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forteafy · 9 months

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Baby Steps | MV1

Summary: You've always been Mercedes golden girl; your life and career have been set out in stone. All it takes is for your ultimate rival to change that all.

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Mild Smut, Childbirth, Angst, Mentions of Jos Verstappen.

26th November; the night of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix should have been the happiest of your life.

Not many people in the world can hold their head up high and say they have won a Formula 1 world championship, let alone three. Ever since your toothy grin and shy comments when first stepping into the paddock, you had been making waves in the motorsport world. Years later, under the attentive eye of Toto Wolff and Mercedes, you had become effortlessly cool and undeniably talented; the core makings of a three-time world champion.

The night of your first win was…you can’t even say a distant memory; the last thing you could vividly remember was linking arms with the golden boy of Mercedes, laughing merrily as you were guided down to the foyer of the extravagant hotel, the entire team with their warm comments and loving attitude ready for their new-found champion. The next day consisted of crouching over the porcelain throne, your insides rejecting any form of substance, the smell of tequila on your skin making you belch more. It was a cruel cycle, but one that every world champion had learnt.

It also hadn’t ceased you from repeating the identical routine the next year; the feeling was so nice, you had to do it twice. Ironically, you had also worn the identical bra and panty set of the first year; not that anybody had seen it. Boys were off limits during the height of your career. This was your choice, of course. PR would have given their overpriced marketing tools to see you on the arm of a successful man, thinking of the faux love story they could spin.

No, in order to be successful, respected; you’d sworn off any romantic relationship. You were not a figure to be held next to a man for beauty. Moreover, you were almost certain that if Toto saw a man within three feet of you, he’d frighten them off, in true fear that anybody would come near his youngest prodigy.

The third year had been set; the routine was laid out in front of you, ready to make mistakes you’d groan and then forget about by the fourth. Instead, you found yourself crouched in the cramped cubicle of the nightclub, a hand over your mouth and nose, attempting to muffle the gulps from your lips. Your eyes had glossed over, intensely focused on the piece of plastic fisted in your palm. Two blue lines, interlapped to create a cross. A plus sign. A positive sign.

You were pregnant.

19th October; a month prior to what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You’d been the personification of a peacock; feathers flexing as you walked through the paddock, your tenth pole position of the year resting comfortably on your shoulders. Heavy pats on your back, a cheeky wink towards the camera of Sky Sports and cheers from the crowds had guided your return to your motorhome, thanking your PR assistant as you slid into the only four walls on the track where there was a form of privacy.

Except there wasn’t. A figure was relaxed into your sofa with a photograph in his hands, eyes trained on your body when you’d entered the room, unknowing of their presence. A grin appeared on his smug face upon seeing you practically skyrocket out of your skin, noting the other person in your sanctuary. He eventually stands up, removing his branded Red Bull cap to place on your sofa.

“You shouldn’t be here, Max.” You scoff, snatching the polaroid out of his fingers, returning the photo to its rightful place; atop of the plush chilli Carlos Sainz had bought you for your birthday. (He’d also bought you a bullet vibrator, trying to remind you of your stubbornness, urging you to relax a little.)

“Nice photograph.” He comments, his blue eyes flickering over to where it now stood, propped up in pride. You sat centre of the track in Abu Dhabi; two younger figures sat between your legs. They both rested a chubby hand on your World Driving Championship trophy, huge grins at the shining object. “Friends of yours?”

“Sisters.” You mumble in return, removing the snapback from your head, balancing it on top of your shelf. The cool air finds the roots of your hair instantly, a wave of relief rolling through your entire body when your hand comes up to soothe your scalp. “Congratulations on…was it P16?” You gloat, hoping your rival would catch the message that you didn’t want him to be there.

Max feels his lips drop and eyebrows meet at the cold reminder of his own qualification result. He knew the season was drawing to a close, quickly at that, and the constant reminder that he would be losing another championship to Mercedes golden girl was the last thing he needed. The smug grin on your lips remains, turning around to slide your arms out of your race suit, letting the top half rest on your hips, sleeves hanging loosely at your legs.

“That’s why I came to see you.” He responds, standing up straighter, arms folded as his eyes train on your own movement. “It makes my losses look miniscule compared to your own.” His own grin has returned now, satisfied with his own response to the situation.

You had been playing this game for months. The first year of your relationship on the grid had been friendly, the second had been hostile. The third had been downright dangerous. It began to get to a point where the grid, the press, everyone had picked up on the relationship between yourself and the Red Bull driver.

“Hey, I’ll do anything to help you forget this will be my third World Championship.” You snap back, turning around to meet his figure, your own arms mimicking, folding against your chest. This time, you take a step closer. “Maybe next year Christian Horner will remember his ‘Precious Little Maxie.’

Max scoffs at the nickname you had given him, eyes noting the step you had taken. He responds, taking his own step. “Trust me. There’s nothing little about me.” His eyes meet yours when he finishes his sentence, and for the first time, Max Verstappen has left you completely and utterly speechless. Mind goes into overdrive, years of hatred are forgotten has his hands fly out, grasping each side of your face, meshing his lips to your own.

Your first thought is to push the swine away, slap him across the face and scream for Toto Wolff to grab him by the collar. Clouded, spaced out; your mind begins to crack, your only thought is how good his lips feel against your own, how soft they feel against your cheek, how sinful they trace against your neck.

Max’s palms had originally rested on your cheek, they had begun their trail, slithering down your sides, grip tightening as they reached your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his body, grinding his crotch against your own, the desperation of his member clearly noticeable.

A gasp emitted from your lips, feeling his teeth begin to nip across the soft skin of your neck, desperately searching for that one spot that would make you crumble. Max’s hands make quick work, one wrapping around your waist in order to keep you secure, the other grasping you fireproofs, race suit and panties in a fluid motion, exposing the sweet centre he had been craving. Nimble fingers trail around your entrance, swiping a finger against your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rewarding him with the most sinful sound he had ever received.

“Max-“ You gasped, mind clouded by lust, how your desire of this man had built from your core the moment you had seen him in person, years ago. “Max, please-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He mumbled, his own hand pulling down his trousers and underwear, rubbing his shaft for preparation. “Do not ruin this fucking moment.”

In a swift motion, Max has you pinned against the wall of your driver room, the cool wall sending a shiver against your skin. You barely have time to register the coolness dancing across you before your mind is overwhelmed by the feeling of his length slipping into your wet folds, and there is truly nothing little about him in that moment, mind sent into overdrive when he brings his lips back to yours.

19th December, twenty-three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You had finally thrown yourself entirely into a distraction; Christmas. You’d flew back to Brackley alongside your teammate, both of you returning to the Mercedes base before retiring for the holidays. There had been no string short of invites flooding into your inbox, asking if you wanted to join them in any festivities. Anything at this point was a wanted distraction from the impending coil growing in your stomach, both figuratively and literally.

And so, you attended a Christmas Market alongside George and Carmen, passing on the mulled wine the two had insisted on trying. You’d gone to see Jack’s Christmas performance alongside Toto and Suzie but declined going to the fish restaurant they had mentioned; (you’d read somewhere in your first week of sheer panic that you could no longer go near fish whilst pregnant.) You’d gone to Lando’s new apartment in London but had seen the scowl on his face when you’d complained about your ‘bad stomach,’ and couldn’t do any heavy lifting of decorations.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve; Lewis had come to your family’s home, presents for your younger siblings, parents and yourself, of course. He’d sat politely, sipped on your mother’s tea, laughed politely at the antics building up towards the big day itself.

Spending time with somebody for three quarters of the year will teach you a lot about them; Lewis knew you like he knew each twist and turn of every track he’d raced along during the years. He knew you laughed with your whole stomach to the point where you had to grab something for support; that before every single race you would have your ‘top secret handshake’ with your race engineer, (you insisted your race would always go more smoothly if you did so, the last time you didn’t had resulted in a DNF.)

What Lewis knew most, was you were a complete and utter sucker for anything with chocolate. He had seen you practically sob when your trainer had found protein brownies that would work in your diet. So why did you decline your mothers’ sweet desserts when offered around the lounge? Why did you seem to hold your breath when the scent of treats was wafted under your nose, almost as if you’d vomit if you came into contact with them?

Carefully, your teammate placed his mug down on the low table, wiggling out of the space between your younger sisters; both were entranced by him. In any other situation, he would have sat there for hours, listening to their oh-so-sweet stories. Instead, he whistled for Roscoe, watching as the dog stooped up from his position by the fire, tottering over towards his owner.

“I’m going to take Roscoe out for a wee.” He nods towards your figure, slouched on the opposite sofa. “You coming?” The way he phrases his question; you can tell it’s not a question, it’s a command. You nod, placing down your own mug, stretching as you pulled yourself away from the leather recliner.

Your sisters were now engrossed by one of the presents Lewis has insisted they had to open early. Your mother and father were running through their guest list for tomorrow; nobody seemed to notice as the two of you slipped on your outerwear, whistling for Roscoe as you stepped through the dining room and onto the porch of the family home you had gifted your parents almost 1 year ago now.

Lewis’ eyes meet yours the moment you had closed the ornate doors. You struggle to meet his gaze; you know he has begun to put the pieces of this metaphorical puzzle together. He barely waits for the sound of the door closing before he starts to speak, the mannerisms he reserves for his teammate in instant appeal.

“Alright. What’s happening then?” He asks almost instantly, motioning for you to walk alongside him, taking the scenic route of the large garden. “You’d never turn down sweet things. You do everything to make your mother smile, why would you turn down her cooking?”

“I’ve just gone off that kind of stuff.” You mumble, not really thinking about what you were saying. You’d later remember to be more careful with your responses. You were not expecting him to piece it together so quickly through his own train of thought.

“Oh, my sister was like that when she was pregnant with-“ He cuts himself off, ceasing his steps when he realises what has escaped his lips. His head snaps back to look at you, and his heart melts. You, his self-assured, sweet teammate, now with tears in your eyes, a visible shake running across your body. He’s not stupid, he’s far from it.

“You’re pregnant.” He almost whispers, seeing how the words are visibly affecting you. Lewis says nothing, instead pulling you straight into his chest, arms engulfing you as he feels your body loosen, silently shaking with held back tears of being reminded of your current situation. “But…how?” He murmurs, loud enough for you to hear. He knew of your dating rule. Even outside of the press, no man ever seemed to be enough to knock you down, let alone knock you up.

You can’t tell him, not now. You couldn’t tell him. You had to tell him.

“Max.” You whisper, barely able to have the name on your lips. Lewis’ brows furrow. He knows in his heart he is right, but he doesn’t want to be.

“Fewtrell?” He responds, referencing to Lando’s oldest friend. You had been to see them recently, after all.

“Verstappen.”

Lewis’ isn’t sure what to say in that moment. Instead, he simply keeps you in his arms, in this moment at least, he can keep you warm, safe. Away from questioning eyes and the stories which will surely follow you until the end of time, until the end of your career. Instead, he asks the one question which you had been blocking out for oh-so-long, that you had been putting off since you threw yourself into these festivities.

“What are you going to do?”

6th January, 41 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

You knew what you were going to do.

You knew from the moment you had been called into your first ultrasound scan; by this point, only a few select people knew of the situation. Lewis. Your parents. The delivery driver at Dominoes Pizza whom had given you a strange look when handing over a pizza with no cheese, but three lots of spicy peppers.

Going to your first ultrasound alone had been terrifying; bringing somebody along would have drawn too much attention. You had played a mighty risk by going alone, hoping you wouldn’t be recognised. You didn’t want Mercedes to catch wind of the happenings, instead hoping nobody would openly tweet about your live location.

Your nurse doesn’t recognise you; if she does, she doesn’t show it. She’s polite and kind, makes sure that you haven’t used the bathroom in four hours, something to do with amniotic fluid. The cold jelly on your stomach sends an odd feeling through your body, as if cold cream was balancing on your tummy. There’s a sharp prod, a poke, and then you see the nurse smile.

“Ah, there they are!” She glows.

And there they are. Sat there, in your stomach. A small curve, to anybody else, a completely unidentifiable shape. But to you? The most precious shape that was completely and utterly undeniably yours. How you could have thought that you could go through life without knowing them is beyond you.

That was the moment you knew what you were going to do.

All you had to do now, was tell Toto. No big deal.

23rd February, 89 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“Horner!”

Toto was known to be larger than life, and his voice only proved that theory as he stormed out of his Paddock Office, completely abandoning any information being presented about Pre-Testing in Bahrain. Instead, he’s seeing red, he’s seeing that Horner’s complete and utter dickhead of a driver has knocked up his winner. His current champion. (With no disrespect to Lewis, of course.)

Your teammate had been there, holding your hand when you had broken the news to Toto, your race engineer and your trainer. Your PR assistant was aware of the situation, currently attempting to make a game plan of how to handle the situation. She was adamant you needed to remain in the paddock; you still needed to be a part of the sporting world, even if you weren’t driving.

At first, Toto thought it was Lewis’ baby, ready to bang both of their heads together and reprimand them for not being careful. When it had slipped whose child it was, (Toto was well aware of your rule too, he was just as confused as Lewis had been when he’d first found out.) Toto didn’t care about anything. More importantly, he didn’t care that your pregnancy wasn’t public knowledge.

Toto had stormed into Red Bull’s garage, much to the widened eyes of Christian Horner. Despite being shorter, he instantly holds himself against the Austrian, arms folded, a smirk on his face at the entrance of the unwanted guests.

“How can I help you, Toto?” He smirks, ready for some remark. Instead, Toto leans to Christian’s ear, murmuring something unhearing to the rest of the garage. You can take a guess to what is said however, judging by how pale the Red Bull’s Team Principle had gone. In one swift move, he motions for Toto and yourself to follow him, calling out to his own team.

“Send Max to my office. Now.” His voice is unrevealing, but his skin is growing paler by the minute.

You had never been into a Red Bull garage, and yet now you sat in Horner’s own office, amazed by the fact their colour schemes and trophies could be carried around the world. Mercedes kept theirs at home, sometimes plain and simple was the way to go. You began to wonder if you should bring your trophies to your next races, maybe it would give the team a reminder of what can be achieved.

“Sit.” Horner motions to the couch in the office. You take a seat almost instantly, overwhelmed by the entire situation. Lewis places himself next to you, an arm around your back protectively. Toto refuses to take a command, instead remaining standing, arms folded, a glare of hatred towards Christian.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.” The Red Bull team principal scoffs. “I didn’t tell Max to sleep with your little prodigy.” He may not be showing it, but Christian himself was downright livid with his driver. Max needed to focus; the team needed to focus on gaining back a world championship. Max was scarily focused, but when it came to the women in his life; his mother, his sister, his new little girlfriend Christian had seen in the paddock earlier that day, he would change, they became his focus.

“You need to keep that boy away from my team!” Toto retaliates. He could have gone deeper, he was all but ready to drag Max into the middle of the track and hold him there, letting Lewis drive into him at full force. Before any more threats could be thrown across the office, a door opens, the present grin on Max Verstappen’s face wiped instantly upon seeing Toto, Lewis and yourself.

“Max.” Christian starts, arms folded, the voice he used to reprimand his children now present. He can’t continue his phrasing however, before Toto scoffs, pointing an accusing finger towards the driver.

“You!” He roars, instantly forgetting the plead you had given him half an hour before, longing to keep this news as quiet as you could for as long as possible. “You couldn’t keep away; you have ruined my team! How dare you knock her up!” Toto is only stopped when you jump up from your seat, grabbing both of his arms in an attempt to stop his frantic ranting.

It takes Max a moment to process what has been said, he’s always struggled with quick responding when it’s not on a racetrack. It hits him all at once. Your pregnant. You’d slept together a month ago. Without protection, purely in the heat of the moment. Max Verstappen was going to be a father alongside his arch-rival.

“You’re pregnant?” Max can’t help his questioning, catching your eyes for the first time since entering the room. You can only offer him a nod, unable to form words in that current moment. “And…it’s mine? Are you sure?”

Your blood ran cold, you finally understood the rage that your Team Principle. You turn around, eyes darkened, shaking your head in pure anger. “Who else have I slept with, Max? You want to tell me that?” The audacity of this man. How dare he question you.

“You’re not keeping it, right?” Christian is the first to question. Max’s eyes gloss over, coughing lightly before overtaking the conversation from his own Team Principle. “I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.” His own skin mimics that of Christian; he turns as pale as the white lines of a hard tyre.

“You’re not-“ You cut yourself off, instead opting to keep silent. You had nothing else to say. Max had made his stance on the situation clear. “I don’t need you, Max. I can do this myself.” The entire room watches as you pull away from Lewis and Toto, never once looking at the father of your child.

10st March, 105 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

The Monaco Grand Prix was usually the highlight of your year; champagne podiums, speed boats and the comfort of sleeping in your own bed. However, this time you were not watching it from the screen of your car, nor the comfort of the paddock. You’d opted to remain at your apartment. For a start, the headlines which had been spiralling across the media were growing overwhelming. ‘Mercedes driver pulled out of racing until further notice.’ ‘Max Verstappen breaks up with new girlfriend after only weeks together.’ ‘Valtteri Bottas to pose for nude charity calendar.’

Maybe that last one wasn’t to do with your situation; you were all too aware of how your grid buddy could act in his down time.

Your second worry was the fact that your bump was beginning to grow adamant. It had only been around three months, yet the bump seemed almost ballooning. Every piece of clothing you tried on made you feel like it was more and more obvious. You didn’t want anybody seeing what was happening to your body. Besides, it wasn’t like the pregnancy was an entire secret anymore.

You hadn’t heard from Max since that day in the office. Toto had found you crying an hour later, coaxing you to stop for your own health and the sake of the baby. For the first part of the racing season, your unfilled seat had been passed to George Russell. You’d smiled at each interviewer, telling the world you had an injury which made driving next to impossible at the present time. For each Grand Prix, you’d stayed sat next to Toto, cheering on the silver arrows. Maybe you hadn’t seen Max because you barely set foot outside of the garage.

The news had slowly begun to spread from driver to driver, though each remained loyal and hadn’t told the press of your true reasoning for stepping away. Charles had been around in an instant, helping you to talk through what had been happening. He was your neighbour, after all, he liked to check in when he could. You’d had a visit from Daniel, telling you his best friend was a…well, how he put it, ‘a grade-a cunt,’ for how he had reacted.

There was only one person, however, whom you had wanted to speak to. Sebastian had been a close friend, almost a mentor, during your first batch of Formula 1 seasons. He was also a father himself, maybe he would be able to explain to you Max’s stance on the whole thing.

You knew he was visiting Monaco that weekend for the Grand Prix. When your phone buzzed from your living room, you’d assumed it was him asking for you to come and let you into the complex. What you were not expecting, was the text on your phone from none other than the father of your child.

14:05: Max Verstappen

I don’t know if you have me blocked, I’m hoping you do not. I want to apologise for my reaction. It was a lot. I want to be there, for you and our child.

14:09: You

I appreciate the message. Thank you. My next scan is on Tuesday, after Monaco.

14:11: Max Verstappen

I’d like to be there. Could you send me the details, please?

14th March, 109 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Max Verstappen was not a practical man.

Despite telling him you would meet him at the address you had sent him, he’d shown up to your apartment just before you were set to leave. Standing in the lobby of your apartment complex, a large bouquet of flowers resting in his arms. You could have sworn you’d never seen Max outside of jeans and a Red Bull polo shirt; it was refreshing to see him in crisp shirt and cargo trousers.

“You didn’t have to dress up.” You mumble, looking down to your own outfit; a soft summer dress seemed positively ordinary; hair loose around your shoulders. It was just a scan, after all. It wasn’t as if the two of you would be going on a date; you hated the man stood in front of you. However, a smile is soon nestled on your face when the man offers you the bundle of flowers, offering a warm grin alongside them.

“You look nice.” Max nods, motioning towards the exit of the complex. His car was parked directly outside, as in order to avoid the press whom would undoubtedly be looking for the drivers in Monaco. The flowers decorated your arms, carefully resting them on your lap before adjusting your seatbelt. “Do you need anything?” He looks back to the complex, concerned if you had forgotten something.

“I just need the bathroom.” You mention half-heartedly. Max’s eyes widen, ready to step out of the car and lead you back into the apartment. “Oh-“ You cut yourself off, having to explain the situation. “No, I need a full bladder for the scan, so they can see the baby.” The man nods in understanding, sitting himself in the driver’s seat, looking both ways before beginning to start the route towards clinic.

The car ride between the two of you was unusually peaceful; Max made light conversation, filling you in on the antics of the paddock from that weekend. You can’t hold back the laugh from your lips when he mentions Christian Horner slipping off his high seat when excitedly jumping to his feet. You missed the paddock; you missed the feeling of racing; you especially missed the banter between your friends. You’d have to return, sooner rather than later.

When the two of you pulled into the car park, Max was quick to step out of his seat, opening the car door for you. You offer him a quiet thanks before making your way into the building, side by side. The nurse you had previously seen gives you a smile, delighted to finally see the father of the baby alongside you.

Max had silently followed you into the room; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak, quite the opposite. The man was taking in every piece of information that was being given, silent notes in his mind on each aspect. He’d keep the baby safe; he’d keep you safe, too. Ever now the gentlemen, he helps you to lie down on the seat, your bumped stomach revealed through lifting the skirt of your summer dress.

He can’t help but notice the soft underwear decorating your lower half. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you naked, after all. That’s how you had got here in the first place. His thoughts are soon side-tracked when seeing you wince from the coldness of the jelly and the cramp of the scanning machine. Max’s hand trails, feeling your own resting aside your body. He can’t help but hold onto it, trying to offer you some sort of comfort. Maybe it’s the sudden nerves, but your hand grabs back just as tightly, feeling his thumb rub carefully against your knuckles.

“You okay?” He mumbles, trying to keep a low profile from the nurse. You can only nod, comforted in the way your…rival…was now holding your hand so preciously.

“Now…” The nurse begins. “I wanted to check with you both, you mentioned wanting to find out the gender of your child.” Her question is directed towards you, Max’s eyes darting between the two women in the room. “Of course, if dad doesn’t want to know, he can leave-“

“Oh, no.” Max interrupts, mind racing at a thousand thoughts per minute. “I’d…I want to know too.” He agrees, nodding in synch with you.

“Well, congratulations. You’re having a beautiful baby girl.” The nurse confirms, turning around the screen to you both. The undefinable shape you had seen mere weeks ago had developed, becoming a more shaped being. You could see the baby forming, eyes widening in shock. Your eyes glanced over to Max, his grip tightening on your palm.

You didn’t miss the glossed tears in his eyes. He knew in that very moment that this baby, this moment was…everything to him.

2nd May, 158 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Overnight, Max Verstappen had truly wiggled his way into your inner circle. The two of you had barely said ten civilised words to one another since meeting all those years ago. Now? There was a string of texts almost every morning, asking how you were feeling, to let him know if you needed anything. You had truly begun to push the limits of his patience. The man had showed up your doorstep one morning with a bag of cinnamon pretzels after hearing your cries down the telephone line.

Right now, the two of you were basking in the bliss of your little bundle of joy; there were still a lot of heavy conversations to come, but the first wave of nerves had passed, you were now simply excited to meet the little being growing in your stomach.

The two of you had developed a successful co-parenting system to work your way through the pregnancy; Max had engrossed himself in endless copies of baby books. Daniel had found him one afternoon in his driving room, highlighting a textbook on what the main causes of a baby crying could be. He’d started to keep a calendar of every appointment that he’d attend alongside you, notes on the dates that you’re feeling a particular sickness or swelling. If you won’t bring it up with a doctor, he would.

Max tries to convince himself it’s to keep his baby safe; of course, you need to remain healthy too, but he doesn’t care about you, not in that sense.

It isn’t until he receives a phone call from you one afternoon, pleading for him to come and collect you from a friend’s house; your car had broken down and your Uber application wouldn’t seem to find you a driver that wasn’t half an hour away. Max had shown up at the doorstep ten minutes later, knocking on the door to signal your arrival. When there was no answer, he took his own incitive to investigate the back garden, hearing the light sound of music, chattering adults and giggling children.

The garden is in full swing; you hadn’t mentioned it was a party; an extravagant one at that. He’s taken aback by the decorations, a giant bounce house and the most enormous birthday cake he had ever seen.

His heart almost stops when he sees you.

You, hair framing your face beautifully, a pale pink dress hugging you in the most delicious way. Your attention is focused to the toddler on your hip, your godson. How on earth could you think you were not ready for this? You pulled faces at the young being his giggles screaming through the air. Max had always thought you were pretty, but now he could only see you as a goddess.

He’s convinced himself, after all. He doesn’t care for you. He worships you.

9th June, 196 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

“I think we should move in together.”

Max’s attention is drawn up from his phone. Christian and himself had been texting backwards and forwards for the past few days; the driver was trying to rework his schedule so he could at least be with you for a week after the birth. It was getting closer; the world now knew of your pregnancy, the media torn between harsh critics and positive glows.

What they didn’t know was the father of the child was your sworn enemy.

Maybe, enemy was a word you didn’t wish to use anymore. A friend didn’t seem right, either. A mix of late-night conversations, spooning ice cream to one another whilst binging a new Netflix series and picking out a bundle of pink pyjamas had drawn the two of you into an undefinable relationship.

“You know…” You continue. “I want…her to have both her parents about. I don’t want her to grow up in a broken household.” It was true; you’d seen how it could affect people, especially the man who was sat by your side. He understood, completely and utterly. After what he had been through, he wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all his own flesh and blood. His own baby.

“I missed my mother…a lot when I was younger.” He referenced his parents’ separation, how he had barely seen his mother and sister whilst growing up. “I wouldn’t want that for her.” Max rests a hand on your stomach, a soft smile on his face when he looks at you. Even with no makeup, a hoodie which was way too big for you, you were still positively glowing. “Why don’t we have a look tomorrow? Find somewhere around here with enough space for us all.”

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine, but you’re painting the nursery.” You mumble in response. A small laugh emits from both of your lips. However, yours is soon replaced with a sharp wince, a rumble in your stomach. Max, whom still had a hand resting on the bump immediately stops laughing, both of your eye’s meeting in shock.

“Was that-” He cuts himself off when he feels the movement again. It’s a kick. The baby is kicking.

“She’s awake!” You laugh, placing your hand carefully across Max’s. You gently guide it across your stomach, tracing the sharp movement in your stomach. “We must have woken her up. Sorry sweet pea.” You direct the last part of your sentence to the baby in your stomach.

Max gently removes his hand from your stomach, his head tiling closer to your bump. The baby can hear him. She’s in there, nestled and warm, awaiting her welcome into the world.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He mumbles, voice thick from holding back heavy tears. “It’s your Papa.”

He doesn’t miss the small laugh from you, entirely entertained by this whole situation.

“I know I can’t see you yet, but you’re the most beautiful girl I could ever ask for. Just like your mother.” He finishes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. Softly, he lifts himself up, pressing a kiss to your temple, heads resting gently against one another as the next episode of your series began to play.

29th June, 216 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life.

Spa-Francorchamps was the last race on the calendar before the summer break. It was also the last time you would be able to be in the paddock without a baby strapped to your side.

It had been magical, when walking into the Mercedes garage. Cheers had erupted upon seeing their golden girl return to the paddock. Lewis had barely been able to contain himself, pulling you into the tightest hug which could be imagined. Toto had almost started crying, kissing the top of your head and resting a hand on your stomach, declaring the baby as his unborn prodigy.

There had been no end of drivers coming to meet you, too. Charles and Carlos had declared how much they had missed having you around, presenting you with a baby blanket and beanie. Your heart had melted when they explained their mothers had taught them how to knit, both wanting to make a present for you, stitched with love. You’d almost started crying, hormones were in full swing in the third trimester, kissing both on the cheek and thanking them endlessly.

Yuki had walked up to you that afternoon too, presenting a small Tupperware box. He had noticed you’d completely rejected fish, and most of all sushi, so instead had made you a batch which was pregnancy safe. The two of you had tried a piece there and then, declaring it as quite possibly the best thing your tastebuds had found since pregnancy had altered your tastebuds.

Daniel had come to find you, telling you to meet him in his garage, that he had a surprise for you both. Both, meaning you’d probably have to find Max, too.

His garage was only a short walk from where you’d been set up in the Mercedes camp. You’d began to make your way over there, hoping you’d bump into the father of your child on the way. You’d last seen Max that morning, having driven you to the paddock himself. He’d become…fiercely caring since the evening of feeling the baby kick. He’d slept in your bed that night, you are resting against his chest, a form of comfort in the third trimester.

What you hadn’t expected to see, as you turned the corner, was a beautiful girl, hands resting on Max’s waist, her eyes sparkling, lips moving. You couldn’t see Max’s face, his cap hiding any expression, but your heart knew that he’d be smirking, basking in the attention.

Loving the attention of a beautiful girl, one that wasn’t pregnant with his child.

You couldn’t…understand why you had suddenly cared so much about who he was interacting with. When you’d first started this whole…adventure, he’d still been seen in clubs, leaving with different women on his arm every weekend. You’d hit the second trimester; his party and escapades had stopped, his sole attention of women being on you.

Maybe that was it. You’d grown to like the attention of Max. Whether it was as the father of your child or…something else.

Your hormones were truly beginning to overtake you, feeling tears trickling out of your water line. You had to look away at that moment, you couldn’t keep looking at the events unfolding in front of you. Your mind traces back to that morning in Christian Horner’s office, how Max had turned pale, not wanting to be burdened with the birth of his child.

‘I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.’

Maybe he wasn’t. But you were ready to be a mother.

8th August, 255 days since what should have been the-

You couldn’t handle this.

The pain was beginning to seethe through your stomach. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was all wrong, it was happening too quickly.

Since the incident at the paddock, you’d been radio silent towards Max. He wasn’t too sure of how it had come to be. All he had known was you’d taken yourself home from Spa, telling him that you’d needed to fly home to be with your parents before the birth.

One day without a phone call was okay, he suspected it would be due to the time zones. Two was…a little odd. After three, he was frantically packing a suitcase, trying to get hold of anybody who would possibly know your parents’ address. He’d resulted to finding your teammates phone number. After he was met with a string of questions, asking how on earth he had gotten hold of his phone number. When Max had explained you had gone off the grid, Lewis had simply scoffed.

Of course, Lewis had known what had happened. He’d seen you return to grab your bag, eyes glassy as you offered the team a quick goodbye, promising to bring the baby to meet them all as soon as possible.

The driver had been the one to guide you back through the paddock. Despite not racing together for almost six months, he still had your mannerisms sketched into his mind. Eventually, you’d confided in your closest friend, letting the tears fall freely as he guided you back to your Uber, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise that he would be there if you needed anything, if there were any more thoughts or issues.

He had no issue telling Max his thoughts over the telephone. Despite Max’s answers, there was no excuse. ‘You were hormonal. How did he think you felt when seeing Max with another woman, even if it was innocent, she didn’t seem to be in that stance.’

That was the case. It was an ex-girlfriend, she’d been in the paddock that afternoon, seeking out the world champion in an advancement to get them back together. Max had no intention of going there, not when he was during finding something, some gesture to show you of his advancing feelings over the past few months. That was why he had asked Daniel to get you to his garage. He would be able to surprise you, tell you how he was really feeling, how he loved you, and not just for being the mother of his child.

After copious amounts of pleading, Lewis had eventually sent over the address, giving Max a dire warning as to if he upset you again.

The flight to your home had been fast. He couldn’t thank his assistant enough, getting a hire car set for the moment he stepped out of the airport. However, turning up at your home to find your father, arms folded, and eyebrows raised at Max’s sudden appearance. Your father barely said two words, just told Max you had gone into labour.

Max’s blood had run cold upon that realisation. He wasn’t there; he wasn’t there to hold your hand when the pain started, to hold your hair up and get some coolness to your overheating skin. He wasn’t there. Not for his little girl, and not for her mother. Being a Formula One driver in that evening was the most helpful thing in his opinion, arriving at the hospital in record time.

Car thrown carelessly into a parking spot, he’d sprinted into the reception, a nurse resting a hand on his arm when seeing the pure shock registered on his face. He couldn’t get any words out properly, simply repeating your name, that he was the father of your child. He wanted to see you, he wanted to see his baby.

The nurse nodded, motioning for Max to follow him down a corridor. He didn’t like the coldness of the building. You probably felt so alone. Every time he had come with you to a clinic appointment, he’d notice the change in your demeanour, how you felt uncomfortable. You should have opted for a home birth; you would have been calmer. Safer.

Max eventually reached your hospital room, heart breaking at the sounds from the other side of the door. You were in pain. That much was obvious as he opened the door. Your mother wasn’t present. He knew your stubbornness, knowing that you would have wanted to do this without her. Maybe, you’d want to do this without him, too.

His train of thought was interrupted, hearing a voice he had missed oh-so-much for the past three days.

“Max.” You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. The gas wasn’t working, the epidural hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to feel ever piece of this.

The man sprang into action; in an instant, his jacket was removed, revealing his soft t-shirt and trackpants. A seat was pulled up to the head of your bed, Max sitting himself down, one hand running across the top of your head, the other arm resting by your hands, letting you grip into him as deeply as you needed to.

“Shh. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” He mumbles. Soft words of Dutch come from his lips; you’re too far gone to understand his words in English, let alone his native language.

“You- why did you come?” You sob, feeling another contraction wash over your stomach. You can’t help but sob out, overwhelmed by the physical pain of the baby, the emotional pain of Max after seeing him in the paddock with that girl.

“I couldn’t leave the love of my life to meet our baby girl alone, could I?” He responds, leaning upwards to press a soft kiss to your cheek. He can taste the salt from your tears. He swore there and then, you’d never cry again. Not if he was around. You’d stay with him in the paddock, you and his baby girl. He’d make you laugh at every available opportunity. He’d shower you both in gifts; he’d give his girls everything they’d desire. If one day you decided to return to racing, he’d retire there and then to let you peruse his dream.

“Okay, okay. We need to push.” The midwife insists, seeing the pain flush over your cheeks. Max is there, clasping your hands, running a palm across your cheek, promising that oh-so-soon, your baby girl would be here, she would be in your arms, you would be complete.

There’s a sharp scream from you, and then the tiniest cries from the end of the bed.

She was here. Bloody, high pitch screams fill the room as the baby is placed onto your chest.

A wave of relief flushes over you, lying back into the cushions, sobbing in hysteria; your baby girl had been welcomed into the world. Max this time, can’t hold back his own tears, aiding the midwife in cutting the chord, eyes in awe as he watched the midwife gently rub a cloth against her soft skin.

“She’s here.” You whisper, the midwife aiding you in wrapping your daughter in a pink blanket, her wails cooling down, eyes blinking up to her mother. The blue eyes, identical to those of her father.

Her father in question had sat back in his chair, eyes transfixed on the bundle in your arms. What he isn’t expecting is for you to motion your own arms towards him, letting the man cradle his daughter. It’s so…natural. Your heart fills with adoration; how you could ever believe you hated this man was beyond you.

Eventually, the baby is placed into the cradle, deep in slumber. Max hasn’t moved from your side, one arm around your back, both of you transfixed onto the peacefully sleeping child.

“She’s here.” Max repeats for the hundredth time, eyes still focused on the sweet girl. His head turns to you, there’s no better time to say it. “I’m sorry. For not telling you sooner. For not telling you how much I care about you.” He murmurs, hand finding yours, clasping them together.

