin to see stars in your eyes, feeling a bit lightheaded at the feeling. He kisses down your neck again, letting himself enjoy how good you sound, and how good you feel. How good your skin tastes on his tongue. 

“Don’t stop, baby, oh my God.”

And so he locks in the pace, middle finger finding your clit and circling around it until he feels the way your body begins to shake in his hold, pussy clenching around him. 

“Fuck, yeah, baby. Cum for me,  ___.”

Your body shakes, moans getting louder as he kisses you and you can feel the way he smiles against your lips. He fucks you slow, letting you come down from your high, kissing you passionately and making your mind go hazy with every touch. Every little thing he does sends your mind into a frenzy and you fucking love the feeling. Your body is completely submitted to him, and you let him do whatever he wants to you. You let him kiss you, you let him hold you when he brings you down from the counter and your legs fail you. He laughs and you shush him and then you let him kiss you again. You let him turn you around, gently push you down until the upper half of your body rests against the cold marble. His legs part yours, hands uncovering you as he pushes your dress up and out of the way. He runs his hands down your body gently and you close your eyes, enjoying the moment, content little sighs leaving your mouth. He plays with your pussy, as he kisses down your back and when you begin to clench around his fingers, he fucks you like this. He goes hard, but he goes slow and he grunts when you throw your ass back, meeting him halfway. He spanks you once, twice, making you gasp and wish you had the strength to go for hours. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Please, Jungkook- I need it, please.”

And you’re so pliant, so willing to give him anything he wants. So willing to give yourself to him his cock and heart are basically battling for blood at this point. 

“Nngh- I’m gonna cum.”

You feel his warmth hit your ass, some landing on your back, and it makes you giggle, feeling a tad bit delirious at how ridiculously good that can feel. 

“Truce?” You look back at him, but he’s too enthralled by the way his cum paints your ass. 

“Mhm,” he musters after a second too long. 

“You’re such a boy.”

“And you have such a nice ass.”

He cleans you up with his shirt, helping you step inside your panties and even pulls them up himself. When he comes back up, standing in front of you, he kisses you. Not lustfully, not for the heat of the moment, but for something more. Something that says I’ve missed you. Your heart begins to transform into the odd shape it’d been in the past couple of days because all you can think of is how much you loved him right now. How much you’ve loved him, even amidst your anger and disappointment. You knew it, your body knew it, and now your heart was angry again. 

“Stay the night,” he says. “We’ll tell Mrs. Chae that you got here earlier. Or we’ll sneak you out through a window, I don’t know. But stay.”

Jungkook is just trying to be funny, but his words hurt. And you know they shouldn’t. You know you’d agreed to take things slow, to let him heal and test the waters but your decisions had made you selfish and right now, you had no way of controlling how much you wanted what you wanted. 

“I,” you pause, looking into his eyes. “I better go.”

“Why?”

“I should get home and shower and try to rest before tomorrow. Plus, I don’t have clothes or anything here and- I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Jungkook scans your eyes, trying to find the reason as to why your perfectly logical answer makes him feel so uneasy. But he can’t. He can’t find it, but he also can’t shake the feeling. 

“Okay.” He kisses you again. “I’m sorry for being a dick earlier. I let my exhaustion get the best of me.”

You smile at him. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. I don’t think you’re a nepo baby.”

“Mmm,” he plays, making you laugh.

“Only a little. But I would never say it to your face.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

He nods, kissing you again. And in that moment, you wonder if you’d ever felt your heart break and fall at the same time. 

~

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[bosbas]

Chapter 12: I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love!!, in their friends era... or are they?, the slow burn is slowww burningggg i'm so sorry

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: I am BACK sorry for my absence I promise I won't leave for that long again <3

July 12, 1816 – It seems that the summer heat is not the only thing causing a stir within the ton. Recently, the Montclair and Bridgerton families have been seen in each other’s company more frequently than usual. Could there be a more permanent union on the horizon?

Lord Philippe Montclair and Mr. Colin Bridgerton have been spotted in deep conversation on multiple occasions, discussing matters that appear far more serious than the usual lighthearted banter one would expect. Indeed, whispers suggest that their discussions have involved future business ventures and mutual interests, signaling a burgeoning camaraderie between the two gentlemen.

Regardless, the warmth between the two families is palpable, leading this author to wonder if we shall soon hear the sound of wedding bells. Stay vigilant, dear readers. Though no one shall stay more vigilant than this author.

As you walked home from the modiste with Eloise by your side, you noted the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves high atop the trees surrounding you. You had suggested a shortcut back to your respective homes, opting to go through the park rather than the busy streets, and you were mostly thankful for the silence of the greenery around you. Mostly.

“So, will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” asked Eloise expectantly, gently nudging your shoulder with hers.

You groaned and screwed your eyes shut, already dreading the conversation, and the evening, to come. “Yes, Mother has been quite insistent that I go. I think she’d kill me if I asked to stay home one more time.”

“I didn’t know we were that bad,” joked Eloise, only a hint of resentment in her voice.

“Not at all!” you rushed to defend yourself, cringing at the fact that one of your dearest friends was upset with you. “You know that it’s just… Well, I’m sure Colin told you everything. I really can’t bear to face him.”

In all honesty, Eloise’s annoyance was warranted. You had spent the past two weeks avoiding the Bridgertons at all costs, only seeing Eloise at balls or in your own home. The only reason you had gone to Bridgerton House today was because you and Eloise were leaving immediately afterward to go get new dresses, and you were certain you wouldn’t run into Colin.

Not only were you still terribly embarrassed by your assumptions of Colin's character, but you also found yourself strangely drawn to him. Now that nothing prevented you from actually liking him, and now that you knew that he was not a horrible person like you had previously thought, you were in a bit of a conundrum. Colin Bridgerton had charmed you, and you knew that if you let yourself, you could very well start to grow feelings for him.

And that wouldn’t do. No, it absolutely wouldn’t. For starters, the two of you had never managed to get along anyway, so you had no idea how you would even live in relative peace were you to have a future. Even so, your father would never approve, no matter what Lady Whisteldown was alluding to. And so Colin was out of the question as a husband or really anything other than a friend.

But while you had been meticulously maneuvering through your social outings to avoid her family, Eloise had slowly been losing patience. She had tolerated whatever had been going on between you and Colin at the beginning of the season, but it was high time that you stopped acting so childish. Especially after Anthony and Kate’s ball, where the two of you had already apologized for your misunderstanding and subsequent feud.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen him since that night,” scolded Eloise, crossing her arms in a huff. Then, in a humorous tone, she added, “He doesn’t actually look that bad with a broken nose if that’s what you’re worried about. The swelling has gone down considerably.”

Not able to help yourself, you let out a small snort and smiled at your friend. “No, it’s not that. I’m just so embarrassed. Oh heavens, even just thinking about it I can feel my face getting hot. He did tell you about it, right?”

“Yes,” responded Eloise, giving you a very pointed look. “He was very excited about the fact that you didn’t actually hate him. He wouldn’t stop talking about it for two days. Though now I wonder if that really is the case, given your behavior.”

 “Oh, no,” you groaned, putting your head in your hands in desperation.

“He was quite embarrassed as well, Y/N,” Eloise reminded you gently. “I don’t see why you can barely stand to be in the same room as him even now.”

“I just-” you started, finding it difficult to explain why you had been so against seeing him, or any of his family, really, after the most recent ordeal with Lord Barlow.

But Eloise wasn’t letting you get away with it any longer. She slowed down her previously brisk walk, looking straight into your eyes as she gestured for you to continue.

“I just wasted so much time and energy fighting with him and I’m so ashamed that your family saw that side of me. I didn’t even know I could be that unpleasant! And to make matters worse, it was all for nothing since I was completely in the wrong.”

“Not completely,” Eloise mused. Colin had been quite kind to you in his retelling of the events, and Eloise was inclined to believe her brother’s account.

With a sigh, your friend turned to face you. “I wish you had told me what you thought of him because I would have either helped you realize your mistake or helped you kill him.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as you realized how lucky you were to have Eloise in your life. Linking arms with her, you patted her hand as you explained, “I was just terrified of the recourse. My parents were so insistent that I ‘act ladylike’ that I was scared of revealing I had been unchaperoned in the presence of two men. And besides, I didn’t want to ruin your perception of your brother.”

“Well, regardless, it will all be resolved at dinner tonight, seeing how you’ll be in attendance.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips.

“I certainly hope so.”

---

As you walked into the dining room, a soft smile on your lips as you spoke with Kate, Colin’s breath was stolen from his body. He already hadn’t been expecting to see you, already growing accustomed to having you avoid him, but seeing you look as beautiful as you did now was completely doing him in.

“Y/N,” he whispered from across the room, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Feeling an elbow digging into his ribs, Colin turned to see Benedict, smirking as he watched his younger brother. “Might I suggest pulling yourself together if you don’t want to scare her away again?”

“Be quiet,” hissed Colin, but he ran a hand through his hair to regain his composure anyway.

“Benedict!” you greeted, delighted at finally seeing him for so long. “And Colin!” you added, hoping your voice didn’t reveal the nervousness you were feeling.

“Lovely to see you again,” said Benedict brightly, squeezing your shoulder.

Then, feigning some obligation or another, the second Bridgerton slipped out of the dining room to join the rest of your families, leaving you alone with Colin. Benedict had been terribly obvious, but the resulting awkwardness that enveloped you and Colin kept you from noticing his brash exit.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Colin spoke, almost timidly. Then, speaking very quickly, he added, “I was fairly confused when I didn’t hear from you for two weeks, but I didn’t want to call on you because we agreed to just be friends and I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression. Though now that I think about it, that might have been the decent thing to do."

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, Colin looked down at the floor as he waited for your response.

“Not at all!” you rushed out, wanting to reassure him. “It was my fault entirely. I apologize for not speaking with you sooner, I was just a tad embarrassed, as you can probably imagine.”

Colin’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled, feeling at ease now that he was certain you didn’t spontaneously hate him again.

“You were embarrassed? I rather think I should be the one feeling that way,” he laughed. “I still find it hard to believe you could have thought I was that... horrid for so long.”

You put your hands over your face and shook your head. “I can’t believe it either,” you groaned.

Sensing you were getting worked up again, Colin instinctively put a comforting arm around your shoulders, pressing you to him. “No, it’s quite alright. I promise I was just…”

Then, suddenly realizing just how close he was holding you to him, Colin stepped away quickly. Instead of apologizing and drawing even more attention to his overstepping, he settled for clearing his throat awkwardly, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out to you again.

“It was all in jest, I swear,” promised Colin, realizing he had never finished his earlier sentence.

Before you could respond, Violet walked into the dining room, followed by your family.

“Hello, Y/N!” she greeted you, reaching over to put a hand on your forearm in greeting. “I’m thrilled you’re here! We missed you last week.”

You smiled gratefully back at her, internally chastising yourself for ever wanting to avoid this wonderful family. All because you were scared of facing Colin, who, as it turned out, had a singular talent for making you feel at ease.

“You’re seated here, next to Colin,” indicated Violet, gesturing toward a seat near the end of the dining table.

“Oh,” you breathed out, not expecting to have to be in such proximity to him for the whole night. Realizing you had been impossibly rude, you added, “Thank you very much, I’m sure we’ll have lots to catch up on.”

Four courses later, you were having the time of your life. You were sitting between Francesca and Colin, and both had been keeping you endlessly entertained as you ate. Speaking to Colin came so naturally that you wondered how the two of you had ever managed to fight so much without ever having a proper conversation, save for one or two. It seemed impossible now, the forgone tension between you. Especially when you had to actively ensure that you were talking to Francesca, too, rather than just Colin. But he was just so easy to talk to, and you simply had so much in common that it was proving quite difficult to focus on anything else.

“Are you excited for your season next year?” you asked Francesca, leaning away from Colin so you could concentrate on speaking to her.

“I suppose I’m looking forward to having something of my own,” she responded after chewing thoughtfully. “An experience of my own, that is. It’ll be quite the luxury, especially being from a family as large as mine. Did you ever feel that way?”

You hummed, thinking back on your season. “I felt that way at the beginning, to be sure. But having seen my older sister’s fairytale romance and having a season that was nowhere near that had me wishing for a season similar to hers in the end.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that-” Francesca started, having forgotten your ordeal with Lord Barlow.

You waved her apology away, smiling warmly at her. “Not to worry, I’m quite well-adjusted now. Perhaps next season will be better, though I’m not sure how unique it will be since I’m heading back to Spain, just as Isabelle did.”

“Are you really leaving?” asked Francesca, partially in shock that you were leaving after only one season. “But-”

“Y/N does,” came a loud voice next to you.

Confused, you turned around to face Colin, who seemed to have gone quite red in the face.

“I hadn’t realized I was speaking that loud,” he said bashfully, nervous now that most everyone at the table was looking at him expectantly. “Anthony was only talking about how I use the night sky to navigate my crew when I travel, and I was pointing out that you are quite knowledgeable in that area as well,” he explained, looking at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

Anthony, who had been at the other side of the table, was struggling to contain his laughter.

“I had no idea Y/N knew so much about the stars,” commented Violet, looking directly at Colin as she did so, an unreadable expression on her face.

Highly uncomfortable at being the center of attention for this particular reason, the third Bridgerton internally cringed and gulped his wine, hoping to wash down some of the discomfort as he did so.

“We’ve only talked about it a few times, but she does seem to be quite the expert,” he said finally.

Feeling charitable, Louis chimed in to change the subject, “I know I’ve been victim to her hour-long lectures about which constellations are visible at any given point in time. Were you thinking of traveling soon, Anthony?”

Letting out a sigh of relief now that the attention was no longer fixed on his thinly veiled infatuation with you, Colin cast a fleeting smile in your direction, eager to gauge your reaction.

But you only smiled amusedly at him, snickering as he gripped his fork and knife tightly in his hands with leftover tension.

“Tell Louis I say thank you,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “It’ll get to his head,” you argued.

And Colin’s smile in return was so charming, so roguish, and so handsome that you were tempted to forget your agreement to be friends right then and there.

Ah, that was why you had been avoiding him, you reminded yourself. Colin was far too charismatic for his own good. For your own good, rather.

But you had to remind yourself of what your parents –and society– expected you to find. A man with a title and a fortune. And that was decidedly not a Mr. Colin Bridgerton.

Clearing your throat, you turned away from Colin to face Francesca again.

Friends, you reminded yourself. You were friends with Colin.

---

The Montclair brothers sat in their father’s study, brandy in hand as they so often did after evening dinners ran long and they needed to wind down. Supper with the Bridgertons had been lovely, but the boys had important matters to discuss with their father. Well, important matters to you. But important nonetheless.

“Que pensez-vous de Colin?” asked Jacques, trying to seem nonchalant (What do you think of Colin?).

“Bah, il est assez gentil, mais il est vraiment amoureux,” came your father’s gruff response before he took a long sip of brandy, rubbing his temples (Well, he’s nice enough, but he’s definitely in love).

“Quoi? Amoureux de qui?” pressed Philippe, feigning innocence as if this wasn’t exactly what the brothers wanted Lord Montclair to notice (What? In love with who?).

“De Y/N, bien sûr,” replied your father, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (With Y/N, of course).

That was the tipping point for Louis, who apparently was the only person in the world who wasn't instantly attuned to Colin’s feelings. Forgetting why he and his brothers were so eager to meet with their father and talk about Colin, the youngest Montclair brother set his glass of brandy down in exasperation.

“Putain, comment tout le monde a pu voir ça?” (Damnit, how did everyone else see that?)

---

Laughing quietly at a comment Colin had whispered in your ear, you found yourself truly enjoying a ball for the first time in a very long time. Now that you were past all the hatred and subsequent awkwardness, it was lovely to spend an evening with Colin by your side.

This might have been the first ball you had been to that you hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time sulking at. It was, to say the very least, quite freeing.

Not to mention the absolute entertainment that was watching the third Bridgerton rush from ambitious mama to eligible lady and back to another mama as he attempted to please everyone. You had only been here an hour and he’d already danced three times and spoken with at least four women you knew for a fact he had no interest in.

“Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, it’s lovely to see you again,” came a voice behind you.

Both of you turned around to face Miss Anne McCall, who was looking at Colin expectantly. Amused, you raised your eyebrows at him, too. You could bet your family’s entire fortune that Colin had promised her a dance at some point tonight.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, briefly touching your arm. “Excuse me just a moment, Y/N.”

You nodded, unable to respond because you were momentarily overtaken by the feel of his hand on you. An unfamiliar warmth radiated to you, and you almost stumbled as you tried to regain your bearings.

Looking out across the ballroom, you spotted Colin smiling and laughing as he danced with Miss McCall, who was looking absolutely enamored as he spun her around. You smiled to yourself, glad that your rivalry with him had been resolved and you could simply appreciate the fact that he was a lovely person. Maybe some night you would be the one he was spinning around the ballroom.

Shaking your head to will the mental image away, you made your way to the other side of the ballroom, needing to clear your head.

However, a hand gripped yours and you turned around, surprised. Colin’s relieved eyes met yours and he pulled you closer to him, though still allowing an appropriate distance between you two in case anyone was observing.

“A turn about the ballroom?” he suggested, eyes pleading.

Once again taken aback by how aware you were of his skin on yours, you could only nod, allowing him to place your hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I think I’ve spoken to too many people tonight. If I have to laugh politely at another conversation I’m certain I will dissolve right where I'm standing.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, squeezing his arm. “You don’t have to do it, you know?”

“Do what?”

“That,” you said, gesturing toward the dancefloor full of couples waltzing. “You’re allowed to say no.”

Colin frowned, thoughtful. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“Why not?” you pressed.

“I- I don’t know, I suppose. It feels like it’s what I should be doing. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Hmm, not particularly. I’ve said no to plenty of men wanting to dance with me, you included,” you nudged him playfully.

“That doesn’t really count, though. Because you’re… you. It doesn’t matter if you say no to every single man asking you to dance.”

“Doesn’t it? You’re also you. So, it doesn’t matter either.”

“No, I mean that…I don’t know what I mean. I suppose that people would still like you even if you said no a lot.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you took in what Colin was saying.

“People would still like you if you said no every once in a while, you know? I know I would.”

Colin shook his head. “It’s still different!” Then, softening his voice, he added, “Because you have… Or rather, because I just don’t have any remarkable qualities beyond people finding me charming or affable.”

“Colin,” you scolded, rolling your eyes. Then, seeing that he was quite serious, your expression sobered. “Of course you have value beyond how much people like you. My word, Colin. You are so clever and so well-traveled. You can orient yourself on a map at first glance, and I doubt you would ever get lost at sea. You know most constellations visible from London, and I don’t even know how many beyond that.”

“Alright, I see your point,” he laughed, secretly wishing you would continue speaking forever. Colin was practically preening at your praise, and he so desperately wished you could want him the way he wanted you. “What do you suggest I do at balls, then, if I'm not dancing with every single member of the ton?”

 “Well, you could start by only dancing with people you want to dance with.”

“In that case, would you like to dance with me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” insisted Colin. Then, after a pause, he added, “Friends can dance together," a twinge of regret in his chest as he said the words.

But that seemed to placate you, and you placed your hand in his. “I suppose they do.”

With a shaky breath, you prepared for the next few minutes you would spend in Colin’s arms, not quite sure you or your heart were ready to look into his mesmerizing eyes and not fall completely head over heels for him.

But one smile from him, and you were completely at ease. One dance couldn’t hurt, right?

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

I no longer have a taglist for this fic, but turn on post notifications for @bosbas-library to stay updated when I post!

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE masterlist

life in hawkins, indiana is bittersweet for an eighteen year old like you. up to this point you've enjoyed your reign as the resident rich bitch ice queen of hawkins high. you glide above the student body with an impenetrable grace— until the IRS comes knocking and your family loses everything that makes you you; the money, the super-trendy clothes, the people you called friends. you're forced to trade your plush suburban life for a double wide in forest hills trailer park— directly across the lot from resident hellfire king and noted freak, eddie munson. you've got plenty of reasons to hate him, but number one with a bullet? his daddy put your daddy in jail.

pairing: eddie munson x f!oc, mentions of unrequited steve harrington x f!oc and unrequited jonathan byers x f!oc, platonic!nancy wheeler x f!oc, platonic!ronnie ecker x f!oc

tags: NSFW / MINORS TURN BACK NOW! f!oc is written in the immersive second person; she does have a name and a background, but no physical description is mentioned in the text. enemies to star-crossed lovers on a slow burn setting, angst, misunderstanding, yearning, swearing, smoking, drinking, era-typical classism/sexism/homophobia/sexual harassment, smut including but not limited to voyeurism, masturbation, public sex, discussion of crime that i pull out of my ass kind of, really mean jokes, eventual fluff (i promise). extremely canon divergent with references to flight of icarus.

ready to light this place up?

❦ - SERIES

❦ - chapter one: THE POISE, LUCK and INTEGRITY OF A KENNEDY

❦ - chapter two: VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON'S HOUSE

❦ - chapter three: EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

❦ - chapter four: HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS

❦ - chapter five: CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

❦ - chapter six: IN MY ORBIT

❦ - chapter seven: WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS

❦ - chapter eight: SEWN UP

❦ - chapter nine: EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

❦ - chapter ten: THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

❦ - chapter eleven: ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS

❦ - chapter twelve:

❦ - chapter thirteen:

❦ - chapter fourteen:

❦ - chapter fifteen:

❦ - chapter sixteen:

❦ - epilogue

❦ - BLURBS N SHIT

in-universe requests are open for business

flashback - LACY'S DAD GETS ARRESTED

flashback - EDDIE MUNSON STAMPS NICOLE SUMMERS' V-CARD (NOT A BOARD WAXER, NOT IN MAUI)

what if - EDDIE FOUND LACY'S JOURNAL

what if - LACY FOUND EDDIE'S WEIRD SERIAL KILLER WRITING SCRAPS

lore - ALL ABOUT THE BOOKSTORE

blurb - EDDIE HEARS LACY HAVING A SEX DREAM AND...

blurb - EDDIE TELLS LACY HOW HIS PARENTS MET

blurb - LACY VISITS HER DAD IN PRISON

blurb - FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

blurb - YES, NURSE RATCHED

blurb - THE BANDANA

blurb - EDDIE FS CASS FINNIGAN IN THE A

blurb - THE LACY AND JONATHAN OF IT ALL

blurb - THE KING OF HAWKINS HIGH: AN AL MUNSON STORY

❦ - FUN STUFF

soundtrack - VOLUME ONE

[ineedhaikyu]

Chapter One

Summary: How does Asahi find himself in these situations? He wasn’t the tough and scary guy everyone made him out to be. Why can’t someone just give him a chance? That’s what he thought until he met her…

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: So much FLUFF! Dealing with self-doubt and anxiety. I didn’t write Atsumu’s slang dialogue but maybe I’ll edit in the future.

A/N: My contribution to Asahi x Reader content. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEST BOY!! GIF credit to @akaashikoutarou

~

Today is the day. January 5th. Everyone’s hard work and determination will be put to the test on this day. A day where volleyball teams from all over Japan, the best from each prefecture, will meet with one another and have a chance to battle on the orange court. 

Today marks Day One in the All Japan High School Volleyball Championship. Otherwise known as the Spring Tournament.

The victor of each battle will be one step closer to reaching the summit, a place that is only reserved for one winning team. 

But until then, each team must go through the wringer and the emotional ties that come when playing the best of the best. Not only are the team members fighting for themselves to place a respectable standing in the tournament, they are also carrying the weight of their school’s pride and honor on their shoulders. The pressure that the Spring Tournament has always been great, but it’s even greater for those teams who are participating for the first time.

Teams such as the Karasuno High School Volleyball team.

A twelve member volleyball team from the Miyagi prefecture. For the past few years, Karasuno has fallen from their powerhouse status, but it seems that has all changed. Because now, here they are competing in the Spring Tournament for the first time in years.

Their methods of offense and defense were amazing to watch. It was almost too beautiful to describe but then again the concept is all the same: just keep the ball in play. 

“(Y/N)-san!” 

The third-year manager tore her gaze away from the orange court to meet with the familiar brown eyes of Miya Atsumu, the second-year setter of their volleyball team. 

“Hey Atsumu.” She greeted the popular setter with a smile before scanning the area around them. “Where’s Osamu?”

“That scrub is probably stuffing his face.” He huffed as he stood next to her. His eyes peered down at the active court. “What are you even doing here?”

(Y/N) followed his gaze and smiled. “Just want to check out the competition. I’m curious as to who our next opponent will be.”

“Who’s playing?”

“Tsubakihara Academy and Karasuno High.”

Atsumu furrowed his brow at the mention of the latter school. He’s sure that Goody-Two Shoes setter came from there. 

“Are they any good?”

