#imagine the paper with scribbling all over it cos he had to look for a working pen

[daenysthedreamersblog]

ONLY ANGEL

she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see

when it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets

and there's nothing she can do about it

summary: you've been 'betrothed' to felix ravinstill since before he could remember, and as that official engagement day draws closer coriolanus is tired of pretending you don't belong to him

parings: academy!coriolanus snow x academy!reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, mild violence, infidelity, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral sex, p in v sex, lil exhibitionist kink, mild daddy kink, breeding kink, discussion of murder, reader is a huge slut for coryo, coryo is also a slut for reader, idk probs some more that i forgot

notes: this one was fun :) hope u enjoy!!!

Felix Ravinstill was his natural born enemy. He remembers deciding it when he was younger watching your small hand hold Felix's even though neither of you knew what it meant, he remembers it settling into his bones that very first day at the Academy when Felix had his arm around your waist and you had turned to look at Coriolanus, a small smile on your lips, a cherry sucker in your teeth as you spoke with the voice of a candy coated temptress, "Hi Coryo."

He hated Felix Ravinstill for having you, always had, always will. Today, he especially hated him. It was an ordinary day, most of the students crammed in the academy library to work on their most recent assignments. That's why he was there, stack of books next to him, mindlessly staring at a blank sheet of paper. He could hear the rest of his table too loudly to focus, hear as Festus made some crude joke, listen to how Arachne told him off, as Felix's hand was making its way over to you.

You.

Sweet, pretty thing you. He didn't understand what you saw in Felix enough to let him touch you, nor anyone at that table. But that was the only reason he truly hung around that crowd of elite children, so he could slither in closer to you.

You.

With your cherry sucker rolling between your lips, Felix's hand around the back of your chair as you leaned back the top buttons of your uniform shirt undone, sweat glistening slightly along your chest. It was a hotter fall day, the AC not working in the library, but he didn't mind, not with how revealed it made you. He glanced down, his pants uncomfortably tight as he imagined what your sweat would taste like. He sighed readjusting himself glancing up to see you looking at him. Felix was looking down at a book Festus was showing him as Arachne scribbled something down on a sheet of paper.

You pushed it into your cheek, tongue peeking out at the movement, your fingers dancing on the edge of the white stick. His eyes darkened as the wicked smile played on your lips, he knew you did things like this on purpose; sweetest torture one could bear. He palmed his hard cock, eyes quivering with the little bit of relief it gave him and all he wanted was it to be your hand rubbing him. He wanted to drag you by your hair and slam you on this very table in front of everyone and shove his co-!

"Coriolanus." Arachne Crane drawled .

He blinked up at her, the whole table now looking at him. "Yes?"

"Are you coming to the orientation event tonight?"

The event. The first event of the school year where the Academy stuffed all its students in a room to kick off the start of the year. "Of course." He nodded. "I have to give a speech for the underclassmen." And there would be food, and probably you.

His eyes met yours for a moment as your cheeks sucked in to roll the sucker back the other way. "Always the overachiever Coriolanus." Felix joked his fingers toying with the collar of your shirt and he fought the urge to snap his wrist.

He watched as you popped the sucker out of your mouth, lips a shade redder from it, and he knew if he licked into your mouth he would taste the cherry.

Felix Ravinstill's days were limited.

He knew it would go well, his speech, it was never what he was worried about, he was top of the class for a reason, he knew most of the students didn't care for being spoken to, but he knew once he saw you it would be over for him. He knew you were out there somewhere, maybe listening to him, maybe with your stupid boyfriend's hand around your waist.

And you were, staring him down while your lips wrapped around a strawberry.

He hid his throbbing erection behind the podium.

He wanted to wrangle your neck sometimes, wanted to curse the blood pounding in his cock as he watched you drop the fruit carcass onto your plate and lick your lips. He cleared his throat, his skin too hot, trying to avoid looking to see you pick up another one.

The words felt useless and he forced himself through it letting your eyes bore into his, letting himself press his cock against the podium just to ease the pressure.

You picked up another, taking another bite a little bit of juice sliding down your chin and he fought the urge to run off this stage and lick it off, to suck your chewed up fruit into his mouth. You took your hand, wiping it off your jaw, and sucked it off your own fingers.

He wondered how your mouth would feel around his cock, how warm and soft your tongue would be against him. He wanted to fuck his cock deep down your throat until you gagged, drowning in his cum.

He cut his speech short, getting to the point to get off the stage. He busied himself with food to avoid thinking of you even though that was impossible. He would stay for an hour, eat, drink a glass of posca, and then head home before he shoved a plastic knife into Felix's throat.

You all knew each other, grown up together, and it was always set in stone that you would marry Felix. It was something older families had set up before either of you could talk. You two were always together after that, and he kept you on his arm like a pretty accessory. Coriolanus figured you probably felt indifferent about the whole thing, he had never been able to really ask you about it, and you never gave him straightforward answers if you didn't want to.

He turned finally seeing you across the room. It was cruel of you really to wear a skirt that short in front of him and have Felix's greasy fingers pawing you. A skirt he wished he could push up and bend you over in front of your stupid boyfriend. You would let him too, he knew you would, it's what bothered him the most.

Your eyes met his and held them as you took a sip from your glass eyes burning into his over the rim. You turned, whispering something to Felix, motioning to your cup, and peeling off of him walking straight for Coriolanus.

"Hi Coryo." You smiled brushing past him to where all the food was being kept along the table setting your half eaten fruit down. He loved the way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue like golden honey.

"Hey." He sipped on his drink.

You refilled your cup, "Your speech was nice."

"Not too boring?" He joked as your body turned to face his.

You smirked against the rim. "I don't think your boring." Your lips were still red from the strawberry and Coriolanus wanted to taste that sweetness, you're so close he can smell it off of you. He clenched his fist instead. "You're the most interesting man I know."

Man. You had said man as if your loser boyfriend wasn't 20 feet away no doubt watching this whole encounter. Coryo leaned down a little closer, "I don't think Felix would like to hear you say that."

You fucking shrugged, "Then he won't." You turned your hair brushing his chest at the movement. "Bye Coryo."

This was the game the two of you played, you would make your eyes, say little comments, accident brush into him, and then you were gone leaving him achingly hard.

You were walking away hip swaying as you walked. You were trouble.

You were his trouble.

Sweet, irresistible you who was forced to leave ten minutes later by your boyfriend leaving Coriolanus to steal your plate of half eat fruit simply to taste your leftover spit and take a long walk home alone to go over what needed to be done.

"Trouble in paradise it seems." Clemensia slid down into the seat across from Coriolanus motioning to you and Felix, upset expression's on both of your faces. "Daddy must have picked out the wrong ring."

Coryo furrowed his brow, "Ring?" He knew it was coming soon, but he'd thought he'd have time to climb his own ladder to take you from Felix by right.

“Oh you haven’t head the news?” Clemmie cocked an eyebrow a sly smile on her face. “They’ve been ring shopping, or their parents have been. They'll be engaged by the end of the year.” She chuckled peering over at the two of you. “He’ll head off to University and she’ll be at home getting fat with his child.”

The food on his plate went sour. “What?”

Clemmie rolled her eyes, “Her father is pushing hard to set the marriage in place. He wants his daughter to be First Lady of Panem, and he is President’s Ravenstill’s direct heir.”

Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you.

Well if your father wanted you to marry the president, he was selling you to the wrong son.

He pushed his food around watching you storm away from Felix. And because he didn't like to waste food, nor look that suspicious he finished his lunch. He waited a few minutes, excused himself, and he was on his feet following where you ran off too.

He looked for a while finding you deserted at a lone table in the library.

"Hey." He said softly to not spook you.

He watched you slowly look at him expecting red eyes and tears, but instead your expression was blank another sucker in your mouth. "Hi Coryo." You still said his name so sweetly like the sugar from your candy laced your vocal cords.

"You alright?" He stopped in front of you.

"Yeah." You sighed rolling it along your teeth. He wanted to ask why you were arguing with Felix, if you truly enjoyed his company, or was this one big farce to appease your family. Instead he stared at you waiting for you to fill in the gaps themselves. You wouldn't, you never did, you never liked to reveal your cards, and he could only assume the argument had everything to do with postponing the engagement and nothing about a ring. You only cocked your head to the side hair falling over your shoulder. "Did you need something?"

He did, desperately. And he was tired of denying it to himself.

He walked over, pushed your chair back and settled his hands on either side of the chair's arms, towering over you. "Where do you get all those?" He asked finger bouncing off the stick.

You smirked up at him your knees sliding between his thighs, "My daddy." He was hard. He felt his pants fighting with his cock as he stared into your eyes. "Do you want one?"

He was sick of this game you played, and he was running out of time.

He didn't answer, but his lips parted as he reached forward and pulled the one from your mouth. He thought you were sick of the game too because you let him, let him slide it off your tongue, watching the trail of spit still attached, and into his own mouth. He pushed it past his lips feeling his cock twitch as he finally tasted that sticky sweet sucker you always had on you. "Cherry."

"Hmm." You had a smug smile on your lips as you stared up at him and slowly he felt your legs begin to part between his own. He glanced down, glanced down as your uniform skirt began to ride up bare thighs. He wondered if he reached his hand under there if he would find you naked and drenched. He thinks knows he would.

"Your boyfriend will be upset if he finds you like this." He says leaning down a little closer to you.

You feign innocence. "I'm not doing anything."

You settle into the chair more you shirt collar widening as he views the dainty gold necklace around your neck with the letter 'F' on it. His fingers go to it, tracing the letter, then he's trailing up your neck tilting your face up more by your chin. He wants to strangle you with it. "Do you enjoy teasing me angel?"

"Do you enjoy getting hard by it?" You ask back and he shoves your sucker deep into his cheek to grid his teeth. Your eyes go to the bulge in his pants.

His hand tightens on your jaw, "Let me come over."

"My daddy won't like that." You shake your head.

His cock throbs. "I don't care."

Your hand splayed against his chest as you sit up more, "Why do you want to come over so badly?"

"You know why," His fingers dig into your skin fighting the urge, forcing restraint into his body.

You move forward more your face inches from him, "Do I?"

"Because you want me to." His eyes flicker around your face. "That's why your always making those eyes at me hmm? Rubbing against me like a bitch in heat?"

Your hand goes to his wrist to pull it from your face, and then your dragging it down between your legs. He can't look away from your face, not as you trail his hand up your thighs to brush his fingers against your soaked pussy. He was right, you weren't wearing anything under your skirt and he knew it was just for him, and him alone. "I can't help it." You pout rubbing his knuckles against your folds. "You make me so wet all the time Coryo."

He curses as you shutter when his fingers bump against your throbbing clit and he losing the battle of self control. He wants Felix to find you like this, find you screaming out for Coriolanus as you cum. Instead he runs his hand along your arousal one last time and straightens up, "Let me walk you to class."

You watch with a flush on your face as he sucks your wetness off his fingers, letting it mingle with the tart cherry of your sucker still on his tongue. He's surprised you don't force him to give it back before Felix's sees. "Okay." You say standing up and he sees your own wetness sliding down your thigh. You let him tuck your hand into his arm so he could walk you out and back towards class. "I think I'll sit with you today if you don't mind." You tell him as you cross the classroom's threshold together. He's not surprised after the earlier argument you seemed to be reeling from.

You take the seat on his left when you usually sit a row down with your stupid boyfriend. And when said stupid boyfriend walks in later a glare settles in his gaze watching him look between you and Coriolanus who still sucked on your candy. Felix grumbles, but sits down anyways with no more fuss, Coriolanus chuckled silently to himself. You don't speak much more to Coryo, just mindlessly doodle on some paper with you head resting on your hand.

But then class starts, and your knee knocks into his.

At first he thinks it's an accident, but a couple minutes later you do it again leaving your leg to rest against his. He wants to reach out, rub his hand up you thigh to bury in your cunt. He wants to watch you squirm and fight the noises he was pulling from you. He wants to make you cum a row behind your boyfriend, and you would let him.

He knew why Felix kept such a tight leash around you, if this was how you behaved off of it.

By some form of grace or luck of whatever watched over Coriolanus Snow, the class assignment required partners. He usually would partner with Clemensia, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up as he turned to look at you, an expecting glint in your eye, "I'll come over tomorrow night?"

You only laughed a little, but you didn't say no. And he watched as Felix came stumbling up from his chair to grip his hands against the edge of the table where you sat like the desperate swine he was, struggling for scraps. "Come over, we can work on it together."

You frowned sweetly, almost looking truly apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry. Coryo already asked me to be his partner."

Felix's angry eyes burned into Coriolanus, "We're always partners though." He leaned forward to whisper. "If this is about our argument earlier I can just..."

"No." You patted his shoulder. "Of course not, but really I can't say no to Coryo now that would be awfully rude."

"I'm sure Clemensia needs a partner." Coriolanus added. "Sorry Felix."

Felix only motioned for you to get up so he can take you home. You stood up and smiled down at Coriolanus, "Bye Coryo."

He watched you walk away wetness still glistening on your legs, the taste of it still on his tongue.

He arrived five minutes sooner than he was supposed to. He knew your parents were home, and wanted to impress them, wanted your father to realize how much better than Felix he was, it wouldn't be a hard task. He knocked, his hand lying limp at his side waiting for someone to answer.

It was your father.

He was a wealthy man, not as wealthy as Strabo Plinth, but enough. It was all about where he had put his money during the war, investing in the right places, unlike the Snows. You kept up with the league of elite children in school, you belonged there in the thick of it all. Snow did too, but he had to work harder to keep that image and he hated that that was the only thing keeping him from you.

He reached a hand out to shake your father's hand, “Coriolanus Snow.” He introduced.

“I know.” He offered a tight smile as he shook Coriolanus’s hand. “She told me you were stopping by to help with some…assignment.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

But your father never moved as he took back his hand, never invited him inside leaving Coriolanus to stand awkwardly in the door frame. “Daddy.” Your sweet voice piped in shoving past his tall frame to open the door more. “Stop scaring him.”

Daddy. It sent a cool chill down his spine as you stared up at your father. “I’m not.” He held up his hands, “ Just wondering why you need help in school in the first place.”

“It’s a group assignment.” Coriolanus added as your eyes flitted up to him. “We got paired together.”

“Oh,” You father relaxed stepping away from the door. “You can work a the table then.” He motioned to your dining room table.

You walked away from him leaving him to follow you into your home and close the door. “We were actually goi-!”

“No bedroom.” You father shot at you without even looking as he disappeared into your home.

You sighed finally turning around, you motioned to the table, “You can set your stuff down here.” You instructed. “I’ll be right back.” You left, no doubt going to gather all your school work from your room. “Are you hungry?” You asked once you returned with your piles of books and papers. You were wearing one of you cute little plaid tweed mini skirts that hugged your thighs and he knew you weren't wearing anything under it.

“I ate before I left.” He lied.

“You can stay for dinner if you want.” You sat down next to him your leg sliding against his. He knew you did things like that on purpose just to touch him, just to drive him insane as your perfume wafted into his nose. He began to protest, he wanted to stay, if only to convince your father he was the better man. “Stay, please.” You set your hand on his wrist as you smiled.

He nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you did get to work after that as he educated you through what was needed for the assignment, your shoulder against his as you watched what he wrote down. Sometimes he truly thought you never payed attention, maybe you thought you were too pretty for school and it wasn’t needed. You were too pretty for it. You didn’t need it. He knew your father had set you up with someone wealthy to ensure you have a long profitable life without having to work for it. Yet, here you were working towards it anyways. He admired it for a moment, but your hand fell on his thigh and he knew he would end up having to do the whole assignment by himself.

He didn't mind as he listened to the quietness of your house. You glanced up at him, and he met your eyes realizing how close your face was, and he knew what you wanted as you bit your lip. "Does your daddy know what a little slut you are?" He whispered.

"No." You breathed slinging your leg over his thigh to straddle it.

His hands went your thighs, "Then you better be quiet angel." He glanced down as your skirt rode up your thighs your bare cunt pressed against the meat of his leg, he felt your wetness seeping through. He leaned back, watching as you rocked your hips against his thigh. He took a second, just one second, to enjoy the feeling of your body against his, enjoy the fact you were riding him, getting off to him, then he was sliding his hands up your bare thighs to wrap around your body. You were so soft under his touch like you had bathed in rose petals. His fingers dug into your waist forcing them to roll against him harder and you made a small noise from the back of your throat.

"Felix can't get you off can he?" You whine as your clit rubs against him, the sweet friction of it all making your head fall back slightly, "No he doesn't know how to handle you does he?" He stared up at you, at your open mouth, and he runs his hand down your hair. "That's why you came crawling after me." You grind against him faster chasing your own high as your hand goes to his pants palming his hard cock through his pants.

You're such a whore, he knows that about you, he knows you hide it so fucking well and yet here you were, fucking his thigh, hand halfway down his pants when your father could come find you any second. It makes him want to slam you back on the table and sink his cock into your wet heat just for him to see, just to prove he was the man of this house, of you. "Coryo." You moan out quietly and he thinks its the sweetest way you'll ever say his name. You slid your hand down his cock. He groans out taking in the sight of your hand working him, swirling your hand around the shaft pre-cum leaking out of the tip.

He wants to bury his face into your mouth, your neck, your breast, but he can only watch you, watch you get yourself off on top of him. He flexes his thighs the same time you tilt yourself forward and your grip tightens on him. He stares up at your face, eyes glazed over as you grind your pussy down hard against him, lip tugged between your teeth pumping his cock at the same rhythm as your body. He feels you clench your thighs and soon enough you cum, drenching his pants with your pleasure. He wraps his hand around yours to fuck your hand faster, harder, and then he's planting it against your soaked thigh to cum against you, hot white ropes of it splashing across your skin. You don't move off of him, you both sit there for a while breathing heavily against each other until you straighten up to stare down at him.

"I don't let Felix touch me." You say hands coming up to toy with the ends of his curling hair.

"Why?"

You only smile and he's never thought you looked more beautiful, sweat on your hairline, red cheeks, and his cum on your body. You glance down at the clumps of white covering your skin, and then you run two fingers through it, gathering it on your fingers, and shoving them in your mouth sucking his cum off. He's mesmerized as you groan gently popping your fingers out and licking your lips. You climb off his body to settle back into your own chair glancing down at the wetness staining Coriolanus's pants seeping down onto his skin a satisfied feline grin on your face.

Your mother came through the next second, “I’ll set the table for four?”

You smiled up at her, “Yes ma’am.”

He dined with your family, a deliciously huge meal, one he hadn’t had in a while and he wondered if your parents could smell your actions in the air. “She didn’t give you too much trouble son?”

Your father’s voice made him look up as he asked, “No sir.”

He turned to you, “Why wasn’t Felix your partner?”

“He went with someone else.” You shrugged pushing your food around.

“I’ll speak with him.” Your father said.

“Daddy no.” Coriolanus shifted in his seat at the whine. “Please don’t.”

Coriolanus cleared his throat watching both eyes snap up to him. “I asked to be your daughter's partner for this assignment, and she was too kind to tell me no.”

Your father relaxed as Coriolanus had saved you from some lecture. You gave him a sly smile as your mother chimed in, “I made apple pie.”

After desert, and a minor interrogation from your father about his plans after The Academy, you walked him to the door. He didn’t like that your father felt the need to exert his power over him. In all honestly he didn't trust your father's intelligence if he thought Felix was a good option for you. You stepped outside with him closing the door behind you. You leaned against it staring up at him biting your bottom lip. He planted his hand next to your head towering over you.

"Are you gunna kiss me goodnight Coryo?" You tilted your face up for him.

"I don't think Daddy would like that very much." His hand comes up to your chin.

You smirk, going onto your toes to brush your lips against his. "Oh I think Daddy will."

He attacks your mouth tasting the sticky sweetness that was you, always would be you. The taste of apple is still on your tongue from your mothers pie, apples and cinnamon everything that was nice layered your lips as he licked along it feeling you part your mouth for him to slip inside. His hands were in your hair pulling you closer as you braced your hands on his chest melding your lips against his. He swept his tongue into your mouth meshing it with yours. He yanked your head back to stick his tongue down your throat feeling your back arch so your breast press against him, and the salty remnants of his cum lace your molars. He nips at your bottom lips your moan vibrating through him as he sucks and tugs on it until he knows it will bruise. Then he pulls back, "Are you going to let me fuck you angel?"

You give him a breathy laugh, "See ya, Coryo." Then you disappear back into your home.

By the time next week hit you were back in your normal spot next to your boyfriend. It shouldn't have surprised Coriolanus, he knew you were just rebelling against the mold your family had forced you into, and he just happen to enjoy letting you use him.

But you turned around, that cherry sucker that tasted so good between your lush lips, and you would smile.

"Hi Coryo." You said it like you had a secret only he knew and he was sometimes forced to jack off in the men's bathroom just to take the edge off. Just to avoid wanting to fuck you right then and there in front of the whole class, and he knows you're waiting for the day he finally does it.

As he tucked himself back into his pants exiting the bathroom you were standing there, back against the opposite wall watching him. Your eyes met and he only leans his shoulder against the door frame of the bathroom. "Felix is mad at me."

He looks you up and down, "Why?"

"Because I told him you were coming over tonight." He chuckles to himself, your eyes studying him as he walks over to you.

"I am?" He asked as you trail your fingers up the buttons on his shirt.

You frown, "I'm needy."

He scoffs, "I hope that isn't the reason you gave him."

"Please," You whine your hand running down his arm to guide it to the middle of your skirt and he can't help himself, even your begging is sweet.

He guides his hand up your bare thighs, your soaked cunt greeting him like it had missed him too. "You need me that bad hmm?" He runs a hand up your center watching you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He leans his head down taking your lip between his own teeth and sucking on it tasting that lingering cherry sugar as he pushes two fingers into you. Your mouth parts in a gasp as you part your legs more for him. "Does your boyfriend know his girlfriend is a dirty whore? Fucking soaked for me all the time?" You tilt yourself forward sucking in his hand deeper as he curls up against a sweet spot your quiet moan echoing around the empty hall. "You want someone to find us don't you, you want them to see what a fucking slut you are for me."

"Coryo." You whimper nails digging into his shoulders and he hopes you mark his skin forever. He presses his forehead to yours feeling you pant against his face as he presses his palm to your clit.

"That's right." He grazes his teeth along your jaw as he fucks you faster with his hand. "Call out my name when you cum angel." He growls out, "My angel." Because you were, his, he knew that long ago, remembering glaring at Felix when you all were children and he had his arm around you when it should have been Coriolanus. His tongue lolls against your damp skin of your neck and your hand twist in his hair as he pulls your leg up more around his waist.

It's a test of restraint to not wrap your legs completely around his waist and sink into you, to take what is so rightfully his. Instead he shifts his hand, thumb pressing into your clit to listen to your mewls, to the sound of his wet fingers dipping in and out of you at a brutal pace. He sinks his teeth into your neck rolling his tongue along the mark he knew he was giving you, and you love that it will be there.

He feels you clenching around his hand as you moaned out his name cumming against him. Your chest hits his with every panting breath as he slowly lifts his head to gaze down at you, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, blissfully dazed out from the orgasm he gave you. "I'm making cookies."

Of course you were, he groans as he presses his face into yours capturing your lips with his own hand still buried inside of you. "What kind?"

"Chocolate chip." You smirk against his lips. "I'll let you lick the spoon."

You opened the door for him this time and he wanted to yank you from the frame to run away with you forever. You wear wearing a pretty black minidress with a white long sleeve underneath it, an apron covering you, flour splattered across your cheek, and a pink ribbon tied your hair at the base of your ponytail. It's like you worked so hard to persevere girlhood and innocence to hide the adultery lurking under your skin.

"Hi Coryo." You batted your eyelashes at him as you opened the door for him more to come inside.

He did love the sound of you closing and locking the door for him, "Where's you father?" He asked watching you walk in front of him.

"Working late." You replied leading him towards your kitchen waving a hand around. "My mother is off doing something unproductive."

He leaned against your marble island watching you throw a cup of sugar into the large bowl, "They left you in here all alone?"

You chuckled, "I'm not alone, you're here with me." You cracked an egg your eyes glancing over towards his, "Do you think your parents would have liked me?"

Coriolanus looks you up and down. He thinks they would and maybe in a perfect world where he wasn't an orphan your father would have wed you to Coriolanus. "I could never take you home to mother in a dress that short." He smirks as you slowly begin to stir the batter. He sometimes was surprised Felix let you leave the house if this is how you acted, how you dressed.

"Oh yeah?" You pop your hip out a little.

He straightens up stalking over to you until your back was pressed to his chest, nose buried in your floral scented hair. "She would disown me for bringing home such a brazen slut."

"But her son loves when I dress like this." His hands find the hem of your dress as his fingers trace with the curve of your ass.

He plants his mouth against your neck, "Does he now?"

You push your ass back into his hard cock. "Oh I think he adores how I dress for him." His hand splays across your backside as his teeth graze the flesh of your jugular and he wants to sink his teeth in to stake his claim. "How I never wear any panties for him."

His nails dig into you because he fucking knew it. "All for me." He repeats sucking on your skin until you wince away hoping the mark is deep and purple and Felix knows it's from him.

You turn suddenly eyes flickering up to his face, "The trick is a little extra vanilla.” You motioned to the dough sitting on top of two fingers. "Try some." He wraps his hand around your delicate wrist and brings it to his mouth. He sucked in your fingers eyes never leaving yours as your mouth parted slightly the blush forming on your cheeks as his tongue swirled around your flesh. It tasted delicious, but your skin tasted better like sugar had ingrained itself into every pore. He let your fingers glide deeper on his tongue before he popped them out of his mouth.

