#thank you for this wonderful summer and all the previous ones too

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter one

Summary: Cry Baby went on a date? And, it wasn't with Bucky?

Warning: Smoking. Alcohol, tipsy motorcycle driving. DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE KIDS. Crying. Bucky is so toxic but sweet, I'm a fool.

Word Count: 1528

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A/N: I speed-wrote this so the posting schedule wasn't out of sync, but ooops hit the post now button too early. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute

Three months passed since that night at your apartment, in that time, the routine had become almost ordinary. It was a pattern, Bucky would show up at your apartment bruised and grazed up, and you would patch him up. Without questioning why or how it happened. The worry still gnawed at the back of your mind. 

Summer had settled over the city, warmth wrapping around everything from the streets to the bar. The familiar sounds of laughter and motorcycle engines roaring became clearer as you got closer to the bar. Already late to meet your friends as is, you began to walk a little faster. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the prettiest face in the city,” Rumlow drawled, his eyes raking over your body, making your skin crawl, as you walked passed him and his group of friends to get toward the door of the bar. 

“Rumlow,” you acknowledged as you tried to move past him. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“What’s the rush? How about you and I have a little chat?” a smirk tugged at his lips as he began to reach up toward your cheek.

You glanced around, hoping to spot a familiar face that wasn’t loyal to Rumlow, but the street was eerily quiet. “I’m meeting my brother, excuse me.” 

He leaned in closer, his hand now reaching your cheek. Gently caressing it as he continued to speak, “I’ve been watching you, you know. I’ve always wondered if you taste as sweet as you look.” 

Panic surged through you, and you took a step back, your eyes darting toward anything but his. Unbeknownst to you, Sam Wilson had pulled up outside the bar, just in time to witness the interaction. 

Without hesitation, Sam dismounted his motorcycle and strode toward you. “Is there a problem here?” Sam’s words cut through the air like a knife, drawing the attention of both you and Rumlow as he grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket. 

A sign of relief escaped your breath at the sight of Sam, grateful for the timely intervention. Rumlow, on the other hand, sized up Sam with a gace before deciding to retreat, bringing his hand up as a show of surrender. 

“I’ll see you around,” He said toward you, his tone dripping with implication before he turned back toward his friends. 

Same watched his every move, his expression guarded. He turned to you, once he was assured Rumlow wasn’t an issue anymore. “You okay?” he asked, offering a reassuring smile. 

You nodded, and the weight of the tension lifted. “Thanks, Sam.” Same returned the nod, giving the area another look around before leading you into the bar. His protective instincts were still alert.

Inside, the rest of the group noticed as both you and Sam walked through the door. You all exchanged greetings as you slid into the booth next to Bucky. The scent of your vanilla perfume mixed with the smell of smoke and beer, a combination that had become comforting to him. 

As you settled into the booth, Bucky rested his arm over the back of the booth behind your head. “Took you long enough,” Natasha gestured her bottle toward you before taking a quick sip. “The date went that well, did it?” She couldn’t resist making a joke at your expense.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of a date, his jaw clenched as your cheeks rushed with heat. “A date, huh?” he remarked, sarcasm laced in his tone.

You began fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Um, yeah…” you mumbled, trying to avoid the gazes of your friends and especially your brother. 

Before you could dwell anymore on it, Steve redirected the conversation, but the sense of Bucky’s fist clenching not far from your head made the unease linger. 

Throughout the night, you found yourself stealing glances at Sam, unsure of how to navigate the aftermath of the situation outside. You began replaying his words in your mind, causing your emotions to get the better of you. 

Bucky sensed your sudden quietness, catching one of your sniffles. “What now?” he mumbled, only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Just ran into someone outside,” you sniffled again, glancing back at Bucky with tears in your eyes. “It’s fine now,” you shot him an unconvincing smile. 

“Yeah,” he began as he picked up his bottle, “looks like it.” he glanced back down at you as he took a swig. 

~

As you stepped outside, you watched as your friends began to retrieve their motorcycles, getting ready to leave. The six of you began mumbling goodnights to each other, you telling each of them to drive safely, as Bucky stood watching by his motorcycle. He offered you a tentative smile and gestured toward the helmet on his seat. “Need a ride?” 

You nodded, and he passed you the helmet as you climbed onto the back. The ride was exhilarating, wind whipped through the stray strand of your head as you clung to Bucky’s waist. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly as you dismounted after he turned off the engine outside your apartment building. 

“Anytime, Sweetheart,” he paused before he turned to face you, his expression serious. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his eyes searching yours as you passed him the helmet back. A knot formed in your stomach, and you nodded sheepishly. “I hope your date went well.”

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious you pulled your cardigan further around you. “Um, yeah, it was okay,” you mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze.

He began to chuckle softly, sensing your nervousness. “Just okay? Wow, sounds thrilling,” he remarked with a sarcastic tone.

You managed a weak smile, his teasing making you feel more embarrassed. “Um, well, it was our second date,” you admitted shyly, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “He asked for a third,” 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but the playful smirk never left his lips. “Oh, did he?” an amused tone in his response. “Looks like you made quite an impression then,” he continued, his tone was still playful but yet, intrigued. “Is it Sam?” he questioned.

Your head shot up to meet his gaze, and confusion spread across your features. “What? No, it’s, um, well it’s,” you paused, your nervousness causing you to hesitate. “It’s a guy from work, John Walk-,”

Bucky’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant, anger replacing the simmer in his eyes. His jaw tensed, and his eyes narrowed into a hard glare as he processed what you admitted. 

“John Walker?” Bucky’s voice was low, a dangerous growl, the name left a sour taste in his mouth. 

You nodded, “Yeah, um, he’s just a guy from work,” you hesitantly replied, thrown off-guard by Bucky’s transformation. 

“That son of a…” his voice trailed off, the words barely contained his fury. His anger seemed to intensify, his voice rising in volume as he continued venting his frustration toward you. “I can’t believe you’d even consider going near him!” he bellowed, words echoing through the empty street. 

You flinched at the force of his outburst, each word felt like it was a physical blow. “Bucky…” your voice quivering with emotion. 

His features contorted in anger as he continued, “You don’t understand!” He was consumed by his rage, causing it almost impossible for you to hear your voice asking him to stop. “He’s dangerous, he’s… he’s not someone you want to be involved with!”

Each word began to cut deeper than the last, leaving you feeling vulnerable, the tears spilled down your face. “Please, Bucky,” you shouted back at him, your voice rising in desperation, “stop shouting at me!” 

Your raised voice caught Bucky off guard, his anger faltering the moment he finally looked down at you. At that moment, he saw the tears, the fear, and the hurt. The realization that he had caused it, hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Bucky let out a heavy sigh as his features softened, the red lights in his eyes dimming as he reached down to gently wipe your soaked cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, every part of him filled with regret, “I… I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Sh-shouting at m-me like th-that doesn’t hel-help,” your voice shaky, and interrupted by hiccups. His gaze truly softened as he took in your words. 

With that, he pulled you into a comforting hug, holding you close as you both took a moment to calm down. 

“Let’s get you inside, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice now barely a whisper as he felt your shaking subside. You nodded, sniffling as you pulled back from him. 

That night, you both walked up to your apartment, and Bucky kept a protective arm around you. Once inside, you realized tonight would be different. Usually, you’d make your way to the kitchen and begin patching up his wounds. 

“Let me take care of you for a change,” he said, leading you toward your couch. He fetched a warm face cloth and gently wiped away the tear stains on your cheeks. You leaned into his comforting touch, a new sense of safety enveloping you.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[your-nanas-house]

Just a... thong

◇ Pairing: Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy X Bff's daughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: mention of masturbation, age gap (all off age, Cill is in his 40s, Y/n 20s), pervert Cilly, laundry, dad's best friend, cramps

◇ Summary: Cillian decides to take care of the laundry and finds his best friend's daughter's thong.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Another piece of the "AU/series" of Dad's Friend. Thank you @drcranessweetestdoe to encourage me to write smt. It's bit shitty but I hope it will "satiate" you a little. 🤭

It had been several weeks since Y/n, his best friend's daughter, had come to stay with Cillian for the summer holidays.

He had rearranged a bit of the usual routine that the man had made his, now that he was in his 40s and considered himself too old for several things.

However, he had adapted quite well, thanks to the collaboration of the young woman who also did not want to cause any disturbance to him and therefore followed his schedule a bit.

They had established little silent rules, such as the times of breakfast and meals in general, who cooked and when. They had also decided without talking about it that they would do the dirty laundry individually even though she was the one in charge of running the washing machine and making sure of the little details like which clothes could go together and which couldn't.

Usually Y/n took care of the sorting too, before Cillian could do anything, so it was the first time for the man to take care of that task.

The young woman was busy on a call with her family and the Irishman didn't have much to do, so when he passed by the room where the washing machine had finished he approached it, deciding to do it himself to take away a task from her seeing how well he was taking care of all the things he had asked her to do in exchange to make her stay under his roof.

His baby blue eyes scanned the object, taking in the different buttons before making sure it was actually done.

When he was sure of it he opened it, rushing to get the basket to put all the wet clothes in there and then go and hang them outside since the weather permitted.

They were mostly his things and a few things from Y/n, just clothes he had seen on her the previous days, some sports tops and... a lacy piece.

A lacy... A lacy piece of clothing, Cillian repeated to himself before his eyes snapped quickly back to the undergarments he was holding in his hand. His breath catching in his throat as his mouth dried, his heart started to beat faster, drumming against his chest at the realization.

A thong.. it's just a thong, Cillian, get yourself together, he thought, scolding himself, as his eyes snapped towards the door and back to the fabric when he was sure that he was still alone.

Her underwear was soft under his fingertips, smooth and silky except the lacy part that decorated it in an innocent but provocative way.

There was little fabric... he really wondered why she worn something like that since it covered barely her cunt, exposing probably fully her round ass cheeks.

"Fuck" the older man murmured under his breath, his breath becoming heavier as his mind wandered, imagine his best friend's daughter wearing something like that... just that, her body completely bare, her breasts on full display as the thong hugged her hips, teasing him with its little see not see game.

His body reacted pretty quickly and he was hard.. again.

It had been happening quite frequently since she entered his life in a daily basis. He really felt like a pathetic teenager by the way his body acted at the mere display of a bit of her skin.

Cillian bite his lip, taking a deep breath as he stroked the fabric in his hand for a couple of seconds, groaning softly at the feeling while his other hand moved slowly to his boner which was quite noticeable because of the sweatpants he had choose to wear that morning. His thick fingers slowly brushed his clothed hard lenght, before palming it... his bottom lip caged by his white teeth as his mind started to play different scenarios.

"Fuck" he cursed lowly, moving his hand again to pull out his cock irrationally, following the wind of his carnal desire with no shame, too blinded by lust.

"Is everything okay? Is it your back again?.. I heard you curse" Y/n's sweet voice interrupted him, making his blood run cold and move quickly up.. stretching his muscles in the wrong way.

He really was too old for this kind of things, he thought dramatically while cursing softly.

A shock of pain hit him, making him lean against the washing machine in an attempt to regain himself.

Karma.. just Karma, Cillian repeated in his head while inhaling deeply, now feeling pretty much self-conscious about his actions. Luckily she didn't look like she had noticed the perverse actions he was about to comply.

Her look was one of worry and not disgust, even when she moved quickly closer to make sure he was alright and help him sit on the sofa to relax a moment while she continued the task, not noticing the piece of clothing that was missing since he didn't have the opportunity or the time to throw it back in the basket before she took it to another room, warning him that she was coming back to check on him and his back.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can’t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give? 

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage. 

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too. 

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring. 

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway. 

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep. 

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air. 

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?” 

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?” 

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child. 

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but- 

Namjoon would be a good father. 

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach. 

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button. 

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you. 

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in). 

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty. 

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image. 

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-” Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

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~-~

Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

[lilmoonbunny]

Crush; Bo Sinclair

Bo has a crush, but so does Lester.

Warnings: Jealous!Bo, swearing.

Bo Sinclair was an asshole, anyone who knew him knew this fact, however, there was a side of him – albeit rare – that could be kind and loving, although, there was only one person who he deemed worthy of this side.

Y/N was everything that Bo was not: sweet, kind, caring, and loving. She was any man’s dream. Perhaps this was why Lester craved her, much to Bo’s dismay.

Whilst Bo’s initial craving for her was lust, it soon transformed into genuine feelings, something which terrified him. He didn’t believe that he could love, nor did he think he was worthy of being loved.

“Bo,” Y/N whined, capturing the mechanics attention as he lay beneath a truck. She watched as the man rolled out to look at her, oil clinging to his face.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’m bored,”

With a roll of his eyes, Bo pushed himself back underneath the truck, turning his attention back to the job at hand. He enjoyed her company he truly did, but there were times when he couldn’t stand to be around her. It was nothing personal, he just didn’t know how to control himself.

