#n mans has a bit of an issue stretching himself too thin

[lavenoon]

@naffeclipse cat trapped him yet again (if he won't rest I'll make him)

*self insert Aster is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

[jackrrabbit]

cuffing season /// Ushijima x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [Shiratorizawa fanweek day 5—Firsts] You convince your boyfriend to try something new in the bedroom, but as it turns out, old habits die hard.

A/N: Heard it was Shiratorizawa week 👀 technically I did originally post this on day 5, but I had to repost bc of tag issues, whoops :P Let’s pray it works this time!! edit: apparently it’s still not listed in the tags :<

The song that I mention is Bruno Major’s Old Fashioned (although it doesn’t fit the tone of this fic in the least).

Tags/warnings: mild bondage, size kink, rough sex!!!, marking (bruises/hickeys/etc.), power play/power exchange, reader tries & fails to dom Mr. Ushijima 😳, all characters are adults

Look, Ushijima’s a great boyfriend. Perfect, almost. Sure, he may not be the most expressive guy, but you’ve been dating him long enough that you’re able to pick up on the little gestures that tell you that he cares about you—the way he presses his face into your hair when you hug him after you’ve been apart for a while; his hands stroking circles into your skin when you fall asleep in bed next to him; all of it. He’s everything you could possibly look for in a man, except for one not-so-little issue:

The sex.

Because Ushijima, your sweet, wonderful boyfriend, who kisses you so gently it’s like he thinks you’ll fall apart if he’s not infinitely careful with you, is for some reason incapable of exercising the same degree of restraint (or any restraint at all) when you’re in bed together. When it comes to sex, your boyfriend is a fucking animal. And you’re not really sure how much more you can handle.

Maybe your concerns would seem petty from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not like Ushijima doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and it’s not like you don’t want to have sex. You’re attracted to him, of course you are! Almost 76 inches and 190 pounds of pure muscle, a body that looks like Michelangelo could have carved it from marble, and that beautifully solemn expression that had you salivating over him from the stands before you even knew his name? You want to have sex with him, you’re just fairly certain you can’t, not when it always ends up with you completely and utterly wrecked, so spent you don’t even have the strength to lift your hips off the mattress so he can wipe his cum off your thighs.

Look, anyone in your position would feel the same way. It’s awful and you’ll never admit it to him, but you almost broke up with him after the first time you two fucked. You knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy—the man radiates big dick energy and boy did he deliver—but it was just too much.

That first time had started off so innocuously, with you inviting him to your place for a nightcap after your sixth date. You’d set candles and put on your romantic sex playlist for a nice backdrop to let him hold you in his lap and make out—how the hell had you gone from that to having him rut you into the mattress, your belly pressed into the sheets and ass arched up so he could pound into you so forcefully that your rickety bed smacked into the wall hard enough to rattle the furniture with every movement, and you couldn’t even hear it over the sound of your own moaning? You hadn’t changed the playlist, and it felt downright obscene to listen to Bruno Major croon about love and courtship while Ushijima fucked into you like he was trying to carve the shape of his cock into your pussy.

You’d had to call in sick the next day because you could barely walk. The bruises from where he held your hips had taken weeks to fade, and by that time he’d already given you new ones. To his credit, Ushijima felt bad when he saw the evidence of how rough he’d been and he promised to take it easy on you next time…but after a few more rounds of mind-numbingly savage sex you learned that the man apparently doesn’t know what ‘take it easy’ means.

To be fair, at least some of it is your fault. You really shouldn’t have offered to go on the pill as a three-month anniversary present to him. At least before, he had to give you a break while he changed condoms after he came; now he has no reason to hesitate, instead going for round two (and sometimes round three) without pulling out. You never thought you’d see superhuman stamina as a bad thing, but…

“You don’t get it! It’s like getting fucked by a stallion. I need to plan to have three days to recover whenever I take him home with me,” you whined to your friends over cocktails when they told you you shouldn’t complain about a good thing—after all, Ushijima is just as committed to your pleasure as he is to his own, and there’s never been an occasion where he didn’t get you off before fucking you himself (probably at least a little because there’s no way in hell you’d be relaxed enough to take him otherwise).

“Can’t you just tell him to go slower?” one of your friends asked. “If he doesn’t listen to you, then that’s fucked up and you need to dump him.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t listen. If I tell him to stop, he stops,” you sighed, stirring your drink with the straw and watching the decorative sprig of mint fall under the surface to be overtaken by a chip of ice. “It’s like he can’t go slower. He’s not adjustable—it’s either crazy brutal or nothing, and then neither of us get what we want. Like a vibrator you can’t turn off the highest level. I don’t even think he realizes in the moment how intense it is for me.”

“Aren’t you ever on top? You can set the pace.”

“I’ve tried, but Ushi just—“ you made a gripping motion with your hands and mimicked raising something up and setting it down vigorously— “like, bounces me.”

One of them raised an eyebrow and then her eyes widened. She turned to your other friend and the two of them whispered to each other for a bit, then shifted back to you. “Tie him up,” she said with the air of an elder imparting sage knowledge, and your other friend nodded.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious. Guys usually love it when girls are in control, you just need to take the initiative. Get him tied down and then you can show him exactly how you like it. Let him feel like he’s at your mercy for once.”

The idea had seemed unthinkable at the time, but you hadn’t been able to forget it—which is why after weeks of contemplation, hours of research, and a single extremely awkward trip to a sex shop, you’re now crouching over Ushijima’s naked chest, wrapping a leather cuff around one of his wrists.

“Are you sure that this is something you want to do?” Ushijima asks in that weighty baritone that makes you shiver with need. He doesn’t pull away, but he eyes your actions warily as you thread the chain of the cuffs around a rung in the center of your headboard and reach over to do the other side.

“…Yes,” you tell him, a little less firmly than you would have liked, and you lick your lips to try to make up for how suddenly dry your mouth is. “Anyway, isn’t that my line? We don’t have to do the cuffs if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.”

“It’s alright. You and I both know you couldn’t force me, (Y/N).” Dark eyes pin you down and it’s incredibly unfair how much power he has over you even when he’s the one chained to the bed.

Ushijima’s right, obviously—if he didn’t want to be exactly where he is right now, he wouldn’t be. You’re sure as hell not strong enough to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Okay then…good,” you reply, adjusting the straps of the cuffs to accommodate for how stupidly thick his wrists are. When you’re satisfied that they won’t chafe but he can’t get out of them without your help, you sit back next to his chest and admire your handiwork. Ushijima lays on his back, naked, relaxed, even with his arms stretched up to your headboard and cuffed there. He looks good, mouthwateringly good, and you’re ready to get your hands on him when you remember there’s something you need to get straight first. “Wait, before we—before I do anything, remember— what do you say if you want me to stop?”

“…Vanilla,” Ushijima says, reciting the safeword you decided on when you were hammering out details, although the look in his half-lidded eyes is telling you very clearly that he has no intention of needing to use it.

Privately you agree, but everything you’ve read on the kink blogs you’ve been trolling for research tells you that a responsible adult doesn’t put cuffs on their partner without deciding on a safeword first, and you’re determined to do this by the book. “Good boy,” you say, and the diminutive feels awkward in your mouth until you see Ushijima’s reaction—the flash in his eyes, a minuscule hitch in his breathing next to you, and the scrape of metal against wood as he gives a light pull at the cuffs.

With everything safe and accounted for, you give a final tug to the chain to ensure it’s secure, then inch back and swing one leg over the broad expanse of his chest so you’re straddling his abdomen (and he’s so damn big that there’s a twinge of soreness in your thighs just from sitting on top of him). Fuck, he looks good like this, all spread out and pinned underneath you, so masculine and bulky that you’re feeling your pussy get wet just from watching him watching you.

It’s not often you get to appreciate him like this—usually you’re too focused on not losing your mind from how deeply he’s fucking you—so you savor it, massaging his shoulders and sliding your fingers down his sides, tracing the smooth skin with a feather-light touch and then dipping to kiss under his jaw. Feeling more than a little devious, you let your teeth graze over the thin skin at the base of his neck and with your chest pressed into his, it’s not hard to feel his sharp intake of breath.

“The marks...my teammates will notice.”

“Maybe I should stop, then,” you murmur against his skin, lifting up just enough to brush over his nipples. He stiffens, and once again you hear him tugging at the cuffs.

“…Don’t. I want them to see,” Ushijima says, and once you have his permission you don’t waste any time in latching your mouth to his skin and sucking. It’s been ages since you’ve given anyone a hickey. Usually you’re the one marked up like a teenager after Ushijima has his way with you, so this is a nice change of pace, especially when you can feel him flexing underneath you.

Well, kissing is nice…but you’re getting impatient and you know he is too. Once you’re satisfied that your hickeys are going to show up nice and bright red around his neck like a collar, you sit back, walking your hands back on his chest, stroking over his abdomen and giving a little roll of your ass on top of him. Ushijima’s hips twitch—unconsciously, you wonder?—and he glares at you in a way that tells you in no uncertain terms to hurry up and let him fuck you.

And damn it, something about that look has you feeling weak. Needy. Obedient. But this time you’re supposed to be in charge, so you smirk and lift your hips, pulling your body back so his cock is nestled between your legs, not quite touching your pussy. He’s already hard—no surprises there, considering how intently he’s watching you as you mess with him—but you only take a second to stroke his cock up and down before shifting up so he can see you slick your fingers up in your own pussy.

“(Y/N)…” Ushijima’s voice is low, annoyed, and he looks hungry. But you’re so amazed at how wet you are under your own fingers that you don’t bother to pay attention to him shifting his position under you to try to get stimulation. Your juices are literally slicking up your own thighs, just from chaining up your boyfriend and teasing him a little? You should have done this a long time ago.

You push two fingers into your pussy and pump them a few times, making sure to angle your hips so Ushijima can see them go in and out. The stretch is almost uncomfortable for a second and you wince a little before schooling your expression, knowing you’re about to have something a lot bigger than two fingers stretching you open. Ushijima catches it though, and he frowns, trying to sit up before remembering the cuffs that are holding him back. “Let me—let me do it for you—“

“No, stay down,” you say quickly, using your other hand to push him back into the mattress while you continue to touch yourself. Ushijima lets you (and there’s no doubt in your mind that he is letting you), but his eyes narrow as he zeroes in on the way your fingers are glistening with your own pussy juices.

God, you’re—you’re supposed to be in control, aren’t you? So then you shouldn’t be feeling like this, eyes drifting closed as you fuck yourself on your fingers, letting your lower knuckles rub against your clit while you try to curl them to rub against your g-spot. Ushijima’s been spoiling you…you can’t remember the last time you’ve had to do this yourself, and as you feel the tension building up slowly you catch yourself wishing it were him fingering you instead.

His fingers are just so thick. And long, and so rough. You bite your lip thinking about the way he does it when he preps you to take his cock, mashing his palm into your clit, petting along inside you and scissoring his fingers and… “Mmh,” you hum, holding back a real moan for Ushijima’s sake.

There’s another click of the chain sliding over the headboard wood and it reminds you that he’s right there, you could just uncuff him and he could touch you and fill you up with those thick fingers, make you cum, make you cry. But the urge to seek your own pleasure is outweighed by the image he’s making as he looks at you, his expression almost angry in its intensity now that he’s watching you do this to yourself and he has no way to get his hands on you.

“Ahh—“ you whine, letting a real whimper out at the thought of what you’re doing to him. “Ushi, Ushi, do you wanna touch? Wanna touch me?”

His head ducks into a hasty nod and his jaw clenches at the strain of having to ask for what he wants instead of just taking it like usual.

The longer you touch yourself, the closer you’re getting…but you don’t want to cum, not just yet. You draw your fingers out of your dripping cunt and open them up in a V, showing off the juices that connect them, the evidence of how wet you are for him. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I think there’s something else I want in me instead.”

And then you’re reaching to the side for the lube, squeezing a healthy dollop into your palm and then wrapping your hand around Ushiijma’s cock. And—fuck, he’s big. Sure, you’ve had sex with him plenty, but no matter how often you take him, you never stop feeling absolutely torn up after. A tingle of trepidation races up your spine at the thought of riding him like this—can you even put it in by yourself?

Even just looking at it is intimidating. He’s painfully hard, cock flushed red and bobbing up against his lower stomach every time you let it go, and, Jesus, how is it even possible that this thing would fit inside you? When you wrap your hand around him your fingers don’t touch; he must be thicker around than your own wrist.

Halfway. That’ll going to be your goal tonight, to take him halfway. And even that…is going to be a stretch.

The anxiety must show on your face because once again you’ve got Ushijima straining at the cuffs. “(Y/N)—“ he spits as you stroke him up, nudging your palm against the tip. “(Y/N), you need to finish first. Let me make you cum.”

“No, this time I want to—I’m gonna cum on your cock,” you say, adjusting your position so you’re kneeling above him, the head of his cock sliding between your lips. “Gonna cum on your big cock, Ushi, okay?”

His cock jumps in your hand at the provocation. He’s glaring at you, but he’s also leaking precum, the sticky fluid mixing with the lubricant. You give Ushijima a moment to say the safeword if he really doesn’t want you to, and when he stays quiet you raise yourself up a little more and line the head of his cock up with your weeping slit. You hold your pussy lips open with your fingers, easing your thighs down and pressing the head into you and—

“Oh—oh—oh, fuck, oh fuck, Ushi—“ you stutter out helplessly.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last fucked you. One week, six days and about three hours, and at the moment this measure of time seems unreasonably important because it’s been almost two weeks since you last let Ushijima split you in half with his ridiculously huge cock.

You’re not ready, should’ve prepped more, should’ve let him make you cum like he said—fuck, it feels like you’re losing your virginity—and the mixture of dismay and relief that spills over you when the thick swell of his head pushes past that tight ring of muscle is almost nauseating.

The tip? Seriously, just the fucking tip, and you’re already delirious, shaking, your thighs quivering on either side of his. It’s taking all of your strength to keep from going slack—but you know if you do, his whole cock is going to slide up into you and even thinking about that has your cunt clenching and unclenching around what you’re able to fit inside.

“Do you need help?” Despite the strain in Ushijima’s voice at being teased like this, there’s an undercurrent of amusement. He clearly doesn’t have faith in your ability to take him deeper by yourself.

It’s this—this quiet arrogance, this belief that he knows what’s best for you and he’s the only one who can give it to you—that gives you the guts to convince yourself to lower yourself down onto his his cock until you’re literally gasping for air. It fucking hurts, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it; instead, you brace your hands against the stiff muscle of his chest and try to focus on the way his cockhead is pressing into your g-spot.

Halfway…he’s gotta be at least halfway in, right? You sneak a glance up at him and bite back a curse at the look on his face, serious as ever, so focused on the place where your pussy is reluctantly eating up his cock that you feel your insides tense up around him again.

You don’t even know how it’s possible for you to get tighter around him but somehow you must be able to, because you hear Ushijima grunt underneath you, and his muscles contract under your palms as he tries again to sit up. When he can’t, he hisses in frustration. “Move…now. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Funny, aren’t you supposed to be the one controlling him? But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way when you’re barely able to stay upright just from trying to ride his cock. You nod desperately, chin jutting up and down like a bobblehead, and lift your hips up off his cock until just the tip is left inside. When you push yourself back down you can’t help whimpering at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding up into you, that stiff, wet cockhead dragging over your g-spot.

By now the pain has faded into an uncomfortable stretch, like leaning too heavily into a foreign pose in yoga, enough that you’re able to feel the arousal building in the pit of your belly and hold onto it as you rock your hips up and down him. The pace is slow—almost too slow; you marvel at yourself for wanting it faster—and there’s a fair amount of Ushijima’s cock that you’re not able to take, but this is really all you can handle.

“Mmm, Ushi, fuck, you’re so big, so big and hard inside me, feels so good on your cock—“ you moan, knowing you sound less like the dominant partner in this position and more like you’re teasing him, pushing his limits.

Ushijima’s breathing is heavy. Labored. He’s trying to hold himself back. “(Y/N), deeper—take me deeper, now.”

Part of your brain vaguely recognizes that he isn’t supposed to be giving the orders here, but you’re too drunk on the feeling of fucking yourself on his cock to complain, so you lower your hips and try, but it feels like you’re just too weak to do it yourself. “Ushi please, it’s too much, too big, I can’t, please—“

And your pleading must sound like an invitation, because his eyes flash and you feel him shifting the position of his legs behind you—and then he bucks his hips up and his cock sinks into your cunt, pushing up into your gooey insides until the head is pressing into the tight opening of your cervix.

“Ahn—?” you squeal, startled. What? He—what? Fuck, it’s deep, it’s so deep, you can’t hold yourself up so you flop downward, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, “ohhh Ushi pleasepleaseplease” and you barely hear yourself over the lubed-up slap of his pelvis against your skin.

Fuck, it feels like he’s knocking the breath out of you. Feels like you can’t fucking breathe like his cock isn’t just pushing against your stomach but your lungs too, can’t breathe so you bear down on his shoulders try to hold yourself up try to let yourself adjust but—

Ushijima’s in control now.

Not that he ever wasn’t, you’d think if you were capable of thinking except you’re not because as you try to situate yourself make yourself relax around that monster cock filling you up, he’s not giving you a moment to catch your breath, instead thrusting up into you at his usual breakneck pace. Apparently he doesn’t need to use his hands to make you bounce—you’re not even moving yourself now, just trying to hold still as his hips slam his cock inside you again and again and again, and again, rubbing up against that sweet spot in your pussy so quickly that you think you might go crazy from it.

“Nngh, so tight,” he growls, and you can tell from the way the words are choked out that he’s gritting his teeth. You almost want to roll your eyes—of course you’re tight, anyone would feel tight around him—but it feels like if you do your eyes might roll back in your head so you don’t.

Jesus fuck, you can’t even understand how long it’s been but you do know that it’s absurd for you to want to cum already, only the thick mass of his cock pushing into you is somehow hitting all the right buttons, just like it always does. Even if it’s rough you want more. By now you’re trying to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips in time with him fucking you open, doing your best to participate but really it’s all you can do to even stay still with how roughly he’s fucking you. “Ushi, fuck, so deep, wanna cum I wanna cum please let me cum—“

“Touch yourself,” he commands breathlessly because he’s still tied to the headboard and he can’t do it, and you barely have the strength to pick one of your hands up off of where you’re scratching into his shoulder and pull it down to rub at your clit.

It’s not enough and you whimper desperately, you don’t want your own fingers, you want Ushijima’s, you want him to touch you. You’re probably saying it out loud by now, begging him to put his hands on you—his eyes widen and then the sound of the metal cuff chain grating over wood reaches you—you can see the skin of his wrists get lighter from lack of blood flow, he’s pulling at the cuffs, pulling too hard, he’s going to hurt himself, you have to stop him—and then you hear a snap.

Aw, shit. The bed.

The thought comes in a singular moment of clarity as you watch the rung Ushijima’s chained to separate itself from the rest of the headboard, splintering, the nail that held it in place looking pathetically flimsy next to the veins bulging in his arms as he slides the chain away from it. He flexes his hands, forming fists and then unclenching them to restore the interrupted blood flow, and then you’ve only got a second to prepare yourself before he’s upright, dragging your hips up to meet his.

“Ushi, Ushi, Ushi, I want, please, I want you,” you beg, but you didn’t really have to because you’re pretty sure there’s no force on Earth that could stop him from holding you up so he can fuck down into you with a ferocity that could be mistaken for anger if you weren’t certain it was really lust.

The entire bed is creaking and rocking against the force of his movement, but you don’t really have the headspace to worry about more property damage considering he’s got you supporting yourself on the mattress on your back and shoulders, your spine curled up so he can kneel and still have your hips aligned with his, your legs dangling bonelessly on either side of him.

Fuck. Holy fuck. You open your mouth but words don’t come out, only a choked whimper, but if you could speak you’d be saying yesyesyesyesyes, touch me.

Despite your inability to speak, Ushijima picks up on what you need and then along with his cock carving its way in and out of you you’re getting the feeling of his fingers padding over your clit. Rough and callused, not gentle, nothing like the way you touched yourself earlier, but you’re starting to realize you don’t mind the aggression. In fact, it’s good, it’s so good, so good you’re gonna cum.

You’re gonna cum.

A long, drawn-out whine is spilling out of your lips before you can stop it; you wrap your hand over your own mouth out of shame or maybe courtesy to your neighbors (although by now they’ve probably invested in earplugs after listening to you squeal like a pig on Ushijima’s cock dozens of times in the past). Still, as your climax rocks through you shove your thumb between your teeth to bite down on it, but the sharp pain is nothing compared to the pleasure.

“Ushiiiii—“ you sob around your own fingers. Your spine arches—or rather, you try to arch your back but you can’t, not with Ushijima’s full body weight pressing into you and keeping you pinned to the mattress.

It hurts, it feels good, you’re seeing stars, you’re hearing Ushijima snarl as your pussy tightens up and convulses on his cock. His one-handed grip on your ass gets painfully tight as he abandons whatever pretense of restraint he had left and pumps his cock into you so hard and fast you’re pretty sure the headboard isn’t going to be the only thing broken, but you don’t fucking care because you’re cumming, you’re cumming, you’re cumming so hard you think you black out for a second, holy fuck.

It’s only when you hear Ushijima’s panting breath and feel him pulling your hand away from your mouth that you regain your grip on reality. “You’re bleeding,” he says, holding your hand up and inspecting the shallow indentations your teeth made on your thumb.

“…You broke my bed,” you reply tiredly once you’ve gotten in a lungful of air, what feels like the first full breath you’ve been able to take since he put his cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima tells you, although he doesn’t look particularly sorry.

You roll your eyes. “Did you cum?”

“Yes. When you did.” Without him holding you up there’s nothing to prevent you from sliding down off his softening (but still unfairly impressive) cock. You’re certainly not strong enough to keep yourself in position.

Even if he hadn’t confirmed it, you’d still be able to feel the familiar heat of his semen plastering your insides, and once your still-sensitive pussy is exposed to the cool air your inner muscles squeeze involuntarily but hard enough to force some of his cum out—you sense it, hot and thick, dripping out of your pussy to smear against your thighs. “Can we take a bath?” you ask, knowing you’ll barely be able to walk over to the bathroom, much less stand under the shower unassisted.

Ushijima nods and moves off the bed. “I can carry you,” he adds when you try to stand up and your knees almost give out before you flop back onto the mattress.

At this angle, with you sitting and him standing in front, it’s difficult not to see that despite cumming literally less than two minutes ago, he’s already getting stiff again. Jesus, is he even human? After how hard you just came, the thought of letting him fuck you again is giving you something stronger than butterflies, but you look up at him and offer anyway. “Wait, do you…um, want to go for another round?”

Ushijima’s gaze meets yours and then travels over your body underneath him. You must look like a mess—sweaty, hair all fucked up and tangled, body still shaking with the aftershocks of your climax and barely able to sit comfortably on your aching pussy—and you guess he sees how jittery (nervous?) you feel because for the first time since your relationship started, he shakes his head to turn down an offer of sex. “No, I’ll take care of it. Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay,” you sigh, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and raising your arms to let him pick you up.

“(Y/N).”

When Ushijima doesn’t move to carry you, you frown. “Hm?”

“The cuffs.”

Oh, right. The black leather is wrapped around both of his wrists, chain still intact. Apparently these cuffs are stronger than your headboard. Good quality. Too bad they’re going in the trash. You make quick work of the release and then undo the straps carefully, massaging over the light pink marks on your boyfriend’s wrists once they’re free.

“Sorry, did it hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I mean, I just wanted…” You trail off, feeling infinitely embarrassed that despite all your claims of dominating him, he still ended up with the upper hand, cuffs or no cuffs. And you liked submitting to him. There’s no denying that.

“It didn’t. And…I enjoyed having you on top,” Ushijima tells you, lifting you effortlessly into a princess-carry now that his arms are free.

“Yeah right. We’re never using those again,” you scoff, tucking your head into his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. “My boss is going to get mad that I keep taking sick days every time I have sex with you. I’m just going to throw the cuffs out.”

From your position, so close to him, you can barely see the upward quirk of his mouth that would be as good as laughter for anyone else. “Don’t get rid of them. I think…next time, I would like to have you wearing them, (Y/N).”

Well, fuck.

[heyyyharry]

She Likes Girls

(a blurb from the Flatmate series)

…in which Harry's favourite cousin, who’s a lesbian, comes visit and spends a lot of time with Y/N.

Word count: 3.2k

Someone requested ANOTHER jealous flatmate Harry blurb so I decided to write it a bit different this time ;)

.

.

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“Hi, um, does Harry live here?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, holding the door open just wide enough to show her face. The purple-haired girl she’d never met before broke into a smile and politely extended her hand. “I’m here to see him. You must be his flatmate. I’m Millie.”

“I’m Y/N.” Y/N smiled back, giving the girl’s hand a hesitant shake. She’d never seen Harry with this girl before, but the girl looked nice enough to not be a serial killer. “He’s at the library,” she told Millie. “He’ll probably be back soon. Would you like to wait inside?”

“Sure. That’d be great,” Millie said, smiling again.

Y/N pulled the door open and stepped aside for the girl to enter. Personally, Y/N would hate it when someone she’d just met would eye her up and down, but that was exactly what she was doing to Millie. She wasn’t trying to be rude. Millie was really pretty. She just didn’t look like the girls Harry would hook up with. Y/N couldn’t imagine Harry with a goth girl.

Millie placed her bag by the couch as she sat there and looked around the living room. Y/N thought of making tea for her but then she remembered that they were out of tea. She couldn't just leave Millie here and retreat to her room. So she thought she should start a conversation. She wasn’t good at conversations, but she could try.

“So how did you meet Harry?” she asked and sat down beside Millie.

“I’ve known him my whole life,” Millie said.

Y/N hadn’t expected that. “Oh...so your families are close?”

“Very.”

“Oh.”

Harry had never mentioned having a beautiful childhood best friend before. Y/N knew he didn’t have to tell her everything about himself, but why did she feel so betrayed?

Before she could come up with something else to talk about that wasn’t Harry-related, the door swung open and Harry froze in the doorway, his eyes lit up as he saw Millie.

“Mil!”

“Hazza!”

Millie launched herself out of the couch and threw her arms around Harry’s neck. Harry caught her and lifted her feet off her ground. Meanwhile, Y/N was just standing there and rubbing her hands against her jeans.

Well, this is awkward.

“I told you I’d pick you up at the airport!” Harry said, putting the girl down and cupping her face.

Millie brushed his hands off as she snorted. “Well, I got here early to surprise you.”

Watching Harry laugh and ruffle Millie’s hair, Y/N had never felt more like a third-wheel. She would go if her anxiety hadn’t glued her feet to the floor.

“How long are you staying?” Harry asked.

“A week,” Millie said.

“Yessss!” Harry punched the air, then finally noticed Y/N standing awkwardly behind Millie. He smiled and wrapped an arm around Millie’s neck, gesturing to Y/N. “Oh, I see that you’ve met Y/N.”

“Yes, she was very nice to me,” Millie said. “And you never told me that your flatmate was so pretty.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “Thank y—”

“Stop,” Harry cut her off, his smile vanished as he shot Millie a glare.

“What?” Millie looked just as confused, but something about her wide-eyed expression told Y/N that she was faking it.

Harry turned back to Y/N. “Was this one flirting with you?”

“What?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Millie always does that. She cannot help herself.”