He waited for her answer but when he didn’t receive one, the twin looked at her. Usually the older girl always had an answer for his questions, however silly the questions were. It was something Atsumu liked about (Y/N). No matter what silly antics he, his twin, and the rest of the volleyball team partook in, (Y/N) was always there to keep them in check. It was something Aran and Kita, her best friends, valued her for and the coach couldn’t agree more. 

Of course, there were times she played along with their shenanigans. It was why she got along so well with everyone on the team. As a manager, the girl knew there were times to be serious but also to just enjoy the moments with the best team she ever had. Even the annoying moments of Suna and the Miya twins prying into her non-existent love life. Take the conversation she had with them from last week.

Flashback

“You rejected another guy, (Y/N)-senpai.” Osamu commented as he ate his lunch. “How many is that now?”

His twin answered for her. “I’m pretty sure that makes him Unlucky Schmuck #5. But that guy didn’t even have a chance.”

“Oh?” (Y/N) stopped taking her notes and decided to indulge in the conversation. “And why’s that? Kenji’s a nice guy.”

“Easy because he’s boring. You don’t want to date a boring guy, do you?”

“The most interesting thing about him is that he’s on the basketball team.” Osamu piped in, reaching over the table to get some of her chips. “He’s not even on the starting line up.”

“His last post was just a picture of the ocean.” Suna piped in, his eyes showed so much disinterest in Unlucky Schmuck #5’s profile account. He showed his phone to her. “See?”

“So? That doesn’t mean he’s boring. Besides, I like the ocean. That’s why I liked his post.”

Suna rolled his eyes and turned off his phone. He leaned all his weight over (Y/N)’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re nice.”

“Sometimes too nice.” She grumbled as she jerked her shoulder so Suna could get off her and then slap the gray haired twin’s hand away from her chips. She looked back at Atsumu and said, “But I’m still waiting for the right guy to come around.”

The setter grinned. “Then quit waiting because I’m right here.”

Osamu and Suna scoffed, which irked Atsumu. “Aren’t you Unlucky Schmuck #1?”

“Am not!”

“Got the video on my phone if you want to relive it again.” Suna smirked as he taunted Atsumu with a wave of his phone. The video was pure gold. No way was he going to delete it. He needed all the memories, especially embarrassing moments of the Miya twins.

“Well, I’m glad you three are so interested in my love life but I already have my hands full dealing with you guys. I don’t need a jealous boyfriend on top of your crazy fangirls. My anxiety would not be able to handle it. Besides, nationals are literally next week. ”

The twins pouted in unison when the manager mentioned their fangirls. 

“Then get a guy who’ll understand. I’m sure there’s someone-”

“I’m right here-!” Atsumu exclaimed but was cut short when his twin hit the back of his head and at the same time Suna kicked his foot. “Quit abusing me!”

Suna ignored him and continued on. “Whoever this schmuck is, he’s going to be the luckiest guy in Japan.”

“He better be good at volleyball.” Atsumu grumbled, his head on the table. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Osamu joined his twin’s line of thinking. “Preferably from a powerhouse. The guy can’t be from a weak team. And cook some good food.” 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at the Miya twins. Of course, they would say something like that. She looked back at Suna and asked, “Do you have a requirement for my future significant other?”

Suna thought for a moment before answering her question. “As long as he cares for you.”

“Thanks Suna.” 

“But the moment he hurts you,” Atsumu began.

“He has to deal with everyone on the team.” Osamu finished his brother’s sentence.

(Y/N) grinned at their protectiveness. “Thanks Unlucky Schmuck #1 and #2.”

“Hey!”/ “Don’t call me that!” The twins exclaimed in unison causing the middle blocker and manager to laugh once more.

End of Flashback

“Earth to (L/N) (Y/N)! Can you hear me, manager? This is future champion setter, Atsumu, speaking! Talk to me!”

(Y/N) blinked and tore her eyes away from the orange court. “Huh? What did you say?”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes and leaned close to (Y/N)’s face, causing the girl’s face to heat up. She quickly stepped back and looked away from the twin’s observant gaze. 

“What?” She asked him.

“Who were you looking at?”

“No one in particular. Just Karasuno's team in general.” 

She answered way too quickly and they both knew it. Atsumu grinned at his senpai’s poor attempt to lie. “Someone caught your eye?”

“Shouldn’t you be practicing your sets?”

“Oh no, don’t you avoid my question, (Y/N). Besides, my sets are perfect.” He turned his focus on the volleyball players that were still competing below. “Who’s the guy? Better not be that Goody-Two Shoes.”

(Y/N) furrowed her brow. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Karasuno’s #9. Kageyama Tobio.”

She looked at the roster and found the person Atsumu was talking about. She then looked back at the match that was still playing. 

“Wait a minute. Is this the same Goody-Two Shoes that you met at the National training camp?”

Atsumu huffed and nodded. His eyes narrowed at the impressive set Tobio just did. “Yeah, that’s him alright. Piece of work that guy. Always setting the ball exactly how the spiker wants it. Such a Goody-Two Shoes.”

“Oh my god, Atsumu. He’s just a first year student. Give him a break.” She paused for a moment before she asked, “Did you actually call him a Goody-Two Shoes?

The Inarizaki setter was just about to answer when he saw the familiar glare on his manager’s face. “Of course not.”

“You’re such a liar.” She scolded him as she flicked his forehead. “You always have to psych someone out and cause trouble.”

“Whatever! It’s not like I hurt his feelings. I was just telling him the truth. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

Just as she was about to reply, there was the familiar sound of a volleyball being slammed to the ground. Soon after, the announcer’s voice echoed throughout the stadium. “And Karasuno’s ace, Azumane Asahi, just did a flawless service ace!”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched for the mentioned ace. #3. The third-year wing spiker. A guy with long brown hair styled in a bun. He looked older than the rest of the team with his tall and strong build and with the service ace earlier, Azumane has proven himself that he’s the ace of the team.

He looked intimidating, just like how Aran would be when he was on a roll. But for some reason, Karasuno’s ace, didn’t scare her. 

‘It’s his smile. He has a beautiful smile.’ (Y/N) thought as she watched the ace high-fived his teammates. ‘It looks like he’s enjoying himself… Having the time of his life.’

The pair of students watched the match until it reached its conclusion with Karasuno winning the second set. Which means they’ll advance to the second round where they’ll face their own team. Tomorrow’s match: Inarizaki vs Karasuno. It will be an interesting match that would guarantee to excite the crowd.

“Well, at least we know who we’re going to beat tomorrow.” Atsumu’s eyes shimmered in excitement, knowing tomorrow’s match will be a battle between setters. He couldn’t wait to prove to everyone who the better setter was. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s get out of here. The team is probably waiting for us to go out for lunch.”

“Sure.” 

As Atsumu led the way, (Y/N) looked over her shoulder where her eyes landed on the members of Karasuno’s volleyball team cheering for joy. The ace’s smile was infectious as she felt her own lips smile as well. 

~

“Hey, Atsumu. You go ahead. I want to buy another T-shirt while I’m here. I’ll catch a bus to the hotel.”

“You sure? I can wait-” Atsumu’s stomach decided it was the perfect moment to announce its hunger out loud. 

(Y/N) laughed as the setter tried to cease his stomach’s rumbling. “Just go, ‘Tsumu. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Fine! But hurry, will you? You know how ‘Samu gets when he’s hungry.”

The two parted ways. It always surprised her how large the crowd gets during intermission. She had to dodge and weave to avoid the hurdle of students carrying band instruments. She was successful and luckily the T-shirt stand was right there. There were so many options to consider and she was just about to make a selection when there was a sudden loud CRASH. 

The noise caused her to stiffen in fright, she looked behind her to find someone had dropped a pair of cymbals.

“Can someone pick those up?” A girl asked her bandmates.

“I got them.” A bright-eyed boy volunteered.

(Y/N) remembered to breathe to calm her nerves as she gave the worker of the T-shirt stand a wobbly smile. “Can I have-”

“Hey, you! Look out!”

While the boy meant to be helpful, everything went downhill from there. When the boy bent down to pick up the cymbals, he accidentally bumped the nearby bass drum causing it to fall out of its little wagon. The large drum began to roll away, causing the crowd to panic. 

(Y/N) looked behind her and saw that the drum was heading right towards her. She was just about to move when she felt a warm hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the way. She watched as two guys her age, one with dark hair and the other with silver hair, stopped the drum from crashing into the T-shirt stand. 

“A-Are you okay, miss?” A male’s voice, deep with concern, asked her. “Are you hurt?”

“Y-Yeah. Thanks for that-” (Y/N)’s ability to talk disappeared when she saw the face of her hero. It was Karasuno’s ace, Azumane Asahi. 

And he looked even more handsome up close. She had to step back - not because she was scared of him but because she could feel her heart going into overdrive being so close to the guy she was beginning to have a crush on.

“Miss?”

‘He’s talking to you, dummy! Talk back!’

“Oh, um, yeah! Thanks again.” (Y/N) gave him a smile. “You’re Azumane, right? From Karasuno? I just watched your match. You were amazing, especially with that service ace.”

Asahi’s POV

A girl was talking to him. 

A pretty girl. Willingly talking. To him. 

It was enough to cause his brain to short circuit. He waited for the girl to come to her senses and realize that she was supposed to be scared of him, like how everyone else he came across. But to his surprise, the pretty girl was still talking to him. She didn’t have an ounce of fear in her eyes and the gentle smile she gave him made him feel better about himself. And to make matters even better, she was giving him compliments.

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Daichi and Suga came up on either side of him and saw the girl. Asahi didn’t have to look at them to know his friends were giving each other a knowing smile behind his back.

The two introduced themselves to the girl who in turn introduced herself.

“My name is (L/N) (Y/N). I’m from Inarizaki High School in Hyōgo. I came here with my team.”

“You must be really good if you made it to Nationals.” Suga complimented.

She shook her head. “Oh no. I’m just the manager for the volleyball team. I was just telling your ace here how good your team is during your match.”

“We were nervous at first but we managed to get through this round.” Daichi told her. “The other team surprised us with that underhand serve.”

“Really? You manage to adapt to it very well.”

“We couldn’t have done it without this guy!” Suga slapped his hand against Asahi’s back. “Would you believe me if I told you he was single?”

“S-Suga!” He shouted in embarrassment. “W-Why w-would you say that?!”

“Oh come on, Asahi,” Daichi placed his hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like he’s lying. Besides, we're all single too.”

“Y-Yeah but that doesn’t mean she is.”

“Sorry to break the news but I’m single just like you.” 

He was shocked to hear that the girl in front of him was actually single. She was breathtaking. Literally. And she was so nice to him.

“My team thinks otherwise. They keep pushing me to have a boyfriend, but I have my hands full managing them and their crazy fangirls. A jealous boyfriend isn’t something I need, you know?”

“Oh, well, that’s reasonable. Maybe you need to find someone who’s understanding,” Suga elbowed his side. “Right, Asahi?”

“U-Um yeah?” What is Suga up to?

“It’s a good thing there are guys, like Asahi, in the world. He’s actually quite sensitive. The only time he feels confident is when he’s on the court.”

“Daichi, what are you doing?” He whispered, the heat from his neck began to crept onto his face. Is his face red? Can she tell?

“Oh, no. Look at the time. Daichi, we need to go.” Suga announced, grabbing the captain’s shoulders and pushing him in a random direction. “We have that meeting with the coach. Right now. Remember?”

“That’s right, Suga.” Daichi gave him a knowing smile, a smile that he knew meant trouble. “Asahi, why don’t you stay here with (L/N)? Make sure she’s safe from any more runaway instruments.”

“It was nice meeting you two! Good luck tomorrow! You’re going to need it. The boys of the Inarizaki team love a good challenge. Don’t disappoint them.”

“Right back at you.”

He watched as his friends walked away, leaving him alone with the girl who caused his anxiety to skyrocket to a whole new level. Not even Kiyoko made him feel like this.

“You're lucky to have such good friends, Azumane.” She told him, her voice bringing him out of his thoughts. “I bet there’s never a dull moment when you three are together.”

He laughed as he rubbed his neck out of habit. “Been that way since we were first years. Though the first and second years bring all the crazy.”

“I know exactly what you mean. The second years on the team love making my life crazy. I love them but sometimes they can be a bit much. Especially during Nationals. Speaking of which, is this your first time?”

“Yeah. And with this being my last year, I guess I should be grateful that I’m even here.”

He was so lost in his own world of self-deprecation that he didn’t notice what she was doing. Not until her fist punched his chest. It wasn’t gentle or strong, somewhere in between, but her touch didn’t surprise him. 

It was her eyes that surprised him. They seemed to shine with determination and, for some reason or another, inspire confidence. Even her voice was firm.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Asahi. Your team didn’t get here by chance. You all earned a spot here. You deserve to be here.”

Was it possible for a heart to beat so hard against a person’s ribs? Maybe it’s a medical condition? Because never before had he felt so anxious yet empowered. He wondered if (Y/N) could feel his heart underneath her hand. 

“I’m not saying you should just get over yourself because we all have experienced some level of negative emotion in our lives, right? And it’s not as easy as turning a page in a book. Trust me I know. So believe me when I say this, it’s okay to express those feelings. Maybe one day, you’ll find solace in someone.”

There was another feeling. He couldn’t find a label for it, but he could describe it. A warm sensation that bloomed from his chest to every cell in his body the moment she said his name. Not his surname. His actual name. Asahi. His brain felt as though it had melted inside his skull. But by some miracle, he found his voice again.

“You… You think so?” He asked her. “About me being here?”

Why was he asking her this? Just a few minutes ago, she was a stranger. She could just lie to make him feel better but he had a feeling (Y/N) wasn’t like that. 

“Are you kidding? I saw it with my own eyes.” She stepped back and mimicked a serve. The smile on her lips complimented the excitement in her eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of players these past three years, all of them possessing some kind of amazing skill. But you’re… Special.”

“Because I’m the ace?”

She smiled up at him. “That’s part of it, but if I’m being honest here I think you’re special even without the title of ace. The match from today proved it to me and I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

“See what?”

“Your true self-worth.”

Normal POV

(Y/N) watched as Asahi mulled over her words and she hoped it gave him some confidence. While she didn’t know him all too well, Asahi looked like a nice enough guy. A bit self-conscious about his abilities, but hopefully she helped him loosen the strangling roots of insecurity that surrounded him.

Why did she care so much in helping him? Well, he did save her. The least she could do is give him some encouragement. She frowned at the thought. No… There must be something else she could do to give her thanks…

Her eyes wandered to the T-shirt stand and an idea was formed.

“Hey Asahi-san, let me buy you a T-shirt. It’s the least I could do since you saved me and all.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Really. As long as you're okay-”

She shook her head, grabbed his hand, and led him to the T-shirt stand. “Come on, please. You can choose whatever shirt you like. Consider it a gift.”

“G-Gift?” Asahi stammered and she couldn’t help but find his stammering cute. “From you?”

A small chuckle escaped her lips. “Yes from me. It wouldn’t make sense if it was someone else. Let me do this for you.”

Asahi contemplated for a moment before agreeing. The worker of the T-shirt stand, who watched their interaction the whole time, was extremely kind to them as (Y/N) picked her choice as well. Asahi stood awkwardly by, waiting for the transaction to be finished.

“You two would make a cute couple.” The worker said, quiet enough so only she could hear. “You should go for him.”

“You think so?” (Y/N) asked as she discreetly peered over her shoulder to look at the guy who made her feel all warm and fuzzy. 

“Believe it or not,” The worker handed her the two bags, hers and Asahi’s, “Before the whole chaos started, you already caught his eye. His two friends tried to get him to talk to you but I guess he was too nervous.”

(Y/N) smiled widely at this. Maybe he liked her too? She hoped so because the feeling was definitely mutual. Only one way to find out...

“Hey, do you have a pen and paper I can use?”

~

Turns out the two third-years were heading in the same direction. By some cosmic fate, Asahi and his team were staying at the inn right next to the hotel she was staying in with her own team. So during the whole bus ride there, they got to know more about each other.

Asahi learned about (Y/N)’s favorite foods, hobbies, and even her future dream of attending the university in Tokyo. He laughed at the stories she shared about the Inarizaki team members. And (Y/N) was happy to learn more about him. She learned that he was close to the libero of his team, he has taste in fashion, and that his birthday just passed four days ago.

All too soon, they reached their destination. They walked side by side until they reached the point where the path forked, one way led to her hotel while the other led to Asahi’s inn.

She turned to face him and flashed him another smile. “Thanks for your company, Asahi-san. It was really nice getting to know you.”

“Same here, (Y/N)-san.” Asahi replied, his voice no longer nervous around her. “And thanks again for the shirt. I’ll make sure to take care of it. I want it to last for years.”

“It’s no problem. After all, you did save me.” Her fingers rubbed the plastic material of her bag out of nerves. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y-Yeah, see you.” 

Asahi’s POV

With her back turned, there was sudden pull in his heart, as if begging for her to stay.

“(Y/N)! Wait!”

He was surprised to hear his voice sound so firm but she brought that feeling out of him. He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. He enjoyed talking to (Y/N). She was so understanding, kind, and ever so confident. Their time together felt so short but at the same time so long. Those moments with her… He wanted more of those moments. 

And the moment his eyes met with her hopeful ones, he knew he had to at least try to ask for her number.

“Yes, Asahi?”

Oh, god. She looked so pretty… He wondered if (Y/N) knew the effect she has on him. The initial confidence he had was beginning to fade, but he steeled his nerves and took a deep breath.

“I was wondering, i-if it’s okay with you, that w-we could-”

“(Y/N)-SENPAI!” A guy with blond hair called out to her.

Right next to him was another guy, identical to the first only with silver hair, yelled, “WE’RE WAITING FOR YOU! I’M STARVING!”

“WHAT ‘SAMU SAID!”

‘They must be the Miya twins.’ He thought.

(Y/N) sighed before answering back, “Give me a minute!” She turned back and offered him a sheepish look. “Sorry about that Asahi. What were you saying?”

Over her shoulder, he saw the Miya twins frowning at him all the while staring daggers in his direction. His confidence, the little bit he had in supply, disappeared into thin air. He stammered out a reply, “Never mind. U-Um… Get a good night’s sleep. T-Take care of yourself.”

(Y/N)’s smile melted. Was that disappointment in her eyes? But she quickly recovered and offered him a bittersweet smile, “Oh, um, thanks Asahi. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” She turned around and began to make her way to the twins when stopped in her tracks. “Oh, and Asahi-san?”

“Yeah?” He felt his heart hitch up to his throat when they made eye contact once again. Her eyes were a lovely shade of (E/C) filled with warmth and kindness. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself the next few days. Remember what I said. Your team is lucky to have you as their ace. So do your best tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll do great.” She glanced down at the plastic bag containing the shirt she bought for him. “I hope you like the shirt. Consider it a birthday gift from me.”

And with that, the girl he developed to have feelings for walked away, but not before she gave one last smile that made his heart expand three times its size. 

~

“Asahi! You’re back!” Nishinoya’s loud voice echoed throughout the room where Karasuno's team was staying. “Is what Daichi and Suga are saying true? You met a girl?!”

Tanaka joined in his friend’s interrogation. “Yeah, Asahi! Daichi didn’t want to say anything but Suga said you saved her life!”

“Was she pretty?”

“What school does she go to?”

“What was she like?”

“What’s her name?”

“We need details!” The two second-years yelled out in unison. Their eyes shimmering in excitement as they waited for answers. 

“Uh, w-well…”

“Alright, that’s enough you two.” Daichi grabbed their shirt collars and pulled them back. “Give Asahi a break. He’s had an eventful day.”

“Yeah, come on, Asahi, let's get you a drink from the vending machine.” Suga offered, his hand already pushing him out of the room.

“I’m not thirsty-”

“Yes, you are.” Suga interrupted. “Our treat. Well, Daichi’s treat since he’s buying.”

The trio of third-years walked downstairs and true to Suga’s words, Daichi bought them a round of their favorite drink.

“Okay, spill! Don’t leave out a single detail. I want to know everything.” Suga pressed, just as Nishinoya and Tanaka were a few minutes ago.

“Suga, calm down.” Daichi told him. “You're worse than Nishinoya and Tanaka combined.”

“Oh, come on, Daichi,” Suga complained. “You want to know just as badly as I do.” 

“Ok, fine.” The captain admitted before turning to the ace. “So how did it go with (Y/N)?”

“Details.” Suga reminded him. 

So he told his friends everything that happened when they left them alone. How she raised his spirits, believing in his self-worth as an ace. How her words inspired him. How she made him feel nervous one moment and confident the next. How she bought him a new shirt as a gift.

“She sounds awesome for you, Asahi.” Suga complimented. “And if I remember correctly, doesn’t she fit your description of your ideal dream girl?”

“I mean- Yeah. She’s great but-”

Daichi interrupted him. “But what, Asahi? You're both single and you’re definitely interested in each other.”

“How do you know that? I mean she did say she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.”

“She said she didn’t need a jealous boyfriend.” Daichi reminded him. “You’re the most sensitive guy I know.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“This time it is.”

“Seriously, Asahi,” Suga placed his hand on his shoulder. “Why do you think I highlighted your star qualities? You take other people’s feelings into account. She helped build your confidence. And you just told us, how you had a great time talking to her where it sounds like she did too. You’re literally perfect for each other.”

“You think so?” He asked, sounding hopeful. “I do like her. Do you think she likes me?”

“Dude, she wasn’t scared of you, she held down a meaningful conversation with you, and she even bought you a shirt.” Suga listed, his grin growing by the minute. “(Y/N) likes you.”

The small flame of hope in his heart, fueled by his friends’ words, began to burn brightly. He couldn’t wait to see her again. Even if she’ll be on the sidelines on the opposing team’s side, he’ll still be happy.

“So what will you do next, ace?” Daichi asked, crossing his arms. Suga did the same thing as they waited for a response. “Will you let this opportunity slip away?”

“No way.”

His friends grinned, happy to see their glass-hearted friend sound so confident.

~

It was nightfall. Everyone took a rain check and turned in early, knowing that the next day will be just as hard as the first. The only person not asleep was him. He volunteered to shower last as it gave him the chance to relive the afternoon.

How was he going to talk to her tomorrow? Will she want him to talk to her? His team is playing against hers tomorrow… If they win tomorrow, will she be angry and ignore him? 

Shaking his head at the thought, he finished his nightly routine. He decided to wear the shirt (Y/N) bought for him. He grabbed the bag and unfolded the shirt. Carefully as if it was woven by the most precious fabric in the world. In his mind, the T-shirt was a treasure given to him by an angel.

For some reason, he recalled (Y/N)’s words, ‘So believe me when I say this, it’s okay to express those feelings. Maybe one day, you’ll find solace in someone.’

He hoped she believed that to be true because he might have found that someone. 

The sound of paper falling caught his attention. At first he thought it was just the discarded T-shirt tags, when his eyes landed on a simple piece of folded notebook paper in the sink. He picked it up, unfolded it, and his heart stopped for the third time? Fourth? Maybe fifth?

In clean and elegant handwriting, the note displayed:

I hope this isn’t weird of me to do this, but I didn’t want to lose this chance. So this is me making the first move because while I try to play it cool, you make me nervous. (Hard to believe, right?) Anyways, this is my number: XXX-XXX-XXXX. 

We can just talk if you want. You seem like a cool guy and I still want to get to know you. If you don’t, I’ll understand. Anyways, I’ll cut this note short. Good luck tomorrow! Don’t hold back against Inarizaki. 

P.S: I hope your friends were telling the truth earlier.

~

Normal POV

(Y/N) ditched her cards the moment she heard her phone let out a small ding, signaling a new message.

“Hey, you can’t just do that in the middle of the game!” Atsumu’s voice called out.

She ignored him as she jumped on her bed and grabbed her phone. Her heart was racing as she quickly unlocked her phone, but then it expanded at the sight of the message that read:

Hey, it's Asahi. Is this (Y/N)-san?

Her face broke into a wide smile. Her thumbs danced over the keyboard as she typed out a reply:

Asahi! Yeah, it’s me. I’m glad you found my note.

She watched as the three dots appeared, signaling that Asahi was typing. God, he has no idea the effect he has on her.

It was a nice surprise. A bit of a shock, but it’s very much welcomed. The shirt fits by the way. I think it’s my new favorite. 

Another message appeared after the first and she felt every atom in her body seemed to explode after reading it.

By the way, my friends were telling the truth. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

~

This was the first page of a story where two individuals found solace in one another.

~

Next: Chapter 2

[lov1ngreid]

BOYS LIKE YOU | 1

(pairings): highschool!spencer + cheerleader!reader both intended to be 18 in this story

(warnings): none!