The revealing clothes that she was wearing in the summer heat left little to the imagination and Bo almost wished he could take a picture of her, capturing her in all her glory, not that he would ever admit he saw her that way to anybody besides himself; he often struggled to admit it to himself.

He could feel her eyes on him, although he didn’t know why she was so focused on him, but it made it hard to focus. What was supposed to be an easy job was suddenly made harder with her focus solely on him; he almost felt insecure. Almost.

Bo knew he was both attractive and charming, but when around her he couldn’t help but wonder if she saw him the same way. In fact, that was something he pondered often. She was Vincent’s friend, that was how he came to know her and how she ended up residing in Ambrose after a ‘complication’ with her previous partner.

He remembered the nights she spent crying whilst Vincent comforted her, both with hugs and pats on the head which Bo found odd as Vincent was not one for physical touch. Bo would never admit he was jealous, and besides, he wasn’t aware of his feelings then.

The feelings came rushing to him one night as he found her in the kitchen. She was making a coffee after giving up on sleep a little after her breakup. Tears stained her cheeks, be it from the bad memories or the breakup itself, and Bo couldn’t remember the last time he had cried or seen somebody cried; maybe it was Lester when they were younger, he wasn’t sure.

“Sorry,” she had apologised to him. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Bo hesitated for a moment, something that he wasn’t used to. Sure, he had talked to her a few times, but rarely alone. He wasn’t big on conversation with new people, let alone friends of Vincent.

“It’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Came his response, shocking them both.

“Are you sure?”

“Course, s’pose it’s your house too for now.”

Little did he know, she would become a permanent resident in the Sinclair household.

“Thank you, Bo,” she smiled sweetly at him, and despite the tears staining her cheeks, he found her beautiful. He knew in that moment that he wanted her in more than a sexual way.

“Why are you staring?” Bo asked from beneath the truck.

Y/N paused for a moment, mouth opening and closing as she struggled to form an answer. “Admiring the view, I guess.” She said with a shrug and Bo could feel his cheeks warming but he simply blamed it on the heat; ignorance is bliss, after all.

Never in his life had he thought he would feel this way and it was terrifying to say the least.

“Oh, hi, Lester!” Y/N grinned, unable to see how Bo’s eyebrows furrowed and a frown formed on his lips. “How are you?”

“I’m all right, Y/N/N. How’re ya?” Bo could hear the smile as Lester spoke and his frown grew.

Y/N’s attention turned from Bo to Lester, red dusting her cheeks from the summer air, and maybe because she was called out for staring.

“I’m good! Me and Bo are just working. Well, he’s working and I’m just sitting here.” A giggle fell from her lips and both the men’s hearts warmed.

As Lester and Y/N’s conversation continued, Bo found himself zoning out, anger forming in his chest. He hated them interacting, having known about Lester’s feelings for his ‘crush’ for a while now. Even if Lester wouldn’t admit it, Bo knew; he always knew.

Rolling out from beneath the truck, Bo spoke. “If you two want to carry on talking, can you do it somewhere else!?” He snapped, immediately regretting it upon seeing the way Y/N’s face dropped. He did debate apologising, but his ego was too big to do so.

She paused for a moment before lifting herself to her feet, silently nodding before walking away, Lester following like a lost puppy.

Bo’s anger continued to fester for the rest of the day, even as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Hi, Bo,” Y/N greeted him, but it went ignored as Bo removed his boots.

It was safe to assume that Bo was in one of his usual bad moods and Vincent had signed to her that it was best to ignore him when he got like this when she first came to stay. It was the unspoken rule of the house, so she turned her attention back to the television in front of her.

Bo, of course, was paying attention and seeing that Lester had left had his bad mood calming slightly, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A quiet sigh of relief was next, although it went unheard by the woman that held his affections.

 “I see your little boyfriend left,” Bo broke the silence.

“Boyfriend?”

“Lester.”

“He’s not my boyfriend…?” It was safe to say that Y/N was confused.

“He seems quite smitten on you.”

“I don’t see him that way.”

Bo relaxed some more and this time it didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, nor did his dilated pupils. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what that meant.

As she stood up, a plan formed in her mind, but if she was wrong about this, she risked ruining everything, including their close friendship.

What is life without a little risk? She reasoned with herself.

Bo watched her as she moved closer, eventually standing in front of him and toying with the collar of his thin jacket, fixing it despite knowing that he would remove it soon.

“There is somebody I see that way, though,” she said, looking up at him with a coy smile that had Bo’s heart racing.

“Is that so?” He muttered, watching her closely.

“Yeah,” her smile grew, hands reaching out to grasp his face, taking it slowly and gently so that he could pull away at any time.

But he didn’t pull away, in fact, he couldn’t resist any longer and his face dived down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.

She could taste a mix of cigarettes and beer on his lips, but it wasn’t something she minded; it was very Bo and she loved him for who he was, flaws and all.

Whilst her hands gently cupped his cheeks, Bo’s reached out to lightly grasp both her waist and the back of her neck as he continued to kiss her. It was something he didn’t want to pull away from. The sensation of her lips on his and his hands on her had his heart beating a million miles per minute and the feeling itself gave him a high better than any drug ever could.

When they separated, Y/N’s gaze turned downwards, a dark blush coating her cheeks.

“I didn’t know if that was a good idea,” she admitted. “I’m hoping it was.”

Bo paused for a moment, feeling as though he was unable to speak. “I think it was,” his voice was quiet yet filled with emotion which was unusual for the man. “As long as you liked it, then I think it was, at least.”

“I did like it,”

Bo smiled, and whilst it was a small smile, it was noticeable to her.

“So did I.”

[auras-moonstone]

i can see you — ethan landry

word count: 2,623

pairing: non-gf!ethan landry x fem!reader

based on: i can see you by taylor swift

summary: y/n and ethan work at a summer camp which has very strict rules—relationships between the staff is completely forbidden.

author’s note: this song is the epitome of horniness, so there are some suggestive things in this story. no smut, but there are sexual activities implied.

part two

ONE OF THE FIRST RULES YOU’RE TOLD ON YOUR FIRST DAY OF WORK AT THE GARDEN GATE SUMMER CAMP IS: RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN STAFF MEMBERS ARE COMPLETELY FORBIDDEN. At first, Y/N didn’t mind that rule at all. No one on the staff has ever caught her attention in the two years she had been working there. But then, he bursted into the room—breathless, red cheeks (probably from running), perfect curly hair, big brown enthralling eyes, tall and broad shoulders, absolutely mesmerising features—and she knew she was utterly and absolutely fucked.

“Sorry I’m late… flat tire” he said, trying to catch his breath. And his voice was irritably hot, just great, Y/N groaned internally.

“It’s okay. I had just explained a few rules. The most important—and if we found out you broke it, we’ll have no choice but to fire you—no romantic relationships between staff members, got it?” Jessie, their boss, said. The guy nodded in understanding.

Y/N tried not to look at the mysterious new guy for the rest of the meeting—but it was impossible, his magnetic field was a little too strong. It was going to be a cruel summer, she could feel it.

Ethan, even though he didn’t show it, felt her gaze ever since he walked into that room and it excited him. He had been crushing on that girl ever since Chad showed him a picture of her. He had told her how funny and sweet she was and let it slip that Ethan was exactly her type, so that’s why he ended getting a job at Garden Gate Summer Camp—to meet her.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you!” Tara hugged her tightly. Y/N and the group —Tara, the Meeks-Martin twins and Sam—met the previous summer, on their first day of work at the camp. They went to different colleges, but they still texted and face-timed a lot.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N/N, this is Ethan, the roommate I told you would be joining us this year?” Chad introduced her to the personification of a daydream.

“Oh, yeah! Welcome to the nightmare, Ethan. A job at a summer camp is not cool as it sounds” Y/N looked at him with a smile.

“Oh, okay. That makes me feel so excited” he said sarcastically. “But thank you. Hope you heard all good things about me”

“Don’t worry, man. I told her you are a shy, dorky nerdy boy” Chad said, patting his shoulder. Ethan rolled his eyes at him, of course he said that.

“Don’t feel bad, Ethan. Shy, dorky, nerdy guys are cool… jocks, on the other hand…” Y/N faked a gag, and the tall boy laughed.

“Okay, okay I deserved that” Chad laughed too.

That night, both Y/N and Ethan went to bed with excitement filling their chests, trying their hardest to sleep early just so tomorrow would come faster—they couldn’t wait to see each other again.

THE WEEKS PASSED AND THE TENSION THE TWO TEENAGERS FELT AROUND EACH OTHER WAS BECOMING MORE AND MORE UNBEARABLE. Y/N never thought she would hate that fucking rule Jessie set so much. She despised the fact that all she could do was enjoy the way he brushed past her in the hallways. It was getting so hard to retain the need to touch him.

And Ethan… no one would believe the things that went through his mind everytime he saw Y/N. Like right now, she she was waiting down the hallway—to lead him to the closet they were tasked to arrange—and the image of Y/N up against the wall with him, kissing her into oblivion, crossed his mind. Holding back from her was a complete nightmare.

“Eth? Everything okay? You look a little flushed” her sweet voice invaded his ears. His thoughts had been so loud he wondered if she could read his mind.

“The day feels hot and heavy today” was his excuse. The day was indeed intolerable, but that was not the reason he felt like that. It was totally her—the way she made that ridiculous camp shirt look hot, and the shorts that showed her beautiful legs.

“I told you. This job is not as cool as it sounded. Everyone is having fun at the lake and we are stuck in this closet” she laughed “And how is it even hotter in here? My god”.

“Let’s just hurry so we can leave” he said. “Hey, I heard you’re transferring to Blackmore, right?” Ethan tried to make conversation as they worked.

“Yup. I’m rooming with Mindy and her girlfriend. So, you’ll be seeing more of me when the summer ends”

“Thank god” he said. Y/N looked at him in surprise, and then a smirk formed on her face. Ethan widened his eyes and tried to explain himself. “I mean, with Tara and Chad, and Mindy and Anika being couples, I’m kind of always fifth wheeling… now I have you. In the group, I mean, n-not as in… my g-girlfriend”.

“You’re adorable, Ethan” Y/N told him. Ethan held back a sigh. Of course he was the adorable one, the cute one, never the hot one. He didn’t know how he could’ve thought it would be different with Y/N. “I like adorable, for the record”.

Yeah, as a friend, I bet, Ethan said to himself. “Done” he said, already wanting to get out of the closet to drown himself in his own disappointment.

“Right” Y/N stood up, cursing herself for having messed up. She totally meant it as a compliment—yes, Ethan was hot but he was also really sweet and adorable and she liked him a lot. But clearly the boy had been teased about being dorky, nerdy and adorable so much that he started to hate it.

The curly-haired boy turned the handle and tried to open the door. “No, no. No way” he said shaking the door with force. “Y/N it’s not opening”.

“What? Let me see” she said, pushing him aside. “Shit. It must be stuck”.

“Do you have your phone?” Ethan asked. Y/N shook her head. “Fuck, me neither. What do we do?”.

“Well, we’ll have to wait. I mean, they’ll eventually notice we’re missing, right?”

“But that could take hours” Ethan groaned.

“Yeah, we don’t have any other choice so, get comfortable”

The minutes passed and the little room turned warmer and heavier. Their shirts were soaked in sweat and the fabric of Y/N’s jean shorts was starting to feel hot against her skin.

“We’re going to die” Ethan muttered. They were sitting against a wall next to each other. “The shirt is sticking to my skin” he said, trying to create some air by shaking the fabric with rapid movements. “I need to take it off”.

“Please don’t take it off” by his muscled arms and broad shoulders, Y/N could tell Ethan spent some considerable amount of time at the gym. That means that he probably had abs and the last thing she needed at the moment is her body to turn warmer.

“I’m sorry but I might melt if I don’t” he said before getting rid of the dark blue Garden Gate Summer Camp shirt.

Y/N really did try not to shamelessly look at his body, but she was just a girl with only so much self-restraint. “This is torture”.

“I know, let’s just hope they’ll notice soon” he said.

She was, definitely, not talking about the hot room, but the hot, shirtless boy next to her. But she just said “Yeah”. After a couple of minutes, she couldn’t take the heat any longer so she followed Ethan’s actions and took off her shirt, leaving her in only shorts and a black bikini top.

“What are you doing?” he asked in panic, trying to look anywhere but her chest.

“The shirt was so sticky it disgusted me. Chill, it’s just a bikini”

“It’s not the bikini, it’s who is wearing it” the words left his mouth before he could even process them.

The blood rushed into her cheeks, making her even warmer “Ethan, fuck, you’re making this harder” she cursed.

“I could say the same about you” he accused her.

“Ew” Y/N teased him.