“I learned from the best,” Millie said, smirking.

It took Y/N a second to understand. She pointed to Millie, her eyes round and her mouth wide open. “So Millie is...”

“My cousin,” Harry said.

“And a lesbian,” Mille added as she pat Harry on the shoulder. “Even if I were into boys and not his cousin, I still wouldn’t want him. I’ve got standards.”

“Hey!” cried Harry yet Millie ignored him.

“He’s jealous because I get more girls,” she said.

“Lies!” Harry hissed and told Y/N, “Don’t believe anything she tells you about me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N uttered. “I thought—”

“It’s okay,” Millie cut her off, giving her a gentle smile. “I know my cousin. He’s got quite a reputation around here. I could hear a girl crying and cursing his name the second I landed in London.”

Y/N giggled as Harry rolled his eyes. “Just don’t flirt with my flatmate while you’re here.”

“Oh, she wasn’t...flirting with me,” Y/N said.

Millie tilted her head, her green eyes narrowed as her black lips stretched to its favoured side. “You didn’t know I was flirting? Man, I must try harder next time.”

Y/N stiffened. She could feel the colour heightened in her cheeks.

“Stop teasing her. Damn it,” Harry told Millie. To Y/N, he said, “She was joking.”

“I’m sorry! Gosh, you’re blushing!” Millie cupped Y/N’s face as she burst out laughing. “You’re so cute. How can someone like you live with him?”

“I ask myself that question every day,” Y/N mumbled, feeling quite proud when Millie laughed even harder. She liked making people laugh, especially people who seemed much cooler than she was; it made her feel validated somehow.

“So where do I sleep?” Millie asked Harry, putting an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. Harry immediately plucked that arm off and pushed Millie aside to stand between them. “On the couch,” he said. “Or on the floor in my room.”

“You're such a dick,” Millie scoffed.

“You could sleep with me. We could share my bed,” Y/N said.

Both Millie and Harry whipped their heads to her but only Millie’s face brightened with a smile. “Oh, thank you, I–”

“You know what?” Harry blocked Millie with his outstretched arm before she could pull Y/N into a hug. “Take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Millie raised an eyebrow at him, a corner of her mouth quirked and she tiptoed to stroke the top of his head. “Now that’s my good baby cousin.” Then she picked up her bag, flipped her black hair over her shoulder and sauntered to Harry’s room.

Harry turned to Y/N and gave a tight smile. “You don’t mind her staying, right?”

“Of course not,” Y/N giggled. “I like her.”

Harry arched both eyebrows, looking genuinely concerned. “But not too much.”

“No, no, not like that!” Y/N shook her head fast. “She’s just really cool. And...um...cool people don’t usually like me. So…”

Harry pressed his lips into a small smile. For a second, Y/N thought he looked rather relieved. “If she annoys you with all the flirting and her bad jokes,” he said, “just tell her to stop. Don’t be nice about it.”

Y/N squinted her eyes. “So she’s the female version of you.”

“Yes. Only better,” Harry chuckled. “That’s why she’s my favourite cousin.”

.

.

.

“Remember when I said Millie was my favourite cousin?”

“Yeah, why?” Niall shouted over the music. Harry leaned against the wall. With a constipated look on his face, he watched Millie dance with Y/N from across the room.

“She’s not anymore,” he mumbled spitefully.

Niall stopped dancing and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Who’s your favourite cousin then?”

“Jared.”

“Didn’t you say Jared helped Mason drown you?”

Harry threw his arms in the air. “So I don’t have a favourite cousin! Jesus, Niall, that’s not the point. The point is–”

Niall stared as he waited for Harry to finish the sentence. “The point is what?”

Harry’s mouth was open, but he saw Millie put an arm around Y/N’s neck and kiss her cheek as they took a selfie, and he suddenly forgot what the point was.

Niall gave his shoulder a gentle push so he snapped out of it, heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’ve been having a bad week since she arrived.”

“But you were so excited to see her. You told me you’d had plans for both of you to spend time together.”

Harry lifted his shoulder and forced his attention to stay on Niall and not Millie and Y/N. “I did, but she doesn’t want to hang out with me.” Y/N didn’t either. “She’s spent every second in our flat doing girls stuff with Y/N. They’re attached at the hips now. Last night they stayed up until 3 AM to gossip. The walls are thin, you know? They’re messing up my sleep schedule.”

Niall was quiet for a moment before he said, “Do you think…”

“What?” Harry snapped.

Niall pursed his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know...Maybe...Y/N likes girls?”

“No, Niall. Y/N doesn’t like girls,” Harry said bitterly even though he’d been worried about that as well. The problem wasn’t that Y/N might be into girls. Harry didn’t care about that. It was the fact that Millie had never failed to get the girls she wanted. The only thing that Harry had that she didn’t was commitment issues. Millie’s last relationship had lasted a year.

It was bad enough that Harry had to fight off the other guys who wanted Y/N and might actually deserve her. He didn’t want to have to do that with his girl cousin!

“Y/N doesn’t like Millie like that, okay?” he repeated to Niall, frowning as he saw Millie and Y/N laughing again.

“Harry!” Layla’s voice brought him back to reality. He shot his head up to see her shouldering her way toward him and Niall. “You didn’t tell me your crush was gay! Niall, did you film him crying in the bathroom?”

Harry facepalmed himself as Niall said, “Told ya.” and gave him a shrug.

Later that night, as they walked home together from the party, Harry purposely stayed silent so that the girls would know he was mad at them. He had no right to be mad at either of them, but he felt like he should be mad if that was the only way to get their attention. Y/N was his flatmate, and Millie was his cousin. But now they were walking ahead, arms around each other and completely not noticing how upset he was. He told himself it was only because they were a bit tipsy. But he hated being left out.

“I’m going to sleep early,” he announced the second they entered the flat.

“Okay,” Y/N said.

“I’m really tired,” he added to drop a hint so she’d know he was upset.

“So am I,” she said, yawning and stretching her arms.

He was trying to think of something else to say that’d get her attention when Millie interjected, “Wanna sheet mask before bed?”

“Yes!” Y/N exclaimed. Then they hurried into Y/N’s room, leaving Harry standing there like a scarecrow in his own flat.

“I’ve got my own masks. Thanks for asking,” he muttered bitterly to himself, rolling his eyes and trudging to his room.

And so Harry decided to go to sleep early. He spent the first thirty minutes on the mattress by his bed, rolling from side to side, trying not to think about the two of them until he nodded off. When he woke up, it was three in the morning. The flat was so quiet and his bed was still empty.

Where was Millie?

He tried to listen through the wall to see if the girls were still awake, but there was no sound.

Annoyed, sleepy, and sad, he forced himself to get up and go to Y/N’s room to tell Millie that she must let Y/N sleep. When he got there, he found that the door was left open. The girls were fast asleep on the bed. And Millie was spooning Y/N.

.

.

.

“You look like shit. Didn't you sleep at all?” was the first thing Millie said to Harry as he entered the kitchen the next morning.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard it and angrily marched toward the table, when all he wanted to say was, “And you look overly happy after sleeping in the same bed with my girl.” It sounded way too petty, but he was exhausted and not in the mood to feel guilty about it.

As he buried his head in his hands, Millie placed a cup of black coffee down in front of him. He looked up and caught her grinning.

“One cup of black coffee every Monday morning,” she said.

He blinked, confused and a bit surprised. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You didn’t. Y/N did.” To his astonishment, she added, “I’ve learned more about you in the last couple of days from her than I have by knowing you my whole life.”

This caught Harry off guard. He found himself sitting rigid in his seat. He was probably gaping at his cousin, because she tossed her head back and laughed and pulled up a chair to sit down beside him. “That’s all she does,” Millie said.

Harry scrunched up his face. “What?”

“Y/N. She always talks about you,” Millie giggled.

Harry tried not to react, but when he spoke, his voice wavered as if he couldn’t breathe properly. “S-She talks about me? What has she told you?”

“Surprisingly, only good things,” Millie said. “Like, we would do something like listen to music and she’d randomly say, ‘Harry likes this song.” Or we would be wandering around the mall and she’d see a shirt and tell me, ‘Harry would love that shirt but he hates it when people buy him clothes so I can’t buy it for him.” And just yesterday’s morning, she saw me making coffee and told me you’d always drink black coffee on Monday morning and only on Monday morning.” Millie chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “I thought hearing so much about you would annoy me. But I actually find it super cute that she cares so much about you to notice every one of those annoying little details.”

Harry felt his cheeks growing hot. His silence was the confession Millie had been waiting for. She smacked him on the arm as laughter crackled out of her. “You’re blushing! Oh my God, you have a crush on her!”

“I do not!” he retorted.

“You do!” She slammed her fist on the table, smiling with her mouth open. “And you thought I had a thing for her, didn’t you?! You were cranky last night because you were jealous!”

“Not true!” Harry gasped and quickly got up. Millie jumped in his way, not letting him off the hook so easily. “Admit it!”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

He attempted to sidestep her yet she was quicker. She folded her arms and leaned a shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “I know that face, Hazza. You made the same face when we were kids and found a lost puppy in the park and the puppy grew more attached to me.”

Harry pointed to himself. “I found the puppy okay? The puppy was mine first.”

"You petty little shit!" Millie’s jaw dropped, then she poked at the left side of his chest. “I didn’t know this thing worked. Wow, a miracle named Y/N!”

Harry smirked and brushed her finger off. “Very funny, Mil.”

“It sure the fuck is. I can’t believe you thought I was into her. One look at Y/N and I knew she wasn’t gay. My gaydar is never wrong.”

“Good to know,” Harry said flatly. “Now can I please get out of this kitchen?”

Millie ignored his question as she eyed him up and down and chewed the inside of her cheek to suppress a smirk. “You two are in love with each other.”

“No, we’re not. We’re friends,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “And I was only mad because you came here to see me but spent all your time with her.”

“Oh, please. Do not make this about me. You’re so in love with her it’s embarrassing.”

“In love with who?”

Harry almost screamed when Y/N appeared in the doorway. Somehow he managed to keep his calm and force a laugh. “Jennifer Aniston! Beautiful, beautiful woman!"

Y/N looked at him funny, probably assuming he was high on caffeine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Millie fighting the urge to expose him.

“I’m going out now,” she said to his relief. “Gonna meet up with some old friends today. You kids have a great day.” Backing out of the door, she did the finger-guns and winked at him. “We’ll talk more about Jennifer Aniston when I get back.”

“No, we won’t!” he shouted after her.

Once his cousin was gone, Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. Y/N didn’t seem to suspect a thing. She tiptoed to get a cereal box from the cabinet while humming a song she’d been listening to on repeat for the last few days.

Yes, she wasn’t the only one paying attention.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and padded to her side. “Hey, Y/N.” When she turned around and smiled at him, he almost forgot what to say. “I-I um...I was thinking of buying a new shirt, and um...I was wondering if you could go with me, to help me pick one.”

Y/N suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Yes! I know this shop–” she blurted but then her mouth snapped shut and she lowered her voice. “I mean, yeah, sure, I know a shop...I think...But didn’t you say you preferred going shopping alone?”

Harry gave a half-shrug. “It’s getting boring. Doing things alone, I mean...”

Her lips curved into a cute little smile. “Let’s go this afternoon,” she said. “I feel like we haven’t hung out in days. You were always busy.”

Harry was taken aback. He pointed to his face. “Me? Busy?”

“Yeah, well, you seemed...not yourself. I thought you were stressed out about an exam.”

“No, not at all,” he mumbled, turning his face to hide his blushing.

She giggled softly. “Okay. So...it’s a date?”

“Yeah. A date.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, cool.”

“Cool,” she echoed.

Harry nodded once then grabbed his coffee and sauntered out of the kitchen before he could embarrass himself again. Suddenly, his phone chimed with a new text and he pulled it out of his pocket to see that it was from Louis.

Hey, Niall told me. I found this article that might be helpful. Stay strong!

Then a link to: “How to deal with depression when your crush turns out to be gay.”

Harry threw his head back and exhaled.

He was going to murder Niall.

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part four

pairing: eventual bucky x reader (still a slow burn but it’s getting closer)

warnings: some violence but not really, men being creepy, language (one f bomb), also badly written speaking while crying, aaand i think that’s it

word count: a little over 2300

a/n: aaaah it’s part four babes!!!! the response to this has been so positive i’m in love with y’all!!! <3 <3 <3 i’m still way behind on my classwork and going through a terrible break up but we’re pushing through here

p.s.: my requests are still open if y’all want me to write yall something! aaalso, there’s a bucky short coming tomorrow ;)) <3

series m.list

ray’s m.list

********************************** 

This strange man’s hand was still caressing my hair as he smirked down at me. Running has hands up to the root and then yanking my head upwards to face him directly. “When I speak to you, you look me in the eye, little one.” Not one to show my fear, at least not to men like him, I scoffed. Thick brows shot towards his hairline and a twitch in his jaw as he clenched it. The hold he had in my hair gave him leverage over me. I winced as he lifted his arm to bring my face closer to his. A small whimper escaped the back of my throat, saliva gathering in my mouth. “Don’t test me, little one.” I sneered then spat in his face, the wet substance sticking to his face across his nose and cheek.

Bringing a hand up to his face to swipe the thick liquid from his skin, he glowered as he pulled his palm away. Then several things happened at once. The man forced a harsh breath out and then I was facing the ground with a sting on my left cheek. A gasp left my lips, he just slapped me. Who the hell does he think he is? I shook my head and then leveled my gaze with the man’s. I’m almost positive that my cheek is sporting a bright red handprint that does nothing for my complexion.

“What the hell man? What was that for?” I groaned while attempting to soothe my throbbing cheek on my shoulder. I mean, was it kind of justified? I did just spit in this man's face. No, he totally deserved that. After releasing his grip on my hair, he transferred his hands to the sides of the chair I was chained to. The metal scraping along the concrete floor caused a loud screech to reverberate through the small room.

“I said not to test me, bitch.” the man growled out as he pushed my chair onto the back two legs. I’m starting to think that this is a bit more serious than I originally thought. “Now, you’re going to sit here like a good little bitch and tell me what I want to know.” He retreated only to grab the chair that Suits used. Slamming against the pavement he straddled the chair with his forearms resting on the back.

“How many missions did you participate in?” I released a groan and rotated my head, leaning my head back.

“I already told your friend,” I tilted my head to speak directly to the absolute jerk-wad of a man in front of me, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man quirked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. He rolled his neck, causing the bones in it to crack and then stood. He walked to the other side of the metal table that sat in the middle of the room. The sound of a zipper caused me to snap my head to where he was standing. The tactical vest he was wearing dropped to the metal surface allowing for a loud thunk to flow through the room. He stretched out his shoulders and swung his arms out in front as if he was trying to increase the blood flow. I’m the one who’s literally tied to a freaking chair, what does he need blood flow for? My breathing quickened,  calm down, don’t show any fear. He popped the knuckles of his hands and approached me.

“I’m not a patient man.” He bent at the knees and leaned his face closer to mine. Exhaling into my face, he maintained eye contact with me. “And you’re not acting like the good little girl we both know you oh-so-desperately want to be.” I rolled my eyes at that, apparently that was the wrong thing to do in this man’s face. His left eye twitched as he stared at me.

“Do you think you could back up? Your breath reeks, man.” I have no concern for my own well-being do I? The man’s head tilted to the side and then he wolfed out a gruff laugh. He shifted his weight to land on the heels of his feet and threw his body into the laugh. It was a bit disconcerting to see this man laughing so wholeheartedly in a situation that didn’t feel funny to me. Another blow to the side of my face was issued, however this time he didn’t stop. Several open handed hits were delivered, all the while he was resetting my head back by grasping my chin. My breathing was becoming labored, my chest heaving up and down in a frenzy. He gripped my chin and jerked it upwards so he could stand at his full height to tower over me.

“How many missions did they send you on?” He demanded, increasing his hold on my face surely leaving sickening bruises that would match his fingers perfectly. At some point, tears began running down my red cheeks.

“I don’t kno-ow what you’re talking ab-about!” Tears streaming down my swollen face, “I s-swear to god, I don’t know wh-what you mean!” Choked sobs were preventing me from breathing correctly. The man grabbed my shoulders and shook my body.

“Calm the fuck down and speak clearly.” Small hiccups were escaping my mouth without permission. Why am I letting this guy get to me? What the hell is happening? “How many missions did they send you on?” I broke down again, fat tears leaking out of my eyes.

“I ju-just want to go h-h-home. I s-swear I don’t kno-ow anything!” I shouted in his face. He glowered at me and lifted his hand from my shoulder. My whole body tensed as I readied myself to the impact.

“Johnson.” The door burst open, stopping Johnson from landing another hit. “This is not what you were supposed to be doing.” Suits walked back in the room. Johnson backed down, lowering his hand and turning to the new member in the room. “Sir, I was told to interrogate the prisoner.”

“Yes, Johnson, interrogate her. Not beat her to a pulp.” He gestured wildly with his hand. “If the boss found out you were doing this, he’d have your head on a platter.” Suits took steps closer toward us and Johnson shrunk into himself. “Get out of here before I call him about this.” Johnson nodded quickly and left the room quickly, leaving his tactical vest on the table.

I was still quietly crying while strapped to the metal frame of the chair. Suits approached me while pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He raised it to my face and I jolted backwards away from his touch. “Easy now, I’m only here to help.” Is he seriously pulling a good cop, bad cop routine on me right now? He wiped my cheeks of the salty remnants, “Now, how can I help you besides that?”

“You co-could let me go h-home.” I tried to say without stuttering, clearly unsuccessful. I didn’t want to show my emotions but really at this point, could it get worse?

“Awe, girly. You know I can’t do that until you tell me what I want to know.” He began to drag the chair next to me, back to the opposite side of the table. This created an obstacle between the two of us, which made me slightly more comfortable knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach me as quickly.

I heaved a sigh, “but I don’t know anything.” My weeping had come to a definite end, making way for frustration. My face heated for a different reason than being struck several times.

“See, this is where we disagree because I know that you’re lying to me.” He shook his finger in my face and I scrunched my brows together, flicking my eyes between his finger and face.

“You’re kidding me. I told you I don’t know about any missions.”

“Oh really? Then who’s Gemini?” He reclined in his chair, looking smug. “Actually, you know more importantly, who is Libra? The whole thing is just fascinating to me.”

“I don’t know what any of that is. I swear to whatever you want me to.”

“Then why do I have this that says you do.” He held up the manila folder that he first walked in with. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Whatever is in there is lying to you.” He cocked his head to the side and flipped the folder open. He removed a photograph from the folder and placed it on the table in front of me. Staring back at me, was a slightly younger version of myself with shorter hair. A large X was drawn across the whole picture and underneath it read the words ‘Agent Libra.’

My eyes widened, “I have never seen that before, in my life.” Suits sighed heavily and then began flipping through the rest of the papers.

“So what is the Svengali?” He threw out another paper and I glanced down at it. It looked like a typed report of some kind. Much of it redacted by thick black lines. The words Libra, Gemini, and Svengali were visible amidst the sea of dark ink.

*****************************

A ping sounded throughout the room causing the screen of the phone to illuminate. A metal hand reached for the thin device.

New mission alert. You’re needed. Meet at the compound.

Great, this is just what Bucky needed to keep him distracted. Sleep never came easy to him so he was spending copious amounts of time trying to catch up on what he missed out on. Steve told him to make a list and Sam kept rambling on about some gay Marvin man? Bucky much prefered to do things on his own. He hasn’t had help for over ninety years, why should he need it now?

Throwing on his leather jacket as he began to leave his apartment, he checked the pockets for the keys to his motorcycle. He also made sure to grab his gloves. Even though T’Challa and Shuri were good enough to give him a new vibranium arm, Bucky still wasn’t too keen on being stared at in public. It was better for everyone if he just kept the arm tucked away as much as he could while around strangers.

He did one last once over of his apartment before locking the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs towards his bike. It definitely was his pride and joy, it was the first thing that he bought with his own money since 1943. His apartment was courtesy of Pepper Potts, no thanks to Tony’s complaining. Tony and Bucky had eventually worked out their differences, to say the least. Tony still hadn’t fully forgiven the Winter Soldier for killing his parents, and neither had Bucky so they were agreeing to disagree.

The ride to the compound from Brooklyn wasn’t a hard one. It gave Bucky time to appreciate the scenery around him. Slowing to a stop at a four way stop just outside of the compound, Bucky dropped his feet to the tarmac below, stabilizing the bike between his legs. He tilted his head back and felt the warm rays of the sun on his face. Warm was something that Bucky was still getting used to, it was easier in Wakanda. He had his own hut, voluntary therapy sessions, and easy-going check ups with Shuri in her lab.

Everything was simpler in Wakanda, but what Bucky missed most from Wakanda was the stability. He didn’t have to worry about missions, or keeping up with Steve, or the crushing guilt that he felt whenever he saw Tony. After parking his bike at the facility, Bucky made his way to the meeting room. Dark wooden tables in an L-shape appeared in his view. Steve and Sam were standing in front of the large monitor that was displaying images of an unknown, yet familiar looking woman.

“Tony, we don’t know if she knows anything.” Natasha said, apparently trying to rationalize with someone else in the room.

“Natasha, we don’t know that she doesn’t not know anything.” Tony shot back, Sam turned slowly and opened his mouth with a confused expression on his face.

“Tony, we aren’t in an episode of FRIENDS. This is serious. We need to decide if this is worth pursuing or not.”

“Wilson, that’s all well and good but we have to acknowledge that this woman could get us our first real break in our search.” Tony explained while taking deep breaths.

“What are we deciding?” Bucky interrupted as he plopped into one of the chairs. Now that Bucky has been given his freedom back, he’s able to display a difference between his mission self and his regular self.

“This woman here,” Steve gestured to the woman on the screen, “is a member of the Virago. It’s an international branch of SHIELD that was believed to be infiltrated by HYRDA years ago.”

“This is the agent code named Libra. Her last mission was with another agent code named Gemini. The mission report has since been lost to us. All we know is that Libra and Gemini were instructed to watch a Svengali safehouse. Apparently something went wrong and only Libra made it out alive.” Tony added, “Which is why we need to find her and see what she knows.” “Tony! There’s no guarantee that she has any knowledge of this mission.” The redhead stressed as she leaned over the table towards the man she was speaking to.

“I think we should find her.” The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them. All motion in the room stopped.

“Um, did the Manchurian Candidate just agree with me?” Tony questioned as the rest of the room remained quiet.

“Look, I’m not necessarily agreeing with you.” Bucky started.

“Nope, can’t take it back.” Tony mused, “Already said it.” Bucky sighed and shook his head.

“Why do you think we should go after her Buck?” Steve inquired. Bucky’s brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I think I know her from somewhere.”

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 27

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part two

​​

When Hongjoong said that you would reconvene the next day to discuss the plans further, you expected it to be quick and easy. Instead, one day turned into six and a half days that consisted of playing a waiting game. No one was allowed on the bridge aside from Seonghwa – even Mingi was told that he couldn’t take his regular post at the captain’s side, which left the bitter taste of curiosity in your mouth. And since you and Seonghwa are on a break from your regular physical activities, you haven’t been able to ask him what the hell is going on because he spends all his time on the bridge talking with Hongjoong because you don’t get to see him. You aren’t bitter or anything – honestly and truly, you aren’t – but it does feel a bit strange to go from sleeping in the same bed as someone every other day and having a certain level of intimacy with them to not even seeing the back of their head for almost a week. The one time you did see Seonghwa, it was so brief that if you had blinked, you would have missed him and the rushed greeting and farewell he gave you on his way to the bridge.

Maybe you are a tad bitter, but only because you would have appreciated a better explanation than the silence you got instead.

Hongjoong’s strange and unexplained delay in conducting his plans led to a spike in stress throughout the crew. You would assume that having this downtime and not having to do anything would be something they enjoy and look forward to, but that’s limited to being able to leave the ship on said downtime. No one has been allowed to set foot off the ship according to a vague order over the ship’s intercoms. Despite the much-needed rest, you have to admit that even you are growing tired of it. You spend your days reading about Sirens in your room, sparring with Jongho or San, or just milling about the ship with little purpose because there isn’t much to do. More quality time spent in each other’s presence isn’t always good though. This whole situation has caused a spike in Wooyoung’s complaints about the food primarily because Jongho has been the only one cooking in Seonghwa’s absence.

“I’m just saying that if you lowered the heat on the stove, maybe the food would be so burnt!” Wooyoung’s voice rings through the mess hall before you even reach the archway leading into the room.

“That’s called flavor, Wooyoung!” Jongho argues back, dark head of hair coming into view as you cross the threshold. You don’t even bother looking over to where the food waits because if Wooyoung is this loud in his complaints already, then it’s worse than usual.

“The eggs are black, Jongho. Black! How do you even manage to do that?” Wooyoung scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he motions down at his plate. Yeosang is at the man’s side as always though he doesn’t engage in the conversation happening before him. He still bears the same cloth sling that he’s been wearing since that explosion in the marketplace. As much as he insists that he’s fine, Yunho continues to make him wear it just to be sure that he won’t tear anything.

And, speaking of Yunho, he’s the first to greet you as you draw closer to the table. He lifts his hand to offer a gentle wave but says nothing more than that because Jongho is still hellbent on getting the last word.

“Look, I don’t appreciate this kind of attack. Your tone is very hostile and accusatory, and I’m not really vibing with it in all honesty.”

You huff out a weak laugh at Jongho’s comment, stepping around the man to sit between Yunho and San when they make space for you.

“I’m not vibing with eggs that look like gravel! We can’t all vibe with what we wanna vibe with!” Wooyoung protests as he slaps his hand against the table. The silverware and plates shudder at the impact, but Jongho remains unblinking, lips drawn into a fierce pout.

“Suit yourself. More for the rest of us!”

“More for you,” Yunho cuts in with a quick shake of his head.

“And only you,” San adds a moment later.

“All of you are cruel. At least I can rely on Y/N to treat me better than this.” Jongho angles his chin towards you, and you resist the urge to look over at him. You’re certain that he’s going to be wearing those damn puppy dog eyes that he’s too good at, and you are more than slightly susceptible to. “Wow, nevermind! She’s not even gonna look at me.”

“Careful, Jongho. She might be cranky. She hasn’t fucked in maybe a week with our dear lieutenant always on the bridge.” Jongho chokes on his coffee, Wooyoung’s eyes all but bulge out of his head, and San coughs to cover the laugh that threatens to breach his lips. Only Yeosang maintains a sense of normalcy, but you can spot the hint of a smirk as he hides behind his coffee mug. You swing an elbow into Yunho’s side, hitting him square in the ribs, and he yelps from the impact. “Ow! Hey, rude!”

“Fuck you,” you huff.

“Oh? Okay, what time? I’ll gladly clear my schedule for some fun.” Yunho props his elbow up on the table and angles his chin to look you in the eye. You glare in response to the teasing gleam there, opting not to give him the pleasure of hearing another response from you.

“Breakfast is always so much fun, isn’t it?” San teases, pulling his arm up to rest on your shoulder.

“Can’t we have one breakfast with Yunho making things about sex?” Wooyoung whines as he slumps forward on the table.

“Why is everyone cranky except for me?” Yunho scoffs. “It isn’t like you all have never had sex, I don’t see what the big issue is! Why can’t I just chat abo–”

“Can it, horndog!” Wooyoung interrupts, and he chucks a wadded up napkin at Yunho’s forehead a moment later.