"Hmm." He ran his tongue up the sides until all that was left on them was his spit.

You breath. "All for you." He's kissing you then, consuming your validation that you knew what he knew, you belonged to him. He taste the scoops of dough you had stolen, the chocolate and brown sugar mingling on your tongue and he adores that extra teaspoon of vanilla you added. He licks it off the roof of your mouth sucking on your tongue, and then your arching into him on your toes as his hands trail down your body cupping your ass as your dress rides up.

He reaches his other hand back pushing aside your large bowl of batter and then he's lifting you onto the counter loving the way he fits in between your legs. You were made for him, he knew that long ago, cut perfectly from that juicy forbidden fruit Eve ate. His hand goes to your chest kneading your breast over fabric as he slowly lowers you to the countertop spreading your legs open for him. He breaks the kiss descending down your body to peer at you decadent wet cunt. He knows you'll taste sweet down here too, his mouth waters taking in the sight.

"Oh she's pretty."

He can't help but moan into you as he licks up the center prodding your clit with the tip of his tongue feeling your hand find his blonde curls. Your feet come up around his shoulders as he passes over it gently at first savoring the taste of your arousal and knowing he would never taste anything better than you. He traces circles around it slowly feeling you squirm under his touch, hearing your pretty whines, nails scraping against his skull. He dares a glance up at you, at your agape mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as he begins to move his tongue faster.

He decides then he won't wash his mouth out tonight. He wants you stuck between his teeth forever and when tomorrow comes he hopes Felix will smell your cunt on his breath.

He tilts your hips up wrapping his lips around your clit pressing down on it with his tongue as you breath heavily beneath him. He's slithering his arm up your body squeezing your breast. "Coryo." You moan out pushing your pussy into his face more, grinding it against him. He's moving his tongue side to side, hard pressed rhythmic motions that have you a mess in his hands. Your thighs clench around him as you whimper one last time before you cum against his face. He drinks you up, everything you have to offer, lapping up what you give him as his tongue pushes into you for a moment feeling your walls spasming from your orgasm.

You yank his head up by his hair and you shoot up encasing his mouth with your own tasting yourself on his tongue as you sweep into his mouth and he groans pressing his groin into your island.

"Tell me how you like it." You pant out into his mouth teeth knocking against each other.

Coriolanus takes your expression in and he realizes, yes you never let Felix touch you, but you never touched him either. You have never touched another man besides him, saving yourself for him, and it makes him want to shove his cock down your throat even harder. He helps you off the counter onto shaky legs and your going down onto your knees in front of him. He lets you unbutton his pants and unsheathe his hard length running your hand along it.

"Put your mouth around it." He tells you as you bring it up to your lips, and you fucking lick the tip like it's one of your cherry suckers.

Then you open your mouth and wrap your lips around him sliding him inside. He always imagined what your mouth would feel like after so many times of seeing you suck on that hard little candy. It's even better than he thought. He hisses as his hips buck forward a little letting him hit the back of your throat. You bob along his cock once, twice, three times before you pop off blinking up at him with that coy little act, "You're so big Coryo."

He shoves himself back in your mouth, "Wrap your hand around it." That was all you needed to know as you worked his cock, taking him deeper, hand swirling around the shaft tongue lolling against the head. You work him faster, grip hardening around him, sucking in your cheeks as you look up at him with big doe eyes. "Fuck." He gritted out hand tangling in your ponytail to move your head against him, force his cock deeper watching the water well in your eyes, but you never stopped. "You like my cock in your mouth don't you angel? Want my cum down your throat yeah?"

You moan against him in response teeth gently grazing his skin. Your mouth too soft, too hot, hands gripping him so tightly, his hand in your hair holds harder as his thighs tighten. Your tongue sweeps out along his shaft and he's cumming, hot ropes of it shooting down your throat shoving his cock deeper to make sure you took it all.

And you did, greedily, your hand still softly gliding along him as he thrust one final time into your mouth. He wraps his finger around the ribbon in your hair and tugs it out slipping it into his pocket. You popped off, wiped your lips with your finger, and sucked it clean keeping your eyes locked with him.

His hands come around your face as you stand up. "Break up with Felix." He whispers out thumb tracing your puffy lips. He's sick of seeing you with him, not being the able to claim you in front of everyone like he wanted to.

"I have to preheat the oven." Is all you say back stepping out of his hold to go over the the oven.

He clenches his jaw, "I want Felix to know."

You shrug, your back still to him, "Then tell him." You turn after turning on your oven. "It won't change anything." You walk towards him a hand coming up to push his curls away from his face, "Unless..." You peered up at him manipulative innocence in your eyes. "You were the President of Panem."

Coriolanus couldn't get enough of you at that point, he had become addicted to your sugar sweet taste and once was never enough for him.

All it took was one little smile while you licked up the red ball of your cherry sucker, and he was pouncing on you, meeting you in the hallway every time.

In between classes he would shove you into random closets to force his cock down your throat. You two would time bathroom breaks unsuspectingly and he would have you up against the stall wall fucking you with his hand.

His favorite moments were when he hunted you down in the library pretending to read a book. You would look up with a little shy smile. "Hi Coryo." You'd purr and soon he'd have you sprawled out on the table like his own personal meal drinking your pleasure like it was nectar from the Gods.

He came over occasionally too, lying about some assignment or help with a test. Your mother always invited him to stay for dinner, and he would, of course, shove his hand inside you under the table until you came while he spoke to your father.

Felix was suspicious. It wasn't hard to be when you showed up with marks on your neck, the same neck still wearing that ugly 'F' necklace, and the pretty ribbon from your hair wrapped around Coriolanus's wrist. He would only glance back at Coriolanus, and Coriolanus would smirk back at him, but he never said anything.

Everything was wonderful.

Then one day things began to change.

"Let me fuck you." Coriolanus told you kissing your open mouth as you came down hard on his hand. He wanted to be inside you, wanted to trap you to him forever. You would let him.

Your head falls back against the wall, "No Coryo."

"Let me fuck you." He kissed you again. "Come on baby girl, I know you want to."

"I'm waiting until marriage Coryo." You unravel yourself from him fixing your skirt. He knows you're lying, "I'm a good girl."

He scoffed, "Yeah a real angel."

You sighed running a hand over your face. “My father is having Felix and his uncle over tonight.”

“President Ravinstill?” You cringed when he said it. "Why?"

"Because Felix thinks you're up to something and wants to speed things along." His jaw clenched, he was going to murder Felix and his stupid uncle. You flash him a smirk, "He thinks you're trying to corrupt me."

Coriolanus chuckled, "I don't play well with others."

You came closer, hand dipping under his shirt to rest against his bare chest. You kissed his jaw, "You play well with me, Coryo."

He waited outside your home watching through your windows as you ate dinner. You sat next to Felix, fake laughing, hand sometimes brushing his wrist with affection. It boiled his blood and he curses his father for dying, for investing in District 13 to make him poor. You were his. He should be sitting at that table with you planning your engagement.

He knew the only way he would take you from Felix was winning the Plinth Prize at the end of the year, going to University, and stealing that Presidency out from under him.

It was the only way.

He watched you kiss Felix on the cheek as him and his uncle left. He watched you arguing with your father, storming off no doubt to your bedroom. And then he was moving, sticking to the shadows until he was around your house staring up at your bedroom window. He scaled the wall ending up on your small balcony staring into your sheer curtains.

You looked so beautiful sitting at your vanity combing through your hair still in your dress from dinner.

He pushed the balcony door open quietly, but your eyes met his through the mirror. "Surprised you didn't storm into dinner earlier." You set the brush down. He took a seat on your bed raising his eyebrow, "I always know where you are Coriolanus Snow, even if its creeping outside my windows."

"Who gave you these?" He motions to the vase of fresh flowers.

"Felix." Your smile drips in sweetness. "My boyfriend."

You turned to him, "How was dinner?"

"Boring." You sighed leaning your elbows against your vanity. "He's going to propose after graduation." Coriolanus's blood heated. "The ring was beautiful though."

His eyes followed you as you stood, "I could buy you a better one."

Your hands rested on his shoulders as you cocked your head to the side. "With what money?" He glared at you. He didn't like that people suspected he was poor, let alone you.

"Would you say no if I asked you?"

"That's not up to me." You chuckled hands toying with the end of his hair. That 'F' necklace around your throat dangling in his face.

Coriolanus narrowed in on it, "I could just...kill your father, Felix, anyone that got in my way." He reaches up and rips the necklace off your neck hearing it clatter to the floor, broken.

You leaned down, nose pressed to his cheek, the words brushing his mouth in a sweet caress, "Then do it."

His hands went around your back pulling down the zipper of your dress feeling it loosen around your body until it fell around your feet. You stood up stepping out of the dress and Coriolanus looked up your body slowly, taking in every naked inch of your body. He landed on your face, "What do you want angel?"

"Even when you were a boy, you were a man." You slid onto his lap naked body pressed against him hands running through his hair. "I want a man. I want you."

He flipped you onto your back crashing his mouth to yours engulfing your lips with his own. You were unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders, running your hands down his bare chest. His tongue meshes with yours mouths gliding along each other as you burst open the button on his pants. He wants his skin against yours, to feel your warm softness against every inch of him. He pushes his pants down his legs until the two of you are nothing but flesh.

You capture his lips once more as his hand travels up your side his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. You blissfully sigh. He cups your breast, hushing your mouth with a harder kiss. His thumb passed over your nipple, rolling the pad along it, feeling it perk up to his touch a low whine in your throat that he swallowed up nails scraping against his skull. He moves his mouth off of yours trailing down your neck, tasting every sweet part of you until his mouth wraps around your perked nipple lavishing it with his tongue as your back arches pushing it further into his mouth. His teeth nip down on it, licking and sucking as your squirm under him.

He feels your wetness against his thigh and he shifts to run his hand along your folds. "Did you think about me fucking you all throughout dinner?" He presses a finger slightly against your clit. "Thought about all the pretty noises your Daddy would hear down the hall."

Yours eyes darken as you gaze into his. "I wanted you to fuck me during dinner; storm through my front door and take me in front of Felix and his stupid uncle."

"You're such a little fucking whore."

You smirked, "Daddy's little fucking whore."

He shoves his fingers inside you, lips parting at the intrusion. He wants to be inside you, wants to claim everything you are as he thrust his hand in and out of you, stretching you open, the room thick with the scent of your arousal and squelching sounds of your pussy. You buck your hips into his hand to meet him as his palm presses down on your clit and he already feels your walls clenching around him.

He presses his face into your chest, your heart thumping rapidly for him. You were breathless, your legs spreading open more for him as your body tightened around him as he brought you closer to your peak. He curls his fingers against that spot he knows you love and you came undone with a soft cry, clamping down around his hand, nails digging into his scalp. He straightens up admiring you. You looked so beautiful sweat forming across your chest, cheeks red, lips parted to catch your breath as you stared up at him. You simply glanced down at his long, hard length and then back up at him. He knows you're a virgin, knows you'll take his cock like a slut.

He lined himself up with your sopping entrance and pushed into you. He can't help but groan as he closed his eyes moving slowly into you, letting your tight walls adjust to him, squeeze around him. He pauses for a moment the only sound coming from either of you were broken breaths. And then he pushes in until he fully inside you. You gasp at the feeling, the fullness, as you gazed up at him.

Your pussy fluttered around him and he rolled his hips against you pulling his dick back and slamming back into. "You take my cock so well." You arched your back as he slammed into you moaning out for him, wrapping your legs around his body to pull him deeper. His mouth was on yours, a mesh of spit and tongue, your hands rooted in his hair as he fucked into you. He was kneading your breast with one hand, pushing the other into your mattress to fuck you harder. He glanced between you, watching his cock disappear into you soaked pussy, watching how well you took each brutal thrust. "Perfect fucking pussy, made just for me." He drags his teeth along your jaw as your breast press against his chest. He pressed his hot mouth to your ear, "You're fucking mine, you understand that angel?" His hips snapped against yours heels curling into his sides as you nod against him. "Not Felix's...not your fathers...mine." He growls in your ear.

You agree tilting your pelvis up allowing him to slid against that sensitive spot.

His curls spill across your face, he wants to hear you say it. "Say it."

Your brows scrunch as he slides his hand to your clit. You moan for him, "I'm yours Coryo." His grunts fill the room as he pounds into you as you cry out for him over and over again. He hears your bed knocking against the wall, the squeaking sound of the spring as it slides against the floor, neither of you care who hears it. You clamp down around him coming all over his cock squeezing him too tight.

"Gunna cum in this tight little pussy." He hisses out his thrust growing sporadic. "Gunna make you have my heirs." Your too fucked out to care as your teeth sink into his shoulder wanton pleas falling from your lips. He's spilling into you, cumming so deep inside you feeling your walls spasming around him, drinking in every drop of his seed. He thrust it further within you as your legs slowly uncurl from around him.

He pulls back to look at you his cock twitching one last time. "You have a lot of work to do." You tell him fingers twisting the curls along his face a devious smile on your lips and he knows you've never been an angel, not a day in your life.

You were the devil in a candied disguise.

"President Coriolanus Snow."

He will win that Plinth Prize. He will take you from Felix, from your stupid father, by right or by force.

He doesn't care what he has to do or who he has to kill along the way as long as he gets to have you at the end of it all.

PART TWO HERE!!

im a whore for those blonde curls

[running2reanimation]

For @cindersnows - for the AVA/M gift event!

Formality

"It's a formality," Victim reassured, gesturing with a glove-covered hand to the bespectacled stick, "We all know I'll be hiring your crew no matter how this dinner goes."

"Of course, sir."

--

Striker was pretty sure this was actually yet another test from the enigmatic head of the Rocket Corporation. Inviting a bunch of mercenaries to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Stick City could be nothing less than the ultimate test of his leadership abilities.

Could he make these idiots presentable? Behave in ways that were at least semi-appropriate?

"I want to wear my cape; the nobility of the past used to, it counts as formal wear, right?" Ballista folded his arms as his summoned cape billowed behind him as Primal nodded in agreement;

"They did, so it should count."

"No, you will wear a suit or dress. Those are your options," Striker could already feel the pressure pulsing behind his shades, "That goes for you too, Primal. Suit or dress only."

"I refuse, they both hinder my movement too much," Primal shook her head stubbornly, "What if this is some sort of trap? Or what if we have to defend our new client from would be assassins?"

"It isn't a trap," Striker put his foot down resolutely, though he couldn't discount the possibility of assassins. Or that there would be some type of test of their abilities mid-dining. Victim was capricious like that, "You can wear a loose dress with a slit for more mobility, but you have to wear a dress."

"..." Primal at the very least didn't flat out refuse, so Striker was going to count that as a win.

"Any crazy requests from you, Logo?" Striker turned to the bulky yet-paper-thin stick who shook his head in two quick frames.

"I have a suit from the last undercover thing we did."

Striker heaved a small sigh of relief - at least one of them could be reasonable and logical and knew how to behave in public.

"I'm gonna wear my cape!" Ballista insisted, intentionally billowing it into their leader's face.

"You'd better not," Striker warned, pausing the cape's movement and stepping out of it.

--

"Lemme wear my cape!" Was the refrain Striker got to listen to for the next several days, every single time he laid eyes on the bitcrushed warrior.

The smaller stick had even ambushed him from one of the upper cupboards - Striker suspected Primal had put him in there, since there was no sign of a chair he would have used to make the climb into them.

"Just let me wear my cape and I'll stop," He pleaded and Striker realized that chances were that Ballista would wear it regardless, and at least this way he might be able to set a few rules.

"On the condition that you keep it from billowing - I know you can control it."

"...Fine, even if that's half the point of wearing it," Bit sagged as though he'd not just gotten what he'd wanted.

--

"Less than 15 minutes until the transportation arrives, is everyone dressed appropriately?" Striker looked over his assorted group, adjusting the tie of his usual black suit.

Primal had worn a dress, the slit was maybe a bit higher up the thigh than was appropriate for fine dining, but it was too late to do anything about about that. The way the silky black dress caught the light looked very nice with her scribbled style. Her usual ponytail was pulled up into a bun.

Logo was in his white suit with the black tie; looking sharp literally and figuratively.

Ballista still hadn't left his room yet, "Ballista, please tell me you're almost ready."

Striker couldn't imagine what was taking him so long; it wasn't like he'd exactly gotten the impression Ballista owned a lot of formal wear to choose between. He'd probably just left getting dressed until the last moment as usual.

"Ready!" Ballista announced, throwing open the bedroom door. He'd picked out a white suit, it almost seemed somewhat military in style, but the white cape went with it at least, "Oh hey, we've got a black-and-white colour co-ordination thing going on, gang. Nice."

"Limo's here," Logo announced, heading out the door, Primal close behind them. Ballista dashed out past Striker while he grabbed the keys and locked the door.

Striker ducked into the vehicle and a grey stick closed the door behind him. The limo was surprisingly spacious inside, though still not quite tall enough to comfortably accommodate Primal.

And seated in the back with them was their new employer: Victim. He seemed dressed in the same suit as usual, but Striker made a mental note of the black cufflinks that weren't part of the usual ensemble.

"Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight. I know this is a bit unusual for you."

"Thank you for inviting us," Logo bobbed his head in gratitude, taking the lead when it came to socializing, "It's nice not to have to cook for once and I've never been to this place before, Olive and Wine?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised, it is fairly new, but I can assure you it's quite good."

"You're paying, right?" Ballista piped up from Logo's elbow and Striker and Logo both glared at the guy but Victim just laughed.

"Of course, though with your reputation for success, I'm sure you could afford it regardless."

"Oh, totally," Bit grinned, as the limo pulled to a stop, "Looks like we're here."

The exterior of the restaurant was fairly plain and unassuming, with the curtains drawn, a soft golden glow shining from beyond them and a green neon sign proclaimed the place was 'open' in flowing cursive.

The grey stick opened the door and the mercenaries stepped out single file, but they paused to let Victim pass them. Primal once again had to duck, but that was almost expected everywhere.

"Reservations for Victim and company," Victim declared and the mulberry employee guided the group to one of the private rooms in the back.

"Your server will be with you shortly," they bowed and the group was left alone with the menus, simple things with a front for food and a back side for drinks.

"Not a big menu," Primal seemed unimpressed, looking it over.

"They have a steak board for two," Logo pointed out and Primal immediately scoured the menu for it. Having found it, she set hers in the middle of the table, atop Victim's, who hadn't even looked at it.

Logo continued looking, clapping his hands in delight, "Oooh, I've never tried arancini before!"

"Go ahead, if you don't like it you can always order something else," Victim took the menu from Logo and placed it in the pile with a broad grin, "I insist."

"Alright, sir, thank you," Logo smiled back at little nervously and glanced at Ballista who was still reading the menu, "What about you Ballista.

"I think I'm gonna get the cannelloni," Bit said, tossing his menu into the growing pile, "What about you, Striker?"

Striker had been so focused on making sure everyone else knew what they were ordering he hadn't even looked at the menu, "I'm still looking."

"Surely something appeals to you?" Victim asked and Striker could feel the pressure of the older stick's gaze upon him.

"Of course - I'll get the charcuterie board," Striker placed his menu upon the stack as Victim nodded in approval.

"An excellent choice when one is feeling indecisive."

Almost as if summoned by the stack of menus the server appeared, another reddish stick whose smile was too wide, "Have you all decided what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Victim confirmed, "I'll have the pan fried haddock with potatoes with a Godfather and a glass of water, please and thank you."

After going around the table, the server took the menus and left to go place their orders.

"So, I got a question, Boss," Ballista piped up as soon as the server left and Striker and Logo tensed. Ballista wasn't exactly... good at polite conversation or asking appropriate questions.

"Yes?" Victim tilted his head, either oblivious to the tension or perhaps enjoying it.

"Why is every stick that works for you grey - not only that, they're all the exact same shade. They come from a game or something? Thought you couldn't discriminate like that."

"Oh, you can get away with any form of discrimination if you have enough money... but that's not the case here. Think of it like a uniform of sorts - we dye our workers grey and then at the end of the day we return their colour to them."

"Seems like that might make infiltration easy," Logo frowned, a hand to his chin.

"Never had a problem with it before," Victim shrugged as the server placed their meals down, confirmed they didn't need anything else and left.

Once the food was in front of them, the mercenaries all went quiet - not that most of them were particularly talkative in the first place, but they all focused on their meals intensely.

"Do you not get enough to eat?" Victim asked, and Logo looked up from their meal.

"Oh, yes, but this is a real treat, so we're really making sure we take it all in, you know? Speaking of, thank you for convincing me to try them, the arancini are fantastic."

"Ah, well, good, I'm glad," Victim nodded, going back to his plate.

At the midpoint of the meal a server came in again and asked how everything was.

Striker stared at the server, and immediately noticed that something was off - this one wasn't green or red, the only two colours he'd seen the staff here possess. They were a pale brown and their uniform didn't match the other one's he'd seen earlier in the night, the buttons were simple black, instead of the red roses the rest of the staff sported.

"You're not staff," Striker commented, getting to his feet, Primal immediately following suit with a growl.

In the time it took Striker to draw a line and Primal to vault over the table, three more non-staff members came through the door - these ones were armed with guns.

"Ballista, Logo, get Victim back to the limo and wait for us," Striker directed, deflecting a spray of bullets with his select tool, "As non-lethally as possible."

"You got it, sir," Ballista gave a salute and charged ahead, sword drawn, clearing a path for Logo and Victim to follow while Primal and Striker dealt with the initial ambush.

By the time Striker and Primal made it to the limo, Primal was only a little blood-soaked and her dress a little torn.

Logo sat in the driver's seat, the original grey driver unconscious in the chair next to him, while Ballista kept watch out of the sunroof.

"The driver was an impostor too. I'd appreciate it if you tied them up, please," Logo explained, starting the vehicle.

"Do you know how to drive a limo?" Victim asked as Striker tied up the driver as suggested and Primal joined Ballista, keeping watch out of the sunroof.

"Do I know how to drive a limo? Yes. Do I have a license for it? No," Logo laughed as they started moving.

--

The drive back to Victim's penthouse was quiet. They turned the driver over to Victim's security, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? How confident are you in your security?"

"...You know, maybe I should hire you for the occasional security detail too. But for tonight, I think I have it handled, though you all have clearly shown your aptitude," Ballista grinned with pride and Striker couldn't help his own proud smile. The team had done well tonight.

"Of course, we'll talk the contract over tomorrow, sir," Striker bowed, and nudging the others out.

"Primal, how'd you know there'd be assassins?" Ballista shook his head with a chuckle as they opened the gate and she shrugged with a little laugh of her own.

"Lucky guess."

"Hey guys, we didn't bring our car," Logo pointed out once the gate shut behind them.

"Dammit!"

[tonicandjins]

owtft: it's not worth it if i lose my one-way ticket for two

characters: wonwoo/reader

chapter summary: an introduction to wonwoo and y/n.

warnings: none. just wonwoo brainrot. this is an introduction to my new series: one-way ticket for two.

disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.

notes: let me know if you want to be added on my taglist for this series.

◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

Jeon Wonwoo cannot keep his ass on the airport seating, and Jeonghan watches in amusement, snickering while the younger one stands abruptly when someone from gate 3 walks out of the exit door, only to sit back down, disappointed, when he realizes it’s an airport staff.

“Wonwoo, calm down,” Jeonghan says, scrolling through his phone, back relaxed unlike Wonwoo. “You’ll know when her plane lands.”

Wonwoo is holding a piece of paper he randomly took from his secretary’s desk—a messy “WELCOME HOME, Y/N” written scribbled on the white canvas. Sighing, Wonwoo looks at his reflection from his locked phone, trying to remember if you liked his hair better if it’s parted in the middle or if it’s styled lazily. The second option sounds better, so he reaches up, ruffling his hair, completely ruining his gelled-up hair. Jeongan laughs beside him, and Wonwoo could only imagine what’s going through the older one’s mind.

He knows what Jeonghan thinks, and Wonwoo might not be able to deny it at this point, but here it is: Jeonghan thinks Jeon Wonwoo is completely, totally, disgustingly, over-the-fucking-moon in love with you. Jeonghan thinks it’s ridiculously impossible how someone like Wonwoo could keep these feelings bottled for so many years now (though Wonwoo would like to oppose that thought, because these feelings have never been bottled—they have never been kept in secret, always worn up in his sleeves) and how someone like you could be so oblivious (this, Wonwoo ponders, may be right or wrong, but his self-esteem wins over him most of the time, hence he believes that you’re not oblivious—you’re just not interested). Jeonghan thinks Wonwoo should confess and give himself a happy ending. It’s the perfect love story, Jeonghan would say.

And Wonwoo sometimes thinks that yes, it would be the perfect love story.

Y/N and Wonwoo. Wonwoo and Y/N: Two peas in a pod. A tight knit. Knowing each other like the back of their hands. A buy one, get one kind of deal. Where one is, the other would follow. And everyone and their moms know that it has always been like that, will always be like that.

You and Wonwoo, being born on the same year, had been inseparable since both in the playground and at his parents’ annual company dinner. Your parents and his have been working together since their 20s when Wonwoo’s father wanted to lead a start-up in tech, and your parents were his first investors with all 213,000 KR won from their savings account. You and Wonwoo had always believed that your parents had it all planned out—bear children on the same year so that they can take over the now successful Jeon and Co. Ltd.—but they had always denied it, saying that it’s the universe who made it happen and that perhaps your families have always been meant to go through life together (and when they say this, you and Wonwoo would always gag at how cheesy they are).

