#this is getting way more attention than it should have...

[wosospacegirl]

Youngest Putellas - platonic! reader

Summary: There was a shadow growing in the Putellas family, unnoticed, while everyone kept their attention on Alexia. Somehow, your mom's house and your city felt too small for both you and your sister.

Warnings: mentions of grief, angst, and just emotional stuff overall.

Word count: 4.5k

Info: This story is set before UEFA 2022. The reader has been in La Masia since she was a kid, went to Barça's A team but moved on loan to Real Madrid. She is about 21 here.

..

Your relationship with your sisters was always troubled. It was the type of relationship that was demanding, laborious even, that didn't stand on its own easily.

It had always been like that, though.

You were 7 years younger than Alexia, 5 years younger than Alba. They were always very close, always telling each other stuff, always getting each other's backs.

Alexia and Alba were the kind of sisters who exemplified what sisterhood was all about. Alba would sneak into Alexia’s bed in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She was the one Alexia turned to whenever she was struggling with friendships and didn’t know what to do

They weren't sisters. They were friends. Best friends.

You, on the other hand, always felt just like their relative. 

Someone who grew up in the same house, someone who just happened to have the same parents. 

But when you were younger, it was easier, somehow. You didn't notice how the two girls always seemed to read each other's minds while you were left alone, wondering what they were thinking.

You always thought it was because they were so close in age, they were going through basically the same stuff, the same growing pains.

With Alexia, it was even more difficult, and you honestly couldn't see why. You both enjoyed football, you were introverted and socially awkward in the same way, you had everything to get along, but you just didn't. 

Maybe it was because you two looked so much alike. 

It was hard looking at one's mirror every single day.

Your mum always tried to bring you sisters together, and it worked sometimes. 

Your relationship wasn't completely bad after all, it was just challenging. It was like both parts had to work hard to create a connection that clearly wasn't there.

..

You, foolishly, thought that getting into the Barcelona team would make it all easier, that it would bring you and Alexia together.

But it didn't.

Actually, getting into Barcelona was one of the worst experiences you have ever had. You had worked hard through La Masia to get where you were, to be called up to team A, but you were too young.

You had talent, but you let your emotions get the best of you on the pitch. On a good day, you would shine. On a bad day, you would let the ball slip out of your feet straight to the other team's defence.

The managers always made sure to tell you how different your game style was from your sister, the captain.

"You should learn from her, Y/n," they would say as you were hydrating on a very sunny day. "She has technique, she's composed on the pitch."

"You let your emotions guide you in the worst way possible."

"Alexia always has her head and heart in the game, you just have the heart."

They weren't wrong. Your play style was very different from your sister's. Alexia was collected on the pitch, it was like nothing could shake her. You weren't like that.

"I'm not made of stones" was what you usually said.

In the end, it was easy and good criticism. 

You needed to be more mature, on and outside of the pitch. 

Growing up as the youngest, it was all you would hear all the time. Most families say the youngest ones are the most babied, but in the Putellas family, the youngest was the one who had to grow up fast, trying to catch up to the older ones.

On the 2020-2021 season, you had an okay year. You had good games, bad ones too, but it wasn't nearly good enough for Barcelona. You were too young, still too immature.

But your contract wasn't close to the end, and Barcelona had no intention of paying the lease of a broken contract, so they gave you an option. 

Going on loan to Real Madrid or just accepting you were going to be benched for the remainder of the season.

You left the office without a proper answer. 

If you went to Real Madrid, you knew it would be a pure disgrace to your culer family, especially to your sister, but if you went there, you knew you would be able to play. 

Real Madrid needed a few defenders, and you were good enough for them. Your second option was staying in Barcelona and just... not playing. 

The Champions League was approaching. You knew you would never get there with Real Madrid, but you knew that if you got a medal for winning the UEFA with Barcelona, it wouldn't be by your own doing. The club had made sure you knew you would get zero minutes.

When you got home, Alexia, Alba and your Mom were already at the table, waiting for you to start dinner. 

Normally, Alexia would give you a ride, but you asked her to go without you. Instead, you took the metro, considering and rethinking everything that was said in the meeting room.

Everybody was talking. 

Alexia didn't talk about football, she never did with Mom and Alba. Alexia always said she needed people she could talk to about things other than football. People that made her feet like she was more than just a player. 

Maybe it was one of the reasons why the two of you didn't get along much. Besides football, you didn't have the same interests.

You liked music, playing instruments, mainly piano, which you learned from your Dad. 

He also loved it. He tried to teach Alexia, but he would say she only had coordination with her feet, then he tried Alba, who had the talent, but didn't care to practice, and then he tried you.

Third time's the charm, he said. You had the talent and the passion. You practised with him every night after he came home from picking up Alexia from training. He would sit you on his lap and teach you Catalan songs while Alba would sit at the foot of the piano, her doll in hand, playing house while Alexia would kick the ball against the wall.

It was messy, but everybody was together, everybody with their own interests.

But then Dad died. It was 2012. Alexia was only 18, Alba 16, and you were 11.

Alba and Mom cried a lot. 

Alexia and you not so much, but that didn't mean you didn't feel it in your bones. It wasn't sadness. 

Sadness would be too little to express the emptiness and the numbness that took over your body from such a young age. 

You didn't understand death, but when you asked your Mom or grandma about it, it seemed like they didn't understand it either.

When Alba would cry, you would be the first one to come hug her, say that Dad loved her, and that he was watching over from wherever he was. 

Alexia would come second, not knowing very well how to comfort someone, but feeling the weight of being the oldest.

After Dad, Alexia became, at the same time, more distant, but still more present. 

She was still at home; she didn't move out, even though she could. She was playing for the A team at Barcelona and had played for Spain as well. She chose to stay.

During one night, while you were supposed to be asleep, you heard her and Mom talk. Mom said she was overwhelmed. Alba was getting in trouble, sneaking out, talking with people she shouldn't, then she talked about you. 

You were surprised at first. You had tried your hardest to be the one who didn't cause problems, knowing Mom was missing Dad a lot, but she said she missed hearing you on the piano. 

You hadn't touched it since Dad passed away, months ago. It hurt to even look at it.

You didn't wait to hear Alexia, you went straight to bed.

The next day, you woke up with Alexia on your side of the bed. 

She was sitting there, her Barcelona jersey on. She told you you were going to play, that she wanted to hear a few songs. 

You said no. You didn't want to play for anyone who wasn't Dad.

She ignored you. She dragged you out of bed. The room you shared with Alba still pitch black. She forced you down on the piano bench.

"Play," she demanded, her voice cold, icy.

You shook your head. Why was she doing that? Didn't she know it hurt?

"Now, petita," [young sister] she said again, more harshly.

You tried to get away, but she held you back.

You started playing. Maybe if you finished it, maybe Alexia would let you go.

As you were hitting the piano keys, the same way Dad taught you, you felt the heaviness in your chest changing to something different.

It wasn't lighter, just... different.

You didn't notice you were crying until you felt the tips of your fingers wet. 

Water wasn't good for the piano. Dad never let any of you near it with anything liquid. 

You should stop. Take a towel and clean it, but you couldn't. The song wasn't done yet.

So you kept going. Maybe if you finished it, then Dad would make himself known to you again, maybe you would feel the love people swore he left.

People always told you Dad had gone, but that he was still here, that he left parts of himself in each of his daughters. 

But you didn't see Dad when you looked in the mirror, you didn't see Dad when you looked at your sisters. He was nowhere to be seen because he wasn't here anymore. 

He wasn't going to come back.

The stupid piano would be here, and he wouldn't.

When you realised you were hitting the keys with more force than intended, and Alexia was calling you, shaking you, screaming your name.

"Para ya!" [Stop it!] she shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, she was sobbing, and her face was completely red. "Para, para ya!"

You stopped at the same time Mom and Alba ran downstairs, probably having heard the screams and crying.

Mom didn't know what to do. Alexia was crying hysterically, hands on her face, while you were crying too, but it was like your fingers were glued to the piano. 

You weren't playing anymore, but they were there, on the exact keys they should be on to continue the song.

On one side of the room was the youngest daughter of Eli, a kid who had just lost her father and one of her greatest passions along with it. 

On the other, was the older kid, who had just turned into an adult, but was still very much her baby.

Your Mom went to Alexia, hugged her tight, telling her to breathe. Alba went in your direction, gently taking your hands off the piano while cleaning your cheeks from the tears.

Dad should be here. He would know how to make it better. He should be here. He was the missing piece. Your family wouldn't be the same without him.

You cried on Alba's shoulder, her hand patting your back as if you were a toddler who scraped her knee.

She was murmuring something about also missing Dad, that it was okay.

But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't okay, too.

The chaotic Moment only escalated when Alexia got up from the sofa, getting away from Mom's arms. 

She pointed at the piano, eyes full of hatred. 

"Get it away from here, throw it in the trash, I don't want it here!"

You barely had time to process.

You freed yourself from Alba’s arms before throwing the top half of your body on the piano, holding it tightly. It was cold against your naked arms, but you didn’t mind.

It was yours to keep. Your memory of Dad. The piano was Dad. 

"No! You can't do that," you said in between tears, looking betrayed at both Mom and Alexia. "It's mine, it’s Dad's!"

Why were they doing that? They didn’t want Dad in the house again? How could they see the piano and not feel Dad’s comforting presence?

Didn’t Mom remember how Dad would always sing a romantic song for her on Valentine's Day? Didn’t Alba remember how Dad would play her favourite cartoon songs on the piano?

Had Alexia forgotten how Dad would always play Barcelona’s anthem for her? Had they all forgotten what the piano meant?

Maybe they did remember. Maybe it was just too much for them to look at every day. 

But it wasn’t trash, they couldn’t throw it away, not without erasing Dad’s memory along with it.

"It can't be here," Alexia said between her teeth. "Dad's not here anymore, no reason to keep it."

"Girls, calm down, let's breathe," Mom said, trying to ease the situation, but it didn't work, because you and Alexia continued to argue. 

You didn't remember what you said, you also couldn't remember what Alexia said.

What you did remember was how Alexia told Mom that she would move out if the piano wasn't gone.

Mom had just lost her husband, she couldn't lose her oldest kid, too. So she chose Alexia.

The piano was gone the next morning.

Now, sitting at the table, you looked to the corner of the living room, where the piano was some years ago. 

You stared at it. It had nothing now, it was just a corner. Then you looked at the table, surrounded by what was left of your family.

"I'm moving to Madrid," you said, tapping at the table anxiously.

And that's when it all got so much worse.

..

Alexia didn't drive you to the airport; Alba did. She was smiling, but you could tell how she really felt about the whole situation; she didn't want you to go, didn't agree with it, but she understood why you were doing it.

Mom was still a mystery. The night before your flight, she helped you pack everything carefully, telling you that she was proud of you for following your own pace and for making a decision that she knew was best for your career. She filled your cheeks with kisses and tucked you in before she closed the door to your room.

The next morning, though, she prepared breakfast and cried over your eggs. You didn't say anything, just hugged her tight and told her you were going to be okay, that you were a few hours away. You were moving cities, not countries.

You had a final breakfast with your family, but you couldn't help but look up at the door, the back door everyone used instead of the front one, the door Alexia was supposed to walk through any minute because she was your sister and your captai,n and she needed to say goodbye, right?

You drank a cup of coffee and Alexia wasn't there.

You drank a second one, still no sound of Alexia's car.

When you were on your way to make the third, Mom held you hard. "She's not coming, petita."

"Oh," you said, putting your cup down. "Why? She's got training?"

Maybe she had something important. Ever since you agreed to go on a loan, Barcelona had blocked your access to the players' schedule, so you really didn't know.

Mom opened her mouth, then closed it.

You understood it right away.

Alexia wasn't coming because she didn't want to. Simple as that.

You nodded to Mom, trying to put on a brave face. She was already anxious that you were moving out to a city you'd never been in; she didn't need to know you were sad because your sister wasn't coming to say goodbye.

Your dumb, self-centred sister.

She did everything for her team, especially the youngest players, but couldn't seem to be there when you needed her the most.

You knew why, of course.

Alexia had treated it as some sort of betrayal when you told her you picked Real Madrid instead of Barcelona. You tried telling her, explaining that in Barça you were not getting any minutes as a defender, but she didn't listen.

She told you how selfish you were being, that you couldn't move away from them, that Mom and Alba would miss you—she never mentioned herself—then she talked about how idiotic you were for going to a "low-class club" that barely had won anything.

You told her to stop multiple times. Told her that you weren't asking her, you were just letting her know you were moving.

When she mentioned Dad, things escalated. She said how sad Dad would be to have one of his daughters play for a club he hated.

That was when you took your plate, still filled with food, and threw it on the floor, next to Alexia's feet. You aimed it so it wouldn't hurt her, of course. Your sister was getting on your nerves, but no need to draw blood.

You didn't remember what happened next. Alba took you to your room, Mom stayed in the kitchen, calming Alexia and cleaning everything up.

You felt bad for the plate. It was Mom's favourite.

..

Mom was crying as soon as you got to the gate, ready to fly. You had the plane ticket in one hand, your luggage in the other, and your backpack on your back.

Alba was holding Nala, the little family dog. If it wasn't for your mom, Nala would be the family member you would miss the most—sorry, Alba.

"I need to go," you said, smiling down at Nala and scratching her head. "I'll miss you, you behave for Mom, okay?"

Nala just looked at you, not understanding what goodbyes meant.

Alba held you tight when you went in for a hug. "Don't go all crazy in Madrid, please," she said. "I mean it, I've been twenty-one before, I know how exciting things can be."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm going there for work, not to party."

Alba giggled. "You sound just like Alexia."

She quickly realised what she had said and looked at you pitifully, whispering a small "sorry."

You waved it off before kissing Mom goodbye. "You take care of yourself," Mom said between tears. "Take a taxi and go straight to the apartment, don't talk to anyone at the airport and—"

"Mom!" you said, smiling a bit. "Calm down, it's okay, I know how to care for myself."

"You are too young," Mom murmured while fixing a string of hair that was out of place on your head. "Older kids are supposed to be the first ones moving, not the youngest... you're my baby."

"Mama, I'm not a baby."

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Mom huffed. "You always will be, you three."

Three.

Three Putellas Seguras were supposed to be here, not just two.

Then, your flight was called. You had to go now.

You gave them both another round of hugs. Parting was weird, it was like the goodbyes were never enough. In reality, they never were.

You turned around, waving at them before entering the gate and walking through the tunnel straight into the plane.

When you sat in your seat—window seat, yay—you checked your phone one last time before the flight took off.

There were some messages, some from friends and players at Barcelona, telling you to enjoy and make the best out of this moment.

Another one from Alba, a selfie with her, Mom and Nala saying "Mom's saying she misses you already."

But the one that got your attention was written under the name of Ale.

"Text me when you land. Don't trust those Madristas."

You smiled at the message because, of course, Alexia was paranoid. 

But she was also telling you to be safe. It was the closest Alexia could get to "I love you."

Still, you didn’t answer.

Alexia was still going to be Alexia, no matter what place in the world you would move to. She was cold, but warm when she wanted to be. She cared a lot, so much that she couldn't push herself to show it. Felt so much about everything, but still, decided to keep everything to herself.

That was who Alexia was. And it was hurting you.

You hurt her, too, you knew that. Maybe because you reminded her of Dad, maybe because the similarities between you two were too noticeable.

You weren't sure. Maybe you would never know.

Still, you wished your sister were here to say goodbye.

You sighed as you put on your earphones as the flight took off.

..

When you got to Madrid a few hours later, you felt like you had just opened a new chapter in your life. This was the place to make a difference for yourself, away from your sister's shadow.

Barcelona was her city. Madrid was yours now, even though you had just set foot in it. You would make it your place. You'd always felt like Barcelona wasn't quite right for you. 

The memory of your dad–and the version of your family you should’ve had–always haunted those streets

Madrid was still pure of any of your sins. You had never played football on these streets. Never sneaked out to a party here. Alba had never taken you to get a tattoo hidden from Mom. Alexia had never taken you drinking on your 18th birthday here.

You were the only Putellas in Madrid. Maybe you didn't quite know what that meant, but it mattered. Somehow it did.

You were good enough to text Mom that you had gotten off the flight safely, and that you were already sprawled on the floor of your new apartment. 

Mom called right away, demanding to video call so you could show her the apartment, which you did.

On the screen, the only faces were those of your Mom and Alba. It seemed like Alexia had decided not to show up at Mom’s at all that day.

You decided to ignore it. While also keeping in mind that you had yet to text her that you had landed... well, maybe mom already told her.

You showed Mom and Alba your apartment. It was small, just one room, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. It was in an apartment complex for players, so you had already met a few of your teammates.