“Fine! Just remember that one day, I’m gonna stop talking altogether, and you lot are going to regret having ever been mean to me about talking too much.” Yunho purses his lips, drawing his arms up to cross over his broad chest, and Wooyoung shakes his head in response.

“No, no, you idiot! Shut up because someone is present,” he hisses out. His index finger comes up to jab in the opposite direction, and you have to swivel your head to see what exactly he’s pointing at. Yunho does the same, but his expression melts into a neutral one in an instant. Mingi stands at the other side of the room, oblivious to the eyes upon him and as stoic as ever. The talk at the table falls quiet. It’s such a sudden shift that it sends you reeling, especially since you haven’t seen Mingi in the mess hall since – well, you can’t recall ever seeing him here. The tension and discomfort in the air is palpable. You consider breaking the silence, but Yunho’s flitting eyes and Wooyoung’s suddenly stiff muscles convince you not to. Rather, it’s Jongho who cuts through it.

“God, can’t you all act normal around him?” He pushes himself up and turns to where Mingi lingers near the edge of the room.

“I’m confused,” you mutter, shifting your head to look in San’s direction. He looks back at you with lips drawn tight together. They relax after a moment, and San opens his mouth to say something. The words never come out because Jongho interrupts the train of thought with a booming tone that echoes through the hall.

“Hey! Mingi just said he loves my eggs, you rat!” It’s obvious who the comment is directed at, and Wooyoung is quick to respond with an equally loud scoff.

“He is only saying that to make you feel better. He knows how bad they really are!” Wooyoung huffs. You try to relax your shoulders as the hanging tension begins to thin and dissipate. Jongho all but drags Mingi closer to the table where you all sit, but once the pair gets within three feet of you, Mingi halts. Jongho tugs his arm a little to no avail because Mingi still shakes his head and refuses to budge.

“I think… they would feel safer if I stay at this table instead,” Mingi says, tone hesitant. His tongue darts out to drag over his lower lip, and his gaze lands on each person at the table before settling on you. Jongho doesn’t push him any further though and lets Mingi move towards the other table instead. Yunho lets his gaze flit between Jongho and Mingi, watching the silent exchange before huffing out a sigh and standing up himself. He goes to sit beside the taller Berserker without a word and doesn’t bother bringing his food or coffee with him as he drops to the bench, elbows propped up on the edge of the table. He’s almost tall enough to stretch across the space between the tables with his legs alone, and you’re sure that he could if he put in the effort.

You don’t face forward right away. Mingi’s presence looms behind you like a ticking time bomb. Even if the tension is slowly ebbing away, you can still clearly see that everyone is on edge. Maybe it is only because you’ve all been stuck on the ship for so long, perhaps everyone is on edge and tense because of that, but you know that Mingi is an influential factor regardless. It’s suddenly everywhere in the room: in Yeosang’s sharp eyes narrowing on Mingi’s form, Wooyoung’s shifting weight as he glances over at the Berserker every so often, the hand that San inches across the bench to brush against the nape of your back. Jongho and Yunho stay close to Mingi, but it doesn’t seem like a gesture meant to be solely friendly. It looks more like a blockade than anything else. The way Yunho stretches his legs out to cover more distance, his body facing towards your table rather than the opposite way, and Jongho finding a statuesque position evenly between the tables with arms pressed firmly against his hips.

It isn’t necessarily Mingi or his aura that makes you uncomfortable and tense. It’s the crew’s reaction to his presence in the mess hall that does that. Normal conversation slips back in, though it doesn’t help to ease the discomfort churning in your gut.

“What the hell is taking Hongjoong and Seonghwa so long anyway?” Wooyoung asks, slumping over the table after pushing his plate of unfinished food out of the way. “It’s been a week. What kind of plans are they making for a week?”

“Big ones?” San offers with a half-smirk stretching his lips.

“Haha, you’re so funny, San. Have I ever mentioned that? How funny you are? Because you’re fucking hilarious.” Wooyoung doesn’t try to hide the overexaggerated roll of his eyes.

“In all seriousness though, I have no idea. They could be playing a waiting game, just like the rest of us.”

“A waiting game for what?” Wooyoung shifts a bit in his seat. Yeosang glances over in his direction and seems to pick up on something that no one else does because he pushes closer to the dark-haired man until their shoulders rub against each other. The simple touch releases some of the tension in Wooyoung’s shoulder in a fraction of a second.

“Given where we are, it would be no surprise if they needed to wait like the rest of us,” San explains through a sigh. “Especially with what happened the last time you were out and about in the city.” If you didn’t already know what San is referring to, you would be able to tell just from the way Wooyoung and Yeosang look at one another, eyes sad to a degree, and Wooyoung pushes a hand back to brush against the one that hangs out of Yeosang’s sling.

“It’s been a long time since Hongjoong was this patient,” Jongho notes as he finally takes his eyes off Mingi. “Do you think something happened?”

You know why he’s patient all of a sudden. The reason is you. Your identity as a Siren, your revelation to him a little over a week ago, and the fact that Hongjoong has two Sirens in his grasp rather than just one. You can’t very well come out and say that however; you don’t need the rest of the crew treating you like anything less or more than what you are. Nor do you need them doubting your abilities all of a sudden like Seonghwa did (another thing you aren’t bitter about in the slightest). If it were up to you, you would make sure that none of them found out. The underlying need to be appreciated and wanted for who you are rather than what you are outweighs the desire to explain Hongjoong’s patience.

“I’ve got no clue.” San shrugs, casting Jongho an uninterested glance before returning to his coffee.

“Being on Kebos sucks ass.” Wooyoung huffs air through his nose, but the sound is masked entirely by a sudden clatter behind you. San’s grip shifts to your hip and squeezes tight before he turns around. It’s a split second shift, and the tension spikes tenfold. Wooyoung claps his hand over his mouth, eyes growing impossibly wide. You dare to turn with the rest and stare directly at Mingi. The sight before you, however, is an entirely normal one.

Mingi sits in the same position as before. He hasn’t even budged. You wouldn’t be able to tell that something is wrong if not for the next words that come out of his mouth.

“We’re on… Kebos?” It isn’t clear who he is talking to because he keeps his chin dipped to his chest.

“No! Uh, I just meant that ��� I was thinking about it. We were talking about it. Earlier!” Wooyoung exclaims as he drops his hand to the table. That turns out to be a mistake, however; he releases a cry of pain the second his hand connects with the metal, pulling away and cradling the limb to his chest. Yeosang lunges to shield Wooyoung from view, but he doesn’t move fast enough thanks to the awkward position at the table and one of his arms being out of commission. There’s a flash of crimson trickling down Wooyoung’s arm. Yeosang’s weight slams into Wooyoung, and the two topple off the bench and thrash a little before hitting the ground at a painful angle. Wooyoung takes the brunt of the impact, Yeosang falling on top of him with a grunt.

When you glance down at the table again, there’s a knife beside Yeosang’s plate, one that has the same shade of crimson as Wooyoung’s arm coating the blade. It isn’t difficult to figure out what happened. San notices the knife the exact moment you do. He jerks and stretches across the table to knock it off the edge, and the blade clatters a few times before skidding across the metal floor. You don’t dare move a muscle. San leans closer to you, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he turns back to Mingi.

“Move to the other side of the table,” he mutters. “Don’t make any sudden movements.” You’re tempted to nod, but the warning in San’s tone prevents you from even doing that much. So instead, you slide across the bench as slowly as possible to do as asked.

“Hey, Mingi,” Jongho starts. From your new position, you can clearly see what was going on, and Mingi’s gaze is firmly fixated on the spot where the bloodied knife just sat. “How’s the weather up there?”

Mingi doesn’t respond. His hands are trembling in his lap without cease, and even as San slides to block his line of sight, he remains stuck in place.

“Mingi…” Yunho stretches a hand towards the Berserker. He barely makes contact with the man’s shoulder, but it triggers a visceral response in Mingi. The speed he moves with is almost a blur. Next thing you know, Mingi has Yunho sprawled on the floor with his hands straining around the healer’s neck. “F-Fuck. Jongho, ge–” Mingi cuts the words short by squeezing tighter.

“Mingi, can you hear me?” Jongho asks, stepping closer to where Mingi has Yunho pinned. He moves slowly still, no rush or panic in his steps or tone. “Mingi.”

“Y-Yes, yes. Yes, I can – I can hear you.”

“Can you still move your hands?”

“Not re… no, yes. I can.” Mingi’s fingers flex around Yunho’s neck. He relieves some of the pressure on the other man, letting him gasp in deep breaths of air.

“You need to let go of Yunho.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No! No, I can’t. They–”

“You’re hurting him, Mingi,” Jongho murmurs, squatting beside the pair. He doesn’t reach out to touch Mingi the way Yunho did, but he doesn’t need to. Mingi listens, understands, and slowly but surely his grip on Yunho’s neck alleviates until it’s gone altogether.

“I-I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to — I wasn’t trying t–”

“It’s okay, Mingi.” Jongho drops a hand to Mingi’s shoulder at last. This time, Mingi sits still and lets himself sink into the touch. Jongho tugs him ever so gently off Yunho, allowing the older man to roll out from under Mingi’s weight and get to his knees further away from Mingi. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah… yeah, I can.”

“Cool, let’s get up then, yeah? We can talk somewhere quieter.”

The silence in the room is suffocating, so you aren’t what on earth he means by that, but Mingi just nods in agreement and pulls himself to his feet. Jongho’s hand remains clenched around his shoulder. There’s too much pressure around his knuckles for it to merely be a comforting touch; it’s a secure and robust grip, one that keeps Mingi in check as Jongho guides him out of the mess hall without even looking back. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but no one moves for a long time after both Berserkers leave. Yunho’s chest heaves as he reaches up to rub at the reddened skin around his throat. Wooyoung and Yeosang are still on the floor behind you, both sitting up now, and San remains rigid like a statue in his seat across the table.

“Wooyoung, let me look at your hand,” Yunho says after a long while, voice a bit raspy. Wooyoung scrambles to get to his feet and meet Yunho halfway.

“I-I’m sorry. I forgot. I know I wasn’t supposed to say anything but I–”

“It’s not your fault, Woo,” Yunho murmurs as he pulls Wooyoung’s hand away from his chest and examines the cut on his palm. “He was doing well until I touched him so… the blame falls on my shoulders as well.” A sigh escapes him. “You won’t need stitches, but I need to clean it and dress it. Head to the medbay; I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Yeosang, you can go with him.”

“You aren’t coming right away?” Wooyoung inquires, head tilting to the side in echo to his question.

“I need to tell Hongjoong what happened.” Yunho brings a hand up to his pale hair and runs his long fingers through the locks, eyes squeezed shut for several seconds.

“Y/N and I can do that, Yunho,” San interrupts. He motions to where you’re sitting, and the sudden attention has you straightening your back and nodding a few times. “Take care of Wooyoung and yourself first.”

You expect some sort of denial from Yunho, but one glance at Wooyoung has him nodding in agreement before leading the way out of the mess hall. You and San are suddenly very alone in the large room. The weight of what just happened begins to sink in, one thing nagging at the forefront of your mind more than anything else.

Mingi apologized. Not just a half-assed emotionless apology either. His tone held guilt, and it was clear that he genuinely felt back about nearly choking Yunho to death.

“Hey…” San is suddenly at your side, hand rubbing between your shoulder blades, and you jerk your head to look up at his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly.

“That’s not a pretty sight, I know.”

“I’ve never seen something like… that. Fights, sure. But t-that was so–”

“Sudden?”

“Exactly,” you confirm through a sigh. With a small shake of your head, you push up from the table and step over the bench to stand beside San.

“Mingi is a hand grenade with a hairpin trigger, but he isn’t that way intentionally. He is trying to get better. We have good days and bad days with him, then we have days like today. Rough but productive. There was a time when Mingi wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Yunho, and there was a time when he couldn’t even be in the same room as us.” San offers a shrug before motioning to the other end of the mess hall opposite the doors Yunho and the others left out of.

“So, this is normal or…?” You trail off before finishing the question, staying close to San’s side as he leads the way to the bridge.

“Yeah, you could say that. I know it’s not something that you’ve gotten the pleasure of seeing or witnessing, but this has happened several times since you joined the crew.”

“He didn’t want to hurt Yunho,” you note in a quiet tone.

“Of course, he didn’t. He never wants to hurt anyone, especially not anyone on the crew. He wants to have a reason to hurt someone before doing so. He has no qualms with hurting or killing someone who hurts one of us first. Or even threatens us for that matter.” San hesitates to look down at you. “Mingi is a lot like you and me in actuality. He has these ghosts of the past that haunt him. A guilt he’s grown into and a burden on his shoulders. The person he used to be isn’t the person he wants to be now. Unlike us, however, he doesn’t have the luxury of knowing and understanding his own emotions. He was conditioned to ignore them and block them out. Robbed of basic knowledge on how emotions work. So he has a harder time because he has to relearn what it means to feel things. It’s one thing to kill and feel nothing, but another to kill and not understand why you’re in pain.”

“Then he had a visceral reaction to hearing that we’re on Kebos because of what? Since this is where he was born and raised? Or because he feels like he’s being forced back?”

“Part of him fears that he’ll be the same person he used to be, and that being on Kebos will reawaken that part of him. Or that he won’t be able to hold the voices back and turn back into the monster he used to be.”

“The voices?” You glance at San out the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, like flashbacks but without the visual hallucinations.” San cracks a small smile.

“I know what you mean by voices, smartass. I was asking about what he hears.”

“I know, I know. He hears the cheering from the arena most of the time. Cries for blood and death. Other times he will hear his master’s voice telling him to kill. But from what I understand, it’s constant. They never leave him alone, even when he’s asleep.” San comes to a halt, and it’s only when you glance forward that you realize you’ve made it to Hongjoong’s office. There’s a faint din coming from inside, rapidly exchanged words that you can’t make out, but you’re certain that it’s Seonghwa and Hongjoong. San knocks his knuckles against the door several times. The voices fall silent, then the sound of Seonghwa clearing his throat breaches the door. Three seconds later, the door slides open to reveal the dark-haired lieutenant. He looks like he hasn’t slept a single day in the whole week that has passed since you saw him last, but you don’t have time to dwell on that fact because San is already speaking on your left.

“Mingi had an episode in the mess hall.”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay ngl i feel like this chapter is a bit of a mess so im sorry for that ;-; i couldn’t get a chance to sit down and write it in one sitting and make everything as cohesive as i wanted and i ended up cutting some bits so that i could shift them into the next chapter instead so we’re left with this hot mess 😭

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[dubersbutt]

can there be a second part of pld and the cheating girl? if not totally understand! i love your writing

TW: cheating

Lol I may or may not have gotten carried away this one

The Drabble in question can be found here 

You let yourself slump against the steering wheel once you pulled into the parking lot. You just got off the phone with your boyfriend after fighting about something stupid. You’ve been dating for a year now, and lately you just couldn’t stop fighting. Every little thing he did upset you, and vice versa.

You made yourself take five minutes to collect yourself before you get out of the car to go to work. When you walk into your physio office you set your bag down and start to get into your routine of spraying and wiping down the table before the boys start rolling in. You’re working on three of the boys today before their game. 

The first two come through with no issues and their normal routines. But you sighed when it came time for the third. Pierre-Luc Dubois - tall, muscular, and the reason for your current relationship problems. A few weeks ago one of your friends had come over for a girls night. A few glasses of wine later, your tipsy brain had let it slip that you found him very attractive. Unbeknownst to you, Sam was listening from your shared bedroom. From that moment, until the you stumbled up to the room, he had convinced himself that you were cheating on him - apparently not liking that your job consisted of having your hands on half naked men all day. He confronted you the next day. It took you awhile to convince him that it wasn’t true, but he eventually believed you. However, it still came up once in a while. 

This morning he made a side comment about keeping your hands to yourself and you may or may not have lost it on him. You spent the whole drive thinking about how you were going to break up with Sam once you got home after the game. You ran through different scenarios in your head while you worked on Boone Jenner; would he take it well? Would he scream? Then you thought about who would gain custody of your puppy. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” Pl says when he walks in.

“Hi Pl,” you respond, “Take your shirt off and sit on the bed,” you say as you turn and see he has already done so. 

He grins at you and you roll your eyes, “Hockey players, you’re all nudists.” 

“You don’t enjoy the view?” He says as he stretches on the exam bed. You have to tear your eyes away from the pale expanse of skin after you’ve been looking for probably a little too long. 

You roll your eyes again to play it off before you start working on his shoulders. You are a professional, you’re used to the feel of taunt muscles under your hands but Pierre is just so damn good looking you let your mind wander. You think about what it would be like to run your hands under his body in a different circumstance, one where you could lean down, kiss the exposed skin of his throat, run your nails down his abs. 

“You alright, (Y/N),” he asks, “Your grip is a little tighter than usual.” 

“Sorry,” you apologize hastily, pulling your arms back quickly, “Just a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“It’s alright,” he says, “Anything you need to talk about.” 

When you give him a look he flashes a smile at you, “C’mon, we’re friends, aren’t we.” 

“I think I’m contractually obligated to say no.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he grins, and his stupid smile wears you down.

“It’s nothing, just men really suck sometimes,” you say before you realize your talking to a man, “sorry.”

“Nah, I get it. I just got of the phone with my sister and she just gave me the ‘all men are trash’ speech.” 

You laugh and change the subject before finishing Pl’s session. 

~~~

Since you have to be there for the game you go for lunch with some of your colleagues instead of going home. You knew that Sam got the afternoon off today, and you were planning on spending time with him this morning, but now you have no desire to see his face.

By the time the game rolls around you do your pregame checks and ensure everyone is ready to go. Once puck drops you can relax, your job is done until the end. 

The jackets win 5-3 and you join the boys for a quick celly in the lockers before you need to get back to your office and prep for the boys post-game checkups. Cam is first, wanting to check his shoulder quickly before going to his family. When the next person arrives you’re surprised.

“Pl, Were you scheduled with me?”

“No,” he says. He’s panting a bit, like he ran here, “Boone’s on his way, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m here for you.” 

You just cock your head at him in confusion.

He walks closer to you, getting closer. You know you should back away, create space between the two of you, but you don’t want to. You let him get closer until hes inches away from you, let him hold your hands in his. 

“I mean,” he leans close enough for you to feel his breath on your face, “I’m here if you ever want to...talk.” 

You think he’s going to lean in all the way and kiss you. Do the one thing you’ve thought about since you first saw him, but he pulls away when he’s centimetres away from your lips.  He starts walking to the door, and you’re calling out to him before you can stop yourself.

“Pierre,” you call, “I’m parked in the employee parking garage, by the lamppost.  Meet me by my car, I’ll be 20 minutes, 30 tops.” 

He gives you a small smile and a nod before he leaves. You lean against the desk to take some deep breathes to control yourself. Sam was basically your ex at this point. Spending the night with Pierre wasn’t cheating if you were going to break up with him right after, right? All these thoughts keep running through your head until you hear Boone knock at the door. 

~~~ 

When you get out to the parking lot Pl is inside of his car, now pulled next to yours. He drove a spacious SUV - which might have been odd considering he was single with no kids, but perfect for your plans. When he sees you he steps out of the car. 

As soon as you get near him you fist his jacket and pull him down to kiss you. He’s taken aback at first, but kisses you back with the same passion, pushing you back against his car. You reach behind you, fumbling until you can feel the door handle, and falling inside. His car is, thankfully, warm and the backseat provides enough space for your plans.

Once Pl is settled underneath you, you lean down to kiss him again, gripping the short hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck,” he grunts when you grind down on his lap, “You’re so fucking hot. I’ve wanted to do this since I’ve met you.” 

He leans up, kissing your neck. He trails down and unbuttons your dress shirt on his way down. You grind down on his thigh again you stop him.

“Take off your pants,” you command, “I’ve been horny for hours, I just want your dick.” 

He laughs but undoes his belt, but faulters when he starts on his zipper, “Fuck, do you have a condom?” 

You pull one from your jacket pocket, “I swiped one from the supply closet.”

“Those are in there?” He asks as he takes the packet from you.

“I dont buy the supplies, I just use them.” 

He gets the condom on and holds your hips while you lower yourself on. You let a deep breath as he bottoms out.

“Fuuuck,” you moan, “Your dick is so big, you’re going to have to give me a minute.” 

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs as he kisses your neck. He notices the way you moan when he kisses behind your ear so he does it again, scraping his teeth against it. His fingers rub along your hips as you star to rock back and forth. 

You clench around him and he has to dig his nais into his palm to get a grip on reality again. He thrusts up to meet your hips, taking control back and setting the pace. He sets a quick pace, both of you too wound to take your time. Your hand comes down to brace yourself on the seat next to him. Your hair falls in your face, he reaches up to move it so he can lean up to kiss you. 

He reaches between you to circle your clit. You moan, the sound muffled by his kiss. 

“Pierre,” you moan as you feel that familiar pressure building up, “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby,” he says.

A few thrusts later you’re cumming with a scream, biting down on Pl’s shoulder to muffle the noise. You fall limp against him, letting fuck you until he follows. You stay in the backseat, breathing heavy, lying against Pierre as you try to collect yourselves. 

“You know,” Pierre says as after a few moments, “I thought you were just going to invite me for drinks.”

You laugh as you pull away from him, giving him a quick peck, “So was this as good as drinks?”

“Way, way better,” he says leaning up to kiss you again. 

You make out for a few more minutes before you decide leaving is absolutely mandatory. You put his number in your phone before you finally get on the road to your apartment. 

On the drive there you start to feel guilty. Sam never treated you wrong before, was always a god boyfriend - minus the last month. But you decided it was poetic; he thought you were cheating on him with pl but you only did because he was an ass. 

When you get home he’s sleeping on the couch with your puppy in his arms, the TV playing quietly in the background. There’s some take out containers on the coffe table in front of him.

You grab the remote from under him, walking him up.

“Hey,” he says quietly when he recognizes you, “you’re home late.”

“Yeah, Boone’s hip took more time than anticipated,” you lie smoothly, “And I swear I kept my hands to myself.”

He presses his mouth into a thin line, “Fuck, I’m sorry about that.”

You roll your eyes as you move to pet your puppy but he catches your hand and looks at you with remorse, “I mean it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me these past few weeks. I’m so so sorry. When you didn’t show up for lunch today I realized I’ve been such a stupid jerk.”

“Yeah, you have been,” you say, fully intending to tell him off but something stops you when you look a him. 

“No I mean it, I’m sorry,” he says as he grabs your hand, “I really hope you can forgive me. I was stupid and jealous and I was acting way out of line.” 

You have to take a deep breath.

“Let’s put it past us, okay? let’s just move on. I know you’d never cheat on me, and I’d never cheat on you.”

“Okay.”

His face lights up, “Really?”

You nod your head, “I’m willing to give this another shot if you are.”

You bite your lip nervously as he pulls you in for a hug. He pulls you on top of his lap to give you a kiss and your muscles start to feel heavy with guilt. He starts to deepen the kiss but you have to pull away. 

“Sam, baby, I’d love to but I’m really tired. I’ve had an extremely long day.”

He nods his head standing up and pulling you with him, “Of course, let’s go to bed.” 

You plug your phone into the charger when you notice you have one message notification. 

Pierre: Tonight was fun, but let me take you on a date so we can do it again 

[g0dspeeed]

Burning Love

Request from @leoncharme 

What was supposed to be a relaxing day, turned into one of the strangest visits to Viktor’s clinic that V has ever had.

Hot grease sizzled deliciously in the large wok, the rich smell of savory noodles and synth meat churning V’s stomach even more. She stood near the food stall patiently, her eyes flitting through recent texts sent by practically every fixer in the city.

Ugh, I don’t need another fuckin’ car, she muttered as her eyes scoured all the vehicle offers made in the past few hours. Most were too tempting, too shiny, and V needed way too many eddies to make it happen anytime soon.

Deleting the final offer, V turned to take in the sight before her. The sun was high above the metropolis, caressing the Night City skyline in a golden light and warming the busy streets below. It was an easy heat, bearable, and a strong breeze cooled her off as it sifted through her hair.

Days like these were rare. Aside from the car offers, her inbox was light. There were no pressing contracts, no urgent phone calls from a fixer who needed a person shot, kidnapped, or rescued. No reminders to visit a drop box. No street races. No street fights to prepare for any time soon. Just a preem day for V to relax, eat a hot meal, and spend it with whomever she chose.

Which reminded her.

“Hey, double my order,” she requested.

The vendor nodded, and a smile tugged innocently at V’s lips.

When her noodles were ready, V paid the vendor and started towards her HELLA with a spring in her step.

Today’s gonna be a good one, she thought, allowing that bit of optimism to finally sink in. It’ll be-

A pause.

V barely heard it.

There.

Again, there it was.

The second time there was no mistaking the sound.

A high pitch yelp had caught her attention, followed by a low, pained moan. The source was near, but how close V couldn’t tell. She listened some more, but nothing stood out amongst the traffic.

Part of her thought to ignore it, both the sound and that damned intuition in her gut that said that something was wrong. Agony on the streets of Night City was as common as graffiti and a systemic issue far too big for V to remedy on her own, despite her impulsive need to save nearly everyone she comes across. V helped when she was able and often when she was barely so. Just her nature. Or more so a savior complex.

After lingering for a few more moments V decided to move on. Her noodles were getting cold after all.

Just as her hand pulled on the car’s handle, the sound ruptured again in a louder, more alarming pitch.

This time V quickly whipped around to scan the area with her optics. A tinted blue swept her vision, focus fleeting from object to object in view. It was there, resting against a bench that she spotted him. A clearly distressed man in a white and pink striped shirt was hunched over, sweat glistening on his forehead above a pair of violet visors. A gold chain dangled from his neck, catching a sun beam.

V stepped closer, but right before she could ask him what the hell his problem was, her voice caught in her throat.

Cupping his crotch, the man was naked from the waist down save for a pair of black tennis shoes.

V gasped.

Unfortunately, the stranger heard her. The man turned around and spotted the frozen merc, something like relief laxing his tense expression.

“Hey!” he cried.

He shuffled forward.

V shuffled back.

Her eyes tried to look at anything but what was in his hands. Anything at all.

“Hey, you!” he cried again. “I got to get to a ripper…”

The man’s whole body was trembling, and his voice was overflowing of desperation. She slowly allowed her eyes to fall upon his sweaty face as he panted, seeing his throat bob with each swallow.

Her pity outran her common sense.

“Alright,” V replied, discomfort heavy in her tone and eyes trying their best to look up towards the clouds.

“Great!” he heaved.

V’s brain was still trying to register her predicament, let alone the fact that she agreed to let this half-naked stranger into her car.

“Why’re we standing here?” the man stammered. “To the car! Now!”

A cry left him with enough volume to snap V to her senses.

Quickly, she slid into the driver’s seat. The lunch was placed in the back while her brain was trying to conjure up the fastest way to the nearest ripperdoc.

Though she knew exactly what ripperdoc was the closest, she hesitated. She hated this for him, hated that this weird-ass situation was what she was going to bring to his doorstep. V tried to think of any other clinic that was nearby, anyone at all who was available on such short notice. The reality was, however, that this was an emergency. Any moment the guy’s crotch could set her car ablaze, and ultimately her first option was the best.

When the passenger door slammed shut, dread had already started to climb up from her stomach into her tightening throat.