Sending both of you to the same school from kindergarten until high school had been an easy decision for your parents. It was pretty convenient, because they hired only one chauffeur for the both of you, driving you and him to and from school until you were about 19. Where Wonwoo went, you were present, and it’s always been the same the other way around.

Everything else was starting to be different when puberty hit the two of you—but you and him always remained the same. Jeon Wonwoo gathered a bunch of groupies (as you would call the girls and boyswho threw themselves at Wonwoo) and you had several fanboys yourself. Clubs were recruiting you and him left and right, knowing full well that your parents will most likely fund whatever club you and him decide to join in, and for some time, high school was loud and crazy for you and Wonwoo, but just like the rest of your lives, there is really nothing you can’t survive as long as you two had each other.

College, well, it was a different story.

Wonwoo had college admissions knocking on his door as early as junior year in high school, so it was pretty difficult to choose a university to enroll to. Being the son and possible inheritor of Jeon and Co Ltd, of course, any university would kill to have their names written on his educational background. In the end, Seoul National University won among all, after months of deliberation and multiple discussions with his parents. He finished his bachelor’s degree at 22, his MBA at 24, and is now contemplating whether a PhD in business is beneficial or a waste of time considering that he’s working closely with your parents to understand the company better on an international standpoint.

You, on the other hand, did not need to think twice when you received your admission letter from New York Academy of Art. As soon as summer ended after high school, you were on the first flight to New York.

Wonwoo had always known he had feelings for you, but he honestly cannot remember when it had started. Sometimes he thinks he’s been in love with you since you and him were born because he cannot remember a time in his life when he wasn’t. There was no eureka moment. No holy shit, I’m in love with her punch right across his face when you were walking down the stairs on prom night years ago. No oh no, I’m in love with her, I can’t believe I realized it two minutes before her flight takes off kind of feeling before you left.

Jeon Wonwoo simply cannot remember what it’s like not being in love with you.

Unlike everyone when they realized he had always liked you more than a best friend should, Wonwoo isn’t so surprised with these feelings he’s had. But as much as he is sure, the same amount is his fear to tell you.

He had planned, for years, but the timing was never right.

He was supposed to tell you on prom night when you and him were dancing (conveniently) to Can’t Help Falling In Love, but Soohyun, one of your friends, had accidentally poured her drink on your dress while she was chasing her boyfriend in the middle of the god damn dance floor.

Wonwoo was supposed to tell you on graduation day, but yours and his parents were there, and Hansung from the other section confessed first. You had shyly declined the guy (thank Jesus), and Wonwoo thought it wasn’t good timing to confess now when you just rejected someone.

There were countless happenstances when Wonwoo had the courage to confess, but he likes to think that the timing always messed up his plans. But if Jeonghan was being real, as always, he would say Wonwoo is just a coward.

But contrary to popular belief, confessing is not worth it if he loses his onе-way ticket for tw

A perfect love story, as Jeonghan would say, like your lover waiting for you at the airport after months of not seeing each other, and finally, you are here to stay (Wonwoo hopes).

A perfect scene, Wonwoo thinks, but he brushes it off. It’s not the time to confess. You are coming home. He is in love with you, but he doesn’t think it’s something you would want to know after being away from Seoul for years.

“It should be any minute now, right?” Wonwoo asks, checking his wristwatch. It says it’s 1:32 PM, which is a little too early based on the time stamp from when you had sent a message last night, just before the plane took off. Wonwoo suddenly decides that you might not like his hair messed up, so he sighs, reaching up again to style his hair back to how It was, but now it’s too late because it’s already too messed up.

“Calm down, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan repeats, and he thinks it’s all he’s been saying for the past two hours (yes, Wonwoo insisted that they wait two hours before your flight lands).

After moments of repeating the same god damn sentence, Wonwoo hears it. Finally.

The doors from gate 3 opens, finally, after what seems like hours of waiting.

Wonwoo stands behind a barricade, with Jeonghan trailing closely behind him. His hand gripping the piece of paper that looks a little crumpled now; Wonwoo contemplates if he has time to ask a stranger for a piece of paper and re-write his welcome home message for you, but here you are.

You catch him off guard when you run to him, leaving your luggage cart rolling by itself, and throw your arms around him, the barricade still in between your bodies. Wonwoo drops the piece of paper, can barely grasp the fact that you’re hugging him right now, his eyeglasses holding on for dear life.

It may sound exaggerating but Wonwoo thinks his heart just did a fucking cartwheel inside his ribcage.

Jeonghan watches the scene from behind. The perfect love story, indeed.

[mikki-does-simp]

Words aren't worth shit. (Kuroiro Shihai x GN!reader)

surprise you guys, i came back from my grave for the kajillionth time! frankly, i'm slightly sick of interacting with almost of the MHA fandom, but my love for 1B seems to never ever waver, so i'll try my very best to stick to more longform fanfiction and post more-often so that the people who deserve it have actual content.

A/N: i wrote this in literally two adjacent blocks starting at 1AM and ending around 5 AM with a sleep from 4-4:30, so forgive any flow inconsistences or grammar/spelling mistakes because i say fuck the beta

edit: actually never mind next time i will appreciate a beta run more i left so many spaces that were just- *unfilled*

socially awkward kuroiro AND tactical manipulator kuroiro CAN co-exist, it just has to be written in a very specific way, though. despite that, with you, he feels like a cat covered in wet spaghetti, but like, in a good way.

Who the hell came up with the saying "a picture is worth a thousand words"? Or hell, who altered it to have it to relate an action? Kuroiro didn't really seem to convince himself of it, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't like he was indifferent to works of art- after all, he considered himself a sort of artistic guy... but when it came to a flash, a picture in his mind, a memory- usually it only took up about thirteen words in his mind. He considered himself a writer. Dare he say a poet. He kept piles upon piles of journals of his writing, and where people could not suffice, pen and paper were his greatest confidants. As much as he liked pencils, pens were just- ironically more artistic; even if he had to scribble at the paper if he misspelled a word or accidentally placed the lettering way too close.

He clenched a few papers between his hands, skimming over the writing as he stood in wait for what might be a pinnacle moment of his life. There were too many mistakes in his mind- so many scribbles it seemed like a quarter of each page was just a section or a word, blacked out in ink. He sighed, inwardly admitting that staying up until two am in the morning writing this was a terrible idea it's not like the author is doing the EXACT same thing down to the hour, but he could just not wait. Thoughts seemed to be always running through his head at light speed, from dawn to dusk and in between his dreams like a sickness of his. This is when he started to pace around with the pages in his hand, having to really mentally prepare himself for what he set up on what seemed to be the first impromptu thought of his entire life so far.

Kuroiro had somehow deluded himself so hard that he decided that he was going to profess his feelings for you within the next moment. Or at the very least, his fond admiration for your pieces, large or small that create the entire puzzle. He had slipped a piece of plain notebook paper under your door, even; that's how casual he tried to seem about it, as it could mean a lot of different things under different connotations if you ask someone to meet you. It wasn't a fancy sort of greeting or letter like he would have spent countless hours imagining he would, but it would make due. His pen and paper were becoming restless in it's own right, sick of hearing the same thought in a different variant over and over and over again. He had decided to meet you about fifteen minutes before the dormitory curfew, as to both make it less inconvenient for you and to make sure he had an escape route if anything went wrong. Yet again, his mind seems to be in a race with everything around it, dreaming up every possibility. Every triumph, every pitfall. The churns in his stomach grew more intense as he began to doubt himself,

It didn't take too long for you to meet him, with the casually dressed notebook paper folded in one of your hands. You pocketed it, then closed the gap of distance between you and Kuroiro, standing in front of him with a curious look to the papers in his hand- and how he looked like how he was going to vomit up a hairball. It raised some eyebrows, sure; but you seemed to understand his nature- his mannerisms, his idiosyncrasies: you seemed to accept them as they were, with no complaints otherwise about who he was. Human. A breath of fresh air for a guy like him, really. He didn't even greet you properly for a moment, already seeming to clam up, enamored by your beauty. It took a couple seconds for him to actually remember why he brought the two of you here- but when he did, he slowly looked to the writing in front of him, starting to read it out. Unfortunately for you, it was incredibly difficult to decipher what he was actually saying- he used so many elusive synonyms that the average person wouldn't be familiar with in terms of linguistics, and he would often go back to read a part if he messed it up, or pause for a moment to try and figure out what he was trying to say himself. The more and more he talked, the more Kuroiro realized this the sole brainless idea he had in a very long time- at least in his book, so out of some sort of shame, he started getting quieter as he read. His posture crumpled up more than it was before, and he was mumbling so badly, that it was even hard for him to hear the words that were spewing out of his mouth as he tried to read back He dropped the small stack of papers, much to your confusion; then, much to his incredible embarrassment, he felt his legs start to buckle despite himself as he kneeled to the floor, covering his face with his hands and starting to mumble a little louder about how incredibly awkward this situation was and that you should just forget it ever happened. He couldn't anymore, everything seemed to catch up to him in his incredulity...

You kneeled down to the floor with him, starting to pick up the papers for him. His hand reflexively moved to instantly snatch the papers from you- to hide away and confide yet again in the caverns of pen and paper- but he stops himself, opting to ball his hand into a fist to do so as he starts on an attempt to quell his mild panicked breathing. He felt so... soppy. Dare he say even- pathetic in a way. It took a moment, but he eventually found the strength to look you in the eye, and they lock, the watercolor to his monochrome. You pick up the rest of the pages, and even if it is incredibly messy and out of order, you remember how he reached to grab them from you, and although it confused you on why he would do that, you respected him too much to pry; in a state where he was cracking on all sides of a sphere, where he looked so oddly vulnerable. If you weren't too preoccupied with being concerned about the way he was acting, it would have felt good, about how he seemed to trust you being within this state

"Hey..." you interjected, slowly starting to offer both your held papers; and your free outstretched hand over to Kuroiro, "Take the time you need. You'll find a way to say what you need to say... and I'll flag you down with signals so it won't- get lost within the waters."

You had sort of an idea what was happening- but you could ask for more context later, as Kuroiro seemed a little too nervewracked to answer your questions. He took the both of you off guard, as he shuffled a little closer, his own arms beginning to outstretch as he simply took your simple outstretched gesture to wrap his arms around you in a shakey but gentle embrace. In that very moment, he couldn't believe it but... no words could describe what he felt. He almost lost himself in trying to figure it out, but at the same time, you quelled the tide all the same as you held each-other there.

[thewritingsandwich]

The Chiming Lady - Part 1

A Lockwood & Co. Fan Fiction

Other Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Summary: The agents of Lockwood & Co. are invited to the Halloween-Party of a former client.

A/N: I originally wrote this for @ savelockwoodnco on instagram's filler episode theme. But I'm a month too late... anyways this takes place after 'The Empty Grave' but there are no major spoilers for it. Originally I wrote it in german, but I translated it for the internet with the help of DeepL.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief mentions of su***de and mu**er

Even though letters are still commonplace in this day and age, we at Lockwood & Co rarely expected to receive letters that were not from DEPRAC or in any way related to a case. So you can imagine how surprised we were when George presented a letter from a former client at breakfast.

Mrs Aminah Pearson's case was several months ago and if she hadn't written us a letter, I would probably have forgotten about it. Okay, I had forgotten about it until she wrote us a letter. In my defence, we were only dealing with a simple lurker in her house, but for her it was "at least as bad as a poltergeist".

Before we opened the letter, I checked my memory for at least something about Mrs Pearson, but apart from the fact that she was incredibly fond of us, I couldn't think of anything else. I am very sure, however, that she had got us a cake at the time.

Over eggs and toast, Lockwood grabbed the letter and opened it before George could object. It was a single sheet of paper through which the ink had bled slightly. Lockwood skimmed the letter once before sitting up properly and reading it again, now more carefully. George and I exchanged glances expectantly, but neither he nor I could interpret anything from Lockwood's gaze.

Mrs Pearson is inviting us to her costume party," Lockwood finally said and placed the letter in the middle of the table. George was quicker than me and read the letter aloud.

"Dear agents of the Lockwood & Co agency, due to your impressive work last March, I would like to kindly invite you to my costume party at the end of October. I have enclosed an envelope in which you can send your acceptance (or cancellation). If you accept, a car will come to pick you up on the evening of the party and take you to Norridge Mansion outside London. There are a number of night taxis available to get you home safely later. Please come in costume. Yours sincerely, Aminah Pearson." George put the letter aside. "That sounds great. I've always wanted to go to a costume party."

"Mrs Pearson is very wealthy, if I remember correctly. A party like this is an easy way to socialise and get the Lockwood & Co name out to the other rich people of London," Lockwood replied, "but a costume?"

"We've been asked to dress up, Lockwood. It's daft if we don't come in costume," George replied, causing even more discomfort on Lockwood's face. Although it wasn't discomfort. I think 'disinterest' describes it better.

"What are we supposed to dress up as and still look serious? I would like to use this party to make the guests aware of us. We shouldn't turn up in tights and a cape." Lockwood knew George well. After all, the likelihood that he would have suggested costumes from his comic books was very high. Offended, George leaned back in his chair and shoved a piece of toast with jam into his mouth.

"Okay, then what?"

Personally, I wasn't against the idea of costumes, provided they were the right ones. I had to agree with Lockwood that characters from comics were off the table. I've seen the women in George's comics, or comics in general - the costume choices were 'way too much skin' and 'skintight jumpsuits'.

I gazed at the thinking cloth in thought. Between conversations, insults and several scribbles, something peeked out between the orange jam and peanut butter. I pushed almost everything on the table aside and cleared a drawn-on grid. Some time ago, we started playing Dungeons and Dragons - a fantasy role-playing game - on free evenings and the thinking cloth served as a map.

"What if we dress up as our Dungeons & Dragons characters?" I just threw the idea into the room. Personally, I would love to dress up as my character. I played a little halfling girl who hunted fairies as a ranger, and even though the game wasn't really for me at first, I took a liking to Eobyn Truewood.

George's eyes began to sparkle and believe me when I say I've never seen him like this before. He straightened up, braced his hands on the table and looked at the exposed, drawn grid.

"That's a brilliant idea, Luce. You go as Eobyn the Ranger, Holly as Brythyra the Bard, and Lockwood as Arris the Rogue." Arris was Lockwood's character - a charming half-devil who came from a rich family but gave up his wealth for adventure and arcane magic. Brythyra was Holly's bard, who supported Lockwood's character and my character with music and magic after protecting her own home village from orcs.

"And you?" George was the game master and therefore responsible for all the other characters, the world and the story. He was truly absorbed in the role - perhaps because he could finally boss us around.

He paused for a moment before replying: " That's a surprise. I already have the perfect idea."

"Hold on a second. Arris has bright red skin and horns. That's not serious enough for me," Lockwood intervened.

"Or your costume is so good and impressive that you'll definitely be remembered," I replied. If Lockwood was going to this party for work reasons, then he might as well make a lasting impression. Even if he didn't seem particularly convinced yet. "And in this form, we can easily take our rapiers with us. I'd hate to go into an old building without our weapons."

Any further objections from Lockwood were successfully met with his reasons for going to the party in the first place.

With nothing else on the agenda for the rest of the day, I turned to my sketchbook and drew up ideas of exactly what Eobyn's outfit could look like. The ideas flowed out of me, so I was glued to the table in the kitchen for several hours while George and Lockwood were busy elsewhere. After a while, Lockwood joined me and once again expressed his doubts.

"I think it'll be fun. We'll dress up, make a good impression and get free food. Nothing can really go wrong," I replied and leant forward a little. Lockwood was sitting at the head of the table as usual.

I gently placed my arms on the table so that my hands were only a few centimetres away from Lockwood's. For a moment, we both just stared at our hands, which came closer and closer together, until my pencil rolled off the table and startled us.

I felt the blood rush to my face as I bent down to grab the pencil. Back above the table, I saw Lockwood peering into my sketchbook. So I pushed it closer to him and told him I was thinking about Eobyn's clothes.

"That looks great, Luce. And I don't even know what Arris looks like," he replied and, as always when he complimented me, I felt a little warmer.

But he was right. The portrait on his character sheet was a smiley face with little horns. Mine, on the other hand, was a detailed drawing of my halfling. I was passionate about drawing her by now, but my sketchbook was still dominated by someone else.

"If you want, we can work on the look and clothes together," I suggested. He leant back in his chair.

"I don't have any more plans for today. George threw in the acceptance earlier. I don't think anyone could have stopped him. But as soon as a job comes in, it has priority, all right?" So he took off his suit jacket and hung it over the chair behind him.

Over tea and the remains of a lime pie I'd baked for yesterday's client, who had cancelled without notice, we tinkered on Arri's look together.

During the afternoon, Holly joined us and we explained our plan to her. Surprisingly, she loved the idea of dressing up as Brythyra and told us in detail what her costume would look like. Brythyra was a high elf and according to Holly's description, she would look even more elegant in the costume than she already did. She also offered to bring her sewing machine tomorrow and take on the task of tailoring our costumes.

It was already evening when George returned through the front door, laden with a few bags from department stores.

"Did you buy a whole shop empty? And where did you get all the money from?" Lockwood replied.

"I had saved up quite a bit myself and my piggy bank was waiting for just this moment," he replied proudly, "oh hello, Holly."

She waved to him before he disappeared from the kitchen and went to hide his bags.

"What's George wearing?" she asked as he audibly climbed the stairs.

"He won't tell us," I replied, looking at the designs for our costumes. It was hard to imagine Lockwood in Arris's costume, but it was harder to imagine me in Eobyn's. I rarely, if ever, experimented with my clothes, so it was difficult to imagine myself in something I would never actually wear.

Shortly after George disappeared, I quickly ran up to my attic to grab some coloured pens so the three of us could decide what colours our costumes should be.

As Eobyn has spent a lot of time in the forest and nature, I chose lots of natural colours like brown and green for her costume. Arris was very good at hiding in the shadows as a rogue, so he was given a suitable dark colour palette so that he would blend into the darkness through his clothes. Holly told me that she had pastel colours in mind for Brythyra's costume and I already knew that she would look amazing in it.

Holly and I went fabric shopping the next morning to get the costumes made as early as possible. We returned with several metres of fabric. Holly set up in the kitchen and put her sewing machine on the dining table. She also brought some sewing patterns with her, which we used to start sewing the costumes.

[sortofanobsession]

WIP Wednesday 1

911 The Bubble AU teaser...

Eddie hadn't been working at the hotel long but the work was safer than what he used to do and the pay was decent. But the pandemic had really thrown things off. He was stuck here. He talked to his kid everyday but not seeing him was tough. Sure Christopher was well looked after by his family, but it sucked. Essential worker bullshit. Was catering to a bunch of rich movie stars really his life now? He shakes his head and puts on a smile as he deals with them all one by one.

At least they were easy on the eyes. His eyes tended to drift towards one particular actor every time he was in the room. Evan “Buck” Buckley. Eddie was familiar with the guy. Christopher was a huge fan, though he hadn't seen all the guy's movies. He was still a kid after all. But Christopher was so excited his dad was meeting this cast, for this movie. It was a franchise Christopher had grown up with and Eddie hadn't hated all of them. Sure, they were derivative and somewhat pointless after so many sequels, but his son liked them so he put up with them.

“Here,” one of the actors had shoved an paper with his autograph on it. “Just don't sell it on eBay.”

“I didn't ask for-”

“Consider it a tip,” the smug prick had said.

Eddie wanted to shove it back at the guy.

“Yeah, sure my kid’s hospital bills can be paid in headshots,” he muttered.

“You have a kid?” Eddie’s head shoots up and it sends an ache through the old injury in his shoulder but he tries to hide it. He sees Evan Buckley approach the desk.

Eddie looks around. His co workers weren't around to admonish his lack of professionalism.

“Oh, Mr. Buckley, I didn't see you there,” Eddie resists the urge to straighten his uniform.

“You said your kid has hospital bills?” the actor asks. And Eddie thinks the look on the guy’s face of concern, looks genuine. But who knows.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie nods. “My son, Christopher, has CP.”

“Must suck being stuck here away from your family. Wife, kids, all that.”

“Bit presumptuous,” Eddie chuckles before he can stop himself. He clears his throat when he realizes this is absolutely an inappropriate conversation. Unprofessional. But for the life of him Eddie can't seem to shut up. Isolation must be hitting him harder than expected. “Late wife,” Eddie corrects. “And it's just one kid. Just Christopher. He's with my abuela.” Okay, yeah he was over sharing now.

Buck doesn't know why but the way the guy at reception’s ears turn red and he keeps looking around is adorable and almost as addicting as the pills he has in his suitcase. Single dad. He could work with that. But shit. Late wife, means dead wife. Buck does feel bad about that. And a kid with a birth defect. Shit.

“Shit, I am sorry man. I shouldn't have…that was real shitty of me.” Buck starts because holy shit he was trying to hit on a single dad with a- nope, Evan. You got to be PC. A kid with disabilities. And he knows he fucked up when the guy’s shoulders go tight.

“It's fine, Mr. Buckley. There was no way you could have known.”

“It's just Buck, and you were right it was presumptuous. I probably shouldn't have asked anything in the first place. This quarantine shit is a pain in the ass, but I can't imagine being stuck here away from your kid. I'm sorry, man.”

“It's, okay, really, Mr.- Buck,” Eddie corrects. “I assure you I have thicker skin than most.” Eddie nods. “And being here pays the bills. But I won't lie, it helps when guests aren't…totally out of touch.” Eddie pokes at the scrap of paper with the scribbled autograph with a pen. Earning a laugh from Buck, but he researches over and balls up the scrap.

“Yeah, that guys a prick,” Buck says.

“All part of the job,” Eddie says. “Speaking of, how can I help you, Buck?”

And Buck suppresses the urge to make a suggestive comment.

“I was wondering if I could get a few extra towels. I may have-”

“Of course,” Eddie smiles and nods. “Someone will bring them up as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, man,” Buck says, tapping a few times on the desk before he leaves.

Eddie can't bring himself to break eye contact with the handsome actor Evan Buckley backs away from him and out the room without looking away. Eddie was beyond amused.

________

Good? Bad? Want more?

I'm still trying to work some details out.

Like who from the show is an actor/crew and who works at the hotel? Like part of me thinks Bobby, Hen, and Chim would be good at the hotel because without them Buck was a wild boy. Like Hen being Pippa (because I love her attitude and she would be like "I'm eating, man!")

But then who is the cast?

Ravi I can see being an actor, but also I could see him as like Gunther: "I'm done eating but I'm okay."

But Chim being a long suffering actor that is not happy in the franchise.

Do I bring in Lucy? Bosko?

Idk...opinions?

[corellianrose]

How Can I Explain? Ch. 2

Pairing: Eddie Munson | Reader Summary: Definitely not the response you expected from Eddie Word Count: 3,536 Warning: vomiting, underaged drinking A/N: Here is chapter 2. Enjoy our sweet, sweet Eddie boy. =)

Chapter 1

Little Broken Parts

The Monday after finally rolled around with a great fizzle. You hadn’t heard from Eddie since before the battle of the bands. After your performance, you were so convinced that Eddie’s disappearance was him coming to see you backstage to slap a big, wet, sloppy kiss on ya. But when he never arrived, your heart dropped like an anvil in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. 

You slumped at your desk trying to pay attention to the homeroom teacher. You couldn’t. This weekend you just replayed Friday night over and over in your mind. You remembered how Eddie looked at you in admiration. How he moshed in the back of the auditorium with your little brother. Or at least you thought. For all you knew, it was all in your imagination. Because it’s not like you could see really see anything properly beyond the stage lights. 

You had locked yourself away, in your room, all weekend. Only coming out to grab food and to use the bathroom. You avoided phone calls from Robin, Ellie, and anyone else trying to congratulate you on your performance. Dustin frequently tried coming to your room to check in on you, only to ignore him as well. Knowing he was that one separation degree between you and Eddie made your chest hurt. You absolutely hated it. But you only had yourself to blame.

“Late. Again. Mr. Munson” Ms. O’Connell announced. Her voice jolted you from your daydream. You could hear some kids in the class giggle. This is where Eddie would usually speak back to the teacher and make a big scene when entering the class late. Not today though.

You lifted your head to see Eddie seamlessly bobbing and weaving himself through the desks. His wild hair hid his face. Your heart pounded as your hands began to feel clammy against your bouncing knee. With a loud screech, Eddie pulled up in the chair next to you. You couldn’t help looking at him. The way he crossed his arms when he sat down made him seem small.  It was as if he didn't want to be noticed. Your mind went to a million places at once. You barely even notice the piece of paper he was dropping on your desk. Eddie gave you a nod when you placed your hand on top of it. You unfolded the note to see his messy scribble that read Hellfire table. Lunch. Signed with a couple of wonky colored-in bats. ------------------------

It was an incredibly hot Memorial Day weekend in ‘85. The last three-day weekend before the end of school and the start of summer. Luckily, for you, it meant one thing, it was the time when the rich kids opened up their pools and doors at their fabulously large houses for the coming season. Their parents would leave them for the weekend to do what rich parents did best. Neglect their children and let them do what they wanted.

You sat in the backseat of Steve’s car as his co-worker and your best friend sat in the front. Both arguing about something from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. 

“You’re most definitely like Linda Barrett.” her arms flailing around, beer spilling from the can in her hand. “The older friend, mentoring, influencing the younger. I-E me, Dustin...” she pressed her hand against her chest.

“Watch the leather, will ya? And what?” Steve’s face pinched while gripped the steering wheel. “No, way Robin,” shaking his head in disagreement. 

“You are!” Robin laughed into her beer can.

“If I’m anybody, it is absolutely Damone,” he ran a hand through his mile-high hair. “He knows how to get all the ladies.”