(word count): 2.9k

(author’s note): so long i’m so sorry

hii i decided to split this fic into a mini series cause i have so many ideas and directions for it and i didn’t want to squish it into one long fic, some chapters maybe nsfw ;P i also wrote this with high school in mind, of course Spencer is regular high school age and not like twelve 🤨 but if you’d rather picture them in early college go ahead! also I usually HATEEE when fics have outfit inspos but soz I’m forcing you to imagine these outfits they’re so gorg 😭

okay no more rambling!! if u wanna listen to what i did when i wrote this, here you go!! ➘

“That’s what you’re wearing” Your brother brodie snickered from his bedroom as you strolled past it on the way to the bathroom, usually you wouldn’t have given in to his snide comments, which you were no stranger to. But it was thanksgiving if your brother thought your outfit was ugly, chances are, so would the rest of your family.

Your outfit always happened to be a topic of conversation.

Your movements halt when you finally process what he had said, before slowly taking a few steps backwards meeting his taunting face while he sat on the edge of the bed “What’s wrong with it?” You cock your head feeling the embarrassment trickle through your face up to your ears, usually you wouldn’t care what comments Brodie decided to make about your outfit, but a lot of people were going to be seeing this one.

Honestly you thought it was pretty tame considering the only revealing piece was your skirt, which frankly wasn’t that short, and you thought you had compensated with your boots.

“Why are you wearing… boots?” He laughed looking down at your outfit with furrowed eyebrows before looking back up at your flustered face “and why are they red?”

You scoffed, embarrassment completely diminishing when you find out that was his problem with your outfit “they’re maroon… and you’re wearing a doctor who shirt, don’t think you’re in any position to be judging me” you glare back at him uncrossing your arms.

Honestly, he has absolutely no right to be making fun of your outfit, despite being twins, you were the complete opposites. His outfits usually consist of different coloured converse and some sort of comic book shirt, yours consisting of literally anything else.

“I have a party afterwards anyways, I don’t have time to get changed”

“You have a party on thanksgiving?… who has a party on thanksgiving” Brodie scoffs finishing the lace on his second converse

“A lot of people” you smile sarcastically backing from his door frame to continue your task before you were rudely interrupted “not that you would know” you mumble under your breath before leaving his bedroom.

A little satisfied smile crept upon your face when you heard Brodie’s faint ‘hey!’ Emitting from his bedroom.

You knew your mother would be absolutely furious knowing you had intentions on leaving thanksgiving early to attend a party, which was exactly why you had no plans on telling her. Your family was big enough as is, and considering you had shared thanksgiving with the Reid family for 12 years and counting, with both combined there had to be one, or many pockets for you to escape unnoticed.

The car ride to the Reid family home always seemed so short, always feeling so much longer when you were riding there on bikes, or walking there after school.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had even used your bike, it had to be collecting dust in your garage by now, you truly don’t think you had used it since starting highschool, despite your brother’s efforts to get you to ride to Spencer's house with him, each time you declined, something always more important popping up.

The familiar smell of the house flooded your nose while you took a step in, it always smelt like chai and vanilla, and it always looked like fall threw up on it, decorated with faux autumn leaves and pumpkins all year round, they always just added Santa hats to the pumpkins in December, you knew that was Spencer’s doing.

The wind was almost taken from you while Diana embraced you in the biggest hug, almost knocking over the cupcakes from the tray you were holding, giggling a little you returned the hug one handed of course. She always smelt like the house times ten, the vanilla smell becoming so much stronger the closer you were to her, pulling back she embraced your face in her warm slender hands brushing your cheeks softly with the pad of her thumb.

“You look so beautiful” she smiles, your face turning pink at her compliment, she did this every year. Every year she hugs you, looks like she’s about to cry and then goes on about how beautiful you look for the rest of the night, and every year it makes you feel a little more guilty about not coming around as much.

Both your parents embrace Diana and William before they usher you to the beautifully set dinner table, where the rest of his and your family awaited your arrival, both yours and his grandparents chatting away at the kitchen bench about some sort of football nonsense.

Always in awe of Diana’s meals, you debated on changing your mind and slipping out after dinner instead, not wanting to miss out on her carefully cooked Turkey.

Despite getting swept away in greeting the rest of your family, as well as the rest of the Reid’s, it didn’t take you long to notice one missing Reid.

Regardless of your efforts to talk to Spencer, he never really seemed that interested in befriending you after middle school, every time you tried to talk to him in class he always went quiet and dismissive, or snapped mean answers back at you, and you simply took the hint.

Spencer saw the way your friends snickered to themselves when you tried to speak to him, the way they’d whisper when he walked past, even though you’d smile and wave, he always saw them laugh behind you. He knew deep down it wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t help but blame you when you never actually stopped any of your friends from making snide comments at him or his friends.

Excusing yourself from your family, you hopped up the stairs, muscle memory walking you towards Spencer’s room before you mind had caught up,

Reading the large ‘S R’ sticker on the bedroom door, you chuckle to yourself a little, staring at the crooked R knowing it was like that cause you couldn’t reach it to meet the S in the fourth grade, Spencer had refused to help you, cackling as he watched you on your tippy toes while you begged him to stop laughing.

Before your mind could even process anything, you brought your arm up to knock on his door, swallowing nervously.

You weren’t even sure why you were nervous, he just seemed to shut down any attempt at being friends and you never knew why. He got along with Brodie just fine, they were honestly really close, they hung out at school everyday and studied together after school on Wednesdays and Fridays, it just seemed like your invitation stopped one day.

The door swung open while your mind had still been dissociated thinking about all the attempts you made to talk to him, snapping you from your brain fog, Spencer stood at the door almost equally as confused as you, honestly you didn’t know why you were there, and as smart as he was, he didn’t know either.

“I brought you a cupcake” you chuckle pushing the baked good towards him with your right hand, eyebrows furrowed he takes a look at the seemingly vanilla cupcake in your hand before looking back up at your eyes.

“I don’t like cupcakes” Spencer shakes his head quickly while his hand grips harder on his door handle, debates in his mind about closing it on you.

“Yes you do” Cocking your head you stare at Spencer confused, he loved cupcakes, he also loved your cupcakes “I literally saw you eating one in the library the other day” you scoff at his obvious lie.

“And why were you in the library” he raises both his eyebrows, glancing back down at the pretty cupcake you had offered him, which he began to quickly regret declining, because he really did love your cupcakes.

“Reading?” You conceded pulling your arm holding the cupcake back “are you implying I don’t read Spencer Reid?” This was the most he had talked to you in months, you never realized you could miss a person's voice despite them being alive and well.

“If the boot fits” he shrugs leaning on his door, the grip on his door handle loosening a little, you stare a little taken back, he doesn’t talk to you for years, and then all of a sudden on thanksgiving he decides he’s going to spit back sassy little comments at you?

“Can you just take the cupcake?.. it’s pumpkin spice” you admitted pushing the sweet back in his direction, a little part of Spencer’s facade broke down, almost giving into the cupcake “I even made the little pumpkin out of fondant… it took forever” you whisper the last part almost talking to yourself.

He tried his hardest to stay strong but you had just about broken him down at this point, with a displeased groan rolling his eyes he reached out to snatch the cupcake from your soft hand, earning a small smile to form on your lips.

It only took him seconds to dig into the treat before a soft chuckle escaped your lips “can I come in?” You smile glancing behind him into his room, it looked almost exactly the same as it did when you were fourteen, posters in the same place, no furniture was rearranged, you even spotted the mini dalek figurine you had bought him on his top shelf.

Hesitantly Spencer nods stepping away from the door frame to welcome you in, his room was always kept neat, sheets tucked perfectly under his mattress, and books always in the correct spot. His weakness, however, was the countless amount of school work pages spread across his desk.

Taking a seat at his desk your eyes still gaze around his room, feeling like a blast from the past, all the books you read, series reruns you watched and stories you wrote coming back to you in a wave of memories.

“So…” he mumbled, mouth still half full with your cupcake before sitting down on the edge of his bed “do you need science homework?” Shrugging boring his eyes back into yours.

You scoff, frankly offended he would even ask you such a thing “no?.. Spencer, you and I have almost the same science grades." You'd be lying if you said you’ve never thought of asking Spencer for homework, especially on nights where cheer practice ran late and you didn’t have nearly enough time to finish, but you’ve never actually asked.

“Yeah almost” scoffing while he brushes his hands against each other wiping the crumbs of the cupcake away, you sat there stunned a little, he knew you’d never ask him considering your friendship… situation, you wouldn’t use him.

You felt the rage boiling in you for a little at his attitude towards you, considering you had done absolutely nothing for him to be mad at you for, sure you weren’t in the same friend group, but he would know more than anyone the statistics of middle school friends drifting apart in highschool, you swivel his desk chair to face his desk, frustrated palming your face with your hands dragging them down a little.

You allow your eyes to rake across his messy paper filled desk before they’re drawn to one page in particular, written in pink pen on beige lined paper, quickly snatching it from the pile you let your eyes scan over it a little before letting out an unexpected laugh.

Catching Spencer’s attention his eyes had almost bulged out of his head once he realized what piece of paper you had in your hands.

“Dear Spencer…” you start reading aloud ignoring Spencer’s loud attempts to make you put it down “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our conversations and wanted to let you know-”

“Put it down please” he groans, reaching forwards to grab it from your hands, only for you to snatch it towards you standing up from his desk chair.

“-That I’ve liked you for a while now- Sadie Keller!” You gasp grinning up at Spencer while he makes every attempt to steal the paper back from your grip “you never told me you liked Sadie Keller!” you playfully smack him with the piece of notebook paper before letting him grab it from your grasp.

“I don’t really tell you anything” Spencer crumpled up the paper before tossing it back onto his desk, you face fell a little at his words, only because he was right, he didn’t really tell you anything at all, because he didn’t ever talk to you, because you weren’t really friends.

You almost could’ve sworn you felt a lightbulb click on above your head while you watched Spencer scurry his papers together to make a neat pile “come to a party with me” you rush causing his movements to halt slowly turning his head to meet your gaze.

“Why on earth would I do that… it’s thanksgiving” he reasoned, confusion painted across his face. He simply could not fathom why you would want to take him to a party, he also couldn’t fathom why he was considering it.

“God” you groaned, moving to take a seat on his bed now “people have got to get over that” rolling your eyes you pat down your skirt a little before continuing your attempt to read his face for clues on what was going on inside his head.

“Why would you want to be seen at a party with me?” He queried, attitude dripping from his sentence, watching as your face dropped and your brows furrowed coloured him confused, why would you want to be seen with him?

“Sadie will be there… and I can’t see a potential love story and not indulge” you snicker, almost dismissing his question, you thought you’d spare a sentimental conversation about how much you missed him and instead go an easier route, you wanted him to come for his benefit.

To your surprise, he looks as if he considers it for a while, it was the first time you actually took in what he was wearing, a fitted doctor who shirt and gray sweatpants, the same exact doctor who shirt your brother has on, you cringed a little at the thought that they had coordinated that.

“Fine” he says after a while of silence, you simply cannot help the grin creeping up on your face “but only because of Sadie, and not because of you” he rushes again, almost sounding like something he was trying to convince himself rather than you.

Holding your hands up in defense you smile at his surprising compliance “how are we even supposed to leave without anyone noticing?” Beginning to worry that both your families were beginning to wonder where both of you had gone.

In all seriousness, your family actually had not noticed that the both of you were up in Spencer’s room, and were much more occupied by the game of football they all huddled around to watch.

“Follow me genius”

go to PART TWO

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[wandaspup]

Sinners Part 3

 

Summary: In a small town, you try living up to your mother’s expectations while encountering Wanda Maximoff, a mysterious woman and a childhood friend of your mothers. It leaves you questioning her intentions and your beliefs.

parings: Wanda x Fem!R

Warnings: None 

Author Notes: I decided to post because It’s been almost two months and I don’t like making a chapter extremely long! So next chapter will be full of smut! And the truth about what happened with Wanda.  Thank you for everyone’s support! I’m never doing a mini series for awhile or maybe just keep it on the down low next time lol I can’t wait to share my other ideas! I got so many dark Wanda and Natty stories floating in my gay ass brain.

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The sound of the bell chimes as you enter the coffee shop you’re well familiar with, your body shifting towards your favorite spot in the café. Dark circles beneath your eyes and the pulsing pain in your arms and legs are reminders of the exhausting morning you had. Your mother woke you up early to help with boxes and cleaning the church for the upcoming Sunday. You’d told her an hour ago that you were taking a break, leaving quickly before she could protest, but you already knew she’d give you a piece of her mind later.

You rolled your neck from left to right, hoping for a satisfying pop. It was only twelve in the afternoon when you snuck a glance at the clock. Deciding to rest your head on your arm, you closed your eyes for a moment. A flurry of thoughts swarmed in—college, the possibility of leaving this town. Though you enjoyed it here, you hopelessly hoped you’d get to see more than the same people and the same stores you passed every day. But the arrival of one specific person was messing with your plans, as if they were being scrambled like a crumpled piece of paper, with only her laid out as the perfect piece of paper right in front of you.

Wanda Maximoff had been on your mind ever since that night. Her presence confused you. When you went to sleep that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about her hand on your thigh. You convinced yourself that she was just being friendly—a comforting gesture, right? A simple touch from one woman to another, like you see all the time between girls and their friends. Wanda was just being friendly, that’s all.

Looking down, you noticed your hand resting on the same leg Wanda had touched. You stared at it for a long time, lost in thought, before someone or something pulled you out of your daydream.

“I’m being ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, trying to shake off the lingering feelings.

You waited until the line was empty and slipped past the small tables surrounding the area, muttering an apology when you accidentally bumped into someone in front of you. Before you could say anything, you heard that familiar voice.

Wanda stood right there, a delicate smirk on her lips and her arms crossed over her chest. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

You couldn’t decide whether to be amazed or cautious around Wanda. It felt like she always knew exactly where you’d be. Maybe your suspicion of being followed wasn’t so crazy after all. Scratching the back of your head, you chuckled softly.

“I was hoping to see you again. Taking a break from your mother, I see?”

Surprised, you blinked rapidly. “How did you know about that?”

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the menu above the cash register, shrugging her shoulders. “I just assumed, silly. Your mother always loved working and running the show back in high school. I remember she made another classmate her little minion.”

There was a brief pause before you answered. “Oh, I see... well, yeah, she’s got me packing and unpacking a bunch of boxes at the church.”

Wanda nodded and approached the woman at the counter with a warm smile. She gestured towards you and said, “It’s on me.”

You insisted on paying for yourself, but ultimately, she won the argument. Feeling your knees threaten to buckle, you quickly sat down, careful not to spill your coffee. Wanda hid her smirk as she took a seat across from you.

“So how have you been?” You cringed. That sounded much better in your head. Wanda reached across the table and squeezed your hand, her touch cold yet gentle.

"No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” she reassured you. “After all, I’m a friend of your mother’s. We’re basically family.”

“Right.” You let the tension in your body dissipate and stared down at your coffee.

“Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

“My pleasure darlin.”

You carefully considered your next words. The diner became much quieter than it was when you got here. There was something you desperately wanted to know, and she was the only one able to tell you the truth. Your stomach clenched with nerves as you released it and took a deep breath. Wanda patiently waited but deep down she was relishing in the way you acted around her. You were after all just a sweet and polite girl who goes to church every Sunday and does whatever people tell you. Wanda was about to bask in the afterglow of it all.

“What happened between you and my mom? How come she never mentioned you?”

Wanda’s expression shifted, a shadow creeping beneath her features. “We drifted apart,” she began, her voice sounding dry and dull. “It was our senior year of high school. Your mom got pregnant with you, and everything changed. She decided to move here, to start fresh, I suppose.”

There’s a nagging feeling that something was off, but you chose to let it go. Wanda’s eyes stared blankly at you for a moment before a smile crept onto her candy lips. “I had a great time at dinner, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself Ms.Maximoff”

Wanda waved and dismissed you, patting the top of your hand resting on the table. “No need for formalities, sweetie. Just call me Wanda.”

The hour went by fast. You gazed up at the clock and thought of your mother having a freak-out that you weren’t back at the church by now. Wanda noticed this and smirked. Everything was going according to plan, and she wasn’t about to let it stop now. “Is everything alright dear?”

You gave a tight smile and checked your phone for messages. Wanda watched you intently. You felt you could trust her and hoped she’d understand. After all, she knew your parents since high school. She was family.

“I know it’s not my place, but I understand what you’re going through with your mother,” Wanda said softly. “I’ve been there with my own.”

“Really? Are you still in contact with her?” you asked, leaning in.

  Wanda chuckled and grabbed a napkin, dabbing the corner of your mouth. “Let’s just say the only way I can contact her now is through prayers. She passed a few years ago.”

You head dipped as you apologized for asking. Wanda dismissed your apology right away, claiming her mother wasn’t everything she hoped for. “I loved my mother, even I often felt I was never enough for her. But I’m sure your own mother doesn’t feel the same way about you.”

“My own mother controls everything I do. It’s infuriating. I can never any decisions without her approval.”

“Sweetheart.” She patted the top of your hand, looking at you with those wide green eyes. She breathed in and out, licking her top lip before smacking them with a pop. “If you want to live your life, you either need to do that on your own or forever live under your mother’s reality. It’s your choice, but remember, whatever you decide, I’ll always be here for you.”

After your talk, you hurried back to the church, your mind racing about what Wanda told you. When you entered, the air hung heavy with packed boxes, neatly lined up and some stacked in preparation for the upcoming parade. And then there she was—the woman you had dreaded seeing—standing in the aisle, clutching a clipboard with a smudged expression written on her face.

“Glad to see my own daughter can remember something,” she remarked sharply. She pointed towards a couple boxes on the left. “I need those boxes unpacked and everything organized properly.”

Moving towards the boxes, you began to carefully open them, her words still dawned heavy on your mind. You gripped the box tightly, feeling the veins in your wrist strain against your wrist. Taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes as you focused on something to prevent yourself from lashing out. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to think of anything else, Wanda’s image kept intruding into your thoughts.

Her voice echoed in your mind, urging you to do what was right and stand up for yourself. Thinking of her and the reassuring sound of her voice visibly relaxed you. As you scanned the church, your gaze settled on the podium, a sudden realization of where you stood struck. You gently inhaled and exhaled, silently whispering forgiveness. If you were honest, you didn’t fully understand why you had asked--or perhaps it was to brace yourself for her. There were times when you feared you give in, and you clung to anything that keep you sane.

But you also didn’t want to be sane and Wanda can see right through you more than anybody has in this town. Even your own parents.

With a steady hand, the knife ripped through the tape sealing the top with little crinkles and the flaps spread out. Carefully grabbing the contents inside and setting them down on the floor by you. You did that to another five boxes till you got ready on organizing and stacking the contents in order.

“Thought you’d be done by now.”

You shrugged and kept your eyes focused on the task. “Want this done or not?”

She scoffed and tilted her head. The anticaption growing every millisecond, waiting for her to explode. Wanda’s words mimicked in her head, almost engraved once your mother spoke her words.

“Watch your mouth. I’m your mother and you will talk to me with respect. Do you understand me?”

The knife slams down on the broken boxes. You pounced towards her with your fingertips digging in your palms. Opening and closing your mouth, the words you wanted to say were on the tip of your tongue begging for release. As you chuckled, you looked between your mother and the podium. “I’m going to be off to college soon and I’m not going to need you anymore.”

You headed towards the doors not bothering to even acknowledge the shock on your mother’s face.

“These boxes still need to be unpacked.”

“Unpack them yourself.”

Just before reaching the door, you paused with your hand on the handle, hesitant to turn it. You waited for her to speak, knowing she wouldn’t let the moment pass. Finally, you turned back to face your mother. She wore a stone-cold face. “You’re never going to make it into college or anywhere for that matter. Why do you think I’m hard on you?”

You scoffed, your voice radiated with disbelief. “Than why pay for college? Why let Dad waste your precious money?” The words hung heavy.

She took a few steps forward, her expression was unreadable. She stood still, searching in her delirious state of mind for words she wanted to say. Silence stretched out, everything tense and only angry rifted through it. You shifted uncomfortably, your mind racing and waiting for her to speak.

“I want to see you succeed,” she began, her tone measured, “but I know in my heart you’re going to fail, and you’ll be crawling right back to us.”

After her words were done and out in the open. You clenched and unclenched your hands, wishing Wanda was here to support you. “So you’re giving me false hope? What kind of mother are you.”

“A mother who loves her child enough to keep her from making stupid mistakes and don’t even lie... I know you spend time with Wanda.

In a swift motion you pulled yourself together and crossed your arms over your chest.

You wondered if she saw you two at the coffee shop or someone opened their mouth. It is a small town after all. “What if I am? She’s been a better mother figure then you’ve been for 19 years of my life.”

“Wanda is an old friend who I love dearly but she is no position to replace me.”

You swore, feeling the heat rise within you like steam leaking from a kettle. “I never said she was,” you asserted firmly, your voice edged with frustration. “And how come you never thought to introduce me to her? Why haven’t you guys spoken for years?”

She sighed than almost hesitating, the nature of your words determined for answers and the truth floated like specks of dust. You stood and waited patiently, looking right into her eyes to see if she was lying. Your mother had always lied on multiple occasions, so you picked on her tactics long the way.

“I do not know why. Life happened and everyone drifted apart. Only God knows the answer.

You lingered for a second before turning back and opening the door, leaving your mother standing alone in an empty church and sun rays blasting through the stained windows. The fresh, earthy scent of recently cut grass and the gentle breeze brushing against your skin momentarily eased your mind. You took a few deep breaths, placing your hands on your hips as you gazed up at the sky.

Thoughts of Wanda suddenly filled your mind. She seemed to be the only person who had been truly honest with you. You began walking with the hope of running into her, as you often did. As you moved further from the church, which was now just a distant blur, you noticed a car slowly trailing behind you. The tinted windows obscured the driver’s identity, so you stood still, hands in your pockets, maintaining a cautious distance.

“Hey sweetie... need a lift?”

A relieved sigh escaped your lips. You reached for the door handle, and it swung open to reveal a cabin with neat brown leather seats and red interior. “Thank you, Wanda,” you said as you slid into the seat and buckled up, your hands trembling slightly. The sweet scent of peaches filled the air as you settled in.

“I did say I’d always be there,” Wanda chuckled, tapping her fingers lightly against the steering wheel as she started driving. “So, how’s everything with your mother?”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now,” you said calmly, though a trace of frustration lingered in your voice. You reached for the button on the door panel, pressing it firmly. As the window rolled down with a soft whir, the breeze gently flowed into the car, mingling with the lingering scent of peaches.

“Can I come over to your place?” You hesitated for a moment before adding, “If that’s okay with you.”

Wanda grinned from ear to ear, briefly glancing at you with a knowing look. “I’d love the company. Your mother is always caught up in work, and I’m the one visiting.”

“She always chooses work over everything else...” you murmured, your voice tinged with a mix of angry and sadness. Sometimes, you found it hard to care at all when it came to her.

Wanda’s gaze lingered for a moment, though her attention remained on the road. She turned a corner and parked the car, shifting the gear into park and turning off the engine. With a gentle squeeze of your thigh, drawing your attention to her.  Large, doe-like green eyes seemed to hold you in their gaze, making you hesitant to move a muscle. “Let’s get you inside darling.”

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[thefaithfulnightwriter]

Dracontine - Masterlist

❝ She is very rare. She is what you call a Dracontine. Meaning she belongs to a dragon. But in her case, she does not belong to one but three. ❞

Summary - In which a young female hides who she truly is from everyone and stays to herself. Keeping to her chores as a servant. Staying hidden was her main task while taking care of her three dragon eggs that were bound to her. But many things change when she has to stay Under the Mountain with many others. What she didn't expect was that she would meet her mate. Who happened to be the powerful High Lord of Night Court. Then soon later on she would find she has another powerful mate. The Spymaster of Night Court who was a Shadowsinger. She soon finds herself having to break out of her shell with the help of her mates and their family. Along with finding out how to navigate two bonds with two powerful mates. Also, while taking the title as Dracontine. Being she is the one who belongs to not one but three dragons. All while trying to survive a war.