“Ugh,” groaned the man as their vehicle picked up speed. “Satisfaction guaranteed, they said…”

Ah, she thought. Of course.

V asked if he was referring to the Mr. Stud implant, the provocative ad flashing in her brain. When he confirmed her guess, she hummed in validation. He thanked her for her professionalism, for not being too judgey, given the circumstances. That was the most cordiality her newfound client provided, however, because for the rest of their short ride there was more screaming, moaning, and the demand that she mow down a class of children and pretty much everyone who dared cross their path. Telling him to chill the fuck out didn’t get her anywhere, nor did some scripted words of encouragement.

“Oh, it burns! It burns!” he near screamed, hurting V’s ears.

The moment they arrived at the clinic V didn’t waste any time. She quickly grabbed the bag from the backseat and directed the man to the green, neon sign on the other side of the alley.

“W-Where are you going?” he panted as she took off towards the clinic ahead of him.

“Giving the doc a heads up!” she called from over her shoulder. “Just come this way!”

Two steps at a time, V practically threw herself to the bottom of the clinic’s stairs. Stumbling, she burst inside, the metal gate grinding loudly through its shaft.

Viktor was already on his feet, no doubt startled at the commotion she was causing. Something between a smile and pure shock was spread on the ripperdoc’s face as he greeted the merc.

“Hey, V, where’s the fire-”

“I brought you lunch!”

V moved past him to toss their meal on his workbench. Some of his tools fell loudly to the floor.

“Aw, thanks, kid,” he said with a small smile, allowing himself to be touched by the gesture despite the rising chaos that was building in his clinic. “What’s going-”

“I also brought you a patient!”

Before the words registered, a harsh cry echoed in the large space. Viktor’s eyes snapped to the entrance of the clinic where a sweaty, half-naked man was leaning on the gate’s frame. The man’s hands were planted in the apex of his thighs. A sudden spark caused his body to jolt.

Like a switch, Viktor’s focus became sharp and alert.

“V, the chair,” demanded Viktor. “Stat.”

The merc grimaced as she hoisted the stranger up and led him to the operating chair. Viktor had already sanitized his hands and arms with a quick drying antiseptic by the time the man collapsed in place.

“Due to your compromised state,” began Viktor in a flat drone. V winced at how Viktor shoved his usual stimulant into his forearm, leaving behind a rounded wound that would join the other scars. “I am obligated to act on Article 23.4 of NUSA’s Good Samaritan Law to provide emergency medical care-”

“Shit,” moaned the man, his hands gripping hard at the armrests. “W-What the hell are you talking about? Just do your fuckin’ job!”

“Preem,” muttered the ripperdoc as he jabbed the man’s upper thigh with his medgun. The man yelped. “Pain should subside now.”

V suppressed a smile in response to the dry look that Vik shot her.

“Grab me two ‘Dorphs from that shelf,” he told her, a finger from his exoglove pointing in a general direction. “Need Beauts.”

“On it.”

As V searched his supply, Viktor gathered information from his new patient.

Despite knowing the ripperdoc for as long as she had and walking in on countless operations, seeing Viktor work in such a controlled, level manner calmed V’s nerves as well. A voice as rich as honey had that effect on people. The man made ripper work look easy, multitasking between running diagnostics, checking vitals, and laying a thin, surgical drape on the man’s exposed lap. Viktor kept the conversation flowing, delivering timely ‘mhms’ and repeating specs aloud for the recording program of his computer. He had an ease to his voice, something tranquil and trustworthy, even as Viktor pushed against the man’s chest when the guy tried to rise from the chair.

“Jesse,” warned Viktor calmly. “Easy there.”

If he wanted to put up a real fight, V doubted that Jesse had a chance against Viktor. The patient’s body squirmed under the force of one arm alone.

“Doc, doc, doc, you need to operate,” Jesse argued. “You n-need to-”

“Jesse,” Viktor snapped, and in response the man immediately stilled. Jesse’s lids seemed to then get heavier and his shoulders slumped.

“There we go,” soothed the ripperdoc with a smirk, his body stretching on his rolling stool. “Took your body a while. I gave you a little cocktail of mine, the Vektor special. Should feel nothin’ but good now.”

V set the requested meds on a metal table by his stool. Viktor grabbed one, shook it, and handed it wordlessly to his patient.

Turning on her heel, V was about to dismiss herself from the situation. Her role was fulfilled. The guy was maybe gonna be okay, and even though V interrupted several of Viktor’s appointments, she could at least attempt to respect Doctor-Patient confidentiality. The flaming crotch man seemed like a great place to start.

Just as she started to walk away, she felt a tight grip on her wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” said Viktor lowly, fingers giving a gentle squeeze. “I’ll need ya to stick around for this one, kiddo.”

“Think you got it, Vik,” she said with a grin. “Flaming dicks aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh, I know I got it,” he returned. “And flaming dicks aside, I’d rather have a second pair of hands should things head south. Normally I’d call for Misty, but she’s out today. Besides…”

Viktor rolled in closer to V, an air of confidence about him. V’s eyes narrowed.

“Would love to see you play nurse,” he purred.

A warmth stung her cheeks as she took her wrist back.

“So long as I don’t have to wear an outfit, I’ll help,” she quipped.

“Oh, don’t tempt me.”

The huskiness of his voice made her blush even more.

Viktor winked up at V before he turned his full attention back to his sedated patient.

Her attention, too, travelled back to Jesse as he huffed the med. Then, they fell on the surgical drape in his lap.

“So,” she prompted. “His dick was about to explode.”

Viktor hummed in agreement.

“You don’t, uh, seem that worried about it,” she went on.

A chuckle.

Even Jesse in his laxed state, sat up a bit for an explanation.

“We’re in the clear for now,” answered Viktor. More so to the patient, he added, “Now that you’re calm, your blood pressure isn’t forcing that faulty equipment to activate. Should be smooth sailing if you stay as relaxed as possible.”

“Oh, okay,” replied Jesse dumbly, no longer looking Viktor in the eye, but instead gazing up at the dark ceiling. “Um, what are, what are you going to do exactly, doc?”

“Gonna take that shitty tech out of your junk, Jess, that’s what. Guessing you got it for a steal, right? Black market shit? Some word from the Wise: Don’t ever accept tech that’s too good to be true. Ever. Especially if it’s an implant like this. I mean, you’re lookin’ at a few potential side effects that I can talk to you about after the procedure-”

“Wait, you can’t, like, fix it?”

Viktor sighed.

“Uh, no,” he replied flatly. “Not my specialty. And I don’t plan on being held liable for whatever, eh, works and doesn’t work. I can refer you to a guy I know in Charter Hill though.”

Jesse pouted in response, but after seeing how Viktor wasn’t going to budge on the issue, he consented to the procedure.

As time went by, V kept busy by fetching Viktor whatever supply he requested, whether it be more drugs, sutures, or gauze. Which was fine and ultimately best considering the kind of operation that was taking place. Not that V became squeamish around the sight and smell of blood, no. That wasn’t it. Just the nature of it all, that Vik was repairing a poor man’s augmented penis.

So much for a relaxing, care-free day.

The only saving grace to it all was seeing Viktor in his element. The man shined. He kept Jesse talking, eyes meeting his patient’s and on the monitor in equal measure, while also sounding personable and sincere. They exchanged stories about interests, about boxing matches they’ve seen, hobbies, some boring topics, some piquing her curiosity. Viktor’s voice held the same steadiness no matter the subject, and V’s heart warmed at watching him work with such care. Though she’s been in his operating chair herself probably hundreds of times, it was something special to see him work with someone else, to witness him calm even the most panicked of souls.

A goofy laugh gushed from Jesse, no doubt feeling the effects of all the medication.

“Ah man, you’re just so sexy,” he blurted.

V blinked at the realization that the comment was directed at her.

A listless ‘Mm’ was all she offered.

Viktor kept working, attributing the outburst to the drugs.

“I mean it!” said Jesse, misreading the woman’s lack of response. “You are just so gorgeous. So, so breathtaking. And you helped me-”

“I expect to be paid,” V reminded him.

“Yes, yes, and you deserve to. Yes, you deserve to! Doesn’t she deserve to be paid?”

Viktor offered a close-lipped smile in agreement, preferring to finish the operation as soon as humanly possible with the turn the conversation had taken. Just a few more stitches-

“Do you do advertisements?” continued Jesse, nearly sounding manic. “Do you? A supermodel maybe? You know, like a side gig sorta thing?”

V snorted.

“Nope, can’t say I would even want to, Jesse.”

“Huh, well, you should think about it. You would make a shit ton of eddies if you did, probably more than merc work. Not to objectify you, but like, you totally have the bod for the job.”

Viktor glanced up at V after that comment, his blood boiling at how Jesse’s advice rendered her speechless.

Not missing an awkward beat, Jesse then asked “So are ya single? Or is dating not your thing?”

V squared her shoulders.

“Don’t think you need to know that-”

“Come on! Gimme a hint. I mean, no judgment if you don’t date.”

“Good to know.”

“Yeah, I can keep it loose. What about you?”

Viktor’s jaw started to ache from how hard it was clenched.

“Actually,” said V, her voice perking up. “I am dating someone. And I like the guy. A lot. Pretty solid, so not really looking for anything else right now-”

In a voice that Viktor could only assume was supposed to be a whisper, Jesse said, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im-”

A clank.

Viktor had put down a pair of surgical scissors so loudly that both Jesse and V jumped.

“V?” questioned the ripperdoc in a terse tone. “Mind grabbin’ our patient here a low-dose ‘Dorph for the road? ‘Bout finished up.”

A heavy sigh of relief left the merc as she headed towards the back of the clinic.

“You’ll need to take two huffs now and two more in an hour or so, okay?” said Viktor to Jesse, annoyed at catching Jesse’s eyes trailing after V.

“That woman,” he started to say, clearly missing what Viktor had said about the meds. “For such a smart mouth, she’s got a great ass, am I right-”

Without warning, Viktor’s fingers smacked the side of Jesse’s face with enough force to make him flinch. Stunned, Jesse immediately looked at Viktor.

Eyes locked on Jesse, Viktor called out to V.

“Hey, V? See any more of that stim I use? You know, the one that I need in case my hand slips?”

Some shuffling sounded from the back.

“Um, yeah,” she shouted. “Why?”

“I just did a lot of good work here on Jesse’s dick. Would hate for something to happen to it at the finish line.”

Jesse swallowed as he could feel the outline of Viktor’s intense stare past the tinted lenses. The ripperdoc sat close to his patient and spoke in a voice so dark that it made Jesse’s hair rise on the back of his neck.

“You’re my patient now, but the moment you step out of here, you’re just any other asshole on the street that hits on V in front of my face. Difference between now and then is that I’ll kick your goddamn teeth out on the curb should I hear another word out of that mouth of yours ‘bout how hot she looks and what the fuck she does with her body. You will pay her. Don’t care if you pay me, but unless you wanna know what the Bradbury sidewalk tastes like I better hear from V by the end of the day that you paid her in full for bringing you into my clinic today or so help you God I don’t find you and get those eddies myself.”

Jesse swallowed before nodding his head.

The only sound that could be heard in the clinic was V’s footsteps. She found it odd how still the men were sitting and how Jesse didn’t acknowledge her presence once she returned to the operating chair.

“Here,” she said to the ripperdoc, but Viktor shook his head at the stimulant she brought.

“You know, I actually think I won’t need it. He’s all set and ready to go. Aren’t you, Jesse?”

The guy would have some balls to respond. As expected, Jesse remained quiet. The ripperdoc’s back popped as he rose slowly from the stool, his body stiff from operating. He continued stretching as he walked towards the locker room area of his clinic to fetch Jesse a pair of stocked sweats that he set aside for patients.

V gave Viktor a questioning look and was met only with another classic wink.

“About my payment,” she began, turning her attention back to Jesse.

Still refusing to look her in the eye, Jesse stated, “I’ll get it to you in an hour.”

The man quickly dressed, thanked Viktor for his services, and rushed out of the clinic without looking back. Based on the smugness that Viktor carried himself with as he wiped down his workspace, V caught onto what happened.

With V’s help, the clinic was cleaned and prepped for the next fortunate soul who sought out Viktor’s care.

The pair were lounging on the ripperdoc’s crusty couch in the back of the clinic, their feet propped up on a stack of boxes with lukewarm takeout in hand.

“Not a fan of Jesse’s career advice, I take it?” teased V with a grin.

Viktor glowered as he swallowed a mouthful of noodles.

“Not a fan of really any advice he gave, no,” he replied coolly.

“Might lose future business,” she mocked, but he was already shaking his head.

“It’s all good. I’m eating lunch with a supermodel. Life can’t get any sweeter.”

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

FE3H: Felix x Reader {Territorial}

Premise: This war won’t take another thing from Felix, at least not on his own soil. 

Part: (2/2) {Previous} 

Warning: Angst, Loss, a lil fluff in this one

A week ago, all Felix knew was anger. It was not a village he spotted but the remnants of what remained of the army’s forces. They had driven off the Empire from assaulting further into Fargeus territory, but the battle overall was a massive loss. The list of casualties was long, and if they hadn’t remained to scout the are then perhaps two generals would be on it as well. He had failed.

The moment he arrived at the encampment (Y/N) fell into a deep slumber. In the care of whatever healers that had survived, she managed to survive the trip back to the monastery without issue. He was grateful, but the words caught in his throat. He watched as a collective sigh of relief overtook the camp when word of her stabilizing spread. To be respected by one’s subordinates was expected, but she had earned their companionship. He felt a surge of pride that soon turned to self-hatred. A moment later and these troops would have lost their leader.

He had no need to deliver news to the Professor or the Boar. They met him at the gates and their expressions said they knew it all. Instead of standing around for a useless pep talk, he pushed through to the training hall. No one followed or tried to stop him. At some point Ashe came to inform him of (Y/N)’s care status. Still asleep, and now in Manuela’s clinic. Pitiful.

“Felix, will you not join us for dinner?” after two days the professor came. Despite his own healing injuries, he still trained. For hours, until he’d go sit outside the clinic overnight. The guards on duty weren’t enough in his opinion and no one dared to argue.

“No”

He swiped at the training dummy, adding another to a collection of many gashes.

“I understand that you’re worried about (Y/N), but you can’t neglect yourself. She wouldn’t want this,” They said, and Felix felt the hatred from the week before resurface. With a strangled grunt he threw the sword down at the ground. They had no right to put words in her mouth, especially ones he knew were true. True, and that was the issue.

“Don’t act like you understand when you don’t! You will never understand until-” He caught himself. Byleth remained quiet in wait for his answer, but he could only clutch his head in frustration. This wasn’t a talk to have with his teacher.

“Never mind,” he sighed, “I’m out of here, don’t follow me,” he stormed past before they could say more. Instead of heading to the mess hall, Felix walked straight to Manuela’s clinic. He ignored any who tried to speak with him, and honestly didn’t have it in him to feel even remotely guilty.

Just as he was about to enter the clinic his steps halted; one hand outstretched towards the handle. Despite the battle being over for over a week not once had he visited her. He tried. Each night Manuela would leave the door open for him, and each night his hand would hover near the doorknob. Something about seeing her so lifeless, so fragile; it stopped him every time.

He almost turns to sit on the floor again, but the door opened without him needing to do so. For a second Manuela gasps at his unkept appearance, before grinning and yanking him inside.

“Felix dear! I was just on my way to find you. (Y/N), he’s right here!” She sang out while pushing him towards a cot hidden behind a screen-divider. There was a faint shadow on it illuminated by candlelight. She was awake, and he didn’t know how to feel.  

“You two lovebirds take a moment to talk. I will be in professor Hannamen’s office if you need anything,” Manuela said, leaving and shutting the door behind her. He needed to leave before something bad happened. He wasn’t ready to face this yet. Not only mentally, but physically. He hadn’t shaved since the battle and was sweaty from training. She was the last person he would want to look at him.

“Felix? Why are you so far away?” his heart thumped in his chest. Any tension he was feeling before faded away at her voice. The last time they spoke it was laced with death. It haunted his dreams to where he almost forgot how beautiful the sound was. Escape was impossible, something he realized as the shadow moved. Before she could get up, he crossed the screen barrier.

“I was just man-handled by Manuela. Even I need time to recuperate sometimes,” he grumbled and stood at the edge of her bed. At the sound of her laugh his gaze drew to her face. Dark circles painted her eyes despite being asleep for so long, and she had a bedhead worse for wear. It reminded him of when they would study together for tests as teens. He’d complain about the hassle, she’d force him to stay, and somehow, they both would end up not learning anything. Simply aggravating the librarian and losing sleep over nothing.

“Sorry,” her laugh ended. He didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say in a situation like this? His face soured, something she clearly took note of. He averted his attention to the low-burned candle.

“Well? How do you feel?” he asked, albeit in a less sincere tone than he felt.

“Alright. A bit stiff and sore, but nothing too serious,” she stretched while speaking. Felix was not stupid. A wound like hers would not go without side effects. Despite the lie he tried to remain neutral.

“Good,” and so a pregnant silence overtook them. He closed his eyes, resting for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“When I woke up, Manuela said a week had passed. Is that true?” She asked, and he could sense her nerves. The familiar bubbling in his gut began to appear, and he clenched his fists.

“Yeah,”

“…my soldiers?”

“Alive, they were relived to see you safe. You have a good platoon,” He did not lie. His men were not his friends, and he liked it that way. Comradery was not his strong suit, but to know she had people at her side put him at ease. He peered an eye open in time to see her slouch against the bedframe. No doubt they were first on her mind after awaking.

“I know. They’re good people,” She smiled. A faint one, yet still enough to almost make him mimic it. He was close until his eye caught the bandages around her neck. Most were hidden under thin sheets, but he knew. He knew what was there and did not know what to do. They were a reminder, and the scars underneath a forever momento.  She caught his glare, and instinctively reached to cradle them. The bubbling grew to a boil.

“Could you say something? Anything?” she burst out in the silence, “Yell at me, scream at me, tell me I’m stupid or that you hate me? I don’t regret what I did Felix, but you need to talk to me,” her words were desperate and broke his stare from the bandage. He watched her form tuck in as she took a deep breath, yet he still could not find the right words. She knew how he felt about other people protecting him. That was his kill, his fight, and his wound. She knew, yet she went and did something so-so her.

“You want me to talk to you?!” he seethed and pushed off the wall, “Do you-“She shrunk back into the bedframe but he couldn’t stop. Not on his own.

“Do you have any idea what you put me through?! That was not your place! You are not allowed to die!”

His words caused her to pause. She unfolded, and he knew that look after so many arguments together. Her eyes squinted at him as she raised to sit straight on her knees. Fire that made her the fighter he fell for, and one the soldiers obeyed.

“And how is that fair?! I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: we are a team

Felix! If I can’t die, then you can’t either! Do you honestly think I could have lived with myself if you disappeared?!” she yelled. Their voices echoed on the clinic’s walls and bounced around the room. Rebuttal after rebuttal they continued to argue until the candlelight had dimmed to nearly visible. He watched as tears pricked her eyes and wondered how his own face looked. At some point she had moved closer to him, to where he could almost smell the medicinal herbs used in the various treatments she’d undergone. Over and over she insisted on his importance. Of how great a warrior he is, how his friends needed him, how the country needed him; she didn’t understand.  What about him? What about what he wanted? He did what he chose, not what was expected. He’d sooner die for himself, then let her die because of other people.

He would not let his father say those words again. Not for himself, and surly not for her.

“You would have gotten over it. Everyone does, death is natural,” his voice calmed as she grew even nearer to the bed’s end. The bubbling simmered, and he reached out towards a strand of her hair. Matted, a bit worn, but soft.

“…Felix?” his hand soon moved to her cheek. One he caressed many times over in private. Her lips drew taught, yet she still leaned into his touch.

“If I die, I will do it fighting for what I believe in (Y/N). Not as a mindless solider,” he said, ending the argument. Normally he would leave her to think on her own, just as he’s done with everyone else. He doesn’t like explaining himself and has always thought people were too self-absorbed to understand his way of life. His father for one barely tried beyond pleasantries. Yet, he wanted her to. The way her hand came to rest over his own showed that she did too.

“I did what I wanted. I fight because I love you, I love our friends, and I love our home …not for anything else. You know that” she whispered. Her arms came to wrap around his neck, and he pulled her in. He did know and it made his gut wrench. It twisted in fear for losing her like he lost his brother and for failing himself; yet, at the same time hearing her words made him happy. Her wounds may have been because of him, but they were partially for the same reason he fought. Maybe she didn’t enjoy the excitement of battle like he did, but her cause was her own, not of a higher power.

“I love you, and I would do it all over again”

“Stupid…I love you too”

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Sleepy Holloween

A/N: This Ichabbie Halloween fic is pure fluff and cuteness. No plot to be found here, just flirts and enjoyment.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I had to wait 300 years for a virgin to light a candle.”

An orchestra played an epic few bars of music, a drumroll sounded, and Abbie turned the TV off as the credits started to roll.

“Well, Crane, what’d you think?”

He turned to Jenny, who was cuddled up with Joe on the opposite end of the couch. “It was…palatable.”

Jenny gave him her blank stare of disbelief, and Joe smiled knowingly, but it was Abbie, who’d stayed tucked into his side for the duration of the movie, who prompted, “Come on, tell us what you really think.”

He glanced down at her, noting her sincere, if amused, look. “Is this, in all honesty, a children’s film?” he asked, genuinely perturbed.

“Well…not small children,” Joe supplied.

“And what is considered ‘small,’ Master Joe? I dare to presume there are parents who’d rather not expose young minds to witchcraft and the occult. It’s difficult enough for the four of us to manage it—but to appropriate it for entertainment on our youth…”

“You mean to tell me children in your day didn’t watch real life horrors worse than a little Halloween fantasy?” Jenny countered, forceful but kind. “That they weren’t exposed to hangings and gunfights and war? Not to mention the treatment of slaves.”

Crane looked duly reprimanded. "I suppose I can see where…times have altered enough that All Hallow’s Eve fantasy films are less traumatic than real life has been known to be.”

“And that’s your only comment on the film?” Abbie asked.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Certainly not. The inaccuracies in this movie are quite numerous.”

“Here we go,” Joe murmured good-naturedly, eliciting knowing smirks from the Mills sisters and a slightly offended look from Crane.

“To begin with, most cabins in the 17th century would be much smaller than the one Binx and Emily shared, and they likely would have slept in the same room as their parents, perhaps even in the same bed, depending on their economic status.”

“Oh! We’re starting at the beginning,” Jenny teased, extracting herself from Joe and stretching.

Crane tilted his head at her in disdain but continued as Joe and Jenny rose to take their leave. “By dawn, the entire town would have been roused and already about their day. The witch Sarah would not have had the opportunity to lure young Emily to her demise at daybreak.”

“Speaking of a break, we need to head out,” Joe explained, waving at them as they headed for the door.

“Good luck, Abbie,” Jenny threw over her shoulder, smirking as they exited the house.

Abbie smiled and waved, content to stay securely tucked into Ichabod’s side for a few more minutes, even if she had to listen to another historical inaccuracy rant in order to do so.

“You get three,” she stated.

He peered down at her questioningly. “I don’t understand.”

“Tell me three issues you had with the movie. Only,” she held up her hand against his coming dispute, “three.”

“Very well. One: If the witches had spent 300 years in eternal damnation, should they not have recognized that ridiculous man dressed as the devil wasn’t him? We’re supposed to believe they think Lucifer takes on human form, has also left the depths of Hades—the place they’ve just escaped from—and lives in a modern home with a wife and a dog?”

“Everyone’s gotta live somewhere,” Abbie teased, earning her a classic Ichabod glare.

“Two: When the sisters are chasing those poor children, Witch Winnifred mocks young Max’s words, ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.’” His professor’s finger came up, and Abbie did her best to refrain from smiling at him. “Regardless of the fact that ‘hocus pocus’ is a sham-Latin phrase that jugglers employed in the 17th century—not to mention a common stage name both they and magicians used—how would she have known he said such phrase since he hadn’t yet lit the black flame candle, and therefore she wasn’t in this realm?”

Abbie nodded, considering his point, but refrained from answering, instead holding up three fingers to remind him he was about to round home.

“And three: Since the sisters only returned for one All Hallow’s Eve and they spent it chasing those children around all of Salem, how in Heaven’s name did Witch Winnifred know what a driver’s permit is? It took me months to get mine, and that only after you spent every waking hour explaining the 21st century and all of its advancements and gadgets to me and teaching me how to master the iron horse.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, mildly entertained by his nitpicking, though she couldn’t help adding, “It is a fantasy film, though.”

Ichabod looked pleased she agreed with him and nodded. “I do admit, it was a bit of fantastical fun though,” he allowed, his voice calmer now that he’d aired some of his grievances. “Quite comforting to know others fight the tyranny of evil, even if it is merely make-believe. Will we watch this every year?”

“It’s a requirement in this house. And since you live here too now…”

“Indeed I do.” He lifted an eyebrow, a flirty smile teasing his lips as he kissed her.

“Come on.” Abbie patted his thigh as she pulled away from him. “It’s time to get ready. The kids’ll be here soon.”

*****

“Abbie…are you coming down?” Ichabod called up the staircase.

“On my way. You dressed?”

She heard him mumble something about ‘infernal style,’ but then his voice carried up to her. “Yes, and most anxious to see your costume.”

Abbie didn’t know what to prepare for, either in terms of what costume he’d chosen or what he’d think of hers. She couldn’t help hoping he’d appreciate her outfit choice even more than he had her Beyonce get-up from last year—which he’d enjoyed just fine. She recalled how his appreciative gaze roamed from her full head of faux curls, across her face where she’d applied a classic but simple make-up style, lingered a few seconds too long on her lips before dropping down to her neck where her ‘Queen’ necklace caused him to smirk approvingly at the statement before sliding down to her unusually low-cut shirt, which provided a rare and revealing view of her cleavage. His eyes lingered again, then traveled down the length of her body to stare at her shorts with the bling on the pockets and her bare legs. After a few moments, he suddenly seemed to remember himself, and his eyes snapped up to her face where her knowing smile made him a bit embarrassed to have gawked at her so.

This outfit didn’t reveal her attributes in the same way, but she’d bet money it’d please him all the same.

She smoothed down the sides of her costume, then started down the stairs. Ichabod came into sight, standing tall, proud, regal, and ramrod straight, and she nearly tripped over her own feet. His hair had disappeared beneath a white sailor’s cap with a black bill and gold trim. The white jacket with epaulets on the shoulders and gold buttons running down the middle made his blue eyes shine even brighter than usual as he heatedly watched her descend the stairs. A single, thin, gold ribbon encircled the jacket’s wrists and striped down the sides of the white pants he wore, the entire uniform making him appear nobler and even taller than his 6 foot-plus frame.

She’d never expected to see him in a contemporary costume, having long since given up trying to get him to wear anything modern, and she had no clue what had possessed him to go military for Halloween. But he certainly didn’t disappoint, and she suddenly wished she had one of those old handheld folding fans ladies used to carry around to cool herself off with.  

Ichabod watched Abbie float down the stairs, mesmerized by her costume. She’d pinned all of her hair up, leaving a single, thick curl falling over her shoulder. Her dress, a deep green that complimented her beautifully flushed brown skin, had long sleeves that ended with a frill of off-white lace at her forearms. The court neckline, cut down nearly to her armpits, highlighted the length of her neck, her collarbones, the glow of her skin, and her bust. The dress’s bodice, an inset corset also in off-white, contrasted beautifully against the dark green of the rest of the dress and emphasized her petite frame and small waist. From her hips, the dress flared out and down to the floor, her tiny feet hidden beneath its layers.