“As if, Harrington.” you can barely respond. You felt your sides cramping.

“No, but seriously. Every. Single. Girl. That comes in…” Robin gave a raspberry with her tongue while giving a thumbs down. She shifted to her knees, practically dangling herself into the backseat.

“Hey!” Steve used one hand to grab the back of her jacket and pulled her down into the seat. You and Robin continued to laugh. “I have not, by the way,” shaking a finger in the air while looking back but also trying to focus on the road.

“I have all of his rejections tallied in the backroom.” Robin reached behind her, handing you a can of your own. 

“Shut the front door” Your face dropped. “Steve… Steve Harrington? Being rejected?” That would be a sight to see, especially when you know he’s forced to wear those shorty short shorts and that sailor hat. Opening the can with a click and a hiss, you take a swig.

“Aaand we’re here” Steve slammed on the brakes, in frustration, near the house, wanting to stop his humiliation. Your head bobbed forward, hitting the back of the driver's seat and spilling some of your beer. “Shit. Sorry, Henderson.” his eyes winced.

“No, no, it’s all good.” You swiped at the spilled beer on your shirt, only making the beer spread and soak into your shirt some more. “Eh, fuck it.” Shrugging your shoulders. You were probably going to end up having more drinks spilled on you later. No use in trying, you thought. 

“Alright, my friends. You know the deal.” His voice is subdued with a hint of irritation. Steve took in a deep breath. You and Robin gave a knowing look to each other on what was about to come. Mother-hen Steve. He turned around with his fingers pointed at both of you. “No mixing of drinks and not smoking. Stick to one kind of thing tonight. Got it?!” His voice was stern. “You hear me?”

You and Robin looked at each other with shit-eating-grins on your face. You wiggled your eyebrows as you looked back at Steve.

“We cross our hearts and hope to die.” You both spoke in tandem. As well as crossing your hearts and giving the boy scout salute. “Scout’s honor!”

“I’m fucking serious.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remember what happened last time?” 

Oh, you remembered alright. You and Robin had drank so much that the two of you thought it would be brilliant to steal someone's bikes, leave the party, ride them to the convenience store at two am, and get slushies. Then calling Steve because you forgot where you placed the bikes and needed a ride home.

“Yea, we got it.” Robin rolled her eyes.

“Can we go in now?” Your body bounced with excitement as your hands were drumming on the top of the driver’s seat headrest.

“Alright then. Let’s go.” with one last chug, you exited the car.

Moments later, the three of you were squeezing together at the beer keg surrounded by the sweaty bodies of drunken teenagers. Girls danced provocatively, to the loud tune of Like a Virgin by Madonna, no doubt trying to impress their crushes that weren’t paying any attention to them. Boys flexed their non-existent muscles to each other, trying to “show” off the top masculinity they believed they possessed. It was a swirling jungle of hormones. 

The downstairs areas were littered with drunk teenagers sitting on the stairs and couches, empty beer cans and bottles abandoned on tables. All the cigarette and pot smoke made the air hazy. The wood flooring was sticky from the spilled alcohol. There were gaggles of teens hanging out on the back patio chanting along to someone holding Billy Hargrove as he did doing a keg stand.

About, two hours, you had lost your friends and your way around the house. You wander aimlessly in the halls with no destination in mind. Bumping into bodies that filled the hallway. By this time your drunken curiosity had already taken over. Every now and again, you would just open a door to peek in on a couple thumping awkwardly on a bed. Or opening another to see Jason Carver and some of his cronies snorting a line of the white nose candy.

By this time, Steve’s warning had flown out the window. Like paper lanterns in the sky on a windy day. You had chased a couple of beers with cups of heavily spiked punch and shots of tequila… Vodka? Or was it rum? You couldn’t remember by this point. You suddenly felt your stomach turn as the smell of spilled beer, aqua net, and sweaty body odor hit your nostrils. The hallways started spinning around you. The lights shone brightly, making your eyes water. You held yourself against the walls as you wobbled through the long corridors searching for a bathroom. The damned fruity punch (honestly could have been the shots. Who knows?) betrayed you and was quickly rising from your stomach, making you gag at its now acidic taste. Your hand rushed to your mouth as you tried to constrain what was to come. 

The next minute, you found yourself at the giving end of a porcelain bowl. Gripping the sides of the seat, you felt pieces of your soul leave your body. Spitting one last time, you reached for the handle and flushed the spewed contents. You leaned against the wall next to the toilet, you could finally take a full breath of air. Your head slumped forward because your neck no longer was able to hold its own weight. The world was so fuzzy and your body felt floaty. The walls vibrated from the music blasting throughout the house. Your head was pounding and your ears rang from the pressure building against your skull.

“Dude, get out,” a voice hissed. Barely lifting your head, only vaguely able to see, what could have been a small tussle, at the opening of the bathroom door. Behind your heavily lidded eyes, you saw a body being violently pushed away from the entrance and then the door being slammed shut. A shadowy mass flashed across the bathroom and kneeled down in front of you.

“Henderson?” You heard the familiar voice huff. “You ok? Talk to me, princess.” 

Their large hand nudged you softly at your shoulder, the other hand lifting your chin. Their calloused thumb caressed the edges of your jaw, wiping anything left over on your chin. Your eyes couldn't focus, but you could still make the shape of that unmistakable mane.

Eddie. His name floated in the black matter of your brain. Eddie. Cute Eddie. Eddieee. Your brain just repeating itself.

A sudden wafting stench of stale beer brought another wave of nausea. Bile came rising from your empty stomach, burning your throat once again. The contents dribbled out onto your shirt.

“Ooh, ooh! Let it out.” Eddie jerked your body toward the toilet. Gently gripping your hair away from your face as you hacked into the toilet. A cacophony of coughs fills the bowl. His other hand rubs your back. “It’s alright. I got ya, princess. We’ve all been here.” Eddie’s voice comforting you.

“Mm..fhank ooou” your voice croaked into the porcelain throne. Your hand gripped his thigh as the other wiped your mouth. Eddie’s body stiffened at your touch. “Eeeh…dd..ie Monshoon” the words slurred out your mouth in a sing-song manner.

“Alright, y/n, let’s get you settled.” he chuckled as he delicately backed you away from the toilet. He gently placed his hand on the back of your neck to support your head against the wall and wiped the tears from the edge of your eyes. Eddie rose to his feet to grab something by the sink. The sound of the tap being turned on and off filled the room. The feeling of his hand leaving you made you more empty than your stomach. It’s not like you and Eddie were incredibly close so having him against you was an odd sensation. However, it was a comforting one. One your drunken self decided that you really liked.

He bent back down to your level and kept you steady as he anxiously dabbed at your sweaty forehead. His brows drew together as he feared that he or his rings would scratch you. With every dab to your face, a small trail of heat was left behind from his touch. It was like your skin was trying to memorize the way he felt. There was an intimacy to his care in what seemed to be only for you. It was a side of Eddie you had never experienced before. You knew, beyond people's expectations, that he was a good person. But not like this. He had a softness in the way he looked at you and in the way he handled you, making sure he didn’t accidentally touch you inappropriately. Eddie was so gentle in his touch that it tickled. You couldn’t help but let out a groggy giggle. 

“What’s so funny, princess?” Eddie continued cleaning your face. Behind your heavy lids, you could see the worry that plastered his face. The lines on his face were accentuated by the furrowing of his brows. Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Oh… hic.. N..noothing” You playfully poked at his chest and let out another huge hiccup. Eddie pushed your hair back some more, wiping the damp towel across your brows. The air from the a/c hitting your heated skin sent goosebumps over your body. “Yyou’re... just .. hic… sopreeetty” You reached your hand up to his face and clumsily ran your thumb between his scrunched brows and tried to smooth it out.

“Ha, that’s a new one” Heat rose to his flushed face as he pressed his forehead against yours. His soft brown eyes focused on yours as he caressed his thumb along your jaw. “Don’t hate me, but I need to, ok?” 

“Mm…couldneverrrrrr” Your words stumbled out as if being accused of something.

The muscles in his arms flexed as he shed his jean vest first. Eddie then grabbed the hem of his shirt, slipping it over his head with ease. His auburn hair became more mussed. You could faintly make out the tattoos that scattered against his pale skin. Your drunk intrusive thoughts wanted you to reach out and touch them. The bats have always been your favorite. The next thing you knew, Eddie was pulling you towards him, shifting his weight to his knees. He fiddled with the top of your blouse, slowly unbuttoning it. You raised your arms for him to lift the blouse over your head. 

“Arms down, Henderson” he chuckled swallowing hard. The grazing of his cooled rings upon your skin gave you a shiver as he lowered your arms. Eddie chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. 

“But like wwwhy?” slumping into his body, your cheek pressing against his chest and your eyes fluttering, as you tried to keep them open. Sleep wanting to take over. He was so warm. And so comfy.

“You puked on your shirt, babes. And I’m going to need you to stay awake for me, ok?.” Eddie pushed your hair back away from your face.

“Mmmk…” Even in your drunken stupor, you could feel his hands trembling as they traveled to each button. After what felt like forever, Eddie was finally able to unbutton and slip your blouse off. With hitched breath, his body stilled when he glimpsed the bra you wore underneath. His eyes darted to the ceiling.

“Shit… fuck… I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled to himself repeatedly. His breath staggered and his heart pounded against his chest as it rioted for its escape.

After a while, he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe altogether and let out a huge sigh. He scratched at the back of his scalp and gave his hands a quick shake to expel the nerves that built up. Not wanting someone to walk in on them and think the wrong of the situation, Eddie finished replacing your shirt with his own as quickly as he could. He could not care any less what people said about him, but that was one situation he wouldn’t be able to handle if accused, especially if it was about you. 

Even in this inebriated state, he still thought you were the most rad girl he knew. However, this wasn’t how he wanted to see you in his clothes or you half-naked. Eddie’s mind wanted to wander, but he knew this was not the moment for it and that would have to wait for another day.  In another lifetime, when both are consenting bodies, this would have been a dream come true. With a brief rattle of his brain, he hurriedly put his jean vest back on. 

“Oo, mmm… ode..styyy” you giggled, lazily slapping your hand on his arm.

“Ok, sunshine. You’re gonna hate this‌ too,” he warned again. Eddie threw one of your arms around his shoulders for support, wrapping his arms under your armpit and hoisting you up. He then intertwined his fingers with the hand you held over his shoulder.

“No, back down,” you pouted. The sudden weight of your body losing grip in Eddie’s arms. Your head was spinning from vertigo, hitting your body. A lump formed in his throat. He hated seeing you this way. 

“Sorry, princess.” Eddie cleared his throat. He held you close and he held you firm. For a fleeting moment, you thought he may have placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I’m going to place my arm around your waist and you’re going to throw that pretty arm back over my shoulders again. Ok?”

With an unbalanced nod, you wrapped your arm back around him. He grabbed hold of your waist and braced you against him tightly. There was no way he was letting you slip again.

“Alright, let’s find Harrington, shall we?” Eddie struggled a bit to push you forward out of the bathroom and into the crowded hall.  ------------------------

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough and it didn’t. Your fingers tingled from the vibration of drumming your pencil against the desk. You reread the note over and over and over, trying to decipher anything from it. What could Eddie need to say? He sent an obvious message, on Friday, that he didn’t feel the same.

‘God, he hates you,’ you thought. You weren’t able to concentrate on anything but that note and Eddie. The edges of the small paper are already beginning to fray like your wracked mind.

A rush of energy consumes your body, making you shake your leg violently under the desk. You glanced over at the clock above the classroom door. 

‘Only 15 minutes till lunch.’ You squeezed your eyes shut imagining the bell ringing at that moment. Opening them up only to be disappointed that your Jedi mind trick didn’t work.

“Hey!” Robin reached over and placed her hand on your knee. “Calm down, you’re probably overthinking things,” she whispered.

“Oh, really?” the sarcastic tone coming out with a bit more venom than intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just… What if he hates me Robi...” tears pricked the edges of your eyes. 

Robin grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Please, with the way that boy looks at you, you’d think you were god herself coming for his salvation.”

“Shut up” You couldn’t help but laugh and accidentally snorted. It helped to rid some of the jitters‌. 

“Is there something funny about Uranus, Ms. Henderson?” the astronomy teacher asked.

“No, Mrs. Waller,” it took all of you not to burst at the timing of her question. 

The bell finally rang. It was probably the longest 15 minutes you’ve ever gone through, other than when your little brother and Steve went into the tunnels after Dart.

Every part of your anatomy vibrated with nervous energy. The books rattled in your arms as you practically power walked your way to your locker. Your hands trembled when trying to dial the numbers of your lock. Always managing to miss the last digit of the combination.

“Goddamnit!” You slammed your fist against the metal door. “Fucking open, you goddamned piece of shit!”

“Whoa! Now I see where Littleson gets his colorful vocabulary from” Eddie leaned onto the locker next to you with his arms crossed. The impact of his body on the locker made you jump out of your skin. There was a smugness to him, a little more than usual. But that’s what made you fall for him. It was the casualness of the enormous ego he had. Eddie wasn’t concerned by the likes of society accepting him. And that was the gravity that pulled you into his orbit.   

“E…eddie. Hi” barely able to get the words out.

“Look, about Friday.” Eddie looked down, playing with the rings on his fingers.

“Y..you didn’t call. You could have at least..” you began, taking in a deep breath. Unsure of how to properly convey the complexity of your feelings. “I g..get it. I com…completely read this wr…” 

“Hender…” halted only by the soft pressing of his hand against your cheek and the sweet whisper of his voice. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“All the damn time.” His face was mere centimeters from your face. Noses practically touching. You could feel the eyes on the two of you as roaming students ran to their next class.

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which Bandit writes a letter. (Rating T, hurt/comfort?, ~2.2k words) - written for @nutbrain​ because you’re entirely too nice and I will not stand for this in my house (that said, ily 💞💞). This turned out a bit more bleak than intended, so I’d like to apologise, but after you said you also like this ship, it basically wrote itself. (The next one will be pure fluff, promise!!)

.

Dear

Hey

Dude

Marius,

when you read this, I’ll be gone already.

I know it’s fucking cliché and I don’t really wanna drop it all into your lap like this, but you know I’m fucking bad with words. With everything really. Like this, I’m at least forced to put my thoughts together so I’ve got something to write down instead of just hearing all the wrong things come out of my mouth as if it wasn’t in my power to make it stop, like smoke after sucking on a cigarette. I can’t talk to you face to face, so I’m writing you a fucking letter because I guess that’s the kinda thing people used to do. My handwriting is probably bad but at least not as atrocious as your chicken scrawl. I’ll try to make it legible. I do want you to read this.

At some point, I heard someone say that ‘I’ is the word we say the most each day which makes sense to me as I’m the only person who has to put up with me 24/7, but I don’t want to resort to talking about myself for the entirety of this letter, so I’ll start with something you did. The reason why you’re holding this stupid piece of paper in your hands right now. The reason why I won’t be around anymore when you read this.

You probably don’t even remember. It was a week ago, maybe two, and I was having a bad time which usually means I find behaviour justifiable which makes sure everyone else has a bad time too (yes, I’m aware I do that even if it might not seem that way), and you must’ve noticed. We talked about the modifications on Morowa’s shield a few days before that, you knew I wouldn’t have destroyed the prototype if I’d been in my right mind. And still, you came over and struck up a conversation. As if nothing had happened. As if I wasn’t glaring at you.

Do you remember? I can never tell which parts fly right over your head and which ones burrow deep enough so you’ll never forget them. You remember the most random shit, like the things I said to you the day we met which I immediately forgot as soon as they’d left my mouth – though I have to admit it’s not too surprising the cocky asshole remained as a memory for you but the lanky dude who laughed at half the things I said didn’t for me. I can’t recall ever seeing you in the GSG9 which is probably for the best.

You don’t care. You never care whenever I throw a tantrum, you just shrug, the show must go on, and then you’re asking me about those fucking jumper cables or god knows what even if I’m in the middle of strangling someone. I’m not special to you. You brag at the worst moments and I’ve snapped at you for it countless times and felt bad for but the next time, you do it anyway and when I yell, you laugh like I’m telling a joke instead of being stressed or tired of it all or pissed. We fucking fought. We had an actual fist fight which you keep bringing up to others as if it was a funny anecdote to share with your family and not a point in my life where I genuinely wanted to hurt you.

And I think this is the moment where I have to spill the beans. I like

I have

I’m in

Look. I can’t bring myself to write it down because it’s pathetic. The whole fucking thing is and I am and you kinda are too which makes it so much worse. You have a goofy laugh and always embarrass yourself when you’re drunk, you eat at the most inappropriate moments and piss off so many people without realising, you’ve been calling Craig by the wrong name ever since he joined us. His first name is Craig, you idiot, not Jenson. You probably didn’t even think twice about all of us calling him something different because that would require a certain awareness which you just don’t possess.

Yes, I’m calling you blind. I’m not gonna list all the obvious signals but the fact that I kissed you after you ran into crossfire like a fucking lunatic could’ve tipped you off. I’m not bitter. I’m just saying. Or when I dragged you into the chopper in Syria and didn’t let go of your hand. Or all those fucking other times I would’ve bashed anyone else’s head in for less but you’re

Okay, I am bloody bitter. This is one way to tell someone you’re not interested, I suppose, but it’s among the worst ones.

Why I feel like this, I don’t even know. You’re a dumbass and the longer I watch you do something other than being brilliant at your work, the more I can feel my IQ dropping, but there’s something about the way you perceive the world and your own purpose in it

I’m making excuses. You always seemed surprised at how easily I stomach injustice towards me, insults, people screaming in my face, and there’s a simple trick: if you call yourself every name in the world, other people doing it doesn’t faze you anymore. I’ve heard it all and worse, much more personal and detailed in most cases, and if I stumble over one I’ve not heard before, I add it to my repertoire. I’m sorry to put it this crassly, but I often struggle to come up with justifications for my own existence. I crunch the numbers on whether the world wouldn’t be better off without me.

So when you come along and tell me a bunch of things I haven’t heard before, NICE things, it catches my attention, as you can imagine. I remember you being all excited when I put the pieces of clothing I stole from all over the base in Elias’ wardrobe, we watched the aftermath together and you called me brilliant and hilarious and witty. And these I wasn’t familiar with. So I mulled them over, and though I ultimately dismissed them, you sparked a need. What if I was brilliant? What if I was witty? I suddenly needed to prove to both of us that there was something which warranted your words. I wanted to earn them.

Not being able to recall our meeting before Rainbow turned out to be a blessing. Had I known from the start we met before, I probably would’ve tried to one-up myself, be extra unlikeable. But like this? You kept exaggerating all the dumb shit I did, calling it impressive and resourceful, and boasted as if it all had been your idea which annoyed me until I realised I kinda liked being part of this team, if I can even call it that. You were my hype man and for most of the time, I loved it. I was trying to become the person you pretended I was and even though it was frustrating as all hell when I didn’t manage it, I liked myself whenever I did. Genuinely liked myself.

.

Okay, I re-read everything I’ve written so far and it’s going nowhere. You’re probably asking yourself ‘what the fuck does he want from me’ if you’ve even come this far, and besides I ended up talking only about me despite wanting not to. I promise you this has a purpose even if it’s an entirely selfish one, namely just having the peace of mind of you finally knowing. I’d rather leave and never come back than say it to your face, so I’m writing it instead and since it’s you, I guess I have to spell it out regardless of how fucking obvious I’ve been.

I like you. I want to fuck you and kiss you and all that other shit, not necessarily in that order, and I know you want to do none of these things with me because the one time I worked up the courage to touch you outside of drunken groping and I really have never been drunk enough to fall asleep on someone’s shoulder four times in a row all you did was wipe your mouth and ask me what the fuck I was doing and I was so ashamed that I never did it again.

But it’s okay. You don’t have to feel the same way. I realised that last week (or maybe the week before) – you don’t care, and why would you? I’m not particularly likeable. I don’t treat you well and I know you’d argue with me on this but you can’t argue against a letter, so suck it. You claim I give you special treatment when all I try is to keep you at arm’s length. Because I know you’d say no. And that’s alright, only it’s not, it’s not at all alright because I blame myself for your lack of interest and the whole thing is really unhealthy to be honest even if I’m not unfamiliar with it.

It’s changed, though. I keep saying you don’t care and I know you’d contradict me on this too because it’s not really true. You do, in your own way. You laugh when I’m upset because you’re right, I get upset over the stupidest things which don’t really deserve my time at all, so you assume I’m being sarcastic instead of furious and it helps in changing my perspective. You don’t care when I’m in a bad mood and act like everything’s fine because usually, it’s a dumb fucking reason why I’m in a bad mood, so you’re right again, everything is actually fine and I just need someone to show me it’s not as big of a deal as I think it is.

When my dad died, you just sat next to me. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t laugh, you just offered your ear because you somehow must’ve realised it was serious that time. I didn’t take your offer. With this letter, you’re now the only person here I’ve voluntarily told that this is what happened, my dad died and you gave me an opportunity to open up. I didn’t take it. And I still regret not doing so.

You care a whole fucking lot. More than we both were aware, probably, and that’s part of the problem. Part of the reason why I have to leave.

Because the only other person I know who does all of this, who cares the same way you do, is my brother. I haven’t seen him in almost ten years. I never realised how much his mocking helped me stay level-headed and I don’t care that we’ve not seen each other for this long, I don’t care about all the guilt I still

Well, that’s where I am now. I’ll be gone for two weeks, trying to fix the unfixable because I owe him this much. And I owe you. You made me understand that he was always there for me, even if I wasn’t aware, always cared about me just like you do

Give me these two weeks. I’ll get over you it all. Don’t contact me, don’t call, don’t do anything, just keep being my friend you when I’m back, that’s all I ask. I won’t kiss bother you again, I promise, I just need this time to fix some of the mistakes I’ve made in my life and I want to thank you

I’m sorry

Fuck I understand now why people don’t write letters anymore. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’ll be fine and nothing has to change. We can still go drinking and there are all those stupid films we gotta watch, and you wanted to give me a crash course in quantum physics anyway. We can do all this. I’d like to. But give me some space for now.

Take care, alright? Remember not to ask Monika about that bomb. I’ll see you soon.

Dom

.

P.S.: I bet for a second there you thought I was gonna off myself. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, bitch.

~*~

A soft rustling of paper, a sheet being set down on the fluffy cushions of a worn sofa. Fingertips fidget, rub over denim in directionless distress; distracted, disoriented. Thoughts almost tangibly fizz in the air around a brown shock of hair, the skin on the usually smooth forehead furrowed. Memories are being recalled, experiences sorted into boxes different from their previous abode, relived and subsequently reassessed.

A decision is made.

Legs unfold, a body rises with urgency, hurries towards its goal and grasps it firmly, navigates the screen with purpose and freezes with a digit hovering over grass green. A last minute contemplation and a determined nod.

It’s the correct thing to do, the action demanded by an insistently beating heart, the press of skin on glass jubilantly met by an increase in force and speed.

Breathing shallowly, he listens to the dial tone and wonders idly what to say once it disappears. It matters not. He’ll find the words.

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 4.522

Warnings: NSFW! Smut, so smutty. Gamahuche. Licking. Bodily liquids. Fingering. Sucking. Hair pulling. Begging. And I’m out of whatever else there is, but I’m sure there’s more - let me know and I’ll add them XD

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the always gorgeous and incredible @radaofrivia​! She is the Brain to my Pinky! The Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone! My goddess Saga and my muse Erato! My drinking buddy and who will stay up till 4am with me to finish this story.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

*Edit: The title was decided before I realised that it is a song by Kings of Leon. These two have nothing in common except for the title.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

(Credit to original gif owner - if this is yours please contact me so I can give you proper credit)

The grey concrete building stood tall in front of you. You leaned your head back to see the top, but it was nearly impossible. All you could see were windows leading into the sky. A doorman in a black uniform stood by the entrance, watching whoever went in and out. He nodded his head with a stoic look in a greeting.

The lobby looked more welcoming than the outside building. There was a fireplace with three sofas surrounding it and a coffee table stacked with magazines. A few women were already sitting there, gossiping about the new dapper doctor that had rented the entire top floor.

You rolled your eyes and went over to the reception. A man stood to greet you with a smile, but he was talking to someone in his headset, which only took a few seconds before he hung up.

“I am sorry about that, how may I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m here for an appointment with dr. Syverson,” you said a little nervously.

“Ah, yes. I have a form you need to fill out,” he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, “The elevators are just right over there. Take it all the way to the 52nd floor. Another receptionist will be there to guide you further.”

You accepted the paper and went for the elevators. A chill went down your spine as the cold air from the air condition hit you. You pressed the button for dr. Syverson’s floor. An orchestral song started playing over the speakers. It wasn’t until you listened closely to the lyrics that you noticed it was ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the beat of the soft drums. Lars Ulrich had been your celebrity crush as a teen, and you still listened to their older songs when you had a bad day.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ‘ding!’, pulling you out of your trance. Another receptionist stood at the opposite side. She looked up from the computer and smiled.

“Welcome to dr. Syverson’s clinic. Do you need help filling out the paper?” she asked nicely. You quickly scanned what you needed to scribble down. It was mostly your personal information and history of health.

“No, I think I can manage, thank you,” you smiled back.

“You can take a seat in the sofas, and when you’re done just fold it and put it in the mailbox, dr. Syverson will call you in, shortly,” she motioned to a black mailbox by the elevators that you had missed when walking past it.

You nodded and went for the sofas. The room was warm and comfortable with green plants everywhere. The sand-coloured leather sofas were softer than you expected as you sank down. You filled out the form and put it in the box.