They seemed nice, not any of those weird stories Alexia had told you about them being snakes. Maybe Alexia had taken to heart all of those stories Dad told when they were younger. Dad was the most culer of them all, after all.

The next day, you got your training kit and were asked to see if everything fitted so they could take a few pictures of you for media day.

As soon as you put on the Real Madrid jersey, you cried.

You thought about calling Mom, or Alba, even Alexia, but you didn't.

You chose to move away, which meant dealing with things on your own.

That badge felt wrong on you, the colour white looked horrible on your skin, and the whole situation felt off.

What were you doing? Wearing these colours? Defending another team? Maybe Alexia was right, maybe Dad was very upset right now, maybe this wasn't the life he had envisioned for you.

But what was the life he expected of you? Being a benchwarmer in Barcelona? Being compared to your sister all the time? La Reina of Barcelona?

You didn't know what was expected of you. You also didn't know what you wanted. You thought you wanted to come to Madrid, but now the decision felt exactly as Alexia said it was—stupid.

..

Okay, everything was fine, actually, you thought to yourself as you were being guided into Real Madrid's training grounds. It looked nice and modern. You were scared of how it was going to look. You knew Real Madrid didn’t exactly prioritise investing in the women’s team.

You did some pictures and a lot of videos for their Instagram. In a matter of days, everybody knew that you went on loan. You had read the comments, people saying it was shocking to see a Putellas in white, others congratulating you for taking this difficult step.

You did some training on the pitch with the other girls. Their training was more focused on the individual players rather than on the team, which you thought was weird, but hey, who were you to say anything?

When you lay down to sleep that night, you texted Mom to let her know how everything was. It felt good to listen to her voice.

"How are you, petita?"

"I'm okay, Mom," you said. You weren't telling her that you cried your eyes out a few days ago because you couldn't make pasta the same way she did. "And you? How's Alba... Alexia?"

"I'm good, just missing my petita," your mom said, sadly. "But your sisters are being good to me. Alba has been taking me to pilates, Alexia always comes home after training to watch TV with me."

"I'm glad, Mama," you answered. "You should focus a bit on yourself now, you spent almost thirty years taking care of us."

"I like taking care of my girls," she said, "but enough of that, how's training? Have you made any good friends?"

The way mom said it, it looked like she was asking if you had anyone to share your lunch with during recess.

"Yes, Mama, I've been getting close to Teresa," you said. "She's nice, she lives in the complex too, she's showing me around Madrid."

"Oh, that makes me so happy!" Mom said. "You keep focusing on yourself, bebita, focus on your football, on your friends, I want you to feel good."

"I'm working on that, Mama," you said. "I need to go now, but I'll call you tomorrow!"

"One thing before we say goodbye, petita," Mom said. "Have you been calling your sister? I know you call Alba, but what about Ale?"

Not that conversation again. Since you moved to Madrid a few weeks ago, Mom had been prying about you and Alexia's relationship, asking if you had been talking. You knew she was asking that of you and not Alexia because you were way more open than Alexia could ever be.

"We talk, Mom," you lied. "Don't stress over us, okay? We love each other."

At least you hoped Alexia loved you.

Mom sighed. "Just... call her more often. She told me she misses giving you rides to training."

And with that, Mom ended the call, and you were left wondering.

Alexia absolutely hated to give you rides. She said it messed up with her morning routine, that you ate breakfast too slowly, that you always slammed her car's door, even though you didn't.

Maybe it was because Alexia didn't really express her feelings, maybe it was because you couldn't fathom someone missing you.

Still, it sat there, aching in a corner of your chest.

..

a/n: "El Cant dels Ocells" (The Song of the Birds) is a famous Catalan song. It's very pretty, you guys should listen to it!! <3 -> I don't know where the idea of this fic came from. I'm reading some books where the author just writes whatever in their character's mind, so I tried to do this here. That's why the reader sounds so messy and confused, because she is haha. -> Also, I plan to write more about the reader's story. I know she'll end up in Arsenal at some point (I want to write something about Alexia and the reader against each other in the UEFA final hehe, but we'll see where we go.

[chleem]

If it's casual now...

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: after five months of blurred lines and unspoken rules, everything unravels when you ask drew what you really are to him. suddenly, pretending it’s casual isn’t an option anymore.

Genre: angst (read at own caution; explicit languages + scenes

⋆.˚ dont copy or translate my work on any platforms

♡⸝⸝ phrase one | more

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“We need to talk.”

Your voice echoes through your dormitory, coming from Drew’s phone, the message you left from last night. 

It was the only thing you said, but you figured it would be enough to get him here. 

And it was. Drew showed up the way he always does-  unannounced, no text, no call, just the quiet click of your door unlocking and the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor.

Like he belongs here. Like it’s his space.

Now, he’s standing across from you behind the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped lazily around a mug. His hoodie’s slung over your chair, his phone charging in the same outlet he always claims.

He hasn't said anything yet. Just looking at you expectedly with the piercing blue eyes of his. 

You’re dressed- ready for class, your bag prepared by the couch, adjusting your bracelet- everything about you says you’re leaving. 

He plays your voice message again. 

“We need to talk.”

You send him a look, “stop playing that.”

Drew sets his mug down; the soft clink of ceramic against the counter louder than it should be, “you look pretty.”

You give him a faint smile, reaching up to adjust your necklace.

“Where you going?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know your schedule by heart.

“Class,” you say, trying to keep your voice light despite the thudding in your ears.

Drew nods at your answer, biting down on his bottom lip. “Okay… you look pretty,” he repeats. 

Then, he moves.

He steps out from behind the counter, and in just a few strides, he’s standing beside you, close enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.

You can feel the warmth coming off him. That clean scent he always carries-something between laundry soap and the hoodie he probably hasn’t washed in a while- settles in the space between you. 

He somehow also smells like sleep and mornings and whatever’s left of the cologne he put on yesterday.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him before turning toward the small bulletin board by your dorm door.

You search for your keys, among the clutter of class notes and reminders pinned there, trying to focus on something else.

You could feel his stare burn on the back of your head. 

“I have your keys, babe,” 

“…both of them?”

“Yeah,” Drew replies, before the sound of keys jiggling fills the room. 

You turn around to see him sitting on your counter stool, legs spread comfortably. 

He sets both keys on the countertop.

You walk back over, and without much thought, he scoots the chair closer, closing the space until you’re settled between his legs.

Your fingers close around your key, the one with your familiar keychain and you want to leave, escape his presence, but you’re right in the middle of it. 

He reaches over, his bicep brushing lightly against the side of your waist as he grabs his phone. You already know what he’s going to do.

The message plays again: “We need to talk.”

You chuckle softly under your breath, and when you glance up, Drew’s smiling gently at you.

“Yeah?” He says. 

You meant it last night- that you were going to talk to him. But now, with him standing so close, it feels harder to do.

He hooks his finger into your belt loops, tugging gently, pulling you just a little closer, his touch light but deliberate, as if he’s trying to coax the words from you.

“You’ve got my attention,” he adds, voice low and almost teasing, but there’s sincerity to it too.

Where to start? 

You turn to face him, and he takes the chance to rest his hands on your lower waist, his bracelet (the one you got him) brushing against the fabric.

You take a deep breath, fingers nervously fidgeting with your keychain, then finally meet his gaze.

“What are we, Drew?”

You won’t lie- what other people say has been creeping into your mind more than you want to admit. Your friends, who sneered and called you a loser for sticking around. The strangers who whispered, maybe a little too loudly, about how you’re just ‘the girl he bangs on his couch.’ 

Those words, sharp and careless, have been gnawing at you, making you question everything you have with Drew. 

Five months of casual talks, stolen touches, late-night kisses, meeting parents like it was nothing- it’s all there, but without a name, without a definition.

And then there’s Mike- your new friend, a first-year who confessed, asked you out. His honesty made you think about everything even more. The more you thought about it, the more restless you got. 

You couldn’t take it anymore.

He kept you like a secret, while you carried him like a promise.

It’s clear this simple question caught Drew off-guard, his eyes widening, pupils dilating a bit, and his mouth parts slightly- before he quickly fixes this smile. 

“What?” he chuckles, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your waist.

“What are we, Drew?” You ask again, patiently. 

He hesitates, then smiles, a little uneven. “Where- where is this coming from?” 

“I’m just…curious,” you look down at your keychain, fiddling with it nervously. Before you can think twice, Drew reaches out and takes it from your fingers, setting it gently on the table.

You look back up at him, catching the almost blank stare in his eyes. “Curious?”

“Yeah- I mean,” you shrug, pulling your sleeves down a little tighter. “It’s just… I don’t know. Don’t you…wonder?”

He lets out a light scoff, bringing a hand up to scratch behind his ear, a little awkward. “No... no, I don’t really,” he says, voice low but honest, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again.

“You… don’t?”

You wait for him to say more, but he just shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe I just... like things the way they are,” he admits.

Of course he does.

Casual- no expectations, no labels, no accountability.

That’s what Drew likes; how casual you are- how casual he thinks you are.

But you aren’t. You’re nowhere near it.

Not when he’s met your friends, not when you’ve met his family, not when he kisses you like he means something. Like you mean something.

You blink, pulling in a quiet breath.

“So that’s what you wanted to talk about?” Drew smiles, and before you can answer, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your stomach, right over the fabric of your top- affectionate, familiar, automatic.

You can’t even help the frown that settles on your face.

You hesitate for a moment, your hand hovering, before you give in and thread your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle.

He exhales softly at your touch, his lashes fluttering briefly as he presses another kiss, higher this time, right over your ribcage. Still over the fabric, still tender.

“Drew?”

“Yeah?” 

“…we need to talk.”

“You sound just like the recording,” he teases, lips curving up as his hand lazily roams over your back.

But you don’t laugh, not even smile.

You shift back slightly, just enough for his touch to fall away, his hands slipping back to rest at your sides.

“What are we? Seriously,” you ask, letting out a breathy, uneasy laugh as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 

He swallows; his smile falters, and this time he scratches his forehead, “I don’t know- casual? No strings, no attachments- you know.”

No attachments. 

No strings. 

Casual. 

“We’re not, Drew. We’re not casual, at all,” you whisper, biting your lip and glancing away, because saying it out loud makes your chest tighten.

Drew stays quiet for a beat then finally asks, “Why now?”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head slightly, running a hand through his hair. “I mean... two days ago, you were sleeping on my arm until it went numb- ”

You cut in, voice low but firm, “that’s why, Drew. Does that sound casual to you?”

You couldn’t believe his next words. 

“Yes.”

“‘Yes’?” You look into those blue eyes of his, “do you casually fall asleep with strangers, Drew?”

“…you’re not a stranger.”

You lean in just a little, voice soft but steady. “Then what am I? What am I to you?”

The sapphire orbs dance between your eyes, your nose, your lips, “I don’t like this conversation,” he answers instead. 

You gulp, heart pounding, “me neither. But- just-“

“You mean a lot to me, y/n. Is that what you want to hear?” 

You nod slowly, biting your lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood. Your gaze drops to the floor, unable to hold his eyes any longer; your arms wrapping around yourself instinctively.

You wait, just a beat longer to see if he’ll say anything else, if he’ll soften those words or try to explain. 

But he doesn’t. 

He stays close, and you find yourself chuckling softly at the tension between you. 

Trying to slip free, you move, but his legs brace yours in place, trapping you gently yet firmly. 

And so you stay, standing between Drew, who sits comfortably on the counter stool. 

“Hey- you okay?” He reaches up to cup your face, and you immediately flinch away.

“What do you think?” you snap, voice sharper than you intended.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

“You don’t get it, do you, Drew?”

But you don’t give him the chance to answer. 

“You don’t meet someone’s parents when it’s casual,” you say softly. “You don’t leave your stuff here, or memorize my schedule, or- look at me the way you do- and call that ‘no strings.’”

He shifts in the stool, but you don’t look at him yet.

“You don’t- you don’t make love to someone…if it’s just casual.”

“Love?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, love,” your voice is barely above your whisper- even though the emotions are real, it feels weird confessing them. Meeting his gaze, you see doubt, maybe- crossing his features.

He leans back, and the corner of his lips lift up. 

“We fuck, y/n. I don’t- I don’t love you-“

Just when you thought it wouldn’t get worse. 

The words land cold, blunt, like a slap you never saw coming. You can’t believe they came out of his mouth- the same mouth that pressed against yours so deeply, lingering like it meant more. The mouth that whispered your name in the dark, the one that traced every inch of your skin like it was memorizing you.

“Then do you like me, at least?” 

“…you mean a lot to me, you know that.”

“It’s not the same thing, Drew-” you say, a sad smile tugging at your lips despite the hurt pooling in your eyes. “-you know that.”

He notices immediately- your smile, fragile and trembling, the way your eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. His confident, cocky facade flickers, and for a moment, vulnerability breaks through.

His brows knit together, a crease forming between them as if the weight of what you just said lands heavier than he expected. His jaw tightens, searching for the right words, but none come easily.

“Fuck- babe-“ His hand reaches up.

You flinch away, swallowing hard to hold back the tears. “Don’t- don’t touch me. Don’t call me that,”

A heavy pause settles.

And then, softly- but with finality- you say the words that will break it all apart.

“Let’s stop seeing each other, Drew.”

“…so that’s it? You get- you get a little in your feelings and suddenly we’re done?”

“‘A little’?” you echo, your voice cracking just slightly, more from disbelief than anger.

“Well, yeah, are you in a bad mood-“

You stare at him, stunned.

“I’ve been letting it slide for the past few months, Drew,” you say, “I’ve stayed quiet while everyone else talked about us- about me like I was a clingy bitch you couldn’t get rid of.”

He goes still- shame clouding behind those blue eyes. 

“And now you’re telling me it’s just me being a little in my feelings?” you whisper, voice trembling just enough to betray the hurt, “after everything?”

He stays silent- and for a moment, you let yourself hope that means something. That maybe the words finally hit. That maybe, just maybe, you’ve gotten through to him.

His eyes are still on you, unreadable now, but softer than before. The way they used to be when he was pulling you closer in the dark. The kind of softness that once felt safe.

But now? Now, it just feels late.

You draw in a shaky breath, arms still wrapped around yourself. “You like the way things are? Well, I hate it. I hate feeling like I was the only one who actually cared about this... whatever this was.”

“I care about this,” Drew says- too quick, too defensive.

You shake your head, voice quiet but sure, “No. You don’t-“

“I do, y/n. You-“

“You only care about yourself, Drew. So, stop pretending,” you murmur, and you immediately wipe away the tear that just slipped down your cheek, hoping he didn’t see it- but knowing he did. You force a small smile, and his shoulders immediately drop, his expression shifting to one of awe and devastation.

You feel wrong in your own space. Like an intruder in the scene of your own undoing. His scent still lingers in the air, faint cologne and worn cotton, and it turns your stomach. The room is still littered with traces of him; his hoodie slung over your chair, his books scattered around the place, even the beautiful roses he gifted you on Valentines. 

You felt so wrong in your own space. 

“I have class now, so I’ve got to go,” you say instead, ending the conversation by grabbing your keys and moving out of his way. 

“What? Now?”

“Yeah, I could be late,” you reply, not meeting his eyes as you reached for your bag on the couch.

You walk past him, focused only on the door, until his hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

It’s not rough, but it’s enough to stop you.

“Hey- hey, y/n, c’mon, I- ”

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s standing close now, closer than he should be, his fingers still curled around your wrist like letting go might mean something final.

You watch his face carefully, trying to see if he’s about to say something real.

“I- I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

You wished there was a mirror, so he could see how physically hard it looked for him to say those words. 

And that’s not what you wanted to hear.

Not really.

Because ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t answer anything.

“…are you, in love with me, y/n?”

The question hits you harder than anything he’s said tonight. It lands like a punch- not because it’s cruel, but because it’s unexpected. Because he asked it.

Your eyes snap to his, to those piercing blue eyes that have looked at you a thousand different ways but never quite like this, curious, cautious, maybe even scared.

“Would it change anything?” 

His breath hitches.

You see it- the realization settle in his eyes, slow and sudden all at once.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything; his lips part, then close again. 

The truth sits right there on his tongue, but he’s too scared to let it out.

Too scared to name it, too scared to lose you if he does, or maybe more scared of what it means if he says it and still loses you anyway.

Drew’s voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.

“…I don’t know.”

And that’s worse than a no.

You nod, something in your chest sinking, not crashing, just… lowering. Settling into that numb space where hurt goes to hide.

“Um, then I guess you could take your time to get your stuff out of my room,” you say instead, your voice weak, walking over to the door to hurriedly put on your shoes.