Pairing - Rhysand x Female!Oc/Mc/Reader x Azriel

Universe - pre acotar - acowar [it may go into an au after acowar not sure yet though]

Warnings - DRAGONS (yes that is a warning lol), Gore, Death, Characters may be a bit OOC, Mature Themes, Semi Smut, Violence, Language, Mention of Past Abuse, War, Things Will Be Changed, Fluff, Angst, Some Sensitive Subjects, Mating Bonds, Poly. Relationship MxFxM (Side Note - Rhysand & Azriel are in a relationship or are mates to my Mc they will not be together), More Will Be Added If Needed. (Please do not read if these are triggers)

Disclaimer - I do not own the series ACOTAR - ACOWAR. I do own certain characters, and I own my mc. I do own somethings that are made up. And i own my writing and whatnot you get where im going and what i am saying lol.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

PART ONE - written

The Ending of the first Dracontine & the Birth of Another

───── chapter zero ─────

───── chapter one ─────

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

PART TWO - written

Pre - A Court of Thorns and Roses & Three Dragon Eggs

───── chapter two ─────

───── chapter three ─────

───── chapter four ─────

───── chapter five ─────

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

PART THREE - written

A Court of Thorns and Roses & Three Dragon Eggs

───── chapter six ─────

───── chapter seven ─────

───── chapter eight ─────

───── chapter nine ─────

───── chapter ten ─────

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

PART FOUR - still in the process of writing

A Court of Mist and Fury & Three Young Dragons

───── chapter eleven ─────

───── chapter twelve ─────

───── chapter thirteen ─────

───── chapter fourteen ─────

───── chapter fifteen ─────

───── chapter sixteen ─────

───── chapter seventeen ─────

───── chapter eighteen ─────

───── chapter nineteen ─────

───── chapter twenty ─────

PART FIVE - haven't gotten that far

A Court of Wings and Ruin & Three Fierce Dragons

Pending...

[moondirti]

𝟏𝟒. WANT

CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter thirteen / chapter fifteen ⇀

summary: miguel finally gives in to what you both want

explicit (18+) | 8.6k words warnings: SMUT, it's seriously just all smut, unprotected p-in-v, choking, light degradation, dirty talk, interrogation as foreplay, praise kink, mentorship with benefits, dirty talk, belly bulge, power play, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, angst, unrequited feelings, eye contact kink notes: figured i'd add in some fluff before shit gets rough

“Let me go.” Miguel growls. “Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”

Enclasped in the yawning dark of night after twelve, you wonder how you must look to him. The lack of light, on your part, obscures his harsher lines – shadows smudging the sharp apex of his cheekbone, bleeding to his aquiline nose, where the feature dips into an ink-blot puddle with the rest of him. What you can deduce is based on what you can see; hardly anything, really, save for what’s highlighted by the window to your right. The mole by the corner of his mouth, bobbing upwards with the curl of his lips. The red, acute glint of an eye. 

Are you as hidden as he is? Is his vision better adjusted to the murk? 

You hope not. You pray he can’t pick apart the shock that flits across your face, the spate that washes you off your wit. It’s timidity. A stricken bashfulness you haven’t felt in a long while. Seafoam that froths and clogs the blood supplied to your lungs, draining all warmth to feed the stocks behind your cheeks. Your waterline stings, desiccated by the breeze that whistles in through the aperture left open – and out of everything that occurs to you, what manages to refine into clarity is the urge to high-tail and jump out of it as soon as possible. 

Your fingers search for stability on his calf, clasping around its tense length as you clamber off him. Air syphons from you in rapid bursts – in, out, in – to sate a seemingly bottomless need for oxygen. He must be hogging it all, you reason, dismounting from his hips. Him – in all his grandeur, in all his broadness, stealing from you what precious left you can use to calm down. Everything he does feels purposeful in that way, curated with regards to both past and future, his contemplation on both. Like neglecting to mention that this was even a possibility, blindsiding you with the very thing you spend hours fantasising about. 

It wouldn’t surprise you if he knew this whole time. If he had somehow read your guilty conscience as fluently as an open book, saw where your fingers gravitated to in your free time. The way he says it – filthy language dripping in promise, so unlike the clinical ways with which he’s approached this before – makes you suspect one of two things. Either he truly recognises what the prospect does to you, and is therefore employing it to petition for his release, or– 

Or. He means it.

The rumble in his voice, charred and ready to snap into ashes, supports the latter. And try as you might, you can’t begin to understand it. His desire, if real, has come completely out of left field. 

“Well?” 

“I–” You swallow the rock lodged in your throat, patting your hips like a solution will materialise in your pockets if you pray hard enough. You can’t help but baulk at your poor planning. “I don’t have anything to undo you with.” 

Miguel releases a sharp breath from his nose, tipping his chin back. You glance anywhere but at the skin stretching along the column of his throat, contoured by taut sinew. 

“If you point me to the kitchen, I can get a knife?” 

“No.” The dismissal comes perhaps a little too quick. He doesn’t seem to consider the possibility, and it does little for your hope. His proposition – fucking you silly – feels like it exists on condition of a time limit. Like the longer you put it off, the more opportunity he’s given to retcon his lapse of judgement. This lust born from adrenaline. You’re familiar, and therefore appreciate how short it can last. “Just let them dissolve.”

Ducking your head, you take the acquiesce to observe the artificial webbing that binds him. It sparkles under indirect moonlight, dull white and wet-like, resembling the morning dew that would bud on blades of grass. Thin slivers branch out from the main line to wrap about his more complicated curves. With a more competent solution, it would prove almost impossible to get out of. You reason that only then would you have remained proud of the handiwork. 

“They will dissolve?” He stresses. 

“Yea– yes! Give it fifteen minutes.” You squeak, shaking out of your stupor to see him eyeing you incredulously. “What?” 

“You expect to get anything done when your webs last fifteen minutes?” 

“Hey, it’s not like I’ll be regularly apprehending bad guys back home.” Offence batters you back to your regular snark, conversation swaying until it clicks back into a comfortable tone. “Besides, it’s a prototype.” You shrug, turning on your heel to wander the room you lept into. It’s a clumsy segway away from the point, awkwardness rolling off your tongue in ugly chunks. “So… this is your place huh.” 

He doesn’t fall for it. “Tell me how you got in.” 

“It��s nice. Big. Of course when you own the building, the penthouse is kinda yours by default.” There’s not much you can see in the dark, the colours and aesthetics of his interior remaining lost on you. But it’s hard to ignore how high the ceilings rise, or the wide sweep of his tiled floors. 

“Did you phase through the door?” He attempts to reel you in.

You dodge the line. “Wish you told me you were rich though. I could’ve really milked those rewards. A dog for ten push ups. A motorcycle for a hundred.” 

“I wouldn’t get you a motorcycle if you stitched the multiverse back together yourself.” It’s amusing that, out of all baits, he should bite on the most ludicrous. You throw a small smile over your shoulder, forgetting yourself for a minute.

“So a dog’s still on the table?” Yet the sight of him fettered, immobilised on the ground, forces you to face your circumstance once more. His words, those parasitic words that’ve been gnawing on the supple tissue of your brain, worm their way back to the forefront. Bold little thing. Fuck. If he knew. If you recounted for him the events of the past half-day, how you’ve been following him since lunch – would he be more or less inclined to spread you out underneath him? “I jumped through the window.” You add, tentatively, toeing unsteady grounds. 

His jaw flutters, tensing, though he doesn’t give much else. You traipse over to said window, winding the casement shut with the crank at its edge. It seals smoothly, expunging the ambient street noise until the room buzzes in its own, overwhelming silence. Given the sudden contrast, you puzzle about how he forgot to close it in the first place. 

“You really ought to worry about security.” You continue your blind tour of his home, skimming the wall that guides your path. It’s harder to change the subject now that it’s been spoken out loud, your confession filling the gaps left by the outside tumult. Car horns and traffic, construction and wind – all substituted with a tension that drips like a leaky faucet, adding to a pool bound to drown you. 

“How’d you do it?” He asks, hoarse and hedging a more dangerous accentuation. 

“Dunno.” You trace the doorway he’d come out of, letting the coated stone frame cool the pads of your fingers. “What’s in here?”

When he doesn’t answer, you take a peek. Based on the rough shapes you make out, it could be an office. Had he been working before you arrived? It’s so late you can scarcely imagine it, especially after the already packed day you observed him to have. 

The thought is suffocating enough that you back away, rounding the corner of the living room instead to find yourself in a galley kitchen. 

“Fancy!” You shout, echo bouncing around the cavernous space. Counters and other facilities line either side of the spacious hall, one side breaking off into an L-shape by an attached island, which functions to divide the kitchen from the dining room at its end. Floor-to-ceiling terrace doors take up the wall directly opposite you, backing the table with views of the Hudson river. It’s gorgeous enough that you think about revisiting during the day – when the sky pulses cerulean blue and the sun butters the sight with warmth, painting a picture you’ve only read about in architectural digest or seen in film. 

One where the title sequence jumps to upbeat music, dancing credits cutting onto screen. The genre that calls for a place like this is doubtfully a sombre one. Perhaps a musical, then, or a comedy. Something where you’re introduced as the main character while sitting out on the balcony, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. You’re stressed about work, or the date that hasn’t texted back, but none of your issues will summit at death. Not when your next meal is always guaranteed, or a shower whenever you’re down. When this is home; not just the house, but the world itself. Clean and functional and packed with life. Slated in shades of green, of life – so different from the red and grey hues of antimatter fallout. How grateful you’d be.

But then you remember where you are, why you’re here. The reality spurs you to move again, stumbling stupidly out of the kitchen to where Miguel is likely fuming at your unwelcome exploration.

(On your way back, though, you take notice of an abandoned object by the fridge. It’s rubber, oddly moulded. Bright pink in a similar shade to Lyla’s glasses. Condensation beads and drips upon its surface, the insides certainly filled with ice, and it takes you a short bout of confusion to realise that it’s a teething toy. 

When you imagined Miguel as a father, it was to a child burgeoning school-age. Now, your imagery morphs to accommodate this new information. A baby girl, no more than seven months old. One who might live with her mother given his busy schedule, but visits constantly because he would make the time for her. That is, if the toy is any indication.

You can take comfort in the fact that, if not you, someone else leads that imagined life. Someone more deserving.) 

“You hanging on in there?” You call out, checking up on the man whose presence you’d temporarily forgotten. He doesn’t respond. It isn’t as worrying a development until you re-enter the living room and notice it looks bigger, emptier now. A nest of snapped webs cushion where he once lay. “Hello?” 

That’s what you get for taking your eye off him. It certainly hasn’t felt like fifteen minutes – maybe ten, at best – but he’s escaped irregardless, shedding the disadvantage as you remained entirely oblivious.  Trepidation blossoms like a mushroom cloud in your gut, billowing smoke and the migraine-inducing smell of petrol. He can be anywhere. Judging you from a secret alcove or on his way out, already regretting the salacity he’d resorted to. Each possibility is a shot to your flesh. You hadn’t realised how much you’d been counting on it; to be pinned down the instant he breaks free, fucked until you forget your name. And now, that’s been flipped on its head when he’s…

He’s–

Where the fuck is he?

Trailing the perimeter of the room with cautious scrutiny, you watch the ceilings, the pockets between couches in which he might be hiding. He isn’t in his office when you check, nor had he snuck up behind you into the kitchen. There are a few more doors – a laundry room, a toilet – that remain steadfast and shut. He isn’t in any, though you sense his presence as you always do. This universal force of attraction that draws you in, bound to his centre of gravity, negligent of all things physical. You track it – the direction in which your arm hairs spike, spider-sense tickling – until you reach the bottom of a spiral staircase. 

“If I hadn’t made it clear before, you’re a dick!” You hope he internalises it too. The second floor to his penthouse was the first thing you’d noticed on your self-guided tour, yet ascending it felt like trespassing beyond the degree you already have. Based on the amenities you’d counted, there’s only one left that could be stationed up there. His bedroom. A space that is wholly, privately his. 

And while you don’t know where you stand on Miguel’s hierarchy of interpersonal relationships, something tells you it’s not at that level. 

(Then again, you’ve experienced him in deeper ways. More intimate. And now–

He’s gonna fuck you. That’s what he said, at least. And of course you have half a mind to take it with a grain of salt. Though the credulous part of you poses – a little recklessly – what the harm could be in indulging him. 

In indulging yourself.)

“O’Hara.” You warn, tension gnarling in your chest. There’s only one way this’ll end for you. Anticipation makes it pretty clear. So, perhaps you bark his name rough and short for decorum’s sake. To prelude your concurrence, the foot you slot up on the first step. Then, the second – marching gradually upwards, clasping the railing all the while. It’s frigid and bites your goose bumped skin, licking up the heated flesh. 

Eventually, the loft sinks below your eye line. Forehead looming slightly over the landing, you try to piece together his whereabouts. It’s no easy feat – his bedroom is trapped in the same tenebrosity as the rest of his place. You have to strain to separate hazy forms; lamps from his towering frame, a dresser and not his crouched self. Through increasing efforts, you find yourself standing in the midst of it all, the trench-parallel staircase long since abandoned for a more preferable angle. 

Despite it, you can’t locate him. 

Hope wheezes, deflates, shrinks until it inhabits only the pinched area between your ribs. Whatever – you whisper to yourself. It doesn’t matter, even if the gaping hole it leaves behind pulses, devastating to everything on its horizon line. He probably had something to attend to, a commitment more important than this game of yours. You won, anyway. You hadn’t been promised anything but your own satisfaction, and while that’s been long diminished, swapped with notions of his body pressed against yours, you still won. Pinned him down in a plan entirely of your own creation, counter to all odds, when all you’d been given was a corrupt method and told to make do. 

That should be enough. 

(A lie you have to tell yourself to dissuade from the disappointment of his lacking praise. The need itches violently within you, marring your insides with crimson dissatisfaction. It’ll be your ruin, you think)

“Have it your way.” You say. It’s a last proffer of your will, extended to ears that might not even be listening. You wait a beat, riding the anticlimactic wave, before giving up and heading towards the staircase again. 

Until hands pluck your waist. 

They’re big, enveloping, heavy clutch seizing the sides of your abdomen. The fabric of your shirt glues to your skin where they radiate steady warmth, and your heart chokes with how high it soars, skyrocketing to pump thundering bursts of blood. The sequence of events that follows is tumultuous, a rapid execution away from the expected, of which you have a hard time understanding yourself. You try to break it down – have to, actually, to abate the erratic flutter of your chest when all of a sudden, you find yourself shoved on a plush surface. Wrists pinned behind your back, face half-smooshed down.

In short, this is how it goes–

You’d been unobservant. Too quick after his absenteeism, your guard had lowered enough that your spider-sense had dimmed with it. 

It allowed him to grab you. That much was clear the instant you felt it. Grabbed and hauled you to his bed, across which you’re currently bent. Your terrified shriek still rings in the gagged lull that follows.  

So now, it’s his crotch pressing flush to your rear, closely mimicking the position you’d found yourself in that morning in his office. Relentless hold, tungsten wrought around your limbs. Hips curved over the edge, toes barely reaching the ground as the mattress bolsters you upwards. This time, though, he fits his chest to your back so he’s folded above you, mouth caressing the shell of your ear. Your temples bloat with pressure and your tongue wrings dry. On the opposite end, your panties slip over the wettening slit between your thighs. It’s erotic, delicious in the manner that makes it hard to focus on anything else. 

Hot air wades through the piqued hairs on your neck when he speaks again. You jerk away from it, face shrilling like a kettle kept over flame. It’s almost impossible to shift under the heavy moor of his body on yours 

“That’s how you sneak up on someone.” He whispers, nudging the locks that fall between you away with his nose. The attention is too much too fast, flaying you alive until your innards and secret mortification spill, exposed to the elements. “It’s not so good, is it? Being ignored.”

All you can do is whimper, lower half wriggling for a friction that could abate the ache waxing in your core. It drums to the rhythm of his breaths, expectantly tensing everytime his chest swells. The act is desperate, much like the worm that still cleaves your brain apart. Rumbling promises, blasphemy, about leaps of faith into your mentor’s apartment. Or revelations like being fucked silly.

His voice takes on the same quality when he presses for a reply, canting forward to eject the burden from your lungs. The hard line of his erection stamps onto your ass, roughly illustrating an example for what’s to come. “Hm?” 

“N-No.” You stammer, nails grazing the calloused layer on the heel of his hand. His grip readjusts around your crossed arms, momentarily affected by the gentle brush.

“No.” And if you’d been a stranger to the nuances of his expression, you would have assumed he’s unaffected. But you’ve honed an ability to read between the complexities of Miguel O’Hara. (Majorly for self-preservation, however it’s proving useful now.) The mock is hummed in a husky, dulcet note, whipped somewhere in the back of his throat that turns the simple reiteration into a taunt. He’s teasing you. 

Fuck, why is that hot? You have to be a special grade of messed up to find his derision sexy.

(You’re convinced anything could be in this moment, though. Reality warped through rose-coloured glasses; except it’s your own, debauched lens.)

“Here’s how this is going to go. Are you listening?” Words gather on your tongue like clods of parched soil, too weak to build or nurture anything. They fall, crumbling in great flakes, until you have to recourse to nodding wildly, face stuffed into his sheets. They smell like him. Softer, sure, but woven with the same cedar-spiked musk, patchouli in diluted volumes. Your pupils roll to the back of your head – and even if you could reign your senses, you can’t stop your bottom from bucking for release at the aphrodisiacal scent. He continues. “You’re going to answer every one of my questions. I want total honesty. That means don’t sell yourself short.” 

The squirming must bother him. His free hand dips to your back, smoothing along its subtle arch. He applies just the correct amount of pressure to tame the feral movement of your hips. 

It lingers afterwards, warning you to hasten your reaction time. You can’t manage anything other than:

“Ok–Okay…” 

But he takes to it. 

“Good.” 

Shit. It almost feels fucking purposeful. He has to taste the potent head of your desire, the shameful state curling in your marrow. It sucks the soft tissue and imbues the calcium with diffidence instead, until all that’s left is a dependency on approval. Admiration. And he has to recognise it, because how else does he strike exactly what you search for? Good. Gruff and terse but still directed at something you’ve done that’s pleased him. Good. Planting a spot of heaven in your mind, forcing you to spend forevermore chasing a similar rapture. Your consequential whine is high-pitched and needy, muffled on the canyons of his wrinkled duvet. 

His palm treks lower, kneading the plump of your ass. It threatens to permanently configure to the valleys of his fingers, the hard press pad of his thumb. 

“How did you get in?” He tests. You give him the same explanation you did last, albeit broken with hoarse yearning. 

“T-the wind… window.” You cock your head to the side to be better heard, but find yourself face-to-face with him. The sudden eye contact burns a straight hole through you, snapping your skull into a million little fragments. You flinch, synapses firing at you to turn away, scalded as if you’d touched a piping stove. But Miguel catches on faster than you, left hand unwinding from your arms to instead hold your head down in place. Everything is automatic. Instinctual. The both of you resort to whatever path brings the most pleasure. For him, that must mean maintaining mutual gaze. You certainly feel him, harder now, rubbing on the back of your thigh. 

And you–

The second you’re released, you shoot to grab his right wrist behind you, rummaging for purchase against the determined path of his fingers. Lower, they skim the cliff where your cheeks meet. You think, if it wasn’t for your leggings keeping them together, he would’ve spread open like a packaged feast already. 

But he stops. Doesn’t work to shuck off your pants, or to rip them off entirely (of which you’d be willing, maybe overly enthusiastic about.) He just… 

Stops. Then, sweeps the wisps away from your hairline so your face is fully unsheathed to his scrutiny. His handle is familiar in a way that’s crept up on you – successively learnt, like resilience or courage, over the course of your tutelage. You’ve come to anticipate the dry scrape of his palm, the overwhelming warmth of it. Even so, you shiver against him, biting your lip when he asks again.

Stricter this time. “How?” 

A small part of you understands what he’s digging for. The complete picture, colours mixed and painted exactly how it’d happened. Yet a haar of delirium creeps up around your memory, obscuring details you’ve no mercy to exclude. And if you could wrap your mouth around them, you wouldn’t be able to choke it out with how close he veers. His nose brushes yours and his lips fold in that tantalising way they do when he’s pushing patience. A little closer and you’d be kissing him. 

You don’t, of course. Instead: 

“You left it– ah!” His caress picks up again, gliding over to your inner thighs. “Open… You left it open a-and I vaulted over. F-from the hall outside.” 

“And how’d you know to find me here?” He probes, tapping the firm plate of your crotch, teasing a descent to where you need him most. Encouragement, you realise. He’s rewarding your compliance in the medium that’s proved successful in the past. 

That’s why, when you finally register his request, you blanch.

“I–” The truth flutters on your tongue like a cornered bug, frantically evading every attempt to pin it down for dissection. You’re reminded of the rather extreme lengths you went to to execute your plan, and its aftertaste is foul. You do the only thing you have the strength for, then. Dodge his severe stare and lie. “I guessed.” 

No sooner after it exits your mouth does he call you out on it. In a cruel play on irony, he finally reaches your cunt, swirling over the clothed centre. For a blissful, naive moment, you actually believe he buys it. He can’t read your mind, after all, and your eye-contact avoidance can be misconstrued as bashfulness. It seems so when he touches you in the way you’ve been praying for, delicately tracing up and down. All’s well and good. Yeah– 

And then he pinches you through the fabric.

Pinches. Gathers your puffy lips between forefinger and thumb, made simple by the thin material, and nips them together until your clit is sandwiched in the smarting hold. Your jaw unhinges for what’s either a silent moan or scream. It’s hard to infer, your body oscillating between various conditions under his command. What feels like a bruise – dull, a gradual onrush of heat that laps at your limbs like water on a sun-drenched shore – melts on your nerves. It blooms and wears down to the colour of ripe plums, deliciously tender in the way all contusions are. Press on the pain enough and you get used to it, start salivating at the thought of doing it again.

(Penance, you muse, then shake it off. This delight is no holy thing. Nothing can fool you to think you’re doing it for a greater reason than yourself.)

Your skin prickles – glitches, more like, body flickering back and forth from materiality in different sections. Its consecutive order is the only factor preventing you from falling through the bed. 

Then, when Miguel eventually lets go, you find yourself wishing he’d do it again. Do more. Spank you until you relive the memory every time you sit. Come loose, like when he’d grabbed your face and fucked it within an inch of asphyxiation. You couldn’t speak for the day afterward, and for some reason, it’d please you to carry a similar mark now. 

He pulls you from your thoughts by directing your gape to his, locking you onto those carmine irises once more. Vaguely, lined up at the back of your concerns, there’s the throb of your scalp as he uses your hair to steer you around. Tears smudge the bottom of your vision, blurring his already shadowed expression. 

“Try again.” He mutters. A thickness accompanies it; molasses poured onto an open bonfire, popping as it hardens. You have no choice but to listen, intoxicated by his perpetual presence. It properly hits you, perhaps all too late, that this is his room. You’re being defiled on his bed, on sheets he wraps himself with every night. And they smell like him, but soon enough, they’ll smell like you too. The very concept – that you might have as much of an impact on him as he does you – could make even the strongest of spider-heroes keel. 

“I followed you.” You groan, blinking through the milky glaze that spools over your lashes and douses the world in a layer of euphoria. Though he keeps your gaze on his, you’re unfocused. Delirious. “Since lunch, I’ve… I’ve been f-following you. To catch you at th– what I supposed would-d be the perfect time.” 

“Why?” 

You expect he knows why, has known why. That he surmised all the answers himself the moment you pinned him down to gloat your victory, and that this whole thing is just an elaborate ploy to squander your ego. 

“I w–” You hiccup over the word, unable to voice it. It strikes a primal fear in you, subconsciously altered by the several instances where it went wrong. Want. Though he mouths it, hovering right over you. Want. Guides you into the house haunted by the enormity of your desire. You purse your lips around the letters; the round start and harsh end, teeth clicking before you ever make a proper sound. He circles where your pussy dampens the layers separating you, chest bearing down on your shoulder blades, forcing you to surrender your panting to his more consistent pattern. 

And, as you breathe in tandem, air ultimately supplies power to the verb. 

(Or, he does.)

“I wan–wanted to win.” You relent, echoing the confession when he flattens two fingers over your clit, winding it in firm circles. “I wanted to win.” Then again, over and over, coherency petering out until you’re left blabbering in splintered heaves. “I… wanind. W–” Miguel works you through it, contrasting the catharsis with a sort of gentle pleasure. Not enough to make you cum, not yet. Just peeling back petals to expose a bud in early development. Making you aware of it, of yourself.

“There we go.” Beyond the hazy realm of your current cognizance, you hear clicks coming from where his fingers rub you. You’re wet enough now that it’s soaked through your panties and leggings alike, and that’s him having barely done anything. He notices it too – or otherwise enjoys the way your clutch tenses around his wrist, humiliated – because his thumb soon wedges itself into the divet between your folds, teasing your hole. “And what do you want now?” 

Why ask? Your body has been begging for it, striking fervent flashes of light, rolling between his arms as you disperse all your energy into convulsing flesh. What do you want? Everything. Everything he has to offer you – more praise, more nicknames born of success and not strife. For him to rip a hole at your crotch and slip his cock in until you’re stretched over it. A ripple of universes, each plea and possibility greater than the last. Seaweed lashes around your ankles and you find yourself tripping into the wave, skull inundating with so much seawater that all you can yell out is: “More!” 