“Yeah?” You tease, running your free hand through his soft hair, feeling his head press into your touch. His touch subsides, leaning in ever so gently, pressing his lips to your own. It’s soft, it’s unexpected, but it feels so, so right. It’s only interrupted with the soft cries from your baby once again.

“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?” Max laughs, his moment being disrupted by the baby. You can only laugh as he stands up, scooping up the baby into his gentle grasp.

9th August, 1:06am. This was the happiest day of your life.

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luveline · 7 months

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Hi Jade! I’ve been on my criminal minds rerun and it made me come up with this Spencer request if you’re taking them right now! Something along the lines of the reader and Spencer being together and she becomes pregnant but he pieces it together before she does!

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok♡ 1k

cw fem!reader has a positive attitude towards her pregnancy. vaguely adult theme

"I really don't think I can go," you say, flopping down on the bed.

Spencer laughs and shakes out the shirt in his hands, hoping the creases from the dryer will iron themselves before dinner tonight. "You always say that."

"I really mean it this time. I miss Hotch, I do, and I'm glad he's out of WITSEC, but thinking about the restaurant is making me queasy."

"Really? I looked it up, it's a nice place. They have their Grade A, it should be spotless in there. I'm pretty sure they almost got a Michelin star."

You groan, turning onto your side. "I looked too. The entire menu is seafood," you whine.

"What's wrong with that?" Spencer asks, giving you a quizzical look.

"The smell." You rub your nose against his pillow and sigh. "I don't feel good. Didn't rough me up in my sleep, did you?"

"I would never do that," he says, putting the last of the laundry aside to sit by your hip. His hand rests naturally against the slight curve of your side, fingertips pushing the hem of your shirt up enough to steal a glance at your back.

He wouldn't say this aloud and it doesn't matter, but you've gained a little weight recently. Actually, it does matter in that he thinks it's adorable, but he knows that telling your partner they've gained weight is a faux pas. He likes it, anyhow. It's happy weight.

Things are so serious now but they don't feel serious. There's no solemness in your relationship, just comfort. He's putting on weight in tandem.

"You really don't want to go?" Spencer asks. The earlier he lets Hotch know the better.

You wrap an arm around your stomach. "Sorry, Spence. I'm so sorry, I've felt sick all day and I think it'll just be a repeat of yesterday morning." You puked before breakfast, the smell of eggs too much to bear.

Spencer feels it click into place then and there. The weight, the puking, your changing taste. Your sore chest and lower back, your sensitivity.

He pushes you gently, a hand on your hip to encourage you down. Careful, he lays down next to you, propping his head on the pillow as he brings hand up to hold you. He can't know for sure… but if you're pregnant as he suspects, it fits. And more than that, it's insane. He doesn't know how to handle this besides wrapping you up in his arms. He'll keep you forever, if he can.

"Don't be sorry," he says, his voice faraway. You relax completely in his arms, sliding your leg over his to lock him in. "Does your back still hurt?"

"My chest, Spence," you lament, "it feels like I'm winded. I think I'm coming down with something. Maybe you shouldn't be near me."

"In that case, I'm staying right here."

You laugh softly, the warmth of it a circle on his shoulder. "I can call Hotch myself and say sorry. I'll feel better in a few days, and we'll reschedule, and I'll pay even if he tries to."

Spencer draws a line up your back. Now or never.

He steels his nerves, the beginning of a hypothesis hesitating on his tongue. Your symptoms in addition to your irregular period and your regular sex lives points toward pregnancy. How does he say that? How should he say it? Should he even bring it up? Perhaps he should wait until you discover it yourself. And you aren't definitely pregnant, it's just a possibility. Maybe you're simply sick—

"Hey, earth to handsome," you whisper, cupping his cheek in your soft palm. You smile as he snaps out of his thoughts. "Hey. I lost you for a few seconds, where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I'm here."

Your smile gets impossibly fond. It's not dissimilar to how you usually look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I love you."

"I love you," you say.

There's something about you now, this gaussian blur to you. Sunlight seeps in lazily through the blinds thick as honey, a golden kiss to your skin where you lay face to face with him, and your I love you makes him want to cry. This is all ridiculous and amazing and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to make his mouth move into the right words.

"What is it?" you ask. You know him better than anyone.

"I think you're pregnant." Spencer winces, though he can't beat his smile into submission. "I mean. You could be pregnant."

"Why do you think that?" you ask, visibly startled.

"Your sensitivity to strong smells, your soreness, your late period, to name the more obvious. That's not factoring in your worsening low iron lately, and your headaches." You make a strange sound he doesn't like. "What?" he asks worriedly.

"I'm late," you say into yourself, looking past him as you puzzle it over.

"It's a good thing, if you are. I mean, it's an amazing thing if you want it to be. I'm saying everything wrong. It's only amazing if you want it to be, I want it to be. But I'm on your side no matter what." He grimaces into his hands, rubbing his face with both palms.

You sit as he panics. He clicks his neck looking up, racing to follow you, alarmed as you shimmy down the bed toward the ensuite bathroom.

"What are you–"

"I'm gonna take a test."

"Wait a second." Spencer catches your hands before you can get too far, pulling you back to the end of the bed to sit down. "Wait. Is it– is it bad? If you are?"

You look down at your stomach briefly. Anyone else might miss it, but Spencer can't not follow your behaviour, and the way you're acting now makes him think he got it wrong. That you won't be happy.

You grab Spencer's hand. "You know, it's not funny. All our friends are gonna ask how I found out, and I'm gonna have to admit that you noticed it first." Your eyes track up his face almost shyly, and soon your smile is as blistering as his.

Spencer bends under your weight as you jump up, throwing your arms behind his neck, your lips smashed to his ear. "I love you," you whisper urgently, "so much. This is good, right? This is really good."

"Are you kidding?" he asks incredulously.

Spencer takes your face into two hands and kisses you as hard as he ever has. He realises a second in that he'd much rather be squeezing you, caging you into the circle of his arms unrepentant.

"We have a really good excuse to miss dinner," Spencer says.

He sounds close to tears. You're worse, laughing wetly as you pull him into the bathroom to take your test.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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shaniacsboogara · 20 days

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jojo siwa claiming she's revitalizing gay pop and releasing 'karma' on the same night as conan gray's 'found heaven' and chappell roan's 'good luck babe' is so poetically ironic. it's like the universe WANTS to draw a comparison between jojo and queer pop artists.

the thing that makes queer pop compelling as a genre is the unique storytelling and experiences of queer artists told through their music. that doesn't necessarily mean every song by a queer artist has to be about their queerness. they don't have to scream "hey i'm gay!" in every single song they write. but claiming to be "reinventing gay pop" should mean you're telling interesting stories about your queer experience, right???

'found heaven' by conan gray is about growing up as a queer kid with religious guilt and disapproving parents. he equates being in love in an authentic way to "finding heaven", and the piece as a whole resonates with a TON of queer people in different stages of their lives. some people can look back at their childhoods and how much they've grown since then, some can relate because they're currently going through what conan's written about, and some people can sympathize with the way some queer people are treated, even if they aren't necessarily queer themselves.

'good luck babe' is a song about queerness and compulsory heterosexuality. chappell sings about a woman she was in a relationship with who decided to settle down in a conventional marriage despite being queer. the song reflects the denial a lot of queer people go through (specifically regarding the lesbian experience) and the unfortunate way a lot of them end up repressing who they are to conform to societal standards. it's fun, it's campy, but its message is still poignant.

as for karma… there's nothing inherently queer about that song. the music video for the original version, ‘karma’s a bitch’ by brit smith, featured a heterosexual storyline. jojo buying the rights to a song she didn't write isn't inherently a bad thing, a lot of mainstream artists do that all the time. however, if you're claiming to be a pioneer of the “gay pop” genre and your music doesn't reflect any queer themes or experiences, is it really “gay pop”? again, queer artists don't have to write exclusively about their queerness, but if you try to present yourself as a voice for the queer community without telling any of their stories, you're not going to be lauded as some revolutionary figure. if any of the songs on jojo’s album are actually about her experience as a lesbian or contain any queer themes, then i think she'd qualify as a “gay pop” artist. but so far, she's given us a faux edgy, generic pop song and tried to market it as some insane never-been-done-before feat. and honestly, if her entire album is like this and she continues to market herself this way, it's a slap in the face to all the genuine artists and storytellers in the queer community.

but let's stop talking about jojo siwa and start talking about the incredible queer artists who are truly breathing life into the "gay pop" genre: chappell roan, renee rapp, ben platt, conan gray, girl in red, kevin atwater, baby queen, mitski, clairo, dodie, and SO MANY MORE (feel free to add on some of your favourites because there are so many wonderful artists out there <3)

also: if you have a different perspective on this situation i would absolutely love to hear what you think and if you agree / disagree with this! i love discussing topics like this so feel free to reblog with your own take

#jojo siwa #karma #chappell roan #conan gray #queer pop #also the fact that this rebrand is a coverup for jojo's awful behavior #like be fucking fr #don't use the queer community as a sheild

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ravengards-rogue · 1 month

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the evening stretch | warm-up series.

ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.

✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+

✧ wc : 2.7k

✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.

this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.

✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.

He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.

Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.

It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.

Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.

It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.

You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.

But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.

You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.

The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.

Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.

"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."

He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.

"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."

"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.

"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."

He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.

"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."

You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.

"Is that so?"

He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."

"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."

That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.

"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."

"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"

"Trelawny, I'd guess."

You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."

"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"

Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.

You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.

Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.

He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.

"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."

"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."

'"Read my mind, then."

"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"

His smile widens.

"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"

You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.

"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."

You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.

"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"

"I'm afraid I do,"

You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.

"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.

"Burn? You feeling warm?"

"Arthur!"

And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.

"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.

"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."

He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.

"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"

"Sweetheart—"

"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."

"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."

Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."

He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.

Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.

There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.

His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.

It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.

He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.

Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.

"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"

"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"

And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.

You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.

Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.

Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.

He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.

When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.

The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.

Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.

He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.

"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"

Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.

Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.

He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.

You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."

You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.

It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.

His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.

"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"

You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.

And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.

He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.

"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."

Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.

He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.

He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.

He's sure that will always be true.

When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.

And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.

Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.

Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.

You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.

"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."

Arthur beams at you unapologetic.

"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"

You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.

"Insatiable man."

"Only for you, my girl."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 smut #rogues love letters #zero.arthur #this is OUTRAGEOUS. I WAS WARMING UP???#i need to sleep its nearly 8. jesus christ.

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girlboybug · 3 months

Text

Haunted

“my wicked tongue, where will it be, i know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me.”

or the one where it’s halloween at saltburn and you and farleigh ditch the party downstairs to celebrate with a little weed in your bedroom.

what’s playing 🎧: haunted by beyoncé

pairing : farleigh start x fem!reader (afab bodied)

*UNEDITED*

word count : 6k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, virgin!reader, bi coded! reader, heavy petting, grinding and dry humping, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, mentions of blowjobs, little bit of tip sucking oops, handjobs, light hair pulling, boob worship, sub coded farleigh for two seconds, smidge of overstimulation

TRIGGER WARNINGS : both reader and farleigh are high when they engage in the sexual activity but it’s all consensual they’re both equally high, ummmmmmmm hints of slut shaming in the beginning by farleigh but it’s not fr fr bc his ass is mother slut let’s be honest

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM ME TO YOU :3!

a/n : comments rlly motivate me so if you enjoyed this plz lmk down in the comments <3

venetia and felix are nowhere to be found amidst the neon mess of bodies that inhabit every orifice of what was once an almost eerily quiet and empty corridor just this morning. leaving you to be doomed to a fate of enduring a poorly put together semblance of…you think frankenstein, having a one sided conversation with you. “can i get you another drink?” he asks over the booming music and for the first time in the entire interaction you smile a genuinely smile, and nod with urgency. “god yes—please,” you respond eagerly, handing him back your cup. he takes it with an undeserving great sense of pride, and you exhale with relief once he disappears from your line of vision, hoping he loses you in the crowd.

“interesting costume choice,” a familiar, annoying, voice comments behind you. without even turning around yet, you find yourself rolling your eyes. you give him a once over and scoff. his fangs protrude from his smile, and you wish it looked cartoonish and stupid, but alas, he unfortunately looks good. really good. but over your dead body you’d ever admit that.

fake blood is dribbled from the corners of his mouth and two neat dots rest near his pulse on the side of his neck. a brow rises and crinkles your forehead, aiding in the faux judgment you cast upon him. “rich coming from the guy who’s wearing the most generic costume known to man.” you retort back, subconsciously withholding a level of snideness. you like the build of veiled insults you two toss back and forth, it’s never fun if you start off too strong. you enjoy the way you both ease into it. it’s a flow you’ve both unknowingly created for each other.

his head shifts to the side when he rolls his eyes and exhales under his breath, and your heart falters just a little lower within your ribcage when you see a bright red kiss stain on his jaw.

“it’s in reference to bram stoker’s dracula, a classic piece of literature, but you?” his eyes flicker over you, a little upward curve growing in the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d be better than defaulting to a sexy version of marie antoinette.” he folds his arms over his chest, peering down at you, unbeknownst to the excitement that bubbles in the depths of his chest as he awaits whatever response you’re brewing in your head to bite back with.

heat plants itself like a seed in the pit of your stomach and extends its branches through your chest and across your cheeks at his observation. but a hefty cloud of pride quickly replaces it when his words ring through your head again.

he thinks i look sexy?

“i’m not a sexy marie antoinette. i’m just. Her.” you reply with a sense of smugness, seemingly stealing his, when a look of oh fuck flashes across his face. he’s quick to rid himself of it but you caught it, and you’ll be damned if you let go of the one time farleigh let himself waver in front of you.

“i meant slutty.” he replies cooly, uncaring, and you nod, a stupid grin on your face that he wishes he could wipe off. “you called me sexy.” your grin only grows and he’s already rolling

his eyes once more. “i know no one compliments you like you wish they would, so anything that remotely sounds like one is enough for you to latch onto, but i promise,” he steps forward and leans his neck downward towards you, not bothering to bend down to meet your height. “i meant slutty.”

a rush of something you don’t want to distinguish floods the shoreline of your lower stomach and trickles heat between your inner thighs at the way he speaks to you, but you hide it, barely allowing yourself to even acknowledge it. “the biggest slut i know calling someone else slutty, that’s funny,” you internally groan, knowing your reply wasn’t as witty as you’d intended.

before farleigh can verbally retaliate, your name is called out and you recognize who it belongs to, your dreaded frankenstein. you panic for a moment, dreading being back in conversation with him and you glance up at farleigh, hurriedly switching your bodies around, successfully shielding yourself with his stature.

he’s confused for a moment before realizing what you’re using him for. he laughs and you smack his back, hushing him. while you hide behind him you take the fleeting moments you have to outline his broad shoulders with your eyes, and how they trail into a slim little waist. his perfectly tailored suit hugs him just right, and it makes your throat get a little tight. you never took the time to notice farleigh’s physique, rather opting to semi-playfully belittle him. you find hints of regret in that.

he turns back around to face you and you snap back into the present, not the paused moment in which saltburn was empty and all that occupied it was you and farleigh and his broad back and small waist. “coast is clear.” he says, switching his weight onto one foot. “frankenstein? really?” he seems unimpressed, almost… irritated? you’re unsure.

you grumble and smooth down the invisible

wrinkles in your corset. “don’t start.” but he does anyway.

“didn’t know that was your type.”

“what?”

“somewhat stupid looking, bumbling.”

“what’s it matter to you?” you ask, wondering how far he’ll go with his dissertation on why the guy he has zero knowledge on is an idiot. “it doesn’t. it’s just getting a bit sad seeing that the only people who are interested in you are so…lacking.”

you suck on your teeth and nod, shrugging before you reply. “least i’m not fucking my teachers.” he heartily laughs, sticking his tongue in the bottom corner of his lip. “and yet, they all still trump your sorry excuses of flings.”

you open your mouth to correct him but you shut yourself up before you embarrass yourself. instead you just shake your head dismissively. you perk up when you remember a little secret pick me up you’ve been hiding. you reach into your cleavage, unaware of the way the sight stirs something inside of farleigh. you pull out the joint you tucked away for safe keeping, waving it with an offering smile. “wanna share?” you ask and he chuckles in shock at the proposition. “weed? you’re a pothead now?” you sigh annoyedly and glare up at him. “you wanna share or not? quick before i change my mind.” he smirks and nods, eyeing the joint then you. “i’ll oblige.”

he follows you to your room, holding your waist to wade through the pool of people, with you flush against him. you ignore the way his hands mold around your waist, his long fingers curled across your dress, and you especially ignore how you feel his rings through the thin material of your dress.

you don’t care.

you lean against the open window of your bedroom with the joint, not wanting to taint the air with the stench, knowing elspeth’s keen nose would immediately clock it the moment she walks into your room.

farleigh coughs a lot more than you would’ve expected him to and it makes you beam with a feeling of superiority. “you smoke like half a pack of cigarettes every day, how on earth is this making you cough so hard?” you snicker, handing him a water bottle you keep by your bed.

he glares at you, taking a hefty swig from your bottle, setting it down before extending his hand back out for the joint, determined to prove a point. “forgive me for not being used to smoking weed, unlike you, you addict,” he mutters through an exhale of smoke. you actually guffaw at his snippy little reply, for once in shock of something he has to say. “me? an addict? weed is probably the most harmless drug like—ever, whereas you, keep a keychain of literal cocaine on you almost at all times.”

he hates that he happens to have exactly what you just said on his person in this very moment. he tucks it away into his pocket and huffs. “i just do it socially, you’re probably up here all the time smoking alone like a loser by the window,” he has an infuriating self satisfied smirk when he speaks to you and you laugh sardonically, nodding along.

“well,” you say, taking in a hit, and letting it gently fan over his face when you exhale. “no one’s forcing you to engage in something apparently so below you,” you motion towards the door with a lazy jab of your head. “doors that way if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

he remains unfaltered in your cloud of smoke, letting it envelope him. he breathes it in, leaning against the windowsill. “do you want me to leave?”

“i always do.” you don’t miss a beat, a look that tells him you don’t really mean it is thinly covered with a fake smile, eliciting a chuckle through pursed lips from him. “i don’t believe you.” he murmurs when he inches back toward you, plucking the joint from your fingers. he takes another hit, it’s smoother, he’s more in control of it, and something flutters inside you seeing the way he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke out the window.

“you’re insufferable,” you say hushedly, gently, and he chuckles quietly, handing you the joint. “and yet you keep me around anyway.”

“not by choice.”

—

as the night rages on, the joint you both share dwindles down into a dull roach, and you crush the bud into your porcelain ashtray, tucking it away and beneath your nightstand.

your legs feel a little wobbly, your body has significantly loosened up and your center of gravity feels a bit off, but you feel good, and it seems farleigh feels the same. his eyes are low and hooded, they look a little red — it’s cute, kind of endearing too but you keep that to yourself like a bashful secret. his face and overall demeanor seems to be relaxed as well, a lot more loosened up than he was just an hour prior.

you smile at him, and there’s nothing hidden under the action, there’s no cover up for anything. you’re just happy to be with him in a moment like this. and he returns it to you, full sentiment and all, filling you with a sense of contentment. “feel nice?” you ask breathily, collapsing onto your bed. he joins you, plopping down beside you when he replies. “mmhm. i like it,” he says, and his voice sounds a bit rougher from the smoke, his words laying on the edge of a rasp.

you shuffle around to lay on your side, your palm supporting the weight of your head, settling into a comfortable position. he copies your actions, switching around on his side to properly face you. he looks beautiful with the way the moon creeps in through your parted window, the pale light complements the highlights in his curls and makes them look golden; he looks golden. but when your eyes fall on the red kiss on his jaw, everything turns back to copper.

“who gave you this?” you question him quietly, sadly. like it physically hurts you to ask him. your fingers hover just above the lipstick stain, unable to get yourself to touch it. in your induced state you’ve convinced yourself that if you were to ever touch farleigh’s face, it won’t be in the spot someone else tarnished with their own touch first.

“why?” he answers your question with another question and you huff under your breath, your filter too worn out from the weed to hide your frustration behind a poker face. “why can’t i ask?” you push a little further and he snickers lazily. “why do you wanna know?” he counters and you roll your heavy eyes, letting yourself fall onto your back once more.

he scoots closer to you, angling his neck to look downward at you, and he pouts with faux concern. “you jealous?” he asks, perking up and leaning towards you with a beaming smirk. you scoff, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turn to look away. the proximity of your faces is too much to bear, but not for him, his index and thumb guide you right back by your chin to face him. he keeps your gaze on him in place, his wide palm cupping your cheek. your skin tingles under the coldness from his rings.

“tell me which one it is,” he says through a hushed exhale, leaning on his elbow, his eyes still angled down at you, his lips in an unintentional pout. “are you jealous of me, because why wouldn’t you be,” he hums on an airy note, drawn out and easy. his gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. “or of whoever left it?” your mouth goes even dryer than you thought it could, and you’re unsure of what to say, what to think, and between the lack of space between both of your lips and the questions he’s asking, you’re left frazzled. scrambling for something, anything to say.

you’re not sure how to reply, you’re shocked he even asked that to begin with, and now it’s your turn to visibly falter in front of him. he looks at you expectantly, and a little part of him feels he’s won some mini challenge in your ongoing battle to embarrass the other. but there’s a different type of smugness in his small victory, perhaps a confirmation on something he’d been wondering about for awhile.

“i’m not jealous of either of you,” your voice falls upon a faint breath and his brows push together, nodding patronizingly. “oh i’m sure.” he pushes a little harder on your buttons, waiting for when you finally do something about it.

“why would i be jealous of someone who gets with just anybody?” you add, sitting up on your elbows, unintentionally leaning in closer, engaging him in the push and pull. he follows your flow in motion, inching in closer, just a little, keeping the space between you both minimal. he laughs softly from the center of his belly, flicking a brow up. “versus what? someone who doesn’t get with anyone? sounds boring.” he adds, tilting his head, your noses brushing against each other’s. “boring is better than whatever you bring back home at night.” his chuckle falls across your lips at your response, and you find yourself parting your lips to breathe him in.

“are you admitting to having a non-existent sex life? i’d say i’m shocked but i’m not,” he replies, his voice at the end of a whisper, a hazy, knowing smile rising in the corner of his lips. you take in a deep breath, smoothing out the duvet beneath your palms as you reply without a second thought to what you’re confessing to. “i’d rather get none than contract every std ever by fucking everyone who roams the halls at oxford,”

farleigh laughs initially, taking your playful jab before he pauses and looks at you a bit more seriously. a little too serious for your liking. it makes you burn up and inwardly panic. did you say something wrong? go too far?

“but you’ve had sex before…right?” he asks to clarify, sitting up a little straighter now. the burning sensation in your cheeks only heightens now. “um,” you’re once again left wondering how to reply but your pause acts as his answer alone. he sits all the way up now and you groan when you begin to hear the gears in his head shifting.

he says your name like he’s awestruck and you grab a pillow, pretending to suffocate yourself with it. he tosses it off of you and pulls you up to look at him. “you’ve really never…done it?” he asks again, unbelieving to this revelation. normally he’d find this to be a pot of gold chock full of new material to use against you but right now he’s in too much disbelief to act on any of this.

“no,” you huff, avoiding his stare. “why not?” he asks, lowering his voice in a softer tone this time. “dunno,” you shrug. “no one really caught my eye enough for me to wanna do it, and then you know college rolled around and i was just too busy for it.”

he half scoffs half laughs but it all stems from shock. “it’s impossible to be too busy for sex,” he opposes and you laugh dryly. “yeah for you, but i actually care about my grades,” he shakes his head, shooing any topic of academics away. “yeah yeah whatever,” he waves you off, as if he’s clearing the air for his next round of questions. “you’ve at least kissed someone right—“ you’re shutting him up with a pillow thrown against his chest and he laughs, pushing it out of the way. ”of course i have farleigh, don’t be stupid,” you laugh, embarrassment still blooming in the depths of your chest.

“i had to check!” he says defensively and your embarrassment grows when you realize he really was genuinely asking, meaning it’s believable that no one’s ever kissed you.

god.

you bury your face in the pillow that acted as your weapon just seconds ago, unable to face him.

his laughter rings pleasantly in your ears, his hands prying you away from the pillow, wanting to see you. “have you done…anything at all?” he asks, like it’s sensitive information he’s pulling from you, he’s gentler when he questions you, easing you into the topic. you nod, biting on your thumbnail as you recollect your sparse experiences.

“tell me about them,” he says, leaning back on both elbows, still turned to face you. you rest on your stomach, your forearms supporting your weight, situating yourself to share your run ins with fleeting intimacy. “well, it was freshman year back at oxford, some guy i think his name was theo—“

“theo wright?”

“uh yeah i think so—“

“well there’s your first mistake.” he says matter of factly, his words dying down towards the end when he sees your irritated expression.

“can i finish please?” you glare and he laughs, nodding. “is what you probably asked him right?” you stifle the laugh that almost slips out, opting to narrow your eyes at him annoyedly instead. “shush.” you huff.

“anyways, i dunno i think it was at some dumb welcoming freshman’s party and we went upstairs and we kissed in some guy’s bed and he rubbed my inner thigh for like 5 minutes, completely under the impression he was touching my clit.” you can barely make it through the description of your time with theo without farleigh doubling over and laughing, nudging your arm with his head.

“oh my god that’s good,” he exhales at the end of his laughter, pretending to wipe a tear from the corners of his eyes. “you poor thing,” he sighs, patting your cheek. “and did you say anything? like…correct him maybe?” and you shake your head dejectedly. “no. i had to pretend to cum so he would stop.” you admit, the regret from that night pinging through you.

farleigh coos at you apologetically, “poor baby,” he hums, patting your cheek, his ringed pinky casting away an imaginary strand of hair, finding any excuse there is to be near you, to touch you. you melt under his touch, fighting the urge to lean into it. “that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a hook up?” he asks, fully focused on you, making you a bit nervous from all his attention being directed at you. there’s no audience to perform your shared act for, it’s just you and him, and you think you like this change of pace.

you shake your head, laying back against the headboard, resting your legs across farleigh’s, to which he welcomes without hesitation, throwing an arm over them casually.

“i had one more. it was with noa…” you trail off, a bit shyer expressing this particular experience. farleigh however is nowhere near shy, the word is nowhere near his vocabulary, instead his interest has been piqued and it’s visible in the way his ears just about perk. “wait, girl noa or boy noah—uh keaton or deacon?”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the muffled thrum of music fill the air before you speak again. “keaton.”

he laughs, shocked but impressed, his tongue poking the hollow curve of his cheek as he nods. “noa keaton, interesting...” he repeats back, mostly to himself, somewhat in awe.

“don’t be weird about it,” you groan and he shakes his head, rubbing your calf comfortingly. “no no i’m not i just wasn’t expecting that. good for you though,” he winks at you and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah. anyways she um…she fingered me in the library,” a fluttery feeling lines your stomach at the memory and farleigh catches onto your pauses, noticing a more positive physical reaction when you mention her. “yeah? was it good?” he asks lowly, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and you nod, leaning your head against the cold wooden headboard. “it was—thankfully; she actually knew what to do, you know?” he nods, chuckling. “makes sense. did you get to finish that time?” he asks as if he’s actually concerned, and the way his hand keeps running up and down your legs makes you feel as if he just might be.

you’re not used to discussing such topics with farleigh, it’s unfamiliar and his bluntness and shamelessness in being open with how curious he is as to whether or not someone has made you cum is catching you off guard, but most concerningly, it’s making you ache. “no,” you finally answer, sighing sadly. “almost did. but we also almost got caught and then you know, she dropped out. haven’t heard from her since.”

you expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. he takes a moment of silence and it acts as yet another surprise tonight; farleigh is capable of being quiet.

“so you haven’t had any experiences worth writing home about then, huh?” he verges on a whisper, his voice cradling the sides of your face, guiding your eyes back to his. you nod and he hums in tune to something similar of patronizing. “let alone any real ones,” he adds, his thumb swirling over your knee. you shrug lightly, anxiously fiddling with the ruffles at the skirt of your dress.

“do you want one?” he asks, his eyes keeping you still in place and you gasp silently, swallowing thickly. “want what?” you manage to reply, your nerves blanketing over you. “a good experience.”

you stare at him for a second, unsure if he’s really just said what he said, but in the case that he did, you nod like you’ve been entranced by a siren song. with the way that farleigh speaks to you while maintaining eye contact, the way his hand tempts you alone with a few gentle touches upon your leg, you might as well have been.

he smiles at your agreement, sliding his hand down to your ankle and tugging you towards him. you gasp, yelping with low volume as you slide down your bed. he pulls you in close, climbing further into your bed until he’s on top of you.

his hooded eyes peer down at you, drinking you all in, so beautiful and pliable beneath him. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running along it and smearing your lipstick across your chin. he dips between your lips, smirking to himself when you kiss the pad of it.

he pulls away leaning downward until his nose nudges yours. “tell me i can kiss you,” he tells you, his words fanning out against your lips, and you nearly moan from the proximity itself. “i want you to kiss me.” you whisper back and you sweat you see a smile on his lips before they’re on yours.

you moan with relief, embarrassingly desperate to have farleigh on you. you’re chest to chest, lips interlocked with his cock pressed up against your clothed crotch, grinding lightly. he groans in your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip as if it were secreting nectar. he’s starved from the weed consumption, and all those months of this incessant back and forth you two shared is all coming back full force, and you can feel it in how hard he kisses you and the hunger that lies underneath it all.

his hand travels from the back of your knee, gliding over your leg and up your thigh, squeezing your hip when his hand finds purchase there. he ruts into you in waves, breaking apart from your lips, much to your dismay, to kiss and nip at your neck, rinsing you of the disappointment from the momentary lack of closeness.

“farleigh,” you breath out, your knees locking him in on either side of his hips, pushing up to meet his grinding motions. “what baby?” he mumbles, raspy and heavy and it makes your clit throb. “feels s’good,” you sigh lazily, arching your back into his chest. he chuckles, his ego rising with every little moan you give him.

“better than what theo did?” he asks, pushing his bulge right up against your clit, and you whimper, nodding stupidly. his signet ring tickles you through your thin panty hose when he inches closer between your thighs. your breath stops in the middle of your throat as he nears your cunt. “can i touch?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. you moan under your breath, nodding. “please?” you beg, heavy eyes of yours gazing at him from beneath your eyelashes, lips pouted desperately.

he doesn’t make you ask again, he’ll save that for another endeavor he hopes you two will indulge in again. for now he’ll give you what you want without making you work for it. at least, too hard.

he rubs you through your panty hose, sucking in a sharp breath. “fuckin’ soaked through baby,” he groans, kissing you hard.

the wind in your lungs has abandoned you, the air in the room playing cat and mouse with you amid your struggle to keep up. farleigh’s touches making the feat all the more increasingly difficult. he sends you one last kiss on your lips, sponging one to your chin, then down your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

“can i take this off?” he murmurs, his chin just beneath your sternum, fingers toying with the laces of your corset. you rest on your elbows, looking down at him, the way he peers up at you alone could convince you to commit the most heinous crimes. you nod, reaching down to untie them, but he’s quick to stop you. “let me do it,” he says, grasping your wrists. you swallow thickly, glancing at how his large hand easily holds both your wrists with ease.

he takes his time unlacing your corset, wanting to savor this juncture in time. he’s slower than you thought he’d be, treating you like a ribbon wrapped present, if he’s too rough it may all fall apart and honestly you just might if he doesn’t move any faster.

“farleigh,” you whine, sitting back up. “hurry up or it stays on,” you nearly growl and he laughs, tugging everything undone with a harsh tug, opening your corset and baring your breasts. you gasp, instinctively covering yourself. he shakes his head, tsking you when he pulls your arms away. “thought you wanted me to hurry up?” he bites back just a little, playfully, and you glare at him. he doesn’t care, he’s already lowering himself back between your thighs, holding you by your calves to spread you open.

he grips your calf, the other squeezing your thigh, using them to keep you wide open for him. his hands are warm and firm around your flesh, and his tongue is wet and hot against your clothed cunt.

the small act alone propels you into hedonism, reminding you of how good pleasure can be, how all consuming it is, and in this moment it feels as though farleigh is the only one who can provide any relief for the burning engine grinding in the pit of your stomach, aching to be satiated.

“farleigh,” you whine, throwing your head back when he mouths at your cunt, his tongue burns through your thin layers but it’s not enough, you want his tongue to brand itself right up against your clit.

your desires and needs are caught through your drawn out breaths, tugging at the air in jagged gasps. he reads through all your little sounds, and without any coherent words needed, he digs a nail into your pale pantyhose, ripping them in the crotch and pushing your panties to the side, burying his tongue right where you need it to be, searing your soaked flesh with every broad flick of the wet muscle.

you gasp almost like it hurts, but it’s quite the opposite. he laps you up and devours your cunt like he’s trying to reach your heart, grappling around your legs and gripping your hips to keep you in place, starved for something sweet. his eyes that have held you inside silent conversations amidst a gathering of people are now shut, tucked away behind his eyelids and long lashes, too focused on the way you taste and how he can’t seem to get enough of you.

he’s never been this hungry before, and maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s the simple fact he’s fantasized about this more often than he’d like to admit. on more than just a singular off handed occasion, his hand has slipped beneath his boxers, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted, almost begrudgingly to the act itself.

but he always gives in.

the fantasy is always the same, it’s prompted by whatever stupid argument you two found yourselves in, and he shuts you up with his mouth latched onto your cunt, erasing any quips or snarkiness left in you and replacing them with the sounds of you struggling to barely even moan his name. and now that it’s real, he can’t just stop now, he wants to prolong this moment for as long as he can.

his nose swipes across your clit, pulling a drawn out moan from the depths of your chest, and you shudder, trying to find something to hold onto for security, but farleigh’s a step ahead of you, eagerly offering his hands for you to take. you do so, desperately, lacing your fingers together and whimpering when he takes in a dull quick breath before pouring himself into your cunt, flicking his tongue right there, and moaning to himself at the way you just melt into him.

you roll your hips into his mouth sporadically, with no real rhythm, your body reacting with violent jerks as if his tongue were electric, and he takes it all in stride, squeezing your hands lovingly.

and when he sucks on your clit, it’s too much, you can’t take it, it pulls you into a state of thick molasses, gleaming and aureate, only to settle into the center of your stomach, pushing inward and arching you forward into pure ember, sizzling through you until it reaches your fingertips.

you can hardly hear or feel yourself breathe, everything’s buzzing and muffled, honey coats your skin and encases you in its sweetness.

you can’t help the twitching in your hips and lower stomach, whimpering in pleasured agony when you come back to earth and feel farleigh’s mouth still on you, moaning to himself and toying with your clit between his lips.

you’re untangling your fingers, and he grunts when you try to squirm away from his mouth, but he’s not having it, gently smacking your hipbone, silently chastising you.

you whine, taking in hefty gasps, it’s starting to hurt but in a way you can’t say is bad. it’s just so overwhelming, it makes you burn from the inside out and you can’t stop the thin stream of tears that escape from your heavy eyes. your bare breasts heave in the thick air, your mouth is parted with a choppy flow of pleadings with farleigh.

he slowly relents, planting one last firm kiss against your clit, peppering smaller ones across your hips and lower tummy, making his way back up to you. “hi,” he smiles as if he wasn’t just tongue deep inside your cunt. he swipes away the streaks of mascara tinted tears from your eyes, laughing breathily at the sight of your lack of coherence. “hi,” you exhale, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. his eyes shut when he leans into you, taking your lips in his. the taste of you is heavy on his tongue, heat fanning across your cheeks when you realize that bittersweet taste in his mouth is you.

your hand rests on his chest, slowly slipping lower and lower until you reach his bulge, palming him with fervor but maintaining some form of sensuality, albeit fueled with a sense of rushed desperation. you break apart from his lips and his head tilts forward, chasing after your kiss. you sponge a kiss against the corner of his lips, angling a downcast tilt towards his cock, mouth agape and eager to take him in. but he’s holding your jaw, stopping you and bringing you back to meet his gaze.

your eyebrows knit together with almost a betrayed curiosity. “why not?” you ask, almost naively, and he shakes his head, his thumb gently swiping across your bottom lip. “you don’t have to do that baby,” he promises, and it only increases your desire to take him in your mouth when you can practically hear all the inhales and exhales of smoke he took prior, how it leaves a rich rasp in his voice.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to,” you just about cross your heart for him to emphasize the genuine ache to suck him off, already feeling that familiar throng of tingles set off again between your thighs.