Ethan widened his eyes “No! That’s not what I meant!”

“I know, I’m just messing with you” she bursted out laughing. Her shoulder accidentally touched his and the laughter stopped. Their breaths hitched at the contact. “Maybe we should… try banging the door? Someone might hear us”

Ethan nodded frenetically. He needed to get out of this room before he did something stupid. “This is useless” he said after a couple of minutes, leaning against the door.

“I’m sorry for what I said” she blurted out, making him look at her in confusion. “About you being adorable. I can tell you didn’t like it, and I’m sorry”.

“I know it’s silly, I mean getting offended by a harmless compliment, I just… I’m kind of tired of being the one who stays in a corner at parties because I’m not enough confident or hot like Chad or other frat boys. I’m the cute guy, the adorable one, the one that girls want as a friend not a hookup”.

“That’s not how I feel about you, Ethan. God, you have no fucking idea, do you? The effect you’ve had on me since the first day? You don’t know half the things I see inside my head when you are near me or even when you’re not” she didn’t even notice she was pinning him to the door. But Ethan was well aware of it, and he loved it “So yes, Ethan, I think you’re the sweetest and most adorable guy I’ve ever met, but you are also so fucking attractive. I like you and want you so bad, it drives me absolutely insane”.

“What would you do if I went to touch you now?” Ethan asked in a low, raspy voice.

He was so irresistible. “Keep taking to me in that voice and I will do anything you want, let you do anything you want” he definitely had her in the palm of his hand, and she didn’t mind at all.

“Y/N, Ethan? You’re in there?” they heard Chad’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Are you kidding me? They appear now?” Ethan groaned in a whisper. Y/N grimaced and shrugged. It was probably for the best. “Yes! We’ve been stuck here for hours!”

A WEEK HAD PASSED SINCE THE CLOSET SITUATION and while they managed to keep everything professional, they both felt something had changed between them now that they knew they were attracted to each other. They now exchanged seductive smiles, brief teasing touches, and shared meaningful glances only the other was able to decipher—it kind of became their secret language.

But the thing was ultimately treacherous, those little actions just made the situation worse because if they had trouble holding back from each other before, now it felt physically draining.

“We have night patrol, who volunteers?” Sam asked, no one raised their hands. Everyone hated night patrols. “Oh, please”.

“Fine, I’ll do it” Y/N spoke up.

Sam sent her a grateful smile “Who else?”

Ethan faked a defeated sigh and said, “I’ll go too”. Y/N held back a smile.

“Perfect!” Sam exclaimed, giving them the lanterns.

“Good luck, guys” the rest of the group said before entering their respective cabins.

“So, are you going to make a move or are you going to keep eye-fucking me during every fucking meeting?” Ethan asked.

“Mmm, I don’t know. I kinda like seeing you clench your jaw, how you discreetly adjust your shorts, how you try to look away from me but totally failing” she whispered in his ear.

Ethan groaned, gripping her waist tightly “You temptress… you drive me insane. You know it hurts, right? Like, a lot”

“I’m sorry… maybe I should make it up to you?” Y/N smiled innocently, while dragging her hand from his shoulder all the way down to the waistline of his shorts. “Follow me” she grabbed his hand, leading him towards a secure place, very well hidden.

“You’re so gorgeous” he said, pressing her against the wall. He was so tall that she had to look up at him. “Are you going to let me kiss you, Y/N?”.

She looked at him with begging eyes and nodded. As soon as their lips touched, they could see themselves being each other’s addictions. There was so much urgency and neediness in the way their lips moved, they couldn’t imagine ever wanting to pull apart. Hands wandered everywhere—chests, cheeks, jaws, necks—wanting to feel and memorise every inch possible. Nothing could ever be enough though, they wanted more and more of each other.

“I want to make it up to you, Eth” she whispered once they had to pull away.

“Whatever you want. I am okay doing whatever you want” he whispered against her neck, the smell of vanilla and coconut blurring his senses.

“You’re going to keep quiet for me, pretty boy?” Y/N asked descending her kisses from his neck down to collarbone.

“Yes, I promise. Just… please”

So Y/N got down to her knees and Ethan totally broke his promise.

ETHAN LANDRY, Y/N FOUND, WAS THE MOST TRANSPARENT PERSON SHE KNEW. Or at least when his emotions were on edge. The next morning, when the girl joined the rest of the group for breakfast, Ethan almost fell out of his seat. And it certainly caught the attention of their friends.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked him confused by his sudden behaviour.

“Y-yeah, I just thought there was an insect on my leg” he laughed nervously. Y/N wanted to kill him, they were going to find them out if he continued to act like that.

“Well, we are at a camp… in the woods. There are a lot of insects, so you have to get accustomed to them, Ethan” Y/N said.

“R-right, yeah. Obviously” he nodded.

“Man, do you feel alright? You’re acting weird” Chad asked his friend.

“We stayed up late last night” Y/N said, and Ethan choked on his coffee. “-patrolling. And Ethan here is basically a grandpa who wanted to go to bed like ten minutes after we started. So, maybe he just needs a little rest”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what is wrong. I need more hours of sleep” Ethan nodded.

“You’re the worst partner ever” Y/N said sending him a look that said ‘act normal’.

“Yeah, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here but we better get to work” Mindy said.

Y/N AND ETHAN DECIDED TO HAVE THE LEAST INTERACTION POSSIBLE DURING THE DAY. The group did not buy the sleepless excuse at all, they knew something was going on between them. So, looking around to make sure no one was near, Y/N casually walked past Ethan and left a note on his hand.

meet me tonight at my cabin

make sure no one sees you leave your cabin

“You really need to start behaving, Ethan” she said as Ethan entered her cabin, closing the door behind him.

“I just… I keep replaying you on your knees and looking up at me with those fucking beautiful doe eyes and I can’t help it. You make me fucking nervous and flustered”

Y/N smiled, even the thought of being annoyed at him was impossible. She just had a soft spot for him.“Maybe I should get you accustomed to the feeling of me… of all the things that haven’t happened between us yet. And maybe then you’ll start behaving like a normal person around me” she had pushed him to her bed. He looked at her with wide hungry eyes, pulling her to his lap.

“I really like the sound of that… like a secret mission. But first, I need to return the favour. Then, we can do anything you want” Ethan said kissing her collarbone.

Y/N smiled, grabbing him by the jaw to kiss him softly “It’s okay, Eth. You don’t need to”

“I don’t need to, but I want to. There’s nothing I want more” he said, grabbing her tights to switch positions. Now, she way lying on the bed, and he was kneeling between her legs.

“They suspect something, though, they had been keeping watchful eyes on us. So, just in case, we need to be fast. You can’t spend much time here” Y/N said, the feeling of his hand on her tight sending her electric shocks all over her body.

“I can be fast. Just keep quiet, gorgeous”

And soon enough, her hands were in his hair and the rest of their clothes ended up splattered across the room.

[diorsluv]

feather , part 27

“ not pretending to like the wine you like ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

rutgermcgroarty

liked by lhughes_06, _alexturcotte, yourusername, and 70,881 others

rutgermcgroarty 3️⃣🛞❌😁

view all comments

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username46 sometimes i worry for the whole friend group

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yourusername

liked by lhughes_06, luca.fantilli, markestapa, and 117,290 others

yourusername summer dayssss ☀️

view all comments

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→ yourusername thank you quinner

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→ yourusername yes i was very lonely

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username97 trevor is absolutely down horrendous

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→ lhughes_06 that’s really unfortunate i’m sure a lot of people would love to go with you

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lhughes_06 and i like the jewelry too it’s a nice touch

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next chapter notes ) their time will come soon i promise i promise but for now we must bask in the mutual pining and the way the guys taunt lukey pooks and i lied again it’s not that late (it’s 7 pm lmaooo)

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys @loveforaugust

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh���he’s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.” 

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

 You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @ma1dita, @jeondeluxe111, @itszzmoon, @wolfeginny, @mioshasworld, @bre99

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Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 7!!

July 7th <3

Neutral - @jegulus-microfic - words: 731

First part Previous part

Leg bouncing up and down, Regulus sat on the side of the bench as he waited for James to finish talking to a red haired girl.

She was pretty, really pretty, and James looked really happy. Both smiling, both talking, they looked like a couple. They could be a couple, maybe they are.

She was laughing, brushing a hand through her hair and touching his shoulder. Touching him, that’s not fair. He doesn’t have an excuse for why it’s not fair, it just isn’t.

Get off, Regulus wants to hiss like a jealous snake.

Regulus knew that the fiery haired and freckly cheeked girl went by Lily Evans, courtesy of Pandora. The only reason he was feeling sour about the two talking was because of Pandora being upset, nothing more.

Definitely nothing more, his eyes weren’t locked on James’ lips as he spoke, totally.

His lips moved animatedly, he would press them together and stretch them out into grins. He would bite down on the bottom one, turning the flesh a darker shade of pink before he let it go and blinked with her dark fluttery eyelashes.

Fuck.

-

Regulus examined the way James’ tight black t-shirt clung to his skin, slightly cropping to show a slither of dark skin on his waist as he filled up two water bottles for them at the water fountain, giving the kids a minute to chat before they started up.

“Here you go.” James grunted out as he slid a plastic bottle in front of Regulus.

“Thank you.” He nodded, smiling.

He took notice to the way James’ eyes held a certain light in them, of admiration and curiosity, he wanted to seek deeper into those hazel irises and know exactly why he’s looking at him like that.

“Are you ready to start in a minute?”

“Yeah-“ Regulus paused for a thought. “What are we doing today?”

“Climbing.” James snorted as he tucked his lips away into a smirk, Regulus groaning.

“Please don’t tell me I’ll have to climb one of those things.” Regulus pointed to a towering wooden frame peeking out from the tops of the trees. “Because I swear I would rather jump off it.” He deadpanned.

James let out a laugh, a sweet, kindred, angelic laugh that made Regulus’ heart feel like it was growing two sizes too big for his chest and rising up into his throat.

“That won’t be necessary, I like you a lot better alive and in one piece.” Still smiling, James jumped up and pulled on his elbow, Regulus’ skin warming at the touch. “Come on, I’ll do all the climbing.” He watched as Regulus stood up. “Keep your pretty face safe.”

And then he jogged off, just left. The man left with that. That’s so- Regulus let out a frustrated groan, which was more directed at the bright pink splashes on his hot cheeks.

“That stupid man.” Regulus grumbled and followed after him.

-

Regulus did try very hard to keep a neutral face as James attempted to abseil down a wall, but he failed miserably, so much so he had to cover his mouth to stifle the smile and laughs threatening to come out.

The big strong James Potter, who would normally say this was easy, was walking down ever so slowly, squeaking and yelling every few seconds.

“Go on!” A teen yelled.

“Yeah, go on you idiot.” Regulus shouted down. He was stood atop the tower, where he was required to be so he could comfort the kids, he make so ended up comforting James.

James looked up at him, his wide eyes and his shaky smile. Regulus couldn’t help but smugly smile back, the man looks like he was on the verge of tears, yet he offered Regulus a smile.

Two pairs of eyes met, full of want and wonder, twisted with the unknown and sharp silence.

That’s when Regulus decided, a bit of light teasing couldn’t hurt. He gave a wink, short and quick but enough.

Slipping with a yell, Regulus watched as James slowly went sliding to the floor, only just balancing himself back onto the wall. “That was mean!” He hollered up.

Regulus let his facade break, bursting out into laughter as he bit his lip to stop it. The corners of his mouth high and his eyes brighter than ever before, even brighter than his star some may say.

Next part

[hjparisian]

birthdays through the ages- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x gn!reader w: none just fluff summary: (y/n) helps harry celebrate his birthday throughout the years a/n: disappeared for a hot min and tumblr changes its layout?? anyways dont mind that this is late and long. decided to try second pov again for this story to see how i feel but idk. what do you guys prefer? (y/f/c)= your favorite color

You've been friends with Harry ever since your guys first year at Hogwarts. One day in first year, you, Ron and Harry were talking about birthdays since Ron's twelfth birthday was coming up. Harry had mentioned that he never really received anything, counting that the Dursley's hated his guts.

From that moment on, you decided to make Harry's birthdays the best.

second year

This would be your first year getting something for Harry. You weren't sure what exactly to get him, considering you didn't have much saved from your allowance, also because he was trapped with the Dursley's.

You had decided to make you and Harry matching friendship bracelets with some beads left from an early interest of crafting. You made both bracelets using red and (y/f/c) beads. It was simple, not wanting anything too flashy for Harry incase he actually wears it.

You had also made a card for him and added some candy from a previous trip to Honeydukes. You packed everything off in one bag before sending your owl to deliver the gift.