She looked stunning, as though she’d stepped out of the Revolutionary War era with him. He knew his gaze lingered in awe, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d admit he loved seeing Abbie wear her modern-day clothes—blue jeans, form-fitting shirts, a silk robe, a tank top and short shorts to bed—though Heaven knew they all left little to the imagination, which he was both forever grateful for and infernally distracted by. But seeing her like this, resplendent in Colonial couture, left him speechless and mesmerized as she came to stand in front of him.

Abbie recovered first. “Hello there, sailor,” she cooed, a full smile gracing her face.

Ichabod mentally shook himself out of his stupor and swallowed hard. “Ah-ah, it’s Captain,” he corrected, pointing to one of the stripes gracing the left side of his chest.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, impressed. “O Captain, my Captain.”

“And no other’s,” he assured her, his voice dropping low. “Abbie….you look…” While his words trailed off, his hand started at her wrist and slid up her arm, over her shoulder, across her bare collarbone.

“Colonial?” she supplied, delighted her endeavor to please and surprise him had elicited this effect.

“Well, yes, but I was going to say 'magnificent,’” he explained as he tipped her chin up and kissed her, his other hand finding her waist.

He felt her smile against his lips, and he pulled away, then changed his mind and gave her another peck before taking her hands in his and a step back to drink in the sight of her once more.

“You seem very pleased, love.”

“I am,” she confirmed, smiling, watching his eyes roam over her again. “I wanted to surprise you with a little something from your…previous life.”

“Mission well accomplished,” he affirmed, tugging her towards him with their still-clasped hands. He leaned in close to kiss her neck. “Though I can’t wait to take this off of you,” he whispered against her skin.

“Ah,” she gasped, simultaneously easing away from him and pushing him away, though her hands remained on his chest. “Don’t start; it’s much too early for that. Besides…” Her eyes roamed heatedly over him again. “I need some time to enjoy you fully embracing the military style of today.”

“Mm,” he hummed, taking a step back from her and holding his arms out wide for her perusal. “So this suits you?”

“It suits you,” she returned cheekily. “It pleases me.”

He arched one brow. “How much, we shall find out later.”

“Indeed,” she agreed in a teasing tone, mocking his go-to affirmative.

One side of his mouth turned up, amused. “Shall we get on with the festivities, Mistress Abbie?” he asked, changing the subject before things got too out of hand. Heaven knew he’d need to try to keep things neutral in order to make it through the rest of the evening without ravishing her.

“Mistress? You know…that designation doesn’t mean the same thing now as it did before,” she informed him as she headed towards the kitchen.

“No? What, pray tell, does it mean now?”

She reached into the cabinets for the bags of candy she’d bought, handing them to him. “It usually refers to a woman in a relationship with a married man.”

“Has this generation found no end to the butchering of the English language? In my day, a mistress was the head of her home, holding a position of control and authority; it was a title of respect. It boggles the mind how a term of female empowerment has been subverted such that it now refers to something…tawdry.”

“Agreed; your definition is much better,” Abbie stated, pulling the large orange bowl with black bats all over it from another cabinet, setting it on the island between them. “You can call me Mistress, if you feel the need, with the understanding that you’re referencing the original meaning. How’s that sound?”

“But you are my Mistress,” he said matter of factly.

Abbie splayed her arms wide, gripping the countertop, and stared at him questioningly, waiting for him to explain himself.

“You’re the head of the household. And respected, of course. But you’re also a woman in a relationship with me, a married man.”

“But you’re married to me. That’s not…tawdry,” she mocked his phrasing again.

With a glint in his eye, one side of his mouth quirked up. “Not yet…but the night’s still young, my mistress Abbie.”

She shook her head, amused and not a little warmed by his flirtations, the smooth way he breathed her name sending heat dancing up her spine. “You’re incorrigible. And if you don’t stop, this will be the last time you see me wearing this costume.”

“That is the idea.”

Needing levity, she pointed to the bags of candy in front of him. “Will you open those and pour them in this bowl while I go turn on the porch light? Light on means free candy. Light off, kids skip the house.”

Ichabod tipped his sailor’s hat at her. “Your wish is my command, Mistress.”

“Mmhmm.” Though her heart thrummed wildly, she threw him a disbelieving look as she headed to the entryway, her dress swooshing around her as she moved.

She chosen her costume to surprise her dashing husband, but truthfully she enjoyed the dress herself. It made her feel feminine and stately. Not that she’d want to wear the layers and corset-style bodice every day—thank God she’d been born in the 20th century—but it was a nice change. Her childhood and her profession hadn’t allowed for many of life’s pleasures so she’d always made a point to have fun on Halloween as an adult. Choosing a costume each year—the range varying from Wonder Woman and a mermaid to a Greek goddess and Beyonce—gave her the opportunity to pretend she was someone else, imagine all the fantastical lives she could live if given the chance. It’d become one of her favorite holidays, and she hoped Ichabod would come to love it and all the ways to celebrate it too.

He’d certainly taken to it more this year than last. He’d huffed and chuffed as they’d searched the Spirit Halloween store the previous year, becoming more horrified by the evil nature of most costumes and more offended by the lack of creativity of women’s outfits with each passing aisle. After perusing the entire store, he’d resolutely decided on a colonial figure, which really hadn’t required a costume at all, and wouldn’t budge. This year he’d suggested they choose costumes separately. She’d thought he’d just rather avoid the pretense of shopping for an acceptable get-up when he knew one couldn’t be found to appease his colonial sensibilities, but he’d deliberately surprised her, just as she’d done for him.

“Why are these called 'fun size’?” he called out to her.

She saw him warily eyeing the miniature Snickers bar he held and smiled, making her way back to the kitchen. “Because they’re smaller than average.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled with uncertainty, tossing the candy back into the bowl before he realized he had an audience. His eyes landed on her again, taking in the exquisite dress and the beloved woman wearing it, and his expression changed. “I’m most certainly of the opinion that smaller than average is 'fun size,'” he teased, dropping a kiss onto her temple as he grabbed the candy-filled bowl and made his way into the living room.

Another 15 minutes passed before the doorbell rang with the first trick-or-treaters seeking candy, and the two jawed on about their day: the pumpkin carving fun they’d had with Joe and Jenny before they’d watched Hocus Pocus, how they’d each selected their costumes with one another in mind, how they’d spend the upcoming holiday season, and what they’d do with any candy left over if they didn’t give it all away tonight.

Sitting closer to the front door, Abbie got up to answer it, and Ichabod sprang up to accompany her. She unlocked the deadbolt and reached for the doorknob when she felt his hand upon her arm, restraining her.

“Hold on a moment, Fun Size,” Ichabod’s voice rumbled from behind her as he curled himself around her and slid his hand down her arm to cover hers. “A captain must ensure his mistress is safe at all times.”

She smiled at his flirtation as he peered through the window at the top of the door, a full head above her own height. “Such chivalry,” she preened.

“Tis my duty,” he corrected.

“And your pleasure.”

“You’ve no idea,” he informed her, leaning down to kiss her bare neck. But before he could, Abbie ducked beneath his arm and out of his embrace.

“Not as of yet,” she taunted, throwing him a brazen smile and opening the door with one hand, grabbing the candy bowl off the entryway table with the other.

A small princess, Thor, and a clown stood on the porch, candy baskets held aloft as they all chimed ‘Trick or Treat!’ together.

Abbie grinned at the excitement on their faces and graciously dropped candy into each of their bags, waving as they skipped away to the next house.

“My, I do see the joy of celebrating All Hallow’s Eve in this fashion.”

His voice came from behind her, and she turned a bit to see him watching the children roam around on their street in a myriad of costumes: dragons, superheroes, monsters, pumpkins, fairies, and Disney characters.

“No wonder children enjoy it so immensely.”

“And you, Captain Crane?” she wondered, happy seeing the delight on his handsome face. “Are you enjoying it?”

He peered down at her and smiled contentedly. “Yes,” he affirmed, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him as they stood in the doorway waiting for their next visitors, and he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, causing them both to smile. “Yes, I most certainly am.”

[thesecondcircleofkel]

NSFW Alphabet, Hawks: A-Z

Reposting all of these together for convenience and to save space. I don’t accept requests to do the entire alphabet for someone all at once. You have to stick to the guidelines of 1 character per ask, and 5 letters per ask, and once I finish the alphabet for a character with requests like that, I will repost it all together. Request are closed at the moment, though.  

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He can be a bit lazy with aftercare. He likes to bask in the afterglow for a while after sex, and he’s not going to move much during that. His wings really come in handy at this point, though, because while he may not be too keen on moving his body, he doesn’t have any issues with using his feathers to get you anything that you need. Beyond that, though, just let the man chill out for a moment, and he’s totally down to cuddle for a bit if you want to.

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, the obvious answer would be his wings. And he does love them; they’re a unique and gorgeous feature that very few people have, and he’s been able to do some fantastic hero work with them. He likes his eyes just a little bit more, though; he can churn out some really smoldering looks with them when he wants to, and he likes how those looks can have you panting in seconds.

On his partner, he’s torn between your ass and chest. He loves to leave marks all over your chest, but he also likes to grab a handful of your ass during sex. Both are visually appealing, too, so he honestly can’t decide between them.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He’s not picky about where comes, like, at all. He can see the appeal in coming inside of you and on you because he mainly just likes to make a bit of a mess with his cum, and he can do that via either method. His cum is a little on the thin side, but it’s still thick enough not to be too runny. The taste leaves a bit to be desired because he’s not exactly picky about what he eats.

D: Dirty Secret

He’s not exactly embarrassed by it, so much so that he’s actually planning out the logistics of it to try to make it happen, but most people would still frown on it so it still counts as a dirty secret: he wants to fuck you while flying at least once, just to say that he can and did.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not as much as you’d think, surprisingly. Yes, he’s pretty and he’s got droves of people swooning over him, but he’s also really, really busy. He’s had his own hero agency since he was 18 and he’s been a top hero since then, too, and that doesn’t leave a lot of spare time for anything, much less dating or even one-night stands. He certainly knows what he’s doing, but most of that comes from research instead of gained experience.

F: Favorite Position

He can be a bit lazy during sex, so he loves any position where you ride him, particularly Cowgirl, but he will have to sit up a bit on account of his wings.

Leopard- he loves to see you stretched out in front of him as you work yourself on his cock, plus the view of your ass is to die for.

Oath- he thinks it’s pretty intimate, plus he can easily run his hands all over your body in this position, especially your chest.

Emperor-it gives him a damn good view of your entire body as you lounge out like a king/queen, plus it doesn’t irritate his wings.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He can definitely be a bit more on the goofy side during sex. He can be serious if you want him to, but he generally prefers to be more playful with you than anything, and if you think that he won’t tickle you with his feathers during the act just to get a laugh out of you, you’re dead wrong.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)

It’s all feathers…

I’m kidding, of course. The carpet is slightly darker than the drapes, and there isn’t a whole lot of it. What little there is of it is neatly trimmed, though.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Sex with Hawks can be pretty intimate, with those smoldering eyes of his and the constant hold that he’ll have on your waist. He realizes that his busy schedule doesn’t always allow him to be the most attentive of lovers, so he really cherishes the moments that he does have with you, and he’ll use sex as the perfect opportunity to remind you of how much he loves and needs you.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off a fair amount. He’s a young guy in his prime, and he’s got the sex drive to go along with that. Unfortunately, he’s also a busy guy, and it’s gotten to the point where he has to schedule his ‘personal time’ or else he won’t get around to it. It’s the same situation when it comes to having sex with his partner, and that’s something that upsets him greatly.

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He’s definitely into using his feathers on you, especially for teasing, so Quirk/Sensation Play. It’s nice to use something that the public reveres him for in such a debauched way.

Voyeurism and Exhibitionism also make the list, but he’s definitely more into the former option. Does he make an active effort to catch you in any sort of indecent act? Yes, without question.

He’s also into Bondage, and it’s split 50/50 as to which one of you will get tied up, but if you get to have your way with him, just tease the hell out of him and you’ll be his favorite person in the world (as if you weren’t already).

He’s not as open about this one, and he has no idea where it came from, but he’s also into a bit of Degradation. On him.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He not picky in regards to location. He’ll be just as happy to fuck you in his bed as he will to fuck you in his office. He is pretty fond of you riding him on the couch, though, especially when the two of you are enjoying a rare lazy day together.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Spontaneity- if you can find some time in his schedule that he somehow missed to throw down, go for it. He really hates being forced to schedule sex because of his job, and he’ll be absolutely thrilled (and turned on) at the prospect of being able to take you when it wasn’t on his schedule.

Wear something that shows off your assets, whether that be a tight shirt or pair of shorts, a low-cut shirt, or some snazzy underwear that he can catch a small glimpse of. His eyes will be glued to you the entire day until he can have you, and then he’ll be sure to pay extra attention to the assets that you showed off.

His wings are totally sensitive around their base and touching him there is a good way to get him hard pretty quickly.

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s pretty open-minded, so there isn’t much that he won’t try when it comes to sex, although he is a bit remiss to hurt you in any way. However, if you’re convincing enough and you start off slow and easy, he’ll give it a go.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn’t have a preference over one or the other, but lord are his oral skills something to write home about. He likes to take his time when he goes down on you, really savoring your taste as he teases you with small licks and nips to your thighs right as you think that he’s about to give you what you want. He loves to see you panting with need, so he’ll tease you for a while before he finally lets you cum. As for receiving, blowjobs are one of his favorite ways to relax. He’ll groan and throw his head back, closing his eyes and enjoying every little thing that you do when you give him oral. He’d like it if you took your time with him, just so he can relax and destress for as long as he can.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Whenever he has the time to be properly intimate with you, he prefers a slow pace. It doesn’t necessarily have to be sensual (he would definitely be down for some slow giggly sex, too), but wants to take it slow so he can have the time to truly appreciate your body and memorize it in all of its glory. With how busy he is, it may be a while before he can have you again, so he wants to make sure that each session lasts long enough for the both of you to be satisfied for a least a little bit.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He is so down for quickies. As stated in his ‘Jack Off’ section, he’s so busy working as a hero that is has gotten to the point that he has to schedule his intimate times with you just to make sure that they actually happen, and that greatly irritates him. Because of that, though, he gets really excited whenever you find some time that wasn’t on his schedule to be intimate with him, and quickies work great for that.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If it wasn’t clear enough in his ‘Dirty Secret’, Hawks is all for taking risks. He kind of sees them as a challenge, to see how he can best use his wits to avoid being caught, and the added thrill is a nice bonus to that.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

He tends to get fairly worn out after sex, so one round is about all he’s got, but it’s a fairly long round, especially when foreplay is factored, so you’ll be more than satisfied by the end of it.

T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Hawks is all for using sex toys. They’re great for foreplay, they’re great for teasing, hell, they’re great for just about everything in his opinion. He’ll just as gladly use them on you as he’ll let you use them on him, and the naughtier the toy, the better.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Hawks is a huge fucking tease in the bedroom, but believe it or not, he actually has a preference for being teased rather than being the teaser. Both work as good stress relievers for him, but being at your mercy and having you push him to the brink with teasing is the best stress relief in the world in his opinion.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

This man has no damn shame when it comes to volume. He’s naturally loud during sex and he knows it, and he doesn’t care. He refuses to hold himself back. He’s going to let you know how good you’re making him feel, and he’s going to do his damnedest to get you to be as loud as he is.

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

He loves to tease you with his feathers. Yes, he’ll use them for some sensation play during sex, and yes, he’ll send a few of them to lightly run over your exposed skin at random points while you two are home together, but he’s also not shy about sending one down your pants to bring you to orgasm before he’s even touched you. He’ll just be standing there, grinning like a fool the whole time, too. It may not have been the most convenient thing in the world for you to have an orgasm while you were figuring out what to make for dinner, but hey, an orgasm is an orgasm. It’s his way of making up for being busy all the time, and even if he can’t have a full session of sex with you, he can at least make sure that you stay satisfied, even if he does it a bit facetiously.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

His dick is slightly thinner than average (around 4 inches), but length-wise he’s a little above average at around 5 ¾ -6 inches. He also has a slight upwards curve that’s bound to hit all sorts of nice spots.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high, which is kind of unfortunate since he doesn’t get to act on it that much with how busy he is. He could have sex multiple times every day if he had the opportunity to, but fate is not on his side in that matter, so he takes what he can whenever he can get it.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As mentioned in his ‘Aftercare’ and ‘Stamina’ sections, he gets a bit tired after sex and he prefers to just chill for a while afterwards. He will definitely fall asleep if he has the chance to, but if not, then he can begrudgingly get up to carry on with his day.

[suddenlysackler]

For the Sake of Kindness (Nice to Meet You Series)

Paterson x Reader

Nice to Meet You: a series of one shots based off of this post. Previous installments can be found here:

Adam Sackler

Charlie Barber

TW: N/A

A/N: i’ve been on a Paterson kick recently and this gave me all the warm fuzzy feelings like he does. Thank you for reading!

...

It wasn’t that you were opposed to taking the bus over the Hudson to work every morning for a week, it just wasn’t...As convenient as driving to campus was. But it was necessary — the mechanic had found a host of issues with your beat up old Volkswagen during a routine inspection and had convinced you with a bit of coaxing to let them try and salvage it before you went to go buy a new one.

Of course, you knew they were sucking you dry, but you were so exasperated and tired after five hours spent at the garage in the mid September heat.

That was how you found yourself climbing onto a bus on a Monday morning, bright and early, to head into Manhattan and teach tired undergraduates about authors that had long since been gone, forgotten from the world and filed into the anonymity of history books, libraries, and syllabi. 

While you slip quarters into the fair box at the front of the bus, you glance up through your eyelashes to say good morning to the driver. The man you see has a kind face and he smiles when you offer him a soft hello. 

“Good morning.” He says, the baritone of his voice striking you right in the center of your chest and you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face as you drop the last quarter.

Paterson can’t stop himself from smiling as you make your way back to find a vacant seat, a thin paperback in your right hand and your backpack in your left as you shuffle awkwardly down the narrow aisle. He can’t stop himself from thinking about you as he goes through the route, picking up and dropping off various people. He’s never seen you before — where could you be going? Were you new to town? What stop would you get off at? Would he see you again on one of his outbound trips later in the day?

The questions he asks himself and the little narratives he proposes about who you are and what your life is like distracts him from his normal activities. The people watching and making small talk and usual day dreams rooted in people’s conversations that he picks up that ultimately makes his way into the stanzas he scribbles into the tattered notebook that sits in his lunch pal and sometimes distracts him from his food.

He’s so absorbed in these questions he asks himself, in these little worlds he creates and erases and then creates again that he hardly notices the fact that your face changes from serenity to annoyance to confusion to panic for the remainder of the trip. He hardly even notices that you’re now frozen to your seat in the back of the bus when he pulls into the bus depot, the only rider still onboard after forty five minutes. 

When he stands to stretch and take a deep breath before pulling up to pick up more passengers, he catches it. The puffy, bloodshot eyes. The little sniffles that are now audible after he’s cut the engine. 

Paterson turns to look at you and his face is just as kind. You don’t detect any sort of judgement in his expression — he doesn’t look like he’s about to berate you for being on after he’d given his last call for everyone to clear out of the bus and he doesn’t look like the type of person to laugh in your face if you tell him the truth. If he cares to even know the truth.

“Are you okay?” He asks, that same baritone warming you up from head to toe.

You shake your head vigorously and Paterson immediately walks to the back of the bus after pulling the keys out of the ignition and storing them in his pocket for safe keeping. 

He takes a seat in the row in front of you, rests his arm over the back of the bench and twists to look at you. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Talk about it?” You ask, the sound almost pathetic as the whimper that bubbles past your lips. “I’m just lost.” The admission is as embarrassing as it sounded in your head. A young woman well past the age of anybody really caring to ask whether or not she was lost. Well past the age that society might deem it appropriate to walk with your tail between your legs up to the bus driver and ask for help.

But Paterson doesn’t snicker, doesn’t roll his eyes or preach to you about the fact that you’re still in, well, Paterson. That you’re at the bus depot and that would probably solve most of your problems anyway if you bothered to check your phone or even the route map stationed at the payment turnstiles. 

He just nods empathetically. “You must be really nervous. I’m sorry you got lost.” He says sincerely. 

You blink once, twice, three times, completely taken aback by his demeanor. “Do you happen to know what bus I would need to take to get to Upper Manhattan?” You chance asking him, hoping that his initial kindness wouldn’t evaporate too quickly.

Paterson feels like he could melt right into the plastic of the seat he’s perched on, hanging on your every word as if you were Plato and whatever came out of your mouth might lead him to discovering the meaning of everything, as cliché as it sounded. 

“You’d take the 190, it picks up from the same stop you got on at.” He says, swallowing the growing lump in his throat that was so indicative of his sudden need to ask you every single question he’d thought of on the ride to the bus depot. The redness of his ears at his admission of knowing exactly where you got on is already a tell tale sign of the fact that he’s been thinking about you. “If you’re really in a hurry, I can give you some cash for a taxi.”

You resist the urge to balk at the man in front of you — you’d priced out multiple ride sharing services that morning in a last minute effort to avoid taking the bus to work and even with a set price it would cost over $50 to get to campus. “That’s so sweet of you.” You respond, shaking your head and giving him the most gracious smile you can muster. “But I can cancel my first class for the day if I’m really running that late. It’s okay.”

“Are you a teacher or something?” Paterson asks, standing and stretching just a bit. He knows he has to get going; he has a schedule to keep to and now you need to get somewhere too. 

“I’m a professor at Columbia University.” You shrug, sitting up a little bit straighter and sniffling, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I really do appreciate your help, thank you...” You continue on, hesitating when you don’t know how to address him.

He holds out a hand, then retracts it, then thinks better of it and holds his hand out again. “I’m Paterson, uh, Pat. Paterson.” He fumbles with his words, his cheeks starting to heat up as much as his ears had. 

You smile and take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Thank you, Paterson.” 

Paterson’s smile matches yours and it stays on his face as he makes his way back up to the driver’s seat. He’s a little surprised when he turns to buckle himself in and sees you right there next to him. “Is there something else you needed?”

You’re already fumbling with your wallet, trying to fish out the exact amount of quarters you would need. “Just paying my fare again.” You mumble, distracted as you count.

He shakes his head, putting his hand over the coin slot. “No need. It’s okay — you’ll need those to get onto your other bus. And you’ve got to take the subway, too, if you’re going to campus.”

When you glance up from your wallet his eyes are sparkling and he still wears that warm smile that could light up the world if he tried hard enough. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” You whisper, stomach flipping as you really looked at him for the first time. 

Instead of returning to your seat, you hold onto the pole closest to him and began to talk to him. He mostly asked about you — what you taught, how long you had been teaching, what your lesson plan would be for that day. His eyes lit up when you mentioned people like Allan Ginsberg and Ezra Pound and he mentions some of his favorite works of literature and poetry. Mentions a copy of Leaves of Grass that currently lays on his bedside table in his new apartment, the worn pages and cracked spine a lovely contrast to the modern design that still felt foreign to him. A house but not quite yet a home.

You liked talking to Paterson. The forty five minutes it takes to get you back to where you started fly by and you find yourself worrying your bottom lip and taking just a little bit longer to get off the bus than you would have under normal circumstances. You wished you could have spent the rest of the day talking to him, if you were being honest. 

“Thank you again, Paterson.” You say, stalling really as you stand with one foot on the pavement and one foot on the bus.

“Of course.” He nods and you can’t help the disappointment that rises in your chest when he doesn’t ask you for your name or a number or an address or even the building he could find your office in on campus. “Remember, the 190, outbound to Manhattan.”

“The 190.” You smile, stepping off and giving him a small wave. “Have a good day.”

He echoes your sentiment before shutting the doors and pulling away, sneaking glances of you in his rear view mirror. His palms are already itching and his mind is desperate for his lunch break so he can start writing about how the sun hits your face, how your voice is a melody that will surely be stuck in his head for days and days to come.

Naturally, he’s surprised when you climb onto his bus three days and seven whole notebook pages worth of writing later. You’re smiling brightly, even brighter than you had been when you had said your goodbyes on Monday, and you’re not carrying the backpack he’d watch you sling over your shoulder — you’re carrying a small blue envelope instead with writing on it that he can’t quite make out. He’d been hoping to see you again, catch a glimpse of you before you got on the 190 if you were taking the bus regularly. However, he’d all but resolved to never seeing you again, not wanting to cross any boundaries by looking for you in the university directory or asking whoever had been driving the 190 on a particular day if they had seen someone who looked like you.

“You sure you want to get on this bus?” Paterson asks as you drop a few quarters into the fair box, his smile playful.

“Oh I’m sure, Paterson. Pat.” Your smile is just as playful and as you slip your last quarter into the the slot, you wish him a good morning even sweeter than the one you’d offered on Monday before sitting down somewhere toward the front of the bus. 

At the next stop you stand and stretch, almost immediately standing to get off the bus. “Thank you.” You say, eyes glowing as you pass him the envelope. “This is for you.” 

You hop off of the bus without saying another word, without giving him a chance to try and give the envelope back. You just hope that he would open it.

Paterson’s hands have never been more unsteady and he’s never been so grateful to get to the bus depot forty five minutes later. He doesn’t stand to stretch after the last passenger gets off of the bus like he normally would. Instead, he shreds open the envelope with his name scribbled onto it in, in his humble opinion, the most beautiful handwriting he’s ever laid eyes on.

You’d slipped a simple thank you note into it with a five dollar gift card to one of the local coffee shops you frequented. Your words were kind and gracious and, on the bottom of the piece of card stock beneath your name, you had scribbled your phone number next to a request to get coffee sometime when he was off duty and could talk for longer than the first part of his bus route.

Your name tumbles past his lips over and over again and his index finger traces the words you’d written. Over your phone number and the suggestion of seeing him out of the realm of work. He can’t help the smile that stays on his face for the rest of his shift as he thinks about how he’ll call you tonight when he gets home, after dinner. How he’ll ask to see you Sunday when he’s finally off for a change and pick your brain about poetry and literature and writing. 

He thinks he might even chance asking to see you again after your coffee date, too. 

[sumeshi-t]

[Kiseki no Angst]

aomine daiki x reader

wordcount: 5.6k+ (JUN2017)

tw: character death and some strict parents, profanity

a/n: inspo for y/n's parents/dilemma is my own, it's only slightly similar 😅✌🏻 nonetheless, i hope you all enjoy this.

“do you think it's possible for people like us to ever be happy?”

you were on your way back home after spending hours with your boyfriend, aomine. today, the both of you agreed that it was time for him to be introduced to your family. the relationship was already coming to its second month, and you knew lying now would make things worse (for you, mostly) in the end. it took a whole lot of convincing and a few stolen kisses before the tan male eventually gave in to your pleas.

your parents–specifically your father–was a very strict man and this made him into a protective father over his precious daughter. you knew he wouldn't look at aomine the same way you do. and it was your job to prove and to show them that he's someone worth it, that the both of you deserved each other.

you could feel aomine's nervousness that even he didn't ever show when he's on the court. you showed him a reassuring smile and a squeeze to his hand you were holding. "relax, daiki. i'm right here, trust me, we can do this." the last statement was more for you, than it was for him.

you entered your house and was greeted by your mother, who, looked over at the blue-haired boy and the way you two held hands. of course, you practiced this a bunch of times in your room, played this scene over and over, during your spare time and even when walking alone.

introducing him to your mother was easy. your father was the real problem there. you felt your palms get sweaty and aomine rubbed his thumb against your hand. you would've laughed at his face right now if it weren't for this sort of situation.