“another time, it’ll be too much for you right now,” he unintentionally sounds patronizing and it rubs you the wrong way. you let out something that’s a more annoyed version of a scoff, folding your arms. “i can handle it farleigh, if you think i’ll be bad just be honest and don’t hide behind fake reasons.” a cloud of insecurity beginning to muddle your mind.

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips betrays his act of annoyance. “you and your pride,” he mutters under his breath, a veil of adoration lacing through it.

“don’t be a brat,” he murmurs with a luster of playfulness, “i just don’t want to overwhelm you with too much too soon,”

you frown, moving away strands of hair from his face, sighing. “is this okay then? too much?” you whisper hotly in his ear, leaning up into him. you reach beneath his dress pants and boxers, wrapping your hand around the thickness of him and hiding your surprise at how big he feels in your palm, and how you can barely wrap around him with your fingers.

he falters above you, groaning in the crook of your neck with whimpers of please. you take this opportunity to guide him a little further on his side, lightly pushing him onto his back. you tuck yourself into his side, his arm pulling you in and holding you close. you shove his pants down just enough to fully free his cock. arousal thrums all along your cunt once he’s freed from his pants. a twinge of gratefulness is in your gaze when you look back at farleigh’s low eyes. taking him down your throat admittedly would’ve been a difficult feat and you’re relieved he stopped you from doing so.

however you won’t admit to that, instead you wrap your hand around him, dragging your thumb around his tip, giggling when he winces with pleasure, curling into you.

you rest your chin on the top of his head, whimpering above him when he takes one of your nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around them as you jerk him off.

“fuck,” he bucks his hips into the warm curl of your palm, running his fingers across your ribs, tugging you in closer towards him. he moans your name like its a saving grace into the valley of your breasts, inhaling your sweet perfume deeply. “does that feel good?” you ask softly, genuinely, and he groans, nodding.

“j-just, squeeze me right there,” he swallows hard, wrapping his large hand around yours when you travel a little further up his cock. you nod attentively, taking note of everything he likes. “tell me what else makes you feel good,” you murmur through kisses, planting them across his cheekbone. he fucking whimpers into your dampening flesh and your clit throbs at the sound.

“i like when you touch me right here,” he admits breathlessly, guiding your thumb to his tip. you nod, taking longer strokes, tightening your slickened grip and glazing over his sensitive tip.

“just like that, fuck,” he groans, panting heavily at the rhythm you’ve developed together. “you’re so cute like this,” you giggle lightly in his ear, teeth grazing his ear teasingly. you pump your wrist a little faster, feeling cocky at the way he falls apart in your hold, completely and utterly at your mercy.

he can’t help the way he tries to fuck your hand, grinding his hips desperately, neck bared for you when he throws his head back. you slide your arm a little further underneath his neck, cradling him close to your side, using your free hand to scratch at his scalp. his hips jerk and he moans, leaning into your gentle touches.

your eyes fall onto the wretched kiss stain on his skin once again, clenching your jaw. you smear it off of him, the flare up of jealousy sanctioning something in you to start dragging your wrist up and down a little faster, squeezing him a little tighter. pride rises within you when you see how receptive he is to it, trembling in the confines of beneath your wings.

you kiss the top of his head as he defaults right back into the sanctuary of your chest. his stubble tickles your skin, and you grow fond of the sensation. your poor hole clenches around nothing when your eyes peer down to see his cock weep in your hand, precum leaking and dribbling down your knuckles, agonizing over the same desire you possess.

the wet sound eliciting from your hand and his cock is stirs a familiar buzz in your clit and you wonder what the tip of his cock would feel like rubbing against your clit. skin to skin. with each drag of your hand over him, you start to feel the ache settle back inside you, wishing your hand was your cunt taking him in. feeling each vein you feel right now but inside you, feeling his fat tip prod and hit right where your fingers could never reach. your fantasizing shows through the way you continue to jerk him off, growing hungrier and hungrier with each stroke.

“baby,” he groans into the thick air, as he lays helplessly beside you. “i wanna see you cum,” you whisper in his ear, unintentionally cushioning his face with your breasts and the act alone almost has him cumming in your hand.

he grips your lower back, burying his face in your chest, his body going rigid and firm, his cock twitching in your hold. “shit i think i’m— fuck baby tell me i can cum,” he begs, pressing needy kisses across your chest. you nod, pulling at the back of his curls forcing him to look at you. “you can cum for me farleigh,” you pour your words out to him like a rich wine and it’s all he needs to let go.

he can’t stop his eyes from falling shut in a tight pinch. his body locks up, his mouth parts open to pant in the air, his neck still displayed for your teeth to sink into, hips sporadically fucking into your pumping wrist.

you quickly release him, ducking down to wrap your lips around his cock head. you hold back the smile that threatens to pluck the corner of your lips upward when he gasps loudly and whines your name with a pure churning ache.

you shut your eyes when he cums on your tongue, pleasantly surprised at the taste. he cums more than you would’ve expected but you take it all, eager to please him.

you gently lap at his tip, pushing your forearm on his stomach when he convulses from the sensitivity. “f-fuck, baby,” he breathes out, pulling you back up to him. he brings you down to his lips, guiding you onto your back when he kisses you.

it’s his turn to taste himself on your tongue and the thought of his cum gracing your mouth has his softening cock giving one last twitch. his hands run up and down your sides, savoring your skin and praying his hands and fingers memorize each curve and indent. “you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips. you peck him, feeling warm. “i know.” he smiles, pecking you back.

he collapses beside you, straightening out the charm from your necklace back to the center of your collarbones and despite everything that transpired between you two, the small action still makes you feel flushed.

“would it be okay if i slept with you in your bed tonight?” he asks quietly, anxiously. you nod, turning to look at him with a delicate smile that tells him you’re more than happy to have him stay with you. “i’d be upset if you didn’t.”

relief floods him, in return allowing him to abide by his instincts to scoot closer towards you. he curls into your side completely, long limbs overtaking you and intertwining you two until you feel like you’re one.

“night.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, unsure if he’s still allowed to plant a kiss there. you’re too sleepy to notice, content enough with being in his arms. “goodnight,” you repeat back softly, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

Text

after hours

boss!anakin x secretary!reader

synopsis: since you slept together, anakin, your boss, has been acting pretty much normal around you. on occasion he flirts with you and leaves you little gifts. but you start to question if he sees you as little more than an office plaything.

w.c: 1.2k

highlights: {minors dni} requested anonymously, sexual content and themes, power imbalance, infidelity mentioned, explicit language, brief mentions of domestic abuse

Every single shift after you made the terrible decision of sleeping with your boss, you find a purple rose on your desk. And you have collected enough to make a bouquet which stands in a tall glass right beside your computer. Neither of you have had much time to talk about what happened afterwards. He’s been caught up in his work, and you’ve been caught up in managing his life and coffee orders.

Every time he passes your desk to get to his own office, he flashes his smile and gives you a little wink, letting you know that he hasn’t forgotten what happened. But you don’t know why he seems uninterested in talking about it. You’re too afraid to bring it up to him because… well, he’s your boss. And you’re not exactly sure of where you stand with him anymore. The dynamics of your professional relationship is just as fucked up as you had been on your desk only last week.

God, it’s embarrassing to remember how many documents were destroyed in the hurricane that had been desperate sex with Anakin. You wonder how long it had been since he’d fucked because he acted as though he was deprived. Considering his tumultuous relationship with his beauty queen wife, it all added up though. He needed a release. And you held your legs wide open for him.

It wouldn’t surprise you if he sees you only as a quick fuck, an office plaything to entertain himself with when his wife is upset. Each time you imagine that likely reality you chip off a piece of your self-image.

When he walks through past your desk this morning to begin the day, Anakin stops at the entrance to his office and turns to you. “Mind staying late today?”

You narrow your eyes at him slightly. “Why?”

He freezes for a moment as if he didn’t expect you to question his authority. “Well…” he crosses his arms, “Work stuff.”

You give him a sigh. Something is up. You can tell by the mischievous grin he wears as he looks at you. “I promised I’d meet my friends for drinks later.”

He opens his door a little wider to reveal his liquor cabinet. “I’ll make you one.”

“Are you asking me to have a drink with you?”

He gives you a shy smile and closes the door behind him. He knows you won’t chase after him. You’re too afraid to stand up to him. The dynamics have shifted even further in his favor now that you’ve slept with him.

You hit your hands against your face. You stupid, stupid girl!

Most people had left by five o’clock. The forty-floored skyscraper is a ghost town. As you wait at your desk for your boss to finish up, you swear you can hear yourself think. You nearly scream when he opens the door because you were lost in your thoughts completely. He waves you in, and he’s holding a red drink in his hand.

That’s your drink. A cosmopolitan. How’d he know that?

He hands it to you as you walk in. It’s love at the first sip. Apparently, the famous CEO is also a cocktail expert.

“How is it?” he asks.

You sip slowly, pacing yourself. “Good. Thank you.”

Anakin offers you his office chair, burgundy, shiny faux-leather, and rolls across the floor as if it’s ice. As heat rushes to your cheeks, you accept his kindness and sit, crossing your legs daintily.

He steps over to his personal bar and pours himself a glass of wine. He swirls it around in his glass a couple times before taking a big sip. Then he turns to you again.

“So,” he mutters.

You smile. “What work stuff did you wanna go over.”

Anakin stands in front of you as if to purposefully occupy your entire view. He takes another sip before finally answering.

“Fine. You’ve got me. Not work stuff.”

You mask your surprised expression by sipping on your own drink. Honestly, you don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s stupid, but you don’t want to assume it’s to talk about your intimate encounter though you wouldn’t mind trying it again. You’ve started wearing matching lingerie every day to work.

“I was hoping…” he hangs his head as he grabs your hand, “we wouldn’t be a one-time thing.”

“What are you asking for, Anakin? Sex?”

With a grin on his lips, he glances up at you again. “You. That’s what I want.”

You set your glass on his desk with a white clink echoing through. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he repeats. “All to myself.”

“You know, I could have a boyfriend,” you say standing up, facing him.

“Well… I hope he doesn’t mind that you’re going to be working overtime…” he pauses and sets his drink beside your glass, “almost every night.”

Of course, his arrogance shouldn’t turn you on like it does, the presumptuousness of his assumption that you’ll be spending every night with him. But it works on you. His unbreakable confidence in everything he does amazes you, and you fall harder somehow. You throw your arms around his neck, and he leans your body back, his hands cupping your ass, and he kisses your deeply. His lips taste of sweet wine and the cigars he smokes sometimes. You chase his tongue into his mouth. And he likes it.

His hands start to lift the edges of your pencil skirt, seeking you. You push back to stop him. You want to take this slowly. Not like last time. Last time was messy and fast. You were swept away by the most animalistic passions.

This time you want to savor him. Savor his touch, the way he feels against your skin, the taste of his body, and the scent of his cologne.

You start with his tie, pulling it down from the back of his neck. It’s blue silk a little darker than his eyes. You unbutton his white dress shirt, slowly revealing the skin beneath decorated by curly hair. Against your fingers, it’s downy soft. You nuzzle his chest with your nose and with your mouth and with your tongue.

He rolls his shirt off and it falls behind him to the floor. Next, you deftly tackle his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it through the loops. The metal clatters on the hard floor, but you don’t stop.

In your last encounter, all he managed was to rip your panties off and unzip his fly. He could hardly wait to get inside you. And it had been a tight fight, even with his attempts to ready your body.

This time you fully undress each other and fully embrace your natural states during this intimate meeting. Anakin admires your body, rubbing his hands up and down the sides of your hips, savoring your breasts.

You like this softer side to him. The life he lives has hardened him. You have to be cutthroat to survive. And you know he’s done things he’s not proud of.

But you know his heart. And right now, his heart is for you.

He’s looking down at you in the same way he used to towards his wife. All you can hope for is that his feelings for you will last.

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kooktrash · 10 months

Text

his special secret II | kim taehyung

summary: getting into a relationship with your professor was never in your agenda. you knew it was wrong on some level but it was hard to think of that when he made you feel so good. now it’s been some time since you got together and the secrets are slowly unraveling but who says it’s all bad?

➢ genre/au: college art professor!tae x art student!y/n [she/her… afab] [age gap 9 years]

➢ 13.5k words

warnings: smüt. secret relationship. tae is 30, y/n is 21. oral [f]. make out. groping. tae is divorced. both got cheated on in past. jealous tae. dirty talk. makeout in art closet. y/n is confident but going thru it. professor x student. missionary. tae’s ex finds out and she’s a bitch. y/n is kinda closed off but works on opening up to him. tae thinks everything y/n does is cute. changed it so Namjoon is the ex. fluff ending

THIS IS THE FINAL PART. read part one

You felt utterly ridiculous. You know you agreed to dress as a bunny tonight but clearly you didn’t think things through.

One, it’s kind of cold. You’re at a house party but with everyone going in and out, windows open, ie, you’re cold. The costume was an extremely vague definition of a bunny costume. You were dressed in mostly black, a simple black mini skirt with faux black fur on the hem, a black top, back bunny ears and tail. You even had gloves that turned to mittens if you flipped them up and it made them look like paws. You just weren’t dressed warmly.

Two, you’ve been hit on a lot more than usual. It’s probably the fact that everyone’s drunk at this point and you’re wearing very little clothes. Usually you would play along, never giving in, but you know… playing nice. If the conversation went well then you would get more involved but tonight you couldn’t do that. No, you won’t do that. You and Taehyung… you’re dating but also not? It’s a very tricky situation yet it also made perfect sense. It’s lowkey, the lowest of lows but that didn’t mean you could flirt with people right? That’s why you’re slightly uncomfortable being hit on tonight—probably because of this stupid bunny costume.

“We look so fucking stupid,” you groaned as you chuffed back your drink fully in hopes of getting drunk enough that you won’t think about it.

“It’s all Jungkook’s fault.”

“Woah! I thought this was a classy party so let’s not point fingers now,” Jungkook said in pink bunny ears because he thought it would be so funny dressing like a bunny. In reality he had no costume and Bora was between choosing pink or white and when she decided on white Jungkook was stuck with the pink. He begged you to trade but you had an entire outfit already so you weren’t going to now.

His hands were up in surrender,

“Jungkook, it’s your fault. We were only supposed to be bunnies, you could’ve done literally anything else,” Bora said, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

“That would’ve looked so stupid Bora, are you dumb? Three bunnies at least makes it look like we planned this all ahead for pictures — which we need to take soon,” Jungkook said pointing at you two.

“Whatever you want to do, let's do it now because I’m not staying long,” you said as you typed away on your phone. You have been talking to Taehyung for a while through text and he will be coming for you soon.

“Why?” Bora asked as she twirled a piece of your hair between her fingers casually throwing in a compliment about how nice it looked.

“I’ve got work tomorrow and I have assignments to do,” you said as you locked your phone and put it down.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “It’s late as hell, you’re not gonna do assignments.”

You looked back at him with a poker face, “I have to try.”

“Y/n, you bullshitting me?” He asked with an amused expression.

“Probably.”

“Are you seeing someone?” He asked skeptically. All the signs are there, he's just trying not to jump to conclusions.

“I already told you no,” you rolled your eyes.

“Wait, why do you think Y/n is seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” Bora asked, looking between you two confused.

“No, I’m not,” you said to her plainly.

“You’re a liar with pants on fire,” Jungkook said with a scoff. He really just wants to know, he has an idea on who with but he can’t just say it.

“I’m not wearing pants,” you said and he was so close to choking you out because why are you being so condescending?

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it before but I don’t get it, I know it’s probably some history joke but it just doesn’t make sense, right?” You said with a little laugh making him nod his head in agreement.

“Wait. Stop changing the subject. Who are you seeing?” He said.

You laughed, “No one.”

“Y/n.”

“Jungkook.” You repeated in the same tone he used with you.

“Bora.”

“Bora shut up,” you and Jungkook said at the same time.

“Sorry that I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Bora said with a scoff. As much as you loved Borea, she was the slowest of you three and never caught onto things as quickly. You’re not surprised that Jungkook suspected this since he brought it up the other day but you wanna see how long you can deny it.

“Go somewhere else then for a couple minutes,” Jungkook said pointing at a random corner of the party trying to direct her over there.

“You guys suck,” she said, flipping you off.

“Love you Bora,” you said with a wave as she walked away.

“Liar.”

“Why don’t you just admit you’re dating someone?” Jungkook asked and this time you couldn’t take the annoyance that was brewing.

“Jungkook, why are you pushing it? What does it matter?” You asked running your fingers through your hair to move it out of your face.

“Because I have my suspicions and if I’m right I want to at least make sure you’re okay,” he said and he was being honest. The last guy you dated cheated on you and the one before that was a manipulator so he feels like as a close friend of yours he has a right to make sure you’re not seeing another asshole.

“What are your suspicions?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re dating someone from campus.”

“Dating but in the loosest of term,” you said.

He rolled his eyes, “Alright seeing, you’re seeing someone on campus.”

“Okay sure.”

“But not a student,” he said, waiting to see if you’d react but you didn’t so much as blink.

You huffed in annoyance, “Stop speaking in incomplete sentences and just spit it out if you know.”

“Your professor.”

Your jaw dropped, “You did not just say that.”

Okay, you knew he thought you were seeing someone but there’s no way you two were obvious enough for Jungkook to notice. What a hypocrite you were as if you didn’t just tell him to spit it out.

“I did,” he said with a triumphant smirk now that he got an actual reaction out of you. You fought like little kids but it might be because you’re both just a teensy bit drunk.

“Jungkook, I'm not seeing my—him, and don’t say that again, someone might hear,” you whispered the last part.

“Alright, first of all you told me to spit it out, second don’t deny it, Y/n,” he said, making you roll your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Deny. Deny. Deny.

“Girl, I just know. Bora’s been joking nonstop about it and I think you really did sleep with him at least. You’ve been ditching us more — which is normal… but I’m just saying, you won’t even tell us who it is. You’re being so secretive about it and it makes me think it’s him. Plus, any time I’m walking past the art room or walking you there I always see the way he looks at you. And what do you do? Well you get all blushy but nervous and guess what I found the other day? A big fat hickey on his neck the same day he got mad I was in the room,” Jungkook with w gasp at the end from how fast he rushed everything out.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve been holding all of that in?” You asked with a little laugh.

“Yes! I have, so I’m literally begging you Y/n just tell me I’m right,” Jungkook said.

“Fine! You’re right, I’m sleeping with him,” you groaned but he just cheered.

“Oh thank god,” he said, holding a hand to his chest, “You got a few screws loose or something?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so fucked.”

You didn’t argue on that as you released a sigh, “Yeah, I know.”

“So is he gonna come pick you up?” Jungkook asked now and you nodded your head as you checked your messages where Tae texted that he would be here in five minutes. He raised a hand to your black bunny ears and flicked the headband back, “Be safe.”

You smiled as he left your side, that was your best friend’s way of saying he would support you and your decisions. When Taehyung arrived shortly after you left the apartment door hugging your sides feeling a lot more naked now than you did inside the party.

Outside the building a guy dressed in an oversized gray hoodie, black ball cap, and black sweats stood at the door waiting and he turned to look at you, you smiled. You looked behind you as if you would see someone you knew coming down the stairs and when it was clear you practically ran to him.

Taehyung released a soft laugh as you nearly jumped on him looking exactly like you were supposed to, a cute bunny overly excited to see him. Why did you make him smile so much when it’s just the two of you?

“I’m cold,” you said with a pout as you hugged his waist, “I forgot my jacket at Jungkook’s place.”

“Mm,” he hummed, his thumb caressing your cheek softly as he couldn’t stop himself placing at least one kiss on your lips. It was short and sweet and he was quickly pulling away to take off his hat first. His hair was beginning to get longer and the fluff and waved made it look shaggier than usual. Usually you always see him looking all sexy and professional in class but whenever you get to see him looking like the epitome of boyfriend material, your heart flutters. His long hair shielded his face as he dipped his head down to pull off his big hoodie and handed it to you before slipping his hat back on.

Once it was on he took you by your hand and walked the short distance to where he had the car parked and asked, “Did you have fun?”

“It was alright but too many people,” you said, thanking him for holding the car door open for you. Before you fully got in the car you gave him a quick kiss that had him smiling.

The two of you sat in the car for a moment, the car was on and the overhead lights were on and he just grabbed your hand to press a kiss to your knuckle, “You’re coming over, right?”

“Obviously,” you smiled as you leaned over the console for another kiss. It’s like you just couldn’t keep your hands off each other, he was kissing you back just as eagerly.

The further you leaned back the more Taehyung followed after you and by accident, your bunny ears hit the rear view mirror and knocked them down your head. You whined about the sudden pain while he was hit by one of the black ears making him move back laughing. You smacked your lips in annoyance as you sat back properly and yanked them off. He bit back a smile as he reached up to turn off the light and drive off.

He would be lying if he said he was patient but in truth, he couldn’t wait to have you. You ran for his bedroom chasing each other's mouths and when you were inside, you practically pushed him onto the bed giggling like you’ve just had the best idea ever. Taehyung felt so giddy in the moment and all he could do was smile as you took off his hoodie and slipped back on your bunny ears, “Well? You don’t like my costume? I thought I looked at least a little hot.”

“So cute,” Taehyung smiled boyishly and it took everything in him not to dig his face in one of his pillows. You crossed your arms over your chest rolling your eyes playfully and pretended like you didn’t see his outstretched hand beckoning you forward. You crawled onto the bed knocking the headband off your head as he began to kiss along your arm, guiding you to lay down so he could get on top and kiss you. You gladly let him take the lead, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him while his tongue licked along your lip.

Your legs were spread around him hoisted up at the knee and he took the chance to sit up between them and just take in the sight of you. You looked so pretty and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling on your clothes to get them off. He kissed along your exposed thighs trailing up toward your stomach and purposely skipping your pelvis even if his hands grazed your hip bones.

You wore nothing under your costume and Taehyung would be lying if he said that didn’t make him just a little jealous. It wasn’t anything serious but all he could think about tonight was how many people would hit on you. It’s no secret you were very pretty and he always worried that you’ll realize he’s too old for you and he can’t have that. If it means he has to give you all the pleasure your body can take, he will.

Taehyung looked at your exposed breasts licking his lips. Once your eyes meet he couldn’t help but finally hover over you and press open mouthed kisses to your mounds, swirling his tongue around your nipples in a way that caught you by surprise making your hand circle into his hair. Taehyung tugged a stiff bud between his teeth, rolling the other between his fingertips and you had to bite down on your lip to keep an embarrassing moan from slipping out.

“Tae, please,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to get an ounce of friction between your legs. You would be a liar if you said you hadn’t been thinking about this all night. He hasn’t paid much attention to your gear yet but if he did he would see the clear line of arousal that coated your entrance.

Taehyung lets his lips ghost over your inner thigh, nipping gently at your soft flesh and his fingers seemed to dig into where he bit and spread your legs even further apart.

“I’m trying to appreciate what a pretty bunny I have,” he murmurs, pressing a warm kiss to the spot just below your belly button, “You look so hot, all those pictures you sent me almost made me want to keep you all to myself tonight.”

It was true too. Earlier he had to see his ex at the restaurant and he had wanted to spend the night with you but you had already made plans and he didn’t want to keep you from it. When you showed him your costume he was just alone at his house trying to talk himself out of calling you and asking you to wear it for him and him alone but he knew you should go and have fun with your friends.

In the end he couldn’t stop himself from going to pick you earlier than expected, tired of waiting.

His soft hair brushes against your inner thighs as he finally dips his head between them, finally seeing how wet you were and his fingers dug into your thighs unintentionally, “Baby, how long have you been like this?”

“All night,” you confessed, “Couldn’t stop thinking about you—ngh, fuck.”

Taehyung didn’t even let you finish when his tongue licked your wanting folds, releasing a quiet breath of relief at your taste. He does it a couple times as if testing the water and each time a line of slick connects your cunt to the tip of his tongue when he would pull away.

“Poor baby, I’ll make you feel good, okay?” he breathes.His lips close around your clit so suddenly that your body reacted drastically. Your spine curved off the bed, a hand tightening around his hair pulling on accident and he releases a low groan at the hard tug but it only made him be rougher. He pulled your legs over his shoulders so they weren’t in the way when his tongue lapped at your pool of arousal before coating your clit with it. His arms had hooked around your thighs to keep you from squirming away from him and he could tell you loved his soft manhandling. He purposely nudged his nose against your clit feeling you begin to grind your pussy against his lips seeking your own pleasure and he happily let you use him to get off. Everytime he went lower he dipped his tongue teasingly into your entrance before pulling on your left labia knowing it was more sensitive between his lips to listen to your moans grow louder.

“Taste so sweet,” he hummed in appreciation and finally decided to really put his tongue to work. Taehyung alternated between flicking his tongue over the swollen bundle of nerves and flattening his tongue into your folds and moving it side to side before swallowing it whole in his mouth. He was quite literally making out with your cunt and he held you firmly to keep you from moving away.

You were so close already and he wasn’t easing up when you pulled on his hair in warning, “Tae, I’m so close.”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling your pussy subconsciously following his head movement to keep his mouth on you, “Go ahead, let go, pretty girl.”

Without much warning a hand left your thigh so that his middle finger can toy on your entrance and before you knew it he was pushing it into your wanton beat. You released a loud whine trying to squeeze your legs around his head to push him back but he only pressed a second finger into your slick. You were so close already and he wasn’t easing up until he tasted your release on his tongue. Taehyung knew exactly where that soft spot behind your pubic bone was and curved his long fingers into it, repeatedly pressing into it every time he thrusted his fingers back in. You have to admit, he eats your pushy bettwr than any guy you’ve ever been with and it’s all because of how experienced he was. You almost felt jealous at the thought of how many times he went down on his wife like this—even if he told you it had been a long time since they were last intimate.

Taehyung was unaware of your growing thoughts, too focused on making you cum and unintentionally he snapped you out of your thoughts when he suddenly pulled his fingers out right before your orgasm hit you and replaced it with his tongue. Immediately your body seemed to react to the change and you pulled hard on his hair as you saw stars.

He kept his grip firm on your leg making sure his tongue licked up all of your release like a dog in search of water.

Even as your body tried to calm down he licked at your clit gently, soothing you down as he messily tried to sneak a hand down to his sweats to tug them down.

You both looked at each other with hungry eyes as he sat back on his haunches to yank his shirt off before moving to take his sweats and boxer briefs off. As if knowing the routine, you reached into his nightstand to find the box of condoms he bought with you and ripped into the package watching him stroke himself for some relief and let it point straight.

You sit up pulling him down by the gold necklace he usually wore and kissed him hard, tasting your own release on his tongue and it was all so messy. His chin was coated in your arousal that rubbed off on you and his stiff cock was in your hands as you worked the condom onto him. Taehyung fell forward making you fall back onto the bed as he pressed his hands into the mattress to keep from crushing you.

“Look at what you do to me, baby,” he groaned as he fucked his hard dick into your fist. You just moaned leading him toward your push and he slid in right between your folds teasingly as he ran his tip along them.

“I need you,” you whisper into his ears as he drops his head down against your chest to watch his cock catch against your opening and finally rock his hips forward.

You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting his and guide him in further with a moan, “Fuck.”

You arch up, pressing your breasts closer to his face and he wordlessly wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple in time with the way he pushed in until he was at the hilt.

“So tight,” he rasps around a nipple; slowly beginning to fuck his long dick inside you. You moan at the tug he made between his teeth when he draws his hips back before fucking into you harder this time. Taehyung was shamefully close to orgasm because of how hard you pulled on his hair and his back was curved up making him practically curl into your body to stuff his cock deeper. Your nails scratched along his back moaning his name, “Taehyung, I can’t—“

God; he turned you on so much and you were already so sensitive. Your legs hooked around his hips, the heels of your feet forcing him even deeper as your walls tightened around his length making him moan, slobbering all over your tits.

“You’re so fucking good to me, Angel,” he fucked you hard and slowly making you feel his entire length. His hair ticked your chin as he pulled his mouth away to trail kisses up your neck until he could kiss your lips. “Why are you so pretty?”

He was looking at you lovingly, driving his dick deeper and deeper and curving his hips at an angle that made him hit your sweet spot everytime.

You can only moan in response when Taehyung tried to pull out halfway but your feet wouldn’t let him and he had to resort to rocking and grinding his hips against yours, practically rutting into you.

“I don’t know,” you finally responded to his rhetorical question. You can feel the familiar tremors of another orgasm starting, making your thighs shake and he doesn’t ease up, determined to making you cum a second time before letting himself go. You dug your nails into his shoulder making him his at the pleasuring pain and your voice rose to a high pitch, “Oh my god, I—I—“

He kissed you hard as your orgasm hit you, making you tighten around his cock so hard that you triggered his own orgasm. “Oh fuck,” he groaned as he rocked his hips, cumming hard into the condom and hugging your body to his listening to your breathless pants.

After a moment to catch your breath, he pulled out carefully, dryly swallowing as he ran a soothing hand up your trembling thighs, “You did so good, you always do.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, already turning on your side, completely tired out. Taehyung just smiled at the sight of you trying to curl yourself into the blanket and as he watched your eyes close tiredly, he cleaned off the mess from the two of you before crashing down onto the bed next to you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You released a soft moan as you rolled onto your stomach making the comforter wrap around you as you dug your face into the pillow. A low laugh filled the room as Taehyung reached a hand out to your hair. You were quite literally the definition of comfortable sleep. Your hair was a mess because of your eye mask, the sheets were tangled between your legs and you’re spread out on the bed with no care in the world.

He brushed some of the locks out of your face, “Y/n, wake up.”

You huffed as you pulled yourself up enough to reach for your phone and checked the time, a whine left your lips, “Tae, it’s like 11 in the morning, are you crazy?”

He looked at you strangely, “It’s noon, Y/n.”

“And a Sunday,” you told him as you slipped your sleeping mask back on, “You know how late it was when you picked me up from the party, how are you not tired? Plus, I have to work tonight.”

“Fine, sleep all you want then, I’m gonna do some work,” Taehyung said with a slight roll of his eyes. You’re right, it’s a Sunday and typically those are lazy days, especially for Taehyung. He likes to just hang around the house reading, playing classical or jazz, maybe enjoy a coffee outside and you know… having the person you’re seeing join you.

He gets it, he really does. You’re tired and you did have a late night. He did too but he hadn’t gotten tipsy so he’s not hungover. He woke up early and did his usual Sunday habit but once it passed noon he wanted to see if you’d wake up anytime soon. You do work tonight and he probably won’t see you tomorrow so he would like to be with you today but you’re clearly tired.

You have a very chaotic schedule like most college students trying to bounce between strange class times and stranger work schedules so honestly your weeks all look different. He’s got more consistency clearly so he has time to relax and be at home or go out for drinks without having to do things so late. It’s clearly been a little difficult making your schedules align sonce yours is unpredictable. Some days you have early morning lectures and late night shifts. Other times you have three lectures in one day but they’re hours apart and they go well past the sun sets. Some weekends you work, some you don’t. Sometimes you get off early, sometimes you get asked to cover a shift.

Don’t even get him started on your crazy schedule for your art piece for the exhibition. You’re stressed and tired and last night you had your fun.

You went out with your friends, got drunk, danced, did whatever… maybe talked to guys or played a drinking game—just had fun. Then of course the two of you had done some things in the car when you sobered up enough and the night just grew later and later.

So he let you sleep.

Things have been tense for you lately. With school, work, the spring exhibition, balancing your friends and still trying to make time to at least talk to Taehyung, it’s all been too much for you. To make matters worse, you and Jungkook aren’t speaking to each other and if you do it tends to end in an argument over the same thing each time.

“You wanted me to be honest and I was,” you told him as he walked with you to the art room, “So why can't you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Y/n. You’re my best friend, of course I fucking trust you and that’s not why I keep trying to talk to you about this,” Jungkook said as the two of you stopped in front of the building, “I’m worried for you, alright? How long has it been since you and Hoseok broke up?”

You didn’t say anything because you knew he wasn’t actually asking. He didn’t even give you time to speak anyway, “And when did you hook up with V?”

When Jungkook said V he was referring to Taehyung, it was an easy nickname you could use in public. Once again, Jungkook didn’t give you much time to speak, “I get it, everyone wants to have a rebound and I was all for it, I was joking right there alongside Bora about it.”

“So then what are you trying to say right now?” You asked him with your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned against the building wall with windows, you knew that if Taehyung was inside he would be watching.

Jungkook took a deep breath as he moved to stand close to you, “What I’m saying is I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I won’t,” you told him but it was very clear he didn’t fully believe it.

The thing is, Jungkook really did care for you. He loved you and it wasn’t in a romantic way, he just loved you as a friend and that wasn’t something up for debate. If Bora was going through this exact situation he would be equally concerned.

It’s not that he has a disliking toward Professor Kim because if anything, it’s the complete opposite. He has a lot of respect for the guy because of his professionalism and what he’s done to help his students. Jungkook doesn’t think Taehyung has bad intentions with you but he also can’t fully support a relationship that has been built because the two of you went through very similar experiences and you’re both still coping.

And you can lie to yourself all you want about how what Namjoon didn’t bother you anymore but Jungkook knows you. He knew that when you were telling him and Bora about it you were fighting back tears. He knows that you didn’t want to confront Hoseok and that you ended it with him so that you wouldn’t have to talk about it again. That’s not coping, that’s ignoring the problem and once again, Jungkook knows you. He knows that if you don’t deal with it any time soon then you’re just going to let it bubble up until one day you just break down and he highly doubts Professor Kim would handle that well.

Taehyung is older, he’s a bit more mature and level headed which is what you need but Jungkook just doesn’t want you to think it’s more than it is so that you end up hurt again. You need to talk with Taehyung and really discuss what kind of relationship you’re both looking for and until then Jungkook can’t fully support it.

He’s not going to sit around and watch his friend get hurt again.

With a reluctant sigh he finally said, “Am I taking you to work later?”

“If you can,” you mumbled as he ruffled your hair with a final goodbye. You waited outside for a moment trying to clear your thoughts.

You’ve known Jungkook for a long time and he’s a very good friend. Honestly sometimes it feels like you don’t deserve the kid, sure he can be immature and annoying at times but at the end of the day he cares deeply for those around him and you feel lucky to be one of them. He’s put up with you for years now so you understand where he’s coming from but you also feel like you’re capable of making your own decisions.