You open the door and step out of your dorm, closing it gently behind you.

You stand there for a few beats, hoping, maybe waiting for him to call your name, to step out after you and say something that would change everything. 

But the silence stretches on, and the door’s still. 

Slowly, you start walking away, each step heavier than the last.

Then your hands lift, covering your face- pressing into your eyes, trying to stop what’s already happening.

You’re not even sure why you’re crying. 

Maybe because it’s finally over. Maybe because it never really started. Or maybe because, deep down, you let yourself believe- for just a second- that it could have been something more.

And now, there’s nothing left to do but sit with the ache of what it wasn’t.

-------------------------------

word count: 2.8k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i wrote this in a way that, even if you didn't read the other 'extras' or 'phase one', u could read this as a stand alone. this is for the ppl that love angst, i hope this is angsty enough (their argument is a softer kind of heartbreak- kinda calm before actual storm + i feel it fits into their characterizations)

and u have no idea how many times ive rewritten and reread bc this is not my best work im sorry

also, thank u for the 1.8k ppl that read my work! im so appreciative of it, im grateful that someone even reads it; let alone follow me. so thank u, im trying my best to produce the best for u <3

taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @esposamultifandom @starkeysfile @rlalliehayes @pillowprincess4him @kravitzwhore @cokewithcameron

elevator | other | more casual!drew

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Moondir - 02

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 4,6k

Warnings | +18, blood draw, talk about forced pregnancy, mention of multiple partners, noncon kiss, angst, fear and psychological pressure, a strange bond MC feels with Hoseok (predator/prey relationship), this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️ Here is the second chapter of Moondir, I hope you enjoy it! 🥰 I put my whole self into writing this chapter, imagining and structuring the future relationships between MC and the seven, here you have a little taste of it with Hoseok! Let me know what you think, I love your comments! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 I love you 💜

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw

Main List - 01 - 02

You gaze in clear amazement at the procreation center, the city's most modern hospital has been used as a base, you have never had the privilege of stepping foot in it in the past, and to think that you will enter it now because you are forced to does upset you in no small measure.

Hoseok, at your side, holds you in a firm, icy grip, looks ahead, and the grin of a few hours earlier has disappeared from his face. The green gem of his eyes has been swallowed by a dark shadow, and no one dares to approach you or him. Everyone in there seems to keep away, all armed men and all very guarded, just peering at you as if you were a juicy steak. You and Hoseok walk past the marbled lobby to enter the medical area without first asking a secretary. Simply because - just like in Seokjin's hospital - there are no secretaries. And frankly, Hoseok also seems all too sure; this is certainly not the first time he has walked the corridors of this huge hospital.

“Is this something you do often? Bring women here, I mean?” you ask in a low voice, narrowly catching his attention.

“Mh. Let's just say that thanks to my rank I can afford to do that, if I had been an ordinary soldier, those guys out there probably would have jumped on you without much fuss,” he snorts, annoyed.

You don't dare ask any more; it's clear as day that if he could, this man would join the party along with the others.

The further you go into the hospital, the more the cold architectural lines make your hair stand on end, as do the men in suits you see darting from room to room with medical masks over their faces and long white lab coats fluttering here and there. Not a shadow of a woman so far, could it be that humans have really exterminated all Moondirians women? Is there not a single one left?

A door opens in front of you automatically and a pungent smell of disinfectant makes your nose wrinkle. You are tired of disinfectant and hospitals. Will you be forced to stay there? And for how long?

“Just come in quietly, little flower,” Hoseok points you to a smaller, powder-pink door, ‘I've had enough of women screaming and crying at the sight of a tiny needle; so, don't piss me off,’ he intimates dangerously, opening the door and pushing you in unceremoniously, as he is used to doing such things by now.

Inside, it is just like Kim Seokjin's studio, the only difference being the lack of a table with stirrups, replaced instead by a long, shiny, clean, white table with a sealed container of empty, shiny test tubes ready on top. The walls blind you with their whiteness; everything is tremendously aseptic and impersonal.

You are about to feel sick, and perhaps, just noticing your new, bad complexion, Hoseok pushes you abruptly toward the chair.

“You haven't even seen the needle yet,” he teases you, regaining some of the amusement he dared not show in front of other soldiers. In a way, Hoseok seems to have two completely different personalities, and you don't know which one scares you more.

The sadist who loves to have fun or the soldier who fears no one?

Either way, Hoseok seems to be in control of the whole situation.

“Oh, good. You brought a new one,” a well-placed man enters the room; he's as big as a closet, but his expression is softened by small round black glasses, his forest green eyes following you like a scanner.

“Seokjin gave me these,” Hoseok says, tossing papers on the doctor's desk about you and your exam, the big man nods before smiling at you a little.

“All right, dear, I'm Oliver Smith,” he introduces himself cordially, ”I'm the ugly wolf who's going to take samples of your blood.”

You look at him a little upset, why would a Moondirian approach you in such a kind way? Hoseok looks annoyed, too.

“Give it a rest, Olly,” he grumbles, but Oliver shakes his head.

“Don't mind Hoseok, he's the big bad wolf, but as long as I'm around he can only grumble.”

“I don't think I understand, what do you need my blood for?”

“Good question, girl,” nods Oliver, “Your blood will help us figure out which male you will be compatible with. We have a huge list of males suitable for mating, but you are human and clearly in order to sire a pup you will need the right male. A match, in short.”

You look at him wordlessly, you thought you were going to be thrown to all the soldiers in the breeding center, the image Yoongi gave you is this. Instead it all seems quite controlled.

“I guess I can't refuse,” you state grimly, Hoseok snorts through his nose in yet another irritating scowl. Oliver gives him a glare.

“No, you can't refuse, it's for the good of our species” Oliver checks the opening page of that pile of papers before turning back to look at you, “Y/N. But you must know that we have everything under control, no harm will come to you, unlike others-” and here you see him glowering at Hoseok again, “We understand that you girls didn't have much say about the events that happened a hundred years ago.”

You don't trust Oliver, even though he has been more helpful and kind than Hoseok, but you do nothing when he gently holds your arm to tighten a tourniquet around it, you shudder at the feel of alcohol-soaked gauze disinfecting your skin.

An invisible grip forces you to look for Hoseok; he is staring at you. His green eyes are lighter and mottled, like pure jade, but his expression betrays no emotion. He looks like a statue. You hardly notice the vials filling with your dark, vermilion blood as Dr. Oliver continues with the blood drawing.

You feel weaker and maybe even pale, your head is heavy and empty at the same time, shit, how you hate doctors and hospitals....

Oliver barely has time to remove your tourniquet to apply a band-aid before you slump into the chair, unconscious.

Oliver looks at you with pity, “She endured a lot in one day, she didn't even scream,” he notes with a certain amount of surprise, making Hoseok sneer.

“Don't be so impressed, she just did her duty, she knows her place,” he murmurs colorlessly, before approaching you. He lifts you from the chair without even an effort, and Oliver sighs.

“Set her up in one of the private rooms, we'll keep her monitored until the test results come back with the compatible male.”

You recover slightly, but you don't dare open your eyes again, fearing to anger Hoseok, who is holding you in his arms rather stiffly. The material of his uniform smells of cedar and sea, but it is rough enough that you are not tempted to rub against his chest to get some rest.

“I hope they get a move on in the lab, I can't wait to send her as far away from here as possible,” he blurts, you trying hard not to let them know you're awake, but you can't stop the trembling of your lips. So you won't stay at the procreation center, you'll be sent who knows where!

“What's the matter, Sergeant...is the girl making you nervous?” taunts Oliver with a smirk, Hoseok shushing him with a sour look.

“You said it right, I'm a Sergeant. Nothing and no one can make me nervous, got it?”

Your heart is beating so fast that even your chest is moving back and forth, trying to hold it in your rib cage, with that you are now certain that Hoseok has noticed you are awake, however, he does not say a word about it. He prefers to ignore you as he walks out through the blinding hallway. And you find it hard to admit that his grip on your body is so firm that you sense he will never let you fall. You can't even remember the last time someone carried you around like this, maybe your father when you were a child?

You bite your lip, chasing away that thought, your father is now dead, and for his and many others' actions you will pay with your womb for what they did to the wolves of Moondir.

Two days pass before anyone deigns to bring you news about your near future. Until then you have been monitored nonstop by two doctors with unfamiliar faces, in a room so sterile and empty it seems at times macabre, you feel like you are in a horror movie with the only difference being that you are really living in a nightmare.

You lower your gaze to the IV attached to your arm, you are not sick, but they said they want to make sure you are well hydrated and strong for what you will face out there, they are feeding your body with something necessary for your future sexual relations. You don't know what it is, and you admit that you cried like a little girl after Hoseok left you in this room, walking away without so much as a word, as if he was tired of looking after you. You never saw him or Seokjin again.

The only positive note is that you did not see Yoongi again either.

But you don't regret the times when you treated him like a human being when he still lived in your house. You never acted superior toward him, although that certainly didn't help you. You can't really believe that in the past you were like this-.

A soft knock on the door brings you back to reality, distracting you from your alarming thoughts - were you really thinking about that after all he did to you?

Oliver's blank expression makes you frown, usually he brings your daily results with a smile, now he looks strange.

“Hello, Y/N” he greets you, "How are you feeling today?" he asks every day.

“I'm fine, doctor,” you reply as usual, watching him nod with papers in his hands.

“We have the results of the first exam I submitted you to,” he clearly refers to the exam regarding the compatible male.

You knew this moment would come, but you can't help but clutch the white sheets between your fingers; you're not ready to leave that new as well as fragile daily routine. You still hate hospitals, but no one there has threatened you. What will happen when you leave? Will the male treat you well?

“Y/N” Oliver calls you back frowning, "I need you to listen to me very carefully, I hold your future in my hands," he makes it clear without preamble.

“I know, I'm listening” you find yourself saying with a dry mouth.

“When you leave, you'll get one visit from me a month, I'll make sure you're okay and that you don't miss anything,” he begins in a confident tone, "But I'm not going to lie to you, something out of the ordinary has happened and I need you to be prepared psychologically.”

You open your eyes wide, “I don't understand, I'm healthy, you said so” possible that in a few days something has happened to your body? Being used at the will of a man - a wolf to be precise - doesn't make you crazy, but you also don't want to die of who knows what illness.

“You're not sick, Y/N,” the doctor tries to calm you down, ”Okay? It's not that. You've received many matches,” he spits in the end, a little worried about your reaction.

“W-what?” you stammer, ”You mean... two males?”

“No, not two.” and then the bomb, “Seven.”

No. This can't be true, there's no way you can stand that. One Moondirian is dangerous, two are unmanageable, but seven... with a startled groan you imagine what kind of death you will get. A very, very slow and painful one.

Oliver takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the fabric of his lab coat, “It's shocking. Even the guys in the lab were surprised. Only once have we had more than one match with a single female, but even then it was only two compatible males. Your body, on the other hand, tested compatible with as many as seven Moondirians. We repeated the test, but the result remained the same.”

You observe him without blinking. Oliver looks surprised, but not frightened; you can see his emotions clearly now. The doctor is thrilled, though he tries not to show it to you specifically.

You will be fed to seven wolves.

“Does this mean that I will have sexual relations with all of them? What will really happen to me? It's all just too much! I am not a rag doll to be divided into seven parts!” you blurt out in panic, trying to pull the IV out, which Oliver won't allow by holding you by the wrist.

“Calm down.” he murmurs sternly, making you nauseous. Of course, everyone here thinks you're the weird one.

“You can't escape this obligation, the only alternative would be to die, and I assure you the soldiers don't go lightly.”

You know, you read in their eyes the lust and anger in them, they would not pity you.

“One of them is a doctor, I will only be able to visit you once a month, but he will make sure every day that you are fine, okay? He will also explain to you in detail what they expect from you and what you absolutely must not do,” you nod slowly, unable to say anything else. Your vision blurs and you look away from Oliver, who has meanwhile gently slipped the needle out of your arm. He stopped you from removing the IV because you would have hurt yourself, and despite this kindness you are not grateful, now you know that this man is just making sure you get to them intact. You are disgusted, you would have preferred Hoseok's direct cruelty to Oliver's false kindness.

“Get some sleep, they will come for you tonight.”

“You won't tell me anything about them? Not even how I might recognize them?” you ask angrily, but Oliver denies with his head.

“I am not allowed to talk about them, you will meet them yourself when they come for you.”

With those last words of his, he leaves the room never to return.

“Are you ready?” asks one of the doctors who assisted you in those last days spent at the center.

You cross your arms, finding it comfortable and safe in the warmth of the new sweater you were provided a few hours earlier, along with some simple jeans and sneakers. The doctor nods in satisfaction, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. From what you understand, almost all the doctors at the procreation center have vision problems, this due to a dangerous exposure in one of the many chemical factories where they were being exploited by humans.

“The car has arrived, just missing you, girl.”

It's like walking toward the gallows; the terror, the anxiety, the rising heartbeat, it's all there.

Then, in the middle of the dark and desolate street surrounding the procreation center you see it; it's Hoseok's car. Two green, disinterested eyes watch you as you drive through the front doors, accompanied by one of the doctors. Your heart skips a beat.

“She's ready, she's responded well to the treatment, just as we expected,” you hear the doctor say, Hoseok merely nodding before focusing on you again, squaring you from head to toe with an air of condescension.

“So, little flower... I'll be your Charon, aren't you excited about that?”

A strange and unsettling feeling snakes down your spine.

Could it be that-

“Are you one of the seven?” you ask point-blank, praying for a negative answer.

You see him smile in response, “Who knows...”

“You will receive a visit from Dr. Smith at least once a month, I trust you will treat this genetic prodigy well,” the doctor goes back to say.

Genetic prodigy? Obviously.

A human woman compatible with seven Moondirians is really something prodigious and valuable.

You are just a broodmare; you will be thrown away when you can no longer bring children into the world.

You enter the car with a sense of déjà-vu, the only difference being that when Hoseok reaches you, he no longer seems so cheerful.

“I prayed to the Moon Goddess, asking her to keep you away from my person, but as far as I can see, our fates have once again become entwined,” he mumbles as he puts on his seatbelt.

“I'm not so happy to see you again either,” you spit between your teeth, no longer able to hold back your irritation. The wolf snorts slightly, but then suddenly you have your chin clenched in a terribly painful grip and two green eyes glaring at you.

“A word of advice, little flower,” he blows into your face - notes of cedar and sea leave you stunned for a moment - and then resumes, ”Try to keep that attitude of yours at bay, some of them are more touchy than others, and I wouldn't advise you to upset them by being a brat.”

Maybe you've gone completely crazy, but you can't refrain from answering them again with a taunt, “Are you like them, Hoseok?”

It is like watching flames suddenly burst into flames, unable to do anything to avoid them. One moment the wolf is still holding you tight, the next he grabs you by the hair and presumptuously presses your lips against his, with a growl that silences your pitiful moan.

He is violent, invasive, his tongue penetrates your mouth hard to your throat, forcing you to gasp for air, and his sharp teeth scratch the delicate skin of your lips. The taste of blood intrudes on your entanglement of tongues and fear blinds you.

You place your hand on his chest and push him away forcefully, succeeding after no small amount of effort only because he is the one allowing you to do so, putting an end to that barbaric attack.

“What the fuck-!” you sob, shocked, barely noticing that Hoseok is quietly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform.

“Now be quiet. You are in no position to provoke or dictate, try not to piss me off, I've already told you.”

You bring your hands to your lap, lowering your eyes. With a hollow in the center of your chest and tears stuck in your throat, you realize that your first kiss was used for a cowardly display of power.

But in such a world, what is the point of preserving the first kiss? For you and many other women, sweetness or love will no longer exist, nor will the possibility of finding a faithful and loving partner.

The roar of the car became a pleasant background noise, something you listened to carefully to distract yourself from the dangerous presence at your side.

All along the way your lips tingled and pulsed, still swollen from the bites of Hoseok, who had certainly not held back. He had to punish you, and he did it in the vilest of ways; therefore, you dared not even look at him by accident since you left.

Several times, looking first at the city and then at the countryside from the window, you had the eerie desire to open the door and jump out of the running car. But you reconsidered. Whether you were dead or alive, Hoseok is a Moondirian and would have caught up with you in a very few seconds, perhaps even taking sadistic pleasure in finding you smashed on the asphalt.

It is certainly disgusting, but... you don't want to die, not yet. Even though you've wished it many times, it's not really what you want.

“We have arrived,” your Charon informs you, pointing you to a country house that is very old, but also solid enough to still stand effortlessly.

The pale stone villa stands on an expanse of undulating fields, surrounded by cypress trees and quiet wilderness. The arched windows of the house watch you sleepily as Hoseok waves you out of the car.