"dad? i'm home. i'd like you to meet someone... and he is someone very special to me."

"have you two eaten?" your mom asks as she led you and your boyfriend down the hall and paused before entering into the living room where your father was waiting, sitting in the middle of the room as he watched his favorite baseball game.

then you realized, your father really wasn't that much of a fan of the sport that aomine plays. this was going to be harder than you thought.

aomine answered her question for you since you were processing and organizing words in your head. "she told me she wanted to eat some burgers, mrs...?!" he paused since your mother shook her head and made a clicking sound with her tongue. aomine gulped but as your mother whispered, "i feel old when i'm called that way. when it's just us you can call me 'mom', alright aomine-kun?"

aomine nodded awkwardly while you mouthed a quick 'thank you' to your mother and resumed to entering the living room, or what you referred to in your head now as 'battlefield'.

your hands were still connected with aomine’s as the two of you stood before your father. you saw where his eyes were directed and his gaze looked like it could burn your hands.

letting go, you watched as your boyfriend bowed deeply with both his hands at his sides, as if forming a 90° angle with his body and your father only spared him a nod and a grunt. aomine introduced himself as formal as he could get and that's saying something. somehow you were touched by his efforts, as if he didn't have any arrogance in him.

as if he really was doing his best to please your parents.

"(y/n), how long have you been dating him?"

'and then it starts,' you thought after aomine sat a good enough distance from you after he was given permission.

"almost two months."

"already?"

you bit your mouth cheeks and swallowed at the tone of your father's voice and you remained silent. he scoffed and asked aomine about himself, what he saw in you that made him have the guts to pursue his daughter, and all those personal questions. this was worse than finals for the two of you, it was like he was being interrogated.

an hour and a half later, the tension seemed to still hang around the air between everyone. it was suffocating but you pushed on. this was for your relationship's sake because you knew you loved aomine no matter what happens.

"it's getting late, dear. i think it's time for aomine-kun to go home." your mother was a total blessing and you thanked the gods for a woman like her. "i know that, and i was done anyway. you can go." your father answered back gruffly, avoiding having to look at your boyfriend as he stood and left the room.

'that's it?' something felt suspicious and you couldn't read your father.

your mother then urged you to show aomine out after the latter bowed before them once more. your parents stayed in the living room which meant that it was your turn after this. you could hear their whispered bantering as you left the living room.

"i failed, didn't i?" aomine whispered as you opened the door for him to get out. you shook your head and smiled, tiptoeing to give his cheek a peck.

"i want you to know how much i appreciated your efforts tonight, daiki. this was so unexpected, thank you. and... i... i love you." your cheeks had some pink hue on them as you whispered.

aomine smirked, then smiled softly as he gave your head a gentle pat. "i love you too. text 'ya when i get home. good night, (y/n)."

when he turned around the corner, you shut the door gently and returned to the living room. you breathed as silently as you could while waiting for your father to speak.

"four words, (y/n)." he paused and his face was blank and seemed unimpressed. thing was you don't know if it was you or aomine that caused that sort of reaction.

"i don't like him."

"one, he plays basketball. two, his grades are too low, does he even have any ambition in life? three, he's not good enough for you, dear."

the tears were threatening to spill but you stayed strong. you also dared not to raise your voice when you asked, "are you telling me to break up with him?"

"as soon as possible. two months and you say you love him? (y/n), please, wake up. i'm not so sure about you and him. go to your room and rest, you can try to think about this issue tomorrow."

if words could kill, you'd already be six feet under.

you bowed your head and went upstairs to your room, with your hands balled into fists so hard your knuckles were turning white. even as you reached your room, you could still hear your mother's voice trying to persuade your father. the word 'happiness' escaped your mother's lips as they continued their bantering once more, and all you could do was run away.

you locked the door to your room and slid down, and you cried. your father's words were echoing in your head and it hurts because you know it'll hurt aomine more.

moments later you receive a text from him and you replied to him with 'sweet dreams~' and thanking him again for making an effort. you didn't want to break the news to him just yet, and you were just tired already.

that night was the worst night you've had in years as you cried yourself to sleep, thinking of what to do about your relationship.

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"daiki…"

maybe about four months, two weeks and five days later, you've mustered up enough strength to bring up the topic about the night you introduced him to your parents again. because you knew that even if he doesn't mention anything about it he was still dying to know if he scored or not. and you knew he was waiting for you to invite him to your house again, since it has been a long time, and it was the only way to confirm if he passed or not.

apparently, your father has been pestering you about it–the break up. he even threatened to go to aomine's house himself and get him to 'wake up'. you were at the edge of snapping at your father but if doing so would make things worse for you and aomine, you just resorted to breathing exercises and shutting your mouth.

aomine didn't have practice today so the two of you spent your afternoon in the rooftop, his favorite place. you were sitting beside him, with his head on your lap but his blue eyes closed. he groaned when you called his name and you ran your fingers through his short hair.

"about... that night, well, um, you did good i swear, i honestly didn't expect you to be that way and–!"

he cut you off. "do they like me or not?" his eyes were still closed, but you noticed how his brows furrowed. you swallowed, and took a breath but your mind didn't know how to make it sound less frank or direct. it hurt you to an extent, so surely it would hurt him.

"(y/n), does your father like me? word for word, just tell me everything."

this time, his eyes opened to stare at your own. you couldn't look away so you closed yours and let out the air you just took in.

"promise me that you'll stay, daiki."

"why wouldn't i?" his answer was quick, and it was evident in his tone that his patience was going thin.

"i... forgot to tell you one thing about dad. it’s kinda petty, to be honest,"

you explained how and why your father absolutely detested basketball, as petty as it seemed; and aomine, being a superb player of the said sport, turned out to be a big factor as to why your father didn't like him.

you continued explaining every sentence your father made and you watched his expression. nothing changed, except that his face was blank but there was something in his eyes that broke your heart.

pain, frustration, disappointment; you could see it.

"what did he tell you after i left?"

"what... do you mean?"

"don't play dumb with me, (y/n). you know i know you're smarter than me. is he telling you to break up with me?"

"h-how could you say that!?"

he smirked, and it made you stop whatever you were supposed to say. the smirk didn't reach his eyes and aomine looked the saddest at this moment.

"i knew it. i was expecting he wouldn't like me at all but he'd come around for his daughter... but after hearing about this, i figured he would tell you that."

aomine got up and stretched his arms lazily and looked away from you, his back the only thing you can see. "so... this is it? you're breaking up with me right now?"

the tears spilled again, and you hugged him from behind, burying your face in his firm back. "i won't, daiki. i wouldn't want to let you go just yet. it hurts to say it from my own lips... i can't… you know i can't, and i won't,"

his hands removed yours from his body and turned to face you. you looked away whether if it was for you not to see his pained face or for him not to see your pathetic crying face. the tears were blurring your view but you felt his hands wipe them for you and he just pulled you closer to his body as your lips locked together.

your eyes closed, making the other tears that welled up underneath your lids to pour down. you didn't see it but aomine's eyes weren't able to hold back the few persistent tears to flow down his face as he kissed you with much longing and some sense of desperation.

when you both pulled away, your foreheads together, through the sunset's light you could see the streaks where his tears rolled by. he wasn't looking at you as if he was avoiding your gaze.

"what will you do, (y/n)?"

"i told you, i'm not–never–going to break up with you. even if i have to date you in secret i don't care anymore. dad would just have to accept that my feelings for you would never change."

his lips grazed yours lightly and you closed in the distance between them for one last time.

"i love you."

"i love you too, daiki."

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just like that, the two of you continued to date. even when your father found out about it, you never stopped seeing aomine. even if he was ignoring you already as if he didn't have a child, you thought to yourself that you still had your mother to back you up.

but still, you were hurting so much. you loved aomine but you loved your father too. he was always there for you, treating you like a princess ever since you were a baby, and now you're stuck in some war with him because of your own prince charming.

when you and aomine had free time, you went to his empty house on a weekend just to spend some time together. you were happy of course, even if aomine focused more on his pornographic magazines–which wasn't really pleasing you at all.

"aomine daiki. are you going to keep your eyes stuck to those pictures the whole time I'm here?"

he threw the magazine away from where the both of you sat, which was his bed, and he looked at you. "if it's going to keep me under control, then i would," he paused and slowly crawled on top of you.

"but since you're asking for attention, then it's my job to give it to you, right?"

everything that was happening was too fast for your liking.

you felt your heart pounding in your chest as he held your hands above your head, and penetrated your mouth with his tongue. he easily won over you, and he went lower, trailing kisses from your jawline down to the hollow space of your collarbone.

"d-daiki... i don't th-think we should be... doing this..." you stuttered out as you weakly tried to push him away. there was still a voice in your head yelling at you that this was wrong, but at the same time your body was betraying you.

surprisingly, he stopped. aomine pulled away from you and stood up. "fine, go ahead. do what you want..." he picked the magazine he discarded moments ago and began reading once more while you were still left there, lying on his bed still trying to catch your breath.

'what... just happened?'

now that you think about it, lately, your boyfriend seems aloof and a bit distant from you. maybe aomine still had lingering feelings from the loss they had from seirin, or maybe it was because of you.

'it's my fault.'

you shook your head and sat up, and spent the remaining time trying to get your mind off of the negativity, using aomine's hair. you noticed he didn't give a damn, as long as you were quiet.

'it feels weird... he's nothing like my daiki…'

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months passed, it's nearly a year ever since you and aomine-kun began dating.

your father grew more and more distant from you. the same way aomine did. it felt so cold, the way he treats you now seemed to have less feelings, less warmth. you started to wonder if he lost courage to continue loving you, or if he's just plain tired.

these thoughts ran through your head while you were having dinner with your parents. it was very, very silent. even your mother's usual attempts of striking a conversation wasn't there.

it only meant one thing.

"since you're so stubborn, and you don't want to let go of that bastard, then why not live with him? pack your bags and leave this house."

'wow.' the sarcastic voice in your brain was first to react. you froze, your hold on your chopsticks getting tighter every second.

"honey! i can't believe you're saying that! you're really letting go of our daughter!?" your mother was the first to snap at your father.

"no, i'm disowning her." his voice was calm, nonchalant even.

"unbelievable..." your mother shook her head as she rolled her eyes. your mother exhaled sharply as you placed your chopsticks down. her eyes darted to you, as you stood up and bowed before your father.

your mother's eyes followed you as you left the dining room. "(y/n)? (y/n)! i won't allow this!" she followed you upstairs and saw you leaning on the wall while you sat on the floor, tears flowing from your face.

"mom..." you took in shaky breaths, furiously wiping tears away out of hurt and annoyance. "it hurts... so... so much, mom…"

she hugged you tight and whispered, "(y/n), don't leave us. it'll only make your father more furious than he is now. he's just not ready to trust you with your decision of having a relationship with aomine-kun. maybe he needs more time."

you felt taken aback with your mother's poor excuses to defend your father. you spoke through gritted teeth, feeling a lump in your throat, "or maybe he just doesn't want us to be happy. or maybe he just doesn't want to trust him. he doesn't see daiki's worth! i don't want to fight dad but i also don't want to leave daiki…" your voice cracked near the end.

but thinking of aomine only hurt. things weren't the same between you two, nothing like it used to; and this situation with your father was only gradually making it worse. "i'm scared... i know i won't let go of him no matter what, but mom,"

"what if he lets go of me for our family's sake? d-doesn't that make a difference?"

"i don't want to see my family fall apart just because of a single person. but I'm still leaving the decision to you, dear. just please, don't leave."

you ended up sleeping with your mother in your room, crying until your eyes were tired.

maybe your father was right. maybe aomine really doesn't deserve you. if he's getting tired of you, then fighting your father wasn't worth anything. plus, she may not show it but your mother must have been hurting more, stuck between you and your father.

maybe… he… aomine daiki… already let you go.

maybe it hurt him every time you tried so hard to cling to him.

maybe... just maybe... even if you hoped that he didn't and he wouldn't.

sooner or later, you've found that the two of you drifted away from each other. as if nothing happened between you two. it just ended that way.

and as soon as that happened, your father returned to his normal self, and your parents decided to leave, wanting for you to go to college in america.

with a heavy heart, you left without even hearing one last goodbye from aomine.

you left without another word.

you and him... broke your promise.

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years passed; you've gotten yourself to move on, or so you like yourself to think. you were happy, but not the same way as before. you graduated, got a job, made your parents happier than ever when you agreed to their request.

and that was to marry a son of a family friend back in japan.

you had nothing to lose so you accepted the proposal without causing any more problems. a week before your wedding, everything was already set, invitations were sent out to family and friends, and you all returned to japan.

the guy wasn't that bad. he looked handsome, he was also quite wealthy. he treated you nicely, looked at you as if you were everything to him.

the same way you used to look at...

you also sent an invitation to your first boyfriend, to your first love, not because you wanted him to regret everything but because you so badly wanted to see him. even just to catch a glimpse or just hear his voice again, it would complete you.

you didn't lose contact with the rest of the miracles, including momoi satsuki, but they never told you anything about aomine. maybe he got to them ahead of you, since he didn't want you to look for him anymore.

the day you got married came. your friends were there, it looked like everything was surreal, was perfect. the way you and your husband kissed in front of everyone.

your eyes dart over to the crowd.

red, purple, green, yellow, pink and blue.

but it wasn't the blue you were looking for. there was no sign of him in there. while your husband was busy entertaining his guests, you made your way to them.

momoi was the first one to hug and approach you, her eyes sparkling at the sight of you in your wedding gown.

'i wish i looked that happy too…'

they congratulated you and everyone seemed to be doing so well at avoiding a certain topic.

"where's daiki?" saying his name felt foreign, like a newly discovered word rolling off your tongue; yet at the same time, so familiar and so welcoming.

momoi looked at the guys, the dread evident on her face. they were expecting this from you. she sighed and looked down for a moment, a few pink strands falling to her face.

"well... aomine-kun... he's with the police right now," momoi paused when you gasped, even covering your mouth from the shock.

"ah! no! no, not that way, (y/n)-chan. he works as a police now, and he's part of some murder case near his area. that's why he couldn't attend today."

your shoulders relaxed and you felt relief spread in your chest. but the worry kicks in as soon as you realized his job was much more dangerous than being in jail. momoi squeezed your shoulders, "don't worry, he's pretty good at his job (y/n)-chan."

"is he... doing fine?"

"yeah, aominecchi's all about being a police now. he doesn't even date anymore!"

momoi glared at kise, who suddenly shrank and remained quiet.

"tell him, i said hi."

'and that i miss him… so much.'

the clinking of glasses soon erupted and just like that, your mind wandered off, just thinking about aomine and how he's been doing, and just anything about him.

'he never dated anyone after me...? that's... not possible…'

somehow you felt guilty, even as you were now sitting next to your husband who held your hand with the band of gold around your finger, while people began spouting out messages.

but you told yourself, 'be happy. it's over now,' instead of 'be happy it's over now.'

well, since you were now married, the next step was of course building a family of your own. you tried not to commit any sin against your oh-so-faithful husband; which meant you tried not to think of aomine too much. you kept reminding yourself that everything about you and the blue-haired man was already over and there was no chance for the both of you to ever get back together.

not. meant. to. be.

you were living a good life, everything seemed easy, and now inside your womb was an unborn human you and your husband both made. you were excited, especially him, and the grins of your parents upon hearing the news could reach the heavens.

aomine crossed your mind once again, but you shook it off and focused on taking care of your body and relaxation.

the nine months quickly passed for you, and still a part of you wanted to see aomine again. you wanted to tell him lots of sorts of things. but the thing was he was very hard to contact. even if you were now in japan, you can't seem to find him.

you and your husband was blessed with a beautiful, baby girl. she resembled you so much that your husband became slightly jealous. but the fact remains the same, that you were going to love her and take care of her.

momoi became your constant visitor in the house, squealing at the sight of your daughter almost every time—she insisted on becoming your daughter's godmother. she always kept you and your daughter company, and there are times when she has a slip of her tongue, telling you stuff about aomine.

time passed again, and before you knew it, your child was now four. your husband was at work, momoi wasn't visiting, so you decide to take your child out for a walk and eventually go shopping after getting some air.

everything was going well. hand in hand you walked with your daughter's little steps, and the two of you ended up in an area where there were few people.

something in your head clicked that told you there was danger there. but that was the shortcut to the nearest park to your house.

everything was going well. but everything happened too fast.

and the last thing you remember was that there were men, they came out from a van then covered you and your daughter's noses with a drugged handkerchief.

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you wake up to the sound of your daughter's crying and found that both of you were tied up, mouths covered in duct tape.

a masked man stood in front of you, holding your phone by his ear. "just give us the damn code, and you can have your wife and child back. if in the next 24 hours, we don't get a code, you lose your family."

the man put your husband on loudspeaker. "just don't hurt them! If I see even just a hair out of place, i won't forgive you. you didn't have to get my family in this,"

"i don't give a fuck, okay? just give us the damn. code. and if you get the police involved," the man chuckled, "you better say goodbye to your precious family. don't worry my friend, i'll make sure to pass on to your wifey here how much you'd want her to feel good for the last time."

he dropped the call, and eyed you head to toe. the man crouched down and removed your duct tape. you gasped in pain, and the man grabbed you by the chin rather harshly. "i knew that punk had a pretty wife. wouldn't hurt him to share, right?"

you spat in the guy's face and glared at him. he looked displeased by this, and he stood up once more. "we could've had a fantastic night, bitch. but I change my mind,"

"i wonder how much your husband would love to see you and your daughter's lifeless bodies."

and then it was dark again. there were at least three other men guarding you and your daughter, and you squirmed your way to your daughter's side.

you only took this chance to examine your surroundings. it looked like an abandoned warehouse, with leaks and dust, rust everywhere.

hours later, you presumed it was midnight, you were about to fall asleep when the men started to panic, and only one guy ended up guarding you and your daughter.

gunshots were heard from the outside, you can hear your daughter whimpering in fear. while the man was confused and panicking whether he should go and help the others or continue looking after his boss' captives, you wriggled as much as you can to get the ropes undone.

you were shocked when the man suddenly collapsed without any sound and you were met with blue eyes you were so familiar with; didn't take long for you to recognize each other.

that moment, you truly felt like you were home again, and how on earth could you even forget about those pair of eyes that had once looked at you as if you were his everything?

aomine swiftly and gently removed the tapes from you and your daughter's mouths and cut the ropes off to set you two free. his eyes were washed with relief to see that you were unscathed.

you wanted so badly to hug him at that moment but you were more shocked that he was here, in front of you, in such a dangerous place. this wasn't exactly how you pictured reuniting with your true love.

aomine looked at your daughter–smiled softly–and in a low and hushed voice, he talked to the child who completely resembled you. the child–your child–with another man and wasn't him.

how he can keep his composure despite everything, you thought about it and it dawned on you that you're the one who's breaking your own self apart.

"what's your name kid?"

"a-a-aoi... ish-ishihara ao-aoi…"

his voice became deeper, eyes more weary but still held a sharpness to them, you noticed.

he smiled his goofy smile that only you get to see more often than others. "aoi-chan, this uncle will save you and your beautiful mother. just stay quiet, and follow that other uncle who has glasses and a belly, and you'll see your father again. okay?"

aoi nodded furiously and suddenly held aomine's hand. "thank you, mister…" aomine and you were both caught off guard with what your daughter did.

needless to say, you both imagined what could have been if...

your daughter went to aomine's fellow policeman but your eyes never left aomine. "d-daiki…"

he helped you up, and with the way he did this, it was like his own way of hugging you. and you realized you missed him and warmth filled your heart once more. aomine whispered only three words while he guided you towards where your daughter left with another police.

"i missed you."

and the sound of gunshots broke everything apart. he picked you up in his arms as he ran away from the approaching danger, but you savored this moment. this was not the best way to reunite, but the way you could see him up close once again made you want for time to just stop.

then, the bespectacled policeman met you two halfway and aomine passed you on to him.

"w-wait! wh-what about him?! are we just going to leave daiki?!"

you looked over the police's shoulder and saw that aomine was the only one left there, hiding and trying to take out as much men there still were.

"he's going to stall for time so you could be escorted to the ambulance waiting just outside safely."

"but why isn't there anyone else helping him?!"

"ma'am, aomine is someone to fear when he gets hold of a gun," the police said as he gently placed you inside a police car and spoke through a radio, probably telling aomine to go back. there was also a motorcycle behind the car and you figured that's what they'd use to flee.

but the gunshots stopped as soon as the police car you were in began to drive away.

through the car's radio, you heard aomine's voice.

"where the hell is back up?! why am i the only one left, you shitheads! we've been onto them for how many months, this is our chance!”

then, there was static, a few grunts of pain, and bullets hitting metal. nobody even bothered to reply to him. “fuck it, fuck this... you're all a bunch of cowards! whose politician's bastard is he?"

aomine realizes he might've stepped on a mine with this one. he could only sigh as he feels blood draining out of his wounds. "just go on... without me then, just make sure she's safe and in one whole piece when she goes back."

and your mind couldn't comprehend it. you didn't want to hear it all. this wasn't supposed to be happening.

"...at least i got to see her one last time."

one last gunshot and your world crumbled. you could hear words like 'ace', 'shot', 'dead'. your face was blank while you were transferred to a stretcher. you wanted to yell at the police who was with you but found no strength to do so.

your body felt so mushy. and you decide to give in to the darkness once more, that your eyelids provided for you.

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"(y/n)? love, it's me,"

this wasn't the voice you wanted to hear the first time you wake up. sure it was gentle, cozy, but it will never be the same.

your body shot up, causing you to get a bit dizzy, and you fell back to the comforts of the hospital bed. you heard your husband telling you shit like you should take it easy and that you're still weak.

and you didn't even care.

"ao... where's... where's…"

"aoi's at home with your mom and dad, it was surprising how quick she recovered." he said. you described your husband with one word.

'stupid, stupid, stupid.'

you could only nod and you looked away from your husband. at least you knew your daughter was fine.

but still.

without a knock, momoi suddenly rushed inside.

"(y/n)!" she took in huffs of air, and you noticed, upon looking in her direction, that her eyes were red and watery.

"aomine-kun... he's... he's gone,"

and this was why you never wanted to wake up again.

'he was shot three times: his leg, his shoulder, and his head.' momoi's words echoed in your head.

aomine got shot on his leg because he ran a little behind for your sake.

aomine got shot on his shoulder because he was left behind to stall time for your sake.

aomine got shot on his head, trying to fight back.

"and it was all my fault."

your husband went to comfort you, "don't blame yourself for this, we all didn't want this to happen–!"

"please..." you paused as you removed his hands from your body. he really wasn't going to help you at all in that exact moment, because the guilt was still killing you. "just leave us... alone." you told your husband, who flinched at the tone of your voice.

after he left, your face went blank once again, and tears began streaming down your face uncontrollably until your eyes have had enough. momoi could only hug you as she cried with you.

"if i didn't take that shortcut, he'd still be alive. if i wasn't so stupid, all this couldn't have happened." you began to regret the choices you've made and asked yourself if for once, you did make the wisest decision.

"the only choice i never regretted," you paused to take in as much air as you can. "ah right, i loved daiki... and even now there's a part of my heart that he's taking up. and having aoi in my life,"

you smiled sadly at momoi and used your blanket to wipe her tears away. "(y/n)-chan..."

you shook your head and your brows furrowed, making you look even more miserable. "i guess things would've been different, if only i didn't let him drift away from me years ago…"

and you reminisced his final words and put them to your heart. you realized that in his final moments, it was you he thought of. you realized, that you didn't really get to move on.

'it was always daiki... there was no one else.'

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➴➵➶➴➵➶➴

you stood in front of aomine's grave, three weeks after his death.

"you know what, daiki? the world is a beautiful yet cruel place. i once believed that you and i can have our own share of happiness... but the world was against that." you paused, "it was also our fault… you told me you'd stay… i should've done something about that, huh? because i knew you were one total and complete idiot… ahomine."

you swore to him upon his grave where his name was etched, that you'll live well for him and raise your daughter into a respectable woman, just so his precious life would not be put to waste.

"i love you, daiki. i hope you're happy wherever you are right now."

[softyoongiionly]

Mundane 🏡

Fridays are meant to be celebrated. However, after long week at the office and a stupid fight with your husband, you’re unsure of how much you’ll be able to celebrate. For better or for worse though...right?

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut (18+ only please), slight angst, fluff, there may or may not be a little bit of a crossover in this pic and, if you pick up on it, I LOVE YOU. (and also Yoongi, I love Yoongi), established relationship!, husband! Yoongi, Musician! Yoongi

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut, language, slight angst (y’all already know I only do happy endings on this blog)

A/N: Helloooo this is one of the final parts in the days of the week series and, it’s not fully edited so please forgive any typos for now. I wanted to get it up before the end of the night. LOVE YOU.

Friday night.

Thank God.

You had been working tirelessly on your latest community outreach project for the past 5 days and, according to your timesheet, you had logged 60 hours for the week.

20 hours of overtime, 4 hours of sleep and, the constant threat of your project deadline have left you feeling completely and totally drained.

The train ride home seems to drag on and on and, rather than staring at your phone, you’ve taken to staring out of the window at the blur of colors rushing by.

The leaves are changing colors.

The air is growing crisper.

You should feel cozy.

But, you don’t

You’re stressed, your hair is growing greasy, your patience is paper thin and, your heart…well…

That’s another thing entirely.

Your Thursday evening had ended on a rather sour note.

There was an arduous and exhausting argument that transpired between you and the only person in the world who was more stubborn than you were: your husband.

Yoongi was a patient and, collected man. He rarely ever lost his temper but, when he did, he was nothing short of impossible.  

It was a stupid argument, an argument born out of longing for one another. You don’t remember much of what initiated it, you just know it ended with Yoongi accusing you of undermining his work and, you accusing him of not being attracted to you anymore.

Truly ridiculous claims.

You were Yoongi’s number one fan and, he was so attracted to you that he often chooses to avoid you, lest he get distracted from his work.  

Nothing was truly amiss in your marriage; there were just not enough hours in the day.  

Not enough time to indulge in one another, not with both of you being complete workaholics.  

Yoongi slept on the couch last night, an extremely rare occurrence. You fell asleep clutching your pillow, wishing it was your husband’s lithe body in your arms…

He always liked being the little spoon, although he’d never admit it.

Your heart felt soggy in your chest and, you sniffle slightly, holding back the tears that threatened your eyes as your train squeaks to a stop.

Home was near and, while you were eager to unwind, the nerves bubbling in your stomach distracted from that desire.

The bustling noise of the city streets were far too much for you to handle. Everything was so loud. The talking, the scrapping of suitcases and umbrellas against the linoleum made you dizzy.  

Fuck…umbrellas.  

The nasally voice of the weather forecaster echoes in your mind, it was due to rain this evening.

Yoongi always puts the news on when he gets ready in the morning and, you remember hearing it through the wall of the bedroom along with the rustling of his things.