Miguel’s thumb creeps away, objecting to your answer. Too simple. Not the type he was looking for. You whine, nails digging into skin to keep his hand where it is, and drive forth. 

“This! More of- of…” 

His fingers follow soon after. It’s a noiseless deterrent, but an effective one nonetheless. If you didn’t catch the hint, he throws the gruff addition. “No.”

“Shit. Shit, I jus’… W-want more– Please please…” Drivelling until you can find the magic plea that’ll get him to yield. It ends up finding you; thrashing up your gut, possessing every muscle to bid a madcap decree. You squeeze your eyes shut and twist away from his face, screaming into the sheets until you can’t stall any longer. “Want you! Miguel, please! Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck…”

It doesn’t hit you when he orders you to bring your knees up and arch your back for him. Or as you crawl to the centre of the bed, thrusting your haunches up to present your ass. Not when you extend your arms in front of your bowed head, and he peels your shirt off to your wrists, twisting it so both are forced together, keeping you bound and in one position. You’re too lost in the woes of titillation – manna sliding down your gullet – to process what you said. Food to feed a thousand. Forever sustained. Godsent. The evidence of it smeared over your chin in drool, over the swollen mound of your sex as he pares off your pants. There’s no space for it as cool air hits you, or when he grabs either ass cheek and pulls them apart to inspect your readiness. No space for anything apart from the thrill blistering down your spine.

So–

No. It doesn’t hit you (for all that it should) that this is the first time you say his name out loud. Not when it feels so right. A perfect seal, trim to the edges of this molten encounter.

(Much, much later though, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat with it still flaming on your tongue. Miguel. Miguel. And when you sober up, turn the memory over in your mind, you’ll clasp your chest while it flops rebelliously, betraying the fact that – despite your mortification – you’ll want to say it again. 

And again. And again.)

Given the makeshift handcuffs, there’s not much you can do besides knot your knuckles into his sheets, clinging on against heavenly ascension. There’s a shuffle, the sound of fabric rustling as his one hand remains on your rear, kneading the tacky softness of it as if to say hold on. You moan in spite of it, wiggling your hips impatiently. You’ve waited enough. Evidence to your arousal coats your inner thighs, dribbling from your clenching hole and carving a line down the already damp-with-sweat skin. He, better than even you, should be able to see that. 

A hazy picture refines in your mind’s eye in the meanwhile. This scene, reimagined through his perspective. It’s tinged with the liberties of your own ignorance – the extent of your vision ending where your forehead nuzzles into his comforter – but succeeds in that it builds itself off barebone facts. Where night still rages on, dousing everything in parallel values. Navy, black, grey – broken up only by the lurid blue light that would highlight your edges, streaming from the sloped windows on your right. It’d offer a vague suggestion of your form; curves folded in a pose resembling a cat’s stretch, rounding where your glutes plummet to anchored knees. They spread obscenely wide, affording him your unobstructed cunt.

“M- Mmf, pmfeeease. J-jutht… just fuck me already, you b-bastard. Need it so bad.” You wail. The scent of patchouli that had swamped his bed has since been watered down by brine – tears and saliva that mottle your face, glossing it with a sort of wetness that has you sniffing, heaving through the suffocating layer. You’re thankful he stays crouched behind you. If he has to witness your desperation, then let it retain a modicum of attractiveness, in contrast to the pathetic display up front. 

“Need it?” He taunts, tapping his cock on your clit. It’s done lightly, the heft of it controlled in his grip. Nevermind, you lapse. You wish you were laying on your back instead, neck propped on a pillow as you crane to watch the gorgeous thing sway between his legs. You haven’t seen it since you’d sucked him off. It’s always been about you; your pleasure, your satisfaction – not that you haven’t tried to return the favour. Several occasions had you reaching for the bulge in his pants, glowing in a post-orgasm high, only to get swatted away to continue whatever the two of you were working on that day. 

“Shhh-Shut up! Oh my God, I–” Your temper wanes, a crack splitting its centre, threatening to expand with every hit he aims at it. His length glides between your folds now, absorbing the searing heat like he has any reason to stall further. If you’d been closer to your inhibitions, you’d think he’s hesitant to do it with you – but lust isn’t always an inebriating force. You’re honed in on other matters; the leaden heaviness he grinds on you, fully stiff and about to burst. The way it slips, up and down and back up again, veins catching on every crevice. It’s plenty of indication that he’s as far gone. “Keep t-t-teasing and I’ll… I’ll le-eave.” 

“Mhm.” He huffs, but tugs on one side of your ass to pry it further apart. You don’t understand why until he repositions his tip to catch onto the brim of your hole. “I don’t think you will.” 

And then he bottoms out. 

In one, swift move. Wholly plunges in, groyne slamming your behind with a force that strikes the air straight from your throat. Your jaw falls open, meant for a scream that becomes a wheeze instead, energy diverting to better serve the effort of taking him in. You were under no illusion to his size, his cock searing bright in your memory. Long, thrumming, thicker than what you can wrap your hand around. But it’s almost like he’s gotten larger, somehow – nourished by your walls that squelch and suck him in deeper. The skin around your opening aches like a taut elastic, stinging with the stretch, and in a completely contradictory condition, you wish he should’ve gone slower. Allowed you the time to adapt.

As though he senses your affliction, he returns to your clit, easing things by flicking the swollen bud while he steadily draws back out. Your pussy sheathes every ridge, every vein that adorns his ample muscle, rippling until just his head plugs you shut. 

“Solid?” He checks. And it’s so unlike the croons he’s used thus far, so much more like him, that it polishes you up to a clearer state. Sniffing, you count the sensations battering you from all angles. The tension headache. The pressure at your core. The undefinable pleasure buzzing from where his cock continues to stuff you. 

It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Intense, yes, but in varying multitudes. None of your begging had taken that into account. You’re no virgin, yet all the people you’d slept with before had been strangers. Back then, it had seemed absurd that things could feel any different when sex sprouted from rich history. (Pleasure is pleasure.) Or more satisfying when, at each thrust, you’re preoccupied with the person behind them and not your own, selfish desires. (Because what could matter more than your next fix?)

It startles you that Miguel is the first non-stranger you’ll get to know in that way. In different ways. With every wave of pleasure, he proves your previous experiences wrong. Cups the foundations of your worldview and slips them over one another; breaks the ground and crust in magnitudes. Rolls an electric ruin on the valley of your legs. 

Though, you suppose, that’s always been his role. 

(Non-stranger because there isn’t any other word for what you mean to each other. Not friends. Nor lovers. Dancing the wary line between all plights, concurrently. Foolishly. One trip and you’ll find yourself barrelling down onto a term you’re not ready for.

But for now–)

For now. 

You shake the tangent off and harrow out a playfulness that got lost in the mix. It flips and curls like a ribbon, bouncing around in your gut, generating the courage necessary for you to push your hips back on him. As you do, you note that it’s just as much of an adjustment the second time. Swifter, smoother now that he’s lubed with your natural slick, but he bulges thicker midway, and it takes force to push past that on your own. Once you manage though, your eager cunt engulfs the rest with ease, seating you on the base. You make sure he has no room to pull out, wiggling onto his crotch until he’s nestled right against your cervix.

Dragging your arms back until you’re situated on your elbows, your neck twists to the side, a wry smile winding across your cheeks. His eyes are closed, fluttering, grappling with your tight clutch. You speak anyway. “You plan on warming your dick forever? Or are you gonna fu–ungh.”

He’s quick. You’re barely able to perceive the furrowing of his brows before he dives to wrap his arms around your midriff. Chest slotting neatly onto your back, hand grinding onto your lower belly, feeling for where his cock dents as he snaps his pelvis back and thrusts into you. Or– doesn’t thrust so much as he manhandles, slamming you back and forth onto the ample breadth. Brutally done, rough in all the right ways. It spurs him, you realise. This back and forth. Snatching the power from him like a bone from a dog, throwing it out for him to fetch. It makes it all the more rewarding, perhaps, when you bend and break and become the dog yourself, snarling under his heavy pet. He’d take greater satisfaction that way, boiling you down to a keening mess. 

Which he does, in record time. Nose mashing onto your shoulder blade and fangs extended to skim the flesh there. He kneads your clit and targets a very specific part of you – that patch of spongy tissue on the flipside of your mound – pounding until it memorises the mushroomed shape of his tip. It should hurt. The sounds spilling from you are those of a wounded animal, snivelling like every inhale is your last. The expanse where your bodies meet should rub abrasively, but you’re both sweaty enough that it’s a frictionless process. And you’re both sweaty – both, because he’s affected by this too. Up from his pelvis, to his palms, to his pecs. Bare pecs. 

He’s shirtless. 

You don’t know how you missed it. Like a shot of espresso as warm as the naked muscle that cradles you; he’s shirtless. Your moans escalate, cranking to a higher octave. They fluctuate, thumping in your lungs to the sharp beat of his pumps. There was no reason for him to strip. Your shirt was used to keep your wrists fastened, and your bra still cups each breast. Your nudity is a given, as it’s always been, but there could be no purpose behind his. Not if what you assumed is true, about power play and how it turns him on. If anything, this only knocks him down to an equal peg. You’re on level ground. 

Not that you’re complaining, of course. As it stands, you can feel every part of him. His body is a furnace, rolling coals onto your own, enveloping you all around. Forearm barring your tits, pure brawn keeping you from peeling your frame off his. Abs grate across your back, happy trail chafing the small of it, the vale running along the centre. He noses your shoulder, doesn’t kiss. Just runs his chin and teeth along the curve of it, groaning inaudible phrases in both English and Spanish, of which you strain to pick up on. You want to hear it. To be closer, to be privy to what he has to say about you. About this. To crack open his mind and pick his complicated psyche for the tasting. 

And– 

And maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he took his top off to feel closer in the most material sense. You won’t fool yourself into thinking he holds similar admiration, but your body has gained definition in the past weeks. Physically, you’re more spider-hero than you’ve ever been. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s what’s got him going. The fruits of his labour. Your progress. With the way he takes in your form, all the questions, his demeanour cleans up to seem vaguely… proud. 

Proud. 

Is that it? Did he ask you to recount your achievements because he’s pleased with you? Don’t sell yourself short. That’s what he said when forwarding his interrogation. It would make sense – for all that it settles at the forefront of your brain, refusing to dissolve.

But God, you think, it doesn’t even need to be true. The mere notion lights your nerves until they whistle like soaring fireworks. You watch as pyrotechnics burst behind your eyes, lashes drooping with tears, jaw strained as you clench your teeth. Miguel fucks in short, hard pegs, forgoing pulling out all the way to instead beat your g-spot in rapid succession. His breath bursts hot and heavy, lips – those perfect, full lips – pressed to the shell of your ear. He’s stroking your sore clit with three fingers now. 

“Ay, mierda. Shit.” He curses. “I-Is this it, huh? Is this what… all I had to do to shut you up, you needy little thing? A good fucking. Just a little attention and you-you’re happy.” 

“Nnnngh. M-Mi… Puh-ple–” 

“No. I want to hear it.” He squishes your cheeks together, squeezing with one large hand. When you try to speak again, your words come out slurred. “Use your words.” The grip guides your head back until you can catch his gaze in your peripheral. He’s already looking at you. 

“G-Gon…” 

“Hm.” 

“C-cuuuu… mmuh uh uh–” 

“All together now.” He picks up pace, practically battering your insides. It’s enough to threaten your enhanced healing, bruising your walls at a quicker rate than it can work. You’ll hurt in the morning, you’re sure.

(At least, you hope you do.)

“Gon’ugh cum. Gonna– Mig… Please.” 

Your spine goes rigid. Blood rushes to your head. 

“Do it, then. Go on. Fuck.” His middle and forefinger push past your mouth, hooking behind your teeth to hold it open. “Cum. Cum on my cock, p-pretty.” 

The world burns white-hot and bright. You can’t see, can hardly feel him anymore. Just that word, branded onto your skull where it’ll stay forevermore. Pretty. He thinks you’re pretty; or is otherwise too wrapped up in the moment to dispute the intrusive conviction. It should be concerning that you don’t care either way. That, in any reality, it still bestrews a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your gut. Your insides flutter with them, frantic and galvanised at the deluge of dopamine, flooding through every synapse until everything, everything, becomes about the high. 

Your orgasm finds you a ragdoll in his arms. Bones liquid, riding the wave that continues to scroll over. He doesn’t stop jackhammering into your spent pussy, still seeking his and draining you of all the evidence of your devastation in the process. You’ve no doubt soaked his lap. That’s if the noises are any indication, downright sloppy from where you’re attached. Schlicks and slaps and low grunts that tell you he’s close. 

Before that happens, though, you’re flipped over on your back. He holds your legs together and pushes them high so your ankles sway mid-air. You’re tighter like this – something even you can feel when he re-enters you, cock cleaving you apart. Another, weaker orgasm pulses in your core. You’ve no energy to voice it, let alone moan. It’s all you can do to take him in. The striking sight he’s allowed you access to.

Not as bronzed in this lighting, but fit just the same. Grainy shadows stretch around the canyons formed by sinew, delineating the anatomy of his torso as though it senses your ogling. He’s huge. Bigger, brawnier when not constricted in a tight top. With arms that curve and cut perfectly into his broad chest, bridged by shoulders that seem to have a life of their own. They provide a golden ratio to the trim angle of his waist, partially hidden behind your thighs. 

A curl falls over his forehead. It’s heavy with sweat. His palm crushes into your flesh. 

“Inside.” You croak, exercising the title that started this all. Bold. 

“No me haga eso.” He shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut. “I–” 

“Y-You sca…scared?” 

“Fuck– Fuck!” 

It’s misleading. You’d think – with how his voice breaks, winded and tight – that he’s about to accede. Burst and pipe you full of his seed. But he pulls out, dropping your legs to scramble on top of them. A trade off, you reason. It’s hard to rue with disappointment when his cock finally makes an appearance, fat and heavy in his hand. Your palate immediately salivates with the thought of sucking him clean after this is all over, putting your talents to good use. Maybe, if you do good, he’ll soften enough to call you pretty once more. 

That’s getting ahead of yourself, though. 

Miguel cups your neck, pinching either side to cut your oxygen supply. Your vision dots with stars – black holes and supernovas, dying suns blazing on your eyelids. It’s the combination of everything; the victory, the suffocation, the weight and magnitude of his presence. The sheets you lay on, the room you occupy, the heights you leapt across. They weave to create a shroud that slowly descends on your consciousness. 

You don’t pass out, but you’re barely lucid when he spurts out onto your stomach. Dense, searing fluid coats your skin, pooling into your belly button and reaching the ravine between your breasts. 

“I’m–” Voice hoarse, you cough to rid of its scratch. “You c-coulda done, y’know. I can’t… The spider radiation–” 

“I know.” He says, then scoops some cum onto his finger. You automatically open your mouth when he reaches over to smear it on your tongue. “Good.”  

It’s a peculiar scar, you dwell. Buttressed on his deltoid. Geometrically circular in a way vaccine marks aren’t, with marks like teeth equidistant around its circumference. Blinking heavily, you try to deduce its origins on his otherwise unmarred body, only to give up as you draw blanks, unable to think at all. Sleep looms, a heady fog lurching up your neck.

Miguel sits, picking apart the complicated knots of your shirt. It still circles your arms, looser with his effort thus far. When you flick your study over to his worn face, you find that his attention is centred onto your own blemish. Situated above your wrist – four discoloured punctures in the same size of his claws. 

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen the other guy.” You quip, smiling minutely. The man just shakes his head, pretending to reoccupy himself with his self-assigned task. 

What do you say in this situation? When you can’t separate guilt from the fraught expression he dons. It’s not okay that it happened. It’s not fair that you have to bear that memory for the rest of your life. But… you don’t mind. Your self-respect is nonexistent and you don’t mind the fact that he’d resorted to whatever he could when desperate. You've done the same. Worse, even.

You’re about to speak up when a crackle on your left fills the silence for you. A radio he keeps on his bedside shelf, to connect him to all emergency personnel, blares a hurried alert. 

“Possible superhuman event. Downtown city hall. Suspect is–” 

He sighs, rising to a stand to shut it off. Your shirt slips off your limbs.

“It’s late.” You pose before you can stop yourself. The protest is instinctual – even you don’t know where you’re going with it – and no sooner does it leave your mouth do you cringe. It’s too big now to stuff back into your throat, spoken out loud and stupid. You’re free now, aren’t you? Unbound, literally. There’s no reason to stick around.

“So?” Miguel calls you out on it. 

“You– um. Just, good luck.” Is all you come up with, curling into a foetus position to dissuade the embarrassment blooming behind your ribs. Now that his body isn’t on top of yours, his room seems that much colder. 

“You’re right.” His briefs slide back up his legs, fitting snug around burly thighs and snapping low on his hips. “It’s late. You can sleep here tonight. I have to go deal with–” He gives a vague gesture to your left, referring to the dispatch call. 

“Right.” 

He offers nothing else, oscillating between attached rooms in the quiet that follows. A bathroom and closet, you assume; confirmed when he walks out in full spider garb. The sight of his suit knocks you back into place. The fact that it’s more familiar than the bare skin you were only just getting used to is a sobering enough fact. 

And you watch as he moves to leave, shucking a window frame open to allow him access to Nueva York’s skyline. Perhaps it’s his back – turned to face you, at a guarded distance once more – that spurs you to ask. A distressed attempt for any tenderness he might have left.

(That wounded animal, raking for solace before death.)

“You opened it, didn’t you?” You ask, pitching the suspicion you’ve been ruminating over for a while. 

He stops, turns his head to indicate he’s listening. 

“You opened the window. You knew I’d been following.” 

You wish the mask didn’t obstruct his reaction. What a small blink, or smile, could do to dissuade the charged pace of your heart. Eventually, though, he nods.

“Why?” 

And there’s really one answer you’re hoping to hear. A comfort, along the lines of for you. But Miguel is funny in that way. Sometimes – as seen by the cum that glazes your abdomen, or the soreness between your legs – he gives you what you want. Readily. Seems to want the same thing too, if you’re lucky enough. 

And then, there the other times.

“To see what you would do.”

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[celtigxr]

- - - - - The Pink Dread Master List

Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size!Celtigar!OfC Slow Burn - Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Theres so much bad blood between these two, but there is also longing... for what they used to have, for what might have been, had it not been for Aemond's betrayal.

Alternatively: First loves. Heartbreaks. Betrayals. Jealousy. Revenge. And repeat. The feud between former friends, Aemond and Valeana, sends a shockwave of social chaos for the Seven Realms as all gather to King's Landing for the Royal Conclave. A season of peace, intended to forge alliances through courtships and marriages, only for it to become a war of a different kind.

Cross Posted with AO3

Mindful of tags of TW below

Please reply if you want to be added to the tag list

Disclaimer: AI is not used in the writing of this story. It is primarily used to generate images when needed (for dresses, mostly), and to help with unique bard like songs, since I am terrible at writing songs and poems. Other than that, rest assured every word is written by me. I will clarify in each chapter when AI is being used and what for.

General Tags: MDNI, AemonxValeana end game, other ships, AFAB, PlusSize!OFC, Celtigar!OFC, Disabeled!OFC, Jealous!Aemond, Angry!Aemond, Healthy!Viserys, Enemies to Lovers, Aged Up characters, Fix It AU, The Dragons Do Not Dance, Eventual Smut, Redemption Arc for Aegon, Slight AegonxOFC, Slow Burn, pining, longing, angst. More may be added along the way. Genre: +18/MDNI, Romantic Comedy, Angst, Young Adult Drama, if Bridgerton had dragons. TW/CW: The story will contain realistic mental health themes. To avoid tumblr taking this post down, they will be coded:

Things such as E. D." Unalive Ideations, B0dy Dysm0rph!a, Blatant Fatph0bia, P T S D, descriptive trigger-induced anxiety attack due to P T S D, and a brief S A (By all definitions, it is, but... You'll see).

Other tw: Typical themes you find in the asoiaf universe. TW will be posted for individual chapters as we go. More may be added here.

Author's Note: Val and Aemond are end game in this, but the other ships are a surprise. I've got spreadsheets n shit.

Credits: Story cover made by me, divider found on pngtree

Prologue: With Friends Like These Chapter One: Return of the Crabs Chapter Two: Familiar Strangers Chapter Three: A King's Command Chapter Four: Unforgiven Chapter Five: Aegon's Doom Chapter Six: Aegon's Delight Chapter Seven: O, Brother Chapter Eight: Still Falling For You Chapter Nine: Protector Chapter Ten: What a Pity Chapter Eleven: Peace of Mind (September 22nd) Chapter Twelve: High Horse (September 25th) Chapter Thirteen: Girl's Night (TBA) Chapter Fourteen: The Will of Man (TBA) Chapter Fifteen: Restless (TBA) Chapter Sixteen: Eggs & Bacon (TBA) Chapter Seventeen: The Daring (TBA) Chapter Eighteen: Hydrangeas (TBA) Chapter Nineteen: Pyres & Proposals (TBA) Chapter Twenty: Family Matters (TBA) Chapter Twenty-One: Green & Black (TBA) Chapter Twenty-Two: Maiden's Day (TBA) Chapter Twenty-Three: ( to be written ) More chapters to come...

Please do not re-post, redistribute, or plagiarize my stories. I have no problems being a Karen and reporting immediately upon discovery without warning. All rights reserved for GRRM, the creator for this universe and characters, and HBO.

[markhoffmans-certified-slut]

7 Minutes In Heaven | Billy Loomis

Pairing: Billy Loomis x female!reader

Word count: 5K

Warnings/contents: Strong language, mild sexual innuendos, light fluff. 

Notes: Sometimes I forget how hot Billy is when he's pissed off, and then I see this gif and I go... 😍🤤

I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter, I had a fun time trying to figure out what to do for it and I think that it ended up sort of good.

<>~<>~<>

The sofa dipped beside you as a warm arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you close; you were zoning out, staring at the wall behind your friends head for the past few minutes. The sudden action made you jump slightly as the man beside you let out a sigh and grinned. 

“Wasn’t this a great party?” Stu asked, looking around at the room of dwindling guests. He was right— the party had been a success and gone nearly all night long; the sun was going to start coming up before you knew it and everyone started to show up to his house around six o’clock yesterday evening. Your eyes were tired as you glanced at the man and brought your cup to your lips. 

“Yeah, it sure was.” You met Tatum’s eyes across the room and shifted awkwardly. She always knew that there was nothing going on between you and Stu— after all, you were constantly reminding her that he was like a brother— a very annoying brother. However that didn’t mean that you weren’t uncomfortable sometimes when she caught you with him like this. It was no secret that Stu had cheated on her over the summer. And that was the time she knew of. “You want anything from the kitchen?” You asked, knocking his arm off of your shoulder as you stood. 

“Nah,” before he could finish his sentence, you started to head away and walk towards the bright kitchen. Blinking hard, you refilled your half empty cup and rubbed your tired eyes carefully, though you were certain your makeup had to be smudged already. It had been on for over twenty four hours now. You had come straight from work to Stu’s party. 

The kitchen was a mess— you didn’t even want to know what the rest of the house looked like. Somehow Stu would get everything cleaned up before his parents got home, most likely with Billy’s help. 

“Hey,” you looked over and sent your friend a smile when she peeked around the kitchen doorframe. “Stu wants to play a game before everyone leaves. Want to join?” 

“Sure. What are we playing?” You asked, walking alongside Sidney to the sitting room. “Knowing Stu, probably something that ends with someone being naked.” 

“It’s probably strip truth or dare,” she snickered, playing along with your joke. “Or strip “Never have I ever.”” The two of you shared another laugh before walking towards the small group of people left and sat down in the semi-formed circle. There were a few people that you recognized from high school, but then there were a lot more unfamiliar faces. You wouldn’t have been surprised if there were over two-hundred people in this house over the course of the past twelve hours. 

“Alright everybody,” Stu started, though he tipped his head upwards and chugged the last bit of beer in a bottle that you hoped hadn’t been sitting there for too long, and sent the room a smirk. “We’re all playing seven minutes in heaven.” Tatum shot him a dirty look as you and Sidney shared a groan. 

“Maybe we’ll get someone super drunk and we can make them forget what we’re playing,” Sidney whispered hopefully into your ear. 

“Or maybe we’ll get thrown up on.” She cringed at the thought while you watched Stu set the bottle in the middle of the circle and ignored Tatum’s stare. 

“So… who’s spinning first?” Sidney asked, glancing around the room of drunk and hungover college students hunched over with their head in their hands. The thought of being shoved against one of these strangers in the small closet made your stomach churn. You had sworn you’d seen several of the people in the circle throwing up earlier in the night. 

“First to ask, first to spin.” Stu gestured to the daunting bottle on the floor. Sidney sent you a semi-timid look out of the corner of her eye, earning a huff from you. 