Instead of sitting back down, you decided to walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look at the impressive view of the city. Your eyes widened at how far you could see, all the way to the ocean, and if you squinted your eyes, you might have been able to see your apartment building, even the bar you had often been frequenting lately.

Dr. Syverson walked out of his office. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a bit sore from having sat down reading his patients’ charts all afternoon. Now he just needed to check on his last appointment, before he could go home and enjoy an ice-cold beer.

His receptionist was packing her stuff, sending him a kind smile. The perks of working with his sister were that she didn’t try to seduce him, or leave her underwear in his white coat pocket like some of his patients tended to do.

He smiled back and looked around the room. His gaze landing on you. His first thoughts were not ‘oh there’s my patient’, no, his mind went straight to ‘YOWZA!’.

“Last patient for today, Luc. I’ll be leaving now, see you tomorrow,” he heard his sister say to him. She smacked his arm to get his attention. He was pulled back to reality, saying goodbye to her before walking towards you, changing his mindset from dirty to professional.

You gasped when a flock of seagulls flew by, making you take a step back and hit a wall. Except the wall had arms that grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor.

“Whoah, careful there, miss,” a deep rough voice said. You looked up and saw a man with a trimmed beard, a soft smile on his lips, and a mischievous look in his cerulean eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. You quickly remove yourself from his arms, first now noticing that he was wearing the white coat signalling he was dr. Syverson. And if that didn’t kick your brain in gear, then the name tag on his chest should do it. Dr. Lucas P. Syverson.

“It’s all good. This way, please,” he made sure you followed him to his office. The wall colour changed to a more soothing beige colour and was adorned with colourful paintings. You didn’t notice what they depicted before you stepped closer to one. It was of naked human bodies in various forms and shapes, very fitting for a gynaecologist’s office.

He had various books about his profession, but a few stood out to you. One had a peach on the cover and was written by dr. Syverson himself. You were impressed but wondered about the peach until you saw the title that made you blush deeply.

“How to eat a peach for dummies.”

He motioned for you to sit in the armchair, while he plopped down on the opposite one. He grabbed a chart from his desk and a pen.

“I’ve had a look at your medical history, and the…” Dr. Syverson looked down on the chart, “three gynaecologists that you have been referred to have written that you are in a state of good health. Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not too keen on some of these doctors you’ve had appointments with. They’re as old as Methuselah.”

You let out a peal of laughter. The joke having put you at ease with the doctor, who was smiling as you calmed down from your fit of giggles.

You were a little bit shocked by this doctor. Dr. Syverson was nothing like how you had imagined him. He couldn’t be over 40, with the extended educational schooling he would have had to go through. You remembered having read somewhere that it took at least 12 years to become a gynaecologist.

“Oh my gosh, they were. Another thing they had in common was that they would take a “quick” peek, not caring that I was screaming in pain, and then tell me that I’m healthy as a horse.”

Dr. Syverson sat back; his brow pushed together. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his forehead. He ran a hand through his beard, which made you notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring. If he wasn’t your doctor, you might have asked him on a date. Had you only met him at a bar instead of his office, and not being his patient. Damn it.

“There is definitely an issue we need to figure out here. I want you to know, miss that I plan on solving this mystery. Please, tell me in your own words what you think is wrong?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but all the sentences you thought of were too embarrassing to say out loud.

“Miss, you can say anything here. Nothing leaves these four walls, I promise you,” dr. Syverson tried to make you feel more comfortable with him with his gorgeous smile. His presence alone was putting you at ease. How did he do it?

“It burns when I’m penetrated,” you confessed.

“Penetrated how? During intercourse or masturbation?”

“I haven’t had sex since this happened. I can barely stuff two fingers in there,” you blurted, turning tomato red, confessing something so private to a total stranger, but it felt great to finally say it out loud, like a heavy stone being lifted from your shoulders.

“How about I take a look? Let me see with my own eyes that you’re ‘healthy as a horse’,” he quoted the old men, making you giggle. “You can leave your trousers and underwear on the bench, and have a seat on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The dashing doctor left the room while you removed your clothing. Feeling a little self-conscious, as you walked over to the gynaecologist table with the stirrups and sat between them, trying to cover your private parts with your shirt.

Dr. Syverson came back soon with a variety of scented candles in his arms.

“The smell of something nice usually helps my patients to relax a little,” he explained. He held them up for you to choose.

“This one,” you smiled and handed him the one called Ocean Mist.

“Nice choice, that one is my favourite,” the doctor grinned. He set the lit candle on his desk. The scent of a sandy beach and salty ocean soon filled the room. The doctor pulled the ultrasound machine towards you. You leaned back on the table inhaling deeply, willing your abdominal muscles to relax. The sounds of a guitar reached your ears. You watched as he set a portable speaker on the small table next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind a little music,” he said, smiling, while he put on a pair of bright orange gloves.

“I love Metallica, so please keep it flowing.”

“Can you guess the song I’m playing? Put your legs up here for me,” he patted the stirrups.

You lifted your legs, intensely listening to the instrumental version of the song.

“Is it ‘The Unforgiven’?” you asked.

“Correct, you’re good. This is going to be a little bit cold,” he squirted a large amount of gel on the ultrasound wand. He slowly inserted the rod inside you, pushing ever so gently. “How long have you listened to Metallica?”

You winced at the invasion but tried to keep your muscles from tightening around the smooth object. You didn’t see the set jaw on the gorgeous looking doctor. Your sweet scent was tickling his nose and making his mouth salivate by the thought of tasting you.

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve been to at least one concert per tour they’ve done,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, your right ovary is a little difficult to find. You’re doing great. Your left ovary is the epitome of health. Are you on any kind of birth control?” he asked casually, trying his best to make you feel safe around him.

“N… no… I…” your voice broke, and tears started streaming down your cheeks. Doctor Lucas quickly removed the wand, cleaned it and sat down next to you.

“It’s okay. Let it all out,” he told you softly. Concern for your well being was painted on his chiselled face.

“It’s just that… I haven’t had sex for years, YEARS doc. No man wants a broken woman, especially not a woman that cannot be penetrated without her screaming in pain.”

You babbled so much you forgot that you were in a gynaecologist’s office and not at a psychologist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt all that out,�� you started to blush a crimson red.

Lucas fought hard not to pull you into his arms. His protective instincts were on high alert; he wanted to make you feel safe, make you feel loved. He was cursing the bastards who had hurt you. To him, women were the stronger sex, had to endure more pain than men. Women are precious, made to birth life, made to give love and be loved.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve had a rough time,” he patted your arm, the safest place to touch you and went to get up. “I’m going to feel around to see if there’s something I’ve missed with the ultrasound. What other bands do you listen to?”

You watched as doctor Syverson slapped on another pair of gloves and squirted a smaller amount of gel on his finger, on his long thick finger. You were practically drooling by watching him prepare to examine you.

“Eh… I listen to a little bit of everything,” you said. You laid back down and draped an arm over your eyes. Watching the handsome doctor working was becoming too much for you. He was stirring feelings inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and not in this form or quantity. You had taken a look at his well-proportioned ass when he walked out earlier, and his black trousers did very little to hide his hefty package.

“I’m sorry, but, again, this is going to be a little cold. What was the last song you listened to?” he warned.

It was an erotic scene, watching him standing between your legs, one hand on your belly, while the other was about to enter your most sacred place. You felt him enter. A soft moan escaped your lips.

Lucas’ ears perked. He hadn’t expected to hear that sound coming from your full lips. Had he heard correctly? The little vibration from you sent a jolt straight to the beast he was trying to keep dormant. This wasn’t the first time a woman had moaned while he examined them, but you were different. Another sweet sound reached his ears. You were so responsive to his touch, so open, so reactive. His mind was racing, but one word kept popping up, more.

You had forgotten how to speak, how to form sentences, how to communicate. You could only feel.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

“The last song? You listened to,” he didn’t mean to sound so tense, but he had to distract himself, his treacherous mind, he needed to keep the small-talk going, to break the silence. He wanted to kick himself in the balls for thinking about you, while he was fingers deep inside you. His compassionate instinct was winning over his lust.

Stop it, Lucas! You’re a professional. You cannot mess up! You CAN NOT fuck this up! She needs your help. Lord, give me strength.

“Oh...” you murmured, coming back from whatever universe he had sent you to with his finger technique, “Ehm, before the Metallica song in the elevator, I listened to ‘What’s Your Country Song’ by Thomas Rhett.”

“That’s a great song. I like country music.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as a country kinda g… GOD!!!” you gasped as he curled his finger, touching the spot.

You released a louder sinful sound, a sound that hadn’t left your lips in a very long time. Lucas watched as your chest was heaving, gasping for air. The room was suddenly suffocating him. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. His breath was hitched, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Why did you have to sound like desire itself?

“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave and reduced to a velvety whisper. He hooked his finger once more, listening intensely to the sounds escaping you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You lifted your hips, moving your pelvis closer, needing more friction, needing to feel him deeper inside you.

Fuck!

He was watching you, vehemently. A fire was burning deep in his groin, heck even his eyes were flaming. His shoulders moved fastly up and down as he was heaving in the air through his parted lips, he needed oxygen, he needed to control himself. He was scolding himself for feeling like a horny teenager.

“This is… wrong,” he said in a panic. He moved his hand away from you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist in a fierce grip.

“Please…” you begged, “please don’t stop. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Please, Lucas… I need you… I need you to finish this.”

He could hear the need in your voice. He could smell your arousal. You were clawing your nails into his skin. The look in your eyes was clear that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. The same eyes were shining with unshed tears, begging him for release, and the sound of his name from your lips was making him so close to breaking his resolve.

“I… can’t… you’re my patient,” he groaned, his forehead showing the concerned lines of wrinkles, which made him look even more desirable.

“Can’t you make an exception? Just this once? Please...”

Lucas ran a gloved hand through his short-cropped hair. He turned away from you, needing support for his shaky legs he leaned against the back of his office chair. He was thinking about it, really thinking about it.

“Please, doll. Don’t test me. I’m standing on the edge, and I’m this close to jumping in with both feet. I can lose my career, and I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

You watched as his shoulders sank. You moved off the examination table, pulling the hem of your shirt down to try to cover your nakedness.

“I’m sorry, dr. Syverson. I… I didn’t mean to put you in such a precarious situation,” your voice was small. Your gaze firmly on the wooden floor beneath your feet, you felt so ashamed to have tried to seduce your gynaecologist, who was only trying to help you. Lucas turned around to the sound of your voice breaking, and a little saddened that you started calling him his title again. Your cheeks flushed, your arms wrapped around yourself. You gathered the courage to move towards your clothes.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He moved towards you with the speed of lightning before you could take a single step. His large muscular frame wrapped around you, your head was laying on his chest, listening to the racing of his heartbeat.

“Say ‘you’re fired’,” he ordered, his voice husky and commanding like some kind of army captain, but it was also desperate. Desperate for you not to leave him. Craving your touch. Desiring, longing, yearning, lusting for you. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you processed his words. He heard you gasp as you realised what he was saying.

“Dr. Syverson… you’re fired,” you whispered seductively, although a little shaky too. You watched as the sweet and calm doctor changed before your very eyes.

He clashed his lips with yours in a hungry kiss. He was starving; his only thought was to taste you that was his only goal. Your scent had been making him insane; famished was more correctly described.

While holding you in his arms, he made you move backwards until your bum found the end of the exam table.

His kisses were desperate, and so were you. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breathing was shallow. It was going to happen; it was really going to happen.

He lifted you up and made you sit on the exam table. He parted your legs and went to stand between them. He cupped your face between his warm palms, leaning down to kiss you again. He kissed your jaw and all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Please, don’t regret this,” he whispered and went to touch his forehead against yours.

“I want it, even more than you do,” you answered breathlessly.

With your consent, there was no turning back now.

He devoured your mouth while his hands roamed all over your body. He unbuttoned your blouse while you shoved his white coat to the floor. You pulled at his button-up, buttons were flying everywhere. He shoved your shirt down your shoulders and off your arms before he threw it somewhere behind him. You ran your hands up and down his hairy chest, wanting to feel all of him, not the doctor, but the fine specimen of a man that he was.

He removed your bra with a flick of his fingers. Slowly revealing your breast to him. Your nipples two hard buds, waiting for his mouth to suck, lick, bite, whatever he wanted to do.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His voice was desperate, so filled with lust, but also something oh so sweet.

Lucas moved his lips down your collar bone. Feasting on your breast, nibbling at your skin, before he finally went to town with your nipples. With the first touch of his tongue on your left breast, while he pinched the right, you let out a loud guttural sound. Just him playing with your bosom was about to send you over the edge. The coil in your belly was so close to snapping.

“More… Please, Lucas, more,” you whimpered, pushing his head to the place where you needed his mouth the most, right between your thighs.

You heard him chuckle. He gently pushed you down, making sure you were comfortable before he hooked your legs over his shoulders for better access to your glistening desire.

“Fuck…” you mewled. The sight of the mountain man between your legs, the growing bulge in his dark trousers was so erotic you were about to combust. Your sex was on fire.

“Your body is divine, bug. It was made to be worshipped. I want to make the pain go away,” he said softly.

You didn’t get to say a word as his tongue ran along the seam of your wetness, making you shutter from the first contact. His tongue was wide and long, his mouth blowing hot air as he sucked your lower lips gently.

That tongue of his was everywhere, inside you, lavishing you, adoring every centimetre of your flushed skin. You lifted your head to watch him working you into a frenzy, right as he sucked his index finger into his mouth, coating the digit with his saliva.

The pleasure that he was giving you was overwhelming. The moment he pushed his finger inside your womanhood, was like nothing you had felt before. His finger was warm, and it was a whole different feeling than when he was gloved. His tongue darted out to play with the glistening pearl hiding between your lips, sucking in his finger. Your wetness allowed his movements to be smooth and easy, in and out, and he found that spot that made you howl in ecstasy.

“Luc… I’m… I’m so close… FUCK!”

The coil broke, snatched, ripped apart. You weren’t pushed over the edge, you were shoved, hard, and the pleasuring waves kept coming and coming. It felt as if your orgasm was never-ending. You never wanted to come down from that high. It was addictive.

You released your hold of Sy’s head from your thighs, not having noticed you had trapped him. You were panting hard, trying to catch your breath after the tsunami of an orgasm the doctor had given you.

Lucas’ palm covered your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Did I hurt you, doll?” his face scrunched in concern.

You shook your head, no.

“No… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

The smile on Lucas’ face was breathtaking. He was beaming with pride. You watched as he leaned back, noticing he was still wearing his trousers. The apparent bulge in his abdominal area looked painful.

You moved to sit up, motioning for him to stand.

“I want to return the favour,” you told him, unzipping his trousers. You were gentle, as the tent grew more extensive, the more you released his manhood from its confinement. You helped him out of his black boxer briefs and came face to face with the finest cock you had ever laid eyes on. You were drooling, licking your lips, dying to taste him.

“You don’t have to, angel,” he groaned as your tongue darted out to taste the precum leaking from the tip, hearing him growl, a sound coming from deep inside him.

“Please let me, Sy,” you pleaded, taking his length in your hand. You looked up to see Lucas nodding slowly. He groaned in acceptance.

You ran your tongue over your palm to lubricate it. Lucas’ eyes widened to the size of teacups. His cock jolting in excitement, his heart skipping a beat at the erotic scene happening right before him.

One hand touched his hips, moving to the small of his back, to have a grip on his ass, pushing him closer to your face. He filled your hand beautifully with his hardness, yet he was still soft to the touch of your palm. You started moving your hand up, slowly, hearing his gasp was turning you on even more than you already were. You smeared the clear precum around the glans with your thumb. Delicately wrapping your mouth around him. Your lips were stretched to max capacity, a voice in the back of your mind was telling you that you had to be careful not to lock your jaws, but then again you had a doctor right in front of you if the situation should happen.

You languidly moved his member further into your warm mouth, coating him with your saliva. Your tongue gliding over the tip. Lucas released a low moan that sent vibrations through his body. He lifted his face towards the ceiling. Your hand left his ass, moving down his thighs, tickling the backside of his knee, before travelling up the inside of his thigh and gently cupping his balls.

“Fuuuuuuck…” he guttered. You sucked the part that could fit in your mouth in synchronicity with your hand’s movement. He felt the tightening deep within his testicles. The hitching in his breath notified you of his coming release. You led his hands to your scalp, letting his fingers fisting your hair, before giving him a sultry look with his cock in your mouth.

He was grunting hard as he set the pace, while you did your best to keep up with him. Moving his hips, chasing his release inside your mouth. You relaxed your throat, letting him take over. You wanted so much to please him. 

“Fuck, sunshine… I’m so close,” he growled.

“Come in my mouth,” you uttered. It was like something within him snapped the minute you voiced the words. He moved faster, harder, rougher. Until you felt the first spurts of his seed hitting your palate. You swallowed everything he spilt and then licked him clean.

Sy fumbled with his office chair as he sat down with a satisfied hum and pulled you to sit on his lap.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and lastly a lingering kiss on your reddened lips.

“Glad you approve,” you grinned back, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About those books,” you pointed towards the books you had peeked at earlier.

“Theses I had to write for med school.”

“Tell me about them while you rest for round two.”

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed! 

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face.  The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @ssacalumsg0lden @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc @xoxospencerreid @thatsonezesty13

TAGS NOT WORKING: @ayla-1605 @big-galaxy-chaos

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[marvelouspeterparker]

all worth it

pairing: tom holland x interviewer!reader

summary: tom is an actor, doing interviews is a part of his job. but there’s just something about you that makes him feel like the stress that comes with press tours and interviews is all worth it.

warnings: none, just fluff

notes: literally got this idea from looking at an onward interview gif (the one where he recites the lines from back to the future, iykyk) also imagine the pandemic never happened in this jfskgh

so tom loves his job, obviously

he gets to be his number one favorite superhero, make people happy, do what he loves, and more

but that doesn’t mean that there are no downsides to his career

there is actually a lot of stress that comes with being in the limelight and that includes people constantly watching your every move, being critiqued, questioned and put on the spot

and the perfect time for all this to occur? during interviews

now some of the time, interviews are nice, sometimes they’re even fun

but unfortunately a lot of the time, the same questions are asked in each and every one, one after the other, for hours on end and it honestly gets very boring and very draining very fast

so to be quite frank, he wasn’t expecting much when he walked into the next room for his last interview of the day

but when you walked in, he couldn’t help but perk up a bit

you were pretty and you seemed very nice as well, greeting everyone, including the crew as you made your way over to tom, jacob and zendaya

some of the interviewers would just walk straight to their seat and start the questions almost immediately, no warmth in their manners––but you, you were different

you shook each of their hands, smiling wide as you said hello

you couldn’t really contain your enthusiasm, you were a big marvel fan, and a fan of each of them, so you couldn’t tame your smile even if you wanted to

your energy was infectious and tom was more than grateful for it

when you reached him, he looked into your eyes deeply and you had to snap out of your daze before you made a fool of yourself

‘hello darling’ he licked his lips as he looked up at you, a gracious smile on his face and you blinked a couple times before responding

‘hi it’s––so nice to meet you, i’m a big fan.’ you turned to look at the others, ‘of all of you, really.’ 

they all ‘aww’ed and accepted your compliments, thanking you as you took your seat

when you were given the green light to start, you gave a curt nod to the crew behind the cameras and started right away

you were professional and good at your job, making the cast feel welcome and at ease after a long day of work

you told jokes, asked interesting questions that others hadn’t and since you were a marvel fan, you were able to ask specific questions that showed your genuine interest in the comics, the films, the plots and more

tom could feel himself getting more comfortable as the interview went on and the smile never left his face throughout the entire thing

when it ended and they turned the cameras off, you all felt a bit disappointed that you would have to say goodbye so soon, you were all having a good time and genuinely laughing so hard that your cheeks hurt 

you thanked them all for their time and jacob was quick to wave you off

‘no thank you––i think we can all agree that we saved the best for last today.’ he looked to his friends and they nodded along

zendaya chimed in ‘for real, this was fun.’

you smiled, honored that you managed to make their day a little better and tom spoke up quietly, making you turn to look at him

‘yeah this, this was really great. thank you y/n.’

you could feel your cheeks heating up but you nodded, smiling as you tried your best to calm your raging heartbeat ‘my pleasure’

tom would have loved to speak with you more afterwards honestly, but unfortunately as soon as he exited the room, he and his friends were being ushered towards the next location for the day, preparing for the long week they still had ahead of them

though you had hoped to see more of tom, you only had one interview with him, so you wouldn’t be seeing him any time soon

or so you thought, anyway

your boss surprised you with a chance to go to the premiere, and interview some of the cast and other actors on the red carpet of course (since you were there for work)

you honestly thought that if tom did see you, he would only give you a small wave, maybe a slight head nod at best since you’d already interviewed him, but to your surprise, when he saw you, he smiled immediately and made his way over to you, swerving away from his entourage (which consisted of his brothers, assistant, and others you didn’t recognize)

‘hi love, how are you?’ 

his eyes were shining under the bright lights on the carpet and there were hundreds of shouts and conversations going on around you, but he somehow managed to make you focus only on him, from his voice and presence alone

‘good! how are you? you excited? nervous?’

he laughed, tilting his head, ‘both, but you know, i’m really proud of this film and i’m ready for people to see it’

you didn’t have much time to talk since there were plenty of other interviewers, journalists and on top of that he had to take pictures so you wished him good luck and he thanked you genuinely

‘i have to run, but be sure to tell me what you think of the movie afterwards, yeah? i know you’re a marvel fan, wanna see if it lives up to your standards’ he winked and you stuttered for a bit, agreeing as he walked off 

you were shocked that he wanted to hear your opinion, but granted there was a camera on you both, which you might have forgotten about while you were talking

but you couldn’t help but think, was that flirting? does he really want to know what i think?

you tried to push the butterflies down and focus on the film as you watched and honestly, it was easy to forget about everything else once you looked at the screen

the film, the plot, tom––everything was so captivating and entertaining, you couldn’t look away even if you tried

it wasn’t until after the film had ended, and you’d stayed for both end credit scenes that you realized you had no way of contacting tom

surely he would have things to do after this, after parties maybe? so you most likely wouldn’t see him outside

and it’s not like he followed you on instagram––he probably wouldn’t even see your dm if you sent one

as you were on your way out, thinking about all this, you felt a hand tap your shoulder and you turned, a smile on your face

but soon realizing it wasn’t who you’d hoped, you tried to not let the disappointment show on your face but as you looked clearly, you realized the man looked familiar

‘hi’ he smiled, ‘i’m tom’s assistant’ you nodded, greeting him a little confused

‘tom��� he started, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, ‘wanted me to give you this’ he handed you the paper and you opened it, feeling your stomach jump when you realized a number was scribbled on it, signed -tom ;)

without even realizing, you stared at the ink on the paper for a few seconds silently before his assistant snapped you out of it

‘he wanted you to know that he’s not a dick and he would have come if he could’

you laughed and looked up at him

‘honestly he felt really bad he couldn’t come himself, trust me.’

you nodded and put the paper in your bag, ‘thank you, i’ll be sure to use this’ you smiled

he smiled too, ‘tom hopes you will’ 

you had a feeling that tom would be busy that night, and probably hungover the next morning, so you waited a couple of days before contacting him

and during those two days, tom was honestly freaking out inside...and outside

were you not interested? was he too forward? did he do something wrong? did you get the wrong idea of him?

he was even texting harrison, jacob and zendaya about it in their group chat

tom: i’m an idiot aren’t i

zendaya: yeah but we already knew that

tom: 😑

harrison: i’m sure she’ll text you, maybe she’s just busy

jacob: yeah man, you’re a total catch

jacob: and anyway if she doesn’t want you, i’ll have you 😏

tom: thanks babe 😘

zendaya: i’m just gonna go––

tom: but anyway, i don’t think i’ll ever shoot my shot ever again because this is just embarrassing

not even a full minute passed before the he send the next text 

tom: nevermind she just texted me

tom almost dropped his phone when he saw the message pop up

maybe: y/n: hi tom! this is y/n :) i’m free to give you my thoughts on the movie when you are

you felt like you were going to be sick when you hit send on the message––you didn’t want to bother him, it’d been several days, what if he changed his mind? 

and you––nevermind he responded immediately

tom: hi darling :) i’m glad you used my number 

tom: i’m free to talk now actually, we could facetime if that’s easier? only if you want, of course

you paused when you read his text, luckily you had showered and gotten dressed today so you didn’t look a mess but you opened the camera just to check if you looked alright

were you really about to facetime tom holland?

when you finished fixing your hair, smoothing down your eyebrows and licking your lips, you swallowed your nerves and replied

y/n: sure, i’d like that

he took a deep breath and hit the call button, eagerly waiting for it to connect when you answered

when you both came into view, you smiled, greeting each other shyly

‘was a little worried when you didn’t call me that night’ he admitted sheepishly

your brows raised, surprised ‘oh i just––i assumed you would have been busy you know, after parties and all that’ you laughed and he joined you, a small smile on his face

‘darling even if you called me during the party, i would have left just to talk to you––missed hearing your voice honestly’ 

when you paused to answer a blush coated his cheeks and you couldn’t help but think how cute he looked

‘sorry was that lame?’ he laughed nervously and you shook your head, biting your lip to suppress your smile

‘no––that was, really sweet actually. i––like talking to you too, it’s really nice’ 

soon you get to talking about the actual movie and you couldn’t stop the praises from flowing

‘honestly it was incredible tom, you were incredible, i loved it’

‘thank you love, i’m really glad you enjoyed it, i was hoping you would.’

and the way that tom smiled bashfully and blushed, even pointing the camera away from his face to hide at one point had you swooning more than ever

after that, you and tom texted here and there, sometimes even facetiming, and he wouldn’t hesitate to compare you to his other interviewers and even tell you about it

‘had an interview today, can’t even compare it to yours, love’ 

you just rolled your eyes, a smile on your face ‘oh shut up, tom’ 

you talk often but due to both of your busy schedules, months go by before you see each other again

you run into him at red carpets for other marvel movies, and there’s never a dull moment between the two of you

‘‘there’s my favorite interviewer’ his smile was wide as he walked up to you. ‘you excited for this one?’

you scoffed, fully having a conversation with tom as though you weren’t on camera ‘of course i am, it looks amazing’

‘even better than my movies?’

you raised your hands in surrender, ‘legally, i can’t answer that’

he put a hand to his chest, acting dramatically offended ‘wow well, i guess it’s time for me to go then’

‘at least save me a seat?’ you joked

‘you know i will’ he smirked

by the time ‘the devil all the time’ press came about, you hadn’t told tom that you were assigned to interview him, honestly it was a last minute schedule change 

honestly, he’d gotten good at hiding his bad moods from the public, but you’d known him for enough time now to be able to see when he wasn’t at his 100%

which is why you could see him visibly brighten up when he walked into the room and saw you

‘what are you doing here?’ he asked, clearly (pleasantly) surprised as he hugged you 

‘uh, my job?’ you joked, ‘you didn’t actually think i only interviewed for the mcu did you?’

he blushed, ‘well i uh––no, obviously not’ he said unconvincingly but you brushed him aside as you got ready for the interview

once you started, tom couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, you were just really good at your job and he enjoyed being with you, even when it was for work

‘so obviously audiences are used to seeing you as peter parker, a rather lighthearted character, despite all the hardships he’s had to face––would you say approaching a character as dark as this was challenging in any way? mentally, emotionally, or just in regards to the fact that the public would be seeing a new, more sinister, villainous side to you?’