When you finally met up with Harry at King's Cross Station, your eyes light up as you see the bracelet on the green eyed boy's arm. Harry came up and gave you a hug.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

third year

This year, you had actually saved up and set aside money to be able to afford a present for Harry. During a trip to Diagon Alley with your parents, you had wandered into a little shop that carried jewelry and charms. As you were ready to give up, something caught your eye.

It was a golden snitch charm.

It was a little on the pricy side for the charm, but you'd still have a bit of money left over. So you bought it. The store owners had given you the option to put an engraving on it, so you did, opting to put Harry's initials on it.

Once you returned home, you decided to bake treacle tarts for him, with the help from your mother. While the treacle tarts were baking, you had gone to your room to make Harry's birthday card, signing it with a heart by your name.

The next morning you had sent your owl to deliver the gifts. When the owl had returned later in the evening, it had a letter in its beak from Harry. It was him thanking you for the presents and making his birthday better, and that he loved the charm and had attached it to his school bag right away.

fourth year

The summer of Harry's fourteenth birthday was a bit wild in your opinion. You would be spending a couple weeks in America with your parents. Unfortunately, this was during Harry's birthday so you couldn't send his presents on his actual birthday.

Fortunately for you though, Ron had invited you to join him and his family to watch the Quidditch World cup. He mentioned that Hermione and Harry would be there as well. You had decided to give Harry his present in person. Your owl is probably thanking you for this genius decision.

While on your trip, you had stopped by a clothing store and spotted a red jumper. You had remembered that Harry didn't really have a lot of clothes of his own, most, if not all, were hand me downs from his cousin Dudley. You had decided to buy it along with a shirt for him.

The night before you had to go to the Weasley's, you were getting Harry's gifts together. But it felt like there was something missing. It need more of a personal touch.

You search your room for something until you came upon a little heart charm with your initial on it. Should you make another bracelet you wonder? A different idea pops into your head though. You grab the red jumper and find thread a similar color to it. Turning the jumper inside out, you take the left sleeve and place the tiny charm under the cuff and sew it in.

You wrapped the gift and set it aside your luggage so you would remember to take it with you. As you finally head to bed, you felt a little giddy about giving Harry his present, hoping he'll love it.

Thankfully, he did.

Harry was in his shared room with Ron, who was asleep. He was looking at gift you gave him and decided to try the jumper on. He felt something in the left sleeve and rolled it up to find the small heart shaped charm with your initial on it.

The boy couldn't help but smile.

fifth year

This was the first year you'd actually be with Harry for his birthday, though this was due to unfortunate circumstances from Harry's side as well as the Order coming back together.

You were brought to 12 Grimmauld Place around the same time as Ron, due to your parents being invited to the Order. Though because of this, you didn't have an opportunity to find a present for Harry, which resorted you to your baking skills you started developing in third year.

After asking Sirius for permission to use the kitchen, you get started on working on Harry's favorite, treacle tart. Things were going pretty well, but then the boy you were making the treat for had entered the kitchen, which you should've been expecting.

"(Y/N)?"

"Oh, hey Harry," you said to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Just baking, what are you doing here?"

"Oh uh, I was looking for you actually," Harry said. "I was just wondering where you were."

You smiled a bit, enjoying the fact that Harry was looking for you.

Harry cleared his throat before speaking. "So, what are you baking?"

Now, should you be honest with him and tell him that you were making something for him? Or lie and push him out?

"Well, I'm making treacle tarts, for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, for you. I was gonna surprise you with them after dinner," you told him.

"Oh," he said. "Guess I ruined the surprise, I'm sorry."

"I suppose you did, but I don't think it matters anyways. You'd still eat them won't you?"

"Of course I will," Harry said. "They're delicious. I still remember when you made them for me for my thirteenth birthday."

You were a little surprised that he remembered that.

"My mom helped me with them," you said. "I've gotten better though. Been able to do it myself." Harry just nods.

"So," You began. "Wanna learn how I make them?"

Harry smiles and gives a nod as you start getting another batch ready so the rest of the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place could enjoy some. The outcome was a bit messy, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Harry likes to think this was one of his better birthdays thanks to you.

sixth year

For Harry's sixteenth birthday, you managed to convince your parents to let you go to the Dursley's house to attempt to take Harry out for his birthday. You side apparated with them to the house and was being given a lecture on being careful and sticking by Harry before they left.

It was a bit awkward when Harry's uncle Vernon had opened the door. You can feel his piercing eyes judging you once you asked for Harry. Lucky for you Harry had appeared right behind Vernon once you asked. It didn't take much convincing to take Harry out, Vernon seeming delighted to be rid of the boy for most of the day.

You and Harry arrived at a cafe for lunch, since both of you hadn't eaten yet. The both of you had ordered your desired meal and chatted about the summer, Harry telling you all about the terribleness of the Dursley's. When it came time to pay, Harry was about to take his wallet until you took the check and handed the money to the waiter.

"You didn't have to pay for me you know?" Harry told you as you exited the cafe.

"Of course I have to!" You said. "It is your birthday after all. So, what do you want to do now?"

The two of you spent the day doing whatever Harry wanted, which felt odd to him considering the Dursley's would always ignore him but he felt some sense of happiness. There was a small arcade in town that you and Harry went to. Harry won most of games but sometimes he'd let you win.

Your guys next stop was to the movies to watch one of the new movies Harry was interested in seeing, but of course, the Dursleys would never take him, especially since their little Duddy-kins hated it. You guys decided to just share a popcorn together. Everytime your guys hand touch, you'd feel your cheeks heat up but you were enjoying the little touches. Little did you know, Harry was feeling the same way.

Your guys final two destinations were the dinner and the park, deciding to kill two birds with one stone by bringing take out to the park and watching the sunset.

"Thank you for everything (Y/N)," Harry said to you.

"Of course Harry. It's your birthday and I wanted you to be able to have the most of it."

"I appreciate it, I really do."

You smiled at him. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."

seventh year

This would be the year Harry would be of age in the Wizarding World. Mrs. Weasley had been planning a party for Harry, considering everyone would be residing in the house for Bill and Fleur's wedding the following day.

Earlier in the summer you had gone to a jewelry store in Diagon Alley. You remember Harry saying he had been wanting some more rings, as he's been wearing a ring Sirius gave him prior to his death.

As you were browsing, one of the clerks had approached you and showed you a special ring, with a twin. It was one that would warm up based on how fast the heart beat of the other ring holder is. You were sold on it, planning to keep the second ring to yourself.

After breakfast the morning of Harry's birthday, you asked him to meet in the room he was staying in privately. Hermione, knowing what was going on, helped by keeping Ron away from the room.

"So what did you brought me up here for?" Harry asked as he closed the door behind you.

You pulled out the small box with the ring from your pocket, handing it to Harry.

"I wanted to give you your present privately. Happy birthday Harry."

Harry took the present from your hands and began to open it. He pulled the ring from the box and examined it. It was a silver band with a small heart engraving on the inside of it. Harry put it on his left middle finger and started to feel a slight warmth from it.

"It's a magical ring. It gets warm based on how fast the other person who has the second ring is." You told him, bringing your hand out showing a similar ring to him. "I have the other one."

"I love it. I really do." Harry told you.

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I'm glad you do."

Whether it be some spurt of confidence or you not thinking, you decided to do something a bit bold and kiss Harry's cheek.

"Let's head back down. Don't want them to wonder why we were taking long," You told him as you grab his hand to pull him out the door.

As you guys head downstairs, the both of you could feel the rings warm up again.

post war

Harry's birthday came too soon to him. Having successfully defeating Voldemort what felt like not too long ago, he had no interest celebrating. Why celebrate when so many of his loved ones died because of him?

You had no intention of pushing Harry to do anything for his birthday, but you still wanted to remind him that it is a special day. You woke up before Harry to prepare him breakfast. As you were finishing up, you heard some foot steps entering the kitchen.

"Love?" a voice said.

"Morning Harry."

"What are you doing up so early? Usually I'd be the one that wakes up first," he says as he comes over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I was preparing breakfast," you told him as you plate the eggs you made.

"You woke up early for that? I'm always fine with waiting for you to wake up to start making breakfast."

You chuckled a bit. "I did this because it's your birthday Harry. Just wanted to surprise you." A small oh leaves Harry's mouth.

You brought the plates to the table and started pushing Harry to sit down and start eating. Once you finished your plate, you stood up and placed your dishes in the sink.

"Give me a second, I'll be back," you told Harry.

When you entered the room, you went straight to look under the bed, grabbing the box that contained Harry's present. How he didn't find it? Only Merlin knows how. Grabbing it, you went back to table the table and handed it to Harry.

"Happy birthday Harry. Open it."

The boy unwrapped the present, revealing a book with a plain black book. He grabbed it and opened to the first page which had a photo of you and him together back in first year and another with eleven year old Harry and Ron. As Harry turned the pages, he saw that all of them contained memories from their years at Hogwarts. From him catching his first snitch, to the Yule Ball, to one of the Quidditch parties in sixth year. As he got toward the end, he realized there were still empty pages left.

"I know Hogwarts might be the last thing you wanna think about right now. But I thought this would remind you all the good stuff that happened," you said to him. "I left some pages empty so we could continue it together."

"(Y/N), this is wonderful. And you did this yourself? Where did you even get these photos?"

"That's a secret I'll never tell," you winked at him.

Harry stood up to give you a hug, your arms wrapping around his well toned body. Being in his arms felt like home.

"I love you so much," Harry told you.

"I love you too." You said to him. "Now, my dear Harry. What do you think we should do today?"

"In all honesty," he began saying. "I just wanna spend the day with you and cuddle. Maybe make treacle tarts."

"As you wish love," you said, as you play with the two rings on Harry's hand. One was the ring you gave him on his seventeenth birthday, and the other was his engagement ring.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area. 

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning. 

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?” 

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder. 

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures. 

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.”  Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her. 

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently. 

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes. 

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump. 

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat. 

“What’s this?” 

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule. 

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?” 

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.” 

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs. 

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything. 

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm. 

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment. 

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day. 

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was. 

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal. 

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone. 

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing. 

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick. 

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone. 

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?” 

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.” 

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle. 

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…” 

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back. 

“But prison, Agatha? Really?” 

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you. 

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation. 

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO. 

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?” 

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season. 

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back. 

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest. 

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why? 

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an  ocean separated you. 

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.” 

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening. 

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening. 

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes. 

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day. 

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes. 

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed. 

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind. 

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha. 

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes. 

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?” 

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning. 

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper. 

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin. 

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late. 

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions. 

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away. 

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before. 

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared. 

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses. 

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked. 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…” 

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met. 

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage. 

“Has that helped you?” 

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry. 

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation. 

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket. 

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-” 

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.” 

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile. 

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

[babydollmarauders]

OURS — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem!reader

part of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n and Trevor’s relationship is constantly being criticized by outsiders but they know their love is real.

warnings: references to nsfw activities, hate from outsiders, dialogue heavy, not proofread

notes: written semi-quickly, shorter than my other recent works, idk how i feel about this one, but it’s done and i hope y’all like it. ending is kinda iffy but oh well.

it seems like there’s always someone who disapproves of Trevor and i’s relationship.

my parents don’t like his carefree and confident demeanor. his younger brother didn’t trust me because i was someone new. his friends didn’t like that i write songs about exes and my relationships.

but most of all his fans and the media, judge us like they know us personally.

mostly judging me.

as a singer, my every move was criticized and picked apart. what i wore was either too homely or too dressed up. i was too skinny or too big. my heels were too tall, but then my nike’s were too ‘tom-boyish’. but the judgement had only seemed to get worse once i started dating Trevor.

suddenly his fans were saying i wasn’t good enough for him. analyzing our body language in photos and claiming that i didn’t act like i liked him. saying i was using him to further my fame.

but on the other side, i had my fans commenting that i was too good for him. citing his previous playboy ways and saying that he wasn’t smart enough or mature enough for me. claiming his bad boy attitude drew me in and that i would ‘come to my senses’ soon.