He’s right, you don’t know how your relationship will go with Taehyung but you don’t want to think about that right now.

Right now you want to finish up your work and enjoy the short amount of time you have with Taehyung because despite being so different, it works for you two. It’s almost like you balance each other out and you haven’t felt that way with someone in a while. You know that you have an age gap and it’s not that you think you’re this mature woman who knows everything but you’re also not a kid.

You’re at an age where you’re navigating through adulthood but you also can still say that you are a bit naive on some things and it can make things confusing for you. You know Taehyung doesn’t have bad intentions with you but you also know that he was once a married man to his college sweetheart who broke his heart. A man doesn’t just bounce back from that in a year’s time no matter how much he despises the woman now.

“What are you doing?” Yuna asked so suddenly that you jumped and she smiled, “Aren’t you going in?”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh as you followed her into the studio for your printmaking class.

You walked past Taehyung like he was nothing more than your professor and he greeted you like you were nothing but a student. It goes like this almost every day you see him on campus but then the night or weekends roll around and it’s an entirely different story. It’s a bit exhausting but you prefer it this way.

“So, uh, you know who came up to me this morning?” Yuna asked, making you shrug curiously as you went to the usual table the two of you worked at, Seungjin already there waiting.

“Namjoon, he asked if I knew where you were but I said no,” Yuna told you, “I don’t know if I was supposed to say yes or not because—well, did you guys break up?”

Seungjin looked at you now, “Wait, you two broke up? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I don’t like telling people my business,” you said in a snappy tone that Seungjin knew you weren’t serious about, “But we broke up before he left.”

Namjoon was just on a two week retreat for his major and that’s the only reason why he stopped blowing up your phone other than that day in the beginning when Taehyung scolded you for walking out. You knew he wasn’t done trying to get you back because even if the relationship was short lived and he cheated, the two of you worked well together. That’s why it bothered the shit out of you that he threw it away when the two of you could’ve been something great.

There’s no point in thinking about it now though because you’ll never take a man who cheated on you back.

“So it’s only been a few weeks?” Yuna asked, “That makes so much sense. I was wondering why you haven’t talked about him or why he seemed so mad when I told him I hadn’t seen you.”

“Are you working tonight?” Seungjin asked, trying to change the subject when he could tell you weren’t feeling it anymore.

In the beginning you barely talked to him and even Yuna, but lately he’s been hanging out with Jungkook a lot and you’ve been talking to Yuna more regularly so you’ve all just become closer friends. Seungjin knows your work schedule because most of the time if Taehyung can’t pick you up, Jungkook does and since the guy is always with Jungkook, he’s basically memorized your work schedule.

“Sadly,” you mumbled as you stared down at your work struggling to find out where to start, “I’ve got so much shit to do it’s stressing me out.”

Taehyung’s gotten a little bit better at hiding what the two of you have but it doesn’t make things easier. He still can’t fully explain your relationship because there’s a lot of factors that play a part in it.

First, your age. You’re both very clearly in different points of your lives even if your age difference isn’t too bad, it’s still not fully acceptable.

It’s not like he’s using the fact that you’re young and a bit naive in his favor because he honestly thinks you’re mature. He’s not going to say you’re mature for your age because he doesn’t like what that saying means. You’re mature because that’s just how you are and it has nothing to do with your age, just your person. He’s not sleeping with you because you’re young but behave like you’re grown.

He’s sleeping with you and talking to you every chance he has because he genuinely enjoys your time. He enjoys sleeping in bed with you and listening to your rants over the littlest things. He likes how enthusiastic you get when you talk about your favorite show or explain the meaning behind your art. He likes that you listen to his own rants about jazz music and which artist is favorite. He likes that you don’t know how to do some things but you’re always looking to learn something new.

Taehyung has gotten used to not being able to interact with you during the day. It’s not that the two of you can’t talk, it's that you shouldn’t. There’s too much tension there any time you do. You can tell by the way he looks at you with warm eyes that turn your insides giddy even if you want to say they don’t. He speaks to you gently and his tone very obviously changes when he’s talking to the others so the both of you are just paranoid to be found out.

The only time he really gets to see you is late at night and that makes him feel like an absolute garbage of a man because he’s not using you for sex. That’s not all he wants but if the only time he gets to see you is after you get off work, then it looks that way, especially considering you’re usually very eager to sleep with him that sometimes he can’t catch up.

“You don’t have class tomorrow, do you?” Taehyung asked as he twisted a lock of your hair around his index finger. You were laying on his chest as some A24 film played on the television in your bedroom. You’ve just finished having sex and now you’re just trying to enjoy some time together before morning comes and you have to go back to acting like there’s nothing between you.

“No, but I’ll be busy with the project,” you mumbled against his chest as you made yourself more comfortable against him.

“I’ve got a meeting in the morning but I’m free the majority of the day, there’s going to be the other teachers so I won’t have to stay,” Taehyung offered up, “Maybe we can do something.”

“I’d like that,” you told him as you tried paying attention to the movie but Taehyung wasn’t as interested. He wanted to talk to you because that’s what people in a relationship should do.

“I saw you and your friend talking outside today, everything okay?” Taehyung asked as you looked up at him.

“Yeah.”

He stayed quiet for a moment as he tried to decipher your expression and what you really meant. He does wish you would communicate a little more. You’re very obviously stressed about numerous things and maybe he could help with it a little but not if you won’t talk to him. He was used to his ex ignoring him in favor of keeping it bottled in and resenting him for her own lack of communication but he doesn’t want that with you. He wants to ask more but he won’t force you to tell him.

“Jungkook figured out about us,” you said before gnawing on your bottom lip in fear that he would be mad. Taehyung took a deep breath as he nodded his head, making you rush to say, “He won’t say anything, trust me.”

“I mean… if you trust him then I do too,” Taehyung said. He knows you’re close with Jungkook and that does make him nervous sometimes but he can’t come out of nowhere and tell you that so he just accepts it.

“And…” you bit your lip once more and Taehyung found himself bringing his thumb up to pull your lip out as it reddened.

“Talk to me,” he said gently. You’re opening up to him little by little but something is clearly on your mind that you’re struggling to say. Every time you get shy and nervous he doesn’t see you as the one who made the first move in his car that night, he just sees someone he cares a lot about looking worried and anxious. He just wants to be here for you.

“My ex has been asking around for me,” you told him honestly and he took a deep breath in thought.

“Really?” Taehyung looked away from you for a moment. Your ex was a cheater, he cheated on someone as beautiful and smart as you and in reality he’s also the reason why you and Taehyung got close. He knows that he’ll never go back to his cheating ex but you might feel differently. You might be more easily swayed into going back to him and it’s not like Taehyung could do anything about it. Your ex is closer to your age, he’s known you a little longer and all of your friends know of him. He’s not a secret to you and you’re not a secret to him so he would have no choice but to understand if you took him back.

“I mean, it’s just a bit tiring, I thought we were over this but it looks like he’s back to trying,” you said with a defeated sigh before cuddling back into Taehyung.

He pressed his lips to your hair, not really kissing you but just appreciating the intimacy, “Would you?”

“What?” Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him. Taehyung had never regretted his words so quickly looking at the way you pulled away from him clearly taken back. He cleared his throat, “I mean would you want to try with him again?”

“Would you?” You asked a little annoyed, “Would you want to try with your ex wife again if she asked?”

“No,” Taehyung sat up with you, “Of course not, but I would understand if you did.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, “So you would understand if I went back to my cheating ex? Good to know that you understand if someone takes back a cheater.”

“Baby that’s not what I mea—“ Taehyung tried to say but you were already moving off the bed, “Hey I just mean… you’re both still young and make mistakes—you weren’t dating long before and if there’s still lingering feelings…”

“If I still felt something for him, why would I be with you?” You asked, making him bite his lip nervously, “And you think just because I’m young it’s alright to just forgive someone who hurt me? Nice to know.”

“No, honey pl—“

“I’m gonna get in the shower,” you cut him off just as he was getting up.

He watched you leave and he sat on the edge of your bed running his hand over his face in frustration. That’s not what he meant at all. He was trying to say he would understand your feelings but that was clearly the problem. Why would he even think you would leave him the second you got the chance? You’re not his ex but he just doesn’t want to lose you when he just started feeling love again.

Wait, not love. It’s too early for that and you think so too but he means it affectionately. Why did he have to pretend like he would understand? He wouldn’t. He just doesn’t want you or your friend to think he’s the one controlling your relationship.

He has to trust you and not assume you’ll leave him.

Taehyung knows he upset you last night. That wasn’t his intention by any means and he feels like shit for making you feel any sort of way. You know your worth just how he knows his and it’s unfair that he questioned you about it. He feels so stupid and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all morning.

He wasn’t able to pay attention in his meetings because all he could think about was how to be better for you. He knew you would be busy for a bit today so he didn’t want to bother you early on but you agreed to spend the day together. He decided that he would get groceries before you came over later, maybe a nice home cooked meal and some wine would ease the tension.

Going grocery shopping was one of those things Taehyung despised and there was on specific reason as to why. He’s a 30 year old man going shopping alone—it was a recipe to be hit on by single women his age. He could always say he’s in a relationship but he can’t go into detail and unfortunately if there’s no wedding ring on his finger then it doesn’t matter much. If anything it’s easy to note the pale ring mark on his left finger from when he used to have a wedding ring.

He walked around the market pushing a shopping cart filled with his usual groceries along with some things he knew you would like and tried to hurry this along.

“Tae?”

His breath hitched as he came to a slow stop, but he didn’t turn around or even look at Jihyun until she stood in front of him. Why did she feel the need to talk to him after what she did and why was he seeing her now of all times?

“I thought it was you,” she said shyly, “Doing some shopping?”

“Yup,” Taehyung said as he looked over a bag of coffee. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for or what the difference between dark roast or light roast but he was trying. Jihyun didn’t say anything as she looked at the bag, “Trouble deciding?”

What was she getting at? Taehyung thought. It was pretty clear he didn't want to talk to her and when he left with you the day of the lunch where they ran into her he thought it was obvious then too.

He knows he can just choose a bag of coffee and it’ll be fine but he wants to choose one you would like. You’re a coffee drinker but he’s heard you order drinks before and you like your coffee a certain way so he doesn’t want to mess this up. Jihyun bit her lip, “Light roast has more caffeine, when did you start drinking coffee?”

He set the bag back down and changed it ou yt for a dark roast one, “It’s for Y/n.”

He wasn’t going to thank her for her help because she thought it was for him but he is a little thankful that she helped him decide which you would like better. You like caffeine but you hate the taste of it. He dropped the bag down into his cart and went to look for creamer.

“So are you two really seeing each other? She seems a bit youn—“

“We are and she is but she’s mature, more mature than some other people I’ve met before,” Taehyung said trying to leave with his shopping cart, “And she understands my interests.”

He’s not going to say exactly how because it would easily give away that you’re his student but he will say that. He doesn’t feel the need to explain anything to Jihyun but he does want her to know that he’s doing just fine without her so she can stop trying to ask him about you.

“Jihyun,” Taehyung looked at her one last time and could see the look of hope in her eyes, “My name is Taehyung, not Tae.”

He turned his back to her and as if the thought of you alone brought this up, you were calling and he was smiling as he walked away and answered, “Hello?”

“I am at your place, am I too early? You’re not home, sorry I should’ve called before coming over,” you said through the phone.

“I’m just at the store but I’m heading over to pay right now,” Taehyung said, “There’s a key under the potted plant by the door, let yourself in and do you mind taking Tannie out for a walk? I haven’t had a chance.”

“Yes sir, I’d love to take him out,” you said jokingly, making him laugh softly.

He left without another word to Jihyun and she watched him walk away like she wasn't even there. She’s being selfishly unreasonable to expect anything else after what she did but she regrets it so much. She was at a point in their marriage where she thought he was losing his love for her. He was always so busy with work or something else that he wouldn’t pay attention to her. She thought he was avoiding her and in the end she fell for the attention she received from someone else and ruined her marriage with the love of her life.

Call her a cheater but don’t call her a liar, he really is or was the love of her life. They got together at such an impressionable age and it was so sweet and romantic and now she has to watch him be that way again with someone young and beautiful. It hurts.

Taehyung got back to a surprisingly quiet apartment feeling dejected, maybe you were still out with Yeontan or may—

“Boo!” You jumped up from behind his kitchen counter holding his pup up like you both surprised him and he nearly dropped the bags in surprise. A huge smile spread on his face and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Cute.”

“What did you get?” You asked as you let Yeontan run off in order to help him get the bags. He shrugged, “Just stuff to make later. How was your painting?”

You sighed, “Tiring. I’m almost done but I feel like something is missing.”

“Just remember not to overdo it. Sometimes less is better and if you’re happy with it now it’s better to stop, I want to see it,” Taehyung said.

He realized that he was stressed this morning for nothing. You’re not mad at him because of last night when he thought you would be. He needs to stop assuming that you’ll react the way Jihyun used to. She would snap on him for every little thing but you’re not like that and it’s refreshing and reassuring so he needs to remember you’re different.

You’re like spring. Yes, you’ve got a bit of an attitude sometimes but you’re so unlike anyone he’s ever been with. You’re fun and bright and make him smile without trying. You work hard and it shows through your work.

Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, “You’re so cute.”

“I thought I was hot,” you teased with a smile as he pressed a soft kiss against your lips.

Things are good, great even, at least that’s what you think. You feel secure with Taehyung and you haven’t felt that way in a long time. Sure, you both are still very much keeping it a secret but you’re heed to it now. There’s not much you can do about it but you’re so close to graduating and then it’s all over.

You’ve finished your painting for the spring exhibit which is just around the corner and you couldn’t be happier. With that out of the way you’ve got more free time to do other things and even though you work and have classes, it opens up a lot of time for you.

Tonight you did have to work but you spent most of your shift with Jungkook up until he was off. Like usually he was off before you and he asked if you wanted him to come back and take you home but you assured him Taehyung would.

Thankfully you didn’t have to close tonight since it was a weeknight. The bar was still open but there was another closer and you got off early so Taehyung was planning on picking you up and driving you home.

As your shift came to an end you followed your usual routine of putting your things away, collecting your tips, and clocking out. Taehyung had already texted you that he was running a couple minutes behind but you were just excited to see him.

“Y/n?”

You seemed to freeze up, you had just left through the back alley to go home and there in front of you was a familiar stranger. Namjoon stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets nervously. You looked around the lot to see if you could spot Taehyung yet but you couldn’t, “What?”

“Can we talk?” He asked as he took a step closer to you, “I just don’t get what happened between us.”

“You’re still on that? Jeez, Joon I didn’t think you would be the type to not let shit go,” you scoffed in annoyance and began walking down one end of the alley to get to the main street.

Namjoon followed after you, “What do you think would have happened? You stop talking to me out of the blue right before my trip and tell me it’s over but you can’t tell me why?”

“You know why,” you turned to him angrily, “Or what? Were you hoping I was just stupid enough to not realize you slept with someone who was supposed to be my best friend?”

Namjoon came to a stop. This was the first time you ever said this to him. You had told Taehyung how much you didn’t want to confront him about it but you had no choice. You needed him to stop asking for you and just leave you alone. You scoffed, “Surprised? Hate to break it to you but you were more obvious than you think. So are you happy? Now you know why I left you… you thought you could cheat on me and I’ll never find out, what a fucking joke.”

You turned away from him, a familiar black car parked on the street and you just wanted to get away from this conversation. With a smile on your face you headed toward the car, Namjoon following after you.

He grabbed on your arm tightly, yanking you back to him and nearly making you stumble, “Come on Y/n, I fucked up, I was planning on telling you but you’ve just been igno—“

You jumped in surprise at the loud honk of a car horn and you quickly turned to Taehyung who you knew was watching and you really didn’t want him to come out and expose himself but you know that if Namjoon kept bothering you he would. You pulled your arm free, “I’m done with you, alright? Frankly I don’t ever want to speak to you again so from now on why don’t we act like we don’t know each other?”

With that you left him standing there shocked and got in Taehyung’s car.

Despite it being dark out and Taehyung’s windows being heavily tinted, he still looked out at Namjoon who stood there frozen. You had gotten in his car but he was focused on the guy who just grabbed his girlfriend roughly. Before he could ask if everything was okay, you practically lunged toward him and he caught you over the middle console with a smile on his face.

You pressed your lips against his and he couldn’t help but kiss back confidently, a hand in your hair keeping you close. He nearly forgot about the guy standing outside until he opened his eyes and saw that he was gone now. He gently pushed you away only to watch you pout and ask for more.

He ran his thumb over your pouty lip, “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, trying to kiss him again but he only leaned back trying to get you to talk. You gave him a quick kiss on his lips before sitting back, “I’m fine, I swear. That was my ex but we’re all good now.”

“That was him?” He asked, seeming bothered now and he reached out for your arm, the one Namjoon grabbed roughly, “Did he hurt you or anything?”

You just smiled as you sat back up to kiss him again. He turned away from you, “Baby, let’s talk first.”

You whined, “He didn’t and I don’t want to talk. I want to kiss you because you’re so hot and I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I know but…” he bit his lip. He should trust you. You said you’re okay and you left the guy standing there to come to him so he should trust you. He does trust you. A smile came to his face as he tried to stop stressing, “I missed you too, love.”

With that he placed a kiss on the tip of your nose before kissing you again. You happily deepened the kiss between you and it was quickly getting heated. Taehyung seems to always forget where he is when it’s just you two and he nearly forgot you were in his car again until you tried going over the middle console to get on his lap.

His hands immediately went to your waist, “Wait, let’s wait till we get to your place.”

“Why? Doesn’t this remind you of our first time?” You asked, beginning to leave soft kisses along his jaw, “We can do it again.”

He bit his lip, already feeling a little turned on at the idea but he doesn’t want it to seem like a secret when you’re together. He prefers to be in bed with you when you have sex but he’ll admit, you’ve made his sex life more exciting. You’re willing to get your hands on him anywhere you are and God did that make him feel wanted. He played with the hem of your skirt with one hand as the other reached for the lever under his seat.

“One more time,” he said with a boyish smile when you squealed happily and went back to making out with him.

The end of the semester was quickly approaching. School has gone easier now since you have your major assignments done and you’ve been able to relax a little more. It’s a bit funny to be in Taehyung’s class acting like a regular student knowing he was on top of you practically every night. What is even funnier is to tease him when you shouldn’t.

Taehyung has had to stand through this entire lecture acting like you weren’t sending him the most daring texts he’s ever received. The first one he got this morning was already enough to make him bruise his lip by how hard he bit into it.

y/n: gonna be waiting for u later in this

It was a picture of you in a cute lingerie set and every time he looked at you he couldn’t help but picture it right under your clothes. You knew that’s what he thought about, that’s why you would occasionally gnaw on the end of your pen as you looked him up and down like you just needed him right then and there. It made him stumble over his words.

The other time you texted him was halfway through the lecture. He had just gotten back to his text and looked over your text, unable to help himself from looking up at you but you were too distracted by your friends to notice him. He slid over the notification and quickly responded to your other text.

y/n: if u look at me again I won’t be able to stop myself from giving u and the whole class a show

tae: be a good girl and wait till after class

You looked up at him when you received his text and he didn’t need a response to know you would show up. He had to stay late tonight and finish up some paperwork so he wouldn’t be able to see you before you went to work. He had been bummed out about it but later on, when it was well into the evening, you did as told.

The sun was beginning to set and he was alone in his art room until you came along. He smiled at the sight of you entering the room and closed his files. You smiled mischievously, “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

God, you knew what you did to him.

He had to bite back a groan as he looked outside the windows to make sure there was no one around, “I can’t speak to you if you’re so far.”

You walked up to him until you stood directly in front of him and he looked at you with lust in his eyes, “Bad girl, just because you’re done with your painting doesn’t mean you can distract me.”

You bit your lip, “What do you mean, sir?”

He chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair, “Sending me all those dirty messages in class?”

Your brows furrowed cutely, “Hm… but you liked them?”

Taehyung dropped his voice down to a whisper, “I did.”

“So why are we still out here?” You used the same whispering tone and just like that, you were following him into the familiar art storage closet. Before you could even surprise him with a peak at the lingerie he was pushing you against the shelves and kissing you hard. You released a surprised whimper trying to kiss him back. Your fingers quickly toyed with the buttons of his white long sleeve and Taehyung let his hands slide under your shirt trying to inch it off your body already.

His fingers worked diligently to pull it off as he felt you begin to unbutton the front of his shirt with the need to just touch already. Once it was undone your hands moved to his hair, ruffling it up when he yanked your shirt off displaying the lingerie to his hungry eyes. Your leg went up to wrap around him as the other stayed locked to keep you from falling and Taehyung fit perfectly against you as he kissed down your neck while his other hand began to play with your skirt.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled between kisses and you sighed with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Everytime I try to look hot for you, you just call me cute.”

He laughed, close to giggling as he pulled away to look at you again, “You look hot and cute and sexy and beautiful and I just want to eat you up every time I see you, okay?”

You smiled shyly now at his words and tried to look away in embarrassment but he just kissed you harder, forgetting where you were.

The campus was mostly empty except for those who had night classes. The art department was empty minus the two of you so you weren’t worried about being caught but maybe you should have been.

When Jihyun got to campus she wasn’t sure what she even planned on doing. The last time she saw Taehyung he barely acknowledged her and he told her to stop calling him by a nickname. She knows how badly she messed up but it’s been a year. Maybe she could talk to him and they could at least be cordial? Maybe someday they’ll look back on this strange time apart and realize that they really were meant to always be together… he’ll hopefully forgive her mistakes and they can move past this.

“Taehyung?” She called out to him as she stepped into an empty art room. She’s not sure why she thought he would still be here but she just assumed. He was always working late and she didn’t know where he lived so this was her best bet. Clearly she looks stupid now as she stands alone in a huge room where Taehyung isn’t at. This was so clearly his room too, he had some of his art hanging along with other students work and for the first time ever, she actually decided to pay attention to them.

She passed by art work belonging to students she’s never met, they were all winning pieces from seminars and contests. Just before her was a beautiful oil painting with a name and year displayed proudly in the corner. It was one of Taehyung’s mentees.

‘Full Bloom’

By Y/n L/n, December 10, 2022

___ University

She seemed to freeze up at the name. It couldn’t be…

“Ow!”

A light voice whined as a loud thump followed and suddenly everything seemed to be connecting. There was laughter that followed and her attention immediately drifted to the direction of the noise. It went quiet again but it was too late, Jihyun was already walking to the closet.

At this point she didn’t care what she saw, she just needed to know if she was right or not.

Taehyung rubbed soothing circles against the back of your head as he whispered apologies for accidentally making you bump your head against a shelf. You had a cute pout on your lips at the pain and the fact that the two of you had to stop. All you’ve done is make out but your clothes was half off and you just wanted to keep going.

You barely had your lips brushing against his with the sudden yank on the door seemed to frighten you both away from each other. Taehyung’s initial instinct was to distance himself from you as soon as possible worried that it was a school head or worse another student but he thought about you instead. Your shirt was completely off while his was merely unbuttoned and knowing you were more undressed than him made him immediately hold you to his chest and turn his body toward the door to hide you better.

“Oh my god.”

You pressed your face into his front in embarrassment and a little bit of fear but Taehyung turned toward the door, brows scrunching together and voice raising, “Jihyun?”

You jumped, slightly startled and tried to pull away. Taehyung softened his hold on you just enough for you to snag your shirt off the shelf and hurry to put it on. Jihyun looked between you two, “She’s your student. You’re sleeping with your fucking student?”

Taehyung hushed her, “What are you doing here? Get out!”

You dressed yourself back up properly as Taehyung did the same and he seemed to look back at you once more before stepping out of the closet to follow his ex wife. You would be lying if you said your hands weren’t shaking and your face wasn’t heating up. This was all your fault.

You’re the one who came onto him in the beginning.

You’re the one who practically pushed him into a relationship and put his job on the line. You’re the one who did all this knowing his ex wife was still stupid enough to look for him.

God, you were the worst.

Feeling close to tears you hurriedly left the closet listening to Taehyung’s deep voice arguing with Jihyun.

“You come to my job and you—“

“I came to talk about us! I didn’t know you would be in the closet trying to fuck your student! What happened to you?” Jihyun shouted, “Is it because of me? Did I push you to this, Tae? I never meant to hurt you, I just…”

You looked around the art room for your things trying to hide your face because for some reason this suddenly felt wrong. It shouldn’t feel that way yet it does and all you wanted to do was escape. Why was she yelling at him like you’re a homewrecker?

Was it because you were his student or young? Or was it because she wanted him to forgive her cheating and realized he wouldn’t?

Taehyung turned to you as you headed straight for the door and he went right after you, “Y/n, wait,” but you were gone and practically running away. He could chase you but what would he do if someone saw him and asked what was wrong? You had to work soon and he would just have to wait even if he didn’t want to.

“You need to leave,” Taehyung said sternly as he glared at Jihyun, “I don’t know what you thought was going to happen by coming here but you need to go.”

“Taehyung, she’s your student, I just… do you realize the trouble you can get into?”

“Y/n graduates in four months and either way it’s none of your fucking business,” Taehyung said genuinely sounding angry and Jihyun can’t remember the last time he sounded this upset. Not even when he found out she was cheating, he had just hid his face in his hands like he wanted to cry and asked for a divorce. He scoffed, “Or what? Are you going to say something about it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Jihyun said truthfully, “But this isn’t you. You would never sink so low to sleep with a student and I know it’s my fault. I hurt you and I pushed you away and now you’re acting like a completely different person. You’ve never yelled at me before. Taehyung come on… we were her age when we started dating, you can’t possibly expect anything to come out of this relationship. She’s young and naive and she’s not looking fo—“

“Stop talking about Y/n like you know her,” Taehyung said through gritted teeth, “And stop acting like you have any moral fucking high ground. Did you forget what you did to me? You threw away ten years for a man you’re not even with anymore! Why would I care about what you have to say?”

Jihyun looked shocked like she was really surprised to be called out this way by him. He was packing up his things quickly as he said, “And we know it’s wrong because I’m her professor and she’s my student but… but it’s not wrong. We’re adults and we’ve connected and if you want to completely destroy another relationship of mine and put my job on the line because you’re an insecure woman who thought I would want you after what you did to me… then you’re cruel too.”

“Taehyung…”

“Do what you want Jihyun, tell other people, I don’t care anymore but don’t mention Y/n. If you want anyone to suffer then make it me, I’m the one who divorced you,” Taehyung said with a tired sigh, “But I’m done being nice. I tried to be cordial every time we saw each other after the divorce but if you want to get back at me then whatever, there’s nothing I can do.”

She knew it wasn’t technically wrong. You were an adult and so was he and the only thing that made it wrong was the fact that he was your college professor. She hated you from the second she saw the way Taehyung looked at you and all she wanted to do was ruin this. She was a selfish woman who made a mistake only to realize it was too late to regret it.

It’s the same as Namjoon, he made a mistake and when he found out there was possibly someone else, he came to regret it.

Now Namjoon’s out of the picture and Jihyun should be too but all she wants to do is get him back. She’s willing to look past this and get back with him but he doesn’t want that and she can’t force him to. Without a word, Jihyun turned on her heel and left him in his art room with no clue as to what she would do about this.

If she went right to the Dean then he would lose his job and probably never be able to work at another college again. The University wouldn’t want the news out so he wouldn’t have to worry about it getting out unless Jihyun told other people. If she admitted that it was you he’s not sure what would happen. These things were always easier for the man and he doesn’t want anyone to do anything to hurt you.

God, it was a mistake to get involved with a student… but not because of you. If you two had just developed a relationship when you weren’t a student any longer things would have been different.

He was sitting at his desk now with his head in his hands just thinking of everything that could happen. He could easily work with his parents at a museum. He could continue his art somewhere else and not teach but what about you? What if people assumed he had always favorited you? What if they thought he helped with your art? Your submission for the seminar would immediately be disqualified if they had even an ounce of suspicion that he helped—especially with his status and credentials in the art world.

Fuck, he screwed it up badly for you.

You went ghost for two days. You didn’t answer his calls or texts and you skipped out on class. It worried him and you knew it but you couldn’t face him. It’s not that you feel like you did anything wrong but you’re embarrassed. She’s his ex wife so she doesn’t mean shit to you but you’re sure you confirmed her original suspicions and that pissed you off. You’re just some young and naive slut who he’s keeping a secret out of shame. It’s not true but you just know that’s what she’s thinking and you couldn’t stick around to hear it that night. You still want to be with Taehyung but You’re sportier that she knocked some sense into him or something. Maybe he’s blowing up your phone because he’s trying to end things. You also know you should go back to class but if he just completely pretends like you don’t exist or worse you find out that everyone knows, you’re scared at what would happen.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Bora said, touching your leg to comfort you. After weeks, maybe even months of keeping her in the dark, you finally had to speak up. She was your best friend too and you needed them both to make you feel better. Jungkook sat on your couch with an arm around your shoulders, “Seriously Y/n, you haven’t and I honestly don’t think Taehyung feels any different. You need to talk to him.”

Your friends were right and yet you couldn’t say yes.

They spent the day with you even if Jungkook had to go to work. Technically you were supposed to work but he was going to cover your shift because you clearly weren’t feeling well.

Hours passed with them at your side watching movies and when you were suddenly feeling better there was a loud knock on your door. Jungkook went to answer it before you could move and you couldn’t make out anything past muffled noises. Shortly after, a familiar face appeared at your door and Jungkook was letting Taenyung in without asking you first.

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you and you tried to hide behind Bora but she was standing up nervously, “Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung smiled stiffly and he turned to Jungkook who seemed to understand. “Come on Bora, I gotta go get ready for work anyway.”

“Y/n,” Taehyung finally said when it was just you two, “Baby, I’m sorry, I had no idea she would just show up like that and I really don’t want you to think I’m still involved with her. I’m not lying when I say you’re the only one I care about a—“

“It was so embarrassing,” you finally broke down now that your comfort person was here. Taehyung immediately went to your side, a pout on his face as he wrapped you in his arms. You were embarrassed to be caught in such a manner, like a dirty secret.

Hell, you weren’t even fully dressed and what if it had been anyone but Jihyun? A teacher? Another one of your classmates?

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered into your ear and he really was. When you finally confronted Namjoon, he let it go. He hasn’t bothered you since and yet Jihyun just kept pushing and pushing. How could your relationship with Namjoon end more maturely than his with Jihyun? He never meant for you to get hurt.

“Does anyone know?” You asked with teary eyes and he wiped them away feeling his heart drop to his stomach painfully. He shook his head no, “No, I mean I don’t think so but please baby I won’t let her do anything to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you cried harder, “I just… well we both knew what we were getting ourselves into but I’ve never felt like such a…slut.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung said seriously, “Y/n, I love you.”

You looked at him with wide surprised eyes, “What?”

He didn’t back down from your gaze and with a softened voice he said, “I love you, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. This isn’t just some secret that I’m ashamed to admit. I want to be open about our relationship, so please don’t think you mean less to me because of what happened. I wasn’t embarrassed to have the truth come out to Jihyun, I was mad that she was there when she shouldn’t have been.”

“Yeah but, what if she says something?” You asked, still unable to comprehend that he’s said he loves you twice already.

“Then I’ll quit, I’ll work somewhere else and trust me if the school finds out they’re not going to tell anyone. They’ll want it to remain quiet so the school doesn’t get hate from it. I'm not going to let it hurt you and I don’t want it to drive you away from me. You’ve been ignoring me and that hurt so much,” Taehyung said with a pout as he wiped another tear from you. You felt ridiculous for being so emotional when usually you’re the complete opposite.

Usually Taehyung had to ask you over and over again how you feel to get you to talk about whatever is on my mind yet right now you can’t seem to stop crying. You sniffled back some tears, “But we can’t be open about it. I still have a couple months before I graduate.”

“I know,” Taehyung said, “But I’ve sent in my resignation le—“

“What!?” You sat up and pushed away from him, “You said everything would be fine.”

“It will be, Y/n. I promise. I’ve gotten a lot of job offers from other people in the industry and they would easily take me and pay more. I was originally going to quit after the divorce but I didn’t. The only reason why I stayed the extra year is because I had some really good artist’s in their final year who I wanted to support,” Taehyung said and you knew one of them was you. The others probably included Seungjin and other classmates that Taehyung mentored but it was very clear right now he was talking about you.

“Anyway, I planned on leaving all along and even if Jihyun never says anything about us, I would still leave after you graduate,” Taehyung pet your hair soothingly, “And like I said I’m not going to let her ruin you if she’s tries to so please don’t cry anymore and please baby, please don’t ignore me or push me away.”

Nothing he said was a lie. The only reason why he never brought it up to you was because he didn’t need to. He knew you would be graduating and if your relationship lasted then he would tell you about his resignation once you were done with school. He just didn’t think he would have to tell you like this and make you think you’re the reason his career is about to change.

He waited an entire year to decide he wanted to quit teaching but it’s what he wanted to do all along. He enjoys it but he wants to start fresh… with you. He doesn’t want to have to listen to the opinion of others when the two of you become public.

“You love me?” You asked with the cutest set of puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen that it made his heart feel like it would burst. He nodded his head to answer your question and you sniffled, “I love you too.”

A small laugh in relief left his lips as he hugged you close making you whine about wetting his shirt with your stupid crying. You were so perfect to him. You were confident and forward yet deep down you were a crybaby and needy and loveable and he really did love you. He hugged you tighter in his arms.

“I know you hate it when I call you cute but you’re so fucking cute,” Taehyung said as he kissed your hair, “And I love you so much and I would never want to change the way we got together or make you feel like you’re not important to me because you are.”

He looked down at you with loving eyes, “And I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore.”

In the end Jihyun never told anyone. She figured she owed it to Taehyung after being so shitty the last few years. It had hurt her to watch him be happy with someone else but from the moment she saw you two at the restaurant she knew you made him happy. She couldn’t take that away from him after what she had done.

::.

ok yayyyy finallt part 2 is done. this is in fact the final part so pls understand. feel free to send in asks about them or drabbles

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog g @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802 @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys s @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

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#kim taehyung #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #taehyung au #taehyung drabble #taehyung #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung bts #Taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung fic #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfic #his special secret

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milswrites · 2 months

Text

Hobbies Part 11.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: mentions of sex

“Will you stop fussing? You look divine!” Azriel praised as he walked up to where Y/N was nervously fretting over her appearance in the mirror. His soothing hands meeting her waist as he pulled her backwards to rest against his chest in a comforting embrace. Mesmerised eyes taking in the reflection before him, Y/N wrapped perfectly in his arms as if she was the missing piece of what was the unfinished puzzle of Azriel’s life.

He placed a tender kiss against her cheek, moving his hands to appreciatively brush them along the fabric of her dress. Another marvellous creation of her own design. “You don’t happen to have a matching top for me, do you?” He asked, eyes still locked onto her angelic face in the mirror as he delicately planted sweet kisses along her neck. A twinkle appeared in her eyes as she pouted in faux disappointment, “I’m afraid not. I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t take you as the kind of person who would want to wear matching clothes with his lover in front of his family.”