You take a closer look at the exterior walls of the villa, slightly cracked from the many years that have passed and who knows how many stories to tell; beyond that there is also a wooden veranda running the entire south side of the house, with empty and abandoned terracotta pots. You take steps forward, intrigued by all you are allowed to see, and you also notice the presence of an orchard, also abandoned, that extends to the edge of the woods.

“Don't get any ideas, this is an isolated house that we use as a base,” mutters Hoseok, before muttering to himself, ' 'Cause of you we'll have to live there a lot longer.'

You stiffen.

Thanks to the natural beauty of that forgotten place, you are momentarily lost in your exploration, forgetting the presence of other Moondirians.

“Don't just stand there, you might get sick,” he blurts, grabbing you by the arm, realizing that a slightly too cold breeze is making you shiver, ”You're annoying as it is, don't make it worse with your physical weakness.”

He drags you to the large dark oak front door, pulling out a set of keys probably as old as the house. With a loud click, the door creaks open, showing the antiquated, but neat and tidy interior, as if someone had recently cleaned it up.

The smell of scented candles permeates the air, leaving you surprised given its appearance - you thought you smelled dust or mold, not baked apple and cinnamon. One glance at Hoseok's more relaxed expression and you realize that a Moondirian's sense of smell would not have liked that stench of an old and neglected house.

It's ridiculous to walk alongside him, carefully observing every dark corner of the house and lightly lit only by candles; it's like watching a lamb willingly flank a wolf. Creepy.

“Have a seat, the others will be here soon,” he points to the black velvet sofa, taking off his uniform jacket himself to place it on a coat rack. The cream-colored wallpaper with small stylized flowers whispers to you that the mansion probably belonged to an elderly but well-off human couple. Perhaps they lived humbly to remain in God's grace, but perhaps they died because of Moondir's wolves.

You sit cautiously on the sofa as Hoseok pours himself a glass of brandy without deigning to offer you any, not that you would accept that unlikely show of kindness.

“Why are you assigned to me?” you ask.

Hoseok strikes you as someone who prefers to give orders, not receive them.

“You mean because I carried you around here and there? I was the only one free, the others are busy with hunting, you know... finding males of your kind and torturing them a bit,” he explains easily, making your eyes widen.

“Uh... Dr. Smith also mentioned a doctor among you,” you have to make sure, Moondirian doctors seem much quieter and more sociable than soldiers, you have to be able to make friends with him if you want to live with some dignity.

Hoseok smiles slowly, a smile that does not reach his cold eyes, “Yes... he is in charge of treating the prisoners' wounds. They can't die while we're torturing them, they have to talk, and if they die before they do, they won't be of any use at all.”

He talks about such things with a monstrous calm, as if it were absolute and perfect normalcy.

“How can you sleep at night, thinking of all the people you've hurt?” you murmur without thinking of the consequences, trapped in a reality devoid of humanity.

Hoseok leans against the wall and crosses his legs, in a more comfortable and relaxed position. He dances the brandy in the glass slowly and cautiously, losing himself in its amber hues with an absorbed air.

“It's not hard, little flower... I think back on what I've been through and their lives automatically fade into the background,” he smiles foolishly, with a maddening shadow in his gaze, “You, on the other hand, should be grateful. You are still alive and not stuck in a tangle of bodies catching fire. Many would like to be in your place.”

Hoseok's eyes twinkle slightly, then he lifts them toward you, but not to look at you. He's looking at something behind you, and a shiver of creepiness coats your skin when something intangible brushes against your ear. It is not the wind. It is too warm and intimate, a sigh.

You get up from the sofa with a scream, Hoseok immediately grabs you preventing you from escaping, holding you tightly to his side with a real laugh this time.

The crash of the glass on the floor is just a miserable detail.

A man watches you, nonchalant. His amber eyes, deep and impenetrable, are framed by thick lashes that accentuate his dark gaze, as if traced by charcoal. They remind you with a shudder of Yoongi, but he is not. There is nothing that unites the two men, apart from the strange, bulky presence. The face, angelic in appearance, is distorted by a smug expression that clutches your stomach.

How many faces does the devil possess? Because he is probably the one in front of you.

“You weren't lying when you said she was as beautiful and fragile as a flower,” he smiles with the tip of a tooth sticking out, ”Who knows how many bastards she'll help us churn out before her petals fall off completely.”

“Hold back, Taehyung... I'm sure you know the rules, our guest has to learn a few things before she can satisfy us,” Hoseok snorts, feeling you trembling against him.

“I won't do anything too invasive, I promise,” insists the new diabolical being, Taehyung.

Your instincts lead you to do something very awkward. You hide behind Hoseok, as if by now your body has gotten used to using that wolf as a shield, deluding you with some kind of protection that doesn't really exist.  You clutch the rough fabric of his uniform as if your very life depended on it, and Hoseok lets you do it, perhaps taking sadistic pleasure in seeing a prey taking refuge in her predator's embrace. You make him feel somehow chosen, something he will never admit to anyone.

“What's up with our little flower?” Taehyung asks, raising an eyebrow with amusement as he scans you from head to toe. His eyes linger on your form with an interest he doesn't try to hide. Although you are human, spending pleasant time with you will not be a disgusting experience, as he had assumed when he learned of your match. He just didn't expect that he would have to share you with his teammates as well.

“Please don't call me that,” you murmur hesitantly, finding that nickname ridiculous and embarrassing. It makes you feel like you are something useless in their eyes, nice to get but unimportant.

A flower, in fact.

“Oh, look at that, you made her angry!” Hoseok snickers, shaking his head at the other wolf. “Now apologize,” he adds with a mocking tone, grabbing your wrist with disconcerting familiarity.

Before you can even process what’s happening, he hurls you toward Taehyung.

The latter catches you mid-air, effortlessly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll apologize properly,” Taehyung murmurs, a flicker of excitement in his velvety voice. A boulder of terror plunges into your chest and a scream of anguish explodes in your throat.

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 12

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.4k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt and a bit of fluff !!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

"I don't need you to fix anything."

It had been two days since you and Anakin spoke. 

You were bored out of your mind. The medics constantly insisted that you stayed to ensure you were ‘healthy’. They also suggested that you should make yourself useful and regularly move your body to speed up the process. 

And that was exactly what you were doing.

You got up from your bed and took a stroll around the room. Your body still felt a little sore but it was nothing you hadn’t experienced before. You were so ready to leave and get back out there. 

Lifting your arms over your head, you yawned, feeling your back stretch. You then sighed in relief as they fell down. 

And then the door hissed open. 

Two medics stepped inside, one of them holding a datapad, looking stern yet bored, the other looked quite eager to see you. Though neither of them looked surprised that you were awake. 

“Morning, Commander!” The eager one said, a smile on his face. “You look quite well.”

You plopped onto the bed, your hands panting down your hair, trying to get rid of all the flyaways whilst avoiding the bandages. “Yeah well, I kind of want to get out of here as fast as possible.” 

“Today might be that day,” the other spoke in a gruff voice. 

“Finally,” you huffed out playfully. 

“We do have to do some check ups before you leave.”

You nodded, ready for them to approach you. 

Both medics walked around you gently, scanning your vitals and cross checking your charts with their datapad.

One of them began to unwrap the bandage on your head, wincing as it was still sore. 

“Bruising has gone down.”

“Her reflexes have improved.” 

“Her upper torso is set to heal at a steady rate.”

One of the medics held your left arm, wiping it down with an alcohol swab. And without warning, they pulled out a syringe from the pack wrapped around their waist. With no hesitation or concern, they injected it inside you. 

“Ouch!” You flinched, wanting to pull away but just as fast as it was inserted, it had already left. 

“You could have warned me.” You grumbled. 

“You’ll live,” the kinder one said as he watched the other throw away the injection in a nearby trash can. 

You didn’t smile. 

“On a brighter note, Master Kenobi will be on his way to escort you out.” 

“Oh. So, I’m cleared then?” Your eyebrows lifted, happily. 

He nodded, tapping a few things into his datapad. “Yeah-” He sighed. “-I don’t see any reason why you would stay any longer.”

As if on cue, the doors hissed open to reveal Obi-wan in his Jedi robes, a pleased look on his face. 

“Y/n. You’re looking a lot better.” He had a smile growing on his face. One of his arms was propped up on his hips and the other was holding a brown leather bag.

“Everyone keeps saying that,” you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Did I look that bad before?” 

Obi-wan huffed out a laugh, “You should be more grateful, you know.” Obi-wan nodded his head to the medics who stood by you. “You are lucky to even be alive.” 

You awkwardly smiled.

“I trust she is well enough to leave?” Obi-wan directed his attention to the pair. 

“She’s all yours,” the rather mean looking one said. As if you were such a nuisance to him. 

“Just try not to do anything too physically straining for now. Your body still needs rest.” The other spoke in a much softer tone. 

You shot him a small smile, “thank you.” 

Both medics nodded and finished up their business quietly before leaving you and Kenobi together. 

You exhaled slowly, “So much for helping the ‘Republic’.” You scoffed at your own self. “I can’t even do a mission with just a blaster without almost dying.” 

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at this, “You are much stronger than you think, Y/n.” 

“It’s nothing like with Dev.” You shook your head dismissively. “We weren’t in a war,” your palms flattened out your medical robes, trying to get rid of the creases. “We just did stupid bounties every day.”

“So two ex-Jedi did nothing Jedi related?” Obi-wan joked. 

Rolling your eyes, “I used to argue with him a lot about the fact that he had no idea what it was like fighting in the Clone wars.”

“I feel like him,” you snorted. “I can’t even remember how to fight.” 

“Whether you like it or not, you were the one to recognise his force signature during the battle.” Obi-wan countered, hating the way you spoke down on yourself. 

“That was just luck.”

“That was the Force guiding you.” Obi-wan said. “Something only a force sensitive individual can feel. Someone like a Jedi.”

You stayed quiet, nibbling on your lip anxiously. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you realised you hadn’t even asked about Master Bulq. “Master Bulq? What happened to him?” You queried. 

Obi-wan ran his right hand running through his auburn hair. “He is detained for now.” Sighing, he continued. “Master Sora Bulq was a…complicated case.” 

“He has been seduced by the dark side.” He revealed. “Connections to Count Dooku and us. It only explains how he found us there.” 

You stayed silent, taking it all in. 

“Its scary isn’t it?” You said, deep in thought. 

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, confused by what you meant. Noticing this, you continued. 

“People turning to the dark side. People we once trusted.” 

“It is indeed.” Obi-wan agreed, humming. 

“I just can’t help but wonder who’s next.” You mumbled, looking down at your hands. 

Obi-wan remained quiet. He didn’t like wondering about the what if’s, he was always present. Present in the moment. 

“Come on,” he said, walking towards you. “Can you walk on your own?” He offered you his free arm to get up. 

“I’m fine, Obi.” You waved your hands in front of you, a small smile creeping up your face. “You’ve helped me enough.”

Obi-wan cleared his throat, his shoulders stiffened and his lips pursed. His expression shifted. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked curiously, your eyes squinting. 

“Have you spoken to Anakin by any chance?” 

You were taken back by his question. 

Anakin? 

“Anakin?” You said out loud. 

“He has been…quite moody.” Obi-wan grumbled. “Not that it is too out of character.” 

Not really sure what to say, your mouth fell open for a second too long. “He…he did come visit me like two days ago…” 

“Visit?” Obi-wan’s eyebrow rose, as if it had been a shock. 

“Yeah, I woke up beside him.”

Obi-wan hummed, his hand stroking his beard as he thought quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, watching him curiously. 

“There are great many things weighing on him,” he said carefully, “things outside of this war. He’s stopped sleeping again.” 

Your throat tightened and you felt guilt settling in your stomach. 

“I didn’t mean to make things worse…”

Obi-wan tilted his head, studying you. “You may not have. But-” his voice softened, “-he cares about you. Perhaps more than a Jedi should. Attachment like that…” He trailed off.

“It can cloud everything. Judgement. Duty. Purpose.”

You blinked. “You sound like Master Windu.”

Obi-wan’s mouth quirked, “I hope not.” 

Then Obi-wan’s back straightened and he had more of a pleased look as he really looked at you. “Better yet, I have brought you a change of clothes.” He handed the long forgotten satchel towards you. 

You took it from his hands and felt your clothes weighing it down. “You went through my closet?” You snorted. 

“Something like that.” 

“I should report you for that,” you joked, placing it on the bed. 

Obi-wan held himself back from rolling his eyes, you and Anakin will always be the death of him. 

“We’ll talk more later.” You nodded in response. 

“And, Y/n.” He added quietly, like he was a friend and not a general. “Don’t wait too long to decide what you want. Before this war decides for you.”

He then gave you a tightlipped smile before leaving the room. The doors hissed shut and his words were left hanging in the air. 

For some reason, the knot in your stomach felt heavier than your wounds. 

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You collapsed onto your bed and let the silence stretch. 

The Coruscant skyline had begun to dim. Casting your room in orange and red hues. Traffic patterns blinked across the sky, all heading somewhere. 

Home, perhaps. 

You were exhausted. Not that you had done much today. Other than leaving the med bay, your day was spent in the meditation room. Trying so hard to shake off what Obi-wan had said to you. 

About Anakin’s attachment. 

About your role in this war. 

You were so utterly and completely lost. 

Out of habit, you reached for your datapad, half tucked underneath your pillow. 

Boot-up.

Ping.

Log in: Y/n L/n

-

-

-

Accepted. 

You flipped through daily entries. Reports you had missed. Missions that had gone and sent out while you were unconscious and stuck in that godforsaken room. 

As you tapped on the tab for your personally assigned missions, there were two waiting in the hotbar for you to accept. 

Senate Dinner Assignment – Commander L/n

Diplomatic presence required. Attire: Formal. Status: Pending Confirmation.

Assigned Sector Escort: Monian Vale.

A Senate dinner? An escort? 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realised it would be for tomorrow. It made sense. They would not assign you heavy combat duties this early. 

You hummed and tapped ‘Accept’. It might be fun? Who knows.

And then your eyes drifted down. 

A single line item. Flagged for yourself. 

Deep-space scouting operation – Commander L/n

Outer Rim Survey Route. Arkanis Sector.  Pending confirmation. 

Priority Tag: Class Delta

Now this one was a heavy combat duty. This was more important than a silly Senate dinner. 

Your thumb hovered over it for a second. It wasn’t immediate. It will be by the end of this week. But it was yours. 

You hadn’t been briefed on it but you were assigned to it. 

You sat there for a moment, your eyes rereading it over and over again. Your name was stamped on it. And it felt good. 

This was something you were useful at. It was more than just a mission. It showed that they cared about you even after being injured. That they didn’t think you were dead weight. 

Without another moment, you tapped the ‘Accept’ command and locked in your name. 

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You lied there restlessly. Your body itching to move and all you wanted it to do was sleep. You couldn’t though. It was like it wanted to make up for all of the days lost from training and fighting. 

You groaned, sitting up. Your palms running down your face in annoyance. You couldn’t shake off your meeting with Anakin, his apology to you. It made you want to rip out your hair. 

Getting up from the bed, you slipped into your robes and rolled your neck, wanting to relieve the tension. You needed water and you needed air.

And that’s what you did. 

You made your way quietly through the halls and then outside towards the training grounds where there was a water dispensary. No one would be there at this hour. 

The dispensary was hidden behind some pillars, a little further than the actual grounds but close enough where padawans would gleefully jog to quench their thirst. 

You pressed on the silver button and water began to shoot out from the drinking taps. You brought your mouth close to the bubbler and felt water rush down your throat, the cool sensation almost making you sigh in relief. 

After a couple seconds, you let go of the button, just as fast, the water stopped. Stepping back a couple steps, you wiped away any remaining droplets around your mouth with the front of your sleeve. 

You let yourself relish in the fresh air, cool winds blowing your hair ever so lightly. It was soothing. Ever so quiet. You watched the plants swaying side to side in a gentle manner. 

Closing your eyes, you let yourself be in the moment. 

Panting. The whirr of a saber. 

It was the smallest sound. So small you would have completely missed it had you not closed your eyes and focused. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as the sounds continued. You made small steps towards it. It came from the training ground. Each step you took, it grew louder. The unmistakable sharp and heavy breathing. 

Rounding the corner, you leaned against the cool stone pillar, curiosity taking you in. Quietly, you peeked your head and watched.  

Anakin was there, utterly alone at the center of the floor. He was sparring with the Republic issued training sabers, the same ones padawans would use to train at a lower risk. His movements were precise, angry. 

His hair stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped down his chiselled jaw, his chest rising and lowering with heavy breaths. 