***

y/nofficial

liked by trevorzegras, gracieabrams, and 151,308 others

y/nofficial summer with my boy toy <3

tagged trevorzegras

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trevorzegras my beautiful girl, you were off to a great start in the beginning and then you added the last photo

y/nofficial wdym? i think that ones my favorite!

trevorzegras whatever floats your boat mamas

gracieabrams cutest couple in the world ♥️

y/nofficial you’re the real loml <3

gracieabrams shhh i thought we weren’t telling trevor?

user26 NEW MUSIC COMING SOON?!

user81 i wonder if it’s about Trevor

jackhughes was i cut out of the last pic?! i thought you loved me, y/n 😪

y/nofficial in the wise words of Ariana Grande “you ain’t my boyfriend”

user40 the way she’s leaning away from him in the 5th pic? oh she’s over him

user95 she’s finally over the bad boy thing, i guess

user02 thank god! i don’t want her to get hurt!

user73 @/user02 HER to get hurt?! she’s gonna end up writing a slandering song about my baby Trevor and painting him to be an asshole

user02 @/user73 lmao yeah, well the shoe fits. why shouldn’t she write a song showcasing his true colors?

user73 @/user02 i’m not about to fight with a Y/N stan of all people— have fun supporting your famefucker

user02 @/user73 oh please, she doesnt need to use your little hockey asshole for fame when she’s already more well known than him

user12 we love a PR relationship 🫶

***

my converse squeak against the marble floors as i leave my execs meeting, catching the attention of many up and coming artists that are waiting in the lobby. i can feel their gazes following my every move, from when i stop in front of the elevator to when i press the down button, and i can’t help but laugh in my head; reminiscing of when i was the same way. star-struck and in awe whenever i saw any artists leaving the same doors i just walked out of.

but now, having been in the business for two years, that feeling has come and gone, replaced by small talk with those very same people that i once looked up to.

“hi.” i smile politely at a redheaded girl that sits close to the elevators, a notebook in her hand and stars in her eyes.

she looks around, as if searching, before she lets out an awkward chuckle. “oh- hi!”

the elevator dings twice before the doors open to another crowd of wannabe pop stars, and i step aside to let them out before waving a goodbye to the doe-eyed redhead and stepping into the elevator.

i’m excited to get back to my boyfriend, but that excitement vanishes when i scroll through twitter on my uber home.

—

—

oh- that was fast.

i can’t help but scroll through the replies and quote tweets, and by the time i arrive back home, i’m disheartened to say the least.

i thought i was being nice by greeting her? even if i couldn’t stay and talk. but apparently i should take this as a lesson for the future, don’t say hi to anyone unless i can stay and chat.

and my mood only worsens when i make it into the house, calling out my boyfriend’s name, to which i get no response.

“Trev?” my voice echoes off the walls of our home as i step into our bedroom, in search of the six foot tall hockey player. but i come up empty, finding that he still isn’t home from training camp.

i slide my phone from my pocket, drafting up a text before ultimately trying my luck at a phone call instead.

the outgoing ring reaches my ear twice before it stops, the call picking up.

“hey babe, what’s up?” Trevor’s tone is light and airy, painting an immediate smile across my lips.

“hey, i was just checking in.” i sit upon the fuzzy white blanket that’s folded along the foot of our bed, running my hands over the soft fabric. “i thought training was supposed to end at noon?”

“oh, yeah, it did.” he confirms, and i can hear someone else talking in the background. “Jimbo and i decided to grab lunch and catch up a bit.”

“oh, okay.” i nod, despite the fact that he can’t see me, and i can hear him conversing with someone.

“shh. hold on.” he tells someone. “he wants to say hi.”

i laugh as Jamie’s voice comes through the line. “HEY Y/N!!!”

“hi Jame!” i reply, listening as he grunts, wrestling the phone from Trevor, i assume.

“i’ve missed you!” he sounds closer now, while Trevor sounds farther away, calling out for his phone back, confirming my suspicions. “when do i get to see you again?”

“i’ve missed you too. if it’s alright with Trevor, and if you’re free, you can come over for dinner tonight?” i tell him. “i can go to the store and grab stuff to make my garlic and basil chicken pasta.”

“oh my favorite! i’m in! i don’t care what Trevor has to say about it, to be honest.” his response causes me to laugh, while my boyfriends calls out an offended ‘hey!’

“see you later!” Jamie yells, as i assume Trevor gets his phone back.

“did you need anything else, babe?” Trevor asks distractedly.

“no, nothin’ else.” i stand, gathering my car keys from my nightstand. “actually, i’m gonna go grocery shopping, can you think of anything we need?”

“condoms,” he replies unabashed, and i blush at the thought that Jamie heard him. “and frosted flakes. i finished ‘em off this morning.”

i roll my eyes before teasing, “the condoms or the frosted flakes?”

“both.” my skin heats up at the reminder of our morning activities, Trevor having woken me up before the sun even came up.

“oh- uh- okay.” Trevor laughs as i stumble over my words. “i’ll grab some more…of both.”

“thanks, love you!” he waits for my reply before hanging up, and i pad out of the bedroom, slipping my shoes back on by the front door before heading out to my car. i wasn’t big on driving, usually letting Trevor take that responsibility, and avoiding it when possible, so i only really used it when i had to go grocery shopping, relying on ubers to go anywhere else.

i slip into the drivers seat, huffing when i find that Trevor messed with my seat again. a harmless prank he likes to pull, just to see when i drive again and if i’ll notice. i adjust my seat before i pull out of the driveway, the radio playing faintly to fill the silence.

*

i’m nearly done with my shopping trip when it happens.

“he still uses those?” i’m mid-tossing the family size box of Frosted Flakes in the cart when the words reach my ears, and at first, i don’t even notice they’re being spoken to me. “he always said it felt like he was wearing nothing.”

i glance over to find a tall blonde standing next to my cart, staring down at my items.

“i’m sorry?” my brows furrow in confusion.

“oh- the condoms. Skyn Elite? Trevor used them back when he and i used to hook up a couple years ago.” the girl smiles, the supermarket lights reflecting off her sparkly lip gloss. “you’re his new conquest, right? y/n?”

“i’m his girlfriend, yes.” i nod, pursing my lips together in a straight line.

“right,” she nods. “girlfriend. you got the envied title.”

“i guess so.”

she gives another falsely innocent smile. “good luck keeping it! he’s insatiable, is he not? seemed like he was always keeping an eye out for the next girl.”

i’ve never particularly cared about the ghosts of Trevor’s hookup past. why would i be? i had them too, so who was i to be bothered by his? besides, right now, he’s mine. i’m the one he comes home to; the one he loves and talks about a future with.

“well, i should get going.” i tell her, already beginning to push the cart towards the end of the aisle, in route to check out. “it was nice to meet you.”

i was lying, sure, but i wasn’t going to let her get to me.

she bids me goodbye as i walk away, and when i glance back, i see her faux smile drop, her eyes rolling as she sneers, turning the other way.

yeah, i pretty much expected that.

*

i’ve just made it into the kitchen, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter, when my phone begins to ring, buzzing in my pocket with an incoming call.

i do an awkward dance of trying to free my hand from a twisted bag handle, before retrieving the vibrating device from my pocket, my fathers contact taking up the screen. pressing accept, i hold the phone up to my ear.

“hey, dad!” i chirp, opening the refrigerator to begin unloading the food.

“hey, pumpkin. what are you up to?” his voice drifts in my ear as i put away a gallon of milk.

“just unloading groceries.” i inform him. “what are you and mom doing?”

“oh, nothing.” he sighs. “just missing our little girl.”

i laugh at his dramatics.

“i know, i need to come visit.” i stuff a few cartons of berries and a bag of grapes into the fruit drawer before shutting the fridge.

“so catch me up, honey. what’s new?”

“nothing really. i’m working on some new music, and i had an exec meeting this morning to discuss how the album is coming. but other than that it’s same old same old.”

i open the cupboard, taking care of the box of cereal and a couple bags of chips as i speak.

“and you’re still dating the uh…” he trails off. “the one with the tattoos?”

i can hear the disapproval oozing from his voice and my eyes roll in my head.

“Trevor, yes.” i confirm, walking down the hallway to our bedroom and placing a few things on Trevor’s nightstand before setting a new bottle of shampoo on our bathroom counter.

“yeah, him.” he sneers, and it’s then that i hear the front door open, two sets of footsteps reaching my ears. a smile spreads across my face as Trevor calls out my name. “i don’t understand why anyone would do that to their body. that’s permanent, ya know.”

“mhm.” i hum in disinterest. “hey, dad, i gotta go. i’ll call you later.”

“oh alright, honey. love you!”

“love you too.” i hang up the phone as Trevor steps into the room, smiling at the sight of me.

“there you are.” he beams. his arms snake around my waist, pulling me against him, and his head dips down to bring his lips to mine.

“here i am.” i mumble against his lips, causing a chuckle to arise from his throat.

“Jamie is in the living room. followed me home claiming that he had to see you.” he tells me, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his close friend.

“yeah, i invited him over for dinner.” i inform him. my hands cup the back of his neck, pulling him back down for another kiss.

my whole body relaxes, any tension disappearing when his lips meet mine. his eyes scan my face as he pulls away, and his faces falls, his lips forming an exaggerated frown.

“what’s wrong?” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear before pulling my head to his chest.

his heartbeat echoes in my head, calming me immensely.

“nothing.” i mutter, my eyes falling shut when he begins rubbing circles on my back.

“i don’t believe you.”

“it’s nothing, really.” i insist. “nothing that’s actually bothering me. just a little annoyed.”

“what annoyed you, baby?” he sways us back and forth and his hand on my back trails down to tickle at my side, making me giggle.

“well,” i sigh and he pushes me back to look into my face. “i said hi to a girl at warner today-”

he hums, encouraging me to keep talking.

“but it was just a quick ‘hi’. apparently she’s a fan of yours, and she thought it was rude of me to greet her and then not stay and chat.” i explain. “so she took to twitter to say so.”

Trevor huffs, his nose scrunching in annoyance. “well that’s just stupid. you don’t owe anyone a conversation…. except me. because you love me, obviously.”

i laugh at his joke, making his face light up at his successful attempt to cheer me up.

“what else, baby?”

“well then, at the store, i ran into one of your ex-hookups.” i continue, and his brows thread together in confusion.

“which, ya know, doesn’t bother me.” i clarify. “but she made a comment on the condoms we use and implied that our relationship wouldn’t last long.”

“our love is not hers to speculate on.” he gruffs out in annoyance, and i nod along.

“i know. so i walked away.”

“i’m proud of you, love.” he presses a kiss to my forehead, a smile resting upon my face as he does. “is that all?”

“almost.” i breathe out. “then i got home, and my dad called as i was putting away the groceries.”

“okay.” he nods, obviously confused why i would be annoyed about my father calling.

“and he made some snide remarks about your tattoos.” Trevor barks out a laugh at that, quite used to people commenting on the art that adorns his skin.

“i ignored them, and hung up pretty much right after, because you got home. but, i just wish he could look past them, because then maybe he’d see the kind, funny guy that you are and understand why i’ve given my heart to you.”

his eyes squint as he grins at my words, bending his neck to pepper kisses across my nose and cheeks. i squeal at the affection and he pulls back to look me in the eyes.

“baby, i don’t care what your dad thinks of me. only that you like me. and i’m pretty sure that you love me just the way i am.”

i nod, biting my lip and holding back a smile. my cheeks turn hot, a blush settling over them, and he smirks at the sight.

“i don’t want you to worry your pretty little mind, baby.” he coos. “so someone was wrongfully upset that you didn’t take time out of your day to talk to them— who cares? people like to throw rocks at things that shine. and you, my darling, shine so beautifully bright. they’re just jealous.”

i roll my eyes at his cheesy statement, but the sentiment warms my heart. “thank you, Trev.”

“any time, baby.” he pulls me in for another hug, my head resting on his chest again. “our love is ours. nobody else’s. what other people have to say about it, and about us, doesn’t matter.

“you hands belong in mine, my heart belongs to yours, and no matter what life throws at us, i’m by your side.”

i open my mouth to respond, but i’m cut off by another voice.

“aww, that was sweet.”

i lift my head from Trevor’s chest, our heads both turning towards the entrance to our bedroom to find Jamie standing there with a cheesy smile.

“Jimmy, what are you doing in here?” Trevor lets out a wheezy laugh at his friend, his head dropping back and his shoulders shaking. the sound is like music to my ears.

this man.

i am so irrevocably in love with him.

“i got bored.” Jamie shrugs. “you guys were taking forever.”

[avonne-writes]

“how embarrassing would it be if i told you i’d dreamt of this since i first met you?” is so clegan <3

Thank you 🥰 The drabble is set in my a/b/o au where Gale is an omega who doesn’t have normal heats due to childhood trauma.

Edit: you can consider this set in the same universe as @anachilles's lovely smutty one-shot ❤️‍🔥

If there's one thing that Bucky learned in the ten years since his first time in bed with an omega, it’s that you'd better talk about what you want before you pop your knot rather than regret the whole fucking thing when you wake up alone again. His previous partners never seemed to care to linger once he had given them that satisfaction. Not that he blames or resents them for it - it’s his own damn fault that he came across as an omega-chaser, just a fun partner for the night, instead of an alpha longing for a mate.

Don’t make this out to be more than what it is, they said if he caught them before they slipped away. You're a sweet man, but I can’t stay. Countless versions of the same story, leaving Bucky sitting alone with his head in his hands and his heart hollow again.