‘i mean it was a little daunting, definitely. but i was excited to sort of branch out mentally and challenge myself emotionally for this role––the story was fascinating to me and i was just so proud to be a part of this project, i tried not to think of any downsides.’ 

he paused and licked his lips, a glint in his eyes. ‘and honestly, we all have a little bit of a dark side, don’t we?’ 

you paused. of all times to flirt––

‘well hopefully not to the same extent of your character,’ you joked and thankfully the conversation smoothly transitioned elsewhere

now the fans took notice of your bond with tom

they noticed that tom seemed to smile the brightest and laugh the loudest during your interviews, even jumping into other conversations and answers to questions that were directed to his costars

there were dozens of videos, hundreds of edits––

‘tom falling for his interviewer for 9 minutes straight’

and you’d seen them––it was sort of impossible for you to not

you’d been tagged in so many of them, even your friends sent them to you

i mean you weren’t blind, tom was attractive and he did make your heart flutter but you assumed that he didn’t want a relationship since his career was only progressing, skyrocketing either––it would probably be difficult to maintain a solid relationship, or maybe he just wasn’t interested in you so you said nothing

it wasn’t until he had a break from filming that he asked you to hangout, and still you thought nothing of it, until he asked what time he should pick you up

you paused, and he even thought that you froze when really you were just processing what he said

‘like a––date?’ you asked hesitantly

he smiled, scratching the back of his head nervously, ‘yeah? yeah i––like a date.’

you smiled, ‘i would love to tom. but aren’t you worried about pictures spreading online? headlines and all that? i wouldn’t want to add any more stress––’

‘i promise love,’ he interrupted your worried rant, ‘you make it all worth it.’

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

When Clary meets Ash (Fan Fic)

Hey :) this is how I imagine Clary and Ash's reunion (after the events of TDA) in the fic I am currently writing.

It's Chapter 5 of "The new Shadowhunter Academy" (Ao3 link to the full fic is here but don't click or skip Chapter 4 if you are not in for Kitty sexy times).

Thanks to @amchara for providing beta work and to @blaidr for letting me bounce my ideas off him.

To give you context, Ash met Dru in Faerie and they exchanged their numbers. Clary seized the opportunity to obtain Ash's number from Dru and write him the following text message:

“Hey, Ash. Dru gave me your number and please don’t be angry with her, I am very strong headed and there was absolutely no way she could have refused. I am Clary. You may have heard of me. I am your late father’s sister. That’s right, your aunt. You can call me whatever you like. Emma told me what you did in Thule, how you saved her. How you saved everyone. That was very brave of you. In a way, both of us were faced with a very difficult choice and made the same. Doing what we thought was right. I would love to meet you and tell you about my mother – your grandmother – or just talk about anything. It can be things totally unrelated to the Shadow world. Hobbies, movies, books and games we like. You can pick the time and place. Neutral territory. Hope to see you soon. Clary.”

This is what happens following the text:

*****

Clary wrapped her oversized woolen coat tighter around herself, as she made her way through the crowded streets of Manhattan. The route was familiar. She took it almost every week to meet up with her parabatai and have what they called their “mundane hour”. They talked about everything, from Clary’s art to the latest TV shows they had binge watched. No topic was off the table, save for anything related to Shadowhunter duties, and the Shadow world in general. As co-head of the New York Institute and since recently, artist owning her own gallery, her weeks were very busy so she looked forward to those rare and precious moments when she could escape with Simon. Her heart rate seemed to accelerate with each of her steps, and it didn’t help that she also had the strange feeling she was being observed. When she reached her destination, she took a deep breath and opened the double glass doors leading her inside the coffee shop. She and Simon had their regular routine there, and her gaze went automatically to their usual spot, near the large windows.

A broad-shouldered jock with a baseball jacket was already sitting there, speaking loudly to his cheerleader girlfriend. Two of his friends were standing next to him, mock punching his muscular arms. It made her realize that Ash probably never had this. High school friends and romance. Ash. She was still struggling to figure out why he had asked her to meet up at this place, at the exact time she usually got there with Simon. Was it him being considerate, a clumsy way to make her feel comfortable in familiar surroundings? Or was it a warning? I know your habits, and precisely where you take your coffee, when and with whom.

Her gaze swept over the crowded room - her heart seemed to have moved up her throat, the frantic pulse almost choking her - and zeroed on a tall, white blond haired boy ordering coffee at the counter, standing with his back to Clary. She sucked in a breath. Ash. He was fully clothed in black - Dru had told her that was his usual style - and huge headphones were covering his ears. She slowly and cautiously approached him and when she was close enough, put a tentative hand on his elbow. “Ash,” she whispered. The boy glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes quizzical and… it was not Ash.

She mumbled an apology.

“Clary,” said a voice coming from behind, and she froze. It was not a boy’s but a man’s voice, the sound beautiful and ethereal. She just stood there for a few seconds before she slowly turned.

What had she expected? Merely a taller version of the young boy with pointy ears and a sour expression that she had met three years before, dressed in the same refined velvet clothing threaded with gold that identified him as fey royalty?

If so, she had clearly been mistaken.

She blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks. He was tall, as she had anticipated (Sebastian had been after all). At least two heads taller than her and probably taller than Jace. But he was also very different from the Ash of her memories, from the sketches she had drawn of him after they had crossed paths. He had amazingly grown into his features, his face now the best combination of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian’s. As if he had picked the most alluring colours of the palette. And the result was… Stunning. Clary’s hand twitched, aching for a pencil.

He was not dressed in black, but in plain blue jeans and he had stuffed his hands in a very elegant, long pale gray cashmere coat. His white blond hair and pointy ears were concealed under a deep green beanie, the same colour as the scarf around his neck.

He arched a silvery eyebrow at Clary, his expression bemused, and she realized she was staring.

“Clary, seriously?” he said, his gently scolding tone at odds with his enchanting voice. “This guy isn't even half as good looking as me." He glanced pointedly at the patron in question, who was gaping at him, and shrugged. "No offense, dude,” Ash added as an afterthought.

He turned his attention to the barista. She was beautiful, dark skinned with long braided hair and pouty lips. “Hello, gorgeous. We’ll have a double espresso with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon for the lady and a plain black coffee for me.”

Clary stifled a gasp and tried to hide her discomfort. He knew exactly how she took her coffee, and she didn’t know how she felt about this.

The pretty barista nodded eagerly, her cheeks red and her big dark eyes dreamy as she stared at Ash. “Why don’t you… Go sit at your table and I’ll bring you your beverages when they are ready?” the girl offered enthusiastically. The long line of patrons that had formed behind Clary and Ash would probably disagree but she didn’t seem to care.

“That would be lovely,” Ash said in his euphonious voice. “And so are you.” He winked at her, and Clary wondered if she would need to catch her while she swooned. He paid before Clary even had a chance to reach for her purse.

“Come,” he said in a commanding tone, as he made his way to Clary and Simon's usual table. This was unnerving.

The jock seated there paused in the middle of his conversation with his girlfriend when he saw Ash stand casually next to him. Clary braced herself for a heated exchange, but she should have known better.

“You want to sit somewhere else,” Ash said evenly, one hand inside the pocket of his designer coat and the other stretched out in front of him as he studied his fingernails.

“I want to sit somewhere else,” the jock repeated in a monotonous voice, his gaze blank. He stood, as if in a trance, and his girlfriend and friends followed him, puzzled, to an empty table at the far end of the room.

Ash drew a chair for Clary and she sat. He did the same, opposite her. He pulled off his beanie, and shook his silvery hair, like a crown of liquid white gold. He wasn’t dressed for the part but he had never looked more like a prince.

“Ash… please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your mind tricks.”

He cocked his head and observed her, his face unreadable, for what seemed like an endless minute.

“You’ve been my aunt for what? Five minutes? And you’re already trying to boss me around?”

“I am not trying to boss you around, Ash. Simply asking you not to abuse your powers.”

A shadow flickered across his green eyes.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Clary. I spend much more time and energy holding back than using my powers. If I did let go, trust me, you would know.”

Clary opened her mouth to reply but was cut short as the barista popped in front of them and placed the mugs on the table. She slid a paper napkin to Ash, her phone number scribbled on it. Clary tried not to roll her eyes, as Ash flashed his dazzling smile at the girl, who almost tripped on her own feet as she returned to the counter.

Clary lifted her cup to her lips and paused, as she caught sight of the cinnamon powder floating on the surface. She put it down.

“What about this?" She pointed at her coffee mug and waved around them. “ What is it, if not a show of power? What are you trying to tell me? That you know everything about me? That you’ve been spying on me?”

Ash pulled on a fake shocked expression, mouth open and green eyes wide in mock innocence. “Spying on you? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Ash. The evidence is right here.” She lifted her cup abruptly, and hot liquid splashed out of it. “You know exactly how I like it. When I take it, where I take it.”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “Where did you pick up these lines? From the script of some lame X-rated movie?”

“Adult movies have storylines?” Clary asked, arching her eyebrows.

“Of course they do. Where do you think the Grimm Brothers took their inspiration from?”

He grabbed the paper napkin and started mopping the coffee she had spilled on the table. The blue ink faded and the barista’s phone number vanished.

“You lost that girl’s number,” Clary noted.

Ash shrugged. “I have a girlfriend now.”

Right. Drusilla Blackthorn. From the moment she had met her, Clary had known that the smart and quiet turquoise-eyed girl would someday turn heads.

Clary knew that Dru hadn’t really confirmed their relationship status yet, but it was neither the time nor place to broach the subject with Ash. She was, after all, on a mission to win over her nephew and had not been doing a very good job so far.

A young lanky boy with pink hair and piercings covering his skin walked by and dropped a glossy flyer of the upcoming Mortal Instruments concert on the table between them. Clary hid a smile. It reminded her...

“I have something for you.” She said as she fumbled inside her bag and took out the drawing she had made of Jocelyn, Luke and herself, in front of Luke’s upstate farm (before it was turned into the new Shadowhunter Academy) and laid it on the table.

Ash looked at it hesitantly, like a kid who really wanted to grab the candy but was afraid there was a mouse trap under it. He hunched his shoulders forward and clasped his hands under the table, as if to keep himself from temptation.

“I recognize your art. I like it. I also appreciate Julian Blackthorn’s but I may not be as objective where… one of the subjects of his drawings is concerned.”

“You’ve seen my art?”

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his long arms behind his head. Somehow, he managed to make it look graceful.

“Which Shadowhunter hasn’t? I noticed that you often drew Jace with angel wings.”

“Yes. That’s how he used to appear to me. In recurring dreams.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Jace. In your dreams.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Someone who looks like him, but who actually has wings.”

“You mean Kit.”

Ash shrugged. “It would make more sense.” His gaze flickered back to the drawing, which still lay on the table, untouched. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“So do you”, Clary blurted before she could take it back.

Ash shot her an unfathomable look.

“How is she?” She asked.

“You mean, the Seelie Queen? You tell me. You must see her more often than I do.”

“Well, not really. I am not that involved in politics, even though Alec is Consul. Julian Blackthorn is the one who deals with her most of the time. She appears to have... a fondness for him.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Clary’s mouth quirked up.

“I am glad you are getting along with the Blackthorns. They are such an incredibly strong and talented family.”

“They are.” He turned his face away, but not before she could see the expression of longing plain on his delicate features.

She swallowed. She was painfully reminded that Ash never had a shot at a happy family. Born of a political union, and dragged here and there, though interdimensional portals, by people more interested in his powers than anything else he had to offer as a person. And judging by how Dru talked about Ash, he had a lot to offer.

“I imagine it must have been awful living in Thule… But what you did for Emma and Julian back there... if it hadn’t been for you…”

“I don’t want to talk about Thule,” he interrupted her. “Can I borrow this?” He asked, his long fingers brushing the Mortal Instruments concert flyer.

“Sure.”

She watched as he started folding the paper, realizing with a jolt of surprise that he was making an origami and wondering what shape would come out of it. It was odd seeing him doing such an innocuous thing, as if he was not a faerie prince with a heavy heritage and a giant target on his back, but an ordinary boy. She remembered what Emma had told her of her encounter with Ash in a nightclub in Thule. The way he had shown no interest, playing a video game in a corner of the room, while Sebastian was committing atrocities. Had he really been as indifferent as he looked?

“Ash, we don’t need to talk about Thule if you don’t want to, but if I can help you… If there is anything I can do-”

“Why?” He looked up sharply. “Are you able to create a rune that could undo the things I saw?” His tone was even, but his delicate fingers had started slightly shaking and he suddenly dropped the paper - his work unfinished - to fold his hands under the table to hide it. From that moment, she knew.

“No…” Clary said, drawing the word out. “But trust me, coming from someone whose memory has been tampered with... it’s not a solution.”

“I said undo. Not forget.” He snapped. “I am not such a coward that I would choose blissful ignorance over knowledge.”

He caught himself, blinking, then clenched his jaw and looked away. As if he was ashamed he had allowed himself to show any emotion at all. But Clary had managed to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath the mask and wanted nothing more than to see the rest of it.

“I don’t think you are a coward,” she said.

He looked over at her, a silver eyebrow raised. “I let it all happen, didn’t I? I didn’t lift a finger.”

“Because you couldn’t. Sebastian would have killed you. And you, Ash, are just like me. A survivor.”

He snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back on his chair. He had stretched out his long legs and Clary realized that he was tapping a foot nervously next to hers.

“Wrong. I could have. I chose not to. Because I am selfish. I don’t care about other people’s fate.”

His face split into a lazy, wicked grin. Clary could see Sebastian’s influence in his leer, but she wouldn't let it deceive her. Just as she wasn't fooled by his laid-back demeanor.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually. I think it’s because you care too much. It’s not death you are afraid of. The thing is, you have such a tender heart, you need to protect it from an affliction far greater than any physical pain you could endure. So you’d rather lie to yourself and pretend you feel nothing.”

From the long conversations she had with Tessa about her ancestors, Clary knew of a Fairchild boy who had been too compassionate for his own good. And he had been surrounded by loyal friends and loving parents, even though he had shut himself, putting on a facade while burying his grief in alcohol. Ash never had that kind of support. Throughout his life, he was left to figure things out on his own. If he was as empathetic as Clary thought he was, Ash probably had no other choice but to deal with his sensitivity alone. It was a miracle he had turned out the way he did.

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said after a moment. The ghost of a smile was still playing on his lips but something had passed across his eyes. “Then again, you are an artist. You seek beauty in the ugly. You find colors on a blank page. I admire your faith, but in this case, there is nothing to see.”

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly and they held each other’s gaze - his green eyes glittering in amusement and hers dead serious - in a staring contest.

“Still,” he said when he finally broke, first. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I am sorry.”

Clary softened. “Don’t be. I am glad you are finally showing your true self. You don’t need to wear your mask around me, Ash.”

He chuckled. “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

“It’s funny that you would quote Oscar Wilde.”

“And why is that?”

She shrugged. “Just another thing you share in common with a Fairchild I heard stories about.”

“Clary,” he said in a gently reproving tone. Her name sounded like a caress in his melodious voice. “Are you being purposefully cryptic to arouse my curiosity?”

She moved closer, so she was sitting at the edge of her chair, and leaned forward, hands folded over the table.

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she whispered. “Let me in. Shed all pretense.”

“I can’t promise you that,” he whispered back in confidence, leaning closer still so that their faces were inches from each other. “It’s like fabric that burns and melts into skin. If you peel it off, the skin goes with it.” He grimaced, reclining on his chair. “It won’t be a pretty sight. I don’t think even my level of hotness could sustain it.”

“Ash…” Clary said, sensing that she finally had an opening to say what she had been brooding over ever since she had learnt of Ash’s return from that forsaken land. “I wanted to tell you… I am sorry.”

Ash’s green eyes widened.

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have looked for you. I should not have given up on you.”

Ash’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. Seb-...Ash, we...”

“What did you just call me?” He snarled. His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly cold as ice.

“Sorry, Ash. What I meant to say is… we are family."

“I already have a family.”

“I know that you care about Janus…”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he cut her off.

“And we don’t need to. I just wanted you to know… I understand that he’s been like a father to you, and I don’t plan on moving against him, unless he strikes first or makes it impossible for me to overlook his actions.”

“Because of me?”

“Of course, because of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Ash… You are my nephew, my blood. You may not feel the same way about me, but that’s how I feel about you. I want you to know that, if things go wrong, for any reason, you can always turn to me. My home is your home.”

“What you are actually telling me is, Ash, if I kill the one person who has ever really cared about you - and it might definitely come to that - you can always grab my hand, still sticky and warm from his blood. Well, how nice of you. To quote Oscar Wilde again, true friends stab you in the front.”

“That’s not what I am-”

“Clary,” Ash interrupted as he stood. “Do not make me choose between you and him. Because…” Looking down at her, he swallowed hard, as if the words pained him. “Because you will lose.”

She knew exactly what he was telling her. Because they were the same in that way. Ruthless, even with their own blood, when it came to protecting their loved ones. If I had to choose between killing him and you, I would not hesitate. I would end you. Yet, despite his cold statement, despite his sharp and resolved tone, his eyes seemed to carry a deep regret.

“Ash, I understand what you're saying and I swear I am not trying to make you pick a side”, Clary said, suddenly desperate, as she mirrored him and stood. “Please don’t go. I am sorry I brought it up. We will stop talking about him. Starting now.”

“This was a bad idea. Never try to contact me again.” He drew his green beanie from the pocket of his coat and put it back on. He turned and strode toward the exit. She grabbed the family drawing that still lay on the table, stuffed it in her bag and followed him, half-running, as he was quickly losing here with his long legs.

“Ash! Please. Give me another chance. I am so sorry.”

He paused right outside the coffee shop, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t be. It didn’t change what I had planned to tell you anyway. I don’t want to know anything about you or your mother. I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, and he whipped his head around to look at her in surprise. “I know you were under house arrest. You probably had to break out of whichever place they were holding you in to come here. You wouldn’t have done that unless you wanted something. Something from me. Tell me, Ash. Tell me what it is.”

He turned his face away so she could not see his expression. A full minute passed and she had almost given up on receiving an answer, when he finally spoke.

“My fa… Sebastian. How different do you think he would have been if not for the demon blood?”

“Oh. Ash.” she whispered. She brought her knuckle against her sternum instinctively, as if to cover the gaping whole in her chest. “I saw him, you know. The brother I should have had. The father that should have raised you. If only for a few minutes.” She paused to bite back tears. “In those few minutes, he told us how to get rid of the Endarkened and said he was sorry. It’s not much to go for, but… that’s not all. I have recurring dreams of the green eyed boy that was robbed from us. And I know in my heart he would have been the best brother a sister could ever dream of.”

He was still looking away and she could see the sharp line, the stubborn set of his jaw. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she would not fail him again. That they could mourn her brother, his father, together. That he didn’t need to bear the anger at everything that was wasted alone.

He finally turned to look at her. A tear had escaped to run freely down his cheek. He had completely shed off his mask, and what Clary saw was like a stab in her gut. She shivered. Wordlessly, he reached for his deep green scarf and tied it gingerly around her neck. The way Sebastian had when they had walked down the streets of Paris. Ash looked nothing like her brother had then. His green eyes held an infinite sadness that spoke of a grief deeper, older than the short years of his life.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He said - she hadn’t imagined his beautiful voice could sound so hollow - and turned to leave.

“Ash, wait.” She grabbed him by the elbow and he froze. His eyes widened as his gaze zeroed on the fingers covering his coat, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She realized she had never touched him before.

“Clary, what do you want from me?” He asked in a tired voice.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Trust me, you don’t. I am not the brother who was stolen from you. I cannot replace him. If anything, I am just like Sebastian was before me... my father’s broken toy. There is no way to fix me.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” she said, almost frantic. “And I don’t want to find my brother's replacement, I want to get to know you! Ash. The real Ash.”

“I already told you. That’s not happening. Don’t ever try to contact me again. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?” She tried not to sound too whiny but panic was eating away at her stomach and she thought she would throw up. “You went through all this trouble spying on me, learning how I take my coffee to simply disappear from my life from one moment to the next?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“I was not spying on you, Clary. I was merely following your stalker.”

“What? You were… protecting me?”

“Take care of yourself, Clary.”

He said as he stepped away from her and vanished into the crowd.

****

Clary threw herself in Jace’s arms as soon as he opened the door to their bedroom at the New York Institute. He froze, then started stroking her hair in a soothing gesture.

“Clary, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Tell me, Clary. What is it?”

She pulled away and wiped tears with the back of her hand. Jace’s face was a mask of shock. Clary couldn’t blame him. She almost never cried.

“I messed up.”

“What did you mess up?”

She walked to the bed and sat on the mattress. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his reaction. “Ash. I met up with him earlier today.”

Jace tensed and his hands clenched into fists. “WHAT- Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have insisted on coming.”

“Damn right, I would have. And I would have been right, too. Look at you, you look miserable.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a small voice. “I pushed him too far.”

Jace sighed and came to sit next to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am sure you did nothing wrong, Clary.”

“I thought- When I showed him the drawing… the way he looked at it, Jace. He is not indifferent. He cares.”

“What drawing?”

“The one I made of the family,” she said absently, as she grabbed her bag and started fumbling inside.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The drawing wasn’t there. Peeking out in its stead, and folded out of the flyer of the Mortal Instruments concert, were origami faerie wings. The Fairchild family symbol.

[misscarolineshelby]

The Last Semester – Part Eleven

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,530

Warning: Fluff, Lot’s of Dialogue, Angst

Previous Parts:  Part One; Part Two; Part Three*; Part Four*; Part Five*; Part Six; Part Seven; Part Eight; Part Nine; Part Ten

Original Blog: @queenshelby 

Friday morning approached quickly and you haven’t slept for two nights, ever since you overheard Emma’s and Thomas’s conversation.

Over the past two days, you observed Emma on the phone pretty much constantly, texting and the previous night she didn’t sleep at home either.

You felt ill to your stomach, imagining Cillian, who you were clearly still in love with, with your younger friend and roommate Emma.

She finally got what she wanted for weeks now and you knew you should be happy for her, but you couldn’t.

With bags beneath your eyes and a coffee in your hand, you made your way to university for your one-on-one session with Cillian.

You were dreading it. You hadn’t heard from him for the past two days and you were worried about saying something wrong, about snapping at him and about crying again in front of him.

When you finally arrived at university, Cillian was already waiting for you in the lecture room, playing around on his phone.

‘Alright, let’s get this over and done with’ you said as you walked in and sat down in one of the chairs.

‘Are you alright?’ Cillian asked, paying attention to your pale face and bags beneath your eyes.

‘I am fine’ you said sharply while Cillian pulled out the form you had filled in.

‘I didn’t submit this to the unit coordinator for obvious reasons’ Cillian said, raising an eyebrow at you as he did.

‘Thanks. I may have acted a little impulsive that day. I was angry. I am sorry’ you said as you re-read the many curse words you had scribbled onto the questionnaire.

‘Well, I suppose I deserved it’ Cillian said first before continuing on after short pause. ‘Do you want to write something else perhaps? Something I can submit to the unit co-ordinator?’ Cillian chuckled, locking eyes with you for the first time since the phone call where he ended it.

You nodded and took the paper out of his hands.

‘Any suggestions?’ you asked and Cillian quickly gave you a few ideas while kneeling next to you, looking at you with his big blue eyes.

‘You know, I honestly don’t think that you need any help with your role from me’ Cillian then went on to say after you filled in the questionnaire again and handed it to him.

‘I told you that’ you said, rolling your eyes playfully, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘I can just sign off on your paper if you like. If you want to go, you don’t need to be here. Although, I was hoping that I could talk to you about some private matters first’ Cillian said calmly.