Your heartbeat quickened as you placed one hand against the stone to anchor yourself. You were frozen in place, watching the saber move effortlessly. 

“You just gonna stand there?” His voice cuts the silence, low and tired. Anakin doesn’t look your way, instead he draws his saber down by his side, spinning it. 

Your jaw clenched as you slowly stepped into view, your arms wrapped around you defensively. 

“I was just leaving.”

Anakin then moves to meet your gaze, something inside of you throbbed under his intense eyes searching your own for something you weren’t sure you could give him anymore. “You don’t have to.”

You hesitate. “It’s late,” you murmured. 

“Then why are you here?” Anakin challenged you gently, his voice quiet. You hated this feeling. This push and pull. It wasn’t intentional. It was like the Force wanted you to see him. Like it was drawing you to him. Like whatever happened now was necessary and had meaning. 

You glance away, pulling your arms closer to you and exhaling softly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he watched your withdrawn behaviour. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice etched with concern. 

You nodded your head and shrugged, “alright.”

“You want to spar?” 

You held back a scoff. If this was his way of trying to fix things between you two, it was stupid. There was a look in his eyes, like careful hope. 

Your shoulders slumped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” your voice distant. 

“I won’t push,” he softly says, stepping closer to you. “Just thought it might help.”

“Help who?” You tried to restrain your bitterness. “Me or you?”

He hesitates, allowing your words to sting him. “Maybe both.” 

Anakin moved and retried behind him, pulling out another training saber from a rack. He began to walk towards you and then held it out, the hilt facing you like a peace offering. 

You stare at it, and then up at the hopeful look on Anakin’s face, and then back down. Your fingers hesitated before finally —reluctantly— you took it. 

Your grip on the saber was stiff. You hadn’t played with a saber in far too long. Yet it all felt familiar. You stepped into the middle of the training grounds, your heart hammering. Anakin circled around you carefully, watching you in caution. You fell into your stance automatically, your muscles easing into routine. 

Anakin then charged at you, his saber clashing yours with measured strikes. Your movements were guarded, uncertain even. But you grew increasingly irritated as you began to step back, Anakin’s strikes strong. Your breath mingles with him as each of you let out an exhale. 

“You’re not bad for not training your saber skills in a while.” He teased. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, offended that he would say something like that and joke like everything was okay. 

“Who says I haven’t?”

Switching positions, you began to offensively aim to hit him. There was something deeper than just fighting with Anakin. It felt like something more. Like an unspoken apology hidden that was hidden in the footwork. Like he allowed you to hit him simply because he regretted the pain he had caused you. Every block felt like a what-if. 

But then, your saber flickered. 

You freeze as it short-circuited, sparks crackling from the hilt mid-swing. You felt sudden jolts of pain course through your fingers, the burn sent you reeling in your hand back slightly. 

“Shit-” You cursed, the saber dropping through your hand on instinct. 

Anakin’s reaction was instinct, closing the distance between you two at an almost instant. His hands reached out for yours, his palm hovering under your hand and the other floating above your wrist, waiting. 

“Let me see,” he says, low. You don’t move away or give your hand to him. You just watched and winced in pain. 

He gently takes your forearm, his thumb brushing over the edge of your sleeve and his eyes scanning your hands, looking for danger. His touch against you felt like fire and it wasn’t something you were used to. 

You pried your hand back, “I’m fine,” you murmured. 

“It’s still damaged. Let me—”

“No.” You snapped sharply, your voice full of hurt. “I don’t need you to fix anything.” 

He stills. His eyes searching yours. Hurt flashes across his guarded expression. “Let me help you.”

“I shouldn’t have even sparred with you.” The words came out much harsher than intended.  You looked down at the saber, wanting to avoid his gaze.

Anakin followed your eyes and knelt down to pick up the lightsaber. As he was coming back up, his wrist comm buzzed sharply, breaking the silence. 

You both glance towards his wrist automatically. You felt your stomach do flips as you read the name clearly flash in the dim light. 

Incoming Call: Padme Amidala. Secure line. 

Your heart dropped and you noticed the way Anakin hesitated. A movement of guilt and uncertainty. He glances up at you, apology in his eyes before accepting the call.

“Padme?”

Her voice slips in through the comms, gentle and warm. “Anakin, sorry to call you so late. Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” he answered quietly, his eyes flickering to you for a second. “It’s fine.”

You audibly scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you rubbed your injured hand. You felt cold now. Stepping back slowly as Padme continued. 

“I have just gotten word about a Senate dinner tomorrow night,” she says, her voice formal yet tender. “The Chancellor has requested additional security. I thought you may have heard already but Y/n and yourself will be there. It says I would be appointed a Jedi guardian. I suppose it’s you?”

He nods slowly, watching the way your figure began to every so slowly and slightly retreat back. “I haven’t heard yet.”

Anakin was assigned as well? 

“Well, I suppose you’re stuck with me again.” Her laugh crackled through the comms. 

His voice is quieter this time, “Wouldn’t call it that.”

Anakin’s gaze met yours, heavily apologetic, absolutely hating and dreading the fact that he was having this call with you in the same space. You couldn’t hold it anymore, bitterness boiling in your chest. 

“You should finish that,” you said softly, your voice completely neutral. “I can manage.” 

Anakin shook his head, stepped forward, lowering his comms for a moment while Padme was still on the other line. “Wait—” he begins softly, the buzzed out saber still in his other hand. 

“Stay. Let’s just—”

“Goodnight, Anakin.” You swallowed the ache in your throat. You turned away without waiting for another word from him. Not getting the chance to see the hurt that clouded his eyes. You made a beeline straight to your room, your robes flowing as you speedily walked down the dark hall. 

Anakin sighed, his back of his palm wiping away the sweat on his forehead. The only thing left was the broken saber and Padme’s voice drifting from his comms. 

“...I’ll send over the itinerary. It shouldn’t be too long —just a few hours of political theatre. You’ll survive.”

Anakin doesn’t reply right away, he just stares at the spot where you stood.

“...Yeah,” he finally says. “I always do.”

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Your nervously adjusted your gloves, your fingers almost shaking from the coolness of the night. You stepped towards a window of an empty room. Looking at your reflection, you patted down your hair.

You brought your fingers up to your lips as you fixed up the makeup you had on. It wasn't much, but it definitely was more that you would put on daily.

You inhaled deeply as you stepped back from the window, your attention shifting to the entrance where Senators gracefully walked in.

There was no turning back now. You walked in the building.

The corridor of the reception hall was everything you had expected it to be. It had golden archways and detailing all over. It was flawless. 

You breathed in the subtle floral scent from Meiloorun blossom diffusers. There was a live Bith jazz trio that played soft notes in the corner. Droids were moving all around serving senators with hover trays containing appetizers. 

Twi’lek senators had beaded veils. Ambassadors floated around. Chancellor Palpatine was seated at the center, draped in a crimson robe and sipping on something from a smooth chalice. 

You needed to find Monian Vale. Feeling small in the hall, you walked alongside the outskirts, trying not to bump into the senators chatting —trying to get votes—  and the very few other Jedi guardians. 

A few of them glanced at you with a knowing look. You had passed two senators whispering. 

“Isn’t she the Jedi who went rogue?” One asked. 

“I thought she was dead.” The other replied back.

Trying your best to ignore them, your eyes kept scanning the room and your fingers kept fidgeting on their own, feeling self conscious. This was not an environment you were used to. 

You locked onto a woman in deep blue regal Naboo silk. It was Padme. Her hair was styled up with golden chains threaded through and her earrings bared her Royal Crest. She looked beautiful. 

You felt underdressed. Your hair was braided down and you wore a sleek black body suit but a corset-style armoured vest that had subtle gold veining. Your highwaisted pants were tucked into your boots and you had your blaster clipped at the side. 

Looking over besides Padme, was Anakin. He had black formal Jedi robes and gloves to match. It fit him perfectly. Everything about him was sleek and sharp and it fit his frame exceptionally well.

“Y/n.” 

You whipped your head around, the voice calm and familiar. 

It was Bail Organa. He was dressed in a navy cloak and tunic. His expression was warm.

“I’d heard you were back. Wasn’t sure I believed it.”

You offered him a polite smile and a nod. “I wasn’t sure either,” you joked.

“You’re still carrying yourself like a Jedi.” He smiled faintly. 

“Only when it helps.” 

His expression shifted to a more curious one, “And tonight? Does it help?” 

“We’ll see,” you gave him a hint of a smirk. 

Bail laughed and stepped closer. Clearing his throat before speaking in a lower voice, “they sent you alone?”

You scanned the room and your eyes once again settled on Anakin and Padme. “Apparently I’m not the only exception.” You nodded your head subtly towards their direction. 

Bail followed your gaze and hummed. “She must’ve requested him personally. It’s not uncommon. Especially not with her.” His voice was neutral. 

You let that settle in your stomach as your eyes lingered for half a breath longer. “Have you seen Monian Vale?” You turned back to look at Bail. 

Bail huffed once. “He’s been circling around Senators since he has arrived.” 

“I’m assigned to him for the evening.” 

“Then Force help you,” Bail said, smiling. 

As if on cue, a voice came from behind you. Loud enough to draw attention. 

“Ah, Commander L/n.” They said, measured. 

You turned to see Senator Monian Vale striding towards you, a drink in hand, a smile tucked perfectly behind political precision. He was dressed in brown with subtle crimson detailing. 

He looked every bit the Republic that he pretended not to be. 

“Senator Organa,” he greeted with a nod. “Stealing my shadow already?” 

Bail politely chuckled, “She’s here by order of the Senate and Council. Not to represent your ego.” 

“Is there a difference?” He grinned. 

Monian turned to look at you fully, his gaze moving down your outfit and body in ways that you almost felt violated. 

“I have to say,” he added, his voice low. “The Temple never did you justice. I have only seen you in your standard Jedi robes. This look…suits you.” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether to feel offended or flattered. 

“Is that your diplomatic opening line?”

“Only when it works.” He smiled again. 

You didn’t return the smile. 

Bail stepped in, sensing your discomfort. “Commander L/n is here to keep you and others safe. Not entertained.” 

Monian shrugged, taking a sip from his wine which looked like Toniray. A glowing teal drink from Alderaan. “Security comes in many forms. I find wit to be an effective shield.”

“And if anything happens, let’s hope your words can deflect blaster fire.” You said flatly.

Monian hummed, swirling the drink in his hand. “I see the war didn’t dull you.”

“The war has done more things than just that.” 

His brow rose in amused approval. “I do love when Jedi develop personality.” 

You wanted to correct him and say you weren’t a Jedi but you could not be bothered. It seems every Senator in this building indulged themselves in gossip and rumours. 

Bail gave you a subtle look, as if he was asking you if you were okay. Glancing at him, you reverted your attention fully to Senator Vale. 

“I assume we will be doing the usual parade around senators tonight?” You asked, disregarding what he had just said. 

“Of course,” he lifted his glass slightly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to forget which side they’re on.”

Your mouth fell open to reply but you were interrupted by two approaching figures. 

“Commander,” Padme’s voice came about as she approached you. “It is quite nice to see you on duty tonight.” 

Your eyes flickered towards Anakin, his attention already focused on you. Ignoring the pang in your heart, you quickly looked back at Padme. 

“Surprise assignment.” You nodded.

“Seems the Chancellor's office is full of surprises lately,” she said with a soft smile. “We had only been informed about this event a few days ago. Perhaps to reel in last minute voters.” 

You forced a polite smile, both your hands clasped behind your back. Monian sipped his drink, his eyes moving between you and Anakin like he felt something was coming. 

Like tonight would be a long night. 

A/n: SORRY FOR SUCHHHH A LATE CHAPTERRR!!!! i hope u guys like it i lowk need some of yall thoughts ok so when it comes rots and order 66 and stuff i know how i wanna play it out but until then i might follow the clone wars episodes leading up to it with drama ofc like how does that sound? cuz thats like the only way i could think of how to lead it to order 66 eventually

lowk had writers block and then i have exams in a week so was quite stuck </3 and one more thing do u guys like me doing longer chapters like this one but it might be a bit late or shorter more frequent chps?

LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK ! <3

Omg random side note and rant I have had this itchhh to write a one shot of like padawan obiwan x reader and he’s like sad about his relationship with qui gon UGHHHH

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso @kiyotofish @balsalmic-vinegar

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[hittmeandtellmeyouremine]

So we’ve had puddin on her period, but what about when she’s ovulating and it hits her hard….?

pairing: puddin!reader x older!rafe

warnings: mdni, lottie do not read, smut, dry humping, ddlg themes, use of 'daddy'.

word count: 1k+ words

a/n: this is kind of a part 2 to this one! sorry i've been MIA, i haven't really been in the mood to write or home too. this could've been better but i wanted to give u guys something.

rafe knew you were clingy, a blind person could see that. you were constantly in his presence, constantly touching, constantly yearning and again, who was he to decline you.

this week though, you were different.

he should've put together that you were ovulating sooner, really. the way you couldn't stand to be away from him for more than a few minutes, the way you cried when he was too busy with something else, the way your brown eyes were in a constant state of looking blown as ever, pupils dilated. it was clear as day, really.

he should've known his girl better.

he would do better.

he looked down at you, you who was so wrapped up in the tv. he had finally gotten you to relax a bit, leaving your fit from this morning behind. his hand rubbed your knee soothingly, trying to figure out a solution on how to go about this.

"have you been making yourself feel good, puddin'?" he asks, catching your attention.

you look up at him, tilting your head back against his chest slightly as you shake it.

"why not? i taught you how" he asks. "and you learned another way on your own"

you shrug, shaking your head.

he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, eyes narrowing slightly at your almost dismissive gesture. he pulls you up, turning you to face him so that you're straddling his lap and he can actually look at you.

"did it not feel good?"

you shake your head again.

it did feel good when you did it yourself, still brought that tingly, indescribable feeling between your thighs. the friction especially was truly something else, the one time you tried it. it was nice but it wasn't rafe.

nothing compared to rafe.

"then why won't you do it?" he ask, pushing for an answer.

"because i don't want to, i want you to make me feel good" you whine, pressing close against him.

"i see" he says quietly, nodding.

he wishes you hadn't said that.

the past few weeks he had been trying to ignore what was happening, internally struggling with it. he shamed himself for liking it, shamed you for wanting it, you were both at fault. this was all so wrong.

it was a power imbalance, he had control over you, more than he should. he was taking advantage of that and it felt wrong.

but that wasn't true, no not at all.

it felt good, really good. to know that you relied on him for more than just love, that he was more than just a boyfriend. he provided for you in every way, well, he could be but he had been restraining himself from doing so. that wouldn't be happening anymore.

no more going back and forth, telling himself he would give in and then convincing himself not to. it wasn't fair, not to himself and surely not to you, his puddin'.

this was just nature.

"get off me for a second, puddin'"

you frown but do as he says, swinging one leg over the other and sitting beside him.

his hands move to his belt, undoing it with expertise. his pants are next, unbuttoning them and sliding them down, lifting his hips momentarily. you watch, confused, as he pulls his shirt over his head. he pushes back on the couch, laying down on his back in just his boxers.

"come here, straddle daddy" he directs. "i'm gonna help you out"

confused plagues your face for a second but the weight of his words means more and your body moves. he grabs you by your hips, helping to pull you on top of him.

he adjust you so that your clothes cunt is directly against the tent growing in his boxers, the only barriers between you two being your panties and his boxers.

"you know how you learned to use the pillow the other day?" he prompts.

you nod.

"use daddy as your pillow"

you bite your lip, hesitation filling your features.

lucky for you, rafe knows better than you. he knows that sometimes you just don't want to think. thinking was too much for that pretty little brain of yours and he was more than happy to help you out.

he guides your hips onto his, moving you slowly at first. he saw it earlier, how soaked you already were. the wet spot on your panties being burned into his brain. a soft gasp leaves your lips, the familiar feeling returning.

he repeats the movement—guiding you back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—until you were crying out above him. he watches your eyes flutter shut, plump lips parting as whimpers fall from them.

"you like that, puddin'?" he asks, letting out a shaky breath himself.

"yes" you moan, your small hands splaying out on his lower abdomen to steady yourself.

you push your down harder, the action filled with greed. his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, desperately trying to slot itself between your folds.

"fuck" he curses, wishing he hadn't kept his boxers on. "go ahead baby, just like that"

you whine, rocking your hips against his the tiniest bit faster. it was a mild pace, but there was enough force behind it to make it meaningful. if he wasn't feeling how much you liked this himself, your whimpers made it clear.