But not this time. No, with Gale, he’s determined to do it right. He courted him the way he deserved, with all the gifts and love and care Bucky could heap on him without drawing the kind of attention Gale didn’t want. No throwing himself at Gale’s feet in the barracks, no sweet talking in public, no jealous outbursts even if it killed him. It was all in the small details with Gale, and in the unwavering devotion he craved. Grand gestures didn’t appeal to him, no matter how Bucky's instincts urged him to belt it out for all the world to know that he’d do anything for his Buck. His best friend, his beautiful mate.

Well, all right, they’re not mated yet. But they’re going to be. Bucky can feel the warm certainty of it deep in his chest, spreading through his veins with every swipe of Gale's thumb over the juncture of his neck as they kiss lying on top of each other in the hotel bed they rented for the night. Would Gale touch him like this if he didn’t want it too? No, Bucky doesn’t think so.

He draws back just far enough to look into Gale's eyes and comb through his short blond hair. When he shifts his hips to the side, Gale’s slim thighs part to let him sink between them, a perfect fit. "Are you comfortable?”

Gale nods, watching Bucky's face with lazy affection. He slides both of his hands down Bucky’s back and untucks Bucky's shirt to get to the bare skin of his lower back.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy.”

"Don’t start on this now." Gale drawls, the contentment in his tone at odds with his words. He pushes his hands between their stomachs to undo their belts. He smells happy, his scent heady like the warmth of the sun on a humid summer afternoon.

They kiss again, grinding together slowly. John wonders if Gale's all wet for him already or if he needs some help - he’d gladly put his mouth to use. But first, they need to talk.

"Can I ask you something?" He starts. They're so close that he sees the flash of concern in Gale's eyes and feels the minute tightening of the cradle of his thighs.

"You’re a good alpha, John." Gale says quietly, stroking John's face with his right hand. "I'll let you knot me tonight if you want.”

John can’t help the way his lips purse at the answer given before he could even ask anything. He doesn’t know why Gale assumes that's all he’s after, when he has done everything he could to show that he isn’t.

"It’s not what I want." He says, a touch too firmly, if Gale's startled blink is anything to go by. "I want to mate you." He clears his throat, reining the emotion in his voice back. "That’s what I wanted to ask. I want to be your mate.”

Out of all the ways this played out in his head, Gale pulling away from him was one of the worst. Cracks cut sharply into his heart as Gale pushes at his shoulders, then sits back against the headboard. Bucky ends up kneeling beside him on the mattress, a pleading look in his eyes. The change in Gale's scent feels sharp in his nose, but it's not acrid like disgust or fear. It’s sour distress, deeply pained. The way Gale pulls his knees up to rest his arms on them makes him look achingly young.

“Why?” He asks. The disbelief in his eyes hurts.

“Because I love you.” When Gale closes his eyes, Bucky presses on. “I love you. I want to be yours. To take care of you, protect you… I want to be your mate. And I want to do it before we ship out.”

Gale worries at his lip, then gives Bucky a look full of tumultuous emotions.

"That’s not something you should do on a whim." He tells Bucky. His voice is calm, but he’s digging his own nails into his arm. "Think it through carefully. You know I don't have normal heats. I don't think I can get pregnant, John. It’s the way it's always been. Ain't ever gonna change. I'm not the kind of omega you deserve. I don't mind if we -"

He cuts himself off. A soft "damn it" gets caught in his suddenly tight throat. He rubs the bridge of his nose as if to keep his tears in, then shoots Bucky a wry smile. "I don't mind if it’s just sex and nothing more.”

The noise that escapes Bucky's throat is filled with helpless frustration. He scoots closer and cups Gale’s cheek with his right hand. "To hell with sex, Buck! It’s not what I want. I would rather not knot anyone ever again if that's the only way I can be your mate.”

For a moment, Gale doesn’t say anything, just searches Bucky's eyes, then his scent starts changing again, becoming gradually sweeter with hope. Something eases in Bucky too in response, and he lets his body lean forward until his forehead is pressed to Gale's. When he gives Gale a soft kiss on the lips, Gale slides his arms off his knees to wrap them around Bucky’s neck.

“You actually mean it.” Gale says quietly. There’s still some uncertainty in his voice, but there’s growing hope too.

“I do.” Bucky replies. Then, because he can’t keep holding it all bottled up anymore, “Please be my mate, doll. I'll be so good for you, the best alpha you can ask for, I’ll take care of you -”

“Shh.” Gale shushes him with a small chuckle, pulling Bucky’s head to his neck to let him scent Gale there and lick at the spot he’s going to bite if Gale says yes. Soothing fingers comb through his hair, and Gale’s thumb presses to the base of his neck again. It’s so calming that Bucky could fall asleep just like this in Gale's arms.

“How about -” Gale starts, stroking Bucky’s back now. “- we wait until the morning. If you still want it when we wake up, then… we can do it.”

Bucky lifts his head to look at Gale with wide eyes and the wobbling beginning of a grin. “Is that a yes?”

The curve of Gale's cheeks turns rounder as he smiles. “It is.”

Bucky crows in joy and tackles Gale sideways on the mattress, trying to kiss him through a happy laugh and babbling the first thing that comes to Bucky's mind. “How embarrassing would it be if I told you I'd dreamt of this since I first met you?”

Gale hugs him tight and nips his neck. “Is that why you gave me your own goddamn name?”

Feverish with happiness, Bucky nips Gale back, shuddering at the thought that tomorrow, he'll get to bite him for real. “Had to claim you.”

“Possessive.” Gale hums, his linden blossom scent intoxicating to Bucky's nose.

Bucky’s love thrums in his chest like a song. “You love it, Buck.”

Gale laughs. He doesn’t deny it.

[hqbaby]

fifteen — need it

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2k content. swearing, thigh riding, use of pet names

You poke at your food, passively listening to Iwaizumi and Oikawa argue while you wait for the rest of your friends in the cafeteria. You look up from time to time hoping you’ll catch Atsumu walking over to you. He’s probably building a mountain of food for lunch.

It’s a busy day, the first day of the new semester, and the whole campus seems to be overcome with new life. Freshmen fumble around awkwardly while older students dole out sage advice about not mixing your alcohol or walking home alone. People catch up with friends, asking about summer and boyfriends. The whole place absolutely buzzes with busy chatter and joy.

The excitement is palpable and infectious. The perfect way to start your third year.

Someone clears their throat at your side. 

You look up with a raised brow. “Hi?”

You recognize the boy from one of your lab classes. You don’t think you ever caught his name.

“Hi,” he says. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You nod. “And you are…”

“Right, uh, it’s Yukawa. From Dr. Ono’s class.”

“Yukawa, hi.” You offer him a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi stop talking on the other side of the table and turn to watch your exchange with the boy. Your best friend leans into his hand, yawning and knowing all too well where this conversation is going to go.

Yukawa clears his throat again. He’s obviously nervous. “I was wondering if you could send me notes from the orientation earlier,” he says before adding, “I-I noticed that you were taking a lot of them. Notes, I mean.”

You hear Oikawa snort and you kick him under the table. “Sure,” you say, letting out a light laugh to distract from your best friend’s groaning. “Let me get your number.”

“Yeah!” the boy says all too quickly. “I mean, yeah, sure. I can give you my number.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket and hand it over to him. “Just put it in here,” you tell him. Your eyes dart over to Iwaizumi as you mouth, “Stop laughing!”

Yukawa holds your phone out to return it to you, but as you’re about to take it, a hand reaches out from behind you and swipes it first.

“What—”

“Oh, ya got Y/N’s phone! How nice!”

You open your mouth to speak but Atsumu’s already sliding onto the bench next to you and placing his arm around your shoulder. He’s holding your phone in his hand, staring up at the boy whose number is imprinted on it.

“Are ya a classmate or somethin’?” he asks. His smile is so forced you almost burst out laughing (Oikawa is clearly not able to resist the urge as well as you can).

Yukawa nods with wide eyes. “Yeah, I was just asking for notes,” he explains. “You’re…”

“Miya, yeah,” Atsumu supplies. “Like the Miya on the jacket she’s wearing. Miya Atsumu if ya wanna be specific—hey, if yer classmates with Y/N then that means yer classmates with Iwaizumi too, right?”

“Oh, right!” Yukawa looks over to the other side of the table. “Iwaizumi. Hello.”

Your friend, a hand on Oikawa’s mouth, smiles. “Yeah. Hey, man.”

Atsumu bounces in his seat. “I have an idea!” he says. “Y’know, since I keep Y/N a little busy in her free time, keeping her up at night and all—”

“‘Tsumu!”

“—she might not be able to send ya those notes.” He makes an exaggerated frown. “Sad, yeah, I know.” He’s beaming again. “But here’s my idea! How ‘bout ya get yer notes from Iwaizumi instead? That way, ya get yer notes and Y/N gets some sleep.”

Iwaizumi hands Yukawa his phone, motioning for the boy to put his number in. “I’d do it if I were you.”

Gulping, he quickly types his number in and hands the phone back. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He turns to you. “I’ll see you around then, Y/N.”

“Probably not.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose and smiles as the boy scurries away. “Toodles!”

You punch his shoulder when Yukawa is out of earshot. “So uncalled for!”

“What?” he exclaims, laughing loudly. “He couldn’t take a hint!”

Suna and Aran join your table, watching with amused expressions as everyone starts cackling.

“What’d we miss?” Aran asks. He reaches over and grabs a fry from Atsumu’s food. “Finders keepers.”

The twin glowers at him, stealing a fry from Suna. “Finders keepers apparently.”

Suna groans and turns to you. “So, what happened?”

“A classmate asked for notes and ‘Tsumu was an ass.”

“Correction,” Atsumu leans over the table and points his fry at everyone, “a dude asked for ‘er number and I kindly told ‘im to fuck off.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to suppress the grin on your face. “And why do you think you can tell guys who ask for my number to fuck off?”

“Because,” he shrugs, placing a quick peck on your lips, “yer pretty.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his shoulder. “Phone please.”

“Oh, right,” he says, pulling your phone up onto the table. He pointedly deletes Yukawa’s number before handing it back to you. “There ya go.”

“Ass.”

“Pretty girl.”

“You guys are gross,” Oikawa says, gagging. Then, a thought seems to cross his mind and he lights up. “Did I ever tell you all about that one time in freshman year when Y/N pretended I was her boyfriend to stop a guy from giving her his number?”

You glare at him. “You were a terrible boyfriend, by the way.”

“Still is,” Iwaizumi adds, everyone bursting into peals of laughter as Oikawa starts ranting at him.

As everyone starts chatting and eating, you catch Suna staring at you, his eyes focused on the way Atsumu has you pressed against him. When he sees that you’ve caught him, he looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say something. For a moment, you really want to. 

Why do you care? you want to ask.

But you don’t. Instead, you just give him a gentle smile and turn back to your conversation with Aran.

Fuck Rin.

You show Atsumu your phone, tilting the screen so he can see as the two of you walk back to your dorm. “I’m in the same lab group as Yukawa,” you tell him, pointing at your professor’s announcement. “Now, he hates me and I’m gonna fail.”

He pushes the door to your room open. “I won’t let ya.”

“Oh yeah?” you say teasingly. “How are you gonna do that?”

“Like this.” 

Atsumu slams the door behind you and presses you up against it, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s a little rougher than usual, like he’s trying to prove a point, but there’s still a sweetness to it. Like a kiss that’s supposed to mean something.

He picks you up by your thighs and you wrap your legs around him, holding onto his neck as you kiss him back. You open your mouth a little and feel his tongue dip inside as he pulls you closer to him. With his mouth still on yours, he sits down on your bed and lets you straddle him.

“Were ya really gonna text him?” he asks when he pulls away to catch his breath.

You shake your head. “No,” you tell him, dragging your tongue over his jaw, tasting the slightly salty tang of his skin. “I don’t like him. Didn’t even know his name.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “Ya make me crazy, d’ya know that?”

“I know,” you say, pulling him back into a kiss. “I think you’re making me crazy too.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs. He takes your head in his hands and presses his lips against yours, the kiss is hard and slow. When he pulls away, he moves his mouth to your ear. “Ride my thigh.”

You giggle. “Really?”

Atsumu runs his open mouth against your neck. “Need ya to feel good,” he tells you. “Need to remind ya just how good I make ya feel.”

You moan when he sucks on your neck. “Fuck, okay,” you say, shifting your position so that one of his legs is between both of yours. “Make me feel good, baby.”

He nips at your collarbone as his fingers make their way under your skirt and between your legs. He pushes your underwear out of the way, smirking when you hiss at the feeling of your bare cunt against his jeans. His finger slides between your folds.

“So wet already,” he says. He bounces the leg you’re sitting on, drawing a moan from you. “Ya gonna be good for me, sunshine?”

You feel your face heat up at the nickname. “Yes, ‘Tsumu,” you tell him, nodding eagerly. “I’ll be good for you.”