‘Private matters?’ you asked, sighing as you did.

‘About us’ Cillian then said quickly.

‘There is no us anymore Cillian’ you responded, putting your pencil case back into your bag before standing up quickly.

As soon as you stood up, your head started spinning and the floor began to move, causing you to hold onto the desk in front of you.

‘Y/N?’ Cillian asked, helping you to sit back down.

‘Fuck’ you murmured, taking a deep breath as you felt the room move beneath you and above you all at the same time.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cillian asked concerned, holding your hand momentarily.

‘I am dizzy’ you barely managed to say and Cillian quickly handed you some of his water.

‘I will take you to the nurse’ Cillian suggested but, just as he helped you get up, you collapsed into his arms, hitting the side of your head on the corner of the desk.

‘I need some help in here’ Cillian shouted out in panic, which was the last thing you could remember.

***

A beeping sound was what, eventually, woke you up slowly and when your eyes flickered open, you saw bright ceiling lights and smelled the scent of disinfectant. It was atrocious, like a clinic or hospital of some sort.

‘Y/N?’ you eventually heard a voice say before you could feel gentle fingers tracing through your hair.

You managed to look to the side, your vision still blurry as you saw Cillian sit there right next to you.

‘What happened?’ you asked surprised, still fuzzy in your head.

‘You fainted’ he said calmly, his finders slowly moving away from your hair while, at the same time, you moved your arms to the side.

‘Hang on’ Cillian said, putting your arms back down, which is when you realised that you were hooked up to several machines.

‘What is all this?’ you asked, looking down at your arms.

‘An iron transfusion and fluids with some painkillers’ the nurse said as she walked into the room. ‘How are you feeling now mam?’ she went on to ask.

‘Tired’ you responded, looking at Cillian with some confusion.

‘Dizzy?’ she then asked and you shook your head.

‘Good’ the nurse was quick to say before pulling a wheely chair close towards your bed and flickering a bright small light into your eyes.

‘You, my young lady, are anaemic and haven’t taken your iron tablets. You probably also have been stressed, a lack of sleep perhaps, adding to the dilemma. We had to place five stitches onto your forehead but there are no signs of concussion. Nonetheless, you need to be supervised for the next 24 hours so I will leave you and…’ the nurse said before asking ‘who are you to Miss L/N?’.

‘A friend’ Cillian said which is when the nurse realised that he shouldn’t have been there in the room with you as only relatives and next of kin were permitted.

‘It’s alright, please. My family is in Ireland’ you explained to the nurse and she quickly nodded, allowing Cillian to stay.

‘Well, you need to make arrangements to have someone with you for the next 24 hours’ she then continued to say before leaving the room to organise the discharge papers and Cillian was quick to suggest that you call your roommate Emma to ensure that she will be home.

‘Em is in Manchester, visiting her mother for the weekend. But you should know that, shouldn’t you?’ you chuckled.

Cillian looked at you with some confusion. ‘And why would I know that?’ he then went on to ask.

‘Well, aren’t you sleeping with her?’ you asked bluntly, causing Cillian’s eyes to widen. Then, suddenly he began to laugh.

‘I think the nurse is wrong and you might be concussed after all. What on earth makes you think that I am sleeping with Emma?’ Cillian asked slightly humoured.

‘During your one on one session…did nothing happen between you?’ you asked somewhat surprised.

‘I cancelled her session. It’s not until next week now’ Cillian said. ‘What makes you think that I would sleep with Emma anyway?’ he then laughed.

‘I just. I don’t know. I am sorry’ you said, realising that, perhaps, you misunderstood what you had heard when Emma spoke to Thomas about her day at university that Wednesday.

‘You are a goose you know that?’ Cillian chuckled, amused by your utmost ridiculous suspicions.

‘A goose?’ you laughed before advising Cillian that this something your father would have said, trying to tease him.

‘Talking of your dad, you might want to call him and tell him that you are alright. I called him when they brought you in here and I realised that you left your walled with your ID and healthcare card in your locker at uni. He faxed copies through to reception and, needless to say, he was rather worried’ Cillian explained.

‘You called my dad?’ you asked somewhat surprised, knowing however, that Cillian did the right thing by calling him. But this raised one important question.

‘How did you know his number?’ you asked surprised and, just as you did, the nurse returned.

‘Have we made arrangements yet?’ she asked and you advised her that there was no one home at your apartment over the weekend.

‘You will need to stay here then I am afraid’ the nurse said, which was when Cillian offered to stay with you for the next 24 hours if you wanted.

You immediately thought that this would be a terrible idea but you hated hospitals. It was almost like a phobia for you after having spent weeks in hospital care following appendicitis several years ago.    

‘Okay, thank you’ you eventually said and the nurse handed Cillian the discharge papers to input his address and contact details.

In that moment, Cillian’s phone rang and he picked up quickly, seeing that it was your father who called.

‘She is awake and getting discharged’ you overheard Cillian say before, for a minute or two, listening to your father, his voice noticeable and loud, forcing Cillian to move his ear away from the phone slightly.

‘Yes man, I will make sure’ Cillian then went on to say and you could hear your father rambling on in the background again even louder than before. The name Emma came up many times and you knew that your father disliked Emma, thinking that she was unreliable and a bad influence for you.

‘She is staying with me’ Cillian then went on to say before suggesting that he speak to you directly.

‘Man, she is right here, she can tell you’ Cillian chuckled, shaking his head before handing his phone to you which is also when you realised that Cillian and your father knew each other.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​ @vhscillian​ @ysmmsy​ @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  ​

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

[hwangsies]

GALVANISING GREEN

(definition: galvanising (adj): to be affected by something as if by electricity)

pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x slytherin!reader

summary: hyunjin convinces you to break into professor longbottoms greenhouse with him at night, however he didn’t expect you to snoop around and get intoxicated by a plant that doubles as a strong aphrodisiac.

warnings: light angst, bad attempt at lining this up with the generation of harry and co’s children lol, somewhat involuntairy intoxication?, hyunjin is cocky, long flashback again(shocker!) smut as in: implied oral (f receiving), fingering 

6.2 k words,

enjoy <3

---

(read part 2 here)

---

"Psst" you furrow your brows as you concentrate harder on the essay you’re writing for your herbology class.

"Pssst" you hear from your right again as you shake your head.

"Pssssst"

"what??" You snap your head to the right to meet victoires green-turqoise eyes before she flicks a piece of paper at you.

'Open' she mouths to you before giggling inaudibly.

You roll your eyes at what your gryffindor best friend might've just wasted 1 good minute of your time on.

Normally you arent this persistent on getting things done instantly, but you know herbology isn’t something you’re talented at.

If there was a word to describe the opposite of a green thumb, you would use it to describe your talents in herbology.

Every plant you try to be nice to (ranging from harmless to deadly), has either died, attacked you or did nothing good for your grade.

So, already slightly pissed off, you open the neatly folded piece of paper.

Her handwriting is awful, and because she hexed it, the font dances around so it takes you a second to decypher what she had written.

Hwang keeps looking at you like you're his next meal, babe!

Once you read it, a scribbled version of the heart eye emoji appears below the words, slowly opening its mouth to have little drops of animated drool rolling down the paper.

You feel the blood rushing up your neck as you look up, across the long table you were sitting at and to the one next to it, where yours and hyunjins eyes meet.

His lower lip is trapped by his teeth, when he realises you are looking back at him, he releases the rosy flesh and chases it with his tongue before trying , yet failing, to hold back a grin.

You look at victoire next to you.

She grinns widely and whispers, almost completely inaudibly "attagirl"

At which you hastily shake your head and stick your tounge out at her before quickly gathering your things and leaving the big hall with victoires quiet snickering still in earshot.

If she only knew, you think to yourself as you rush down the hallway , pressing your books tighter to your chest.

~flashback to three days ago~

You groaned and let your forhead fall onto your herbology book.

'I hate this' you muttered to yourself in a , what you felt like, never ending loop.

"I feel that" you got startled and whipped your head up as a yelp slipped past your lips.

Hyunjin grinned at you before draping a cloak over the chair and taking a seat across from you at a small table in the slytherin common room; his own books in his hand.

You chuckled embarrasedly as you ran your hand through your hair, trying to make you look somewhat presentable for the handsome boy.

"Dont worry, i dont judge you" he smiled and plopped his books on the table as well "stuck on herbology too, huh?" He peeked over.

"Yea, professor longbottom is going to behead me" you joked "i dont get it, how am i supposed to write an essay about my experiences with magical plants when all i ever get them to do is...die, or nothing at all" you shook your head in defeat.

He giggled cutely as he gathered his chin-length blonde hair in a low pony.

You couldn’t help but stare at him, the way the yellowish lights of the doungeons illuminated his features was too perfect.

The feline eyes ,the blunt nose and his thick lips. In combination with his sharp jawline and dark eyebrows, it was easy to be intimmidated by his looks.

You kind of had a thing for him for a while now, but then again so had almost every girl in your year. Him and his best friend james were by far the most good looking guys in your year.

The difference between hyunjin and his best fried however was that his friend knew he looked good and liked it to be known and acknowledged.

Hyunjin was open-minded and sweet, aslo a little shy from time to time, but he also had his cocky moments, especially with girls.

So they weren’t that different, both being players and heartbreakers to a certain extent.

They were popular due to their success in each of their quidditch teams, hyunjin being the seeker for slytherin and james for gryffindor, following in the footsteps of his famous father.

They started out as rivals but became inseperable over time, successfully breaking the stereotype that gryffindors and slytherins couldnt be friends.

Nowadays the only things they’d get competitive about was quidditch and girls.

Even though hyunjin and you were in the same house and year, you didnt have that much to do with each other.

Due to him being more popular and, well, more talented in everything he did; but also because your friendgroups rarely overlapped.

There was this one time in the 5th year where you two were close to becoming friends.

He had asked you for help with his little cousin who had started dating someone you used to be friends with, around that time you noticed that you liked him for the first time.

In the end, his cousin broke up with said boy and you somehow lost sight of each other again.

And so the crush on him kind of faded into the background, it wasnt something you were always thinking about, but you knew it was there when you spoke to him or when he was too close.

But the stories that you heard from other girls kept you from imagining more with him.

"I dont even know what the last plant was that he showed us in class, i always feel like sleeping" he said laughingly, before opening his book and opening his pot of ink as well.

You chuckled softly in response.

You watched him for a few seconds, reading his book, scratching the back of his head and furrowing his brows while his lips pushed fowards in a pout so cute, you would be insane if you didnt want to kiss it away.

After what felt like an eternity, you looked at the clock to see it was already past 11.

Since it was a friday and you didnt have class the next day, you didn't jump into bed immediately.

"This is bullshit" hyunjin muttered and looked up "what the hell do i know about what this plant looks like, i dont even know how to pronounce the name" he groaned, slightly frustrated.

He pointed to the name written in his book and showed it to you “look”

"Oh, i think i've seen this name on a pot in professor longbottoms greenhouse" you recalled.

"Yea?" You nodded at him.

"Okay" he closed his books and stood up "lets go"

"Huh?" You looked up at him confusedly.

"Lets pay the greenhouse a little visit" he grinned.

"Have you gone mad? No way, do you know in how much trouble we could get into?" You asked rethorically.

"Chill, james lent me this" he held up a dark brown cloak.

"What is that?" You asked, just as unbelieving as before.

"His dads invisibility cloak" he answered quickly "come on, we'll stay there 10 minutes tops, i just want to see what that plant looks like"

"Okay, well have fun doing that, alone" you retorted.

"Noo, y/n i need you to show me to the plant, you know where it is" he pouted.

"Please" he was definetly using his charms, which is why you felt so stupid when you sighed an ‘okay’ after he begged a few more times.

You closed your books and got up as well, hyunjin quickly draping the cloak over the both of you.

"You go in the front, you're smaller" he commented.

"Allright" you muttered and moved in front of him.

"We have to be quiet when we go outside, or the fat lady is gonna snitch on us" you felt his breath over your ear.

"okay" you said shortly, getting nervous over the fact that he was this close behind you.

Once out of the commonroom you walked up the stairs managing to do so without tripping over each other and blowing your cover.

Once you arrived on the ground floor, you headed for the back door, which brought you to the garden and the greenhouses.

The moment you reached out your hand for the door handle, it got pushed open slowly.

Hyunjin pulled you back instantly and pressed himself with his back against the stone wall as he gripped your waist with one hand and held the other over your mouth because somehow he sensed how close you were to yelp out.

What he didn't know was how he made the situation worse for you because your back was pressed against his firmly built chest and your lower back against a certain bulge.

"shh" he breathed against your ear, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

Mr filch groaned as he stumbled inside and fumbled at the doors lock, the door itself still wide open.

You felt hyunjin push against your waist slightly from behind to get you moving, so you complied.

Quickly rushing outside, you got startled at the loud bang of the heavy door falling close behind you two.

He removed his surprisingly soft hands away from your face, his body however didn't move an inch.

You slightly turned around to him in disbelief.

"now what?" you started freaking out, because how were you going to get back inside?

"what?" he asked back.

"how in the hell are we going to get inside again smartass? He locked the door" you gestured with your hand.

"alohomora?" he answered cockily, at which you flicked his forehead.

"you've been here for 7 years and don't know that that doesn't work on the main doors?" you asked infuriated.

"okay, chill. I know some other ways" he said calmly, still rubbing his forehead.

"what do you mean chill?? What other way-" he cut you off.

"just trust me alright?" you couldn't see him well but his eyes still sparkled in the dark.

So you just sighed.

"come on" he carefully pushed you forwards by your waist; you were pretty sure he would remove them after a few seconds but they stayed there until you entered the greenhouse.

He quickly discarded the cloak and threw it onto the big wooden table in the middle of the spacious house, next to a big book on 'advanced herbology'.

"lumos" you said, making the tip of your wand light up; hyunjin mimicing the same thing.

"now, where did you see this plant?" he asked you.

"uh, I think it was over there in the corner" you pointed to the other side of the house.

"okay" he mumbled and made his way over there.

You looked around yourself and looked at some of the plants, when you heard a thump of some sort.

You whipped your head around to look for hyunjin, you spotted him rubbing his forehead.

"nothing happened" he raised his hands playfully.

You sighed in relief "hurry up, and try not to kill yourself"

"why?" you could hear his grin "cause you'd miss me?" he snickered.

"no, because I’d wanna do that myself if we get caught" you retorted, at which he chuckled.

"ah, got it" he said, holding his wand closer to the plant in the far right corner of the house to get a good look at it.

Turning around, a shimmering dark green flower caught your eye, it shined as if it was reflecting the light from your wand.

You took a few steps towards the window sill, the mysterious flower was standing on, in an equally green pot, on which in a deeper green the words 'galvanising green' were engraved on.

It was sparkling, yet there was a glass dome over the flower; which was weird because no other plant had anything of that sort placed over them.

You thought it was so pretty: the way it sparkled, some sparkles leaning more into a teal color, others more in a deep grass green.The stigma, which was protruding out of the petals was pulsating in a dark ocean green, it was as if it hypnotized you. inviting you to free it and take a closer look.

Slowly you lifted up the dome.

"okay lets go" you heard hyunjin speak somewhere in the distance, but it was uninteresting because the flower was drawing you in and nothing else mattered.

"y/n what are you doing" he seemingly came closer, making his way through all the pots and plants standing around.

After placing the small dome on the window sill, next to said flower; you got closer to it with your face.

"y/n!" hyunjin sounded stern "you don't know what that is, stop it"

Still, you took a whiff of the sprakling plant and it felt like a punch against your chest as it flooded through your lungs, throwing you back instantly.

You gasped for breath as you stumbled backwards, right into hyunjins embrace as he leaped fowards to catch you from falling.

"shit" he slowly sat you down on the ground and got in front of you "fuck y/n" he patted your cheek lightly when you coughed.

He looked up at the plant and quickly got up, placing the small glass dome over it again, holding his cloak covered hand over his nose and mouth.

"galvanising green?" he muttered, reading the inscription on the pot before looking back at you sitting on the ground and holding your chest.

Crouching down to you, he held a hand onto your forehead "are you okay?"

You cleared your throat a few times "uh-mh- yea I think so"

He nodded, carefully holding up his wand to look at your face a little better; your cheeks were a little rosy but other than that you looked normal.

"normally we should go to professor longbottom if something like this happens, but he would kill us right now" he chuckled worrily before his gaze fell onto the big book on the table in the middle of the house.

"I'll just check out the plant to be sure okay?" he said, you nodded, smiling embarrassedly.

He got up and quickly got his hands on the thick 'advanced herbology' book, opening the heavy sides and turning the pages.

"I don't even know why I did that" you spoke softly.

"its okay" he said genuinely.

"no, I'm serious, it was as if it controlled me or something" you kept going.

"hmm" he hummed, clearly to busy looking for said plant in the huge book and not listening.

"phhuuuh" you breathed out after a minute of silence and started fanning yourself.

"is it getting hot in here?" you inquired.

"green...green" you heard hyunjin mutter "there it is!" he said.

Tracing his finger under the lines he was reading, his eyes widened.

"fuck" he mumbled to himself and looked over to you, you were plucking at your shirt to get more air onto your body.

"hyunjin" you gasped "im so hot" your breathing getting shallower.

"okay, uhm okay fuck" he repeated himself and reread the little part of the page again and again.

The Galvanising Green plant is a type of flower, first analyzed in 1987, this plant is very rare in Europe.

Its effect on humans is easy to depict. For women it is a strong aphrodisiac where as for men just a small amount of the pollen can lead to severe headaches and diarrhea.

Part of him was glad that he didn't have to go through headaches and diarrhea, but a different part of him would've preferred it; because now he had to handle an extremely horny version of you?

As if the normal you wasn't enough to make him feel some type of way.

He read a little further than that before coming to your help again.

"jinnie" you mewled as you started to take off your slytherin coat.

"stop" he held it up your shoulder "listen" he placed one hand on your cheek as he brought his wand up to your face.

Your pupils were blown and your cheeks were now completely flushed.That, and your continuous ragged heavy breathing told him that you definitely inhaled more than enough pollen to trigger this response from your body.

"what?" you breathed.

"it's a really strong aphrodisiac, that's why you're feeling like this" he tired to stay calm.

"huh?" your eyes widened "oh shit" you let your head fall back.

"how do I make it go away?" you asked breathlessly, grabbing onto his bicep.

"the book says you have to work it out of your system otherwise your body will go into a shock state because of all the pollen and hormones it produces" he tried explaining to you.

"huh?" you sounded again.

"come here, get up. We'll go inside first" you complied.

"what do you mean 'work it out of my system'??" you asked him as you left the greenhouse on shaky legs, hyunjin wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

"well" he blushed as he looked down at the invisibility cloak, he had grabbed in the last second, draped over his arm "are you seeing someone at the moment?"

"uh-n-no?" one of your feet gave out for a millisecond but hyunjin caught you before halting you in your steps.

"was that a question or an answer?" he locked eyes with you as he draped the cloak over the both of you.

"a-mh- answer" you stuttered.

"okay uhm" he kept his eyes trained on the secret path back into the castle, james had told him about.

"I'll bring you to your chambers and you'll have to do it alone then" he mumbled.

"alone? What? Do what?" you breathed heavily, suddenly you felt a rush of warmth in your nether regions at which you whimpered.

"you have to..." he cleared his throat "well... work it out of your system" his eyes widened and his head snapped towards you when you moaned.

"y/n? you okay?" you had buried your face in his shoulder.

"shit" he mumbled "here we go" he pointed to a wooden door "just a minute and we'll be inside okay?"

"hmm" you whined.

You walked through said door into a tunnel you'd never seen before; normally you would've scolded him as to why he knew these kind of things but you had other problems right now.

Not a minute later hyunjin tapped onto the wall, which indicated the end of the tunnel, with his wand in a weird pattern.

But somehow it worked and another door appeared, leading the two of you into a small broom closet.

"you have to be quiet now" he whispered, you nodded your head as good as you could and bit your lower lip.

Leaving the broom closet, you stepped into the hallway of the seventh floor of Hogwarts.

"hyunjin, you cant just leave me alone" you whispered desperately when the same tingling warmth returned.

The pollen of the plant overtaking your brain so much that you didnt even care as to how that weird door brought you into a broomcloset that connected to hogwarts again.

"shh" he shushed you before speaking as well "y/n I don't know how else to help you"

That was a lie, of course he knew what he could do.

But that would be unethical; he didn't want to take advantage of you like that.

"you have to help me" you clawed at his coat "please" you whimpered and it went straight into his pants, which he felt guilty about.

Suddenly a door appeared a few meters in front of you, just a second after he'd spotted it, he heard footsteps from behind.

"shit shit, fucking shit" he ushered you to walk faster before quickly opening the door and rushing inside.

When he looked at the door from the inside, it disappeared; leaving only the brick wall.You had already ripped the invisibility cloak off the both of you.

Looking around this mysterious room, he spotted a luxurious king sized bed with nightstands on each side and dimmed lights; that's when he knew where you two were.

"no fucking way" he mumbled, having never before seen the room of requirement.

"hyunjin" his thoughts got interrupted by you dragging him at his coat and stopping right with your back to the bed.

"please help me" you looked up at him with big teary eyes, he could hear your heartbeat, that's how affected you were by the plant.

You discarded your coat, before pushing his down his shoulders as well.

"y/n no" he said, but his coat already laid on the ground.

He caught your wrists when you reached for his belt "y/n you cant think straight, you don't really want this"

"yes I do" you stomped your foot on the ground "I really do" you said quieter as you came closer.

"please jinnie" you freed your wrists from his grip and peeled off your plain black tshirt you always wore under the coat “this is your fault to begin with!”

His eyes stuck to your lacy black bra as you undid the button of your jeans and pushed them down your legs.

He felt his cock stir in his pants when your matching cotton panties were revealed and you stepped out of your jeans, kicking them to the side.

You took advantage of his slow reflexes and looped your arms around his neck "please" you whispered before attaching your lips to the skin under his jaw.

He swallowed hard "fuck y/n" his hands grabbed your waist, making you push yourself against him more flush.

"okay okay" he sighed in defeat, you looked up at him "I'll help you, but we're not going to have sex!"

"hyunj-" you started again.

"y/n I'm serious I don't want to take advantage of you" you swallowed and nodded, eyes big.

"okay" he ducked down a little and plucked you up from the ground by the backs of your thighs.

You squealed in excitement.

"Kiss me" you pleaded after he laid you on your back and slotted himself in between your legs.

His lips were slightly parted as he looked down at you, eyes scanning over your features.

"Okay" he whispered before pressing his lips to your.You instantly moaned into his mouth when his togue pressed against yours.

The next thing you did would've never happened if that plant hadn’t make you hornier than 10000 bunnies.

You took one of his hands and brought it down to cup over your core, mumbling a whiny 'please'.

Hyunjin hissed through his teeth when he felt how soaked your panties were.

He palmed your throbbing cunt roughly, shooting a spark of pleasure up your spine aa he encouraged you to rutt your hips against his hand.

"Oh my- hyunjin" you yelped out after he had discarded your panties and slipped a finger into you.

“okay?” he asked when feeling how tight you were, at which you nodded agressively.It was almost embarrassing how excessively aroused you were ; hyunjin however didnt have alot on his mind in that moment.

All he could focus on was how pretty your flushed cheeks were and how lost you were in the pleasure he was providing you.

His thumb found your aching clit and drew circles over it while pumping his middle finger into you.

"thats it baby, you like that?" He asked a little hesistantly, not sure how you felt about dirty talk, but seeing your chest arch up and hearing your whimpers only spurred him on.

"Hmmmh" you whined "fuck-oh" he looked down at you in awe when your pretty lips shaped into an o form.

"Fuck i'd love to taste you right now, so desperate hm?" He hummed into your ear, it sending straight into your core.

Your back arched off the bed and you clawed at his soft black shirt when his lips found your neck.

"Yes-yes fuck hyunjin-" you cried out when he started sucking at a particular sensitive spot, coming apart shortly after with yelps of his name, clenching around his finger furiously.

"Better?" He asked after a minute, looking down at you, you chest was heaving and a light sheen of sweat covered your body.

"A little" you said quietly.

"Need more?" He asked like the gentleman he was, gently letting his finger slide out of you.

You nodded poutingly as you ran your nails through his hair at the back of his head.

"What you said about tasting me..." you looked up at him shyly "w-would you?"

His eyes widened, would he?

He wanted to, really badly.

So, he heard himself stutter a "yeah" as you unclasped your bra.

The low moan that slipped past your lips when he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth made his cock stir in his boxers.

"you're so sexy" he mumbled against your stomach before suckling at the skin just over your belly button.

"take off your shirt" you pleaded, to which he grinningly complied

You moaned when you felt a new heatwave wash over you at the shight fo his toned torso; gasping when the blonde haired boy reinserted his finger into you.

"arh yes fuck" you groaned, grasping his hair when he started leaving wet kisses on the junction of your legs.

Feeling your arousal being at a height as if you didn't just get off again, you whimpered, realising he was teasing you as he switched between thighs.

"please don't tease jinnie" you pouted, he grinned at the nickname, he loved it but would never admit it.

"mmh- what do you want me to do?" he grinned up at you, his fingers moving too slow inside of you for your liking.

"use your mouth" you begged "please" he almost felt guilty for how much he liked hearing you beg for him.

"how could I say no to that pretty pout" he teasingly nipped at your thigh making you squeal.

-end of flashback-

Just as you speak the password to the fat lady and the door opens, you hear running behind you and a voice "hey! l/n"

Of course you recognize the voice, so you sigh and turn around "hwang" you say, plastering a fake smile on your face.