"daddy" you moan. "i feel tingly"

"i know baby, i know. daddy's gonna help you out" he whispers.

he snakes a hand between your bodies, fingers pressing down on your sensitive little bud and circling gently. you didn't even comprehend what was happening, just that it felt good.

to rafe, this was truly euphoric.

he salivated just thinking of the day that he got to finally be inside you, the day that all of his prepping finally paid off.

you cry out above him, eyes screwing shut as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. he watches you fall apart, ego expanding because he wasn't even inside you yet.

yet. that would have to change soon.

"that's it, there's my puddin'" he coos. "such a good girl for daddy"

-

[trivia-yandere]

sending request:

College senior jungkook took interest to freshman yn

(I think this would be so good if there’s manipulation and dumbification in it)

ok im thinking best friends jungkook but make it college - got it :3

nerviosa

that time your cousins boyfriend, jeon jungkook; college senior, took a certain interest in you, a college freshman.

word count: 8.622

warning: slight age gap, power imbalance, naive reader, she's just a girl frfr, manipulation, affair/cheating, corruption kink, dry humping, dirty talk, breast play, nipple sucking, car "sex", fingering, kissing/making out,

teaser | taglist

The sweet aroma of cinnamon could be considered amazing and something you’d want to consume entirely. Yet it was still a spice with a bitter taste if taken in large amounts. Your relationship - if you can call it that - with Jungkook was only sweet in theory, but bitter in reality.

Much like cinnamon. 

Loving Jeon Jungkook was sudden. It happened in a blink of an eye,surprising your own self entirely. The way your body would warm when he was around. The way you couldn’t wait to speak with him whenever he and you were in the same room - so much so that you would count the minutes until he did. 

 Loving Jeon Jungkook was also bitter. It had consumed you entirely, having you fall into a black hole that was him and him only. It had chewed up your heart and spit it right out. It left you feeling lonely. 

Cold, lonely and painful.

And yet, like each and every time Jungkook had shown you who he was, your heart, of course, refused to believe him. He came back into your life time and time again after ignoring your existence when certain people were around, only sparing you a longing glance.

You supposed you couldn’t blame Jungkook more than you blame yourself. Jungkook was a taken man and the person he was taken by was someone you knew far too well. Still, your heart continued to pound rapidly whenever he was around. Your body would warm whenever his eyes flicker to yours, the hair on your skin rising. The way he’d lick his lips and offer you a small smirk - that’s where it always started.

“You’re mad at me.” Jungkook murmurs, leaning against your closed door. You’re sitting on your bed, a book open in your lap. You try not to look at his exposed arms and at the way they’re flexed.

“How so?” you respond, glancing back down to your book.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Jungkook responds. You’re underneath your covers, but it stops at your waist. Your tank top is loose at the shoulders and only one strap is down your arm. “All week.”

You decide to close the book and place it onto your night stand. You grasp your phone and open an app. You decide to dim the lights in hopes of him not fully seeing your expression 

You offer Jungkook your full attention now. “Where’s my cousin?”

Jungkook snickers softly. He leans away from your bedroom door, making sure to lock it before he does, and comes closer to you. 

“Why?” Jungkook asks, at the foot of your bed. 

“She’s your girlfriend.” you respond. You have yet to tell Jungkook to leave like you should have. You should have stopped yourself from the beginning, but you didn't.

“I’m aware.” Jungkook rounds the foot of your bed, “She’s mad at me.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve come to me.”

Your tone is sharp, Jungkook notes.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook retorts. “You’ve been ignoring me all week. You walked right past me as if you didn’t see me.”

Your eyes watch as Jungkook sinks down onto your bed. His hand lays on your covered leg, squeezing it a bit. 

“What do you suppose I do?” you shrug your shoulders. “Sit in your lap in front of everyone?”

You wish you had the passion like your cousin does. To speak your mind and tell anyone off.  You wanted to punch the smirk right off of Jungkook’s face and tell him to get out of your room, but you couldn’t. 

“Of course not.” Jungkook tilts his head a bit. “But I missed you. You haven’t missed me?”

Jungkook knows the answer. The way you bite your lip, glancing at the sleeve of tattoos on his arm. He enjoyed the way you’d trace them at times, fascinated with how much he had. 

“Can I get a kiss?” 

Your eyes snap to Jungkook . Your attempt at a glare is cute to him, but you’re far too slow in dodging him. You being underneath the covers gave him an advantage. He throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you. His nose slides across your cheek and dramatically, he inhales.  “You smell soooo good.” he hums before his lips press to your cheeks. He kisses up your cheek, to your forehead, to down the next cheek.

You couldn’t help the bubbles of laughter falling past your lips. Your attempts to be upset with him were failing miserably. This is something you hated about yourself - how little it took for you  to forget about everything he’s done. About everything you allowed him to do. 

Yet and still, you’re fully aware that you cannot be more angry with Jungkook than yourself as you allowed him into your life after fully knowing who he was and what his intentions were. 

Your relationship with your cousin was similar to that of an older sister. She was always there growing up and filled the role as one - even if that meant being a total bitch at times. Still, you knew this was wrong just as much as her boyfriend did.

“Can I?” Jungkook repeats, tone lowered to a mere whisper. His lips are only inches away from yours. He knows full well that if he kissed you, you’d do little fighting. But this was Jungkook, after all, and he wants you to tell him to. To admit that even now, with your tiny glares and rebuttals, that you still wanted him.

“We shouldn’t.” you breathe, but you don’t push him away. 

When you first met Jungkook was when your cousin had brought him along to a dinner she had invited you to. She had told you so many things about Jungkook - how handsome he was, how athletic and competitive he was whenever sports was involved. Apparently, he was a good cook and also an amazing singer.

That was nearly a year ago, you think, before you started the same college they'll soon be graduating from. 

Your first impression of Jungkook was that he was one of those boys that was arrogant - and he fit the descriptions. The tattoos and piercings. The way he walked as if he was the main character, and in a way, he is. Especially with your cousin on his arm. There was no way someone like him was as golden as your cousin said - until you met him and he indeed was such.

“I’ve missed you.” Jungkook doesn’t make a move. His nose gently rubs against yours. “I went to the diner and got our usual all alone. The old lady asked about you.”

You snort. You became fond of the old lady who always served you and Jungkook extra pancakes because she thought you two were a cute couple. When you went to correct her the first time, Jungkook had wrapped an arm around you and kissed your cheek. Maybe that’s where he had you wrapped around his finger for the very first time.

“You took me to that diner because it’s far from anyone who knows us.” you retort, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I took you there because it’s my favorite diner.” Jungkook corrects. “And when we first went, you needed something comforting.”

Your eyes close, the memory coming back.

Jungkook had found you seated all alone after one of his classes. You appeared like all the other freshmen, so burnt out already but still overachieving. You sat alone in the college’s cafe, books surrounding you and airpods in, though you weren’t listening to anything. Jungkook had come  up and asked if you wanted to come with him to get pancakes. “Pancakes are best in the evening.” he stated, and before you knew it, you were in his car driving to the diner that you and he now frequented weekly.

“It’s just one kiss.” Jungkook’s weight was starting to crush you. “Or I’ll lay on you until you do.”

“You’re so frustrating.” you groan, but you cannot help the smile that forms onto your lips. “And then you’ll leave?”

Jungkook hums, pecking your lips. “Do you want me to?” he asks, going in for another intoxicating kiss, this time deeper. 

You hum into his lips. You’re still beneath the covers and otherwise trapped beneath him entirely. Jungkook’s tongue forces your lips apart to glide right into your mouth. 

You grunt. “You said one kiss.” you protest, but he knows you aren’t upset. 

Jungkook smirks. “The first one doesn’t count. It was just a peck.” he states. “And if you wouldn’t have stopped me, then we would have still been having our first kiss.”

Your body feels the relief when Jungkook slides off of you, but now forces his way into the covers. You should’ve known that he wasn’t going to leave - yet you can’t expect him to if you never push him away.

Jungkook peaks at your pajama shorts. They’re fluffy and patterned with soft pink polka dots that he finds cute. 

“You’re such a liar.” you snort as Jungkook snuggles beneath your covers with you, an arm wrapping around you to bring you closer to him. 

“You can tell me to leave whenever you want.” retorts Jungkook, his arm bringing you closer to him. He inhales your scent and hums. “But we know you miss me just as much as I miss you.” 

You hated how right Jungkook was. Your mind is screaming at you to let him go - to push him away and demand that you and he end this. Whatever this was exactly- but for one it was an affair. A pure slap in the face to your cousin who always brought him around you because she trusted you and him. 

And you betrayed her.

But that knowledge doesn’t have either of you moving away.

“What were you reading?” Jungkook questions, his arm that's wrapped around you slightly caresses your arm as your head rests onto his chest. “One of your smutty books?” he jokes.

Your hand slams against his stomach and Jungkook cackles. “I’m just joking!” he exclaims. “I looked up that one book I saw you reading though…”

Your body warms, contemplating if you wanted to slam your fist into his stomach again. It wasn’t going to hurt him, but he’d know you were serious about attempting to cause him damage. 

“…good girls like you shouldn’t read books like those.” Jungkook’s fingers lightly tap your arm, so much so that it causes goosebumps to form. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, but you cannot help the way your palms begin to sweat with nervousness.

“It means exactly what I said.” Jungkook’s finger continues to glide against your skin. “Those books are filthy. You’re too…” he hums. “...innocent.”

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re unsure of what to say in response.

“I’m not that innocent.” you murmur, nearly inaudible.

“Oh?” Jungkook chuckles. His hand stops caressing your arms, but his finger lightly begins to play with the fallen tank-top strap on your arm.

Your head lifts up so you can look at his face. He returns your look, a glint in his eyes that you cannot understand. 

You lick your lips. “What’s funny?” you mumble, your brows knitting together.

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s laughing in your face, but he does find you cute.

“You’re just so cute.” Jungkook quips. “I can’t imagine you doing anything they do in those books.”

Your heart is jumping at how the conversation is steering elsewhere. Somewhere it hasn’t gone before.

Sure, Jungkook and you had developed something deeper than a regular friendship. You had allowed him to kiss you often; kisses that turned to makeout sessions. However, Jungkook always pushed himself back, pecking your lips a few times before it got any further.

“What do you do?” Jungkook asks. His fingers never stop toying with your tank-top strap.

“What do you do?” you repeat his question right back at him. Maybe it wasn’t something you should’ve asked - after all, everything he does has to be with your cousin.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead  he continues to look at you. His gaze causes you to look away for a moment, pondering if this is a conversation you and him should be having. Specifically in this position, he and you so invasivly close to one another.

“I do a lot.” Jungkook speaks so suddenly that you almost miss it. You turn your eyes back to him, holding his gaze. “In these books-”

“They’re not all smut.” you blurt out and immediately regret it. Jungkook doesn’t laugh but his smirk is evident. “I mean…I read all types of stuff. Mystery books and stuff…”

Jungkook slowly nods his head. “I’m aware,” he responds. “I just want to know what they do in the books that are smut.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You’re not going to make me say it…”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I suppose not.” he hums. His fingers finally relax and for a mere second, you and him are still. That’s until he changes your position again. This time, you’re brought on top of him. He’s wearing jeans and he wishes he would’ve worn something to feel you better in. 

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t feel you at all.

Jungkook grasps both of your hands and places them onto his chest, your eyes slightly wide with shock. Your thighs are on either side of his waist.

“Come here,” Jungkook uttered softly, tugging your wrist a bit. He slides his hands cooly away from your hands so they can lay onto your hips. He squeezes them as your face hovers above his, mimicking the position he was in not too long ago. “you can show me instead.”

You’re positive Jungkook can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your hands tremble slightly against his chest.

Jungkook decides to take the lead, pressing his lips to the corner of yours, pecking ever so slowly. He trails them down to your chin, then jaw until they reach your neck.

You shudder, your legs nervously shaking. His hands roam up your sides. If he meant to or not, his hands slipped beneath your tank top and pulled you closer to him.

“Jungkook…” 

Jungkook’s hands stop moving. They’re warm to the touch and they stop at the center of your back.

“...what are we doing?” You couldn’t help but ask. You weren’t wearing a bra and his trailing kisses mixed with his hands caressing your skin had caused your nipples to harden and they were directly in his face.

“Nothing bad.” Jungkook responds against your neck. “I just wanted to show you what I do.”

The feel of your bare back shouldn’t be as enticing as it was, but Jungkook was just a man. Having something so soft, cute and delicate on top would drive anyone crazy.

“Unless…” Jungkook’s teeth grazing your skin. “...you haven’t done this before. Then I’ll stop.”

You feel the bottom of your tank-top ever so slowly being pushed up. Jungkook’s waiting for you to say anything - or do anything - to stop him.

“Have you done this before?” Jungkook voiced.

You bite your lip. “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook hums. “Then it should be okay then,” he responds. He continues to trail kisses from the side of your neck to your throat, hands pushing the tank top further and further up your back. “There’s nothing to be shy about.”

Your tank-top stops right beneath your breast, Jungkook waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“We shouldn’t…do this.” you whisper. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were clenching Jungkook’s shirt until now. 

“Is it because of her?” Jungkook asks. He allows his head to fall back against your soft pillows so he can look you in your eyes. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No!” you exclaim. There was no way you could ever tell your cousin that you’ve gone this far with her boyfriend. The question itself was ludacris and even the thought of it made you want to throw up.

“Neither will I.” Jungkook speaks. “It can be a secret you and I share, right?”

You aren’t able to answer before Jungkook pecks you on the lips.

“Whatever happens here…” Jungook’s hands move from your back and instead focuses on your shoulders now. The straps are already down and it’s nothing to further pull them down. His eyes never leave yours. They’re daring you to stop him - to push him away and be adamant that you didn’t want to do this.

You remained silent. Even as Jungkook fully pulls the strap from your arms and begins to push your tank-top down, you don’t say anything. “...stays here.” Jungkook finishes, his eyes flickering down to your now exposed breasts. “Okay?”

This was wrong, you think.

But you nod your head slowly, watching as Jungkook offers you a curt smile before his hands engulf your breasts entirely.

You yelp, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Relax. You’re so tense.” Jungkook murmurs, his thumbs directly onto your perky nipples. He rubs slow circles. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry…” you murmur, face warm. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Jungkook licks his lips, flickering his eyes to you. 

The pet name sends another shot to your core. Your eyes widen a bit.

“I want you to be comfortable with me, okay?”

You nod hesitantly.

“You’re very beautiful.” Jungkook compliments. “When you read those books, how do they make you feel?”

Please, for the life of you, you didn't want to talk about the books. They’re just books that happened to have smut in them, not just entirely full of sex.

But you think of his question. You recall the way they made you feel, the shudder that ran up your spine with how descriptive they were, imagining that it was you in the position the protagonist was in. 

“I…they’re interested to read.” 

Jungkook hums, the pads of his thumb continuing to rub along your nipples. Your breathing becomes a bit hitched with how good it felt. 

“What part exactly?” 

You swallow. 

“You don’t want me to know?” Jungkook leans forward to leave a single kiss right between your breasts. You’re positive it’s to tease you further, leaving you even more flustered than before. “It’s okay. You can tell me, baby.”

You let out a breath. “When…they touch each other, I guess.”

Your voice is so soft and embarrassed. Jungkook finds it cute. 

“And where do they touch each other?”

“You know.” you sigh. 

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jungkook observed. “You’re so cute, baby. You don’t have to be shy.” he coos. “How about…you show me?”

Your hands are already on his chest. It rises and falls along with his chest. Dark eyes watch you closely, saying nothing more as he awaits what you’re going to do next. His large hands still has your breast perfectly in the palms of his hands and he makes no move to remove them. 

You already told Jungkook that you’ve done this before - if a few hookups prior to your freshman year of college counted. You aren’t even sure yourself if you came from the acts and you’re unsure if you’d ever truly know. 

So, to not further embarrass yourself, you sit fully onto Jungkook. Your clothed crotch sits directly onto his jeans, unable to look away as you do so. Jungkook’s chest continues to rise and fall, his thumbs moving slowly on your nipples, yet not halting. 

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Jungkook doesn’t blink. He can feel his bulge in his jeans ready to be released and feel you better.

Your fingers grip at his shirt and for a moment, Jungkook thinks you’re going to say a smartass rebuttal. But you don’t, and something flickers in your eyes that has him curious. 

“A few times.” you respond, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?” 

Jungkook hastily shakes his head. “You’re doing good, baby.” he murmurs, his voice cracking a bit. His stomach sinks in a bit as his mind thinks of the countless ways he could have you. So innocent and barely experienced life yet. So easy to mold into the girl he knows you can be. “What have you done?”

“Just…” your heart jolts. “…casual sex.” 