Slowly, you start rubbing yourself on his thigh. You drag your folds over him, moaning every time your clit touches the fabric of his pants. He bounces his leg again, smashing it into your sensitive bud, and you hold him tight, arms dangling over his shoulders.

“Makin’ yerself feel good, sunshine?” he asks in a voice that toes the line between taunting and adoring. “Ya makin’ a mess on my pants?”

You moan, your mouth opening and eyes closing, a blissed out look on your face. “Feels so good, ‘Tsumu,” you say. You continue drawing your hips over his legs, the muscles all tensed up and rock hard beneath you. “Fuck!”

He nips at your neck. “Ya think Yukawa could make ya feel this good?”

You shake your head and whimper as his arms wrap around your back. “No!”

“Ya think anyone else could make ya feel this good?”

“No, ‘Tsumu!”

“Yeah?” He grabs your hips and takes control of your movements, dragging you over his thigh like it’s nothing to him. “D’ya want anyone else?”

Your grip on him tightens as you shake your head again. “No, ‘Tsumu,” you say. “Only want you.”

He snickers. “That’s right, sunshine. I’m the only one yer ever gonna want. Only one yer ever gonna need.”

“‘Tsumu!” you scream as he starts bouncing his leg repeatedly, dragging you over him again and again. “Gonna come, ‘Tsumu!”

He grabs your jaw with one hand and kisses you, deeply, roughly, passionately. It wipes you out completely, making you forget how to breathe for a moment after he pulls away. “Come for me, sunshine,” he tells you. “Let me make ya feel good.”

You hold onto him for dear life as his thigh bounces up to meet your clit again and your high hits you. You’re shaking in his arms as he coos into your ear about how good you’re being, how much he loves the way he makes you feel. You grab onto his shirt, your legs wrapped so tightly around him.

You whine against his shoulder as you come down from your high. “‘Tsumu…”

“I got ya, sweetheart,” he tells you, rubbing his hands up and down your back. “Made ya feel good, didn’t I?”

“Always make me feel good.”

“Always?”

You hum in contentment, slowly letting go of him to look at his face. He’s red as can be, sweating a little as he smiles at you. You smile back. “Always.”

He places a hand on your cheek and kisses you again. “Y/N,” he says as he pulls back. His nose brushes against yours. “Don’t think I can stand ya gettin’ numbers from other guys anymore.”

You furrow your brows, lips still curled into a smile. “What are you getting at?”

Atsumu pulls your hand into his and kisses your knuckles, his eyes still on you. “Kinda want you all to myself,” he tells you. “Might actually need it.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are wide. “‘Tsumu—”

“Ya don’t need to say anythin’ now,” he tells you. “I know yer always a little out of it after ya come.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips. You run a hand through his hair and find that it’s surprisingly soft. “Are you sure?”

He nods, placing a kiss on your cheek. “‘Course,” he tells you. “Take yer time. Just want ya to know that I’m right here waiting.”

You close your eyes and let yourself rest against him, sighing as you feel his arms hold you tight. Then, you murmur, “I think I messed with your jeans a little too much.”

“Worth it.”

“‘Tsumu!”

“Just sayin’!”

notes. jealous atsumu >>>> AND YES IWAOI IS CANON IN THIS SERIES NO ONE CAN STOP ME THIS IS THE ONE HILL I WILL DIE ON also team rin i hope you’re still alive, the plot has not been kind to you guys 🥲

[itskattkm]

The air in my lungs

Chapter 2

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A stroke of fate changes you and leads you into the arms of Cairo Sweet. Will she be your downfall or save you?

Warnings: 18+, Grief, Injuries, Smoking, Trauma, anxiety, sexual content, student x teacher mentioned, harm, blackmailing, bad grammar

A/N: Based and inspired by Millers Girl. Mr. Miller himself isn’t really present but will be mentioned. Hope you guys enjoy.

Master list | previous chapter | Next Chapter

Cairo was meeting her friend Winnie at the grandstands by the football field. Winnie was quite the opposite of Cairo. She was defiantly the more permissive and sex addicted one of them both. They couldn’t be more different but somehow they get along pretty good. Cairos eyes were watching you in the distance talking with some other students. She assumed they were your friends.

Cairo sat down beside Winnie, still thinking about what the last words you said. “I think she likes me.” Cairo whispered, looking over at you almost like a predator. Your gaze glued on her with a serious expression. When she took another cigarette from her backpack she smirked to herself. Winnie laughed and lit up her own cigarette while following Cairos gaze “Y/N Y/L/N? How come that? You barely noticed her before”. Cairo looked back at Winnie with a smirk, and blew some smoke of the cigarette she was smoking. “She just said some flirting things, and I think I might be getting somewhere.” She said, a smug look on her face. “Oh yeah, and she called me her ‘dear.’”

Winnie had a dirty grin on her lips while watching you and your friends talking in the distance. “What ever happened to y/n this summer. It defiantly made her hot and pretty bold as i heard so far and the fact that she got your attention… damn” Winnie was really impressed of the things she had been hearing about you so far and the way you acted and looked spoke for itself.

“I don’t know what happened but everyone quite recognized that her character changed and the way she’s styling herself now” said Winnie

“I can see she got your attention now as well?” Cairo asked Winnie, now looking at her instead of you. “I should have known you would have a thing for her.” Cairo smirked. “I don’t” said Winnie strong and serious before she nudged Cairos shoulder

“She’s all yours. But I have to admit she’s got something… that’s turning me on defiantly”.

Cairo smirked, and nudged Winnie back. “Well, let’s say I may or may not be interested.” She said, and then looked at You. “I’ve noticed y/n changed too. I think she started dressing more.. I don’t know, nicer? She’s also been wearing her makeup different. So natural and her attitude has also changed as well. I wonder… if she thinks that she’ll be able to get me with all those things now?”.

“She was like you back then. So quiet… so nice. Now she’s hot and don’t seem to care at all what people think” said Winnie and made it clear that you and Cairo were indeed the same back then.

“Back then?” Cairo asked, smirking. She took another drag of her cigarette before she spoke again. She looked at you for a quick second, then back at Winnie. “Y/n back then wouldn’t have spoken to me. She’s only talking to me now because I think she wants something from me. Probably my body or something.” Cairo didn’t know how far to push these hints about you, but Winnie’s reactions were pretty positive. Winnie giggled “Yeah back then my friend.

Before we became friends, damn… you were hiding your hot body under those oversized blouses… thanks to me you wear Nice dresses and some good shorts or skirts now. I made you look fuckable”

Cairo smirked, and then turned to Winnie. She wanted to see how Winnie would react to this. “Do you think I look good in those dresses, btw?” She asked, trying to find an excuse to talk with Winnie, but still keeping an eye on you. She took another drag of her cigarette, and waited. “Sure i do otherwise I wouldn’t have forced you, bestie” said Winnie laughing and looked at you in the distance. “So what you’re going to do with her then?”.

Cairo was blushing now. She looked at you in the way you smiled. The way the slight breeze waved through your hair while wearing some tight black jeans with a slightly crooked top. Enough to show some skin but not enough to see your stomach. Cairo noticed Winnie’s look as well. She smiled slightly, and shrugged. “Who knows-” She said, teasing Winnie. “I think I’ll try to get close to her first.” Cairo didn’t want to reveal too much about her plans yet. She took another drag of her cigarette.

“Maybe you can finally lose your v card, instead writing all that good porn” said Winnie serious but had that cheeky grin on her lips. The lipgloss she was wearing reflected slightly in the sun. Cairo smirked again with a slight glist in her eyes while watching you. “Yeah, maybe I will.” She said, laughing a little at the thought. She didn’t expect Winnie to make such a bold statement. She was blushing a little bit, but made sure that she looked unbothered. She took another drag of her now empty cigarette before throwing it to the side. She then looked up at Winnie. “So..” She said, “What do you think about y/n in general?” She changed the subject, trying to find out what Winnie thinks about you a little more.

“Think what?” Asked Winnie while leaning her head back and enjoying the sun on her exposed chest. “What do you think about her?” Cairo repeated, her tone of voice still smug and slightly teasing. “I mean, do you like her? Or are you just flirting for fun? You’re giving me weird hints” She added. She smirked slightly at Winnie again, and leaned back in her seat. “Im a slut did you forget?” Said Winnie joking “I’m not interested in her. She’s indeed hot and probably fun… but she’s all yours. I want you to get laid finally”. Cairo nodded, not surprised by Winnie’s words at all. She smiled at Winnie, but then turned her attention to you, trying to figure out if she was showing any interest in you. She looked over at Winnie again, smirking still. “Well, you know I might go for her.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

Winnie sighed slightly relived and said “Go my bestie… go for the hunt. Make all that hot stuff you always write about come true”

Cairo smiled. “I’ll try to.” She said, and then looked at Winnie. She couldn’t deny her attraction to you anymore. But there was the question of whether you would accept and return the favor. “Have you and Y/N been acting like.. friends then?” She asked, smirking. She glanced over at you again for just a second. She then looked back at Winnie. Winnie shook her head “I never talked to her to be honest. But I was there when she had almost a brawl in sports class… some girl had been bullied and I don’t know why but she wanted to make sure that the bully stop. I gave her a high five after that and called her hot. That was our first and last interaction”.

Cairo smirked, glancing over at you once again. “I wonder if y/n noticed your flirting with her.” She whispered with a smile. She now couldn’t stop looking at you, who was talking with several other girls and a few boys. You were looking at Cairo every now and then, it felt somewhat awkward. “I think y/n might have taken an interest in me.” She told Winnie. “I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m beautiful.” Cairo smirked confident knowing well her worth. “That’s the right spirit” said Winnie proud and nudged Cairos shoulder.

Cairo looked back at Winnie, nodding. “Do you think I got a chance?” She asked. She looked at you again. You looked over at Cairo, then turned around again so she would see only your back. Cairo saw Winnie staring at you as well. “I mean, she does look good. It’s just..” she mumbled, thinking out loud.

“Just what?” Asked Winnie curious. “Just the fact that she’s so much older than me, you know?” Cairo said. She took another drag and put the cigarette out before looking at Winnie. “Plus, she’s so much more experienced than me. I wouldn’t know what to do.” Cairo admitted, her voice a lot more subtle and softer now. She couldn’t stand looking at you, not because she didn’t like it, but because she was now nervous and self-conscious. “Four years older is for you ‘so much’?”Winnie giggled. She then watched you one last time and said “Let me make my research about that girl. Maybe she’s not as experienced as we think”.

Cairo shrugged, then turned her attention to you. She saw you flirting with someone. Or so Cairo thought. She couldn’t tell 100%. You had your arm around the girl’s waist that was standing beside you, and was smiling like you were having the best time of your life as you leaned in to the girl’s neck. You moved your head closer to the girl before looking over at Cairo and smirking. Cairo’s smirk faded, as she watched. “So it seems like she is interested in women after all.” She mumbled to Winnie, and then looked down. Cairo slowly began to feel jealousy… and slightly annoyed by your teasing.

What Cairo didn’t knew was that you were hugging your best friend. Your other best friend Lucas then said “They are probably talking about you… they keep staring”.

You couldn’t help but chuckled about that fact.

Cairo saw you hugging the girl, and felt her heart drop a bit. She was actually interested in you, and was hoping maybe you might reciprocate it. “Oh…” Cairo mumbled, before smiling slightly. She looked over at Winnie. “I think I’m going to shoot my shot after all.” She said, a nervous smirk on her face. The feelings you made her feel made Cairo go mad almost and she hated it.

“Do that” reassured her Winnie. The lunch break was over and Cairo went to her next class. She had swimming class and she knew that you also would be there since you were classmates.

When Cairo made her way to the other end of the private school, and entered lockers room, it was filled with all girls from her class. Everyone got changed into their black tight swim suits. Her heheh were looking for you but you were nowhere. Then suddenly she heard your voice. It seems like you were arguing with the coach in her office. Coach Rey came out of her office in her usual swim suit, shorts and blue sports jacket she was blooming into her whistle, making my ears go numb for a sec before screaming “ everyone who’s already changed to the pool now!”

Since Cairo was one of those girls that were already changed she made her way through the locker room and went to the pool. She put her hair into a ponytail and looked up at the ceiling while walking along the edge of the pool.

The ceiling was made of glass so there would be enough light, in summer it was opened sometimes so it wouldn’t get stuffy in here.

Cairo was nervous before the swim class with you and she even got changed as fast as possible, as her hands were shaky somehow. She wasn’t sure what she should say to you yet. She was also trying to not stare at you when you finally arrived as yeh last one form our class. You seemed mad, and Cairo felt somewhat bad, despite not knowing what the argue with the coach was all about. As they walked to the pool and got into position on the edge of it, Cairo decided that she should start talking to you. “So, why are you mad?” She asked, sounding concerned, despite being interested.