Woefully unprepared, you begin the ascent up the subway staircase, the tell-tale pattering of rain confirming your fears.

You were going to be soaked by the time you reached home.

Soaked, was an understatement…

Your teeth chatter as you shakily attempt to unlock the front door, hugging your bag tightly to you, to prevent any further water damage.  

Successfully, you manage to swing open the door, huffing in frustration as you haphazardly hang your things up by the door, shrugging your soaking wet coat off in the process.  

Your home was much warmer in temperature but, the atmosphere feels cold and unwelcoming.  

The sheets of music that are littered on the dining table and, a messenger bag hanging over the back of the chair however, let you know that you are not alone.

Yoongi must have made it home before you a rare occurrence considering he is the most sought after musician in the city and, it was Friday night.

Another throb pushes through your heart.

Of course, the one-time both of you had a night off together; it had to be after an unresolved argument.  

“I left the umbrella out for you, why didn’t you take it?” You jump in your bones slightly as a familiar voice fills the silence.

Yoongi is sitting on the floor of the living room, dressed in a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, another pile of music strewn about in front of him. Dark eyes are flitting over you and, while he’s attempting to look disinterested, you can tell he’s concerned for you.

You nod, setting your cell phone on the kitchen counter, “I didn’t realize you’d left it out, I should have looked though, thank you anyway…”  

His brows shift, unimpressed, “You’re going to get sick…”

With a sigh, you shrug, not wanting to deal with his cold demeanor, you couldn’t stomach it, “I’m sorry, I’ll keep my distance if that happens…”

Yoongi had a fear of getting sick, as sickness would prevent him from getting gigs which would lead to less financial contribution on his end.  

However, your response takes him back and, his face turns up in annoyance, “You’d still be sick regardless, which is my concern…”

Your hands raise, conceding with him but, you could also feel yourself getting annoyed, “Yeah, I get it. I’ll take some Vitamin C tonight…”

He lets it go, sensing your irritation, his own heart clenching in his chest, “There’s some in the bathroom cupboard. I’m sorry you got rained on…”

Relaxing slightly, you throw  a half smile his way, “It’s ok. It woke me up, I was ready to get home and pass out. These hours are killing me…”

There is a breathless laugh that leaves Yoongi’s mouth but, it isn’t genuine. It’s a curtesy and, an attempt to distract the two of you from what really needs to be said.

“I feel you. I don’t remember the last time I was home on a Friday…” He’s nodding, eyes flitting around the room, lips pursing for a moment before he settles his gaze on you.

You return his nod, letting out another breath, “It’s been awhile,” The shiver that wracks your body, reminds you that you’re still wearing wet clothes and, you gesture towards the door to your shared bedroom, “I gotta change really quick, I’m freezing…”

He nods, leaving you to it, his gaze turning back to the music laid out in front of him. Yoongi knows he needs to say something to you but, he’s too exhausted and frustrated to articulate himself.  

All he knows is that he misses you.  

That’s the real issue here.  

Your both adults and, you have responsibilities and, shit to tend to but, lately, Yoongi has been yearning for the days when you both were still dating.

Not because, he feels any differently about you but, because, things were different back then.  

Everything was so much fun. The late nights you’d both spend endlessly talking to one another, the random road trips and adventures, the sex…

Good lord, the sex…

Yoongi had never been much of a sexual person before he met you. He knew he enjoyed it but, you, you had been his sexual awakening.  

It was constant, playful, sensual, messy, addicting; it captivated him.  

You captivated him.

He’s realizing now that, he’s being an idiot.  

You’re still that same couple.  

You’re just older now and, not even by that much.

He’s been letting adulthood get too far in the way of what really matters: you.  

You and, the people he loves.  

That’s it.  

Stress really shapes a different world.

His train of thought is interrupted by you strolling into the living room wearing nothing but, his old college hoodie and, a pair of black boy shorts.  

Fuck.  

He smirks to himself, fingers fumbling with the edges of the music sheet before he speaks, “Don’t you own any of your own sweatshirts?”

If you didn’t notice the smirk on Yoongi’s mouth, you would have taken his comment seriously but,  instead you return his expression, leaning against the counter, “I do but, this one tends to weaken your resolve so, I made an executive decision to steal it…”

He chuckles, shaking his head at you, leaning back against the arm of the couch, “My resolve has been fucked for a few years now…I don’t think the thievery was necessary...”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, admiring the way the stretched out collar of his t-shirt exposes his collar bones, “You still have quite a bit…you slept on the couch last night…”

Yoongi feels his heart clench at your words. He knows that his choice to sleep alone had truly hurt you.

You never wanted to go to bed angry at one another and, you made him promise when the two of you got engaged that it would rarely happen.  

He sighs, teeth nibbling on his lip, “You’re right. That was kind of a dick move wasn’t it?”

Feeling small under his gaze, you nod, fingers playing with the sleeves of the hoodie, “Major dick move…especially sense its colder out. I was freezing…”

He pouts then, an overwhelming amount of fondness enveloping his heart. He opens his arms to you, pushing his music aside, “ Shit…c’mere…”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully before, giving in, unable to resist your husband, your heart desperately needing his affection.  

Yoongi smiles triumphantly as you saunter over to his place on the floor.  

He’s warm and, tender as you sit in his lap, your hands sliding slowly up the length of his torso, fingers squeezing his tense shoulders as you reach them.  

He still melts underneath your touch and, he only wish you understood that.

Yoongi’s mountainous hands eagerly slid up your thighs, securing themselves on your hips, his expression still dejected but fond as he looks up at you, “There she is...hi”

You smile softly down at him, something wordless moving between the two of you, “Hi…”

He bites his lip, eyes turning all kind of soft as he admires you, his hands squeezing your hips as a regrettable expression covers his face, “I’m sorry about last night…I hate arguing with you.”

Nodding sagely, you push a hand through his freshly washed black hair, admiring the texture of it sans any sticky hair product, “I know, so do I. I’m sorry too, I could have handled things differently.”  

He turns to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, inhaling the faint scent of your perfume, causing you to giggle.

“ Creep…”

He chuckles, retaliating my biting you, his somber expression faltering, “Says the one who insists on wearing my shit so, she can smell my cologne…”

Another giggle leaves your lips as you cuddle in closer to him, “Shut up…”

Yoongi chuckles again, releasing your wrist before one of his hands comes up to brush a bit of hair out of your face, “I miss you…”

A simple phrase leaves his mouth but, both of you know it means so much more.  

You haven’t had a moment like this, a genuine, intimate moment, in months.  

“I miss you too,” You lean against his hand, shifting slightly on his lap, “Did you eat dinner yet?”  

He shakes his head, returning his hand to your hip, “No, I was waiting for you. Are you hungry?”  

You nod as you lean forward, tucking your face into his neck, wanting to feel closer to him. He chuckles but, slides his hands up, rubbing your back tenderly.

“Yeah, me too. Is there something you’re in the mood for? We don’t have a lot of groceries in the house…”

You smirk to yourself before worming your way between the two of you, hooking a finger underneath the band of Yoongi’s sweats tugging at it playfully.

He jumps slightly at the sensation, laughing in disbelief, “Yah! What do you think you’re doing huh?”

You giggle, feeling a swarm of warmth in your chest, “You asked me what I was in the mood for…”

Yoongi, still chuckling, untucks your face from his neck, directing a stern and, playful gaze toward you, “You’re saying you want my dick for dinner then?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” You concede giggling again, before squealing as he pinches your hips.

He smirks, brows raised to challenge you, “Are you being serious?”

“We haven’t had sex in two months, of course I’m serious…”

Yoongi feels the familiar sensation of arousal starting at the tips of his toes.

It’s been so long since the two of you were intimate.

Way too fucking long.  

He bites his lip, eyes darkening slightly, before patting your hips, “Good point…lets go…”

Giddiness strikes the pit of your stomach as you scramble off of his lap, holding a hand out to help him up.  

He takes it, chuckling at your eagerness as the two of you make your way to the bedroom.  

Yoongi rushes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pushing the tent in his sweats up against your ass.  

You spin around in his arms, holding his cheeks in your hands, practically bursting as he smiles, gums peeking out underneath his top lip.

“Kiss meeeee…” You whine playfully as he chuckles, leaning in towards your mouth, hints of mint on his mouth.

Yoongi obliges, kissing at you tenderly, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth, “Did you brush your teeth when you got home?”

He always does, he brushes them like four times a day…

“Yeah I did, I had pasta for lunch so, you should be thanking me….” He murmurs, smirking into the kiss as he walks you backwards toward your shared bed.  

You laugh at that, not pressing the issue you further as you fall back against the bed. Yoongi clambers on top of you, nestling between your legs, pressing hips into your aching core, causing a sight to leave your lips.

“I’m really hard…jesus…” Yoongi whispers, chuckling in disbelief as he feels himself twitch against your pussy. The only thing separating  the two of you being the thin material of your boy shorts.  

You spread your legs wider, giving him better access to you, as you stare up at him playfully, your hand reaching out to palm him through his sweats, squeezing him gently. Yoongi lurches forward, his fingers digging into the pillow case on either side of your head.  

“You trying to make me cum in my pants or something?” He chuckles, eyes alight with arousal , his words causing you to slip your hand into his sweats. Your bite your lip as your fingers encase his throbbing length into your grip, starting at the base of him before slowly squeezing and stroking all the up to the tip of him. A dribble of precum surfaces then, his hips pushing completely against your hand.  

“Wouldn’t be the first time…”You quip, holding his hazy gaze and, he chuckles at that, nodding, his hips rocking in succession with your hand.  

You continue to stroke him and although he would much rather be instead of you, Yoongi is reluctant to stop you from touching him. It’s been so long, he feels his whole body growing warm and tingly at your touch.  

“That feels so good….” He whispers genuinely, head hanging back on his shoulders a bit, the ghost of  a smirk still on his mouth, “ I’m really trying to be inside of you right now though….”

You smirk at that, slowly pulling your hand off of him before reaching for the hem of your underwear, “Get inside then…”

His eyes open and, his teeth gnaw against his lip as he glances down between your legs. Yoongi pauses momentarily before sliding his hands up the outside of your thighs, hitching his fingers underneath the hem of your boy shorts and, sliding them off.

As he leans down, you can feel the hotness of his breath, clenching at the sensation, your clit throbbing in anticipation. He flattens his tongue against your entrance before pushing it all the way up the length of your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and, placing a kiss to the top of you.  

“Fuck…I’m definitely gonna want some of that later.” He whispers, smiling to himself as he places a few kisses all over your hips.  

Your heart is picking up in your chest, aroused beyond belief as you giggle down at him, pushing your hips against his face, “You can eat it after you’ve fucked it…”

Yoongi blazes at your comment, sighing out in disbelief before biting your hip, causing you to yelp at the sensation, “Watch your mouth….”

He always says that but, he never means it, its his way of coping with the way your words affect him. Pinching the shoulders of his t-shirt, your husband pulls it off, revealing himself to you.  

As you’re attempting to reign in your desire to salivate over his body, he smirks, nodding to you, “Take it off for me, I wanna see you…”

You oblige, pulling the hoodie off of you, your nipples perking up at the change of temperature. Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose to control his reaction before reaching down to line himself up at your entrance.

“Good?” His eyes are practically black as they flit to yours, arousal evident in his body language but, he still asks none the less.  

He always does.

“Yeah but, I want you closer, come here…” You grumble, reaching out for him and, he laughs shakily, leaning down to you, elbows on either side of your head.

“Better?” He murmurs against your lips, pecking them twice in succession. At the nod of your head, he reaches down, stroking his dick a few times before slowly pushing himself inside of you.  

The stretch of him is so familiar and, yet, still so good at the same time., your body opening up to him immediately. Yoongi instantly melts into you, lowering himself all the way down so the two of you are pressed tightly together.  

He nudges your nose playfully, slowly starting to rock into you, pleasure all over his face, “Doesn’t hurt right? You’re good?”

He knows it’s been awhile and, your comfort is always a big concern of his.

It always has been…

You brush his hair from his face, a blissful smile etching onto your lips, “More than good, you feel…ah…”  A moan pushes up your throat and, you laugh at the interruption, “You feel so good…”

Yoongi chuckles, admiring the way the pleasure looks on your face, “So good huh? Did you miss me?”

Nodding immediately, you kiss at his lips, hips moving with his rhythm, back arching slightly.

“Did you miss me?” You whisper against his lips, running a hand through his hair, your other free hand bracing on the side of cheek.

He smiles, nudging your nose, his eyes lulling as the pleasure begins to seep further and further into his senses, “I missed you so much.”

Yoongi kisses down your chin before working his way into your neck, alternating between gentler and firmer sucks against your skin.  

His hips are increasing their rhythm and, you feel yourself slowly slipping towards the edge. Your pussy is tightening around Yoongi’s length and, the soft groan that leaves your husbands throat lets you know that he can feel it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He whispers, kissing his way up to your ear, nibbling on the lobe it of, his hips pumping into you harder.  

“That’s definitely part of the plan...” You moan, smirking playfully up at your husband.

His hair is starting to stick to his forehead, his chest and collar bones have a slight sheen of sweat upon them and, his mouth is turned up in a pleasure induced smile, “Ok well, my dick is throbbing right now so, either you stop clenching or, I have to....ugh...”  

His sentence falters as you clench again, just to spite him and, he immediately pinches your side, causing you grab his hand, giggling as you bring his fingers to your mouth, “Or you have to what...”

Yoongi’s rhythm is slowing down as his eyes are suddenly very entranced by what you’re mouth is currently doing to his fingers. You suck his middle digit between your lips, laving your tongue around the curves and lines of it, hollowing out your cheeks just as you would if your mouth was wrapped around another part of him.

“Stop...you can’t do shit like that if you expect me to last jagi...” Yoongi’s gnawing on his lip again and, you feel his dick twitch inside of you as he feels you nibble on the tip of his finger.

“Yoongi...harder...” You moan against his finger tips, trying to reach your high whilst also driving him crazy.

“Harder?” He sighs out the word, brows going up as he starts fucking into you with more fervor, “Like that?”

You nod as you wrap your hands around your husbands body, holding him tighter to you as you fuck him back, ensuring your hips clash at the same time.

“Y/N, I’m gonna cum...” Yoongi whimpers hopelessly into your neck, hips moving on their own accord as he holds onto you.

“Me too...me too, fuck...Yoongi...”  

--------------------------------------------------------------

The two of you are wrapped up in one another moments later.

Shaky breath, the sound of the fan in your bedroom and Yoongi’s slightly unsteady heartbeat are all you can hear at the moment.  

You haven’t felt peace like this in quite some time and, you’re relishing in the feeling between you and the man laying on your chest.

“I don’t want to go that long without you again, if that’s cool. That shit sucked...”

You smile softly at Yoongi’s assertion, kissing the side of his head, “We’ll be better at balancing from now on, it’s great that we’re doing so well at work but, we have to make time for eachother too...”

You feel him nod, his arms tightening around your waist as he burrows further into you.

"I love you.”  

“I love you too Yoongi.”

The silence lingers for a few more minutes before you speak up, “Do you wanna order in tonight?”

“Sounds good...what do you want?”  

As you look down at the man you love, a swarm of memories envelops you as you choose your answer, “Dumplings, from Green Terrace...”

The biggest, gummiest smile erupts on your husbands face but, you can’t see it, he just presses his lips to your chest, holding back a bit of a emotion that lingers in his throat.

“Dumplings it is.”  

Dumplings forever.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ four

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.1k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part four

​

The air around you is stiff and unmoving, cold as ice yet you don't feel goosebumps rising across your skin. A dark night sky looms above you with its scattering of bright stars. Near the center of the indigo sea lies a brilliant red moon; bright in it's blinding color. Something about the scene is familiar, the clearness of the sky reminds you of something from your past. No clouds, no breeze, no sounds of nightlife.

It's a sense of complete and utter peace. Something damp seeps through your clothing, touching your skin and leaving you cold. You sit up and press your palms to the ground below you. Instead of meeting solid ground, however, you're met by water. It splashes against your bare legs, and you withdraw your hands from the surface in an instant.

Water?

You bring your chin up, glancing across your surroundings. It's a lake, a shallow one yes, considering that your legs aren't fully submerged and you seem to be placed in the middle of it. A chill runs down your spine. You know exactly where you are. The water beneath you runs black, and the enormous moon hanging in the sky is only present on one planet. It's only then, when you discern where you are, that you realize you're in a dream and not reality. You push yourself to your feet, nearly slipping on the slick mud beneath the layer of black water. With a quick glance down at your body, you see that a thin white garb clings to your skin. It's something you would never wear willingly, and seeing as there's an old man perched at the opposite side of the lake, you know that he must be in control of this realm.

You wade through the water in the direction of the man. As you get closer, his features become more clear under the vibrant red moonlight. A familiar face to go along with the familiar scenery. He prods at the pebbles along the shore of the lake with a crooked stick, paying you no attention even as you splash water across the rocks with your steps.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, old man," you greet, soft tone carrying through the air with ease in the absence of a breeze. The rugged form before you doesn't move. He continues to prod at the stones near your feet and pushes black water against your ankles. You wait a moment in the hopes that he'll look up at you and respond, but he still acts as though you don't exist.

"Daichi," you try again in attempts to garner his attention. It works this time.

His chin snaps up, a wrinkled face becoming clear before you, and blue eyes stare into yours. Piercing and cold, just as you remember from your last encounter with the aged man.

"Ah, Umiko." His wrinkled lips stretch into a smile, unveiling yellowed teeth that are only accentuated by the moonlight above your heads.

"That's not my name," you refute. Daichi continues speaking as though you didn’t say a word, eyes falling together as he smiles without cease.

“It’s been quite a whi–”

“I said that’s not my name,” you repeat with a bit more venom creeping into your tone. “It hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Hmm.” He hums, looking up at you with those perceptive eyes. You can almost see your reflection in them, between the clear blueness and the gleam of the moonlight coming down on them. “Do you remember what it means?”

“Child of the sea,” you answer without hesitation, the words ingrained in your brain after hearing the phrase repeated over and over.

“Child of the sea. I wonder if your new name is as fitting for you? Y/N, is it?”

“It’s far more fitting than Umiko ever was,” you mutter in response, turning your head away from the old man.

“Have you done well, child?”

“As well as I could, and things are as good as they can be given the… situation,” you respond with a flatness to your tone that Daichi mimics with his next words.

“You’re not safe where you are now.”

“Here I thought you didn’t give two shits about my well being.”

“Umiko, listen to me. This is ser–”

“Stop calling me that and maybe I’ll listen!” Your voice booms throughout the clearing. The black water under your feet seems to quiver as you speak. Daichi’s eyes flit down to the ripples across the lake, then back up to you.

“Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.”

“Worry about yourself, old man,” you reply, tone falling back quiet once again. “Besides, it’s pointless for the dead to worry about the living.

“You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? So confident that everything will work out your way? Tell me, Umiko, did things work out your way on Eros the first time you were there? The second? The third?” Daichi pushes himself to his feet. He towers over you as his back straightens, the age seems to ebb away from his body as he moves closer to you. You tilt your head back to get a better look at the man. In his eyes lies disdain. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the emotion from the man. “I said tell me, Umiko?”

“And I said to stop calling me that.” You take a shaky step back, foot nearly catching on the slide of the mud again, but you manage to steady yourself before falling.

“A Siren is nearby, Y/N. You must be careful. He could invade your dream space at any minute. Don’t you realize that? This haven, this paradise, this dream so close to your heart is vulnerable. Guard yourself against him.”

“I don��t need your advice anymore, old man. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult now and old enough to make my own decisions and give myself advice.” You spin on your heel, toes digging into the mud as you move, and face the opposite direction. Blinking down at the swirling waters under you, you take a deep breath before sharing your final words with Daichi. “There are no Sirens left. All they are is a myth, one that needs to die like every other myth in existence.” Your reflection in the water looks back at you, ripples across its face before you kick it away in anger.

Your words earn you no response from the old man behind you, although you weren’t expecting much in the first place. The dream is beginning to fade, darkness swirling into one large mass, but before the serenity around you can disappear entirely, you catch sight of something new. Amongst everything that is familiar and known, this is completely foreign. A new figure, shorter than Daichi for certain, but also bearing dark hair. He stands off at the other side of the lake, near the shore like Daichi had been, but his back is facing you. He bears garbs like yours, white and flowing despite the lack of a breeze.

In all the dreams you’ve had similar to this one, no one other than Daichi has paid you any visits. You know it’s too late for you to investigate now, the dream is dissipating too quickly, but that doesn’t keep you from breaking into a sprint in his direction. Feet splash against the water, bringing it up against your legs. Your running serves no purpose in the long run; before you even near the figure in the distance, your dream fades away and bleeds into white.

You jolt as though shocked, body lurches forward, and you find yourself surrounded by white all the sudden.

“Holy fuck!” The words, surprisingly, don’t fall from your lips. Instead, it’s the kind and gentle doctor from before, standing at your side as you come to again. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You don’t manage to respond, chest heaving as though you’ve just sprinted a mile in your sleep, and all you can do is lay back on the bed slowly.

“Are you alright?” Yunho inquires, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you fall back against the bed.

“Y-Yea, yea. I think I was just having a nightmare.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally awake now. I was worried I had accidentally put you in a coma or something like that. Your heart rate seems to be awfully low still – well it was before you woke up at least – but it’s not causing any issues. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, yea. No issues here.” You glance around the room with wide eyes. Things are still a bit hazy seeing as you just woke up, but it’s all clearing up rather quickly. “How long was I out this time?”

“What?” Yunho turns away from you, fiddling a bit with the tablet in his hands. “What do you mean by “this time”? This is the first time you’ve woken up since I conducted the operation.”

“No? That’s not right,” you refute. “I woke up some time ago and tried getting up but… something happened. I think someone stopped me? Someone with dark hair? He used a sedative shot on me.”

“Well over half the crew has dark hair, so you might need to be a bit more specific on that one.” Yunho chuckles at his own comment. When he notices that you aren’t even smiling, he clears his throat and redirects the conversation. “Your vitals were all stable throughout the day. I never noticed anything out of the ordinary, and neither did my assistant. It must have been a dream due to your fever since it didn’t completely break until yesterday.”

“Yesterday being?”

“Yesterday was day 3 of you being unconscious and day 7 aboard the ship.”

“Ah… so why – why did the captain withdraw his time limit?”

“Oh, he was never serious about that!” Yunho laughs again, then sets his tablet down. “I finished operating on you in 17 hours so I guess he was a bit impressed, but he was never going to actually stop me from helping you. He always says things like that but is never serious. Just wary of strangers on his ship, you know?” Yunho glances over at you as he speaks, and you nod in return. He moves closer to the bed, long fingers dancing over your forearm and toying with the catheter sticking out of your skin. “Your vitals are all stable and steady, so that means you’re pretty much good to go. I just need to make sure you’re all functional and such. Routine checks, yea? Same routine I use for every crew member.”

“What do you mean by crew member?” You ask with a slight tilt to your chin.

“Hm? I didn’t say that?”

“I-I – no, I’m pretty sure you di–”

“Let’s get you to your feet.” Yunho disconnects the IV from your catheter, tugging it out gently, then holds you by the forearms as he pulls you up from the bed. “I need you to walk to the end of the room and back, okay?”

“Why exactly?” Your legs feel a bit like jelly when you get up, but staying in the same bed for three days straight probably doesn’t help one bit. “It was my arm that was shot not my leg.” Yunho laughs as though you just made the best joke in the universe.

“That doesn’t matter. This isn’t about seeing if your arm works. I’m quite confident in my abilities as a healer, thank you very much. This is just to test your strength and see if your body matches your mind, not a test of the recovery of your injury. That will come later with Hongjoong and the Lieutenant.”

You relent with a sigh, twisting your arm so that you can grip Yunho's elbow in case you begin to fall, and move forward with hesitant steps. Yunho stays close to you as you walk, thanks in part to the death grip you have on him.

"How are you feeling so far?" He asks after you've taken a few steps.

"Just fine." The steps are coming easy so far but that relief doesn't last long. By the time you reach the midpoint of the room, the muscles in your legs are beginning to feel weak and shaky. Yunho moves with you as you stumble on your next step, his free hand darting out to latch onto your arm and support you further.

A ding and whoosh resound behind you two, and Yunho snaps his head towards the door. You follow suit a moment later. It’s San – the little Cheshire with the streak of white hair – who stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed and piercing as he scans the room before his gaze lands on you.

“Captain wants to see you, Healer,” he announces while keeping his gaze fixated on you. “If Y/N is up, that’s even better because he wanted to speak about her.” San nods in your direction but his words are unmistakably meant for Yunho.

“Couldn’t Captain come to the med bay instead? Y/N still isn’t strong enough to walk around much since she’s been bedridden for so long. Besides she only just woke up today.”

“Listen, I was just sent to fetch you and check up on her,” San says. He lifts his arms as though to defend himself, finally dragging his gaze off you.

“It’s not your job to check up on patients, San,” Yunho argues as he releases your arm and takes a step in the other man’s direction. “Here’s your checkup though: she’s not well enough to walk all the way to the bridge of Captain’s quarters.”

San’s expression remains stony as he blinks back at Yunho without moving. The silence is deafening until San decides to respond, matching the vehemence in Yunho’s tone. “I’ll inform Captain then.”

Yunho huffs when San spins around with an added flair of drama. Once the door slides shut again, you opt to speak up on the ordeal that just transpired.

“Are things always so tense between the two of you? This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed you argue and I’ve only been awake for a grand total of 3 hours at best in your presence.”

“Just… a difference of personalities.” Yunho drags his tongue over his teeth, turning back to you. He rests a hand on your back and guides you back to the bed. “I save people. San kills people. That’s how things work. Our jobs. It’s what we’re supposed to do, what we’re here for, why Hongjoong recruited us in the first place. We’re polar opposites.”

“San and I aren’t much different then,” you say, tone quiet and eyes watching Yunho’s face for any change in expression. He shakes his head a few times.

“Quite different actually. San has killed people I could’ve saved in the past. Taken my patients from me and killed them without reason. You haven’t done that.”

“Is it the other way around as well?”

A laugh breaks through the tension of the room, and Yunho throws his head back. “Yes. If I’m going to save someone, then I will do just that. I’ve stopped San in the past.” He eases you onto the bed, moving to pick up the IV. You blink at him, only now noticing that there’s a certain brightness to him that wasn’t present when you first met him.

“Wait…” His hands hesitate near your catheter, eyes darting up to meet yours. “Has – has your hair always been blue? I thought – I could’ve sworn it was different when – was it just my fever?”

Yunho laughs again and continues his motions. “At least your senses are still intact even if your muscles aren’t. It was different a few days ago, yes. I just changed it because another crew member asked me to dye his hair, so I went ahead and joined in on the fun with him.”

“Wow, a healer and a hairstylist? Hongjoong got quite the catch, didn’t he? What can’t you do?” You joke as Yunho reattaches the wires.

“Not much, honestly!” Yunho responds with equal humor to his tone. “I’m good at everything really.” He sends a wink your way, and you nearly choke on your saliva. He has no shame. None whatsoever.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t act shy on me now.” Yunho pulls back, a smirk playing at his lips and you don’t know how to react other than to swing your foot out. You hit him in the shin, his body bends in half, a choked laugh escaping from his parted lips. “Damn, okay then. Noted. Y/N and dirty jokes don’t play well. Could you try stretching your arms a bit? I wanna see how the right one is doing.”