You and him were actually doing this, you think. Even if it doesn’t go all the way, it’s gone far enough. Would you even be able to look him in the eyes after this?

“So…” Jungkook moves so instead of laying down, he’s seated right against your headboard. He’s now face to face with you. “…just casual sex?”

If Jungkook understood correctly, that meant it was just him fucking you until he came. High school boys weren’t much giving people. They were selfish and they take, take and take, but never give.

You nod your head slightly.

“Did he make you feel good?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Somewhat…I don’t think I…you know.” you laugh nervously.

Jungkook’s right hand trails down to your shorts. He touches the hem of it,  glances between your eyes to your shorts, then back to you. 

“Cum.” Jungkook deadpans, his lip twitching upwards at how flustered you appear by a simple word. “Do you want to cum?”

There’s a throbbing between your legs that you hope Jungkook cannot feel. Your hands grow sweaty, eyes widening a bit.

“H-How?”

Jungkook’s fingers crawl into your shorts. Your skin is just as soft, he thinks, and he cannot wait to see the rest of you. 

“We can start off slow.” Jungkook starts. Tugging at your shorts. 

“You just want me naked.” you rebuttal. Jungkook is glad to see you’re able to joke, your nerves slowly subsiding. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Jungkook snickers. “All you have to do is ask. Here,”

Jungkook gently pushes you off of him so that you’re seated on your bed. Your tank top is now around your stomach, breast fully exposed. 

Jungkook proceeds to stand. His eyes look down at you. “What do you want me to take off?” he asks.

You swallow, your eyes glancing at his sleeveless shirt to his jeans. 

“You can start with your shirt like you did me.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nods. “Take if off of me.”

Your hands shake as you come closer to Jungkook, his unblinking eyes watching your every move. It’s nerve-wrecking being in this position, you think, while he’s adamant on watching you.

You grab the end of his shirt and light pull it up,  glancing at him to make sure you were doing this right - how else could you possibly take off a shirt anyways?

Jungkook pulls his arms up as you tug the shirt over his head, dropping it onto the floor beside him. His bare chest stares back at you and you have to fight yourself not to ogle him.

“Is that all you want me to remove?” Jungkook asks. “Because I want you to remove these,”

Jungkook’s hands are around your waist again, tugging you to stand before him. He watches your every movement as he tugs your shorts down. They fall effortlessly, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore. You’re thankful that they at least were cheeksters and looked good on you.

Your hands go to Jungkook’s belt next. You unbuckle it and then unbutton his jeans. This time, Jungkook focuses on your hands and how hot you looked half naked touching him.

Jungkook’s underwear are briefs and black - calvin klein. You immediately look away from the bulge that you see, your face growing even hotter.

“Come,” Jungkook says, tugging you onto the bed with him in the same position as before. He assures to press you directly on his lap so you could feel all of him. He doesn’t hide the groan that comes from his lips.

Your clit is throbbing, begging to be stimulated. You can feel the way Jungkook’s cock twitches immediately on impact.

“Do you touch yourself?”

The question shouldn't be invasive. After all, you willingly told him that a boy hasn’t made you cum before. At least, you didn’t know if they did or not - and honestly, if that was the case then the answer was an obvious no.

“Sometimes.” you admit.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment. He imagines you laying right here in bed, all alone. Your fingers trailing between your legs and playing with your clit until you’re sopping wet. The way your thighs would tremble with such pleasure and overstimulation and-

Jungkook shudders, his cock twitching again. He opens his eyes to look at you. His hands are directly on your hips now, squeezing them encouragingly. “Move.”

As you go to remove yourself from Jungkook, he pulls you back down.

“I meant grind.” Jungkook corrects.

You do as you’re told. You’re shy at first, only moving slowly. But you’re new to this and Jungkook understands that. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither were you.

“Circle your hips,” Jungkook instructs, his breathing increasing a bit. He swallows a lump in his throat, dark eyes watching the way you listen to him so well. “like that…”

You can feel your panties grow sticky against you, moist with your arousal. Your head falls back a bit as you quicken the pace, grinding your clit against Jungkook’s bulge.

“You’re doing good, baby.” Jungkook’s tone has darkened, now huskier. His left hand remains on your hips while his right slides up, capturing your breast. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan, nodding your head a bit. Your gentle hand falls right on top of Jungkook’s against your breast, eyes fluttering. “so good.”

Jungkook groans. He’s never been a fan of dry humping - it was nothing but a tease. But doing this with you, someone so young and innocent - utterly forbidden to him - made it hotter.

“I bet you’re so wet right now.” 

Jungkook would do anything to feel your bare clit right on his cock right now, but he wasn’t going to rush things. You and him had time, he thinks. He doesn’t want to think of his girlfriend now, but his mind flashes with her face. A part of him knows that this is wrong - he was taken advantage of someone young and naive and too close to her. But he couldn’t help but want to ruin you. Show you just how good he could make you feel - how good he could fuck you.

“I am wet.”

Jungkook slides his hand upwards. He glides past your shoulders and neck and grabs your cheek. Your eyes open to look at him, finding him already watching you. His thumb traces your pouty lips while licking his own. 

“Has anyone ever touched you there?”

It could be a dumb question, of course, but the ways he wishes to touch you, he’s positive those dumb high school boys you associated with could never.

You shake your head and Jungkook scoffs. He knew it.

“Do you trust me to?” Jungkook questions. His left hand slides towards your ass, squeezing it in the palm of his hands. “I could make you cum, baby. You’d want that, right?”

There was nothing to be embarrassed about now as you grind against Jungkook and allow him to touch you so freely. The thought of his hands, so invasive and willing, between your legs causes your mind to spin. Your pussy clenches around nothing in particular, grinding a bit harder against his clothed cock.

“You would,” Jungkook commanded. His eyes dance between your face that he holds between his hand, to your greedy pussy sliding against his cock so needily. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, and feverish. Your lack of experience has him wanting to give you exactly what he knew he could give. “you would let me touch you. You want me to.”

“I-”

Your back slams against your bed suddenly. You let out a yelp, your eyes snapping open. Jungkook hovers above you, licking his lips.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?” Jungkook assures, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll make you cum, baby, okay?”

Your heart pumps at his words, so soft in tone but entirely dirty. Your body is warm with embarrassment, but you’re highly intrigued. “Yes.” you breathe.

The way Jungkook’s tongue, warm and wet, slides across your skin. From your neck, to your collarbones to between your breasts - he couldn’t remember the last time he’s done this to his own girlfriend. Not because he was selfish and didn’t want to - but because she had no time to. Neglecting him and pushing him away until he fell into the arms of another woman.

“The boys you’ve been with are too young to know how to pleasure you.” Jungkook scoffs, engulfing your breasts into his palms, pressing tender kisses onto them. “But I’m not.”

You gasp at the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue wrapping around your nipple. His large hands squeeze your bosom, his tongue flickering back and forth onto the small, hardened bud. He’s gripping onto your breast so tight that you feel as though his fingernails are going to sink into your skin.

Jungkook’s lips pop your nipple from his mouth to now focus on the other one, giving it the same attention. There’s excitement that flows through him to hear your pitched breathing and sharp moans. It only gives him more satisfaction to latch onto your nipple, suckling and slurping onto it. 

“You’re so reactive.”

Jungkook pops the second nipple from his lips, flicking his eyes up at you.

“It feels…” you swallow, your warm body shuddering. “…good.”

“I know it does, baby.” 

The pet name has you shuddering even more, the hair on your skin continuing to rise. Your hand rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, fluttering eyes watching his handsome face form a short smile.

“You’re so cute, baby.”

Jungkook’s hand slides down from your breast. His fingers lightly tap against your stomach, then abdomen before he feels the light hem of your panties.

“I…I don’t know…”

Jungkook knits his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we should…you know?” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I wasn’t expecting to do this today. I don't think I’m prepared.”

You can feel the heartbeat right between your legs. The need to be touched is high, but your mind continues to yell at you that this is wrong, not just because of who Jungkook was but because you aren’t sure if you were ready to do anything with him. Your lack of experience compared to someone like Jungkook is laughable, and you didn’t need him laughing anymore than he already has.

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook’s finger taps at your panties, eyelashes blinking a bit. “You’re just a bit shy. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Jungkook hooks his fingers into your panties, offering you an otherwise sweet smile that you are oblivious to not noticing the mischievous intent beneath it.

“Unless you don’t…trust me.” Jungkook’s voice lowers. “Have I done anything for you not to?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “of course not!”

Jungkook removes his hands from your panties, clicking his tongue. He’s silent for a moment, tilting his head as he watches you. His silence causes an unease to flow through you and you were pondering if maybe he was upset with you. “Jung-”

“You should probably go to bed.”

Your mouth is slightly agape when Jungkook speaks.

“You have that test in the morning, right?” Jungkook continues, raising a single brow. “At least, that’s what you told me.”

“Right.” you nod your head, voice low. “Are you…are you leaving?”

Jungkook’s eyes watch you for a moment too long before he shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” you admit far too quickly for your liking.

“Then I won’t.”

The bed is strangely cold by the time you wake up. You don’t notice at first until your mind registers the night before. The way Jungkook held you against him, his legs entangled in yours to keep you close. Your warmth radiated off against one another, and now that he was gone, you realized just how cold you felt without him there.

It takes you a few minutes to get up from your bed. You are not upset that Jungkook left. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be there. Still, it does leave a sting in your heart knowing that you’ve allowed things to go as far as they had. You trot down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It takes exactly ten minutes to do everything you need to do before making your way down the same hall to go to the kitchen.

You had a test in an hour, that part wasn’t a lie. You hoped you could  focus on said test and get your mind off of the man that is Jeon Jungkook.

You aren’t lucky, however. You round the corner to enter the kitchen and immediately stop in your tracks. 

Your cousin is leaning against the counter, dipping a tea bag right into her streaming cup. You recall that it’s her favorite mug - a glass one that’s shaped like a skull. It matches her personality perfectly, you think.

“Morning.” your cousin says, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes. “Kook cooked breakfast.”

Your heart pounds outside your chest.  It isn’t hard to notice the taller man behind her, but you were trying your best to avoid looking his way at all. But, of course, you fail. Your eyes make their way to him to find that he’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet one another, Jungkook offers a smile. He holds up a bowl, signaling that he had indeed cooked breakfast.

“I…Im not hungry.”

Jungkook slowly lowers his hands. He glances at his girlfriend - your cousin.

“You’re not?” your cousin asks. She turns her head to fully face you. “DId you even eat before bed? I saw your plate in the microwave.”

You let out a short breath. Nothing ever got  past her, you think. You were lying about not being hungry. You just didn’t want to be caught between her and Jungkook during breakfast and be left in such an awkward situation that only you and he knew about.

Your stomach rumbles, causing your cheeks to heat up. Your cousin snorts, turning back to her tea. 

“Sit and eat.” your cousin insists. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Jungkook sing-songs, placing the bowl onto the kitchen island. “ was even thinking of making a protein shake.”

You sit on the stool, looking down at the eggs before you. You glance up at Jungkook to find him looking at you already. His smile doesn’t falter. It’s soft, you think, and awaiting for you to do…anything. 

“Thanks.” you murmur. 

You begin to eat, your foot bouncing nervously as your cousin blows and sips onto her tea. Jungkook does what he says and begins to make a protein shake - adding different variations of fruits, yogurts and a powder you haven’t seen until today. 

“So,” your cousin turns to face you. She doesn’t look your way, too consumed with the tea she’s attempting to not burn her throat with. “how’s school? I feel like I haven’t seen you lately.”

That’s because she was busy. Your cousin consumed herself with work and you applaud her for being able to handle that and school. You, like most freshmans, are far too in your head that you don’t even believe you could handle anything. 

“Alright. Just…studying.”

“College isn’t all about school.” she places her mug onto the island. Jungkook is behind her, the blender sounding loudly. “You should live a little, too. When’s the last time you saw your friends?” she speaks louder.

“We facetime all the time.”

Your cousin snorts. She furrows her brows. “You should see them. Invite them over!” she encouraged . “Or go out. There’s parties everywhere.”

The blender stops. Jungkook begins to pour the semi-thick shake into a shaker bottle - something else you were positive you hadn’t seen until now. 

“Do you go to parties?” you asked her, plucking some more egg into your mouth. There's white rice on the bottom, you note. 

“Sometimes.” she nods. “Recently, no. I've been working on volunteering and building my resume along with references. But you have time.” 

You swallow as Jungkook places the bottle in front of you. He offers a short wink that only you catch. “So you can have enough energy throughout the day.” he tells you. 

“Kook keeps trying to get me on making shakes and smoothies everyday.” she rolls her eyes playfully. “I can’t be bothered.” 

“Try it.” Jungkook insists. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Your hands tremble under pressure as you do as you’re told. It’s good, the taste of strawberries are evident. You could understand why Jungkook would make them daily - he was a “gym bro”. His words, not yours. 

“It is good.” you agree, licking your lips. “I should get ready soon.”

“How are you getting there?” your cousin questions. “Kook can give you a ride.”

“I can walk.” you shake your head, glancing to Jungkook who’s eyes hasn’t left you. “It’s only around a fifteen minute walk.” You were grateful your cousin lived so close to campus and allowed you to occupy her extra bedroom. Granted, it was being paid for by both of your parents so it was a win-win regardless. 

“I don’t mind.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “It’s spring and you never know when it’ll rain.”

“I can bring an umbrella-“

“Just accept the ride, Y/N.” your cousin deadpans. “Stop being weird.” 

You’re silent, blinking a few times. Your lips are pressed thinly together, and for a moment your eyes turn into slight slits. Here you were trying to keep your cousin's boyfriend at a respectable distance, and she was calling you weird.

Granted, she doesn’t know about what her boyfriend does - you’ll never tell her. You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with her persistence in making sure you got to school safely and on time.

“Okay.” you murmur, pushing the stool away from the island with a curt nod. “I’m going to get ready now.”

Jungkook watches the way you scurry out of the kitchen. He turns his eyes slowly to his girlfriend and clicks his tongue. “You can be a little easier on her.” he suggests, grasping the bowl you were once eating out of and bringing it to the sink. “She’s only a freshman.”

Jungkook hears a scoff just as he turns the sink water on, preparing to wash the dishes. 

“I have been going easy on her.” she says. “I want her to have a normal college experience. She coops herself in her room all the time and allows herself to waste away.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at his girlfriend's words. He doesn’t say anything on topic, however.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions, scrubbing a dish clean. 

“Networking.”

Jungkook hums. He felt like he knew as such. Ever since she’s managed to get an internship - not including the many volunteer work she does while also maintaining an actual job and school - she’s been a busy person. He’s unsure how she manages to come home and cook almost 4 days a week and keep track of you.

“I see.” Jungkook turns off the sink water. “Tae keeps asking about you. They miss you on game nights.”

Her lips form a low smile. “I miss beating his ass in connect 4.” she laughs. “But not all of us can have wealthy parents like you guys.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s gotten used to his girlfriend's “playful” jabs. He was told too many times that her going to college wasn’t a side quest like it was for him and his friends. It was interesting to see how serious she took life while also telling you to live a little more.

“I’ll see you later.” Jungkook decides to speak instead. He comes closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re free…” he murmurs, his lips against her forehead. 

You aren’t sure why you’re nervous entering Jungkook’s car. You’ve been in here before. It’s clean and always smells like fresh linen. The dark seats are always warm - you later realized that his seats are heated and he always assures they’re the right temperature before you enter.

Jungkook, as he begins to drive down the quiet street, places a hand onto your thigh. You don’t say anything, only watching the way his tattooed fingers tap along.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions.

There’s music playing low in his car. The roads are empty, only a few cars on them this early morning. You glance out the tinted windows and take a deep breath.

“Nothing.” you reply. “Leave it to my cousin, I should be going to a rave.”

Jungkook snorts. He squeezes your thigh, wishing it was the sensitive, soft flesh he felt last night.

“She just wants you to have fun.” Jungkook says. “Live a little, you know? Go out. Party. Be a college student.”

You want to roll your eyes. Of course he would defend her - you don’t expect him to take your side, either way.

“I have a few friends who always throw parties.” Jungkook speaks up. “You can go.”

You slowly turn your head, your interest somewhat peaked. 

Jungkook stops at a red light. He faces you. With furrowed brows, he asks, “Why are you looking like that?”

You swallow. “I have never been to a college party before.” you murmur, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Um,” you continue, licking his lips. “is it…tonight?”

Jungkook’s lips slowly turn upwards. “Sure is.” he says. “I can take you…if you’d like. This party isn’t going to be as crazy as it would be if we were, let’s say, sophomores.”