“I’ll go first.” You leaned in, grasping the bottle by the neck and hoping that you would end up with someone who either hadn’t thrown up tonight, or who was less drunk than some of the others. You leaned back onto your knees and watched as it came to a stop— then quickly your eyes went wide and your lip curled in disgust. “God, this night just keeps getting fucking worse.” 

“What a lucky man I am,” Stu sent you a devious smirk and stood as Tatum looked between the two of you quickly and huffed as she crossed her arms. He moved until he stood over you and offered a hand down towards you; sending Tatum a quick, apologetic look, you stood up on your own, ignoring the mans hand and starting to walk towards the small coat closet by the front door. You glanced back and saw Billy, a semi-annoyed look on his face as he followed a smirking Stu towards the closet behind you. 

“Have fun.” Billy’s tone was dull, one you didn’t hear often. He seemed less than impressed at the situation, but you weren’t entirely sure why. 

“Oh, we will—“ 

“We won’t—“ You and Stu spoke at the same time as he pulled you into the closet with him. Billy seemed to hesitate for a second before he shut the closet door. 

“Time starts… now.” Billy called through the closed door and blocked the handle with the chair. Your gut wrenched as you shimmied as far away from Stu as possible. He was so close in the closet you swore that you could feel his body heat radiating towards you even as you pushed yourself back against the wall. 

“You couldn’t have picked strip truth or dare, or something?” You grumbled in complaint at the man after a moment of silence. Stu gave a quick snicker and reached towards you for your shoulder. 

“You’d rather everybody see your boobs than just me?” With a scoff, you slapped the mans hand away as his chilly fingers traced your collarbone. 

“You are not going to be seeing my boobs tonight, Stu.” He gave a soft hum in response. 

“Yeah, y’know what? You’re right. It’s way too dark to see anything in here.” It was dark in the closet but slowly your eyes were adjusting to Stu’s outline as he spoke. 

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” You said, agitated with the man. Stu reached for you again, though this time this fingers graced your cheek before he firmly planted his palm against the side of your face. “And stop acting like you were ever going to see my boobs tonight anyways— go look at your girlfriends instead.” Stu hummed in a teasing tone, though it felt like it was only half paying attention to the words that you were saying. 

“But yours look so much better in those tight shirts that you wear.” Your face heated up quick; there was something about him that never failed to anger you. His attitude, his cocky smile, his voice— but most importantly, how little he seemed to care about one of your best friends. 

“You are such a fucking asshole— piece of shit— garbage— jerk!” Stu tilted his head to the side and slowly leaned in, quickly grabbing your hands when you reached up to plant them on his chest to keep him back. Stu held both your wrists tight in his hand, leaning in until his warm breath hit the skin beneath your lips. 

“If I’m such a fucking asshole then why would I bring you in here to do this?” Curiosity bit at you when Stu didn’t immediately go to kiss you or say anything else. 

“Do what…?” Stu gave a soft laugh— a mocking one that made your chest tighten— the smell of alcohol was lingering on his breath, but it wasn’t bothering you as much as not understanding what was going on. Stu was up to something, and for once you didn’t feel a menacing threat from him. 

“Make him mad.” You were wracking your brain trying to understand what he meant, but he spoke up again as soon as the alarm went off in the other room. “Just go with it. Trust me— just this once.” He said in an encouraging voice. Soft footsteps started to head for the closet, giving you a feeling of relief before Stu was quick to shove his knee between your legs and forced his lips against yours. 

You gasped into his mouth at the quick movements from the man, giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth as he reached up and grasped for your neck; his fingers wrapped around the back of your neck and held you painstakingly close so that you couldn’t pull away from him. Your hands wiggled in his grasp as the door opened and the light nearly blinded you. 

With an overdramatized ‘smack,’ Stu pulled away and looked out into the sitting room with a smirk on his face. 

“Whoops. Guess we got caught.” Your face was hot, eyebrows furrowed inwards in annoyance and confusion. Stu let your wrists go, though he lingered for a moment on your neck and sent you a wink. You reached up, rubbing the spot that his thumb had been digging into your skin, wondering if his grip was enough to leave a mark. It had sure felt like he was holding you tight enough. 

Stu went back to the sitting room and sat where he originally was, but you saw Tatum scoot away so that she wasn’t as close to him. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment before she reached for the bottle. 

“I’ll go next.” You frowned, shoulders slumping as you walked back towards your spot and avoided eye contact with the group. Everybody had expected this exact scenario, but you didn’t want to meet anybody’s gaze. Especially not Stu’s. 

“Are you okay?” Sidney asked quietly as she sat next to you. “Did he assault you in there or something?” You shook your head softly. 

“He just… has really strong fingers.” Sidney raised an eyebrow at you and opened her mouth to speak, but you were quick to cut her off. “No! I mean…” You huffed and watched the bottle spin. “He was just holding onto my neck really hard.” 

When the bottle finally stopped, Tatum immediately grimaced. 

The boy that it landed on was possibly the drunkest in the circle, barely even able to stand up right let alone help her stand up. She nudged his hand away, sending Stu a quick glance with a huff before she stood. Stu seemed as if he was pretending not to see her desperate eyes as he reached for the timer from Sidney and stood up. Sidney scoffed as Stu led Tatum and the boy towards the small closet. 

“He is such a… a…” 

“Dickhead?” Sidney gave a soft chuckle and nodded. 

“Remind me— why are we friends with them?” 

“This is all because of Tatum— I didn’t even know who Stu was before she met him.” Sidney sighed and looked over as Stu headed back with the timer in hand. You saw that it hadn’t been started yet. 

“Alright— who wants to play strip truth or dare while they’re in there?” He asked, eyeing you in a way that made your stomach churn. You sent the man a dirty look that made him laugh. “What? I thought that you said you wanted me to see your boobs.” 

“I did not say that!” You seethed at the man. 

“Ooh— that’s right, you said that you’d rather the whole room see them than just me.” 

“I didn’t say that either!” 

“I distinctly remember—“ Sidney cleared her throat loudly before the two of you could get into another one of your longwinded fights. 

“Why don’t we just play normal truth or dare? Or never have I ever? Something that won’t end in a fight.” 

“With him? Unlikely.” You grumbled. 

“Well, I have a wonderful dare for you.” Stu grinned. 

“I would never choose dare from you.” You scoffed. 

“Really? Not even if I dared you to kiss me again?” Your cheeks went hot as you went to reply, nearly standing up to yell at the man before Sidney pressed you back and spoke. 

“Never have I ever hosted a party and had nobody show up.” She intervened while you glared at Stu— a look that only Billy could rival. A girl across from Sidney sighed and grabbed her drink, taking a swift shot of it and wincing. Stu laughed as he looked at her, letting you be free from his antagonizing stare for even just a second. 

The timer went off and Sidney was quick to get up to go save Tatum. 

For the moment, things were quiet, Stu looked back, watching his girlfriend nearly stumble out of the closet with her shirt ruffled. You assumed that it must’ve been some form of revenge as she expectantly looked at Stu, but he didn’t seem like he cared at all. 

“We’re playing never have I ever while other people are in the closet.” Sidney informed Tatum while she fixed her shirt. This time, Tatum moved between the two kids from your other classes rather than sit beside Stu. You expected that their fight might last about a week this time. “So… who’s spinning next?” The girl beside Tatum seemed like she was desperate to find any way out of a game that might end up with her drinking more, so she was quick to raise her hand and lean in to spin the bottle. 

It spun for what felt like forever before it finally started to slow to a stop and landed dead on Sidney— earning a perverted chuckle from Stu as if he wanted to be in the room with them when this was happening. Sidney, however, sighed and rolled her eyes in his direction. 

“Your perverted fantasies aren’t going to be coming true.” You swore that the other girl immediately sunk in relief at being in the closet with Sidney. The guys were drunk and she seemed like she trusted Sidney. Stu hopped up and headed with the girls towards the closet, leaving everybody in a bittersweet moment of silence before he came back. You missed Sidney’s presence next to you, holding you back from arguing with the man that was now seated across from you again. 

You glanced around the circle, but your eyes met another’s quickly. Billy was looking at you, and when you met his gaze, he didn’t look away immediately, you sent him a quick, small smile before turning your gaze back to Stu as he spoke up. 

“Never have I ever gotten so drunk that I’ve pissed on myself.” You were slightly surprised to see a decent number of people in the circle take a sip from their cup. You and Tatum met each others gaze with a mixture of equally disgusted looks on your face. “Never have I ever—“ 

“You don’t get to go twice,” you cut the man off quick, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach from the devious smirk he had on his face as he eyed you down. The look on his face could only bring bad things and you weren’t in the mood for it. 

“Then you go.” You didn’t take the time to think before you spoke, dead-set on trying to embarrass the man like he had you; however, you forgot to take into consideration that Stu didn’t care about anybody in this circle outside of himself— including his girlfriend. 

“Never have I ever had sex with two people in one night— within the past two years.” Stu took a shot from his drink proudly, something that noticeably hurt Tatum. You felt bad for a moment as she stood and started for the bathroom, but you barely had the time to look at her before he spoke again. 

“Aren’t you going to take a shot?” He smirked at you. “Never have I ever sucked a dick in a dirty bathroom for some alcohol.” He shot at you, but before anybody in the circle had the chance to react, you fired back. 

“Never have I ever cheated on my girlfriend— multiple times.” 

“Never have I ever been so afraid to admit my feelings for someone that I hid in the bathroom an entire lunch period.” 

“Never have I ever been so disgusting that I want to vomit when I look in the mirror.” 

“Jokes on you, I don’t want to vomit.” 

“Looking at you makes me want to make myself vomit.” 

The front door clicking shut drew your attention away from the aggravating man. The room was empty aside from you, Stu and Billy now. 

“Good going, you chased everybody off.” Stu teased you, knowing that it was going to press your final button. 

“I swear to god, Stu—“ Before you could finish your sentence, the timer on his phone went off. He was quick to bounce up and start heading for the closet with a quick wink at you. 

“You’ll have to swear to god some other time.” 

It was clear as the women left the closet that nothing had happened. Sidney looked around the now almost empty room and frowned. 

“Where did everybody go?” 

“(y/n) chased everyone off with her off-putting personality.” 

“Shut up, Stu!�� Sidney sighed as the other girl started to sneak towards the door, wanting to escape the tension of the room. Stu sighed and shook his head as the door clicked shut once more. 

“Well… I guess it’s time we end the party.” Sidney said, but Stu was quick to intervene. 

“What? No, we can’t end the party. Billy hasn’t even gone yet.” 

“Admit it, you just want to tongue Billy in the closet.” You shot at the man, but for the first time in maybe forever, you only received a frown from him. 

“Billy, spin the bottle.” The other man looked as confused as you were as he reached for the bottle; if there was one thing the three of you silently agreed on as Stu sat down in the now much smaller circle, the man was relatively unstable and he was acting weirder than usual— something that nobody wanted to push wrong. 

“Where is Tatum?” Sidney asked. “She didn’t try and drive home, did she?” 

“I’ll go check on Tatum in a minute.” Stu said as he looked at Sidney. “Just sit down.” 

“What the hell happened while I was in there?” Sidney asked quietly as she scooted closer to you. Taking a second to glance in her direction, you sighed. 

“A lot.” 

A devious chuckle left the man across from you that made the hairs on your arms stand up. You looked down at the bottle and saw it facing you perfectly. 

“Come on, lovebirds.” Stu stood, heading towards the closet as if he was happier than anybody else in the room seemed to be— maybe even more excited than anybody had been all night long. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Billy. He stood, extending a hand in your direction and waiting patiently for your fingers to grasp onto his. You had barely seen the man tonight— after all, you could barely spend any time around him without making a fool out of yourself on a good day. 

But you took his hand and let him help you; Sidney was quick to send you a smile and a thumbs up when you glanced backwards at her. 

Billy walked into the closet first and as you were going to step inside, Stu nudged you and made you trip. Billy was quick to catch you by the waist as you yelped. 

“Dammit, Stu!” You turned to yell at the man, only to have the door slammed in your face. 

“Seven minutes!” Stu called out from the other side as he pushed the chair beneath the door handle and walked back to the once fully formed circle with Sidney. Stu set his phone down, the timer off and phone facing down. 

“What has gotten into him lately?” You grumbled, shifting with Billy so that you weren’t fully pressed against him in the small closet. Now, you were in the same position that you were in when it was you and Stu in the closet. “He’s been more annoying than usual lately.” 

“Seems like you had fun with him in here.” Billy responded dully. You gave a soft groan in discontent. 

“No, we did not have fun.” 

“Seemed like it when the door opened.” 

“He was the one kissing me—” 

“Besides, you said you wanted him to see your boobs?” 

“I didn’t say that!” 

“Tatum probably won’t mind if you’re blowing her boyfriend anyways. I think she’s getting tired of him.” 

“I am not blowing Stu!” You said, your upper lip curling in disgust— something that Billy wouldn’t see. “I can’t even believe that you’d think— ew! You don’t really believe I’d voluntarily put his dick in my mouth do you? He’s gross.” 

“You looked pretty cozy in here.” You scoffed, going to speak, but suddenly Stu’s voice came to your mind. You hesitated for a moment before you spoke again. 

“Are you upset about that?” 

“Why should I be mad? If you wanna fuck him, it’s none of my business.” 

“I don’t know. Why are you mad?” Billy hesitated for a moment before he scoffed, taking a small step closer to you. 

“Did you ever think that maybe you can’t stand Stu so much because you’re like him?” He asked in an impatient tone. 

“Uh— offensive.” You complained. “Why the fuck does Stu think that shoving his tongue into my mouth would piss you off anyways? Thats what he said.” You were slightly hopeful in the back of your mind. Maybe he likes me. Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe Stu was trying to help after all. 

“He’s an idiot.” Was all that Billy said. You sighed and looked down; the only light that came into the room was illuminating your shoes. After what felt like forever, he finally spoke again. “Alright, maybe there’s something that I should tell you.” Billy sighed, his warm fingers gently nudging your chin up. He’d gotten closer than you thought he had, so close that you felt his breath on your face. Billy opened his mouth to speak again when all of the sudden the front door slammed shut— loudly. 

“Tatum!” Sidney called out and hurried footsteps ran towards the door. It opened again and then shut, a clear indication that both of your friends were now gone. You swore you heard an engine start and felt your heart drop. 

“No fucking way,” you groaned quietly. “There goes my ride.” Suddenly, the door opened and nearly blinded you with the light as Billy’s hand fell back to his side. Stu looked annoyed as he turned and walked away. 

“Party’s over.” You left the closet, hurrying towards the front door and pulling it open quickly. You stepped outside, noticing the car that you had arrived here in was no longer sitting outside of the house. 

“Oh, no, no, no…” You groaned, reaching up to push your hair back. “Fuck…” a cold hand was placed on your shoulder, quickly catching your attention; you met Stu’s gaze. He sent you a mischievous wink, one that didn’t match his previous demeanor. 

“You can stay here overnight. My bed has room for two.” 

“Stu—“ 

“I’ll take you home.” You looked behind the tall man, catching Billy’s gaze and hesitating. 

“No, really— feel free to stay if you want. Both of you can. I have a spare bedroom, too.” Stu nudged Billy, quickly getting an elbow to the ribs in return. 

“She’s got a cat.” Was all Billy said as he reached for the coatrack and grabbed his jacket. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” You sent a tentative glance towards Stu, who looked from Billy to you. He sent you a small smile, one that (for once in the years that you’d known him) seemed genuine. 

“It’s only a few blocks,” you said, turning to Billy and following him out the door. He held his coat over his arm, reaching around you to shut the door behind you as Stu headed in the opposite direction. “I don’t mind walking myself. You can stay with Stu.” 

“What kind of guy would I be if I let a pretty girl walk home alone in the middle of the night?” He said the words nonchalantly, but it made your face feel warm as you averted eye contact from the man and looked down. “It’s just a few blocks.” He repeated your words. You crossed your arms, rubbing them and starting to walk beside the man and towards the sidewalk. “Tonight was kind of a shit show, huh?” He said aloud, though almost to himself. Despite that, you responded anyways. 

“Yeah— I, uh… I feel bad for Tatum. I hope she isn’t too mad at me…” Gently, a coat was placed over your shoulders as you rubbed your arms, eyes concentrated on the concrete beneath your feet. You glanced at the man, shocked at the gesture. It was rare that you were alone with Billy, but every time that you were things felt different. He seemed nicer, walked closer, talked more. 

“I don’t think you need to worry too much about it. Like I said, she’s getting tired of him and I don’t think Stu is gonna keep her around much longer.” You frowned and met his gaze again. “What? Come on— do you think he wants to marry her?” 

“I just think you’re being a little crude.” 

“She isn’t here, who cares?” 

“I care.” You stopped, appalled at the man who stopped a few feet ahead of you. “She’s my best friend and I don’t like the way that your best friend treats her.” Billy looked down and sighed. 

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets as your clammy fingers grasped onto the coat he had lent you. “You’re right.” Things were quiet for a minute between the two of you before he looked around the dark area and sighed. “Come on, let’s just get you home.” He gestured for you to follow him, and so you did. 

Regardless that you could have walked yourself and you had argued that fact, you were thankful for the man in this moment; the area wasn’t dangerous, but you weren’t completely sober and you were never out this late anymore. 

“Thanks for taking me home, Billy.” You finally spoke. “I appreciate it.” 

“It’s not a big deal. It’s late anyways. People are getting killed out here.” You nodded gently, eyes trained to the ground and missing the way that he looked down at you. “Sorry Stu’s been such a dick tonight.” He added. “And, uh… what happened in the closet…” He hesitated, stopping his slow walk and shaking his head. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said in the closet. I know you don’t like him.” 

“Why were you so mad then?” You asked, looking back at the man that sucked on his teeth and quickly averted eye contact when he met your gaze. 

“Because I wanted to be the one in the closet kissing you and he knows that.” Things went silent as your fingers loosened around the death grip that you didn’t know you had on the jacket. It smelled strong, almost as if he was right in front of you despite still being a few feet away from you. “And Stu was just trying to piss me off to get me to say it.” 

“I guess that worked, huh?” Things were quiet again as Billy sighed and looked away from you, out towards the tree line by the dead road. “Why didn’t you just… kiss me?” 

“It’s not that easy— I can’t just walk up to you and kiss you. I didn’t think you wanted to kiss me anyways. Stu thought that getting us alone together in the closet would make it easier.” Taking a small step closer to the man, you bit down on the inside of your cheek. 

“You could have just told me.” You spoke gently. “I would have, uh… I would have told you that I wanted to kiss you, too.” Billy hesitated for a moment before he finally looked at you again. You waited for a moment before you reached up, fingers pressing to his cheek. Your legs shook, your face was hot, and every inch of your body wanted to run away and never speak to the man again. But you forced yourself to stare at him and speak in a breathy tone. “Just kiss me, Billy.” 

He nodded and leaned in, closing his eyes as he reached for your waist and pulled you in to press a kiss to your lips. You gave a shaky exhale as he left you with a soft ‘smack,’ but Billy was quick to lean back in for another kiss— one that you didn’t deny. You let go of the jacket with your other hand, reaching for his shoulder and gently grasping onto his shirt. His scent was invigorating— you couldn’t remember the last time you had been so close to the man— if you ever were. 

It felt like, for a moment, you went braindead. The only thing that you could think of were the slightly chapped lips pressed snug against your own as Billy’s warm hands held onto your hips. You couldn’t think of anything in the moment— in fact, nothing mattered beside the man in front of you— not even the buzzing that started in your pocket. 

After what felt like it could never be enough, you pulled back from the man with a soft exhale and met his gaze— and there was a look in his eyes you had never seen before. Taking the opportunity that you may never come across again, you swallowed hard and glance at his lips. 

“Do you wanna come in tonight?” Billy gave a soft hum and nodded. 

“I’d like that.” You reached down, fingers intertwining with his as you stepped backwards. 

“Come on then. Let’s go.” 

[ladykailitha]

Everything I Ever Wanted Part 1/4

The much anticipated sequel for "Not All That Glitters is Gold" the omegaverse epic that I recently wrapped up. The first chapter is here as I highly recommend you read it first.

Each chapter is based on something Steve wanted from the first story. Being a top omega escort and retiring at the top of his game. Having alpha health be brought to the forefront and actually studied. Being married and bonded. And finally having children of his own.

Just a few notes here: This not to say that surrogacy or adopt is lesser or not as important as biological birth. Because it absolutely isn't. This is about Steve being told he was only good for one thing and to learn his worth was far greater than anyone imagined.

This story is mature. There are sex scenes in here as well as full nudity, but also the first chapter has some awful pretty non-binary and sex worker prejudices that if you feel like you can't handle, don't read.

Each chapter is however long it took me to fill out that part. So some chapters are shorter than others, some times by almost 1000 words.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoyed the first one!

****

Steve had finished packing up the last of his stuff. Chrissy would be moving in next week and fill the suite with everything that made her unique.

But as sad as Steve was to be leaving, he knew it was time. Twelve years as one of the best escorts Starcourt had ever seen was long enough, he thought.

A warm pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a wet kiss was placed on his bonding gland.

“Hey, honey,” Eddie cooed. “You ready to go?”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s arms and sighed happily. “Yeah, love, I am.”

“You going to miss this?” he murmured, squeezing Steve tightly.

Steve hummed, thinking about it. “To some extent, but doing this well into my fifties and sixties was never in the cards for me.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I was always too much of a romantic for that. When I first learned I was infertile it was a relief that I didn’t have to live to my parents’ high expectations for me. I had looked up to Roxie because they were living the life young me always wanted, freedom as an omega.”

“I’m glad you got that freedom, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “You really grew into your own. If you want to keep working for another couple of years, you’ve got it. I won’t stop you.”

Steve turned in his grasped and kissed him soundly. “No, Eds. This is what I want. I want a life with you. I want to bond and mate you. I want to carry your pups. As many as you want. Because if I was given the choice as a sixteen year old to have that freedom I always craved and the chance to marry and bare children? I would have taken it in a heartbeat. But when they thought I was infertile, the glamour of being an escort was the only choice for me.”

Eddie nuzzled Steve’s scent gland. “Okay, Stevie.” He nipped under Steve’s jaw. “Fuck, you are so hot when you get all passionate about shit. I could have you right here, right now on this floor if you’d let me.”

Steve slipped out of his embrace with a giggle. “As tempting as that would be, darling, the movers will be here in ten minutes and the cleaners in thirty. And I’m not as fast as I used to be.”

Eddie huffed impatiently.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Eddie and Steve shared a confused glance.

Steve walked to the door and opened it.

He stood there in shock for a moment. There on the side of the door frame was Roxie. Steve’s idol.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Come on in. You’ll pardon the mess, I’m moving out today.”

Roxie stepped in.

They were as beautiful in person as they had been on the poster on Steve’s wall as a teenager.

They were tall and thin, with long black hair and piercing blue eyes. No one was sure what race Roxie was because they had an exotic look no matter where they go.

Roxie was also the first non-binary omega escort the world had ever seen.

In short Steve was enamored.

Eddie gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going to meet the movers.”

He kissed Steve’s cheek and slipped out of the door that Roxie had just walked through.

“He’s cute,” Roxie said with a smile.

Steve blushed. “I like him.”

Roxie threw back their head and laughed. “I would hope so considering you’re bonding next month.”

Steve cocked his head and grinned. “Yeah...”

Roxie held up their prizes, two champagne flutes and a bottle of champagne. “I’ve come to celebrate!”

Steve took the glasses and wandered over to the sofa. It hadn’t been moved yet, so they at least had a place to sit.

Roxie produced a bottle opener from the confines of their coat pocket and opened the champagne. Steve held out the two glasses and Roxie poured the bubbling liquid.

“Come, come,” they said. “Sit. Tell me all about the hottie that just left.”

So Steve did.

“I’m happy for you,” Roxie said. “It took me years to find my soulmate.”

Steve blinked. “Are you–no...really?”

“A golden omega? Oh yes. Really,” Roxie said with a laugh. “I just didn’t meet my bondmate until I was much older, and we never wanted children so we bonded and just never share my heats.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” Steve asked. “Spending your heats without your bondmate?”

Roxie shook their head. “No. We still share his ruts and we use as much protection as we can. But, no. I’ve gotten used to having my heats alone, adding another person would just be complicating things at this point.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Steve said with a nod. “I guess I’m young enough to miss the connection that he and I share during his ruts when I have my heats.”

Roxie smiled. “I hear you had to jump through a few hoops to bond.”

Steve sighed heavily and took a long drink, nearly draining the glass. “It was a mess. I would be the first official golden omega to retire from active escorting and that was something they wanted to carefully curate. They didn’t want a scandal like what the church had last year when Chrissy broke open the illegal nature of the amount of omegas they took in.”