“Well it’s a good job you’re not only my lover but my mate as well” he playfully bit the lobe of her ear, the blushing woman squealing in the tight grip of his arms as she tried to escape his affectionate nibbles. Azriel pulling her back into him, refusing to let the woman go, amber eyes moving back to the mirror to admire the happy couple smiling back at him in the reflection. Stomach doing somersaults at the love shining in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at the male.

Azriel sighed heavily as he rested his chin onto Y/N’s shoulder, “Are you sure we can’t just stay here? I can think of many, much more scandalous, things I’d rather do with you than go and see my family.”

“And aren’t we so fortunate that we now have all the time in the world to do said scandalous things. We can try every sinful thought that crosses through that dirty mind of yours.”

Azriel’s grip on Y/N tightened at her words, his eyes growing dark as she sent a dangerously sensual image down the new found bond. She smirked at his growing predicament pressing against her, pleased at the power she held over the male, before she teased, “oh but what a shame. I think if we tried to escape your family any longer they might come and bash down my door and I’d rather not have an audience when I’m showing you just how much I love you.”

“Let them watch” he groaned, smile dropping from his face as she pulled away before he could act on his desires.

Y/N began to pace the room anxiously, repeating everything Azriel had told her about his friends, “So there’s Rhysand and Feyre, and they have the baby right?”

“Nyx yes.”

“And then there’s Cassian and Nesta. Then Mor, Amren and… oh gosh who was it? Ella? Eleanor?”

“Elain.”

“Yes Elain! Ok.”

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured the fretting woman, just as he had been doing for the past six hours since Rhysand had sent them the invitation, “as much as I know I’m going to dislike it, I don’t think there’s a single person who could meet you and not fall unbelievably and entirely in love with you.”

Y/N stopped her pacing, flushing at Azriel’s words as she moved towards him to place her smaller hands in his, “well, unfortunately for them I only have eyes for my big grumpy mate who would no doubt show them who I belong to.”

“I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like people” Azriel defended with a scowl as a giggling Y/N pecked his cheek.

“Ok” she released a deep breath, giving Azriel’s hands a gentle squeeze, “I’m ready. Let’s go now before I change my mind.”

“The beds right there” Azriel pleaded as she rolled her eyes at his hint, playfully slapping his chest as he chuckled. The male drew her into a crushing embrace, sneaking in one last kiss on the top of her head before his shadows engulfed them. A storm of darkness surrounding their hold as the shadows whisked the loving couple away to the Night Court. To Velaris the City of Starlight.

~~~~~

The pair stepped out from the shadows into an empty cobbled street. A slight chill in the air causing Y/N to shiver at the unfamiliar climate, Azriel made a mental note to get her some more weather appropriate clothes for whenever she was to join him in the Night Court.

Azriel watched on with nervous interest as Y/N took in her new surroundings. Having never been to the night court, he prayed she would find Velaris just as magical as he had done. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, she may be looking at these streets as a place she would one day like to call home.

They hadn't yet had the chance to talk about how their relationship would work with the two hailing from different courts, but Azriel couldn't help but let his mind drift to sweet thoughts of the pair living together in a small cottage overlooking the Sidra. Once more dreaming of a perfect domestic life with the woman, only this time he could dream of them doing it all together as mates.

Y/N was beaming widely as usual, her bright eyes absorbing the view of the picturesque street. "Oh Az, it's beautiful! It looks just like something from a fairytale!" she exclaimed, Azriel releasing a relieved sigh at her open appreciation.

"Yeah?" he asked shyly, "Think you'd like to come back to visit me here?" He needed to hear the words from her lips so Azriel could be free to dream about the future he so longed to have.

Y/N laughed at his anxious question, finding it silly how he would think a place would change her opinion of the man, how it would change how deeply she felt about him, "Azriel," she smiled, pulling both of his hands into her own, "you could live in a literal ditch, and I would still visit you every opportunity I have. Because I love you Azriel, not your Court. Although it is a very beautiful one...you may find it quite difficult to get rid of me."

Now feeling silly about his previous worries, Azriel leaned forward to press a soft kiss against Y/N's lips, joking as he pulled away, "I'd wait to meet my family first before you say things like that, you may change your mind on that fairly quickly."

"I'm sure if they're even half as good as you are I'll love them" she replied, pulling the male in for another sweet kiss whilst they were still in the pleasurable bubble of their own company.

"Don't say I didn't warn you" Azriel teased as he began to lightly push Y/N in the direction they needed to go, his large hand resting protectively on the small of her back.

~~~~~

Azriel already knew this was going to be the most embarrassing night of his life. He had already prepared for that. What he hadn't prepared for was the impatient nudge of Rhysand's voice in his head telling him to hurry up and meet them at Feyre's art studio in the Rainbow. Azriel had expected a sit down meal, maybe even a trip to Rita's for a few drinks if the night went well, but of course it seems his brother has something more nefarious planned.

The shadowsinger, who already wished he was still holed up in the Day Court cottage with Y/N, sullenly led his mate to where the rest of his family were waiting for the pair. Y/N failed to notice his bitter mood, she was too preoccupied with gazing at her surroundings in awe as Azriel dragged her through the winding streets by her hand, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

Her excitement over being in a new court steadily increasing, until by the time they had made it to the Rainbow Azriel was sure if she were any happier she'd likely combust from the enthusiasm.

He held the door open for her as they entered the studio, Y/N's eyes lighting with glee as she noticed where he had taken her. The inner circle were all waiting inside, turning from their conversations to face the newly together couple.

"Oh my cauldron you're beautiful!" Cassian cried overenthusiastically earning an eye roll from his mate due to his antics. Bounding over to the pair he mockingly wipes faux tears from his eyes before gripping Y/N by her arms and pulling her into the biggest bear hug he could muster. If Y/N were startled by his actions she didn't show it, instead she reciprocated the hug, grinning at the large man as she spoke, "You must be Cassian, I've heard so much about you."

The General gasped as he put her down, turning to yank his grumbling brother into a hug as he teased, "Oh Azzie, I knew you always talked about me!" The rest of his family began to approach the pair, exchanging welcoming hugs (which were less bone-crushing than Cassian's but just as warming) and polite greetings.

Azriel watched his family interact with the woman and he couldn't help but think that if Y/N could be likened to anything it would be the sun, her glowing energy forcing anyone near her to fall into a natural orbit. Her presence acting like gravity, drawing everyone towards her. They had been in the room for all of two minutes and Y/N was already animatedly chatting away with Feyre as she admired her studio, the two women acting as though they had been friends for centuries.

Whilst she was distracted, a grouchy Azriel hovered over to Rhysand, whispering sharply in the male's ear so not to be overheard, "What are we doing here?"

"I showed Feyre the painting from Y/N and she wanted to plan something that would make her feel comfortable, isn't that sweet Azzie?" Rhysand smirked at Azriel's bulging eyes, clearly finding his shock entertatining.

"You showed her the painting?" he grit through his teeth, cheeks turning red at the thought of the High Lady seeing something that felt so personal to Azriel.

"Oh...I showed everyone the painting" Rhys replied as if it was obvious, pointing over to where a flushed Y/N was smiling gently as Feyre held said painting in her hands as she talked about it to the woman.

"You actually hate me" Azriel concluded, eyes now drifting around the room in fear as he noticed the number of blank canvases standing on easels. Feyre's brilliant idea obviously being that they all had a family painting session.

"Don't worry brother," Rhysand grinned as he wrapped a comforting arm around Azriel, "I brought drinks!"

~~~~~

The concentration in the room was palpable. Well, from some of the members. Azriel, Feyre, Amren and Cassian all working in a focused silence, tongues absentmindedly poking from their lips. Elain was also opting to work quietly, unreadable eyes sometimes flickering in the direction of the shadowsinger and his new love. On the other hand: Rhysand, Mor, Nesta and Y/N were all happily chatting away as they gossiped whilst painting their creations. Wine flowing to their heads as they giggled to each other whilst occasionally stumbling on the tall wooden stools they were sat on.

"I have to say," Rhysand mumbled a confession as he squinted at his painting, "Azriel gave us quite the fright when he disappeared from here - twice may I add. He was acting like a feral beast, we all thought you had to mean a lot to him for him to be acting like that."

"Well," Y/N sighed contentedly, affectionate eyes meeting Azriel's from where he sat next to her, "I suppose finding out you're mates would do that to someone."

A chorus of surprised cries flooded the room. The inner circle chiding their friend for not breaking the news to them sooner. Sweet Elain squeaked in shock, spitting out a large gulp of wine all over her canvas. Meanwhile Cassian shouted, "I knew it!" and began to list all the unrelated reasons as to why he believed he had always known that Azriel found his mate during his stay in the Day Court.

"Mates?" Elain quietly sounded, eyes locking onto the floor in disappointment. Before she could say anymore her sister chimed in, Nesta leaning over to place a friendly hand on Y/N's own as she congratulated the couple, "That's wonderful news. We're really happy for you Azriel, you two make a wonderful pair."

Having been sat in a nervous stupor most of the night, praying that Y/N and his family got on well, Azriel flashed Nesta a crooked smile, thanking the woman for her kind words. "Yeah, we do" he replied earnestly, eyes moving to rest on his lovely mate.

"Well cheers to that!" Cassian bellowed as he raised his full glass in the air, liquid sloshing messily down his sleeve.

~~~~~

"What is that?" Y/N asked, squinting inquisitively at Cassian's masterful creation, "A horse?...A blue horse?".

Cassian frowned, a paint-stained hand coming to rest on his chin as he observed his painting alongside the woman. "It's supposed to be Azriel" he admitted in disappointment, "I guess I can't quite get the face right.” Y/N laid a supportive hand onto the general's shoulder, lying through her teeth in an attempt to make it feel better, "Oh of course! You're just forgetting the wings that's all!"

The General gasped at Y/N's words, beside himself that he forgot to paint his brothers wings, he eagerly lunged for his palette so he could complete the portrait of his, eyebrows still knitted together as he focused on painting the lines as steadily as he could.

Y/N moved past the male with a chuckle, wanting to see what other wonders Azriel's family had created. She came across the most exquisite piece, a lovely garden which radiated life, beautiful flowers of all shades decorating the scene. Gasping in awe at the tranquility of the scene, she turned to the artist to profess her appreciation, "It's beautiful! I've never seen a garden like it!"

"Oh...Thank you," Elain quietly answered, "It's of my own one."

"You have a garden? Oh that's wonderful, I bet the painting doesn't even do it justice! You must be really talented if it looks anything as good as this."

Elain cracked a small smile of appreciation, "Thank you, you can come see it sometime if you like. The next time Azriel brings you up maybe?"

"I'd love that!" Y/N replied joyfully, having always had a love for gardens which had only increased by a tenfold since that night with her mate. Azriel tentatively approached the pair, slowly walking towards them before coming to a stop at Y/N's side. "Everything ok here?" he nervously asked, eyes flittering between the two.

"Yes!" Y/N beamed, resting her head against his shoulder, "I was just telling Elain how magnificent her painting is, and she's invited me to come see her garden next time I'm here!"

Azriel relaxed his muscles, not even noticing how tense he had been standing, he flashed Elain a grateful smile, eyes full of apologies for not telling her what had unraveled during his time in Autumn, for not giving her the closure she deserved, "Thank you Elain."

The woman grew a mischievous smile, pulling a sniggering Y/N to her side and into a one-armed hug, "I don't know why you're thanking me Azriel. It's Y/N who I invited, not you."

~~~~~

It had been a wonderful night. Meeting Azriel's family and being allowed a glimpse into his life here in the Night Court filled Y/N with an indescribable warmth she has failed to experience in her life until this moment. Still admiring the artwork they had created tonight, Y/N slowly approached Feyre's canvas, tears welling in her eyes at the sight before her.

There, huddled together in the center of the detailed painting was the inner circle. Arms wrapped around each other's figures, connecting them all in one large hug. Laughing faces stared back at Y/N, their eyes all overflowing with carefree humour as their dazzling smiles met her own.

And there, joined in the familial embrace, was Y/N. Locked tightly in a beaming Azriel's arms. Her smile as equally wide as his as her eyes twinkled with an uncontrollable joy.

Y/N had never had any family and spent most of her life growing up alone and uncared for. But here, wide eyes staring at the familiar woman in the painting who was surrounded by Azriel's loving family, Y/N allowed herself to dream of that family one day being hers as well.

"Oh wow that's amazing" Azriel's voice sounded from behind Y/N, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he admired Feyre's hard work. Y/N failed to hold the sob that broke from her mouth as she settled into Azriel's tender hold. "Hey...hey what's wrong?" Azriel asked worriedly, shifting Y/N in his embrace until her face was pressed against his chest. He murmured sweet nothings into her ear to calm her until she was able to speak, swaying them gently in an attempt to comfort the sniffling woman.

Once Y/N had settled enough to speak, she craned her neck back in order to look at her mate, eyes still red and watery. "You have the most amazing family" she wept, unable to stop the tracks of tears rolling down her cheeks.

"We do" Azriel replied simply, agreeing with her statement. He placed a small kiss on her forehead before beginning to gently wipe the tears from her face with his hands. Turning Y/N until she faced the painting once more, back nestled into his chest. "You know I'm not actually related to any of them through blood" Azriel pointed out, his low voice rumbling against her back, "But we found each other and built something special between us. Something that means more to us than just family."

Y/N still sniffled slightly but she was deadly focussed on listening to every word that came from Azriel's mouth as he continued, "Some bonds run deeper than blood. And you're a part of that now. You're one of us."

"Yeah?" Y/N asked hesitantly, fingers coming to brush up against her euphoric form in the painting. Azriel hugged her midsection tightly, gently pulling her back so her hand dropped from the piece, "don't go trying to rub yourself off. You're stuck with us now."

She laughed through her tears, opting to rest her hands on Azriel's encircling arms instead. Happy with the home she had found with the male.

Allowing the final few tears to fall, she breathed out deeply, allowing her overwhelming emotions to expire.

"What did you paint?" she asked curiously, realizing she had now seen every painting in the room except her mates.

"Come on," he smiled, holding out a hand for her to take, "I'll show you."

~~~~~

Y/N stared at the painting which glared right back at her. Absorbing the piece in it's entirety as she tried to figure out what it was.

It was beautiful, a swirl of misty yellows and glittering golds, whirling together on the canvas. Colours blending in harmony as they glided across the surface. The picture had a depth to it, sparking a desire inside her chest to try and climb into it, to see just how far she would make it into the glowing storm, wondering what kind of nirvana she would discover at the end of it.

"Its incredible Az! But...what is it?" she daren't remove her eyes from the painting, afraid that the spiritual journey it was taking her on would be cut short.

"It's you" he replied, his proud amber eyes burning into his own work, "what you make me feel, what the bond makes me feel. Every stroke of the brush, every whirl of paint, it's all you."

His words held truth, as Y/N stood and observed each flowing line that moved along the canvas, she felt a strange sense of intamacy with the artwork. As though Azriel had torn out her soul and plastered it across the surface. Her soul which Azriel had recognized before she had, her mate knowing every part of her in it's entirety.

"I see you for what you are" Azriel stated, bond already revealing your thoughts to him, "Just as you see me."

"Cauldron Azriel!" Cassian's shrill voice severed the consuming aura of the moment Y/N and Azriel were sharing, "Feyre needs to start giving you some lessons cause let me tell you that is one ugly-"

Epilogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Hehe if you want to do what I did picture Azriel punching Cassian for that!

Everybody can thank the lovely @charlineraven for speaking this extra part into existence! (I'm so glad you did! 💕💕)

Just the epilogue to go now!

Also for all those expecting a big Elain confrontation I’m sorry! It felt wrong to belittle a woman just for having a crush (come on! Who can blame her I love Az so much)

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @iluvyewman-blog @going-through-shit @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobssessedmylove @honeybeeboobaa @justvibbinghere @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

#azriel oneshot #acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel

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sugairsstuff · 2 months

Note

Hii,

I have a request I love protective Rhys so can you do a Rhys x reader where someone insults her and Rhys gets all overprotective and angry, like how dare they insult my mate🤭

I hope you have a great day and thank u for writing it

Bye❤️

i’m sorry for taking so long to write this! i hope you enjoy my spin on the prompt <3

i’m flattered

rhysand x fem/reader

warnings: none

description: a noble has quite a lot to say regarding your appointment to high lady. as much as you’d like to do it yourself, your loving mate swoops in to put them in their place.

Coming to the Court of Nightmares to play pretend in these political dances veiled in the disguise of a party was never something you were excited about through all your immortal years of knowing Rhysand. So, naturally, you were feeling an extra weight of anxiety now that you would be attending as the High Lady of the Night Court—therefore a major piece in what was originally just Rhysand and the Court of Nightmare’s game of chess. You understood your mate morphed himself into an entirely different person as he believed that the one way to keep this imbalanced section of the Night Court under order was to keep them intimidated with the illusion of a cruel leader—for who would challenge someone who held no moral bounds?

While your mate had years—if not centuries—of practice in carefully carving this mask to wear at a ball that wasn’t even a masquerade, you had only been High Lady for two years. Before that, you kept your head low or simply did not attend the events held in this part of the court. It goes without saying that you were extremely prone to criticism, which was especially worrying in a place that was kept under control through the guise that they were not allowed to question their authority.

Alas, your lover insisted that it would be better for you to attend with him. Rhysand promised that you were safe there in his company (and that the food and drinks would be to your liking), while urging that it was better to show your face and prove that these Fae did not make you afraid than stay behind and let them mumble amongst themselves. Because, of course, this court was no longer run by only the High Lord, so now you needed to demand respect as well.

Standing in the mirror, you decide that at least it was somehow easing to be wearing such an elegant gown to the ball. With long sleeves and a deep plunge, your black dress hugs your curves and falls over your hips to the floor. You thought it was a nice touch that the ends of the long skirt are flecked in white that gave the illusion you had just waded through a pool of stars. Your hair is done up nicely as well to flaunt your neck and the silver jewels decorating it, the light piece of jewelry falling deep on your chest.

“I’m wondering if bringing you may be a mistake after all,” a familiar voice hums lovingly behind you. You whirl around from the mirror, brows furrowed as you watch your mate expectantly for an explanation.

Rhysand chuckles, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture as he pushes himself off of the doorframe he was leaning against, “You are one beautiful distraction, darling. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay focused on politics when I have the brightest star in Prythian right at my side. That’s all.”

You roll your eyes regardless of the fact you’re now sure you didn’t need to put blush on when doing your make up earlier. “Oh, yeah, cover it up, Mr. High Lord,” you huff in faux annoyance, though perhaps some real insecurity.

Rhysand was quick to notice that, and even quicker to invade your personal space by wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you to his chest. “Don’t forget Mr. High Lord needs his Mrs. High Lady there,” he coos, grinning when his cheesy words evoke a sweet laugh from your lips.

You decide to change the topic rather than continue to brood over the inevitable reality of the ball you are about to be an unwanted spotlight in. “Is everyone else ready?” you ask, thinking of your friends who also are expected to be attending due to political reasons. Azriel, Cassian, and even Mor were always expected to at least show their faces.

Rhysand nods idly, clearly too distracted by you to shift his mind to be thinking about them. “They’re waiting, but I’m sure they won’t mind it if we’re a little late,” he says, grinning like a feline as he leans down over you to try and capture your lips with his. You evade Rhysand’s flirtatious attempts to seduce you by leaning back and resting your palm against his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No way am I being late to this thing,” though you pause and return his playful grin, “though if it goes well, maybe we can celebrate later. The zipper on this dress is pretty difficult to undo,” you hum.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.” he winks, smiling like a fool as his boyish attitude earns yet another laugh from you.

Rhysand was a tempting sight to be seen, though. It appears as though he wanted to make you two look like dynastic royalty with the way you both are dressed, perhaps to look utterly untouchable to the rebellious crowd you are about to endure. His suit was pitch black, tailored perfectly to hug his V-shaped waist and embroidered with deep purple lacing at its hems. His sleek black hair is pushed back with what you assume is gel, though either by Rhysand’s doing or its own failure some of raven strands had fallen down over his forehead. You couldn’t help but make the allusion of you being the stars and him being the milky way.

“Alright, let’s go before you get too carried away,” you insist. And with that, Rhysand pulls you closer to him and winnows you to where your friends wait—some more impatiently, as Azriel stands with his arms crossed and an accusing expression at the two of you for being late.

By the time you arrive in the Court of Nightmares, you realize the party wasn’t starting without Rhysand and you. The throne room was done up extravagantly to meet the expectations of the High Fae citizens of Hewn City, the pure silver decorations a stark contrast to the deep, shiny ebony that the room was etched from.

Beautiful faces all around the room turn to watch you and your mate enter, their drinks idle in their hands and their conversations paused so that they can get a good look at the new High Lady. You swallow, keeping your chin up and moving on to the main floor alongside your mate. The back of Rhysand’s hand brushes yours, and when you turn to look up at him you see that he’s offering you his arm. You link your elbow with his, allowing him to lead you the rest of the way into the parted crowds.

When the pair of you begin to near the dais, you see only one throne sits at the centre of it. Rhysand seems to have this planned, though, as he gently guides you away and lets go of your elbow once you reach a small cluster of nobles. Of course, it all came down to symbolism and perception, because rulers who are supposed to be equals should have their own thrones to sit, and holding on to you when not walking would be seen as more controlling than chivalrous.

“High Lord, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited,” one of the Fae spoke. Her features were sharp and dark, brought out by her even darker makeup. To your surprise, she turns to look at you, “And you’re not alone. You must be our new High Lady, I’ve never seen you at any of the parties here.” the nameless female hums, her gaze dragging down along you. You can see in her brown eyes she finds nothing to criticize as she releases a small ‘hmph’ of both disappointment and approval.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to visit Hewn City properly.” you respond, offering a small, neutral smile. You decided that maybe if you treat these people politely, and not allow any snide remarks to outwardly anger you, they would see you as immune to their judgment and would back down.

The female raises her brow. Rhysand later would tell you her name is Emelia, daughter of a family known for trades. But when you glance to your side, you realize your mate has been pulled aside with Mor in what looks like an unpleasant conversation with Keir, the steward of Hewn City.

Emelia decides to strike while you’re alone, having no respect for someone who, technically, wasn’t her direct authority, “Well, that makes it sounds like you weren’t allowed to visit the Court. Why, does your High Lord keep you at arm’s length?” she drawls, sipping her golden-flaked wine in a weak attempt to hide her triumphant smirk.

Your back straightens, stunned for only a moment at her implication. “Well, it’s just a little difficult finding free time to revel so often when there are duties I must see to for the Night Court as a whole. I’m not sure if you will understand, however, considering how many of these occasions you’ve mentioned you spend your time going to.” you quip, quickly realizing that being nice and courteous to people wouldn’t work, and that Rhysand was unfortunately right to maintain equilibrium in Hewn City through intimidation.

You leave Emelia fuming in your wake, not bidding her a farewell as you head to Rhysand who now converses with Keir alone. Your mate looks relieved when he sees you coming, moving like a wisp in your black dress across the ebony throne room. The male to his left, however, looks less than pleased to see you coming in contrast.

“Keir,” you greet as Rhysand bends to kiss your cheek in loving greeting.

Keir only says your name in return before looking to Rhysand. “Well, that’s all from me, enjoy your fun, Rhysand.” he says, sending a scrutinizing look your way before departing.

Your mate lets him go without the satisfaction of a response. Rhysand sighs, turning to face you and reaching a hand to adjust the positioning of your necklace. His hand brushes against your collarbone as you meet his eyes. “Was she giving you trouble?” he says, recalling that he had to leave you with Emelia, “I felt some tension on your end of the bond,” he murmurs, careful of the level of his voice due to the room being full of prying, pointy ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assure him, taking your turn to do some adjusting by straightening the sculpted fabric of his overcoat. You thought you had managed yourself well with Emelia, who you assume was somewhere between a jealous young female to another rebellious citizen spewing the opinions fed to her by others, and your confidence began to return until you and Rhysand were silent enough for a conversation to reach your ears.

“Look at her. Dressed like a queen and yet she does nothing for the Night Court,” a male voice scoffed. You hear female and male voices laughing almost forcefully in adoration. The male continues, his voice only slightly muffled from the crowd and the distant music, “All I’m saying is, I don’t even work in politics and I could probably do a better job than her.”

After some more irritating cackling, a female voice pipes in, “The dress is tacky, anyway.”

With your heart in your stomach, you don’t even have the chance to look around and locate the owners of these voices as you notice your mate has already walked the few feet over to the small group near the edge of the throne room.

You worry that following after your mate and standing there as he, you assume, chides the yapping male, you make your way to the nearby refreshment table. Azriel thankfully stands there, who seems to be avidly trying to blend into the wall in order to avoid conversing with the unpleasant guests.

“Pretend we’re having a conversation. I’m eavesdropping.” you tell him once you arrive, and Azriel responds with a joking ‘yes, ma’am’ as you become another one of the pointy-eared eavesdroppers.

“Cielo,” you hear Rhysand drawl, a wicked grin on his face as he inserts himself into their conversation. Satisfaction begins to lift your heart back into place as the group’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

“Are you implying you think you’d be a better High Lady for me?” Rhysand hums, brow raising at Cielo, who now looks stiff with embarrassment. “Really, I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, I’m truly flattered.” Rhysand continues just enough so that Cielo’s friends have turned their amusement to their rather humiliated looking pal.

Rhysand takes a step forward, a few inches taller than the glaring male. “I’d hate to break your heart, but if you ever speak about your High Lady and my mate in such a disgusting manner again, I will make an example out of you as to exactly what the punishment is for disrespecting your authority.” and just as his friends began to snicker, Rhysand’s sharp violet gaze turns to them. “And that goes for all of you,” he snaps. Rhysand stalks away, leaving the small crowd of Fae in silence as he finds you next to Azriel.

“You know,” you say cheekily, “I could’ve handled that, too.”

Rhysand sighs as he takes a glass of wine from the table, likely wanting some alcohol to stroke away the flames of his temper. “I know, darling. Sorry for beating you to it, I just couldn’t stand by and listen to them spit bullshit like that.” he scoffs. You can’t be bothered to be mad—too busy gleaming in triumph and pride over your love’s protectiveness.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson,” you giggle, glancing to the group who now watch you and Rhysand in weariness rather than entitlement.

“Good. If they can’t appreciate what you do for them, they could at least keep their mouths shut.” he hisses. You rest your hand on Rhysand’s elbow to bring his attention back to you.

“Why don’t we dance? That way, no one can judge us for not speaking to anyone.” you suggest.

Rhysand takes your hand and kisses the back of it, “I like the sound of that.” he agrees.

After a night full of dancing and more inevitable political conversations, you and Rhysand winnow back to the House of Wind as you call it a night. You find yourself standing in front of your long mirror, trying to reach back to undo the finicky zipper of your dress. You see Rhysand take a step closer to you in the mirror and feel as his hands snake into place on each side of your waist.

“So, how about that celebrating?” he grins to your reflection.

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #the night court #night court #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #cassian

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heart2beom · 1 year

Text

call you later

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

synopsis: beomgyu swears women fall at his feet and he's in fact, single by choice—what better way to prove this to you than collecting the numbers of random people on the street?

you're in on the little fun too, until you manage to get soobin's number. because suddenly, beomgyu's a debbie downer—for whatever reason.

genre: comedy, fluff, best friends to lovers

a/n: late beomgyu bday fic...and its cheesy as hell 😭😭 anyways, nobody understands how happy i got after finding these icons, its literally perfect. this is exactly how he looks in the fic !!!! also lol this is practically me gushing over beomgyu while writing, its so self indulgent

You don't know how this became topic of conversation for the hundredth time this week. After the events of the failed attempt of trying to get your upperclassman's number, Yeonjun—Beomgyu has been talking nonstop on how he's the most qualified person in your life that could hand you flirting tips, completely dismissing the fact that he's been single for the past two years.

He stops walking when you remind him that very necessary piece of information he seems to forget a little too often. "It's by choice! I'm single by choice!" you hear him yell. You don't pay him any mind, scrolling through your phone as you continue to walk.

He catches up to you rather quickly, hands in pockets as he walks backwards facing you, brown hair prickling his eyes because of the wind. "Do you seriously believe I can't get dates?"

You shove your phone back in your pocket, providing him with your full attention.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" you enjoy how his hand shoot up to go over his chest, fauxing hurt with a huge pout—you've been telling him he'd do well majoring in theatre arts.

"You've lost your charm Choi, your age's getting to you."

He cracks a smile of disbelief, before continuing on, "I'm twenty-one not eighty-one knucklehead."

Beomgyu turns from facing you, walking by your side again. He clicks his tongue before saying, "You'd think that the closest people to Beomgyu would know him by now."

"Oh no, you're speaking in third person again." you whine.

He'd do this entire thing of narrating his life when he deems it necessary—which really should be never. It's also another reason why you're convinced theatre is his second calling—second to his very dramatic declaration of love to music.

"Yeah, because my best friend in the entire world thinks I'm a loser!"

He wasn't too far off. "Okay, I'll be honest. I do think you're a loser—"

"You're a loser." he retaliates.

"I was just about to compliment you!"

"How was I supposed to know? You don't follow an insult with a compliment, that's like, against the rules of socializing!"

You opt to narrow your eyes at Beomgyu instead of replying, taking the silence route. Beomgyu returns your glare, before huffing.

A few steps without anyone speaking until, "The compliment..." he mutters around a fake cough.

You snap your head to the brunette, lips slightly parted at his shameless attempt of getting a compliment. You punch his shoulder lightly before laughing a little in disbelief but also in a familiar knowing way—Beomgyu's always been like this.

When he gives you a shrug paired with childish pout as to say 'it wouldn't hurt', you give in, sighing. "I was about to say that I think you're handsome but you ruined that dipshit."

It's quiet again, and usually, you'd look to your side, trying to relish in your friend's reaction — it's always so reactive, animated in a way that makes the receiving end feel happy despite the context — but you don't, instead, your eyes were focused on the path you were walking on. It was wide, the greenery of spring occupying both sides, aftermath of the disastrous, lonely winter completely dissolved.

"You do?"

You almost laugh before his tone set on you a little more; his voice was lower, and you felt his eyes hesitantly looking at you, almost like he's genuinely looking for your affirmation.

You choose to look back at him, pursing your lips as you pretend to study the features you've grown accustomed to for the past five years.

You do think he's handsome—it's a given, even now, his bare skin devoid of any noticeable acne scars, lively and clear, his lashes—though a contrast to his boyish charm—so pretty and long you often find yourself feel a little envious whenever your finger would brush over them in awe. And god, if you could even begin to describe the way his lips—

He scoffs, turning away from your stare, pulling you out of your own thoughts. You blink a few times, before also tearing your eyes from the man walking beside you.

You went on too long without saying anything, how embarrassing. Clearing your throat you say, "I do."

He sighs. "You took too long to say that, I don't believe you."

You roll your eyes—you know what he wants. "I think you're handsome, Beomgyu."

You're not taken by surprise when he throws his arm over your shoulders, a teasing smile annoyingly plastered on his face as he shoves it a little too close, forcing you to look at him — you wouldn't complain anyway. "Awe, is little Y/N realizing Beomgyu's the love of her life, her soulmate, her beloved—"

"You're pushing it," you whine trying to push his face away, though the smile on your face is hard to hide. "I just called you handsome, it's not like I'm blind."

To the wanderers around you, the ones sitting on benches enjoying the view of cherry blossoms, they'd assume Beomgyu was your boyfriend with the way he had his arm comfortably laying off your shoulder.

"I'm not just a pretty face Y/N. In fact, I'm so cool that I could get the number of the first girl that passes me."

"No, no you couldn't."

Beomgyu naturally takes this as a challenge when he scoffs, finally removing his arm from you, "Watch me."

That's how it started. The ten minute stroll to get the park's infamous ice cream turning into something way bigger than it originally was.

"Her." you say, one hand on the rough bark of the tree you both were hiding behind, another used to discreetly point at the woman who had a child on her lap, clearly busy as she yelled on the phone.

Beomgyu was directly behind you, his head over yours, as he tries to get a good look of who you were pointing at.

"Are you crazy? She has a kid!" he whisper shouts, though the situation really didn't call for it. The woman was at the least three yards away from the tree you guys were behind.

"I thought love knows no bounds."

That seems to get him, using his beloved philosophy against him.

"It—it does if she's married!"

"You're so traditional. People can raise their kids on their own."

When he doesn't budge, unconvinced of taking such a chance, you turn to face him. Which is a mistake because now you realize how close he was. You clear your throat, dismissing the way the proximity was weirdly effecting you. "You lost. Bet's done."

"What? No! I have seventeen numbers and you have like...five. You lost, fair and square."

"This isn't fair! You made me ask an old man for his number, I had to stay there for twenty entire minutes just so he could type it in!"

"I'm not going Y/N, nothing you can do can convince me." he says, eyes shut as he childishly crosses his arms, head turned to the side, chin up high.

You glare at him before shoving your hand down your jeans pocket for spare change—surprisingly feeling paper. When you pull out the mysterious object, your eyes widen at seeing a twenty dollar bill. You've never gotten this lucky before!

It was too late to shove it back in because Beomgyu opens an eye to peek at what you were doing, noticing the bill you had in your hand.

You look at the boy, who was wide-eyed, then back to your very lucky money. "Fuck..." you groan, slapping the bill on his palm, internally mourning the loss of your money.

"You work miracles Y/N." he says cheekily. You deadpan, which gets the man holding up his hands as defense, flashing the money he just got out of you, with a teasing smile before he proudly turns to approach the woman.

Was that even worth your money?

Chewing slightly on your bottom lip, you observe through narrowed eyes—you can't really make out what he's saying, but the woman's brows were furrowed. Not a good sign.

A smirk makes way on your face as you lean against the tree, arms crossed.

Beomgyu still wears a smile, saying something again. You think that's the end of it, he apologized for bothering her and failed— but that isn't what happens.

Your smirk slowly falls when you see him typing something in his phone.

There's no way.

Before leaving, he gives the kid on the woman's lap a high five.

No way.

"You got her number?!" you shout in disbelief when he's finally in front of you.

"Keep it down!"

You're impatient, waiting for his response to your question, but with the way he had his chin raised proudly, hands in pocket, you got the answer.

You blink a few times, trying to piece your shock together. "But how? She's married! She—"

He gasps before pointing an accusatory finger at you. "I knew you saw that ring! You were trying to embarrass me!" you don't reply, instead just crossing your arms, huffing. "But see who came out on top? This guy." he turns his finger from you to himself, a smile of accomplishment spread on his face.

"Okay, I get it. But is she seriously cheating on her spouse while having a kid? That's fucking messed up."

"I just asked her where I could get the best cakes. She said BonBon's Bakery, which is, like, thirty minutes away."

You narrow your eyes, mouth wide—he can't just do this! "You didn't get her number! You—you tricked me!"

"Yes I did, and I'm proud." He says, walking to go behind you again, searching for your next victim.

You sigh, "Why'd you ask that anyway?"

"What, the cake? Because my birthday's soon idiot."

Oh yeah, his birthday.

"Go up to... the the blonde one! Wait, no, nevermind."

You furrow your brows, "Why'd you just take that back?"

He's quick to reply, "No reason. Oh! Go up to him."

You don't bother to look at who he was pointing at now, instead focusing your attention on the blonde Beomgyu had previously pointed at.

He had a pair of sony headphones, walking, eyes glued to his phone. "Soobin." the name slips out your lips absentmindedly as your eyes follow his figure.