"you've been avoiding me" he grins as he catches up and steps into the slytherin dungeons at the same time.

"hmm have i?" you mumble, not looking at him directly.

"yea, even though you so clearly couldn't get enough of me two nights ago" he bites his lip and raises his brows cockily when you stop and look up at him.

"listen, I was drugged by a fucking plant okay?" you argue "and you even promised me to never bring it up again, so what the fuck do you want?" you ask.

"never bring it up with anyone else babe, I thought we could talk about how much fun we had together?" he reaches for your waist, at which you slap his hand.

"would you not?" you whisper "there are people here" he just chuckles at the way you blushed slightly.

"okay, I'll make it easy for you hwang, what do you want?" you stem you free hand on your hip sassily.

He breathes in as his eyes wander over your face before his lips curl into a smile and he reaches for you hand "come with me?"

You huff but don’t fight his hand enclosing yours "where?"

"somewhere we can talk in private" he states calmly.

So you follow him out once more, you should've known where this was going but only really realise it when he pulls you in a broom closet.

Books still pressed against your chest with one arm, you hiss "what the fuck? I thought you wanted to talk"

"chill miss goody shoes" he giggles before his eyes fall onto your books "gimme those" he mumbles, taking them from you and plopping them on the ground behind him.

"hyunjin!" you exclaim, mad that your books were getting dust all over them.

He just snickers before coming closer.

You involuntarily press your back against the wall because he’s closing in on your personal space.

"what do you want?" you ask him for the nth time, a little quieter this time.His hands find your hips as he wedges a strong thigh in between your legs.

"I missed you" he says quietly, the lighting in there is bad but you can see that his eyes are fixed on your lips.

"huh?" your breath was shaky.

He grins before leaning in slowly, giving you the opportunity to stop him, and when you don't, he presses his lips against yours.

You kiss him back without thinking, your hands finding their home in his long hair when he gently rolls his tongue against yours.

The grunt that comes from him shoots straight into your pants, you feel how he presses his body into yours; the thigh between your legs getting pressed into your sensitive core.

Moaning against his lips at the new friction; he pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth before moving down your jaw with his lips.

You let out a shaky breath when he reached that one spot on your neck, directly under your jaw.He smiles against your skin before sucking on the soft spot at which another moan leaves your lips.Growing desperate, you start rocking your core against his thigh more obviously.

Hyunjin releases the soft skin from in between his lips, grabbing your jaw with one hand as he looks down at you ministrations.

"need something, pretty girl?" he grins, the nickname has you keening; the friction provided by his thigh being nice but nowhere near enough to get you off.

"please" you just mumble before he kisses your lips again.

Together, you undo the buttons of your cloak before he unzips your jeans and slips his hand into your panties.

-

"w-wait, hold up girl, you're telling me you haven't had sex yet?" victoires gaze bores holes into the side of your face as she sits down across from you on your bed.

There was no way you couldn't have told her about this whole situation you had gotten yourself in.

"no!" you snap your head towards your best friend "we just did a lot of other stuff" you cross your legs to sit more comfortably.

"but I don't plan on sleeping with him anyway" you shrug your shoulders.

"why?" your best friend grins "I thought you were sick of being a nerd and a virgin"

"bitch" you tsked and smacked her calve that was closest to you "you're a nerd as well"

"yea" she snickers "but im not a virgin because I don't feel the need to only do it with someone I'm in love with"

"hmpf" you let yourself fall back onto your back "whats so bad about that though?" you ask more quietly.

"nothing" she lays down next to you "I'm just kidding...but does he know?" you shake your head.

"no, I feel like he'd just call me a prude or miss goody shoes if I told him" you mumble.

"well then he's definitely not the right one to do it with" victoire comments, you just nod.

-

The next morning you’re sitting in the big hall, chatting with victoire as usual, as breakfast was being served.

Suddenly you felt a woosh of air on your right as someone sat down in a hurry.

"hey l/n" you glace to your right to see hyunjin "hey weasley" he nods at victoire opposite from you and him.

When you look over at you best friend you see that james had sat himself next to her, grinning just as big as the blonde boy next to you.

"uh hi?" victoire speaks for the both of you.

"listen up, we graduate in a few weeks and graduation ball is soon as well..." hyunjin starts, still grinning from ear to ear.

You frown, victoire mimicing your expression, both of your gazed flickering between the two boys.

"..so??" she gestures with her toast in hand.

"so...how bout it?" james continues "let’s go to the ball together" he turns to victore before gesturing to you and hyunjin "and those two"

You giggle when seeing victoires face scrunch up in disgust before she flicks james forehead.

"eww potter, I'm not going to the ball with you, that'd almost be like incest. Plus I'm trying to get laid afterwards" you laugh at james shocked expression to your best friends words.

"what do you mean incest babe? Just because we've known each other for so long doesn't mean..." he keeps on rambling to your best friend as she stands up and turns to you.

"excuse me" she exhales annoedly, you chuckle and nod before she walks away, james at her heels, still talking.

"so what about us?" you flinch a little, almost having forgot about hyunjin next to you.

"uhh, I don't know" you say, looking down at your plate.

"why not?" he nides your arm with his elbow "we like each other" he scooches closer "we have fun together" lifting his hand and softly tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he speaks.

You move away from him "yea about that, I think we should stop" you quickly say before getting up to make your way out of the hall as well.

"hey" he catches up with you quickly "why? did I do something wrong?" you roll your eyes as you keep walking.

"I didn't tell anyone about us! I swear! A- and I think y-you know, you're hot, I'm hot; I think we'd look really good toge-"

"can’t you accept a no?" you suddenly stop in your tracks, frowning annoyedly as you tell him off.

"woah- hey I just wanna know why you hate me all over sudden" he looks hurt.

"I don't hate you hyunjin" you sighed "but I also don't like you; you play with girls like they're dolls and when you had your fun you throw them away and I don't want to be thrown away, no matter by who" you breathe in.

"okay okay" he holds up his hands in defense "first of all, everything I had with 'all of these girls' you are talking about" he quotes you, gesturing air quotation marks "was two- sided! They knew what they were getting into, I never lead a single one of them on"

"mhm I'm sure that's why they like you so much now" you speak sarcastically while crossing your arms infront of your chest.

"you're making it seem like I slept with the whole school y/n!... I didn't! just to be clear..." you roll your eyes again.

"Its not my fault when-"

"when what?" you feel yourself get angry "when they fall in love with you?? because you're sooo irresistible??"

"is it so hard for you to believe that I'm not that interested in you? Is your ego that big?" you caught yourself before you got too loud, staring into each others eyes for a few seconds.

When he doesn't react to your statement you turn on your heels, ready to walk away again.

"I kinda hoped you were actually" you stop, turning around to him again when he continues "because I actually like you"

"so that's what you call not leading someone on, yea?" you ask rhetorically.

"I'm not leading you on y/n I'm serious" he walks up to you again.

"you're only interested in me because you haven't actually fucked me yet, hyunjin" you deadpan and walk away for good this time.

-

"girl" victoire exclaims as she walks into your chambers, you look up from the homework you’re doing on your bed a few days later.

“how do you always get in here?” you ask, reffering to the fat lady being very strict with non-house members in the chambers.

“the fat lady loves me!” she shrugs her shoulders, plopping down on your bed.

"alright, what is it?" you look back down to finish writing your sentence.

"I just saw hwang in the hallway, he looked beat" she huffs "and with beat I mean way way  worse than the last few days" she eyes you scribbling something onto your paper.

"hm" you respond.

"what did you do to him?" she asks.

"what do you mean? I protected myself from being just another girl on his list" you continue writing.

"are you sure?" victoire persists "I mean whenever you sat next to each other in class, even after the plant incident...he seemed genuinely happy with you next to him"

"well, sucks for him I guess" you mumble, not looking up, instead turning some pages in your book.

You did feel sorry in hindsight, you shouldn't have talked to him like that. He had always shown you respect and you didn't reciprocate it.

It is just really hard to believe that he'd actually be interested in you, since he was well...kinda perfect at everything and you were just very mediocre at everything.

He is so good looking, and even though he calls you hot and pretty you yourself don't really believe it.

Like,... what do you have that he can’t find in a prettier girl?- "y/n?" victoire speaks up.

"huh??" your head snaps up at her.

"I said... are you sure that you didn't just push him away because you're scared of the fact that you may like him back?" 

-

(a/n: i was inspired by this jungkook fic i read on here like a year ago but i couldn’t find it for the life of me, all i remember is that it was called ‘golden hour’ so if anyone knows what im talking about please tell me so that i can give proper credit! thank u!...also i know the fat lady originally guards the gryffindor common room but i couldnt think of anything else loolll...)

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(part 2 of my advertising agency office au. read part 1 first here)

Something’s different.

Nicky can’t place his finger on what, exactly. At least, not at first. But when he finishes his usual morning work with twenty minutes to spare until lunch, he knows. He’s had no interruptions today. No mistakes born of distraction that he’s learned to allot time to correct.

Joe has not been to the water cooler.

Sitting back in his chair, Nicky frowns at the clock in the bottom corner of the monitor. Twenty minutes is not enough time to complete any of his planned afternoon work. He could start something, but would have to stop for lunch. Unless he worked through lunch. But no, then he’d only get irritable. More irritable.

Why would Joe not visit the water cooler today? He usually came by twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon. He’d tell anyone who would listen that he liked to take a break from the computer screens and stretch his legs.

Did Joe quit?

If Joe quit, Nicky will have to adjust his time management and find a twenty minute long project to fill the new empty spot. He’ll have to learn to live with the unpleasant sinking in his stomach that almost feels like... disappointment.

He should find out one way or another, he reasons. For the sake of his schedule. So he grabs a pile of paperwork that needs copying and heads out into the main hallway. He passes the water cooler, crossing from the cubicles to the offices, and remembers far too late that his pile of paperwork to copy is only so tall because the copy machine is still broken. Despite Nicky’s pleas the day before, the technician insisted he couldn’t visit their office until after noon.

The copier mocks him, usual green lights flashing red. Paper jam, the touchscreen announces, white block letters on a red background. Open tray and remove paper. Someone replaced Nicky’s scribbled note with one written in black marker, Out of Order.

From the cubicles comes the chatter of one-sided phone calls. Sellers making sales. Accountants trying to reconcile uneven numbers, yelling at other accountants.

From the offices, the steady tap of keyboard presses and mouse clicks.

Overhead, the air conditioner breathes through a humming fan.

Nicky holds his pile of papers toward his chest and approaches the copier.

“It’s broken,” says a well-meaning co-worker, walking by with his coffee. He doesn’t stop for a reply, which is good, since the best Nicky could muster is a small apologetic shrug. He waits for the co-worker to disappear into an office. Then he waits a second more.

He takes one step back toward his cubicle, then berates himself for wasting his own time, and peers into Joe’s office.

Joe has his back to the door. The blinds are open this time, thank goodness, but even the blue sky beyond cannot compare to the vibrancy of the color splashes on Joe’s screen. His mouse is a paint brush, bringing forth images, fonts, and patterns in a flourish and dismissing them as quickly.

Headphones cover his ears. The straightness of his shoulders aligns with the back of his chair. He is intensely focused, lost to the rest of the world.

But he hasn’t quit. Not yet.

The sinking in Nicky’s stomach dissipates. Instead, he feels foolish.

Face burning, he rushes back to his cubicle and returns the pile of paperwork onto the corner of his desk. He straightens it.

He checks the clock. Ten minutes to lunch.

He waits.

*

The copier technician finds the paper jam easily enough, but the broken pencil is a different, more complicated matter. In the end, he disassembles half of the machine. It takes hours. At 4:30, Nicky’s co-workers are glaring every time they pass his cubicle. At 5, snide remarks start flying around the water cooler.

The administration staff cannot leave without making copies of their reports for Merrick and the other executives. Merrick likes hard copies, not emails. Nicky suspects he has them sent to a file cabinet and never looks at them. No, Merrick has already told them, emails will not be allowed ever, not even in this special case.

“I can’t have you getting lazy,” he told one co-worker, loud enough for the others to hear.

Merrick, himself, ducked out soon after. The other executives followed. They might have looked sheepish, if they looked at their employees at all. One carried a golf bag. It smacked against the side of Nicky’s cubicle as he walked by, knocking down the printed-out picture Nicky had pinned to the wall, the one of a cat hanging on a tree branch above the words, Hang in there!

To stop his co-workers plotting his murder, Nicky agreed to make copies of everyone’s reports, quadrupling the size of his already impressive pile of paperwork. Worth it, he knew, when his co-workers left with smiles and not glares.

At 7pm, the technician finally has the copier working again. Nicky catches him in the hallway.

“No more pencils,” Nicky says, trying to make light.

“Do whatever you want,” the technician replies, while texting on his phone. “This overtime means I get to charge double.” Laughter follows him to the front of the building. Nicky sighs. He really hopes Merrick doesn’t know his name. He imagines he’ll lose more than one paycheck to that bill if Merrick holds true to his threat to make Nicky pay for it.

With that worry heavy on his mind, Nicky collects his pile of paperwork and hauls it down the hallway.

Lights on the far walls begin to switch off, until only the lights over the main hallway and the small desk light in Nicky’s cubicle remain on. Being surrounded by so much darkness is unsettling. It’s quiet too – no phone calls, no click-clack of the keys. Only the air conditioner keeps him company, whirling overhead.

He loads the pile of papers into the input tray and starts the copier. It whistles and whines as the papers file through, and he sends up a quick prayer that the machine holds out long enough to finish his co-worker’s reports. And maybe his own.

Halfway through, Nicky notices one more light is still on in this building – the one in Joe’s office. Did he forget to turn it off? Nicky peeks inside.

The blinds are drawn. The screens are black. Joe is slumped in his chair, head crooked at an uncomfortable angle, chin resting on his shoulder. His lips are parted, mouth open, drool gathering at the corner. Each inhale couples with a soft snore.

If he sleeps like that the whole night through, he’ll be sore as hell in the morning.

Nicky should leave him, though. It’s not his business, and as far as he knows, Joe fell asleep on purpose.

Except his bare forearms have goosebumps and the overhead light is burning bright. Wouldn’t he have a blanket if he intended to sleep here? Wouldn’t he have turned off the light?

The copier seems to be working well, so Nicky abandons it and steps into Joe’s office. He walks softly at first, unsure, before he realizes how potentially creepy that is and stomps the rest of the way to Joe’s office chair, hoping he’ll wake up on his own. He doesn’t.

“Joe,” Nicky says.

No reaction.

“Joe,” he says again, louder.

Joe snores in response. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks. His curls are wild, bouncing out in all directions. His lips lift softly at the edges, as if a good dream has entrapped him. He’s more than attractive, he’s... cute, in a way that startles Nicky, embarrassed, to action.

He places a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe. Wake up.”

“Nicky,” Joe says, laughing, as he turns his head further into the chair. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Nicky freezes. His breath catches. He’s sure even his heart skipped a beat.

But Joe’s eyes are closed. He’s still sleeping.

“Brighter than the moonlight,” Joe says, words slurring. He sniffs. “Deeper than the ocean. I could drown,” he yawns, “looking at you.” He curls around his arms and snores again, louder.

There could be other Nicky’s with bright eyes, Nicky reasons, as his hands tremble and his heart thunders, alive in a way it has never been before.

Nicky should wake him, right? He should.

At the copier, paper whirls through the machine. It’s finished scanning now, and is stapling the sets. Nicky walks past, down the lonely lit corridor to his cubicle. He snatches his green jacket off the back of the chair. The outside is coarse, waterproof material, but the inside is soft cotton. He brings it back to Joe’s office. Carefully, he drapes the jacket over Joe like a blanket, tucking it under his arms.

“...if you... hold me...” Another snore.

“Joe,” Nicky says again, trying only once more to wake him. When Joe’s eyes do not open, Nicky sighs. “Sweet dreams, Yusuf.” He runs his hands down Joe’s covered arms, making certain the jacket is secure. At the door, Nicky clicks off the light.

When he returns to the copier, it has finished the reports. Nicky delivers them to the mailboxes of the executives.

He shivers all the way home, but he doesn’t mind, knowing Joe is warm.

[bruhlsbees]

to the end - preview

summary: reader starts her first day at the paper and receives a big break

pairing: niki lauda x fem!reader

word count: 2,116

warnings: n/a

a/n: okay y'all i told you i would be writing something niki related after i finished watching rush and here it is! first chapter will be posted sometime this week - as always lemme know if you want to be on the taglist and if you have any other niki lauda writing ideas pls send them my way!!

You knew you should have taken your car into the shop before your first day on the job. The smoke from the engine was seeping out of the sides on the hood and you could smell the burning of whatever it was that was heating up. That’s what you get though for thinking a Ford Cortina was the best choice of car.

Thankfully you managed to pull into the lot before your car wheezed to death. Pushing your foot down on the break, you held your breath as your foot went down, down, down - the car not slowing. The breaks were shit, the engine was shit, what about your car wasn’t shit? Glancing over at the dashboard, sitting in the middle, was the hula dancer your friend gave you before you left to take the job. That, that wasn’t shit.

When your car finally came to a stop, you cut the engine and pulled your keys out, leaning back in the seat as you stared ahead of you at the building. It was an old car garage that had been turned into a paper company. The main waiting room was turned into the secretary and front room while the garage had been turned into the news room where the reporters worked. It was fitting for what the paper’s beat was.

Looking over towards the passenger seat, you reached into the box that had your belongings and pulled out the newspaper clipping of the job offer.

RACING STRIPES NEWSPAPER IS LOOKING FOR NEW REPORTERS TO COVER THE UPCOMING FORMULA RACE SEASON - NO EXPERIENCE REQUIRED

Not to boost your own ego, but you knew it wouldn’t be hard to get the job. With your four years of experience under your best and bachelor’s degree in Journalism, they’d be a fool to turn you away, especially if they were so desperate. You knew how to work in a room full of men, you’ve done it all your career so far - working in a room full of men eager to cover the next formula racing gossip, now that was the challenge.

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t too proud to be working for The Racing Stripes Co. They had a reputation of causing more trouble than they did good and hardly followed any journalistic ethics. You needed the money though, and getting in the middle of formula racing meant your name being shown. Maybe it was a little ridiculous, but as a woman - getting your name out there and showing men that you could do their job just as good, if not better, was what you aimed for.

So you found The Racing Stripes ad in the paper, gave them a call, got an interview, and hired on the spot. Today was your first day and you were going in guns blazing.

Opening the driver side door, you pushed the door open and grabbed your box of belongings before standing up, pulling your suede pants down a bit and shutting the door shut. Turning towards the building, you let out a deep breath before making your way across the lot and into the main waiting room.

The bell that was above the door rang when you pushed it open, smiling weakly as the older woman looked up from her desk, grinning towards you.

“Well, well, you must be the new reporter?” Standing up, she extended her hand out to shake. You quickly shuffled your box into your other hand, extending your right out to shake her’s, “I’m Regina, but please, call me Gina, all the boys around here do.”

Watching her step out from her desk, she pulled down her skirt a bit and tugged her sweater around her before looking you up and down, “Pants girl, huh? I would’ve taken you for the dress type.” She commented before walking towards the side door that led out to the garage.

Taken back, you opened your mouth and looked down at your own attire: loose flower blouse, suede pants, and dull heels. You thought you looked nice, maybe you were underdressed? When you looked up and realized she wasn’t there, you quickly rushed after her, catching the door before it shut in your face and into the garage, scanning the room at the desks that were lined up, voices talking over voices as some men screamed into the phone, scribbling notes down on loose leaf pieces of paper.

“Newcomer? Nah, we don’t know him. We only cover well-known faces - whoever this Lowdo person is, we don't know him, we ain’t coverin him...no I don’t wanna hear it, gimme a better name and then we’ll talk...fine, fine, I’ll see what the boss says, but don’t expect anything!”

When the phone slammed down and the man stood up, you tried to pull your attention away as Gina stopped at the empty desk, smiling towards you.

“Well, this is you. You’ll be across from David. He was the newest reporter before you,” She turned to David who was busy typing at his typewriter, not paying much attention to you as you sat your box of belongings down at the desk, “David, be good to her. It’s not everyday we get a lady around the journal.”

Before you could start getting your things out, you glanced over at Gina who seemed to linger. Raising an eyebrow, you felt her hands grab your arm, pulling you towards the back, “Before you get settled, I should probably let the boss know you’re here. He might have a story already lined up for you.”

You managed to snake your arm out of her grasp, trailing behind her as she went into the office first, the room filled heavily with smoke and the scent of cigars. Coughing, you waved the heavy smoke out of your face, shaking your head as you adjusted to the scent.

“Boss? It’s the new girl, she’s here.” Gina explained, stepping to the side to let you come in more. Standing beside Gina, your mouth twitched into a smile, looking ahead of you at your new boss - Hank Fezzold. He was a bigger gentleman, with a thick black mustache that drooped over his upper lip, his balding hair combed to one side, and a fat cigar hanging from his lips.

He seemed to take his time wrapping up with whatever it was he was doing. Finishing the cigar before crushing the rest of it into the ashtrap, clearing his throat and looking up at you and Gina.

“So, first day, huh?” You nodded and clasped your hands behind you, waiting for him to continue. He hummed in thought before looking at his desk, going through his papers, “Well, I imagine you know what the job entails? It’s not ethical, as I know you had mentioned in your interview, but it pays well and I think you can mind the code of ethics for a crisp bill, wouldn’t you say?”

You stifled a laughed and nodded, “I’m aware of the job, Mr. Fezzold - if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, staring at one another before Gina finally stepped in, clearing her throat, “Well, Mr. Fezzold, if that’s all, I’m sure she’d like her story so she can get started, yes?”

Mr. Fezzold stared at you for a moment longer before finally nodding, “Yes, well, suppose you’re right, Gina. We are about to have our morning brief so you’ll get assigned a piece then, yes?”

You nodded once, mumbling a ‘yes sir’ before turning and heading out of the office, making your way back to your desk to get whatever you could out before the morning brief began.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You weren’t sure what to expect exactly when the morning brief began. At your old job, things were relatively hectic, but at least there was order. The Racing Stripes lived up to their reputation - messy, unordered, and pure chaos.

Everyone was screaming over one another from their desks, holding up papers of notes that they had gathered to try and convince Mr. Fezzold why they should cover the story they came up with. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, groaning at how loud the room was, the walls of the garage echoing. Mr. Fezzold seemed to have enough as well, slamming his fist against the desk that he was seated at.

“Enough! Bloody Mary, with this eagerness just to get a story going, you’d think you’d already have it all covered! I don’t give a damn if it’s been covered already, just get the fucking content out and we will work from there. We don’t know a single thing about this season yet, so gather what we can get and we’ll decide from there.”

It was the man from earlier who raised his hand, the one that you overheard on the phone. When Mr. Fezzold nodded for him to speak, frustrated by his sudden politeness, the man stood up and cleared his throat.

“I got a call earlier today, Mr. Fezzold, someone going on about some newcomer from Austria, Niko Laudo? I think that’s his name...they think he’s going to be an important figure this season, want us to cover him. I told them that we don’t cover nobodies, Sir, but I said I’d let you know about it.”

The room erupted in laughs, thinking it was crazy for the man to even suggest it. You didn’t see what the big deal was - newcomers often had more stories than known ones since they’re new and still getting their story out. Nobody seemed to want to take the story, and you thought maybe - maybe, this could be your big break.

Standing up, you cleared your throat to gain everyone’s attention, although that didn’t seem to work. Everyone was still laughing and teasing the man who pitched the idea, saying that he should take it if he’s so obsessed with the man. You bit your tongue, hoping that maybe you’d get a brief second of silence to finally tell them that you would take it. But it never came.

Finally having enough, you sighed and took a deep breath, “HEY!” You yelled over the men, watching as they all fell in silence, mouths gaped at the sudden outburst that came from you. Sighing, you cleared your throat and adjusted your posture, standing up, “I’ll take it. In my experience, you get a fresh face and they’ll give you double the stories of what you’re already getting from a big shot. Whoever this Niko Laudo man is, I’m sure the guy is right, maybe he is going to make a name for himself.”

Mr. Fezzold leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag from his new cigar before exhaling the smoke from his nose. With the cigar in between his index and middle finger, he shook it at you, a smirk toying on his lips.

“You got guts kid, I’ll give you that. But you’re new to covering formula racing - that theory might work for the town paper that you used to work at, but here what people wanna read about is who they already know. You throw out a nobody and the paper might as well be just thrown in the trash.”

You could feel your lips curve into a frown, not sure what to say next. You wanted to prove that you could do it, but it seemed like Mr. Fezzold and the rest of The Racing Stripes Co. were stuck in their own ways. Until Mr. Fezzold surprised you and the rest of the reporters in the room.

“I tell you what. You wanna get your big break here? Fine, I’ll give this to you. Cover him throughout the season and if you’re right on him and your stories do well, I’ll think about keeping you around.”

You smiled weakly and nodded, thanking him before watching as he nodded back, standing up after crushing his cigar in the ashtray and clapping his hands.

“Okay ladies, come on! Season is starting and we got stories to cover. I don’t want to see anyone slacking or else you can kiss your jobs goodbye, you hear?”

Scrambling to get started, reporters began dialing numbers and attempting to set up interviews. They already were steps ahead of you since they were covering racers from the previous seasons. While they were getting interviews, you were only starting to figure out how to get in touch with this Niko Laudo person. As you searched through papers and notes that the man, who’s name you learned to be Ted, gave you - you realized quickly that maybe you were in over your head.