“That was a nightmare,” Roxie agreed. “I was shocked by it all.”

“I’m just grateful that I’ll have a few months to prepare for the fallout before the shit hits the fan,” Steve said. “After all it won’t come out until Eddie and I get pregnant.”

Roxie hummed their agreement.

“If you’re really lucky,” they said, “maybe a year or more.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what Eddie’s hoping for, but I’m fine with either, honestly. My two biggest dreams growing up were having pups and being an escort, how that would have worked out biologically, I had no idea, I was just dumb kid. But actually getting both feels like a miracle.”

Roxie smiled, their eyes crinkling. “I’m almost sad you’re a golden omega, because I really thought you would be the one to take my place as top earner when I retired next year.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. “Wait, really?” He couldn’t believe it. Roxie retire? That was unfathomable. Oh and the other thing, too.

Roxie must of read his mind because they laughed. “Yes, I’m retiring. I turn sixty-five next year, and I really can’t see myself doing it for much longer. And as for you, yes, darling. You. You are the best escort this industry has ever seen and you have the receipts to prove it.”

“They do want me to come back and teach the next batch of incoming escorts,” Steve said with a sigh smile. “From the ages of sixteen to eighteen, I’ll be teaching them everything I learned to make them better. And that’s more important than any glamour or glitz being an escort could possibly give me.”

“Then the agency is in better hands than I thought!” Roxie cried, gleefully clapping their hands together.

Steve smiled and shook his head. “You know, it’s funny. The only reason my dad even allowed me to be an escort was because there had never been a Harrington omega who wasn’t a trophy wife. They never worked a day in their lives. So when I offered to become a wet nurse to save up money to become a teacher, he blanched and said that I was going to be an escort. At least I could make money for them that way.”

He poured himself another glass and filled Roxie’s when they put out their own too.

“Well,” Roxie said smiling over their glass, “as long as you don’t start work until after you’ve bonded Eddie, that could still be true about the whole ‘no Harrington ever being a teacher’ thing.”

Steve laughed, his eyes squeezed tight, mouth open wide and just laughing with his whole chest. “Here’s to that!”

They clinked their glasses together. They talked for a little while longer, but soon Roxie had left and the movers and the cleaners filed in.

“These knothead movers,” Eddie said darkly, “were trying to duck out of doing the job because you were celebrating still.”

The older of the alpha moving team glared at him. “How was I to know that Roxie was in there?”

“From believing me when I told you?” Eddie asked, waving his arms out in front of him.

“He is so gorgeous,” one of the omega cleaners twittered.

“They,” Steve said with a frown. “Roxie uses they/them. Unless you're talking about someone else.”

The cleaner rolled her eyes. “He was a him for decades and then decides to come out non-binary? Whatever.”

“Out!” Steve said, barely containing his rage. “I will put in complaints with your bosses and management will get in new teams if they know what’s good for them.”

Eddie grinned. “You’ve got it, babe.”

Everyone filed out, the other omega cleaners hissing and snarling their dismissal at the other girl. The movers got what they wanted so they didn’t care.

As the lead mover was passing by Steve, he muttered, “Slut.”

The alpha was on the ground trapped in an arm bar, Eddie’s knee in the middle of his back.

The alpha cried out in surprise and pain. “What the fuck?!”

“That’s my omega you just insulted,” Eddie snarled, his alpha fangs extending. “And I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing. I will make sure that your company never gets a single celebrity client ever again. Steve will make sure Starcourt never uses you again, nor any other escort agency.” He yanked on the man’s arm causing him to gasp in pain. “Now I’m going to let you up, nice and slow and then you are going to apologize to Steve. Understand?”

The man nodded and Eddie got up. After a moment the alpha mover got to his feet.

“I’m waiting,” Steve huffed. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning on his back leg.

“I’m sorry I called you a slut,” the man groused, rubbing the arm Eddie had yanked.

“Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s not work,” Steve hissed. He waved his hand. “Now get out of my sight.”

The man followed his team out and Eddie slammed the door behind them.

“I’ve already contacted Powell,” Steve said. “They’ve already blacklisted both companies and have new crews being sent over.”

“Do we need to be here when they come?” Eddie asked.

Steve shook his head. “I was just cutting it fine getting the last of my stuff being packed away.”

Eddie grinned and pulled Steve in for a kiss. “Then why don’t you and I get out of here and celebrate a little bit on our own?”

“That sounds good,” Steve said, throwing his arms around Eddie’s neck. “Because that little display of yours taking down that mover was super hot.”

Eddie drew Steve in closer so they were flush against each other. “Yeah?”

Steve bit his bottom lip and nodded.

“Did my pretty little omega get wet watching his alpha take down a disgusting pig?” Eddie teased, cupping Steve’s ass with both hands.

“So wet,” Steve breathed. “Almost as wet as our first meeting, rockstar.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly and then nodded.

“Your stuff is already at my place,” he growled. “So I’m going to take you back there and fuck you into the mattress. Sound good, baby?”

Steve kissed him deeply. “Sounds so good.”

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: I know I shouldn't but I say that every time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 

Finally, you’re going to college but it can’t be a smooth transition. No, there’s always a hurdle in the road. You have your acceptance and your tuition scraped together, and there’s only one box left unticked; housing.  

It’s as if the ad was meant for you. ‘Book your room now. Single rooms available for campus students.’ 

Maybe people are right when they say your devices are listening to you. Still, you can’t exactly pass up the opportunity. All summer you searched yet just like the rest of your life, you’re running behind. 

The response is so quick, you almost can’t believe it’s real. It isn’t, not yet. It’s just an offer of a walk-through. You’ve done a dozen of those at least and each time, the room went to someone else. But you have to try. You can’t just give up, not after everything you’ve gone through to get here. 

Better late than never. That could be your motto. You should get it inscribed in Latin on something. Maybe a jacket? Are letterman’s out of style? 

You head out for the noon-hour meeting with the building manager. The posting said it was a new development. Hopefully, that means you don’t have to deal with anyone elses' leftover grime. Not that you’re picky. You’ve lived in worse. 

You let Marla know you’re heading out. Your mom’s friend will be even more ecstatic if you get this one. Neither of you expected you to be crashing for so long. It’s getting a bit crowded with her own kids still under the same roof. 

You catch the downtown route and get the connection just before it drives off. The building is slightly off-campus. You don’t mind. You're a bit too old to be kept awake by the frat house ragers. The reminder sparks another swell of insecurity. 

High school feels distant and you feel a bit pathetic running to catch up from behind. You’ll be older than most of the freshmen, even those who took a gap year. At least you’re doing it. Yeah, that’s something. An achievement is still that even if it’s not on the same schedule as everyone else. 

You miss your stop and curse yourself. It’s only a block away from where you need to be but you’re getting close to twelve as you spot the same building from the ad.

It’s a nice place. Modern and sleek. You wonder why anyone would convert it to student housing. Financially, it’s likely a windfall yet students do have a way of ruining a good thing. 

As you come up the walk, the curtain flutters in one of the windows. The boxy building isn’t quite as big as the on-campus dorms. That’s another relief. Not having to deal with the crush of students. 

The more you think about it, the more this seems like the perfect opportunity. You don’t want to get your hopes up. You know better. 

The door opens before you can reach it. You falter as a lithe man breezes through and grins in your direction. His blond hair pales in the sunlight and his blue eyes twinkle. He’s at least a decade, maybe two, older than you but he’s not aged poorly. 

“Ah, you must be Ann,” he extends his arm in a formal greeting, “Jonathan, we emailed.” 

“Oh, yes,” you shake his hand and show your teeth sheepishly. “Sorry if I’m late.” 

“Right on time,” he lets go and checks his watch. “I thought we could have our tour and then get to the usual questions. You understand, we have a strict screening process for residents. We can never be too careful.” 

He turns and strides back to the door and opens it, waiting for you as he steps to the side. You approach as he beckons within. 

“It is as much about out safety as those we choose to live here. We have seen the recent scandals at the college and what with the world the way it is. He tuts as you precede him through the door. His accent soothes your bubbling nerves. 

The entry way is tidy and neat. There’s a shelf of cubbies for shoes and a rack opposite with at least a dozen hooks for jackets and the like. You kick the dirt on your soles onto the mat. 

“You may leave your shoes on for the tour. We will have the house cleaned prior to move-in day. Of course, once you and your flat mates are in-house, it will be up to you to determine house rules.” He points you ahead. “Of course, if you choose to stay with us.” 

“Right, er, yeah, makes sense.” 

“Is this your first year?” He asks. His overly cordial manner helps ease you. 

“Mhmm, um, finally. I had to delay it a bit but happy to finally be going to school,” you explain. 

“Never too late to do something new,” he remarks. He gestures into the front room. 

“We’ve two common rooms, seeing as there will be six residents. We would like you to have all the amenities as a typical building. You see, this is a pilot program. We’ve a government grant for development of student housing.” 

You nod. You don’t really care about the money behind it but you appreciate his explanation. You’d rather know more than you need to. 

“A sitting area; television, sofas, perfect for a movie night, should you choose to spend a night in.” He lets you look around as he keeps to the wall and waits, “in the next,” he leads you on, “some games. Table tennis. A table should you wish to partake in any other sort of gaming.” 

The place is nice. Everything is brand new and shiny. There’s a shelf of board games by the sleek black table with chairs. The ping pong table has four paddles and there’s a basket of balls on a wall shelf. It’s all arranged so perfectly. 

You carry on into the kitchen. It’s huge. You marvel at the pale blue and black aesthetic, accented in silver and crystal. It’s immaculate. A bit much for college kids. 

“Uh,” you turn to him and twiddle your fingers, “did I read the rent correctly? I don’t know if I can afford this.” 

“Yes, two-hundred plus utilities. As I’ve said, we get a supplement from the government for housing students.” 

“Oh, sure, makes sense,” you sway and look around again. 

“There are a few things to go over, do let me know if you have any questions as we go,” he stands back as you tentatively explore without touching anything. “We’ve continuous security in place. You may see any of our staff on the grounds throughout your day. You will of course be acquainted on move-in. And we have on-site maintenance.” 

You nod as you listen and he takes you back around to the entryway and shows you the bedrooms on the other side of the house, only two down there, four upstairs according to him. He allows you even to peek into the bathroom behind the staircase. 

“Now, before I go through the typical questions, there is one condition I might confirm before wasting your time,” he says. “It was in the application but I do like to double-check these things. You are comfortable with co-ed residence? A mix of boys, girls, and all?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you smile.  

It’s not ideal. You’ve never really lived with men but you can make it work. 

“Splendid, well, how about we go and see the verandah? It is a sunny day and I hate to miss the sunlight, especially as autumn approaches so quickly.” 

“Oh, okay,” you agree and reroute as he directs you with an open hand. “This place is really nice.” 

“Thank you. I’ve overseen the design myself so I will happily accept that praise,” he chuckles as he trails after you. “Oh, you’ve not even seen the garden.” 

As if the flight wasn’t enough, you’re met with an endless wait in line to have your visa and documents checked before you can leave the airport. Even after all that, you’re far from settled. 

You pull out your notebook as the signs bring you down to the underground station. It’s neat that there’s a whole set of tracks right underneath the airport. Everything about this new place is so astounding but scary... 

You check your scribbles and stop at the wall map to confirm the information. Your platform is a little further down. You better hurry! 

You drag your bag behind you as you scurry down the scuzzy concrete, your carry-on bouncing on your shoulder. It won’t be long, you just need to get to the town centre and go from there. You can’t wait to see your room.  

You hope the real thing lives up to the pictures. The man on the video chat seemed honest. He was friendly. Jonathan... or maybe Jaime. Oh! You shouldn’t forget. 

You're out of breath as you reach the train door. It's like it's waiting for you as once you board, the compartment door shuts. You find a seat and keep your suitcase stuffed in front of you. It's already cramped without the luggage.  

You keep an eye on the digital banner near the exit. You won't miss your stop. When it comes, you're the first up and waiting to get off. 

Outside, you're swept up in vertigo. The distance between you and home finally catches up to you. You're really there. All on your own. 

You're shaky as you take out your notebook and your phone. You just need to go around the corner... every twist and turn is written down. From the airport to the station to your residence. 

Your bag rolls and rattles as you go down the next street. You recognise the house from the pictures. The lawns are vibrant and green and the front gate adds a homey touch. 

You stop just outside and scroll through your emails. Jonathan said to call when you got there as he'd have the key for you. You find his number and tap it, your phone popping open the call screen. You wait, there's no answer. Hmmm. 

The sudden roar of a motor and blast of air startles you. You look over the hedges at the man with a leaf blower. He clears the trimmings of the finely-groomed bushes. As you glance over, he spots you and shuts off the gadget. 

You smile, tight-lipped and teetering, as he approaches. It's not Jonathan. This man is much the opposite, burly, bald, and bearded. 

"Can I help ya?" He asks in a drawl. 

"Oh, sorry," you giggle nervously "I must look like a mouse in a swimming pool. I'm looking for Jonathan Pine." 

He tilts his head slightly, a squint as he seems to chew on his thoughts. 

"He's 'round. I can get him for ya. Can I get who's askin'?" 

"Oh, Lulu. I'm supposed to be moving in, sir," you push your shoulders up as another uneasy trill crawls from your throat. 

"Ah, you best come on in," he goes to the gate and unlatches it, "here." As you near, he reaches out and grabs the handle of your rolling bag, "you come far?" 

You let him drag the overpacked suitcase. Your shoulders are killing you. You follow him down the paved walk. 

"Yes, I flew in. From overseas," you answer. 

"Shoulda known. You sound like him." 

You laugh again. Your accent is not as refined as Jonathan's but certainly is nothing close to the local one either. 

"Name's Sy, I fix this place up and all. Do the garden, unclog the sink," you stops at the door and sets your bag to stand on it's own. "I'll get Jon for ya." 

You nod and he disappears through the front door. You sway as you peer around. The place is amazing. The facade is just as gleaming as the advert and the gardens are lovely. You've always liked oak trees and you're sure the leaves will be a beautiful shade of copper once the seasons change. 

The door opens again and startles you back to the present. You look up as Sy dips his chin in your direction and keeps the door open. A familiar face emerges and a tiny bit of pressure lifts off your chest. You're definitely in the right place.  

"A pleasure to finally meet in person," Jonathan offers his hand. You shake it and a giggle crackles in your throat, the habit harder to suppress as your stress mounts. "I am glad that you made it and I trust you had a safe journey?" 

"Oh, yes, sir, yes," you answer, "thanks." 

"Sy," he glances at the other man who promptly retreats. 

"Well then, please, let us get you set. You are the first to arrive. Of course, there is no trouble accommodating you early given the circumstances. Such a far way to travel. You must be terribly tired." 

"Oh, a little, but excited too." You go to grab your suitcase but he's much quicker.  

He directs you in first and follows as he rolls your bag with him. 

"I've put you upstairs but if the first floor is preferable, we can rearrange," he explains. 

"Upstairs is fine!" You squeak in a tone higher than your usual tenor. 

"Ah, I recall my first time abroad myself, it was surely nerve-racking. Don't be shy, eh, it does help to have someone who understands the plight, hm?" 

"Thank you, sir. Yes, it's... it's all so new." 

"Mm, you needn't call me sir, Jonathan is fine enough," he insists as you begin up the stairs. "Perhaps you won't feel so out of place once the others come." 

[mystic-writings]

remember the nights | newt [remastered]

PAIRING — newt x thomas’ step-sister!reader

SUMMARY — after her father’s engagement, y/n moves from new york city to the small town of woodstock, where she befriends her step-brother thomas’ group of friends, and easily finds a second home within them. among the crowd of rowdy teenagers is newt, an intriguing boy who seemed to catch y/n’s eye, and who quickly becomes the boy that would end up making her final year of high school unforgettable. 

WARNINGS — friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, etc. — each chapter will have separate warnings

WORD COUNT — 31,989

NOTES — AHH ITS FINALLY HERE!! i've been waiting for so long to do something like this and honestly despite how cliche and trope-y this fic is i love it to death

EXTRAS — town map | reader's house | brenda's house | newt's house

PLAYLISTS — youtube | spotify | apple

read on Wattpad | read on Ao3

chapter one — new beginnings

chapter two — parking lot introductions

chapter three — mickey's diner

chapter four — the willow tree

chapter five — late night shenanigans

chapter six — stargazing

chapter seven — bright lights, big city

chapter eight — saturday

chapter nine — suspicion

chapter ten — the bonfire

chapter eleven — o, atlas, pt. i

chapter twelve — o, atlas, pt. ii

chapter thirteen — welcome distractions

chapter fourteen — a rom-com happy ending

taglist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine @yes-fangirl-things (open!)

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter three

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: this is where it gets really toxic, so be prepared please this is so OOC I’m ashamed

word count: 2,678

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Perhaps it was about image after all. Your brother had invited guests to what you had assumed was a private dinner, just the two of you. You recognized Strabo Plinth and his wife sitting at his right, but he’d saved you a seat next to him. Deep down you had hoped that their spending time together was just some phoney traumabond, after all Coryo’s classmate and fellow peacekeeper - their son - had been executed for treason when they were both serving together out in twelve, and the boy didn’t seem to have a lot of friends, at all. You knew why, of course. He was district. You still remembered the gossip surrounding him when you had first started middle school. He was in the same class as your brother, and the year after that they both went on to the Academy. Even kids your age were talking bad about him behind his back.

You gritted your teeth as you walked over to him, feigning a smile when he pulled out your chair and gestured for you to sit. You obliged. Only now did you get a good look at the people sitting around the table. You only recognized a handful, as some of the other high-up politicians working alongside your brother and an old classmate of his. Mrs Plinth gave you a warm smile, pointing towards a couple steaks neatly arranged on a platter not far from where you were sitting and saying something you couldn’t quite make out. You smiled and nodded, leaning over to grab the smallest piece you could find. 

You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. It felt like he was testing you - first he neglected to tell you about whatever this was, and now he wanted to see how you’d react. If you’d finally learned to think quickly on your feet. If your presence could actually be useful in these events. Even the gown felt like a test - presumably to figure out if you’d look good on his arm. Like he was trying you on, rather than having you try the dress on.

All that dining etiquette Coriolanus had forced you to learn when you were barely ten years old still stuck with you. That was the first time you got a good glimpse of your father in him. His impatience, the complete lack of compassion, the way he smacked your wrists for getting something wrong. At that point Tigris had intervened, but Grandma’am had simply shrugged it off and told some anecdote starting with ‘back in my day’.

You refused to even acknowledge his presence. You hadn’t been prepared for this, you knew you were still too vulnerable. Maybe that’s why he did it; if you broke down or embarrassed him in front of other people again, he’d have all the more reason to isolate you and keep building off of the story of his mentally distraught little sister. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that.

You gloated in the fact that his guests seemed to take more of an interest in you than Coriolanus for a brief moment. An older woman you faintly recognised remarked on how much you’d grown since she last saw you. Another jokingly pointed out how you’d been the one to inherit your mother’s good looks. A pleasant laughter erupted from right next to you at this, but you could sense the tension in your brother’s voice. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you replied, “Oh, but Coriolanus inherited one thing I didn’t, our father’s talent for scheming.” You meant it as a half-joke, but you could tell by the subtle tightening in his jaw that Coriolanus wasn’t pleased. Meanwhile it took the other guests a second to determine that it was okay to laugh. 

It was laughable how shallow they all were, how they so loyally danced around on the minefield that was their president’s ego, all for just a glimpse of power. 

By the time dessert was served you were deep in conversation with the man sitting on your left, feigning interest in his latest endeavours within finance as he tried to work his charms on you. You were surprised at first, but you supposed it made sense that an up and coming young weasel businessman would try and use you and your brother’s position to better his own standing. 

You figured you could always use the excuse of common courtesy if Coriolanus decided to confront you about it afterwards. You’d never admit it, but you relished in the knowledge that you were getting on his nerves, and that you still managed to be subtle enough for him to not intervene. You reckoned that you were playing your cards well.

Until the guests started to leave one by one. Eventually you had to say goodbye to the young man who you’d learned was named Salus Bellthorn - judging by his last name he wasn’t anyone important, likely the son of one of your brother’s colleagues or similar - and one of your brother’s old classmates, who was surprisingly well-rounded.

Finally, it was just you, Coriolanus and the Plinths. You tried to remain polite, despite the distaste you felt for them for splitting up your family and humiliating Grandma’am. All you could think about was how she had died thinking her grandson had ditched her for a couple of greedy district folk. Soon enough he took notice of your suddenly uptight demeanour, making up some half-assed excuse about fatigue.

You didn’t like the thought of potentially allowing your reputation to become collateral damage, but you were pleased at the thought of forcing Coryo to clean up after you. He was always excellent at damage control. So it wasn’t surprising when he escorted the two of them to the front door to say goodbye, leaving you behind in the dining room with the remaining servants.

By the time he returned, all of that charm and pleasantry had melted right off of him. He marched right over to you, gripping your arm hard enough to bruise. You winced in pain, and he seemed to realise the two of you were still not alone in the room. He glared down at you as he tugged on your wrist, forcing you to stand up. He visibly cooled down, taking on his usual stoic expression, but you knew better than to think he was calm. “Helvius, clear the table and tell the kitchen staff they’re done for tonight.”

He didn’t even give his chief of staff the chance to reply before practically dragging you back towards the grand staircase, causing you to nearly trip on the fabric of your own dress as he rushed upstairs. Neither of you uttered a single word the entire way back to your room.

When you finally got there, he let go of his calm facade again, showing you the Coriolanus you’d grown to hate. He slammed the door behind you, each of your wrists in one of his pale hands as he held you in place. His eyes frantically searched your face for any sign of weakness, but you refused to allow him the pleasure of seeing you break again. 

“Did you enjoy your dinner party, Coriolanus?” You finally inquired, after what felt like hours of glaring at each other in silence. Your voice was dripping with venom as you spoke, taunting him. You watched as anger flashed in his eyes, before he took a deep breath. You liked knowing that he needed to put effort into keeping his cool because of you, despite the fear you felt in this situation. It took you until now to realise how hard your heart was pounding, but you figured you had nothing left to lose.

Just when you thought he’d calmed down, he shoved you down onto the floor, catching you off guard. You grimaced as you crawled back and away from him, all the way until your back hit the side of your bed. He followed, crouching down in front of you and once again trapping you beneath him. He leaned closer, as close as possible with your knees protectively curled up to your chest.

“You find it funny, don’t you?” He spat as he grabbed your chin, pressed between his pointer and his thumb. “Do you enjoy ruining your own future, my darling sister?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone deceptively gentle. “Every time you try to cause a scene in front of me my patience wears thinner, Hersilia. Right now? It is holding on by a thread.” You swallowed hard, struggling to keep up the stone cold, unbothered look on your face.

“Is this the future you want for yourself? You’re here for your own good, but don’t forget. I don’t need a reason to punish you.” He sounded harsher this time. Less filtered. “Even the districts think you’re sick, isn’t that amusing? No matter how much they despise me for simply keeping them in check, they’re no better than your friends. Happy to turn on you on account of gossip and hearsay alone.” He dryly chuckled, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“Do you understand the gravity of your predicament yet?” You shiver, the back of his knuckle gently tracing down the exposed skin of your neck, until he gets to the point where it meets your shoulder. His hand slowly, delicately coils around your neck. Your heart nearly stops, and you look up at him. His eyes immediately meet yours, relishing in the fear he can sense in your gaze. Eyeing you like a predator inspecting its next meal.

“Why don’t you just poison me, Coryo? You think I’m a threat, or at best a burden. So why do you not just make me go away? We both know you have the means to!” You whisper, but it comes out more as a hiss, and even then he can still hear the resentment in your voice. You stay like that for a couple of minutes, eyes boring into each other, quiet enough to hear a needle drop. His hands stay right where they are, holding you in place and only threatening to choke, enough to keep you on edge. Your cheeks are burning up, betraying your attempts to show him no weakness.

He finally sighs and gets back up on his feet. He doesn’t move though, gesturing for you to get up as well. “I do not hate you. I do not wish to see you dead. You on the other hand,” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “You don’t seem to feel the same way. You keep pushing me away, after everything I’ve done for you.” He reaches out his hand, and you reluctantly place your own in his and allow him to pull you back up.

“Tell me, dove. Do you even realise how much I’ve sacrificed for you?” He waits for a second as if expecting an answer to his clearly rhetorical question, before continuing. “When you were little, Grandma’am couldn’t even look at you. Not after what happened to our father, she didn’t want to get attached. And Tigris, she tried, but when you got sick, she started to act like you were already dead. I stole food for you, slept next to you by the fireplace for a week until you started to get better. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” He continued, a vulnerability, gentleness, in his voice that you couldn’t remember hearing from him ever before. It sickened you as much as it tugged on your heartstrings.