"The random guy I'm pointing at is Soobin?" Beomgyu asks scratching his head, playing dumb.

No, the random guy he's pointing at is a middle aged man with a bald spot. You get into action, quickly walking at the direction of Soobin, who was by now, very far.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Beomgyu's hand is on your wrist, making you turn your head back to him. You tilt your head. "Going up to Soobin and getting his number?"

He breaks into an uneasy smile. "But you know him. That's an unfair advantage."

"I don't know him, you know him. I'm playing on fair grounds." you say, a little confused on why he was caring about advantages anyway—Beomgyu had double the numbers you had, he was winning.

When he doesn't let go, you decide to just shake his loose hold on you, chuckling awkwardly, giving him one last look before trying to catch up to the blonde.

Beomgyu never felt so much nervousness as he waited behind the tree, watching the scene unfold between you and his other best friend, Soobin.

His eyes fall down to see the scattered dandelions in the grass. He gulps before quickly bending down to pluck one out. It's a little childish—the way he holds the flower close to his lips, blowing air with all his force, making sure the dandelion is devoid of any white fluff. Wishing that your beyond terrible flirting skills would be so unflattering that Soobin would reject you.

Which is not the case.

When Soobin bashfully waves, a small smile on his face as he turns away from you, walking away—Beomgyu finds out at the age of twenty-one, that wishing upon a dandelion was a hoax. It's further rubbed in his face when you skip towards him, a wide smile on your face.

He drops the dead flower, pursing his lips as he steps on it.

"Guess who just got a number." you sing-song, waving your phone at him.

"Haha, congrats." he manages to smile, rolling his eyes.

"I'm going to catch up to you and win, be scared." you threaten though, your tone a little too excited, full of pride. Was this how Beomgyu felt on an hour basis? Because god, does it feel great.

"I think we should stop here for today."

You snap your head to Beomgyu, brows furrowed. "What? No!"

"We've been here for more than two hours, my legs are tired." he whines with a pout.

You take notice of your surroundings— the once blue sky was now a deep shade of orange, the park was a lot more empty, only a couple people walking down the path.

Yeah, you should definitely go home now.

"We're ending this formally tomorrow, 6PM sharp. Whoever has the most numbers gets fifty from the loser."

He nods before holding out his hand. "Deal."

You shake it, "Deal."

Though you smiled, you couldn't help but feel as if Beomgyu's mood had taken a complete 180.

You dismiss it—he probably is just tired.

Movie Sundays—epitome of the typical movie nerd enthusiasts gathering around one TV screen on a specific day, in a specific time and binging 70's shit that is no longer relevant in today's society.

When you open your door, it's typical Beomgyu with his plaid shirt over his plain white one, barging into your apartment like he was your roommate and comfortably following through his usual routine.

"Take off your shoes you hooligan." It's a little ridiculous how often you have to remind him, but that seems to be apart of the routine too.

"It's literally just crocs."

"Yeah, crocs that stepped in dog shit on the way here."

"You're so dramatic." he mumbles, but still takes them off anyway. You would've shot back with a 'funny coming from you' but routine calls, so, you let him go.

You go to your bedroom, fetching a couple pillows before going back to the couch.

Movie Sundays often ended with both of you losing track of time, slipping into deep sleep the moment the clock struck midnight.

It was never your intention to make this movie ordeal into a sleepover on your couch, but that's usually what ended up happening, so preparing for it is always a good idea. Waking up with sore necks proved to be the official worst way to start a day—you'd know.

It's also the reason why Movie Sundays are now held on Saturdays—the change being made around three years ago. It's ridiculous, some would think that by now, you'd call it Movie Saturdays but Beomgyu said that it'd 'take away the magic' if you did — whatever that meant.

"Did you run out of water bottles?" he yells from the kitchen.

"I don't know, check the fridge!"

Beomgyu was tasked with getting the snacks and some water, you didn't have to do much compared to him but he seemed to enjoy getting the autonomy so nobody minded.

"Your fridge is so dystopian." Beomgyu comments, plopping beside you on the couch, throwing you a packet of cheespuffs.

"Wow, how incredibly nice of you to say as a guest."

"I'm being serious though, you have ten rows of mountain dew and ...one egg carton? You're like the stereotypical college student"

You're focused on finding something to watch instead of paying any mind to Beomgyu's rambles—who really tended to say anything. Like right now, when he pinches your cheek seemingly out of nowhere.

"You're so cute." he coos like you were a newborn baby—it truly felt as if Beomgyu was experiencing effects of anesthesia during the process of you finding a movie. You send him a death glare but that only spurs him on as he whines, "See? That was so cute"

You ignore him, finally making the decision of what movie could start off your move marathon. You nudge his shoulder, tearing his attention from his phone. "Hey, how about this one?"

The good thing about picking Beomgyu for your movie ventures was that you guys had similar tastes.

Romcoms. The classic cliched genre that is filled with the worlds cheesiest tropes.

"Yeah, that's good."

Usually it'd start off with Beomgyu making comments every few minutes, but then they'd die down after the third movie which is exactly why you leave the best movies for last—his yelling would've destroyed your watching experience.

Beomgyu tended to be the one laying his head on the armrest so it didn't take long for his leg to be sprawled on top of your lap—serving as a blanket for you.

You don't mind, focused on the scene playing until the buzz of your phone catches your attention. You hesitantly look at your phone, then Beomgyu, then your phone.

It was like an established rule to be off phones when Move Sundays was in motion, it's just that nobody had decided to say it aloud. But the whines that would come from one person when the other was busy on their phone during a movie served as enough reminder that using your phone was frowned upon.

But you couldn't help it. You've been expecting a call from Soobin for the past week, the day you got his number long over. Any notification from your phone tempted you. Foolishly you'd think it was finally Soobin, but that was never the case.

You were starting to believe that he didn't straight up reject you because of his politeness—which really just felt like shit. Were you seriously that pitiful?

Those thoughts dissipate into nothingness when you see the text notification on your lock screen. Texts from someone you've been readily expecting for the entire week.

[soobin, now]: hi :)

[soobin, now]: sorry for not calling or texting you i was just...

When you click on the notification, you expect to see that the end of the text is 'busy' or something of the sort but instead it's...nervous.

Sorry for not texting you I was just nervous? Why would he be nervous?

You can't help but snort, the ends of your lips curling up at the text.

Before you could quickly come up with a response, Beomgyu's face is right next to yours, narrowing his eyes at your phone screen.

"Who're you texting?"

"Fuck!" you shout, instinctively throwing your phone in shock. Thankfully, the phone lands on a chair instead of the floor, and your breathing is back.

You snap your head to Beomgyu to give him a piece of your mind but then... you remember you technically were the one breaking the unsaid rules of Movie Sundays. You collect your anger, sighing before you hold up a tight lipped smile, "It was an emergency."

When he quirks an eyebrow, you further continue to add onto your lie as you go to get your phone. "My grandpa got a heart attack, it's insane."

He rolls his eyes. "You have a grandpa named Soobin?"

Of course he was fast enough to read the contact name.

"Why'd you even ask if you knew?" you ask, sitting on the couch with your phone in hand.

He ignores your question, eyes focused on the TV. "Just put your phone away, you can text him back later."

You give him a look before shutting off your phone and crossing your arms as you tune back into the movie. Or at least somewhat. You're not sure what's up with Beomgyu and the mention of Soobin—at first, you think it's because they had a fight, but you saw them hanging out just fine the other day.

It was weird, but you shake your head out of your own thoughts, dismissing the boy's crankiness as something you really just made up in your head.

That is, until you decide to check your phone again while he goes through a catalog of movies.

"Are you guys dating?"

The sudden question paired with a dry laugh of his own makes you furrow your eyebrows, clicking on your phone to close it. "Hey, what's your problem?"

"What do you mean what's my problem? I don't have any problems."

You roll your eyes, groaning a little. "Did you guys fight or something?"

"No."

You peer at him for a second, urging him to add something more. It works, as his eyes look at you for a second before going back to the TV. He shrugs, "I don't know, it's just weird."

"What is?"

"You getting close to Soobin."

You're even more confused now...wouldn't someone want their best friends to get along? And be friends?

"I don't get it..." you mumble, still looking at him as he avoids any sort of eye contact. "How's that weird?"

He sighs, shoulders slumping. "He likes you."

When you don't respond, he continues, feeling his mouth dry the more he says it, "Like, like-likes you. He says it's love at first sight."

Ever since his best friend had personally confided in him that he might have the biggest crush on his other best friend, A.K.A the love of his life, Beomgyu had done everything in his power to keep you from formally meeting the blonde. Which included a lot of running and a lot of excuses he had to keep up with.

One, because Soobin was totally your type—Beomgyu would know. Two, because he doesn't think he can survive you falling in love with his best friend. It'd be the ultimate awkward situation. Third wheeling would be his daily routine, and it sends him shuddering at the thought.

You laugh, still trying to piece the information together. "What? Wait. How—why is that weird? I mean, okay. He likes me, so what?"

Beomgyu snaps his head to you, almost as if to tell you 'you should know why!' but he quickly controls his facial expressions because you don't know why. Instead he just opts to pout as he tries to explain. "It's weird because—because, like...um..."

"You're—you're going to hurt his feelings just because of a stupid challenge, that's very cruel Y/N." he says, childishly crossing his arms.

"I'm not going to hurt him...you know I'd never do that!"

"Well, you don't feel the same way he does. It'd be like you're leading him on."

"I mean...I can feel the same way he does, if time allows. I think he's pretty cool, seriously." You try to reassure him, but it has the opposite effect. Beomgyu's eyes droop, almost resembling one of a puppy as he looks up at you.

"You—you like him?"

"I said I think he's cool dummy. And that I think I can learn to like him."

"That's not how liking people works."

You barely control the urge to roll your eyes as your phone was above your face, scrolling through your social media mindlessly. "Sure it does. Taking the time to know someone is basically learning to like them."

It's silent as Beomgyu finally picks a movie, the familiar soundtrack giving you the hint that it's West Side Story.

"Well, maybe you could learn to like me too." It was barely audible over the movie playing but you still heard it, the quiet mumble from Beomgyu, concealed with a slight pout.

Your mouth parts a little snapping your attention from your phone to the brunette next to you, "Huh?"

"Huh?" he returns your gaze with wide eyes, fauxing innocence.

"Beomgyu, you just said something. Say it again." You sit up straight, your posture a little more fixed.

"I didn't say anything, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Beomgyu!" you yell flailing your arms around, with your brows furrowed, and that makes him jump a little, flinching. "Repeat what you said!"

"No!"

You pull out the pillow behind you and threaten to hit him by raising it over his head which gets him talking. "Okay! Okay, hold on!"

"First, put that down!" he yells dramatically referring to the pillow—arm shielding his face.

You reluctantly oblige, slowly lowering your pillow.

When both of your breathing starts to steady, Beomgyu speaks up. "This is not how I planned on telling you—"

"Just say it Beomgyu."

"Okay, look—" he takes a deep breath in, "Imagine there's a totally different dimension. You've known this friend for five years or so—"

"So... you."

"Not me! Just, just imagine someone else." you roll your eyes, trying your hardest to keep your urge to smile down, you've watched enough romcoms to know where this was going.

He continues. "And that friend tells you that 'haha, I'm totally in love with you'. How would you respond? Like, rhetorically."

You sigh, deciding to go along with him. "Rhetorically..." his ears perk up, you could either crush his dreams or—

"...I would reject that friend."

"Oh..oh! Oh yeah, totally. That makes sense—"

"Because they're someone else, not you."

It falls quiet as Beomgyu blinks a few times, processing what you just told him. "What?"

You give him a smile before turning to the TV screen, "I like you too."

He also turns to face the TV, lips parted ever so slightly before he just breaks into a smile, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to contain his squeals.

It was so intune with your friendship for both of you to just sit there after confessing your love for the other, watching the movie you've both watched a hundred times before, in silence as the clock almost struck midnight.

It wasn't anything dramatic, just two people silently enjoying the tragic love story between Maria and Tony while snacking.

Beomgyu thinks you don't notice, but your eyes still catch how his fingers slowly 'walked' to yours, nearing them inch by inch and finally holding them. You laugh a little at how how silly it was, and he does too in reaction—contrasting to the scene currently playing, the death of multiple beloved characters finally occuring.

Your eyes lazily look over at your clock, then you smile looking at the boy next to you. "What's your wish? It's almost your birthday," you manage to say, fighting through your sleep.

Beomgyu is also clearly on the same wavelength as his voice is hoarse, barely hearable, "My wish..."

"Kissing you?"

Your smile grows bigger— god, he was so cheesy. "Come here you big baby."

"That's so unsexy... don't call me big baby when I'm about to give you the best french of your life..."

You laugh, hitting his chest lightly. "Okay, okay I promise I won't."

When he nears your face, the movie in the background playing lines you both could recite by heart, he cups your cheeks, breathing a little unsteady, before smiling. "What?" you whisper.

"I don't think this is a dream."

You look into his eyes for second before deciding to go in first, catching his lips with yours. It's like a small peck, soft and slow as your hand find themselves tangled in his hair. You pull away for a second, looking at his lips then his face, "Yeah, I don't think it is either."

ending a/n: you finished!! i didn't do the usual and ask you to reblog in the beginning, but i'll do it here hehe, reblogging [the little sign by the heart button] helps push this fic!

it's like the main thing that helps me out and its what tumblr's algorithm picks up on!! that said, i'd love to hear your thoughts on this, i love writing best friend!gyu ><

#txt x reader #beomgyu fic #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu imgaines #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu x reader #txt fic #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt drabbles #txt series

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robins-egg-bindery · 8 months

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Windows by @drgrlfriend

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

fic by @drgrlfriend

art by @maichan808 & @andavs-main

368 pages / 83,266 words

Title Font: PP Hatton

Body Fonts: Cardo, Geo

HAPPY FFWAD!!! Thank you @renegadepublishing for putting on this event in celebration!

More on the process below the cut!

I'm so excited to be posting this book! Super grateful @drgrlfriend was so down to let me bind Windows for Fan Fiction Writer Appreciation Day. This is one of my all-time favs, and I was thrilled to give it the treatment it deserves! @maichan808 & @andavs-main were also incredibly kind to allow me to include their stunning art pieces in the book <3 And thank you @renegadepublishing for putting this event together!

I wanted the typeset to be visually interesting and move around the page, without making it difficult to read. I created unique headers for each of the 28 chapters with royalty free art, and varied placement on the page in six different configurations. I also played with the text warp to make the text work as part of the image - one of my favorites is chapter 26, "Banshee", pictured above!

I used Brick duo for this bind, as part of the vision for the front cover, which was done in silver permanent vinyl. I think the rich rust color is perfect for how I would imagine Stiles & Derek's apartment building, and the silver is incredibly reflective - my favorite part is how the vinyl catches the light on the spine, and can reflect "Windows" on whatever surface it's on (pictured above). That's not an added effect, it's just doing that!

I did @tankbredgrunt's faux double-core headband with some Sulky Gutermann I bought at a secondhand store for $0.25, and it's so pretty! A bit thin to work with, but totally worth it for the multi-color effect it gives off.

And I finally got a proper crisp hinge! I think it really brings the whole book together, thank you knitting needles (even though you were a pain in the ass).

This project also marks my 100th book! I'm rapidly approaching the two year mark of my fanbinding career with no sign of stopping; thank you to this entire community, and all of the fandoms I've been able to bring this hobby to. I love how cross-fandom it is; and for an old floater like me, it's wonderful to bring all of my interests together and have something that transcends those lines.

HAPPY FAN FICTION WRITER APPRECIATION DAY!

#fanbinding #bookbinding #fanfic binding #fanficbinding #me myself and i #fanfic #ficbinding #renegade publishing #teen wolf #derek hale #sterek fic #sterek #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek x stiles #drgrlfriend #ffwad #fanficwriterappreciationday #renegadelovesfic

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 4 months

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Limbo

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~4.1k

Summary: You and Wanda reach an important step in your relationship

A/N: Simps, the both of them❤️😘😭. Take two, y'all

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut

“It’s really okay. I’m not mad.”

Despite your continued reassurance, Wanda doesn’t quite look convinced. The two of you had been cuddled close in bed, taking advantage of a rare chance to sleep in, when Wanda’s phone rang.

Last night Wanda hadn’t gotten back until 3am. You’d long ago fallen into a fitful sleep when your girlfriend let herself into your apartment, but you’d been thrilled to wake up in her arms. You’d gotten used to falling asleep alone and waking up with Wanda more often than not. As she continued to work hard during the days so she at least had the chance to sleep beside you at night, you were happier than ever.

It was only an hour ago that Wanda promised you the whole morning together. You were free of obligations, and even if you hadn’t been, you’d rearrange anything if it meant you could spend time with Wanda. It was only 9:50 when someone called on your girlfriend, leaving you slightly miffed and wishing you could give them a piece of your mind. Instead, you say nothing as you watch Wanda stand and look around for her clothes. She’s here often enough that she has a few suits in your closet, and you try not to let the fact that she’s using them now serve as another reminder of what you’d wanted to ask her this morning.

You wait until Wanda’s folded her outfit from yesterday before she grabs another and turns toward you with a frown. She needed to leave now but she hated to go back on a promise to you. Despite your insistence, you definitely look disappointed, and seeing this almost makes her want to change her mind. Well that’s not true. She definitely wants to change her mind, but she knows that she can’t. If she does, she’ll just have more to deal with later.

So Wanda sighs inaudibly as she changes quickly and pops into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She stops at the sight of her exhausted expression, and this time she releases an audible sigh before she shakes her head. She’s dressed the part of a mobster with her suit and obscenely expensive watch that she’d left at your place last week. She tugs on the strap a little harder than necessary before fastening it with a frown.

This isn’t what she wants. She hates to leave you alone all of the time. She hates that her work is proving to cause a huge rift between the two of you. She feels like she’s living two separate lives when there’s really only space for one. She can either be the mobster that she sees staring back at her, or she can be Wanda who has a normal life, a loving relationship, and maybe something other than her job to take up all her time.

She shakes her head as she runs a hand through her hair. She can’t think about this right now. She has to stop the inevitable fire fight from breaking out before she has a chance to salvage her winnings. She reminds herself of the profit but even the astronomical number isn’t enough to wipe the frown from her face.

As she walks back into your bedroom, she finds that you’re not there, but the sounds from the adjacent room tell her you’re in the kitchen. She confirms this as she walks through the living room to see you pouring the entire contents of the coffee pot into a thermos for her. You don’t drink any caffeine, but you’d bought the coffee maker and her favorite coffee for whenever she could visit. She feels her heart stutter in her chest at the fact that despite being upset, you’re still taking care of her. It makes her feel even worse about her decision to leave and she’s torn yet again when you turn to face her with a bright, only slightly forced smile.

“Here you go. This should last you the ride there at least.”

You smile cheekily and Wanda rolls her eyes in faux annoyance before she meets you for a quick kiss. She decides it’s not enough and she takes her coffee from you and sets it on the counter before she’s reaching for you again.

“Thank you, Y/n."

You find yourself in Wanda’s arms as she pulls you into a hug and your smile widens as she holds you close to her. You sigh happily before closing your eyes and taking advantage of the few seconds you have left with her before she’s whisked away by work yet again. You hear her sigh, and you’re not surprised when she tightens her hold on you before turning her face so she’s hiding in your hair.

“I hate leaving you, detka. I love our time together.”

Your smile is bittersweet, and you’re glad Wanda can’t see it because you are sure you look pathetic. You hate when Wanda leaves you too, but you know what you signed up for. Well at least you know now, and you’d already told yourself that you can’t walk away from her. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you did that.

So instead of saying what you want, and asking Wanda not to leave you again, you just turn so you can kiss the top of her head before letting your arms drop to your sides.

“I know, Wanda. Me too, but I’ll be here when you get back.”

You wonder if Wanda knows how true these words are. You imagine you’re going to spend a lot of your life sitting around and waiting for Wanda, but you’ve decided that the time you spend together is worth it. You know in an ideal world Wanda wouldn’t be off doing who knows what at all hours of the day. She’d have a set schedule and you’d see her every night for dinner before falling asleep in her arms, but that wasn’t the life she lived.

You couldn’t resent her for this no matter how much you felt that you probably should. You can only hope that someday you’ll have more time with her, and maybe you wouldn’t have to wonder when she’d walk through your door again.

Wanda seems to sense the resignation in your response and her face falls momentarily. You feel the need to apologize, but she doesn’t give you a chance before she’s hugging you again.

“I love you. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

You nod as you pick up Wanda’s coffee because you know that she’s late, before giving her one last kiss.

“Love you too. I’ll see you later.”

Wanda wasn’t back until late which wasn’t a surprise to you at all. You’d spent your day off lounging around and trying to keep yourself distracted. You’d baked and watched some TV, but mostly you read almost three books before you decided to call it a night around 10pm.

You had been optimistic to think that Wanda would be back by midnight, and when 2am rolls around, you’re fast asleep by the time your girlfriend returns.

Before going to bed, you’d read, a romantic, murder mystery by your all-time favorite author, but you’d stopped at a crucial part. The characters were amidst their investigation to find a serial killer, but there was still time for a dramatic rendezvous that had been in the works since the first few pages. You’d wanted to read on but you were so tired that you kept falling asleep as you attempted to read the same sentence 4 times. You’d turned off your tablet before setting it on the other side of the bed with a yawn. You promptly fell asleep but continued to shift and squirm underneath the covers restlessly.

You’d started to read the scene where a tentative kiss turned into a trip to the bedroom, but you hadn’t been in the mood. Reading about two people in love made you miss Wanda and as pathetic as it was, your thoughts kept going to her instead of focusing on the words on the page. You wanted to be with Wanda now, holding her close and kissing her lovingly, but it was just you. You fall asleep with a frown on your face, but the dreams that follow you into sleep don’t take long to wipe this away.

Wanda groans under her breath as she shuts the door quietly behind her. She locks it before checking to make sure that there’s no sound coming from the apartment. You are certainly asleep, but Wanda wanted to be sure before she heads to the guest bathroom to clean up. She flinches as the bright lights blind her on her way to the sink. She’s cringing by the time she reaches for the faucet to wash away the blood on her knuckles. She regrets punching the last person that she did. He had an obnoxiously large nose that almost broke her finger when she’d tried to knock him out.

She wishes that she hadn’t lost her gun because it was much more efficient, and far less painful than what she’d had to resort to. She sighs after she’s cleaned her hands and face of any remaining evidence of her scuffle. She nearly scoffed at the thought of describing the all-out brawl as something so insignificant. She’d known the day was going to hell as soon as someone called to tell her that she wouldn’t be getting the morning, off, and they certainly hadn’t disappointed.

She shuts off the light before taking off her shoes and leaving them by the front door. There’s a small closet that you use mostly to store extra blankets, but you sometimes threw your shoes in there so you didn’t have to look at them. Wanda contemplated doing this, but she didn’t have the energy to bend over and pick them up. Maybe she’ll do it tomorrow if you take notice of them.

Wanda starts to shed her dirty jacket as she reaches out for the door that she assumes you’re sleeping behind. She opens it slowly and turns toward the bed to see that you are definitely asleep. Your hair is splayed across your pillow and you’re curled up on your side with your back to her. She smiles at the sight of you as she shuts and locks the door behind her. She quickly sheds her ruined clothes before grabbing one of the two pairs of shorts and a t-shirt that she’s kept at your place.

She eyes the area of the shelf in your closet that her things have occupied for at least a month. She wonders if she’ll ever have a more permanent place in your apartment, but she quickly disregards the thought as she heads back toward the bed. She’s about to fall over she’s so exhausted, but the second she lifts the covers on the free side of the bed she stops short. She knows how you sometimes read until you fall asleep and your tablet’s been found in many places as a result of you throwing it haphazardly onto the bed. One time it ended up in the bathroom, and that was a mystery that you never solved. To see it beside you under the covers is less surprising, but the sight of the tablet isn’t what gave her pause.

You were hot natured and barely slept with a sheet over you if you could help it. Wanda realized very early that she was the one who would get all of the comforter and the extra blanket when she shared a bed with you. Like her, you slept in shorts and a tank most times, but tonight you must have gotten too hot. Wanda appreciates the lingerie set that you definitely hadn’t been wearing when she left this morning. It’s her favorite on you and she has to stop herself from groaning at the sight of you flushed and barely covered.

“You’re so pretty, detka.”

As Wanda sinks into bed beside you, she can’t help but lean over and kiss your bare shoulder. She watches as you shift slightly and release a whine that makes her stifle another groan. What she’s not prepared for is how your restlessness progresses to something that honestly surprises her.

The hand that had been under your pillow behind your head, moved down toward your chest at the same time that the one by your side drifts to your stomach. Wanda thinks that you’re just going to stretch as you sometimes tend to do in your sleep, but instead your hands continue to drift lower until you’re palming your breast and pressing against your lower stomach.

“Mhmm.”

You mutter something unintelligible under your breath as you continue to shift and touch yourself in a way that’s making Wanda’s pulse spike. She watches wordlessly until your right hand disappears between your legs.

“Y/n.”

Your response is to groan again under your breath, but you don’t stop and Wanda reaches out to grab your hand before it can slide beneath the thin lace.

“Y/n.”

Her borderline pleading tone is what rouses you from your sleep. You hum under your breath before forcing yourself to open your eyes to blink away the image of you and your girlfriend in this very bed. You smile at the sight of Wanda looking a little on edge, and you flip your hand over in hers before squeezing it gently.

“Hey Wands. You’re back.”

Wanda takes a moment to gather her wits as her gaze flits between your face and your joined hands. When she speaks up her voice is hoarse, and you can hear clear as day how desperate she is. Your smile widens and you both watch as you pull Wanda’s hand back to where you’d wanted it much earlier.

“I would have come home sooner if I’d known you were waiting for me like this.”

Wanda watches as your eyes widen and she sees a hint of something she can’t name but it excites her. Her eyes darken and she’s momentarily distracted at the first brush of her fingers between your legs.

“Fuck me.”

You actually laugh at this and Wanda’s cheeks heat up as you lean forward to whisper against her lips. You stop only a breath away from kissing her and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again at Wanda’s frustrated look.

“I believe that’s my line.”

Wanda doesn’t respond with words but when she kisses you, you’re sure that she’s just as eager as you are. Your dream from earlier had gotten you so frustrated that you'd had no desire to wake up. You’d feared that doing so would mean that you would find that you were alone, and then you’d be stuck to stew in your aroused state. Wanda’s arrival was fortuitous for many reasons. Namely you wanted to have your girlfriend back safe and sound. However, the fact that she was now here to help you relieve your sexual frustration wasn’t something you’d ever complain about. Taking care of yourself had lost its appeal the moment you met Wanda.

You’re certain that touching yourself will never be the same again.

You nearly fly off the bed when Wanda’s cold hands meet your skin. She sits up and straddles you without breaking your kiss, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of Wanda sitting on your hips. You don’t bother to stop yourself from bucking up against her, and you smile against Wanda’s lips when you hear her groan under her breath.

“Shit, Y/n.”

Wanda can’t deny how turned on she is at the sight of you in your last anniversary present. Her need for you continues to climb with each touch and every sound that you’ve made as her hands roam your body. You’re squirming beneath her and you throw your head back with a breathy curse when her lips leave yours to trail down your neck. You feel like you’re crawling out of your skin, and you’re breathing like you just ran a 5k, but Wanda doesn’t seem to be in a rush which makes you want to scream.

Your hands leave Wanda’s hips and you bury one of them in her hair as gently as possible in your desperate state. Wanda hisses but doesn’t stop kissing you until you tighten your hold on her when she leaves a wet kiss on your collarbone.

“Wanda. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Are you going to keep me waiting?”

Wanda’s torn. She doesn’t know which she’d like to do more. She could drag this out and keep you on edge until you can’t stand it anymore, or she can give in to her near debilitating desire to touch you. Tonight, after the long day that she’s had, her desire to please you both wins out, and Wanda nods against your hand before she mutters against your chest.

“Don’t worry, detka. I’ll take care of you.”

Since Wanda has never failed to do this, you have no reason not to trust her. You sigh in relief as Wanda’s mouth starts to wander again. You gasp when a rush of cold hits you, but it doesn’t last long as Wanda’s mouth descends on your exposed breasts. You squeeze your eyes shut and your back arches as you try and get closer to your girlfriend’s glorious mouth. You curse, bucking your hips as Wanda’s lips close around your stiff nipple. Your hands find Wanda’s back and you try to be mindful of how hard you’re digging your nails into her, but she’s making it exceedingly difficult.

As Wanda slides down your body, one of her knees settles between your thighs and you release another tortured groan that sends goosebumps across Wanda’s skin.

“Wands, please.”

You must know about the power that you hold over Wanda. The fact that she’s absent often, and happens to disappoint you more than she’d like means that she would do almost anything you asked, if she’s truly able. Short of asking her to hurt you, there’s very little that Wanda would say no to if she thought it would make you happy. She is likely overcompensating for the fact that her job keeps her away, but you haven’t complained yet, and you’re likely aware of how hard it is for your girlfriend to not give into you. You have an equally difficult time saying no to anything that may cause Wanda happiness. If you can manage it and it doesn’t put either of you in danger, you’re going to do whatever she asked of you.

You both were honestly so whipped.

So it’s not really a shock to either of you when only a few seconds later, Wanda’s fingers drag deliciously against the lace that’s just barely a barrier between you two. You miss Wanda’s eyes darkening further as her breath catches at how hot and needy you are for her. She groans when you fail to stifle a moan as you rock against her touch.

“What got you this wet, Y/n? What were you reading?”

Wanda barely remembers the fact that she’d seen your tablet a mere millisecond before noticing your state of undress. She watches with a wicked sense of satisfaction as you continue to try and find some relief before you seem to realize that she’s asked you a question. It takes a few seconds and Wanda pulling her hand away for you to respond. Luckily, she doesn’t go far by the time you shake your head and take a deep, steadying breath.

“No-nothing. I couldn’t focus on that. All I could think about was you.”

If Wanda had gained the upper hand a moment ago, you’d successfully snatched it back with your sincere response. It should be embarrassing how quickly Wanda rips the expensive lingerie to get to you.

You both moan and Wanda doesn’t notice that you’ve pierced her skin as your nails scratch down her back. After a moment of teasing your clit, Wanda steals your breath when she pushes two fingers deep inside you. You try and arch your hips in search of more but Wanda holds you down as she curls her fingers and makes you see stars.

“Oh god. Don’t stop. Please.”

You’re already shaking you’re so close but Wanda doesn’t seem to care about dragging this out any longer. You reach out for her arm that’s holding you still, but you don’t manage to do anything other than hold Wanda so tightly she groans under her breath. She’s a little sore from her shoot out earlier, but she’s not about to tell you that. Instead, she doubles her efforts and brings you closer with each drag of her fingers. You’re struggling to catch your breath as Wanda kisses her way back up to you. She stops for a few seconds to admire your flushed, beautiful face before she decides to be merciful.

“God, I love you.”

When Wanda leaves a bruising kiss on your neck, one you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow, you nearly lose it. That said, you nearly sob as her thumb circles your clit and you’re thrown over the edge as her fingers press against your g spot. Wanda kisses your jaw as you continue to shudder from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You turn your face so your lips meet Wanda’s and she smiles as she kisses you deeply. She continues to stroke your fluttering walls until you shift and hiss against her lips. She understands and pulls her hand away before kissing you one last time.

There are a hundred things you want to say, and ask because it hadn’t escaped your notice that Wanda has a few new bruises. What leaves your mouth though is what you’d intended to say this morning before Wanda left unexpectedly.

“Move in with me.”

You’re not even sure that you said the words out loud, Wanda didn’t seem to react to them at all. It’s only the feeling of her hand tensing on your thigh that clues you in, and you have to stop yourself from showing your disappointment. Wanda doesn’t seem to realize that you took her lack of a reaction as a bad sign until you sigh and try to sit up. She’d been thinking about how much she loved you and how she never wanted to leave when you spoke up. She didn’t register what you’d said immediately, and then she took a few seconds to consider that she must have been imagining things. There was no way that you’d ask her this. Right?

When you sigh in defeat before starting to get out of bed, Wanda realizes that she hadn’t imagined it and now you must be disappointed in her yet again.

“Okay, never mind.”

Wanda’s shaking her head and reaching out for you before you can get far. She’s apologizing before you even turn back to face her, but she doesn’t let you go anywhere as she kicks herself for making you think that she doesn’t want to be with you as much as possible.

“Wait, I’m sorry. I mean-Are you sure?”

Despite being half out of bed and half naked you manage to shoot Wanda a hurt look that makes her feel even worse. Still, you try to play off your hurt by shrugging casually, but to Wanda the action looks forced.

“Of course, Wanda.”

When Wanda squeezes your hand, you force yourself to meet her gaze and you almost smile at the sight that greets you. Your girlfriend is shooting you an earnest look as she brings your hand to her lips with a small smile. She couldn’t think of anything better than moving in with you. Well at least for now.

“I’d love to. I might need more closet space though.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but crack a smile at Wanda’s joke. When she sees this, her own smile widens and she leans in to kiss your cheek. She ignores the stiffness in her back and the dull pain that she doesn’t remember feeling when she first got home.

Home.

Wanda smiles at the idea of sharing a home with you. She watches as you slide back toward the middle of the bed before reaching out for her. Your hands drop to her waist before they begin to fiddle with the hem of her t-shirt.

“I’ll get right on that Wands, but first it’s my turn to make you come.”

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda x reader #silver springs #silver springs drabble #mob au

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imarvelatthestars · 18 days

Text

Built to Fall

a submission for the 2024 clone bingo event hosted by @karttaylir-darasuum , as well as the bad batch @cloneficgiftexchange - my gift to @221bshrlocked !!!

Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader

Content: tbb s3 happy-ish ending AU (our s2 survivors + Crosshair live happily ever after on Pabu), mutual pining, some angst; title inspired by "Mind Over Matter" by Young the Giant

“You’re getting better. You might end up better than me one day.”

Omega’s nose crinkles playfully. “I’m not sure Tech would call that a good use of my skillset.”

“Well, Tech’s not here. Arts and crafts are way more fun than ship schematics anyway.”

“You’ve got that right,” she says, and you think she sounds just like her brothers.

She’s a smart kid, probably the smartest kid you’ve ever met, so she catches on to new things fast. Her fingers are agile and quick, and her mind is always running. How she hasn’t outsmarted the entire island by now is a mystery to you.

Today’s lesson, if you can call spending time with the sweetest and funniest soul in the galaxy a lesson, is learning how to string kukui nuts and shells into a necklace. There are plenty others who have mastered this art, who craft elegant strands of nuts and shells that look more like art than mere jewelry, and Omega is definitely better at it than you are, but it makes you smile, gives you something to do when your hands are restless and your mind is prone to wonder. And it helps that you can barter with your nicer pieces.

The waves roll gently up and down the shore, bubbling over the rocks and soaking the sand that’s crumpled up by your feet. There aren’t many seashells left, which means you’ll have to go hunting for more soon. You’re just about to suggest it when an embarrassingly loud grumble comes from deep in your belly. You freeze; Omega’s bright, attentive eyes flicker to you, and you both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

That’s how he finds you – lounging in the sand, your leggings rolled up to your knees, and cackling like a goblin.

“Having fun?”