You do as asked, moving and stretching your arms out to the side.

“If the stitches bother you or start coming apart at all, let me know. I can go in with laser stitching now that it’s been a few days. I wasn’t able to close it all the way initially so I couldn’t do laser stitching.”

“It feels normal,” you admit as you rotate your arm. “A bit sore, if nothing else.” Frankly, if not for the bandage around your bicep, you wouldn’t even know that there’s a hole in your arm; it just feels like you had an awkward fall on it.

“Good, good. I put you back on the IV just to maintain fluid levels. We can probably try to get you some real food and water today after Captain visits.”

“That’d be nice,” you murmur more to yourself than to Yunho. The minimal snacking you did over the first few days aboard the ship was nice and all, but a proper meal sounds much more desirable.

“Is your side feeling alright as well? I almost forgot to ask.”

“What? Oh, uh, I forgot all about that.”

“That’s a good sign! Not forgetting, but it must mean that you aren’t in any pain. I figured out what happened with that by the way. The pneumothorax was caused by a severe force to your left side. You likely got it after you were shot or while adrenaline was still pumping through you since you didn’t seem to be showing any signs of pain there. Do you remember getting hit in the side or anything like that?”

You stare down at the bed, rummaging through your brain for any memory of a close-quartered fight. The only thing you remember is getting in a small scuffle with the dark-haired man guarding the docking station.

He kicked me after I pinned him down, didn’t he? Must have. How else would I have gotten the injury?

“Yea vaguely.”

“Well, the details aren’t important. I fixed it all up regardless.” Yunho hums and moves around the bed to sit atop a small stool. He peers at you in silence for a moment. You stare back, matching his silence.

“Well this is awkward,” Yunho announces after basking in the quiet for a few minutes. “Maybe I should go back to the dirty jokes and innuendos.”

“No, no, no!” You protest in an instant. “Please don’t.”

“Ha! Here I thought they were gonna grow on you. What else is there to talk about? Captain is taking his sweet time walking over here.” Yunho taps his chin, eyes leaving yours to stare up at the ceiling instead. “Oh, where are you from? I’ve… well, there’s no nice way to put this really, so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve seen you on bounty papers before. Frankly, I know next to nothing about you aside from the information on the bounties. Which is limited to a list of your crimes and missing data.”

“That’s because I normally make a point to keep it that way. The less people know about me, the less likely it is for them to find me. Makes sense, yeah?”

“Makes sense but… it sounds like a lonely life. Always living in fear of who might see you or find you. Never telling anyone anything about yourself. Not being able to trust anyone because you worry that they might sell you out.”

“Go out and get a bounty the size of mine on your head. Talk to me about trust after that.” Your words come out with a bit more scathing fervor than you intended, but the point still stands. The difference between you and Yunho is the bounty. Yours is what? Three? Four? Five times the size of his? Not to mention you are wanted dead whereas Yunho is wanted alive.

“It wasn’t meant as an attack, Y/N. Honestly, it wasn’t. I feel for you, that’s all. I wouldn’t wish that kind of loneliness on anyone.”

You pause, eyes trailing over Yunho’s form as he brings his gaze back to you. Sadness lingers in his gaze, a sadness you wish not to confront, and thus you divert the subject again.

“What have you seen on the bounty papers?”

“This and that. They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

“I make a point of avoiding my own bounty papers.”

“Ha, that’s a fair goal.” Yunho chuckles and leans back, gaze moving for the ceiling again. “I’m from Kebos, if you’ve ever been there.”

“Of course I have,” you answer with a slight smile.

“Of course, of course. You’ve probably been to every planet in Aurum’s system.”

“I have, yes, but not to every city on each planet. I’m still too young for that.”

“Hmm, I was about to be even more impressed but I guess I’ll have to rescind that now. I’m from the biggest city on Kebos, Reinig. Have you been?”

“Only shortly,” you sigh as you push your head back against the pillow. “On military business.” None of your memories from the military are pleasant ones, memories you don’t want to revisit, and thankfully Yunho must get the hint that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Growing up there, I used to think it was the ugliest city but in the winter they put up all these lights. At night the lights make the snow change colors and look absolutely magical.”

“I went in the winter but there wasn’t much time to glance around at the scenery.”

“That’s fair, yeah. I think it loses its appeal as you grow older, but I wouldn’t know that for certain. I haven’t been back to see then in well over ten years I think. My mother… she used to take me to the winter festivals when I was little.” There is a tinge of sadness to Yunho’s tone at the mention of his mother. You know that feeling all too well, having been in Yunho’s shoes before.

Yunho’s ego seems to deflate before your very eyes as he frowns at the ceiling.

“Ah but you didn’t come to hear my tragic backstory.”

You open your mouth to respond and reassure the man in some way (even though you don’t know what to say in these sorts of situations), but the chance is stolen from you as another whoosh resounds. Yunho pushes his seat back at the sound and stands up immediately. You move as well, although only with your head.

There in the doorway stands the captain, his platinum hair parted down the middle and fanned over his forehead. He’s not alone either, a much taller man bearing black hair and paled skin at his side. You know that one, and based upon the glare of his eyes as he stares you down, he remembers what you did to him at the docking station. Seonghwa, was it?

You pass a cynical grin his way. “How’s the head, pretty boy?” You ask, drawing a lilt to your tone that’s meant to be snide. The man merely passes a genuine smile back at you.

“Feeling great, princess.” His smile grows as he steps into the room, the shorter captain following suit albeit absent of the pretty smile.

“Lieutenant. Nice of you to join us,” Yunho greets as he steps around the foot of the bed. You instinctively pull yourself up and sit up straighter. “Captain. You as well.”

“Let’s just get to business, Yunho.” Hongjoong steps out from behind the lieutenant’s back, dark eyes boring into you. “I want to get this over with.”

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: hello hello it’s tuesday yaknow what that means :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! i pROMISE things will be picking up in terms of speed from now on aofijeoijfdio let me know what you all think of this chappie!

tag list: @faeriewoobin​

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[gingrrfrog]

these nights (7)

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut

summary: Jaehyun knew three things for sure: 1. Jihyun was avoiding him 2. his head was pounding and 3. Jeno is not a dog 

a/n: I have class in 15 minutes :O I’ll see u all later :D 

Jaehyun leaned against his chair, glaring at the wall in front of him as his head throbbed. He tossed his phone on his desk, grimacing at the loud thud before staring at the photos in front of him.

The housemaid had told him this morning that he had a delivery earlier today while he and Jihyun were in the hospital, a thin envelope that she placed on the dining room table. Jaehyun wasn’t expected any paperwork, much less a letter as he thanked the housemaid and walked towards his desk.

He tore the packet open almost immediately, watching as several photos of Jeno fell out. His eyebrows furrowed together, instantly sitting up in his chair and noticing that it was a photo for every hour they were there, from five in the morning to 8 pm when the last call Mark tried to call. What concerned Jaehyun the most was that the focus was initially on Jeno, zooming past Mark who was in the passenger seat. The last photo was of Jeno unconscious in the car, too clear to be zoomed in, no matter the quality of the camera. There was an ambulance in the background, and a note on the back.

The best thing about dogs is that they’re loyal no matter who you kill.

Jaehyun jaw set, immediately calling Johnny about the photos, to which he replied he would be around tomorrow afternoon after his shift with Jeno was over.

So now, here he sat, staring at the wall, his head pounding and his fiancée very obviously trying to avoid him despite the text message he sent hours ago. Although, talking to Jihyun about Jieun seemed like child’s play compared to the gift he had received just now. He cursed loudly, pulling at his scalp and jumping at the sound of his office door knocking.

“Just a second!” He called out, sweeping the photos into a drawer and quickly locking it. “Come in.”

Jihyun appeared from the other side of the door, carrying bags of take out before Jaehyun flashed her a smile.

“Hi,” she said gently. “I’m back, I bought some dinner, just in case you were hungry.”

“Starving,” he mentioned, staring at another picture he forgot to sweep. He grabbed it quickly with a few more piece of paperwork before clearing his desk for the take-out food Jihyun brought out. He watched as she took out a few plates of what otherwise would’ve been his favorite dish to eat on any other day, but he couldn’t find the appetite today of all days.

Jaehyun took her hand and pulled her over the desk, kissing her quickly as a thank you before Jihyun sat in the chair in front of him.

“Did I interrupt something when I came in?” Jihyun asked, watching as Jaehyun unwrapped a few plates. He shook his head, passing Jihyun a plate before giving her a reassuring smile.

“Nope.”

Jihyun just slightly narrowed her eyes, but she would let it go. She wasn’t in the position to ask questions at the moment, “what did you want to talk about?”

“I think you already know what I was going to ask, Honey.”

Jihyun pouted, poking at her food, “I guess.”

“Go on, then. Explain it to me.”

“I didn’t mean to let it slip, I guess I was just so excited about spending time with Angel that I let some things slip out, that’s all.”

“My only qualm is that how could you let something of that magnitude slip, my love?” Jaehyun looked from his food and noticed that Jihyun still wasn’t replying. He sighed, leaning against the chair and watching her think of an excuse. “I’m listening.”

“We were talking about how I’ve known Jaemin forever because I was always around you. I told her that you and I grew up together, and when she was curious about Jeno, I let it slip out that I knew his sister”

Jihyun grimaced, “in my defense, I thought Jeno would’ve told her by now. They’ve been together for almost five years—and if Jeno didn’t say anything I thought Jaemin would’ve said something— “

“You know it’s not Jaemin’s business to tell Jihyun,” Jaehyun interrupted, his tone firm. “Nor yours, my love.”

“I know,” she mumbled dejectedly, “I’m sorry.”

Both Jaehyun and Jihyun knew that he couldn’t be firm with her for too long. Jaehyun gave another sigh before getting up from his chair, walking over to sit on his desk in front of her. He gently took her chin in his hands, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t mean to reprimand you, baby. It’s just that I talked to Jaemin while you went with Angel, and he didn’t seem very happy about her knowing.”

“I figured. That was my fault, I didn’t take Jaemin into account at all when I told her. I’ll call him later— “

They were interrupted by Jaehyun’s phone ringing behind him. He stretched himself to reach, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Who is it?”

“My brother,” Jaehyun replied.

“Is he done ignoring you?”

“I guess?” He brought the phone to his ear after answer, “Jaemin?”

Jihyun watched as Jaehyun’s face turned in concern, sitting up from his desk before walking back around.

“What? Where are you now?”

“Did they take anything?”

“Good, okay, good. Just— “Jaehyun took a deep breath. “Don’t act on anything, I’ll think about it and I’ll call Johnny hyung tonight. Again. I guess.”

“I think you should be fine. I don’t think they wanted to get caught, I doubt they’ll come back tonight. Change the entrance code to your house…but you might have to think about moving soon if this happens again, Jaemin.”

“Yeah. Mm, call me if something else happens.” Jaehyun hung up first, setting his phone on his desk gently this time so not to scare his fiancée. However, it didn’t stop him from sighing heavily, turning to face the window for a moment to scratch at his head. He wanted to scream.

“Okay, I’m good,” he said suddenly, turning back around and taking a seat in his chair. Jihyun tilted her head to the side, glancing over at the phone before she looked at her fiancé.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he swallowed.

“It’s nothing but Jaemin has to change the entrance code to his house?” Jihyun pressed, watching as the man in front of him was ready to crumble. Jaehyun dropped his chopsticks, leaning back once again before staring at his feet.

“Someone broke into their house, just now. He said that Angel was in the closet clutching a gun and almost shot Jaemin in the ear.”

“Is she okay? I was just there; she didn’t call me— “

“Jaemin said she was fine. Just scared, I guess.”

“You should’ve told them they could stay here.”

Jaehyun shook his head, “they would’ve said no. Not because they wouldn’t want to intrude, but because Jaemin wouldn’t want to give them another opportunity.”

Jihyun bit her lip, “are you going to call Johnny oppa right now?”

“No. I want to at least try and eat something,” Jaehyun said. “But I don’t think…I’m all that hungry anymore.”

It was Jihyun’s turn to get up from her spot, walking towards Jaehyun before he scooted away from his desk, his arms opening up as she sat on top of his lap. He exhaled, smelling her perfume and feeling like everything was okay just for a few seconds.

“Do you want me to make you something else?”

“I’m okay, baby,” he reassured. “If I didn’t want to eat my favorite take out, I don’t think I want to eat at all.”

Jihyun pulled and took his head into her hands, rubbing her thumbs over the bags under his eyes with a small frown, “you should eat, Yoonoh.”

“If I get hungry, I’ll just reheat dinner. It’s not a problem.”

Jaehyun pulled her in for another kiss, rubbing her shoulder, “I’m going to call Johnny hyung real quick, don’t leave.”

“Do you want me to get up at least?”

Jaehyun shook his head, “no, I want you to stay.”

Jihyun kissed the side of his head as Jaehyun searched his call log for Johnny’s number, grimacing when he noticed he didn’t have to scroll far.

“Actually, Johnny hyung is coming over tomorrow. I’ll just tell him then,” Jaehyun said suddenly, placing his phone on his desk for the last time before focusing on Jihyun. “Tell me about your day.”

Jihyun laughed at the suddenness, “my day? I was with you for most of it.”

“But not all of it,” he explained, cuddling closer as Jihyun began to hum in contemplation.

“Well, this morning, I woke up because your daughter demanded so. I peed in Yejin’s bathroom— “

“Whose?”

“Angel, sorry.”

“Are you two on first name basis now?”

“She told me last night, I’ll have you know. We bonded; I saw her nudes.”

“You what?”

“They’re into some fucked up shit, baby. They take lewd polaroids, I saw Jeno’s AND Jaemin’s— “

Jaehyun suddenly began to push Jihyun off, “alright. I don’t want to hear about your day anymore.”

“Why!? Are you jealous? They’re not bigger than you but Jeno— “

“Get off!” Jaehyun groaned, listening to Jihyun’s giggles as she fastened her arms around his neck. Jaehyun got up from his spot, effortless carrying Jihyun towards the couch, throwing her gently on the couch and hovering over her, her laugh deafening in his ears.

“You would’ve never been able to do that two years ago,” Jihyun teased, her legs hooking around his waist. “Strong man.”

Jaehyun laughed, leaning in for a kiss before he pressed sloppy ones around her cheeks, nose, and forehead, grinning when he heard her groan.

“You got my face all wet,” she whined, attempting to push him off to no avail.

“Too bad. Here I go again,” he warned, targeting her neck next as she squealed at his teeth tickled her neck.

“Move!”

“I don’t think I will!”

They continued like that for a few minutes, Jaehyun relishing in her touch and her laugh, his shoulders relieving from stress little by little until he laid down next to her, his finger running through her hair with one hand while the other caressed her cheek.

“You’re going to give me acne,” she added jokingly, smiling before she kissed his wrist.

“I’ll pop your pimple, that’s no issue.”

“You’re disgusting,” Jihyun laughed, inching closer until she was at nose length away, kissing the tip of his nose before Jaehyun closed the gap.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, softly against his lips as his hands moved from her face and hair down to her waist, his hands resting against her hips. “Thank you for working so hard.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby.”

“I know, but I want to. I just want you to know that I know you’re working hard for me, for Hyerim, and it means everything to me.”

Jaehyun gave a gentle smile, “are you trying to make me cry?”

Jihyun chuckled, “no. But I can, if you want me to.”

“Maybe next time,” Jaehyun beamed. “Thank you for being patient with me. I know I said we would get married this year, but some things came up.”

“Don’t you mean someone?” She hinted, glancing down at the belly that kept them at least a few inches apart.  

Jaehyun laughed, “I guess that too.”

“Are you busy tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Let’s get married tomorrow,” she said quickly. “You said we would have a courthouse wedding after this, but I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

Jaehyun smiled, “You don’t want to plan what you’re going to wear?”

“I’ll go like this, in my maternity jeans.”

Jaehyun laughed again, a bit harder this time, “you don’t want to wear a dress at least?”

“I don’t think I have any dresses that fit me right now,” she pouted. “I just want to tell people you’re my husband.”

“You can call me your husband, we’ve been together long enough, I think,” Jaehyun pondered. “But if you want to go see if we can get married in less than 30 minutes, we’ll go. And, if not, we’ll set a date for Friday.”

Jihyun beamed, pressing their lips together for a sloppy kiss, “I love you.”

“You only said it four hundred times, how can I be sure?”

“How many more times do you want me to say it?”

“At least three hundred times more.”

“Do I have to tell you verbally or can I show you physically?” Jihyun grinned, reattaching their lips for a longer kiss as Jaehyun moved his hands to the front of her pants.

“Depends,” he said, her pants well past her knees, “what were you thinking?”

“Maybe I’ll buy you something nice,” she hummed, pushing his shirt off before reattaching their lips. “Maybe I’ll make you dinner.”

Jihyun kicked her pants off, moving her attention towards Jaehyun’s belt as she quickly unfastened.

“Any other ideas?” He asked, a moan escaping his lips when Jihyun palmed him through his underwear.

“I have a few,” she smirked, continuing her ministrations as Jaehyun unbuttoned her blouse. “But maybe I’ll save them for my husband.”

Jaehyun grinned as he watched her move down his chest, pressing wet kisses until she pulled out his cock, watching with lidded eyes and parted lips as she took the tip in between her lips.

“You can tell me,” Jaehyun hummed, pushing her hair to the side before wrapping it around a closed fist. “I won’t tell him.”

“I don’t know, he’s the jealous type,” she said with a kiss to the side of his length. “I’ll think about it.”

Jihyun crawled back towards him, kissing his parted lips before Jaehyun pulled away with a quizzical look, “I’m the husband, right?”

Jihyun moaned, “you’re so sexy when you’re stupid.”

Jaehyun’s laugh was muffled, returning her kiss and watching Jihyun pull his cock from its confines. He rested his hand against her neck, running it down her chest before taking a handful of her breast, squeezing softly and humming to himself.

“So pretty,” he sighed. “My Jihyunie.”

She rocked her wetness over his length, making sure to grin at the lewd sounds before lowered herself on him, sighing as she listened to Jaehyun moan in her shoulder.

“How are you so fucking tight?” He groaned, taking a hold of her hips as she continued to rock back and forth, grinning at her fiancé, who seemed to be in shambles.

“It’s my specialty,” she smiled, pressing a kiss to her ear as she bottoms out the rest of his length.

“If you keep moving like that I’m going to blow,” Jaehyun laughed breathlessly, wiping sweaty strands of hair away from her face.

“What if I want you to?” Jihyun asked, dropping her voice to barely a whisper, her hips moving steadily as she leaned in to bite at his neck. Jaehyun groaned, wrapping his arms around her body as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

“Baby I’m going to fucking— “

“…cum?” She smiled innocently, sighing softly at the feeling of Jaehyun spurting warmth inside her. She kissed the expanse of his neck now that it was exposed with his head thrown back, his eyebrows knitted together and his pink lips just slightly parted.  Jihyun took his lips into hers again and smiled, giggling when Jaehyun suddenly pushed her onto her back.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, most likely referring to his abrupt orgasm.

“I told you I could take care of you too,” she defended with another grin. Jihyun lifted her leg as Jaehyun pressed kisses along her calf and towards her thigh, lips reconnecting to her center as Jaehyun once again pressed teasing kisses to her clit and folds.

“My turn,” he added diligently, flipping Jihyun so that she was on her hands and knees, her neck craned to watch Jaehyun eagerly lap at her, pressing the gentlest of kisses on her clit every so often before he would take it between his lips, sucking lightly before he would pull away with a grin.

Jihyun was leaning against the end of the couch, moaning quietly until she cried out at Jaehyun reentering, “Fuck Yoonoh, are you still hard?”

“Kind of?” He answered, not entirely sure how to respond to the question without breaking the mood, it elicited a laugh from Jihyun at least, as she moved back on his length.

Jaehyun pulled out completely before slamming into her harshly, listening to her cries as he continued to fuck her against the couch. Jihyun wasn’t as far from getting towards her orgasm as he thought as he watched her knees shake under him.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna come for me, Jihyunie?” He asked, pressing kisses down her back as his rhythm quickened. Jihyun reached behind her, grabbing Jaehyun’s hand before she gasped out, tightening around Jaehyun as she let out a loud moan, her face pressed against the couch’s armrest as she caught her breath.

Jaehyun pulled out this time, running his hand over his cock until he spurted against her back and her ass, taking shallow breaths as he groaned. He watched Jihyun knees fall against the couch as Jaehyun reached for his shirt, wiping her clean before pulling her against his chest, tilting her chin back to exchange a sweet kiss. Jaehyun pulled away for a moment, watching her with crinkled eyes before she snorted, pushing his head away.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“Why?” Jaehyun whined, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her further down the couch. “I’m admiring.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she admitted with a chuckle, trying her hardest to pull out of his embrace. “Let me wear your cardigan at least— “

“Nope. I think you look perfect,” he smiled, laughing when she groaned out in embarrassment.

“It’s cold.”

“Let’s go upstairs and take a shower, then.”

“You’re insatiable, “she huffed. “If I could get pregnant twice, I think I would be by now.”

Jaehyun grinned, his hand slapping over her backside before finally letting her get up. He watched as she haphazardly buttoned her blouse before pulling her maternity jeans back on, narrowing her eyes at her fiancé.

“I’m taking a shower, come if you want but we are not having sex,” she said firmly. “Also, put some pants on before you leave your office, I think the housekeeper is still here.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

Jihyun whined, “please, put some pants on.”

“Fine,” he frowned, getting up from his spot and reluctantly shoving his legs into his jeans before they both heard a knock on the door.

“Jaehyun are you in here?”

Jihyun eye’s widened, quickly grabbing the cum stained shirt from the floor and throwing it across the room, watching as Jaehyun quickly tried to button his cardigan.

“Y-yeah, just a minute!” He called out, reaching for Jihyun hand, “what the fuck is your dad doing here?!”

“I don’t know!” She whispered harshly, “he should be in bed!”

Jaehyun’s hands began to sweat before he ran over to his desk, Jihyun sitting on the other side, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible before Jaehyun told him it was fine to walk in.

Kim Jinho was terrifying to Jaehyun as a child as he was to this day. He immediately noticed Jaehyun’s risqué cardigan-as-a-shirt fashion before looking at Jihyun, who gave him a smile.

“Hi Daddy!”

“Hi, Jihyun. I didn’t know you were in here.”

“We were having dinner,” Jaehyun cleared his throat, noticing the sauce was stuck onto the noodles. The food looked cold.

Jihyun yawned, stretching her arms in full dramatics before getting up from her chair, walking towards her father to kiss him on the cheek. “Sorry I couldn’t stay and talk Daddy, I’m just beat! I’ve been on my feet all day!”

“Are you still coming over tomorrow? Your brothers should be home.”

“You bet! Goodnight, I’ll see you in bed, Jaehyun!” She said quickly, tilting her head a certain way to hide an obnoxious hickey left behind.

“You look nervous.”

“Not…nervous,” Jaehyun cleared his throat. “Would you like some tea—?”

Jinho waved dismissive hand, “I’m not here to berate you, Jaehyun. I just want to talk.”

“About what, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You’re marrying my daughter and you’re having a child together, don’t you think it’s about time for me to start getting used to having chats with you?”

“I…suppose. I just didn’t expect you, that’s all, much less after dark.”

“Do you think I’m that old that I go to bed at nine pm?”

“N-no! That’s not what I’m saying at all— “

Jinho cracked a laugh, causing Jaehyun to give an awkward smile, not entirely sure what was to come next, “You look just like your father sometimes, I remember he used to get nervous, just like you. But, you’re right, I came here for more than just a chat.”

“I’ve heard around that you’re having trouble,” Jinho explained, looking at his folded hands. “Lots of it. Big trouble.”

Jaehyun grimaced, “it’s nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

“I’m sure. I have faith in you, Jaehyun. You’re just like your dad, but you’re ten times smarter than him, and he knew that.” Jinho sighed, “you’ve had your foot in the business for a long time now. What about your consigliere? John?”

“His parents…weren’t really involved in what you and my father were involved in, but he has a law degree and a law background. I like to think he knows something.”

Jinho nodded, “good. That’s good. How come you don’t come to me? I worked with your father a long time, do I have to rely on Jihyun to tell me everything?”

“You’re retired, sir,” Jaehyun frowned. “I didn’t want to bother you, but now that Jihyun told you— “

“Is it a problem that Jihyunie told me?”

“Of course not! I’m glad that she told you, but I’m worried that she might be overwhelming you. Judging your visit, is it safe to assume she has?”

Jinho chuckled, “You know my baby isn’t good at keeping secrets. But I think she told me because she’s worried too, you know?”

“I try not to tell her as much because I don’t want her to stress, but it doesn’t work,” Jaehyun grimaced. “She’s so stubborn.”

“Good. I taught her that.”

Jaehyun finally let out a small laugh, sharing one with his soon to be father-in-law. Jinho clapped his thighs, sighing up heavily as he stood up from the chair, Jaehyun following suit as he walked him to the front door.

“That’s all I wanted to say, really,” he started. “If something comes up, I’d more than happy help you with it.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Jaehyun bowed politely.  

Jinho clapped Jaehyun’s shoulder, “go upstairs and put on a shirt, son. This is embarrassing.”

Jaehyun’s ears burned red, “yes sir. Goodnight, sir.”

Jinho mumbled a goodnight as Jaehyun closed the door behind him, groaning in relief before he ran upstairs. He opened the door to their bedroom and saw Jihyun inside their bed, all washed up with a face mask on.

“Is he gone?”

“He just left,” Jaehyun sighed. “I’m going to shower real quick.”

Jihyun nodded, going back to putting her attention on the tv while Jaehyun stripped his clothing off and threw it in the hamper. He couldn’t help but to put his forehead against the wall of the shower, never feeling more embarrassed in the thirty minutes with Jinho than anyone in his life, ever.

After he showered, he pulled on some clothes on quickly, falling in his spot on the bed with a groan, his eyes closed before hearing another face mask being torn in the background and feeling Jihyun smooth it across his face.

“It’s anti-aging.”

Jaehyun scoffed, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Jihyun?”

“Hm?”

“I’m not mad, but have you been telling your dad about my issues?”

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind that you tell your dad, but he’s worried about me now. That’s my only issue, now I feel bad. What if he think I’m not cut out for this.”

“He doesn’t think that, he tells me all the time that you’re the best man for the job.”

“What if he tells you that only because he doesn’t want you yelling at him?”

“Even if that were the case, I think you’re the best man for the job.”  Jihyun stated, almost as if it were common knowledge, “so what if he doesn’t think so? He’s old.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“It is easy to say, that’s why I say it.” Jihyun pulled the sheets over him before giving him a kiss. Jaehyun smacked his lips bitterly, tasting sheet mask more than he would like.

“You taste like soap.”

“At least it wasn’t cum.” Jihyun wrapped her arms around his neck and playfully choking him out, listening to Jaehyun choke. “I had to kiss my dad on the cheek when I had your dick in my mouth, you fucking asshole!”

“You’re the one who put it there!” Jaehyun defended, pulling her hands off, “I’m not going to tell you to stop! Also, how was I supposed to know your dad was going to come over!?”

Jihyun huffed, pressing her cold toes against his back, listening to him yelp.

“Fuck off!”

“No,” she grinned, digging them further in his pants.

“Move, Jihyun! Your toes are fucking freezing!”

“Good! As they should!”

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