“None of your bussines” you said a bit cold and walked towards the swimming track she had to swim in, making feel Cairo somehow caught if guard with that attitude. Cairo followed behind you and got in her place beside the track next to you quietly. She took a deep breath, and then tapped you on the shoulder. “Hey.” You looked to the side your piercing gaze meeting hers, instantly looking serious. Slowly your eyes wandered along Cairo’s swimsuit for a moment, and then Cairo herself. Your face stayed serious when you looked Cairo up and down. Cairo felt her face get a bit warm, and she tried to ignore it. Then Cairo finally spoke again. “Okay, so it’s none of my business, but why was the teacher yelling at you?”.

To Cairos surprise you answered “I didn’t wanted to attend the class” It was a pretty hard monotone way but still, you answered. You talked. Slow we went to the edge of the pool waiting for the sign of the coach to jump into the water and start swimming our tracks. Cairo still felt nervous around you, but kept her face straight, and her tone polite, even though she knew you wasn’t as nice with her right now. “So you were just skipping it?” Cairo asked, still standing on the edge of the pool, her face feeling a bit more hot. The way you looked in that suit made you even more attractive. But again, Cairo tried to ignore it. She wanted to start her approach to you by talking. She knew that the moment they jumped in the pool, it would be difficult to say anything.

While Cairo was watching you and got lost in your presence you looked into the water and felt your pulse rising. You started to get nervous.

“I got my reasons and she didn’t seem to care” you said in a low tone waiting for the whistle of the coach. Feeling anger deep in your chest.

Cairo nodded, and said nothing for a moment. She felt her pulse rising too. She knew what she wanted, and she had to get it. She didn’t have a lot of time left. You were clearly interested in her, but not the way Cairo wanted her to be. She took a breath, and then spoke again. “I really like your swimsuit.” Cairo complimented, still trying to stay polite. She hoped this would catch you off guard a little. At the same time Cairo could slap her self, why was she acting so stupid… so awkward and cringe. What happened to the hot teasing and tension?

While Cairo was struggling with how she could approach you, you were fixated at the movements of the water and didn’t heard any surrounds. You only heard your own heart beat and began to see flashbacks.

“What is it?” Cairo asked, looking at you with a more serious tone. She was starting to get a bit worried. Something was off. You were so diffrent suddenly. She also looked at you up and down, but then turned away, knowing that you would probably notice that looking too. Your swimsuit just highlighted how attractive you were, even though you wasn’t acting the way Cairo wanted.

Then the tone of the whistle brought you back and you jumped into the water. You began to dive in. Your heart pounding harder. On the edge of a panic attack. You were swimming so fast. Basically for your life. More flashbacks were in your head. You breathed unsteady and as soon as you reached the other side of the pool you held almost scared on the rail of the pool before getting out and leaving. Cairo watched you as she dove into the water. Your swimsuit highlighted how attractive you were, her body almost perfect in Cairo’s eyes the way you moved in the water. But there was something wrong with you now. You weren’t acting like you used to. You were nervous. And you were having a panic attack. Cairo’s heart was beating faster than ever before. Why did this have to happen?

Your fast movement out of the pool and out of Cairo’s sight made Cairo very afraid. She had wanted to keep talking to you. Find out what was going on, wanting to get close to you. Even tho Cairo was curious about what was going on with you, she had to keep swimming like the others. You just left the class without saying another word to the coach but she seemed to know what the problem was. Cairo could see it in the eyes of Miss Rey. The way she held her whistle and hesitated to blow in it. Watching you leave and disappear in the lockers room with a worried and frustrated expression.

Cairo continued to swim, but her heart was beating rapidly, and she felt very nervous. She really wanted to find out what the issue was with you. But she couldn’t. She had to swim, trying not to think about it. Bit your presence before, in the pool felt like torture, knowing that Cairo couldn’t do anything about it now. But at the same time, she couldn’t take her eyes off your body. The urge of lust and desire mixed with worry and curiosity. The weirdest mix Cairo had ever felt before. But she knew that what ever was going on with you, was way more important than her sexual attraction towards you.

The first ones who would managed to swim twenty tracks were always allowed to leave earlier so they could get changed and shower in peace.

Cairo swam her 20 tracks as quickly as she could, wanting to move on from you for now but not being completely able to do so. She rushed out of the pool, and quickly headed towards the locker room, hoping to find you in there. She was curious to see what was wrong, and if she might still have a chance. She looked at her watch and realized the time. She still had some time left before the next class, but she needed to find you before that. When she entered the lockers room and walked past the showers she managed to see you from behind. Already showered and almost fully clothed. Cairo saw big scars along your back before they were covered by the sweatshirt you had pulled on.

Cairo was now even more concerned. She immediately decided she had to try to talk to you again. She still looked quite attractive, even though you were now wearing full clothes and your back was covered by your sweatshirt. But Cairo tried to not care about that, she was more concerned with the visible scars. She didn’t want to invade your privacy, but couldn’t ignore that either. Cairo made a quick decision, and walked up to you from behind. “Are you okay?” She whispered, touching carefully your shoulder. You turned around and seemed slightly surprised. You readjusted your sweatshirt and got your backpack. “Yeah I’m good” you said monotone and short while closing the locker. Your hair was still slightly wet and a few water drops were falling down from her hair tips.

Cairo looked at you, and could tell this conversation would be the hardest yet, and she didn’t even know why. “Y/n, the scars on your back.” Cairo spoke slowly, trying to get your attention. “Why are they there? Are you okay?” You probably had no idea how much you actually meant to Cairo. Yes there was some sexual tension. The flirting was playful and teasing but Cairo still wanted to do anything she could to help you, because she cared. You leaned your forehead on the locker and sighed loud. When you looked back at Cairo the was so much anger in your eyes… it was like your eyes turned way much darker. “None of your bussines” she said cold with a hoarse voice before leaving the lockers room.

Cairo felt her heart break a bit. There was a wall between them, that you were putting between them. But Cairo didn’t know how to destroy that wall, and couldn’t help to feel hurt. You had been cold, and indifferent now. The fact that you had scars on your back didn’t help the issue either. But maybe you just didn’t trust Cairo. She felt ashamed, and decided that she wanted to talk to you later before they would leave for their next class. For now though, she looked down, walking slowly out of the locker room after getting showered and changed herself.

There was a fifteen minute pause before the next classes would start. Cairo was searching for Winnie while feeling slightly restless. Then finally she found Winnie in the hallways of the school, it was near the parking lot. “Hey could you already find out anything about y/n? She acted so different at swimming class and had scars all over her back…” began Cairo a bit worried. Winnie nodded. “Sorry I haven’t yet. I’ll see if I can find out anything. But whatever’s going on, I hope y/n is okay. You know I know you have thing for her, don’t you?” Winnie told Cairo, smiling widely. Cairo smiled back a bit, her eyes followed every person that passed them, hoping it would be you. She wanted to see you now. No. She needs to see you now. “Anyways… I’ll come over to your place later. I’ll tell you then everything I could find out” Said Winnie. “Yeah, that sounds great.” Cairo replied, smiling at Winnie. She was still thinking about talking to you, and she hoped that she would get to do that soon. But right now she couldn’t do anything, and had to wait. She would just have to be patient. She thought about the scars, and worried about you.

How did things change so fast in just two days? Not even… it was only one day.

The cheeky and bold kiss yesterday… and the flirting today. It was like you had wrapped Cairo around your finger without even trying. Cairo felt like a mess when she was around you. She was overwhelmed by her feelings… mostly by her sexual attraction towards you. But why did you even care that much about her now? It should have been only a flirt… some quality time to get the experience of sex instead of writing about it. So what was it? Why was Cairo so weak around you?

[thatfandomslut]

All Of The Girls You’ve Loved Before

Gretchen Wieners x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warning: just a bunch of fluff

Request:

Hello, there! I don't know if this request will reach you or not, but I would like to request some Gretchen Wieners x reader fluff please, thank you! Inspired by All Of The Girls You've Loved Before by Taylor Swift

Mean Girls requests are open.

"Who wrote that?" Gretchen wondered, flipping through (Y/n)'s yearbook. The pink ink glistened on the page with red hearts floating around the name, (Y/n)'s name. The yearbook in Gretchen's hand was dated back to their freshman year, but the pink, flowing cursive made her feel ill with the recognizable feeling of jealousy.

(Y/n) rolled over from her back, and looked over at the book curiously. A hum escaped her lips as she recognized the handwriting. "This was back in freshman year when I was dating Emily." (Y/n) said casually. It was one of those fourteen-year-old relationships where you think you will be together forever. Of course, in the long run, it wasn't healthy, and it ended in text and approximately two days in bed before they both had developed crushes on someone new.

Gretchen didn't experience this kind of relationship. She had situationships like Jason's. She couldn't think back to when she didn't have feelings for (Y/n). Even though she's liked (Y/n) since middle school, it was their sophomore year that those feelings started to blossom fully. Then during the summer between their sophomore and junior years, (Y/n) and Gretchen became official. Gretchen almost forgot about all of the relationships (Y/n) had before them.

(Y/n) noticed the thoughtful pout on Gretchen's lips and gently took the book from her hands and closed it. "Gretchen," she called for the girl's attention, smiling a bit when Gretchen's coffee-colored eyes met hers. "You know, if we had gotten together earlier, this relationship wouldn't be as healthy as it is. I had to mature before I got to where I am now. I grew from those relationships in order to be the person I am today with you." (Y/n) said softly, cupping the girl's cup before placing a soft kiss on Gretchen's pout. Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy Gretchen as she kissed back.

Gretchen had realized that (Y/n) was right. They had been friends during all of the relationships (Y/n) dabbled in before they became official. She has witnessed this growth and maturity. Gretchen also grew during that time. Thankful for her words of reassurance, Gretchen pulled away, pressing a soft kiss to (Y/n)'s nose. "I grew during that time, too. I was in a toxic situationship with Jason, and he treated me horribly. You are the first and only person who has ever treated me like a person who deserved a good and healthy love." Gretchen confessed with a soft smile.

"I'm glad I can provide that for you, baby. You genuinely deserve the world, and I want to give that to you." (Y/n) moved to sit up, stretching slightly, her muscles tight from the position she was in on the bed. "Do you want to watch a movie and cuddle?"

Gretchen grinned wider at this. (Y/n) knew her well. Gretchen practically launched herself into (Y/n)'s arms causing the two to laugh as (Y/n) held her close. "Can we watch Clueless again?" She questioned, hoping (Y/n) would agree to this. After all, they watched it once every week. Unfortunately for (Y/n), it was a movie that Gretchen never grew tired of. (Y/n) nodded softly, kissing her girlfriend's temple before flipping on the movie for her. The room's previous tensions were now completely settled as the two enjoyed the movie.

(Y/n) could always appreciate how she and Gretchen communicated their feelings. She knew that Gretchen struggled with the idea of her and her past relationships. And, that was something (Y/n) understood. She heard an earful from Regina about how Gretchen had been crushing on her for years and she needed to 'woman up' and ask her out. (Y/n) was nervous to go out with Gretchen. She had only been in unhealthy relationships before her, but this has been the most amazing relationship she has ever been in. She was determined to spend forever with the honey-blonde girl in her arms.

Gretchen looked up at (Y/n) as she noticed the girl lost in thought. Her focus was obviously not on the movie. "What's on your mind?" Gretchen questioned softly, her hand gently moving to take (Y/n)'s. She always liked to know what was on (Y/n)'s mind. She lived for her girlfriend's thoughts and ideas.

(Y/n) bit her lips with a smile as her cheeks heated up. "Would it be too cheesy if I said you? I was thinking about how lucky I am to be with you. I'm just thankful for you, and in a way, Regina for pushing me to finally ask you out." She confessed before leaning her head back to rest on the pillows behind her. She didn't mean to get caught so zoned out, but Gretchen was someone who was incredibly observant.

Gretchen smiled at (Y/n)'s answer, squeezing her hand. "It is a bit cheesy, yes, but… It's also very cute, and it's nice to hear that you feel that way about me and for me." Gretchen responded, meeting eyes with (Y/n). The action would always take her breath away. "I feel the same way towards you. Also, I'm thankful for Regina, too. I love you." She said happily, leaning up to pepper (Y/n)'s face with kisses, causing the girl to laugh happily at the action.

"I love you, too, Gretchen," she said as her heart felt warm, the fluttering feeling in her stomach returning. It always came when she and Gretchen were acting like this. Both had forgotten about the movie playing in the background once Gretchen's lips landed onto (Y/n)'s. Both of their heartbeats accelerated but they were still in sync. The feeling of love and happiness filled the room as the two kept each other close, as they always did. At that moment, they felt lucky and a sheer amount of love that could end a war. It was evident to the both of them how much they wanted and needed each other, and how important it was to grow from all of the relationships they've had in the past.