Hunter’s shadow falls lengthwise over you. He’s placed his hands on his hips in a poor imitation of a scolding father, but his faux seriousness is entirely marred by the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

Omega grins. “More fun than you are!”

“Now that I believe.” He steps around you so he can crouch in the space between you both and your heart very much doesn’t jump at the new proximity. Definitely not. “What’s all this?”

“We’re making necklaces. See?” Her latest creation is promptly displayed on her splayed fingers.

He takes a moment to study it. The shells are tiny already, but they’re even smaller in his hand, dwarfed by the length and breadth of his thumb and forefinger. You’re not sure why you notice that out of everything. It’s a silly thing to notice.

“You did this all on your own?” he marvels.

“Well...” Omega looks to you with a hint of shyness. “I had a little help.”

She's far too modest. “Very little,” you correct. “I just showed her how.” One of your baskets is quickly exchanged for Omega’s necklace, much to Hunter’s surprise. It is, after all, half full of stranded shells and nuts. “She’s a natural.”

Hunter’s brows shoot so high up his face until you’re half afraid they’ll jump right off. He looks to Omega, then you, then back to her. “You made all of these?”

For a moment it seems she’s not sure how to respond. She scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck for a bit, hesitant, even flustered, before finally nodding. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

“Omega,” her brother sighs, and it’s all tender and proud, the way a father should be. Something warm alights in your heart at the sight. “These are wonderful.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiles, and so does she, and that secret desire you pretend not to have, the one that delights at his nearness and the gentle affection he bestows so generously to his siblings, the softness hiding beneath his battle-hardened exterior, explodes inside your chest like a blossom finally unfurling.

“I hate to pull you away,” he continues after a moment, “but it’s time to eat.”

Omega groans but doesn’t protest beyond that. She’s quick on her feet, gathering up her things and haphazardly dropping them into the basket she then perches on her hip. You, on the other hand, are a bit slower than that. Pabu works many miracles, but it doesn’t make you any younger or faster, no matter how refreshing the sea air may be. Your own basket of seashells and kukui is organized and fastened shut, then your shoes gathered in your hand, and then – and then you find Hunter’s hand extended to you.

You brush off your shock as quickly as you can, hoping it doesn’t linger, that it isn’t noticeable, and take the offer with a smile that matches his own. The contact is brief, far too short for your liking, but it quickens your pulse enough that you fear your heart will catapult from the cavity of your chest all because he looked at you, touched you, and it’s all you ever dream of.

His fingerprints still burn into your skin long after his hands have withdrawn. You almost wish they would scar if only to have a physical reminder of him when he’s gone.

“Thanks.”

He nods, and the sun shines golden on his face. There’s a wordless moment where he extends his hand to you again and you think he’ll take hold of you a second time, guide you off the beach like that, and you’re not even sure you’ll survive such a thing, but then you realize he’s asking for your basket. And you’re disappointed, but so, so relieved.

“That’s okay, I got i-”

His fingers curl around the basket handle, gentle but firm. There’s no room for discussion, not as he tugs it free and settles it under his own arm, not as he tells you in everything but words that he will carry this thing for you, he will carry anything you need, anything you want, and you never need to ask. You only wish that he would do it because he cares.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know.”

Hunter’s brow furrows, but you blink and it’s gone. “I know,” he says.

The walk from the beach to Shep’s house is relatively short, but it always flies by when you walk it with him. Perhaps because he makes you feel safe, secure, because he makes you smile when no one else can. Perhaps because you never want these moments to end. Perhaps because, if you’re really honest with yourself, you know that he fills the part of your heart that longs for more, no matter how uncertain you are if he would ever allow himself such a thing.

Dinner at Shep’s is never a simple affair, but it’s always happy. Good food, pleasant chatter, the sound of Omega, Wrecker, and Lyana’s laughter, Phee’s gently barbed remarks and Crosshair’s witty retorts, Batcher barking and huffing between gulps of food, and even the more serious conversations shared between Hunter and Shep tend to be more comforting than not. It’s home, plain and simple. It was never meant to be, not for you, but somehow… somehow that’s exactly what it’s become. He doesn’t know, at least you don’t think he does, but none of it would’ve happened without him, without that too-good heart of his beating fast and strong below his bones, that heart you wish you could call your own one day.

Funny how easy it is to be foolish, isn’t it?

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Shep’s followed you to the balcony where you’ve chosen to watch the last remnants of the sunset as the colors bleed into the clouds and the dark, stormy shroud of night begins to fall.

You tilt your head back, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the starts through the clouds. “Sorry. Just had something on my mind, I guess.”

He nods, as if he understands, and you truly think he does. He’s a wise sort of man, kind and smart in a way that only experience can provide. “You know you can always speak your mind.” His forearms find the lip of the balcony the same way yours have. “If something’s bothering you-”

“It’s not you, Shep.” You don’t dare say what it is, but you almost wonder if he knows. “I have a little too much to think about sometimes, y’know?”

“I do,” he says, and he nods again. You think he’s about to say something else, but he’s stopped by the weight of a hand upon his elbow, the gentle intrusion of Hunter’s presence as he steps into the conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He gestures to the expanse of clouds as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. Though for him, you suppose it is. “We’ve got bad weather incoming. Probably best for everyone to head home now.”

Shep agrees, and the others are quick to hurry back to their own hovels or to the Marauder, but Hunter walks you home. You both know he doesn’t need to. And, you think, you both know he’s only doing this because he feels duty-bound. It hurts, but you revel in his company all the same, just for these few moments.

“I should go,” he says once you’re both inside, dripping the beginnings of the storm onto the stone floor, but he seems loathe to admit it.

You both spare a glance out the window. The rain’s already coming down harder than it was just a minute ago. It’s pattering hard atop the roof and there’s enough force behind it that you’re almost afraid it’ll blow your windchimes clean off.

“Hunter, you’ll get soaked. At least stay until it’s eased up a bit.”

That’s the least you can do, isn’t it? After everything?

But rather than immediately accept the offer, Hunter grimaces. His entire body stills and starts to shift away from you, not a lot, not even in a way that might be noticeable to anyone else, but you know him, his tells, all the subtle ways his body responds to the world around him. You recognize immediately that he’s uncomfortable and that knowledge hits you right in the gut, sharper than a vibroblade.

He shakes his head, politely. “No, I, I should go. I’ll be fine.”

It’s the fact that he refuses to even look at you that does you in.

And you know you should let it pass. Really, you do. Take the blow and roll with the remaining punches the way he and his brothers do, but you’re not strong like they are, and your heart is so much more fragile than theirs.

You sigh. “Why d’you have to be like this?”

Impossibly dark eyes flicker in the muted lighting, landing somewhere near yours. “What?”

“If you don’t like me, Hunter, just say it. You don’t have to pretend, okay? That just makes it worse.”

His tattoo crinkles as his face shifts, each line of inkwork rippling until he’s frowning at you so intently that the weight of it feels enough to crush you. Then his head tilts and the coils of his hair fall over his eyes, and he’s so beautiful that you think you might cry.

“What are you talking about?”

Maker, is he really gonna make you say it?

A brief turn of your shoulder gives you the spare moments you need to compose yourself, and as you survey the tiny hovel you’ve turned into a home, you find yourself thinking again of that last night on Ord Mantell. The night you realized Tech was dead and Omega was gone, and you knew your life would never be the same again…

It’s a goddamn Imperial fleet. You’ve never seen so many ships at once before. They crowd the sky, faintly and briefly illuminated by streaks of lightning and the few pricks of light coming from the city as they descend. You don’t know why they’re here, but you don’t really need to. You know there’s only one thing on Ord Mantell precious enough to draw the Empire out here and it’s not any one of the petty criminals or their shady deals passed under the table and off the books.

If you had any of their comm channels, you’d be satisfied with asking if everything’s alright, if they need a place to stay. But you don’t. Instead, you run. It was a boring night off anyway.

The bar is trashed when you get there. Tables overturned, blaster marks scorched into the walls. Cid’s nowhere to be found and neither are the clones, and it leaves a terrible, sinking feeling in your gut. None of this is right.

Stumbling back outside, you see a handful of Imperial ships lifting off, one already shooting for the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Whatever they’d come for, they’d clearly found it, and Maker, you prayed it wasn’t any of them. Anyone, anything but them.

You come stumbling into the landing zone just as the boys come through the far end, already approaching their ship. Your throat is raw and your entire body hurts from being pushed far beyond its usual limit.

“What, what happened?” you gasp between desperate mouthfuls of air, hands clutching your knees as you double over. “The Empire-”

It’s then that Hunter comes swooping into your personal space, so close that he takes up every inch of it, totally filling your vision until the shadow of his tattoo and the dark glinting of his eyes is all you can see. There’s no time for your stomach to flip or your face to flush hot. There’s only time enough for him to grab you and push until your back hits solid durasteel. It’s cold, sharp, violent where it digs into your back, but no colder than the quiet rage you see carved into Hunter’s face now.

“You sold us out.”

You’re too confused to be offended. “What?”

His forearm finds your throat and presses until you’re properly pinned between him and whatever unyielding thing he’s backed you into, and when you look up at him, you find that you’re afraid of him for the first time in your life. He looks murderous.

“Hunt- Hunter! What are you talking abo-?”

“They took her.” He's clearly furious, but there’s a deceptive calm about him that rattles you to your bones. It’s not the calm and quiet demeanor of a battle-hardened soldier, but the cool and distant resolve of a man on the edge of desperation. “Because of your boss. Care t’ tell me why?”

You struggle to look over his shoulder to the others behind him. None of them have come to your aid, though Echo looks like he’s about to. And Wrecker... What the hell happened to put him in a neck brace? You look back to Hunter, seeking his face for something you’re not even sure you know how to name, only to find his body wrapped in bandages and his face bruised. Something’s not right, something more than just the Empire.

They took her. Took… who?

You glance at the others again. Wait. Where’s Tech? Where’s Omega?

His words pierce through your heart when they cycle round your head again.

They took her.

No.

Your boss.

She wouldn’t. She... she couldn’t. To them, maybe, but to Omega?

“Hunter,” you croak with a voice that cracks under the weight of your horror, “where’s Omega?”

Nostrils flaring, he presses harder into you until you actually choke, his teeth bared and gritted, flashing white against his skin. It’s the most monstrous you’ve ever seen him. “You tell me.”

You’ll kill her. If he lets you live, you’ll march yourself down to the parlor and kill Cid yourself. Doesn’t matter that you’ve never flared beyond the supernova of a rookie punch, you’ll level a blaster at her head. That is, if Hunter permits you to live past the next few minutes. You’re honestly not sure if he will. But then, if you’d kill for Omega, you don’t think you want to know what kinds of atrocities her brother would commit. Perhaps you’ll learn firsthand.

Echo stops him, but he cuts it concerningly close. Air rushes through your lungs so quickly that it hurts, and you find yourself wilting until your legs give out.

His voice wrapping around the syllables of your name is enough to bring you back to the present, to the cold, dismal reality of the disaster of a relationship your friendship has become. You look to the hand at your wrist, the long, calloused fingers and the scars that crisscross his knuckles, the swirling tattoos atop his bones that disappear beneath the cuff of his sleeve, then up to his shoulder, his chin, the flared base of his nose, and then to his eyes. You swear you dream of them every night.

“What is it?” he asks in that deep, rumbling timbre of his.

You’re so heartbroken that all you can do is smile. “What do you think?” Flashes of an offered hand, the lifting of a basket, the quirk of a smile when you crack a joke or the lifting of a brow when you manage to surprise him, the lingering of his gaze when the nights draw dark and your mind is dulled with sleep – they all filter through your thoughts in a single instant. “You don’t have to keep making it up to me. What happened on Ord Mantell is done, Hunter. I just…” You shouldn’t say it, you should keep it buried deep inside your heart and let the wound fester until you burst, but now that you’ve started you find you can’t stop. “I just wish you’d stop killing yourself trying to earn my forgiveness when I gave it to you a long time ago. Especially when I know you hate me.”

The storm rages on while you fall into silence. The wind whips and whistles against the windows, the rain pummels the ground, and all the while you wait for Hunter to finally admit what you’ve known to be true for the past year.

Instead, he loosens his grip until his hand falls away and you hear, rather than see, the dropping of his shoulders in the way he sounds utterly wrecked when he mutters, “Is that what you think?”

Your breath stalls in your chest. “Isn’t it true?”

“No,” he says too quickly. Like he’s lying, like he’s trying to cover his tracks.

“Hunter-”

“You really think that?”

“Fuck, of course I do!” You turn on him and gesture to the awkward, uncertain tilt of his body as if it were the most offensive sight you’d ever seen. “Look at you, you don’t even want to be near me! You act like I burn you half the time we touch. What the hell else am I supposed to think?”

If ever you’ve seen Hunter wish he could crawl into his skin and die, now would be it. All it does is further affirm what you’ve long suspected, and it kills you, the same way it’s been killing him to re-earn your favor. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend like you’re not head over heels in love with him, despite how much he hates you, despite knowing he might have killed you once not so long ago. Despite everything, you love him. And he will never love you back.

You storm to the door and slap your hand against the controls. It hisses open as the sharp winds of the storm come bursting in. Half the house seems ready to blow away, but you don’t care.

“Get out.” Even though it’s the exact opposite of what you want. “Now.”

And because he hates you, he acquiesces. Head bowed low and his eyes cast to the floor, Hunter steps outside without so much as a farewell, and he takes your heart with him.

You’re not sure how much time passes between then and now. It could be a whole hour, or a few seconds of your heartbeat thundering inside your ears. Does it matter?

“I wish I’d never met you.” He’s almost certainly gone by now, but you find yourself wishing that he could hear you. You want him to hurt as much as you do now. “I wish I’d never fallen for your stupid face.” You rub the back of your hand over your eyes and nose, and it comes back wet with your grief. “Wish I’d never gone to Ord Mantell, and I wish I’d never fucking met you, and I wish, I wish…”

Say it, says the little voice in the back of your head. You’re too tired now to fight it.

“I wish I could’ve loved anyone but you.”

No one responds. There are no frantic confessions of mutual feelings, no gentle knocking at your door. Not that you’d expected there to be, but a part of you had hoped. No, Hunter’s gone and you’ve made a fool of yourself for no reason at all. You dread to think what tomorrow will bring in this storm’s wake, how the chaos will have torn your new home into tatters, how Hunter will watch you with the same distant, burning eyes that break your heart and stitch it back together all at once, how the island will feel as foreign as it did the night you first arrived. You’ve already started mourning the daily gathering’s at Shep’s, the way Wrecker makes you laugh and Phee tells her stories, and Hunter loves Omega like the daughter she almost is, and now it’s all gone, forever, and maybe, just maybe, you were lost to the depths of your heart that very first day that the Marauder touched down on Ord Mantell and the squad came into Cid’s. Maybe you were never meant for finer things like requited love and a place to belong to.

It’s this endless spiral of illogical conclusions and shattered dreams that Hunter returns to. You never hear the door open, nor the worsening of the storm, but you do hear the soft squeak of his boots on stone, the gently trembling exhale of his breath as he squats beside you. You turn as he comes to you, your face damp and snotty, and it’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he takes your face in his hand like he was made to do it? His headband is soaked and his hair is dripping wet, the tight coils of his bangs now plastered to his skin.

“Don’t cry.”

You only cry harder, but this time Hunter pulls you to him. You let him. He’s soaked, just like you said he would be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with your head tucked beneath his chin and your shoulders shaking under his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“You left,” you sniffle.

One of his hands finds your neck. It’s cold, but the touch sparks tendrils of warmth down to your toes. This way, your head is tilted back and his is inclined toward you, almost as if…

“You asked me to.” His breath fans across your face, down your throat, dipping low like the path his eyes take as he assesses you. “I don’t hate you. I never have.”

You could fight him on it. You could, but you can’t find the words. You can’t find any words. You don’t know what to say. Kriff, you can barely think right now with the way he’s holding you, watching you, how completely he fills every one of your senses.

“I don’t… know how to do this. I’ve already hurt you before, I don’t- I can’t do that again.”

There’s a hesitancy there, though. You see it in his eyes, in the set of his bones, somehow managing to pull away from you while still staying so deeply entwined with you. He’s unsure all over again, perhaps even as unsure as you are.

“Hunter…” Your hand finds his face, unbidden but perfect all the same, and he leans into you. “I already forgave you. You don’t have to-”

“I heard you.”

He… Huh?

Frowning, you start to pull away as you blink through the confusion and the watery film along the bottom of your eyes. “What?”

He tightens his arms about you to draw you closer and while your pulse skyrockets, you’re not sure if it’s because you’re terrified that he’s so close or panicking because he’s just close enough. You can smell him, now – the faint tones of sweat and sea salt and the wine from dinner – and you swear it’s enough to capsize you. Hunter lowers his gaze, then his face, so, so close to yours that he’s the only thing you see. And you think, you hope, he’ll kiss you, but you’re afraid of what might happen if he does.

“I heard you,” he says again, softer this time. His brows have pressed together above his nose as he focuses upon the spot just below your own. “Cyare… All this time, I thought I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t know.” His nose bumps yours. “Cyare,” and you hope one day he tells you what it means, “can I?”

You don’t need to ask what he means. You only have to nod. “Yes,” you murmur, and that’s when he kisses you.

It’s a cautious thing, so hesitant and timid, but Maker it’s beautiful. Even if this is all he ever gives you, it would be enough to know that he tried, that you learned his taste and his touch when it felt like the world was crashing down around you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before trying again, more frantic, more eager as his mouth presses into yours.

“I forgive you,” you promise before burying your hands in his hair.

The next few moments are a flurry of adrenaline and kisses peppered on skin, the rustling of fabric and the creaking of the sofa when it takes your combined weight. Hunter seems to have found his confidence along the way, and you’ve found your courage, and it ends with his teeth at your lips, and your tongue at his throat, and confessions pouring from you the more he gives and the longer he takes.

“I couldn’t, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nips at your jaw. “It’s always been you, Hunter. Always.” He kisses your cheek, then your brow, then the corner of your mouth, hands trailing across your hips and arms as he goes. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything, I just love you so mu-”

His kisses steal the tail end of your confession, drawing into his mouth to mingle with his own until you swear the two of you become one.

“’s alright, mesh’la, ‘s alright. I know.” The bump in his nose is a caress against your cheek as he nuzzles into you. “I feel the same.”

It’s not perfect, this thing between you, and it isn’t easy, but it was always worth fighting for. You were always meant to fall for Hunter, and he was always meant to fall for you. You hope you never stop falling. And he swears never to stop catching you.

prompt(s)/inspiration: “You’re always on my mind.” | “Why can’t you see that it’ll always be you?” + jewelry

taglist: @moodymisty @the-rain-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @kaminocasey @arandomnerdsblog578

#hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #hunter tbb x reader #hunter tbb x you #hunter #the bad batch #2024cbe #TBBE24

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illiterateaffairs · 10 months

Text

DISTRACTIONS XI | SOMEONE TO STAY

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 6,369

summary: ted has some news to share with the team that unexpectedly leads to other secrets coming out.

A/N: here it is - the penultimate chapter of distractions! i’ve had the events of this chapter planned out for what feels like forever, and i finally get to share it with you all. thank you for reading and i can’t wait to see what you think💙💛

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

It should come as no surprise that you and Jamie end your night after the Man City win doing some…not-so-innocent activities to celebrate. You’re hesitant at first, not wanting to agitate Jamie’s ankle, but your attentiveness only turns him on more. You’re not entirely sure what time you actually fall asleep, but in the early morning light, you’re awoken by Jamie leaving a trail of kisses on your face and down to your neck, and before you know it, you’re going another two rounds.

You bask in the afterglow side by side as you catch your breath. When you look at Jamie, there’s a dopey smile on his face.

“You happy or something?” you ask teasingly and his smile only widens.

“Just a little,” he murmurs, leaning over to give you another kiss.

You lay on your sides facing each other for a few quiet moments, as you trace the tattoos on his arm.

“Have I mentioned how much I like your tattoos?” you whisper.

“Mm-mm,” Jamie shakes his head.

“Well, I do.”

“Have you ever thought about getting one?”

“A couple times, but not seriously,” you tell him, “Not sure what I’d get.”

“I think you should get a big number 9 plastered across your back,” he suggests with a faux-serious expression.

You snort, “And why would I do that?”

He shrugs innocently, “So you can have a piece of your favorite footballer wherever you go.”

“That’s funny because you and I both know my favorite footballer is…”

“I swear to God if you get the number 24 tattooed anywhere on your body, I’ll scream.”

You laugh out loud, placating your boyfriend with another kiss. “I think I’ll have to keep thinking of other tattoo ideas before I commit to anything officially.”

“Fine,” Jamie agrees.

You move your fingers up the length of his arm to run gently across his face, “With everything that happened last night, I never got the chance to ask you about your dad. Was he at the game?”

Jamie looks down, but covers your hand with his, “No, he wasn’t. Which I think honestly messed with me more. I ended up texting him afterwards, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” you whisper, knowing their relationship was complicated, but that he still begrudgingly cared about the man, “I think reaching out could be good. You don’t have to forgive him, but you deserve a little closure.”

Jamie nods, “Yeah. Ted said something like that, too.”

You smile internally. Of course he did.

Jamie lifts his head to glance at the clock on your side of the bed, “I think we overslept.”

You roll your eyes light heartedly, “Yeah, I wonder why.”

Jamie smirks giving you yet another kiss, “We should get ready. Can I drive you to the club today?”

Your heart flutters at how excited he seems to publicly take you to work for the first time. Unfortunately, you had a few loose ends to tie up this morning, so you’d be going to the club later this afternoon, getting the all clear from Rebecca over text on your way home last night.

“I’ll actually be in a little later today. I have some things I need to do first,” you’re attuned to the way Jamie’s face falls, so you quickly reach out to stroke his cheek again, “I promise there’s nothing to worry about. I want to tell you everything. I was thinking over dinner tonight? I can make my lasagna that you like so much.”

Jamie’s expression relaxes, though you can tell he’s still a bit weary of what exactly you’ll be telling him. Still, he gives you a tiny smile, “That sounds great, babe.”

“Good. Now hurry up and get ready. Don’t want Roy to yell at you.”

Jamie groans, but reluctantly pushes himself out of bed. You eventually manage to get up yourself once he’s ready, pulling on one of his tee-shirts so you can kiss him goodbye at the door.

Once he’s gone, you take a deep breath. Despite your indecision about your job situation, spending the night carrying on with Jamie, Keeley, and Roy made what you wanted to do become clear as day. You weren’t sure how everyone would react, especially with the trouble Keeley and Rebecca had gone through, but you knew in your heart you had to follow your dreams on your own terms. And that’s exactly what you were going to start doing this morning.

Jamie arrives at Nelson Road with a sense of self assurance he’s never had before. Sure, he’s always had an air of confidence and cockiness about him his entire life, but today Jamie feels a special sense of pride when he enters the locker room. Not only had he helped his team win a game in his home city the night before, he was dating the most incredible girl he has ever met and now everyone knew it.

As if they didn’t hype him up enough about it the night before, his teammates greet him with pats on the back and teasing remarks about the match, and about you. Jamie rolls his eyes, joking right along with them, but on the inside he’s admittedly enjoying the praise. He knows the team loves you, and is very protective of you. And while he knows they’ve grown to love him too since returning to Richmond, it warms his heart that they not only approve of his relationship with you, but are almost as excited about it as he is. Almost. He was definitely the most excited.

The Greyhounds go about their morning, getting ready for training, and the spirit continues to be high. For whatever reason, though, Jamie senses a shift in the mood when the coaches enter the locker room. They’re probably going to want to get serious about their final game of the season, he assumes, but another piece of him worries that something else is going on.

“Hey, everyone listen up,” Ted calls out and he’s missing the usual pep in his voice, “I’ve got something I want to say to you all before training.”

The team instantly stops whatever they’re doing to give their coach their full attention. Ted exchanges a look with Coach Beard who nods reassuringly. Roy and Trent stand off to the side, seemingly in the loop as well, and they don’t look thrilled about whatever it is.

When Ted turns back to face the team, he’s scratching his face nervously, but he takes a deep breath and continues, “There’s been a lot going on in my life lately, mentally, as you may know. And while I’ve been handling things better, there’s still one thing I can’t fix here, and that’s my relationship with my kid. He hasn’t said anything himself, but I know I’m not present enough in his life. So, that’s why I decided after our season’s over, I’m going to go back to Kansas. Permanently. So...this will be my last week as your coach.”

It takes everyone in the room a second to process this, but when reality hits them, there’s an uproar of confusion, sadness, and frustration. It's unclear what each of them say, as they talk over one another, but most are just trying to tell Ted to stay in their own way.

Ted nods his head, letting them get it all out, before raising his hand to calm them down. “Hey, hey, hey. I know it’s sudden, but trust me I didn��t think this through lightly. Coaching you guys the last few years has been one of the greatest honors and privileges of my life. But now I need some time to focus on my family and I hope you all will come to understand that.”

Silence blankets the room again, before another chorus of murmurs echo their understanding, though the mood in the room is still solemn. For Jamie’s part, he’s mostly remained silent from his seat on the bench, too shell-shocked by the news to say or do anything. He understood that Ted was leaving, but the actuality of it wasn’t hitting him completely yet. Probably because he didn’t want to let himself believe it, with how important Ted was to him, even if he didn’t always acknowledge that.

“So, who’s gonna be our coach next year?” Dani asks, and few teammates tack on ‘yeahs’ in equal curiosity.

Jamie notices Ted’s eyes briefly flit to Roy, but the assistant coach just continues starting straight ahead with his arms crossed.

“Uh, I’m not sure yet. Think that’s up to Rebecca, but I just told her the news this morning,” Ted answers honestly.

“Coach Beard, are you leaving, too?” Colin questions this time.

Everyone’s heads whip to the man in question at the front of the room next to Ted.

Slowly Beard nods his head, “Yeah. I’m leaving, too.”

Another round of depressed groans carries through the locker room as the team processes a second loss.

“Wait, what about Y/N?” Sam brings up before he can even stop himself, but as soon as he sees the alarmed look on his coaches faces, he realizes his mistake. “Shit.”

The team grows quiet again, their heads turning to Sam this time, and Jamie’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your name.

“Uh, what does Y/N have to do with this?” Isaac questions.

“Yeah, just because she’s American doesn’t automatically mean she’s leaving, too.” Jan Maas adds on.

While Jamie’s equally confused, his heart continues to pound against his chest. With furrowed brows, he looks between a guilt-ridden Sam, and Beard and Ted, who exchange looks of their own. An uneasy feeling forms in the pit of his stomach, as he and the rest of his teammates wait for an explanation.

A nervous Ted clears his throat, nodding again, “I think what Sam is referring to is that...Y/N is actually my niece.” To the chorus of gasps, Ted continues, “Yeah. She didn’t want you fellas to know, so you didn’t think she got her job because we were related.”

Jamie’s heart drops. So many things become clear in that moment; why it felt like you’d been keeping something from him, how you’d become so close to Ted in a short period of time, why you were so good with Henry when he visited. You’ve known him your whole life. He can barely hear Ted continue as he processes all of this.

“I’m sure this isn’t how she pictured you all finding out. But either way, me leaving doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll want to go as well,” he tells everyone.

However, no one has time to feel relief when a small voice pipes up.

“But what about that job she’s interviewing for?” Will asks from the back of the room, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Suddenly nervous with everyone’s eyes on him, he carries on with a stutter, “I-I heard her talking to Sam in the boot room about it one day. She’s interviewing for a writing job in New York.”

Once again, everyone’s heads sharply turn to Sam, who looks apologetically at Jamie across the room. That’s when it sinks in for everyone. You in fact could be leaving them too.

Jamie can barely hold eye contact with Sam, turning his attention to his shoes. His breathing goes heavy, and he barely makes out Coach Beard ordering everyone to start heading towards the pitch for training. Sam is the last one to file out besides Jamie. He wants to apologize to his friend, for helping keep your secret, and letting Jamie find out this way, but he doesn’t know what to say to make him feel better. So, he just defeatedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room doors.

Jamie’s not sure how much time passes when a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

“Hey, Jamie,” Ted’s soothing voice says to him, “Want to chat in my office for a sec?”

Jamie nods absent-mindedly, rubbing his face before following behind his coach. He passes Roy who only gives him a pat on the back before leaving with Beard and Trent.

Ted shuts the door behind Jamie, before rounding his desk to sit in his office chair. Jamie fidgets for a few seconds before leaning against the shelf near the door.

After it's clear Jamie’s not going to start this conversation, Ted speaks up again himself, “Well, first off I want to say I’m sorry that you found out about everything this way. I’m sure she wanted to tell you all of that herself, and I’m sure Sam didn’t mean for it to come out that way either.”

Jamie nods, still not looking at Ted. Internally, he laughs bitterly. You were probably going to tell him all of this tonight; feed him a nice meal just to break his heart.

“If it’s any consolation, this is the first time I’m hearing about this job in New York, too,” Ted adds, “So it has nothing to do with my decision to go back to the states, if that’s really something she’s considering. In fact, I haven’t had the chance to tell her my news either.”

“So, she’s really your niece?” Jamie finally says. He definitely knows it's the truth, but he’s still in disbelief that it's been right under his nose the whole time.

“Sort of,” Ted snorts, “Her dad is Michelle’s brother. So, in a way she’s not technically my niece any more. But she’s still my family in the way that matters.”

Jamie nods again. A piece of him is touched by the way Ted has clearly been looking out for you the last few months; especially after your breakup. But another part of him is horrified that he’s been sneaking around with a relative of Ted’s this whole time.

It’s as if Ted can sense his uneasiness as he speaks again, “I’m really happy for you two by the way.”

“Really?” Jamie asks, making eye contact with him for the first time.

“Really, really,” Ted nods, with a kind smile on his face, his head resting in his hand, “I think it’s great. I mean, I just found out yesterday, but she is clearly very smitten with you.”

Jamie’s cheek’s flush and he prays Ted doesn’t notice. “You’re not going to threaten me or tell me I’m not good enough for her?”

“Nah, that’s more of a dad’s job; and she’s got two so I’m sure you’ll hear that speech plenty,” Ted teases, “But I also know you, Jamie. I’ve seen you come into yourself the last few years, and that person is a good guy. Getting to see your growth has been one of the best parts of coaching this team, and one of the things I’ll miss the most. I don’t need to tell you not to hurt her, because I know you won’t. Besides, I can see that you’re just as smitten with her, if not more.”

If Jamie wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now. Not only because of his comment about his feelings for you, but also due to Ted complimenting him. He was once again overcome with sadness thinking about Ted not being around anymore, but he couldn’t handle that thought right now. And he certainly couldn’t handle thinking about how he’d feel if you were leaving, too.

Unsure of what else to say, Jamie just settles on a simple thank you.

Ted gives him another supportive smile. “Don’t mention it. Just go easy on her about this whole job thing. She’s probably confused by it all, and she might not even go. Just talk to her about it, okay?”

Jamie nods, managing a tiny smile of his own. “Coach?” he asks softly, “Would it be okay if I skip training today? Think I need to clear my head. Might end up going for a run on my own anyway.”

Ted nods assuringly, “Of course.”

As Jamie stands up and heads for the door, he turns to Ted one last time. “Coach?”

Ted looks at him curiously.

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me the last three years. I think it really sucks that you’re leaving, but I understand why. You’ve got to do what’s best for you and your family, and I’m sure your son will be glad to have you back around. I know the rest of the team’s bummed, but they’ll probably be over it by tomorrow and support you, too.”

This time Ted is the one overcome with emotion, knowing it's rare to get this much sentiment from Jamie Tartt. Trying not to show it, Ted just nods and gives him another smile. “Thank you, Jamie.”

With one last tight smile, Jamie pulls open Ted’s office door and disappears around the corner.

Your plan to have a productive morning was very successful. After treating yourself to a big, homemade breakfast, you hunkered down at a local café to get some things done regarding the job options you had. In effort to not get distracted, you turned your phone on ‘do no disturb’ and then spent a few hours drafting emails, tightening up your manuscript, and preparing what you were going to say to Jamie later in the day.

After feeling satisfied with your work, you close your laptop and decide you have a bit of time before you need to be at the club, so you plan to go to the grocery store to get everything you need for dinner with Jamie. However, when you open your phone to type out a list, you see dozens of missed calls and texts.

Your first instinct is that someone had to have died. But that was ridiculous. Still, your nerves are spiking as you check your texts. There were a slew of them from various members of the team, and even Roy and Trent Crimm. In some shape or form, they were all asking about your relation to Ted, whether or not you were leaving Richmond, and if you were taking that job in New York.

You feel like you’re going to be sick. How the fuck did they know all of that?

You get your answer when you finally listen to the one lone voicemail you had. It was from Sam.

“Hi, I can’t talk long, I’m meant to be at training, but I need to tell you that I fucked up and I’m sorry. The team knows about you being related to Ted. And about the New York job. It all just came out and I can explain more later, but I just need you to know that I’m so, so sorry. And I’m sorry if it hurt Jamie, but I know you two will work it out. Okay, I gotta go. Beard and Roy are coming. I’m sorry again. Okay, bye.”

There’s not an ounce of you that can be mad at Sam, especially with how distraught he sounds. And shit. Jamie. The one person that didn’t reach out. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now.

Running out of the café, you furiously navigate your phone to order an Uber to the club, furiously cursing yourself for not being able to drive on the left side of the road. Stupid England.

Once you arrive, you race through the halls to the locker room. It's about time for lunch, and you count your blessings that most of the team must have already left the premises to eat. Among the few stragglers is Sam, who is anxiously sitting on the bench staring at his phone. His head shoots up when you enter, causing him to stand with wide eyes, meeting you halfway.

“Oh, my God, Y/N, I am so sorry, I completely messed everything up,” he begins, desperate to fix it all.

You shake your head as aggressively as you can, “You do not need to apologize to me. It’s okay. I just need to find Jamie, is he here?”

Sam frowns, “No. He didn’t end up training with us today, and no one’s heard from him since this morning.”

“Shit,” you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. You rack your brain for where Jamie could have possibly gone, but one thing still isn’t making sense to you. Dropping your hands, you return your gaze to your best friend.

“Sam, why did this all happen?”

Sam’s shoulders sag, his expression unreadable. His eyes eventually leave yours to look at something over your shoulder. The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you spin around to see Ted standing in the doorway to the coaches’ offices. He nods his head for you to join him.

Glancing back at Sam one more time, he gives you a small smile and squeezes your shoulder. He apologizes one last time, to which you assure him that everything is okay. But you were finding it hard to believe that yourself.

Ted shuts the office door behind you and you dramatically fall into Beard’s chair as Ted sits in his own.

You don’t bother beating around the bush, “What the hell is going on? I don’t come to work once and Sam ends up spilling the beans on everything. Did something happen?”

Your uncle gives you a sympathetic smile, “Yeah. I spilled some beans of my own.” At your confused expression, Ted plows forward, “I’m going back to Kansas.”

“For the summer?” you ask, though you fear you know the answer.

“No, Kiddo,” he sighs, “After the season’s over, I’m moving back to be closer to Henry. And Beard’s going back, too.”

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, but still find it hard to process, “When did you make that decision?”

“This morning, after my mom left,” he admits sheepishly, “But I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

You sit across from him in silence, taking it all in. The only reason you were here in the first place was because of Ted. What were you supposed to do now?

“The team didn’t exactly take it well,” Ted explains, “And in the midst of the chaos, Sam asked what me leaving meant for you. Everything sort of snowballed after that.