“Everything I’ve done I’ve done to protect you. You’re a direct target for my opponents, and likely even common men. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, dove,” He caresses your cheek, your head nearly spinning as you try and process all of this. “Ever since I returned almost five years ago now, you’ve been so distant, so cold. I was too busy trying to secure our finances to see that you were slipping away from me.” You could hear the trembling in his voice, see the bottled up desperation in his eyes.

“I just want to keep you safe, Silia. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Now he’s whispering directly into your ear, the hand previously wrapped around your neck now gently caressing your shoulder. “I won’t lose you like I did mom and dad, like I did Grandma’am. I regret so much that I didn’t try harder to be there for you, even when Tigris shut me out,” He shakily exhales, his words making you finally snap out of it. 

Your hands press against his chest, firmly pushing him away. You’re awestruck by the dishevelled, vulnerable look on his face at first. “What, what do you mean, Tigris shut you out?” He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t you remember how cold she was after I returned? She didn’t even want me to be alone with you, you know. I figured she would’ve told you something, perhaps warned you to stay away from me. God, she was always envious, Silia, envious because she’ll never experience what we have, envious because she’s an only child. Can’t you see that?”

Your brows furrow, sitting down on the bed as you try to take a moment to think this through. But he immediately descends upon you again, crouching down once more and holding your bare, shaking hands in his as he attempts to make eye contact. “Don’t be like that, Hersilia. Don’t shut me out again. You know I’m the only one around here who truly cares about you. Why else would Tigris have abandoned you? Why else would your friends be so easy to bribe into leaving you? Why else,” 

He pauses, gently grabbing your chin and tilting it to make you look him in the eye, “Would I keep you here, as close to me as possible, when I could’ve sent you off to a mental institution, tried to do away with you? You mean so much to me, Silia. I just want to keep you safe. You won’t ever have to worry about going hungry again, about being kicked out on the street, about being found out as a fraud and humiliated by your peers. You have to understand, I was so afraid that you would break, that I’d lose you too. I truly believed that the only way to keep you safe was this.” He just keeps going, overwhelming you with all these new revelations. 

“Please. Coryo,” You meekly whisper out, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I need time to think, you’re, you’re confusing me so much and I don’t know what to feel,” You babble on, tears turning into sobs that wrack through your small frame. “You scare me, Coryo, your mood swings, this constant game of push and pull, it scares me,” You hiccup, and before you know it he’s got his arms wrapped around you, pressing your face into his chest as he strokes your hair, hushing you. 

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay, you’re gonna be just fine. Won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He kisses the top of your head, and you have no choice but to accept his shallow attempts at comforting you. You realise that he thinks that he’s got you now, that you believe him. You’re not sure if you do or if you’re still strong enough to resist him, but in this moment all you can do is fall apart over and over again in his arms, allowing yourself to forget for a moment why you only have him left to turn to in the first place.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus is overcome by a sick sense of satisfaction as you unravel right in front of him. He’s far past the point of feeling guilty now, no. He’s certain he can shape you into exactly what he wants in time, but he hasn’t forgotten how you tried to embarrass him tonight.

He’ll make sure you won’t forget it, too.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

[misshoneyimhome]

250 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“We were on a break!" I Nico Hischier

Summary; Breakups can be tough, but taking breaks can be even more challenging, especially when you're unsure about your position in the situation

Tropes & warnings; Strangers to lovers, romantic relationship, breakup, drama, sadness, one-night-stands, mention of alchohol consumption, potential trigger for your inner season three and four Ross/Rachel, exes to lovers

Other notes; time jumps, first time writing about Nico Hischier 🙈

Word count; 2.8K

➼｡ﾟ

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the tangled sheets and the aftermath of a night that held no solace. The stranger beside you, a fleeting connection in a sea of faces, seemed oblivious to the storm raging within you. The weight of guilt and regret settled like a heavy fog, and a single tear betrayed the depth of your emotions.

Nico. His name resonated in your mind like a haunting melody, a constant reminder of what once was. His smile, his laughter, his handsome face – they all lingered, refusing to be erased. The breakup had left wounds that refused to heal, and the bitter echo of "We were on a break!" reverberated in your thoughts like a cruel mantra.

The night with the stranger was meant to be an escape, an attempt to drown the memories of Nico. Yet, as you lay there, it became evident that no amount of distraction could erase the ache in your heart. The bitterness of the past clung to you, casting a shadow over the weak attempts to move forward.

The room held a heavy silence, broken only by the muffled sounds of the outside world. The stranger stirred, oblivious to the turmoil within you. And as you wiped away the silent tears, you couldn't help but wonder if the choices made in the dark were only intensifying the ache in the light of day. The journey to healing seemed like an uphill battle, and in that moment, you longed for the simplicity of what once was – the warmth of Nico's smile, the comfort of his laughter, and the love that had slipped away in the chaos of a break.

**

Nico Hischier, the charismatic Swiss captain of the New Jersey Devils, had effortlessly stolen your heart from the very moment your eyes met. His sweet accent, like a melodic symphony, echoed in your ears, and his undeniable charm had woven a spell around your soul.

The journey from strangers to a close couple had been swift, but as quickly as your relationship had blossomed, it had evolved into uncharted territory, creating tension and cracks in the once-solid foundation.

Your story with Nico began at a New Year's party, where chance had intertwined your paths with those of the Devils players, and the night unfolded like a fairy tale – you talked for hours, shared intimate details, and danced as if time had no meaning. And unlike the Cinderella tale, the enchantment didn't fade at midnight; instead, Nico mustered the courage to seal the night with a tender kiss as the clock struck twelve.

The relationship developed rapidly, and within a few months, you found yourself proudly donning his jersey in the stands, passionately cheering him on. Through playoffs and the highs and lows of life, you became his emotional anchor. Your days were filled with being a supportive hockey girlfriend, oscillating between regular work hours and being a constant presence in Nico's life.

Then the off-season arrived after the Devils fell short against the Hurricanes, and from mid-May, a new chapter unfolded, offering a glimpse into a different lifestyle. Nico's plans to return to Switzerland for the summer became the focal point, and you were set to join him. Plans were in place to meet his friends and family, adding another layer of connection to your evolving story with the Swiss hockey star. The anticipation of the upcoming journey to Switzerland brought a mix of excitement and nervousness, as you were about to step into the world that had shaped the man who had stolen your heart.

And when returning to New Jersey after the heavenly escapade in Switzerland, filled with cheese, chocolates, and breathtaking mountain views, your new every day life began to settle in. Nico's insistence on you moving in with him was swift, almost as if it were a natural progression in your fairy tale love story.

Your Prince Charming had practically designated a spot for your belongings one day, not bothering to ask if you wanted to or not. But, of course, you did. Nico was your perfect match, and in his eyes, it was a no-brainer. Your laughter at his jokes, the way you looked out for him, and the comfort of letting him be the little spoon – it all made you irreplaceable in his life.

However, then the picture-perfect life started to lose its lustre, as real life, unlike fairy tales, doesn't guarantee happy endings. Your once-charmed existence evolved into a routine, despite the unpredictable nature of the NHL schedule. Home games became routine evenings, weekends were consumed by hockey-related activities, and your entire world revolved around Nico and the sport.

And as much as you cherished these moments, a year into this life, you began to yearn for space. Space to spend time with your friends, to be yourself without the shadow of being "Nico Hischier's girlfriend”. You longed to carve out a name for yourself in your career and beyond.

The public nature of your relationship had altered the essence of who you were, and the playoffs, with their demanding schedule and emotional toll, added to the growing knot in your stomach. A sickening feeling crept in, signalling that you needed to address these issues before losing yourself completely.

And the breaking point came after yet another heated argument with Nico, a recurring theme over the past few months. The fights revolved around your plea for space, a need to reclaim your individuality, while Nico seemed unable to understand your perspective. The echoes of his constant questioning and insistence on having you around filled the air.

In the midst of the argument, Nico's frustration erupted. "You knew how this was going to be, y/n… I thought you understood," he shouted, his words hanging heavy in the charged atmosphere.

"I do understand, Nico. All I'm saying is that I also need to be myself, just for a little while – not just your girlfriend," you tried to reason, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"I don't get it! So, what are you saying, that I can't have you AND my career? You know I can't make that choice, y/n!"

"That's not... that's not it! I just need some space..."

"Like how? Move out? Not be with me?"

"I don't know! I don't know what I want – maybe, we should just take a break or something..."

A heavy silence enveloped both of you as you caught your breaths, the weight of the words lingering in the air. The moment of truth arrived when you uttered the words that cut deeper than any knife could – but a painful decision you believed was necessary.

"You want a break from us?" Nico's dark eyes bore into yours, tears threatening to pool in the corners.

And as if your heart was being wrenched out, you nodded through the tears streaming down your face, making your skin puffy and swollen. "Yes," you whimpered softly. "I need a break from us, Nico. I need some time to think things through."

So, the following day, you moved out, leaving behind the life you had built together for the past year.

**

Nico's attempt to downplay the impact of the breakup fooled no one, especially not his teammates who knew him inside out. So, when the team faced another defeat in the playoffs, and the off-season loomed, the guys rallied together for a boys' night out, urging Nico to let loose and forget, even if just for a night.

In their minds, they believed that if Nico had truly moved on, he wouldn't be inclined to seek any distractions. However, to their surprise, he was more than willing to embrace a night of diversion. The usually focused and committed captain seemed eager to shake off the weight of the recent events, if only temporarily.

So, as the night unfolded, laughter and camaraderie echoed through the air, the boys watched as their captain navigated through the night, wondering if this temporary escape would provide the solace he needed or if it was just a fleeting distraction from the wounds that were still healing.

**

Two weeks had passed since the decision to take a break from Nico, and during that time, you delved deeper into your feelings. And as a more profound emotion stirred within you, you found yourself missing him more than anything. Armed with newfound clarity about your concerns, you decided it was time to face him again.

So without announcing your visit, you knocked on the front door of what was once your shared home, hoping to catch Nico off guard. You didn't want him to have the chance to prepare for your heartfelt admission that you had taken the time needed to be sure about wanting to be with him.

However, it turned out you were the one in for a surprise.

A perplexed Nico opened the door, and you greeted him with a soft, sincere smile. "y/n... what, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, sorry I just come around like this, but I just couldn't wait... I just wanted to tell you that-"

And then, you saw her.

A half-naked woman behind Nico, casually wandering around his condo in his shirt, her messy hair indicating she had clearly spent the night. The revelation hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, words failed you. The sincerity in your eyes shifted to confusion and hurt as you struggled to comprehend the scene before you.

"What?" Nico responded, his tone suddenly cold and seemingly heartless, as you stood there, baffled and hurt, your mouth slightly agape and your brows furrowed.

"You... you slept with someone?" Your voice carried a mix of firmness and vulnerability, a tear forming in the corner of your eye.

"Yeah, so what?" Nico spoke back. "Why do you even care about what I do?"

The shock hit you like a wave. While you had suggested a break, you hadn't anticipated that Nico would interpret it as a full-fledged breakup.

"Nico! I said I needed some time and space... and you just sleep with another woman!" you almost shouted, your accusation only adding fuel to the fire within him.

"So, what! We were on a break! Remember?"

"Yes, a break... that doesn't mean a breakup!"

"What?" Nico almost laughed mockingly. "What's even the difference... you didn't want to be with me – YOU broke up with ME... you expected me to just sit around and wait for you? Hell no!"

A part of you acknowledged that you were losing this battle. In a way, he had a point, and a semantic distinction couldn't salvage the situation at this point. Yet, stubbornness kept you from admitting defeat. Instead, you shook your head in disbelief and stormed off from his apartment, leaving the echoes of an unresolved argument behind.

**

The off-season was an agonising period. Not only had you parted ways with Nico on bitter terms, but you found no solace or distraction from the pain and heartache. Alcohol, casual hook-ups, and even late-night talks with your girls no longer sufficed. You were a broken mess, grappling with the aftermath of a painful breakup.

But resilience bubbled within you. Despite the turmoil, you knew you had to pull yourself together, rediscover the strength that defined you, and slowly navigate your way back to life.

So you put on your game face, dressing to impress as you reconnected with friends, curbing the wild party nights, and almost regaining the cheerful persona you once wore effortlessly. And with a burst of energy and a rejuvenating self-care trip to the hairdresser, you confronted the mature step of acknowledging that, since you were the one who made the decision, you had to face the consequences.

And the consequences led you to accidentally run into your ex at a small local coffee shop. A place you both used to love.

The encounter was unexpected, sending a jolt through your carefully rebuilt exterior. And as you stood face to face with Nico, a mix of emotions flooded in – regret, nostalgia, and the undeniable ache of a heart still on the mend.

Nico, equally taken aback, found himself frozen in place as he locked eyes with you. His internal dialogue urged him to keep walking, to ignore the familiar beauty that stood before him. Yet, his body seemed to defy his intentions, anchoring him in place after grabbing his coffee, while you were just about to join the queue.

There was a soft moment when your eyes met, a tender connection that transcended the past bitterness. It felt as though the anger had dissipated, leaving behind the remnants of broken hearts and emotions in need of care and love.

But despite the tenderness in the air, you couldn't shake off the nervousness, an anxiety about what he might say. Was he still angry? Did he need to unleash the pent-up frustration?

Surprisingly, Nico had processed those emotions during the summer. His training had served as a cathartic release, and the distance from the city had allowed his mind to gather its thoughts. He acknowledged that you had every right to feel the way you did. His demanding sport and schedule had consumed much of your time, leaving little room for the attention you deserved. He knew that now.

Moreover, he admitted to himself that sleeping with someone else hadn't made him feel any better. In fact, it left him with a sense of remorse. The void he thought could be filled was only accentuated by the absence of what truly mattered – the connection he had lost with you.

He had missed your kisses, the feel of your body, and the warmth of your smile. The void left by your absent laughter felt overwhelming, and he found no comfort in any other woman. All he wanted was to win you back.

"Y/n..." he began, attempting to navigate the conversation.

"Nico..." you replied, a light smile trying to form on your lips as you observed his facial expression.

And just as you were about to speak, so was he.

"Oh no..." you chuckled lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You go first..."

"Y/n... I'm sorry – shit, I don't even know what to say, I'm just..."

"Wait," you softly interrupted. "You're sorry? Nico, if anyone should be sorry, it should be me... I broke up with you, and then I got mad at you for trying to move on... I'M the one who's sorry," you admitted, almost on the verge of tears, unable to believe that he had opened up like this.

"But Schätzi..." the nickname rolled off his lips, a familiar warmth in the midst of the conversation. "I- I didn't even fight for you..."

You could sense he was struggling with the words, yet his expression and body language conveyed volumes.

"What do you mean, Nic... I pushed you away – I ran from our relationship..."

Tears once again trailed down your cheeks, and Nico's admission hung in the air, creating a strange and charged atmosphere between you two.

Amidst the aromatic blend of coffee and the gentle hum of brewing, the two of you found yourselves engaged in a battle of apologies, each trying to outdo the other in expressing remorse for the breakup. It seemed almost foolish, and the weight of the situation suddenly struck you both as laughter bubbled up.

"You did what I asked of you... because you're an amazing boyfriend, and I don't deserve you – I know that," you confessed with sincerity, offering him a soft smile as you poured out your emotions. "But, I do hope I can make up for it and not have you hate me..."

"Hate you? Schätzi, I could never hate you..." Nico spoke softly, taking a step forward as his large form entered your personal space.

You looked up at him, a mix of confusion and comfort washing over you.

"Really?"

"Shit... no way – I love you; I still do and most likely always will," he declared, flashing you half a smile.

And you couldn't help but wonder what you had done to deserve such a man.

"Nico... I love you too," you spoke softly, almost timid.

Again, a brief moment of silence hung in the air between you as you kept your eyes locked.

"So..." Nico broke the silence. "Does that mean I still have a chance with you?"

"Oh baby, I'm the one who doesn't deserve another chance with you... but if you'll have me, I'm all yours..."

"Of course, I'll have you!" Almost tossing his coffee aside, Nico pulled you into a heartfelt hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he embraced your figure. "And this time, I'll never let you go." 

The words resonated with sincerity, a promise made in the midst of coffee shop sounds and the sweet aroma of brewing, sealing a chapter of heartache and opening a new one filled with hope and renewed love.

[tom-holland-stuff]

Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 1

My Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 + mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he has got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: SFW - for now. (let me know if i forgot any)

A/N: Hey Hey, so this is my first time writing for Coryo. I Have heaps of ideas for where this could go and also ideas for other fics but i'm 1000% open to any suggestions, ideas or even just a chat. DM me or drop in my ask box. Chapter 2 is already in the works hehe

Word Count: 1.7K

The citadel is a cold place. Most may find it unwelcoming, but Coriolanus considers it the opposite; he feels as if he belongs there, like a snowflake in a snowstorm. The white walls seamlessly connect to the marble floor, creating a stark, pristine atmosphere.

Coryo's expensive boots click against the sleek marble floor as he walks through the empty halls. His posture exudes confidence, his chin held high, and his shoulders squared. To those below him, he appears to be looking down with disdain—a smirk playing at his lips.

He is here on business, he must maintain a professional appearance, though he always carries an air of superiority. Today, he's meeting with his mentor, Dr. Gaul. 

After returning to the capital from his stint as a peacekeeper in District Twelve, Coriolanus has thrown himself into university life. Under the tutelage of the Plinths, he's risen in the elitist circles of the capital, becoming somewhat of a hotshot. On a more sour note, along with his new found wealth and status has come the form of a rift between himself and his dear cousin Tigirs, which became very evident this morning in the nature of a disagreement regarding his ever growing likeness to his father. This argument really set a displeasing tone for Coriolanus's day to follow. However, he has far too much to deal with nowadays, and can’t afford to let these spats occupy his thoughts.

Moving on, in addition to his growing popularity, he has secured the likes of the infamous (and slightly psychotic) Dr Gaul. 

After Coryo’s return from 12 the unhinged professor took him under her wing as his mentor and has not only supplied him with an incredible internship to become an gamemaker, but also the promise of becoming one of the greatest minds Panem has seen 

(maybe even a potential political figure one day…)

Perks of having Gaul as a mentor allow Coriolanus to secure one on one meetings or ‘tutoring sessions’ as she likes to call them. Which is where he finds himself on his way to now. 

Navigating the halls with ease, he makes his way to the wing of the building housing Dr. Gaul's lab. Typically, their meetings occur in her office, either at the university or in the citadel. However, due to the last-minute nature of this meeting regarding an assignment, Coryo finds himself summoned to the citadel.

As Coriolanus approaches the door to the lab, he hears someone clear their throat. Turning to his right, a dark wooden table occupies that space, its glossy top covered in neatly stacked folders and paper. He notes to himself how odd it is that he has never noticed this ‘receptionist desks of sorts’ before. 

Coryo is a selfish person, he knows that. He never really worries about anyone other than himself, or more so tries not to, maybe that’s why he has never noticed this space before, or noticed her. 

Seated at the table is a girl who looks to be around his age. She's clad in a fitted gray suit vest with a white button up shirt underneath. A red tie fits loosely around her neck, the deep blood color stands out against the dull accents of her outfit. 

She sits elegantly in her chair, her shoulders straight and poised, her hands clasped softly in front of her. He would have maybe described her as attractive if it wasn’t for the clear expression of displeasure displayed across her face.

Observing her, Coryo determines her demeanor screams entitled and... well, he refrains from using other such derogatory terms, but the sentiment remains. 

His nose wrinkles in disgust at her apparent lack of recognition, but before he can bring himself to think of more unpleasant descriptions of the lady in front of him, she speaks. 

"Name?" she prompts plainly, sitting up a bit straighter (if that was even possible), locking eyes with him.

Her gaze is sharp, her eyes feline like, piercing into his crystal blue ones. 

"Pardon?" He responds incredulously, matching her rigidness.

He takes a step closer to the desk. His strong frame towers over her, casting a shadow on the desk. His being exudes authority and importance, but the girl does not falter. 

Her eyes never leaving his, she states again.

“Name” her tone is almost challenging but her expression remains firm.

Coryo folds his arms across his chest. His embryos scrunch together slightly in annoyance because, who doesn't know who Coriolanus Snow is!

His thoughts are once again interrupted by the girl at the desk.

“Do you have a name?” she states more so than asks. Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, only then does her gaze leave his as she slowly looks him up and down, sizing him up

Before she has another opportunity to repeat herself, he gives her an answer.

 "Snow," he states curtly. His response prompting her to meet his gaze once more.

“Coriolanus Snow” He reaffirms in an attempt to prevent her from having to ask him anything further, but unfortunately his effort is ill as she presses further.

“Are you sure?” the corners of her mouth pull into a small smirk as she questions him or challenges him, he is unsure. However, he is certain about his displeasure with this conversation. 

He uncrosses his arms and places them on the edge of the table. His face morphing into a scowl. “I have a meeting with Dr Gaul…” he states bluntly.

 “...so if you don’t mind, I shall see to that now, and you can resume with what I'm sure is a very… important task that you do.” He states, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Without waiting to see the offended expression that was no doubt about to take over the girl’s face, he turns back towards the entrance to the lab taking heavily determined steps towards his desired destination. His smirk wider to himself, triumphant as having now ended that distasteful interaction that has consequently wound him up.

“Interesting Dr. Gaul wishes to spend her time with someone so daft they can’t even remember their own name”.  

He whips around fast on his heel, his smirk immediately replaced by a furious scowl. Coryo's eyes narrow, his gaze burning in her direction. 

She is standing now, almost mimicking his previous position, arms placed strongly on either side of the desk and her face adorned with a smirk that slowly morphs into a wicked smile, obviously satisfied with his visible reaction.

His whole body is tense, his chest is heaving in anger… no, 

Rage.

Who does this bitch think she is? 

He is usually one to have a lot more control over himself and would never allow his emotions to cause him to react so out of pocket like this, well at least not in this environment. But after having to deal with one nuisance after the other, all restraint has gone out the window. 

As Coriolanus prepares to give the girl a piece of his mind and unleash his frustration, he is  interrupted… again.

This time by the creaking sound of two heavy doors behind him, followed by the distinct click of heeled shoes. He halts in his tracks, watching the girl at the desk almost instantly return her seat at the desk, with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her once devilish expression now replaced by the sweetest of smiles accompanied innocent, doe-like eyes that stare in the direction behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to find Dr. Gaul exiting the lab, catching them in this tense interaction. 

No. 

Catching HIM. 

His previous ‘opponent’ now looks as if she would never even hurt a fly let alone be involved in an uncivil argument of sorts, and well… let’s just say it's definitely not a good look for him.

He quickly straightens himself and turns to face his mentor, while silently acknowledging himself how the sudden change in the girl's demeanor was slightly impressive.

His posture exudes professionalism, contrasting the state he was just found in.

Dr. Gaul's voice fills the silence as she addresses Coriolanus.

“Ah Mr. Snow, it seems you have already had the pleasure of meeting y/n, my newest addition” she says teasingly. 

He puts on a slight smile as an acknowledgement to her words, but Coryo would have called it anything but a pleasure.

“Both young great minds.” she says outwardly, directed neither of them in particular. Almost as if she was simply verbalising a thought.

Dr Gaul then steps slightly to the side, signalling for Coriolanus to follow her into the lab. 

As he begins to walk, Dr. Gaul holds the door and continues to talk, this time addressing him but speaking loud enough for y/n to hear.  

“Don’t be giving our sweet y/n any grief, hmm?” She teases. 

Sweet? 

Coriolanus finds the use of the word odd, not only because he completely disagrees with it as an appropriate description for the girl… y/n, but also because it's not a word that seems natural being used by his unhinged professor.

Coriolanus looks over his shoulder catching a glimpse of y/n as Dr Gaul begins to close the doors behind them. Gaul takes his shift in attention as an opportunity to add to her previous statement.

“We Wouldn’t want her to get caught up in one of your… Passionate debates” she smirks knowingly.

Coriolanus feels his cheeks flush, caught off guard by such an insinuating statement. Disgusted and embarrassed by his own involuntary reaction, he turns his head back in the direction he is walking, but not before catching a glimpse of y/n. She was still seated at her desk, with poised and perfect posture, but her face held a new expression. An expression Coriolanus did not have the previous pleasure of witnessing. 

Her eyes had gone wide and her mouth was slightly held open in surprise. Her face had turned a soft shade of pink, the flush of her cheeks matching his own.

That's all he is able to note before Dr Gaul shuts the doors completely behind them. She walks swiftly in front of Coriolanus and he follows quickly in toe.

“Something tells me you two will get along quite well” She chuckles to herself but Coriolanus couldn’t have disagreed more.

A/N: Sooooooo what did we think?? i tried my best so if there were spelling or grammar mistakes i'm so sorry!! i checked it so much it pained me hahahah. Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.