You inhale deeply, taking it all in.

“And Jamie?” you ask quietly, “How did he take it?”

“I think he was just caught off guard and trying to figure out how to process it all,” Ted tells you, “He was surprised about the family thing. And the whole job in New York thing.”

“Jesus, he’s probably pissed at me again,” you groan, “I was literally going to tell him everything tonight. I just needed a few more hours.”

Ted’s lips quirk up, “That’s life, Kiddo. It doesn’t always go exactly how we’d like it to.”

You scoff, “Yeah well life is stupid.”

“Yeah, it can be,” Ted chuckles, “I think it sounds great; a writing job in New York. That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? To write and live in the Big Apple?”

“Yeah. It was,” you say quietly, “But I wasn’t sure if that's what I wanted still, so I was trying to figure it out before I told Jamie. Or anyone.”

“Hey, that’s fair,” Ted nods supportively, “If you want my humble opinion, I think it’s great if you want to go for it in New York. I also think it’s great if you decide to stay here and continue to figure things out. Heck, it would even be great if you wanted to come back to Kansas, too. But Kiddo, you have to make that decision, whatever it may be, on behalf of yourself. Not for me, not for Jamie, not for anyone else. Just for you.”

Ted’s words settle in the air and you take it all in. While you were already pretty dead set on what you were going to do, you definitely agreed with his sentiment. You had to follow your own gut for once, not anyone else’s.

“You’re right,” you eventually say softly, “I think I know what I’m going to do, but I think I owe it to Jamie to finally have him be the first to know.”

Ted gives you a supportive smile, and your stomach flips.

“So, you’re really leaving?”

Ted nods solemnly, “I’m really leaving.”

“Then who the hell is going to make ridiculous puns around here to annoy Roy?”

This makes Ted snort, “I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ve rubbed off on enough of them, that they’ll carry on the tradition.”

You laugh along with him. You wonder if Ted will ever fully understand the impact he’s had here. On the club, on the team, and even on you these past months. You have a feeling even if he did, it wouldn’t be enough to change his mind.

You spend the next few hours trying to track down Jamie, hoping the sooner you could find him and explain things, the less damage would accrue.

However, he wasn’t answering your calls or texts, and no one seems to know where he is. You fear, even after your promises to communicate with each other after your last falling out, Jamie had once again resorted to pushing you completely away.

Lucky for you, Keeley happened to pop by the club that afternoon, and after getting caught up on the drama, insisted on driving you to Jamie’s to see if he’s there. Unfortunately, after searching every nook and cranny of his lavish home, you resign to the fact that he’s not there. You feel defeated as you resituate yourself in Keeley’s passenger seat, unsure of what to do next. She offers to drive you around Richmond, suggesting that Jamie could be blowing off steam, running somewhere, and maybe you’d pass him. You take up her offer, less so because you hoped to catch a glimpse of him, and more so to avoid going home to any empty home for a little while longer.

It was nearly 6PM by the time Keeley drops you off at your flat. Suffice it to say, you didn’t find Jamie jogging around Richmond. You also didn’t find him wallowing in Crown and Anchor, but that didn’t stop you and Keeley from doing so yourself over a quick pint before calling off your search for the night. As she drove you home, you briefly wondered if Jamie could have possibly fled back to Manchester, to see his mom again. But that was four hours away, and there was no chance you were asking Keeley, or anyone for that matter, to make that drive. And the Uber fare would be atrocious.

As you climb your apartment stairs, you resign to a night of waiting by your phone, hoping to hear from him, and if not, trying to find him again tomorrow.

When you walk into your home, you’re instantly overcome with the feeling that you’re not alone. You’re proven right when, as you’re discarding your coat and shoes, Jamie enters the living room from your kitchen.

“Hi,” you breathe out, after getting over the shock of seeing him, “Have you been here the whole time?”

Jamie shrugs, “I went on a run for a bit. But eventually I got the urge to come here.”

You nod, still on edge, “You, uh, didn’t think to answer any of my calls or texts?”

Jamie cringes, “So, I’m pretty sure I left my phone in my bag in the locker room.”

You scoff in disbelief, “Jamie…”

“I know. I know. That was stupid. But I left the club in such a hurry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I was worried sick all day, I thought you were shutting me out again,” you whimper tiredly, unable to stop yourself from giving into the emotion that built up all day.

“Shit,” Jamie mutters, taking large steps to close the gap between the two of you to gather you in his arms, “I’m sorry.”

You allow yourself to feel comforted by his embrace for a few seconds before you’re shoving him away abruptly, “Fuck! I shouldn’t be making you apologize to me, when I’m the one who lied to you and hurt you. Again!”

You cover your face with your hands, frustrated at yourself for making Jamie feel even an ounce of guilt, when you were once again in this situation because of you.

Gently, Jamie pries your hands from your face and interlocks your fingers together. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though! I keep messing things up between us because I don’t know how to communicate like a normal human being. And you don’t deserve to be jerked around like this. But I promise, I can explain everything if you give me the chance.”

Jamie swallows, taking in your words, though a tiny smile plays at his mouth. “I promise I will give you the chance, but is it okay if I say some things first?”

You hesitate, your eyebrows furrowing over what he could possibly have to say, but eventually you nod.

“Thank you,” Jamie whispers, giving your hands another squeeze and then he takes a deep breath, “You’ve been spending a lot of time lately reassuring me that I’m good enough, but I feel like I haven’t done enough to assure you that you are more than enough for me. Yeah, it has sucked to feel like you were keeping stuff from me. I knew you couldn’t have been doing anything wrong, but it still hurt that you either didn’t want me to know or trust me enough to let me in. But now I understand that it has nothing to do with me. I get that letting people in is hard and that you were afraid that the secrets you were keeping would make things harder. Sure, it would have been nice to know you were related to Ted from the get-go. I might have not tried so hard to sleep with my coach's niece the first chance I got.”

You manage a small laugh.

“Obviously, I don’t regret that though. And I get why you did it. I get that it might have made your job more complicated, and then even more so once we got together. Telling family is a big step. So, I get it, I do.

“I even get why you didn’t tell me about the job in New York. The thought of you leaving…I can’t even think about it too much. But I also know that it's your dream. And the last time you told a guy you wanted to go after your dream, he discouraged you. And even though I would never do that, I know deep down that still scares you. But I want you to know that I think it's amazing; that you’re writing again, and that you have the opportunity to do it in the city you’ve always wanted to live in. I’m so proud of you, and want you to be where you need to be. Even if it's not here with me. So, that's why, as much as it kills me to say, I think you should do it. You should take the job in New York.”

Jamie’s words weigh heavily on you. Firstly, you’re heartened by his reassurance that you were more than enough for him. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that. Secondly, you were simultaneously surprised and not surprised that he was encouraging you to pursue the New York job. It wasn’t a direction you had been expecting this inevitable conversation to take, but it was Jamie you were talking about. Of course he’d say exactly the right thing and support you, even if it meant you moving back to another continent.

Overcome with complete adoration for him, and since words are failing you at the moment, you can’t help but to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. As you pull away, Jamie is clearly surprised by the act of affection, but he’s also not complaining. He looks at you expectantly, hoping you do eventually have something to say in response to his speech. And you do. You just need to figure out how to word it best.

You eventually inhale your own shaky breath, meeting his eyes once again, “Thank you, for saying all of that. It means a lot to me. Even if you say you understand, I’m still sorry for keeping everything from you, especially now that it has come out this way. It really all stemmed from not wanting to mess anything up between us, but of course the opposite still happened.

“I’ve been dying to tell you about Ted for so long, but like you said, telling family is a lot, and Ted’s an important part of your life too, so I didn’t want to make things weird between you two.

“And the job…I knew you’d be excited for me. But I think I just never wanted to see the look on your face when you heard it was in New York. And then things got more complicated when Keeley told me she knew a literary agent, here in the U.K. who might be interested in meeting with me.”

“Oh?” Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up in hopeful curiosity.

“Yeah. So, as you may have guessed, I needed some time to sort out what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go.”

“And,” Jamie asks timidly, “Have you decided?”

After a few beats, you nod. “Yeah. I decided I can’t work for that agency here.” Jamie’s face falls and you’re quick to latch back onto his hand, “But I also can’t take the job in New York either.”

Jamie stares at you in total confusion, “What?”

You smile slightly, finding his expression oddly adorable. “I want to write more than anything, and part of me is happy doing it by any means necessary, but I also hate the idea of not being able to prove myself on my own. Back in Chicago, Mason got me the job at the advertising firm. Then, when I got tired of that, Ted and Rebecca got me the job for Richmond. My friend from Chicago got me an interview in New York, and Keeley knows a literary agent here. Everything I’ve done has been because some else suggested it or did it for me. I’m not naive enough to know that sometimes connections are how people get work these days, but I don’t want that to be my story. I want to succeed because I did it on my own.

“So, this morning, I told the publisher in New York I was no longer interested in interviewing for the reading position, and then spent hours refining my manuscript and submitting it to a few small, independent publishing houses to see if any of them would be interested in working with me. I know it won’t be as lavish as the publishing houses in New York or the one Keeley had connections to. But all writers start from somewhere, and I want to start somewhere on my terms.”

Jamie digests everything you said, and eventually gives you a shaky smile, “And where are these publishers you submitted to?”

You give Jamie your own shy smile, “Right here, in England.” Jamie’s grin widens as you continue, “I’ve never felt more at home, than I have here. And with the exception of my own family, I’ve never been surrounded by more people who genuinely care about me. I feel more like myself than I ever have before and I’m not really keen on losing any of that.” You bite your lip, “And I also sorta really like a certain footballer that lives here, too. So that’s kinda the cherry on top of it all.”

Jamie lets out a disbelieving laugh, “So, you’re staying?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Is that okay?”

Instead of answering, Jamie places both his hands on either side of your face and kisses you with as much passion as he can muster. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate, sliding your hands up his stomach to rest on his chest. You knew better now than to make a decision on behalf of a man, but god, were you glad that you got to keep doing this for the foreseeable future.

When Jamie pulls away from you a few moments later, his eyes are watery, “I know I said I was okay with you going to New York - and I meant that - but, God, I’m glad you’re not.”

You giggle, “I’m pretty happy with my decision, too.”

Jamie leans in to kiss you again, but you lean back with your nose scrunched up. Your brain is less clouded by emotions now, and you finally pick up on the aroma flooding your home.

“Are you cooking something?”

Jamie smiles awkwardly, his face flushed, “Yeah, so during my run, I had this grand idea to surprise you with dinner like you usually do for me. So I grabbed what I could from the store and attempted to make your lasagna recipe. It’s probably nowhere near as good as yours is, and the garlic bread is store bought, but that shit still tastes fucking good, if I do say myself.”

You can’t keep the bright smile off your face, “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

Jamie squints, “Yeahhh, maybe wait to try it first before you give me too much credit.”

You giggle and shake your head, before pulling Jamie in for a warm hug, which he accepts without protest.

You couldn’t care less how the food was going to taste. It could be burned to a crisp and you still knew it would be the best meal of your life. Because Jamie, your Jamie, took the time to make it to make you happy. And push you towards a decision that he thought would be what you wanted, even if it hurt him.

You were so lucky to have him, and you were comforted by the fact that he seemed pleased to have you as well. And now there were no more secrets between you threatening to unravel everything. Jamie wasn’t going to disappear on you again, and you certainly weren’t going anywhere either. Richmond was your dream home now, and the fact that your person lived here too was the best kind of bonus.

A/N: THERE IT ISSSS CANT WAIT TO HEAR EVERYONE’S REACTIONS! ALSO, was anyone else bummed we didn’t see the team’s reaction to Ted leaving in the show when they first heard? i’ve had the scene in my head as the ted reveal since i thought of this story between season 3 even came out because i knew they’d take ted away from us and i was shook we didn’t get a reveal. i get why and part of me appreciates them not focusing on the sad, but i really took away from my story haha

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#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #mine #distractions series

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basichextechml · 1 year

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Wednesday Addams/Fem!Reader

Rating: Teen // 4.7K words // Reader uses she/her pronouns, no looks are described, rated teen bc the jokes are morbid and somewhat graphic, reader is a shapeshifter, reader is a touch insecure but don’t worry guys it’s good I swear, I’m sick w covid rn so if you spot a mistake no you don’t (but actually tell me pls), there’s a playlist at the end of this fic pls check it out love you guys <3

A chain reaction is set off when Wednesday realizes she’s not actually talking to her roommate

Pt. 2

---

Wednesday wasn’t talking to Enid right now.

Sure Enid was in front of her, sitting on her bed, in their room, wearing her clothes, and her face- but it had, embarrassingly, taken Wednesday five whole minutes to realize it wasn’t Enid. Her hairline was off, her smile was a bit too big, and her eyeliner wasn’t done with its normal flicked technique. What cracked the bell, however, was the fact that her nails were a different color. Wednesday normally couldn’t care less, but her roommate had been trying to find the perfect shade of green for her nails for the past month and had only repainted them this morning, blabbering on and on about it. A fact that made Wednesday want to open the large decorative window, and fling herself out of it.

But her nails weren’t green. They were blue with pink polka dots. The same pattern she had last week.

“You’re a pretty convincing fake,” Wednesday bit, and faux-Enid paused mid-sentence.

You’d been caught.

Wednesday continues, tilting her head down to glare at you through her lashes. Other than those minute details- you really could be Enid. Or, at least, someone lesser than her would believe so. “Who are you, and why have you chosen to impersonate my roommate?”

Faux-Enid sighed, before sticking on her house slippers and stepping towards Wednesday, holding out a hand. After a moment of consideration, Wednesday took it firmly in hers and shook it twice. You clicked your tongue in satisfaction- a decidedly un-Enid thing for you to do. Wednesday never thought she’d see the uncanny implications of someone wearing another’s face so nonchalantly in person.

“(Y/n),” You said, brows pitching up as you finally looked around freely, “I just wanted to see the great Wednesday Addams that everyone’s been whispering about.”

“Whispering is for wakes, I prefer it that way, everyone’s been too loud since I’ve arrived.”

You understood now why everyone was talking- well, maybe for different reasons. They were concerned about the attempted murder charges. You were wondering how someone could be so pretty. She was entirely ignoring you as well, a bold move considering you were a stranger, and you had impersonated her roommate and snuck into her dorm.

Hm. That made you sound like a creep.

Oh well.

The newly occupied side of the room was sparsely decorated- a far cry from Enid’s colorful and cluttered abode. You couldn’t say it was bad, though, everything was organized, in its rightful place- and delightfully macabre, accentuating the architecture that encased it. Her bedsheets had hospital corners. Taking care not to touch anything, you glanced over the few trinkets she had, lingering on the heavy typewriter with a fresh piece of paper stuck inside its hold.

As you take a step closer to her, she takes one back.

You rescind your previous step, putting twice the space between you- and you catch a downward twitch in her brow.

“A murder mystery?” You ask, looking her in the eye. Wednesday isn’t entirely sure you’re asking about her book, even though it is the topic of discussion.

Wednesday found herself asking a question without thinking. “How could you tell?”

You turn your back on her, this time. A dangerous decision, she decides, because she can see your neck from here. “Instinct, maybe?” You tease, turning back momentarily to wink. Wednesday’s lips purse tight, perturbed at those words coming from what seems to be Enid’s mouth.

“If you’re going to act in such a way, I’d be much obliged if you stopped mimicking my roommate.” Her skin prickled as you sighed, rocking back on your feet as if contemplating her words.

And then you begin to change, right in front of Wednesday’s eyes.

Wednesday’s ever-present morbid curiosity waits for the cracking of bone or stretching of skin- reminiscent of other transformations she’d bore witness to. This was nothing of the sort- it was smooth. Too smooth. Like a hot knife through the doughy fat of a thigh. It’s disturbing as you take on a new shape, and she can’t blink, because she’ll miss it.

Or maybe she won’t? How can she miss it when the familiar face staring back at her is her?

You trot along to Enid’s mirror, fixing your newfound fringe and admiring how Wednesday’s face looks on you. She had dark brown- nearly black eyes, and a smattering of freckles over her soft skin. Her eyelashes are long, too, wisping against her brows and the apples of her cheeks, almost like a doll. “You really are pretty, Wednesday. Great cheekbones,” She sees the way your eyes look down at her lips in the mirror. “Nice-”

“If you finish that train of thought they’ll find you at the bottom of the lake hog-tied with lead in your pockets.”

You smile at her- and that’s how others would be able to tell you both apart because the muscles responsible for completing such an expression had died in her face long ago. It was like an out-of-body experience, or a successful trial after her many failed attempts at lucid dreaming. It made her feel something- something she couldn’t put a finger on- something she might not like.

She wants to end this.

But then you’d leave.

She wants you to leave.

Right?

It may be too difficult to say no to her own face.

You can see the twitch next to her lip, and know that maybe you’ve pushed the new girl too far- and thus, you borrow Enid again. “Don’t worry, Wednesday,” the way you say her name sends chills up her spine, like hypothermia setting in. It’s different from the way Enid would say it, like you’re pitching her voice differently, making it your own. “I won’t borrow your face if you don’t want me to.”

And just as you make peace with plunging Wednesday into the ice-cold uncharted waters of discomposure, the door jiggles and swings open. Enid- the real one- stands in the doorway with shopping bags on her arm, ones that she nearly drops as she squeals over your presence.

Wednesday takes a step back as the blonde entirely overtakes you, and she’s sure she’ll go blind from the embarrassingly emotional spectacle you both make. Clamoring and chattering as you discuss something undoubtedly trivial. Enid doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve borrowed her complexion. Wednesday doesn’t understand it. Maybe she doesn’t want you to leave. She feels her fingers twitch in the urge to lay you down and cut you open. Shapeshifters must have malleable cells, right? To aid in the transformation process? She wants to see what it would look like under a microscope.

As if sensing her murderous intent, maybe you can see it in her eyes, you turn to her, a sly little smile. “It was lovely meeting you Wednesday. I’d love to hear more about your novel next time we chat.”

The next time.

How bold.

---

When Enid posted on her blog about Nevermore gaining a new student and the scandal that would undoubtedly follow, you were hooked. The Addams were infamous at Nevermore, and now their oldest would be showing up midway through the quarter, tugging along attempted murder charges?

You were itching to meet her.

Heart practically beating out of your chest, you retreated from Enid and Wednesday’s dorm. Riveting. Absolutely riveting. Your fingers and toes were numb in excitement at the prospect of the rest of the quarter. Who knew a flash of braids and a homicidal edge was what this school so desperately needed?

---

“I’m assuming you know her?” Wednesday asked, not bothering to look at her roommate as she pulled out her desk chair and began setting up her typewriter.

“Oh, (Y/n)? Yeah of course! We’re like, besties!” Wednesday fought the urge to roll her eyes at Enid’s terminology. “I was wondering when she was gonna come around- when I told her you were coming to Nevermore she totally freaked.” Enid clipped her bangs back, getting ready for her nightly skin routine. “I can’t believe it took her, like, what, a week? to come say hi.”

Wednesday hummed, barely hearing the words over the clacking of her typewriter keys, her brows furrowed in thought. Enid grabbed her caddy of soaps and prepared to head off into the bathroom. “I feel like you’ll be great friends. Ooooh, we should totally do, like, a group sleepover! I’ll be right back, think about it, okay?”

The front door slammed shut behind Enid, and Wednesday grumbled, pulling out the used sheet of paper from her typewriter and crumpling it up. Thing looked up from his place on Wednesday’s bed, shutting the magazine he’d been leafing through to see what was troubling her. Wordlessly, she fed another piece of paper into the paper table.

Perhaps Viper De La Muerte’s mystery would gain another character.

---

You come to her next as Xavier in their shared botanical sciences class, and she can tell right away based on the doodle you’re scratching into his desk. It’s quite awful. Horrendous, actually- technically speaking.

“Good morning Wednesday” You chirp, and that warbled tone is there again. Perhaps a side effect? Curiosity is creeping up on her in these spare meetings you both share, getting ready to strangle her in the best way

Wednesday sets down her bag, and sits precariously on her chair, eyeing the etched drawing on the desk. It’s a raven, and when it doesn’t pop out of the table at her, she’s sure of her conviction.

“(Y/n)” She states.

You let out an affronted gasp, eyes crinkling at the recognition, before propping your chin up on your hand. “How could you tell? Was it my magnetic personality?” Wednesday focuses on the way your, Xaviers, fingers tap and fidget against the desk like you think she won’t notice. “Perhaps our first encounter has captured your heart- and you’ve fallen for me?”

“I’d rather you watch me fall off a cliff.”

“Sounds like the perfect date idea, how about seven tomorrow night?”

You watch in excitement as her brows tick up a hairline of an inch and the way her cheeks look a little less dead. She most likely wasn’t used to someone receiving her sardonic personality with open arms.

In place of answering, she chooses to counter it with another question. “Why are you impersonating Xavier?”

Dramatically, you pull out a notebook. Not a sketchbook. A real notebook. And begin to take dutiful notes. Another way she would’ve been able to tell the difference between you and Xavier. “If someone doesn’t want to go to class, for whatever reason, they normally pay me to come and make sure they don’t miss an attendance credit, take a test, get homework-”

“Cheat?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yeah, cheat,” You shrug, “It makes me good money, and I get to keep the grade curve up. I’m sure you could appreciate that.” Your pencil nudges against hers, tapping against her meticulous notes.

She’s not sure where to take this conversation, and that weird feeling is back. Normally, she’s itching to leave a conversation. Any conversation. Maybe it’s the fact that while she’s talking to Xavier, she’s also talking to you. There’s nothing to put to your voice yet, even when it’s masked and warbled by another.

Wednesday is talking to someone, and she doesn’t really know who. The concept is eldritchtian in nature, that she could look over and not understand something that was right in front of her face. There’s no control. A masterful side eye keeps watch on you throughout the period. If she can’t put a face to a name, she could at least tack onto mannerism. Maybe then she could control that feeling in her gut.

You liked keeping your hands above the desk and busy. You’d fidget with them often, picking at your nails. Your nose would involuntarily twitch whenever Thornhill pulled out a particularly foul-smelling plant. But was that you or Xavier? Wednesday’s pen taps the edge of her paper, leaving ink blots in the margins. She could argue that it’s you- at the end of the day it’s your brain, but another part says you could be subconsciously mimicking the mannerisms of whoever you’re impersonating. You’re a puzzle with one too many edge pieces that she’s trying to make fit.

She’s adorable- thinking that you don’t notice she’s watching you. The thing about being different, for good or bad reasons, is that you can feel when someone’s trying to understand you. How their eyes linger. Maybe it’s masochism that runs your brain because you feel good gaining her attention- no matter how depraved it was.

The game of ignoring and noticing each other continued throughout the period, like a dance you had practiced, making sure not to step on each other’s toes. You wondered if she was curious enough to ask now. You wanted her to ask. To be curious enough to suggest meeting up. To know you better. From what Enid had spilled about her, Wednesday was confident- and unpredictable. The ball was never in your court because she was never even playing her game with you, just hitting it against the wall by your head and waiting for you to flinch.

You’d flinch if she wanted.

Miss Thornhill wrapped up the end of class, the volume of the room slowly rising as kids began to talk about their upcoming plans for the weekend. You watched slyly as Wednesday packed up, flipping your notebook closed to give back to Xavier.

“My room, tonight after dinner,” Wednesday murmured firmly, and your smile pulled taught, an ache in your cheeks. But your victory was short-lived, the lips you’d admired in the mirror spelling your crash.

“Don’t come as anyone.”

---

You were stupid to have not thought this far.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Getting so caught up in just trying to capture her attention, you didn’t even know what you were going to do if you got it. You thought it would take a couple more tries to get her fully into the idea of being around you- but you had underestimated Enid’s words.

Wednesday knew what she wanted quickly, and she expected to get it.

It would be hot if you weren’t mentally freaking out.

She said to meet her after dinner, but that didn’t specify a certain time, right? Hypothetically, you could show up whenever. You could say you had a late dinner- but you know that wasn’t what she met. She’d already be upset at you for disregarding her last request, you couldn’t be late on top of that.

As you walked through the hallowed halls of Nevermore Academy, you people-watched. There were so many interesting students here. No matter their disposition, they had rich lives that would no doubt continue on and only grow more complex. Intriguing powers that had so many quirks and kickbacks that you could only imagine what it felt like to have them come naturally to you. There were so many compelling people here- so why would you want to be you when you could pretend to be them?

Shifting from foot to foot, you knocked on the door. Well, Bianca technically knocked on the door, but it was still just you. Enid answers, looking somewhat taken aback before realization dawns on her. “(Y/n)- come on in! I was just about to go meet Ajax, so it’ll just be you and Wednesday.” The way she says it sounds like she’s hinting something, looking at you with wide eyes and a mischievous little smile.

‘Subtle’ You mouth to her, nodding your head. Enid does a bashful curtsey, before grabbing her keys. She makes sure it’s loud as she locks the door behind her.

And then it’s two.

Wednesday looks positively deadly cut against the low light of the iconic Ophelia Hall window. The way she glares through you emphasizes her distaste for your actions.

“I see you’ve decided on Bianca today. Odd, considering I asked for you.” You’re nearly prepared to say something, mustering up enough thought to figure out what she’d even want to hear, but it’s her who steps closer. And closer. And closer.

She’s in your space now, looking up ever so slightly at you. “Take it off.”

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” You stumble out, voice not nearly as confident as it had to be for that line.

Wednesday only tilts her head, coy as can be, with a brow slightly raised. “I thought you liked my unconventional… date ideas.”

You muffled a laugh, “I didn’t even get the first one. I was looking forward to seeing the rocks together-”

Wednesday wondered if you do it- if you’d teeter into the violence of her earlier statements.

“-If you’d jump, and if you did, how you’d hit them. Maybe, what it would look like when I followed after you.”

You’d been lured into her trap. And by the way, Wednesday could feel the corners of her mouth twitching up, she’d been ensnared in yours. But she couldn’t let you win so easily. She couldn’t find herself letting you do it. Turning away, she marched to her desk, pulling out a thin, monogrammed book, and a pen. “I believe I made that commitment to (Y/n), not Bianca.”

Frozen to the floorboards, you stare wide-eyed, having been put right back into the one spot you didn’t want to be. Wednesday could hear the hitch in your breath, matching it with her own to see how long it would take you to breathe again. The satisfying ache in her lungs proved that she had caught you off guard. “To make it up to me, you’ll be answering a few questions.” She points to her bed, telling you to sit.

Relief wasn’t the right word to describe your state. Abject happiness? Pure and unbridled repose? Perhaps disappointment- because you wouldn’t be meeting your demise to the cold, small hands of Wednesday Addams. Though, a thorough interrogation will take a close second.

There was a weird disconnect with the situation. You’d tell Wednesday anything she wanted to know. What you were, how you felt, your deepest fears, your middle name. But the idea of shedding whomever you had borrowed and bearing your face to the world terrified you. The idea that she could know everything about you and know nothing at the same time felt comfortable, but when Wednesday Addams was looking at you with a curious spark in her eyes, you felt it wasn’t the right choice at all.

Scurrying over to the bed, you hurriedly sat down- only to sit on something soft. Not in the springy way, a bed was soft, but in the way people were soft.

Wednesday watched in amusement as you yelped, jumping up quickly off of her bed. Thing angrily crawled his way out of the covers, obviously having been woken up from his after-dinner nap. Desperately, you apologized to Thing, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was only a hand. She doubts he’s the weirdest thing you’ll see while you choose to associate with her. “Thing, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), Thing. Now stop apologizing.” Wednesday demands, grabbing Thing and carrying him over to Enid’s side of the room. Precariously, she tucks him in, before turning her back on him, leaving no room for argument. She pointed to the bed again. “You. Sit.” What were you meant to do? Say no? Perched on the side of the bed, you waited for her to begin her investigation a la (Y/n).

“You can become anything?” Wednesday started, writing along the printed lines of her notebook.

“Anything you want.” You tease.

“I want a real answer.”

“Anything I want, within reason,” You sigh, leaning back on your hands.

She stopped writing for a moment, looking over the edge of her book, “And what does that entail?”

“I can’t get too small,” You emphasize, making a small box with your hands and then gesturing to the rest of yourself, “Or else I feel cramped. And I can’t get too big, because then I’ll be stretched too thin, and everything’ll become unstable.” Wednesday narrows her eyes for a moment, hitting the nib of the pen against the paper before deciding what to write.

“What about width?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question- haven’t tried it? I guess? Not many things are wider than they are tall.”

Wednesday hums in thought, before grabbing her desk chair and propping it up in front of you, sitting down herself. Your knees were knocking together, the only thing separating your skin from hers being her uniform skirts. Bianca always liked to roll her skirt up a bit, so you did too. “Does it hurt?”

“Did what hurt? When I fell for you- Ow!”

You rubbed at the skin of your knee where she had stabbed you with her pen, the broken skin healing itself within the blink of an eye. You could feel her gaze watching it.

“We’re not doing that bit again. Your abilities seem to have a healing aspect.” She mumbles, furiously scribbling something down. You wondered what she was even writing. ‘Initial observation, healing aspect, eternal torture? Must review’. Yeah, no, okay.

“Not exactly, It’s sort of like healing- but also a bit more complex. When you heal, you make new cells, right?”

“Of course.”

“But what I just did wasn’t making new cells- it’s just the same cells remembering what was there, transforming into that, and then moving accordingly.” Tentatively, you grab her hand. It’s cold and rigid against yours, like a corpse, and you move it to the skin of your knee. You’d never be able to tell that there was a hole there in the first place. “Of course, I still produce new cells like everyone else, it’s just if I were to sustain a large injury- a lethal one, being a shapeshifter wouldn’t save me. My cells would transform and move, but that would only be tearing me open in a different way.”

There’s a smile on Wednesday’s face.

It’s small, barely even there, like an apparition, but you can see it.

Wednesday is enamored with you. Your skin was so warm. You were holding her hand so tightly. She had this disgusting, revolting feeling in her chest. One she wanted to keep there forever.

“So I couldn’t crack your ribs open and crawl inside of you?”

“If you had to keep warm, of course.”

You were so close.

Suddenly, she clapped her notebook shut, the chair screeching as she lurched out of it. Jolting, you leaned back a little, watching with wide eyes as she slammed the notebook into her desk drawer and shut it.

“We’re going to see the rocks tomorrow.” She demanded, reminiscent of when she asked you to come here. “And I do want you this time.”

Son of a bitch.

“I…” Your mouth felt dry. It was amazing how she managed to make you feel so comfortable while trapped. “I’ll think about it.” And within the next moment, you were a mouse scurrying across the floor boards, and ducking right beneath the door frame.

You didn’t stop running until you were down the stairs and in the main entrance hall- quickly changing back and collapsing against a wall.

A mouse? Did you become a fucking mouse?

Silently screaming into the hall, you hit your head against the ground, embarrassment flooding through your every nerve. Because what the fuck. You became a fucking mouse and you ran under the door.

You knew what you had to do.

You had to die.

Life was over at this point- there was no use continuing. Wednesday Addams had (sort of) asked you out, and like a complete and utter loser, you ran away. As a mouse.

---

You had been avoiding her.

It had been a week since Wednesday Addams had last seen you. And a single question loomed above them all.

Who did you think you were?

You barge into her room, responding to her threats and homicidal tendencies in kind, making her interested, sticking her neck out onto the guillotine. Making her want to hold and touch you. Hold your warm hands. Run her fingers over your skin. And you’re hiding from her?

To say she was positively murderous at this point was an understatement. Her rage was unconcealable. People avoided her in the halls, well, more so than before. Enid was neglecting to start conversations when they shared their dorm, fearing the wrath she may incur if Wednesday was even a bit more annoyed. She had already stabbed Xavier with her pen twice. He didn’t even have the nerve to treat her to a spectacle such as you did.

Her cello was bearing the brunt of her bad mood this evening, pulling along the strings and bow to string together a much blunter rendition of Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8. The callouses on the tips of her fingers burned as she flew through the piece, a much-needed pain to distract her from her inner turmoil. It felt so right.

As the last few notes on the page crept up on her, the quartet drawing to a close, there was a glint in the night. Brows furrowed and lips pouted, she closed her music book, setting down her bow and cello to approach the edge of the stoned terrace. A raven- big and beautiful, flapped its wings closer, a chain dangling from its beak with a pendant hanging from the end. Like it recognized her, it stalled in the air, almost waiting for Wednesday to hold out her hand.

Tentatively, she did so, and the raven dropped the cold, sterling silver amulet into her hand. Ignoring its retreat, she turned the amulet around, peering into the glass class on the other side. Its contents puzzled her.

“Don’t turn around.”

Head snapping up, Wednesday felt a tingle run down her spine as she looked onto the horizon. She knew that voice.

One that was normally distorted with another’s, warbled and lost in a tonal fray, was crystal clear.

“I… I wanted to apologize.”

“For ignoring my existence?”

“Yes, I just…” She could hear your exasperated sigh behind her, and instead of turning around, she channeled her want into running her fingers along the grooves of the amulet. “I want to show you who I am. I do. I just don’t think that I… That I’m prepared for what that means. So I got you that.”

It was a Victorian mourning locket. Inside its glass prison lay a small, cut stock card. Oil paints had been used to portray a single, lively and bright eye, laid deep into plush skin. Framing it, were strands of hair, glued and staged to look as though it would when hanging naturally. A single braid of the same hair wormed around and enclosed the portrait, snug against the silver. The hair, skin, and eye colors were unfamiliar to her- but Wednesday Addams was a smart girl, she could piece it together.

She felt as if you had grabbed her heart and pulled it out of her chest, content to watch it slow to a stop in your hand, and all she could muster was- “Who painted this?”

You muffled a laugh. “My dad, don’t worry.”

Wednesday could hear your steps, and by the fourth, she could feel how warm you were against her back.

“This is just my way of saying… that when I’m ready, you’ll be the first person I show. You’ve already seen more of me than anyone else here has.”

Just like when you first met the infamous Wednesday Addams, your fingers were numb. Though, this time, instead of excitement, you were dreadfully, painfully, nervous. Nervous that the girl standing only a few feet in front of you would reject your declaration. All was silent, and the only sound you could comprehend was the thudding of your pulse in your ears as she held the locket out behind her.

“Put it on for me.”

Fingers shaking, you struggled to unclasp the chain, before pulling the chain around her thin neck. Securing the clasp again, you lingered, warm hands smoothing out the baby hairs on the nape of her neck.

Wednesday watched unfamiliar hands flash in front of her eyes, and she knew that she had you at that very moment. “Sit,” she demands again, settling down on the floor of the terrace. One more moment and your back was entirely pressed against hers, the ridges of your spines kissing through your muscle, skin, and clothes. “Thank you,” Wednesday said quietly into the night air, “I’m… I’m pleased, that I’ll be the first.”

She took your hand in hers, and the numbness faded.

---

Thank you guys for reading!! If you enjoyed it pls let me know, my inbox and mentions are always open and reblogs are always appreciated <3

This is a playlist I made for Wednesday, it’s got Latin American goth and orchestral pieces (including the one mentioned above), so if that’s your vibe pls check it out!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1CbNa8jneefleLKCK98HHC?si=0fc47154f345442d

#Wednesday (2022)#Wednesday imagine #Wednesday x Reader #Wednesday Addams x Reader #Wednesday fanfic #reader insert #my fics #my fic

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