Jungkook recalls the many crazy parties they’d throw - the pool parties, costume parties that always ended with someone being overly offensive. The amount of fist-fights that ended in a big brawl; the full college experience.

Jungkook remembers his girlfriend being by his side at a few of them. Until she stated that she couldn’t continue to associate herself with “mess” - her words. That, and then state that she wasn’t like them. She didn’t have her parents' money to get her out of trouble if needed be. 

“You can invite some friends, too.”

You feel Jungkook’s hands creep higher. He continues to drive, his eyes focused on the road. 

You should push his hand away, you think. Distance yourself from this man that doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t. You never do.

“I’ll try.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Jungkook comes to a stop. He doesn’t cut the engine - he doesn’t need to be here until later. He does, however, remove his seat belt. He turns towards you, watching the way you take off your own seat belt.

“Thanks-”

“You don’t have to be in there for another 10 minutes.”

Jungkook, who had lifted his hand from your thigh when he took off his seatbelt, had made it his mission to put it back. This time, his fingers - ever so gently - slide into your inner thigh. His dark eyes glance at you innocently, but you aren’t that dumb to think that he only wanted you to sit here and talk.

“I have a project due later,” Jungkook begins, his tattooed fingers tapping lightly. “but then I’m free.”

“Okay.” you murmur, licking your lips. “Why are you telling me?”

Jungkook’s own lips form a low smirk. You were cute when you were this way - feigning uninterest. He knows if you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“Don’t you want to hang out with me?” Jungkook pokes his bottom lip out. 

“I’m going to the party, aren’t I?” 

You try to relax, but you can't. You hoped desperately that your face didn’t show how nervous you were being with Jungkook. You would think after last night, him squeezing your thigh and seemingly growing closer wouldn’t affect you. But this was Jungkook and of course whatever he did had an effect on you.

“You’re right.” Jungkook hums, tilting his head a bit. “Wear something…cute but relaxed. You can meet my friends.”

Jungkook wonders if you would feel the same way about them that your cousin did. She didn’t not like them. They were the same group of friends they hung around for years. Only, she matured a lot faster than either of them had, thinking about a future far ahead than they ever did.

You swear your heartbeat is in sync with the low beat of the music. You don’t say anything, only returning the look that Jungkook is giving you. He’s probably waiting for you to tell him to move his hand - to stop inching closer and closer to the warmth between your legs. Or, maybe he’s waiting for you to get out of his car and get to class.

You don’t do anything. 

“Can I get a kiss before you go?”

Your heart flutters at his question, body warming. You swallow.

“You don’t just want a kiss.” You retort.

Jungkook chuckles low - you were right. If it was up to him, he would have his way with you right in the backseat. But he was a patient man and you were worth more than a simple hookup in his car. 

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

You don’t realize who initiated it, but your lips are on Jungkook’s far too easily. Like you knew, the man wasn’t going to let you go off with a single kiss. Instead, he replaces his right hand with left one and wraps his right arm around you to keep you in place. His tongue pries your lips open, sliding it into your mouth.

The kiss is hot, growing heavier by the second. His arm lightly tugs, wishing he could pull you  right into his lap. Instead, his left hand swipes between your legs, lightly rubbing. 

You’re the first to break the kiss, breathing in as much air as you could before Jungkook found his tongue back in your mouth. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer and allows himself to do the same, his wet lips falling to your jawline. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” 

Jungkook’s tone is deep, breath tickling your jawline as he kisses down. He makes his way to your neck, tongue circling your flushed skin. 

“Yes-“

You don’t get to finish. Jungkook slides his hands into your pants, those greedy and invasive fingers cupping you through your panties. You yelp, eyes widening.

“W-What are you doing?!” you hiss, turning your eyes to the nothingness that is outside the car. The windows were a dark tint so even if someone was there…

You take a deep breath.

“I just want to make you cum.” Jungkook says against your neck. “Before you go.”

Your heart continues to pump rapidly. You don’t make a move to stop him, even if the denial is on the tip of your tongue. Instead, your eyes slowly trail down to watch the way his hand slides further into your pants.

“It’ll feel good, I promise.” Jungkook says. “I can make you cum in 5 minutes. You’d want that, right?”

If you had any sort of respect for yourself and your cousin, you would’ve ended it right here. Push him away and tell him you no longer wanted anything like this from him. 

You hadn’t. Your silence, to Jungkook, was consent. He knew you wanted him to. Short breathes come from those parted lips, your chest rising and falling. Your thighs even widened a bit to allow him to feel more of you. 

You jerk when Jungkook’s fingers make their way between your panties, sliding past your clit. Jungkook sucks in a breath, “You’re wet.” he groans. “I knew you wanted this, baby.” 

“This…we can’t-”

“No one’s here.” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around your clit. You swallow the moan you want to let out. “Look at me.”

You do without hesitance. Jungkook holds your gaze while your body warms. His fingers continue to rub along your clit, keeping pressure on the already sensitive bud. You let out a soft gasp, unknowingly opening your legs wider. 

“There you go,” Jungkook murmurs, continuing to hold your gaze. He leans in a bit more, appearing to be hovering above you. “you’re so wet right now. You must feel good, right?”

“Yea,” you nod your head, voice strained with nerves. 

“Don’t be shy.” Jungkook chuckles at the way your face looks. So pretty and young, he thinks, so full of life yet lacking of experience that only one with years could give you. “Give me a kiss.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he continues to rub along your clit, circling the bud faster and faster. You managed, somehow, to capture his lips in your own. It causes your moan to die down, but either way, you manage.

The kiss is just as hot as before. Jungkook forces his tongue inside, suckling on your own as his greedy fingers find your hole. His pants are tight, cock throbbing and twitching to be let free. His fingertips tease your hole - so tight and new to all of this, he thinks. He couldn’t wait to show you the world of pleasure he could expose you to if you’d let him.

You gasp out when Jungkook’s long fingers enter you. The feeling is different. It wasn’t as filling as a cock, sure, but the way he manages to thrust them in and out of you tells you that he knew what he was doing. 

Jungkook groans against your lips when your soft hand grasps his cheek. The act causes Jungkook to thrust his finger even faster inside of you. His forehead pressed against yours and his teeth clamp down onto your bottom lip. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yes!” you nod your head. 

You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes catch Jungkook’s hand hidden inside your pants, only his fis wrist visible. The veins on his arm pulse and the sight alone has you moaning a bit louder - why did it look so hot? It’s nothing too sexual, you think, but it was also Jungkook. Everything on Jungkook was hotter than it should be.

“Kook,” 

You don’t realize you’re holding his face until you feel your nails dig into the skin of his cheek. Jungkook doesn’t mind, however. A bit of pain never hurt him. “You gonna cum all over my fingers?” he asks. “You’re such a dirty little girl, Y/N.”

Why did that have you clenching around his already pumping fingers? Did dirty talk really excite you, or was it just Jungkook?

Regardless, you nod your head, eyes meeting his again. Your mouth opens slightly to let out hushed, drawn out moans that you only heard when you were making yourself cum - and even then, it never felt like this.

“Say it,” Jungkook continues, pecking your lips. “say you’re my dirty girl, Y/N.”

It’s an insane statement to make when he wasn’t a single man. Yet, you knew that. You knew who he was and know fully that what you and he are doing is wrong- but you comply. “I’m…I’m your dirty girl,” you breath, thighs shuddering and stomach clenching.

You were cumming - all the while still having another five minutes left until you needed to be in class. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure consumes you, higher-pitched moans coming from those sweet lips.

Jungkook brings his fingers out of you just on time, his lips coating kisses on your neck. His cock continues to throb but he tells himself that even now, you weren’t ready - but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be soon.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @mar-lo-pap @ami-s-k

[moonstruckme]

hello, sweetie!! i've been reading your doctor!remus content for a while now, and i literally can't get enough of it. you write him so well, and i just can't help it when i binge through every fic you have of him. <33

is it okay if i send in a request? please ignore this if you're not taking any right now or if you don't want to write it. totally fair!!

could you do one where reader (female or gender neutral is fine with me) sort of breaks an ankle or an arm, and it hurts like hell? aside from pain meds, reader craves a hug or two from remus, but he's very busy and he almost doesn't have the time to visit reader?

again, don't feel like you have to write my request. i completely understand.

have a nice day or night. and remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself. :) <3

Thank you angel, hope you're taking care of yourself too <3

cw: hospital setting, Remus is slightly negligent of his patients but don't worry they're all fine because I make the rules

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 759 words

Remus thinks that he handles stress well. He’s good at prioritizing, and he can juggle more patients than most when the hospital is at its busiest. Remus is often the one his colleagues call for when there’s a child in need of calming, frantic families who won’t let them work, or when they can’t think straight because they’re so overwhelmed. He prides himself on having his shit decently together at least while he’s at work. 

But, unfortunately, knowing you’re in one of the curtained rooms lined up in front of him and not being able to spend his shift sitting with you has Remus’ carefully wound concentration coming apart at the seams. 

He finds himself cocking his ear for your voice when he knows he’s only two rooms over from yours. The patient he’s meant to be paying attention to has to repeat the name of the medicine she takes twice before he gets it. One room over, and hearing your gasp makes him stop mid-sentence, standing up straighter. His patient asks if he’s okay. 

Remus does feel close to the appropriate amount of guilt when he rushes that last patient’s final checks before discharge. He resolves to steep in penitence later. 

You’re chewing your lip when he pushes your curtain open, your eyes flitting up to his with something like relief. 

“I only have a minute,” he breathes, pulling the curtain closed behind him before kissing you. “Hi, lovely. How is it?” He looks down at where you’re still holding your fractured wrist in your lap. “Have you not been seen to yet?” 

“They said a doctor would come soon.” You lean forward to kiss him again, hitting the corner of his lips. “And look, here you are.” 

Remus frowns. “Bailey should have been in here by now.” 

“I don’t mind waiting.” 

“You’ve been here over half an hour. Your arm should at least be stabilized while you wait.” He glances out the crack in between your curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of his negligent colleague. “How’s your pain?” 

“Rem, I’m fine,” you say. “Can we just—” 

“I’m going to go get him in here.” He touches your unhurt shoulder, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before he turns to go. More focussed than he has been since you arrived. “Just sit tight, it won’t be much longer.” 

“Remus.” The splinter in your voice halts him as his hand closes over the curtain. Remus turns back around. 

Your eyes are glossy. It shakes him in a way nothing else can, like none of the horrors of his work ever do. It’s not pain, he doesn’t think. There’s a raw quality to your expression. 

“I don’t want him to come in here yet,” you whisper. 

Remus finds his voice dropping to match your quiet. “Why?” 

“I just want you.” 

His heart shudders. “Sweetheart,” he says, compassion heaving his tone, “I want to stay here with you, too, but you know why I can’t be the one to treat you. It’s against the rules.” 

“I know, but I just—can we—” You blink harshly, trying not to cry. Remus feels sick. For someone who deals with other people’s pain all day long, it’s sort of pathetic what the sight of yours does to him. “Can I just have a hug before you go?” 

“Oh,” he murmurs. An ache in the back of his throat. “Yeah, of course.” 

Remus has moved closer to you without realizing, drawn by the need to fix your upset, so it only takes a half step to be able to get his arms around you. You put your head on his shoulder like you’ve been wishing for it for hours. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, careful not to press anywhere near your injured arm. “Don’t let me hurt you.” 

“This is good.” Your voice is a watery consistency. Relief seeps from your every pore. 

Remus feels it seep into him, too. He rubs between your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brush you off.” 

Your sniffle breaks his heart. “You didn’t brush me off. I know you’re busy.” 

“I always have time for a hug.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “It’s, like, half my job, you know.” 

“Are you hugging other girls?” 

“Only the very, very sad ones.” 

You make a sound he suspects might be a muffled laugh. “Guess I should count myself lucky I got some of your time, then. In between all these sad girls.” 

Remus hums. “I may have a bit of a soft spot for one in particular.” 

[cinnasite]

the perils of a hot lab partner

꩜ pairing: chemistry lab partner!hange zoe x gender neutral reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content

꩜ word count: 759

꩜ synopsis: where a chaotic lab partnership turns into an electrifying romance. chemistry isn't just confined to test tubes, you know?

Lab partner!Hange who bursts through the door twenty minutes late and looks like they've been struck by lightning, goggles askew and lab coat half-buttoned, apologising clumsily while somehow already knowing exactly what compound you're supposed to be synthesising.

Lab partner!Hange who gets genuinely ecstatic by successful experiments. Their eyes light up with an intensity that makes your stomach flip as they lean over your shoulder, their breath hot against your ear while explaining molecular structures.

Lab partner!Hange who has ink-stained fingers from frantically scribbling notes, and you find yourself staring at their hands more often than you should, wondering what those fingers would feel like trailing across your skin.

Lab partner!Hange who pushes their glasses up their nose with the back of their hand, leaving smudges that you have an inexplicable urge to clean off with your thumb, your faces inches apart.

Lab partner!Hange who always smells like pine and something vaguely, uniquely them, a scent that becomes intoxicating when they crowd into your personal space to check your measurements. The way their body seems to naturally radiate warmth doesn’t help. At all.

Lab partner!Hange who gets so adorably excited about breakthroughs that they grab your hands without thinking, their touch electric as they bounce on their toes, eyes sparkling with manic joy.

Lab partner!Hange who stays late in the lab with you, the room growing dim as they lean against your workbench, watching you with an unreadable expression that makes heat pool in your stomach.

Lab partner!Hange who absent-mindedly chews on their pen while thinking, drawing your attention to their lips in a way that makes you lose focus while balancing equations.

Lab partner!Hange who has a habit of rolling up their sleeves when concentrating, revealing surprisingly toned forearms that distract you more than any difficult formula ever could.

Lab partner!Hange who notices when you're struggling and moves behind you to guide your hands, their chest pressed against your back as they murmur instructions, their voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Lab partner!Hange who starts bringing you coffee in the mornings, skin lingering against yours during the handoff, their gaze drinking you in with an eagerness that makes you forget how to breathe.

Lab partner!Hange who gets protective when other students boisterously interrupt your work, stepping closer until you can feel the possessiveness of their presence, both comforting and dangerous.

Lab partner!Hange who catches you staring at their mouth while they explain complex theories and pauses mid-sentence, their eyes darkening as tension crackles between you like static electricity.

Lab partner!Hange who starts finding excuses to touch you—steadying your hand while pipetting, brushing past you in the narrow lab aisles, their touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

Lab partner!Hange who begins texting you late at night during the mid-semester break about "lab questions" that somehow turn into long conversations that leave you lying in bed, wondering if they miss you too.

Lab partner!Hange who wears their hair in a messy bun that makes you want to pull it loose, especially when they tilt their head and expose the elegant line of their neck while concentrating.

Lab partner!Hange who starts unconsciously mirroring your movements, both of you reaching for the same equipment and freezing when your bodies brush, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Lab partner!Hange who looks at you over their glasses with an expression that's equal parts scientific curiosity and something much more tantalising, making you feel like their most fascinating experiment.

Lab partner!Hange who gets flustered when you compliment their intelligence, cheeks flushing as they fidget with their lab coat, suddenly unable to look at you.

Lab partner!Hange who finally snaps during a late evening lab session, grabbing your wrist when you reach for a beaker and pulling you against them, their other hand tangling in your hair as they kiss you desperately against the bench, months of yearning finally exploding between you.

Lab partner!Hange who breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, "I've been wanting to do that since our first titration," before claiming your mouth again, their hands roaming as you forget everything except the way they say your name like a prayer.

Lab partner!Hange who shows up the next day with a lopsided grin, acting like they didn't just have you screaming against their dorm room wall the previous night, casually asking, "So, want to grab dinner? Like, an actual date?" with mischievous eyes and the burning memory of exactly how you taste.

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 6.9k

CHAPTER 13: August 28, 2024

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

The quiet voice stirred Bucky further awake, motivating him to open his eyes against the blinding light shining through the skylights. He slowly blinked, processing his white surroundings that were decorated with glowing screens, while he carefully clenched and unclenched his right hand. He couldn't feel his left hand—he couldn’t feel his left arm at all—but somehow, he still felt calm.

A soft chuckle to his right caught his attention, causing him to slowly turn his head to meet Shuri’s gaze. 

She smiled, tilting her head up as she teased, “Or should I say…Sleeping Beauty?”

He didn’t respond.

She chortled, shaking her head. “Right. You don’t know who that is.”

“…Am I supposed to?” he asked, his voice hoarse from not being used for…who knew how long.

“Don’t worry about it,” she chuckled as she stepped closer. “How are you feeling?”

Cautiously, Bucky sat up with a groan, feeling overly stiff, but not quite cold. He noticed that the nearby Dora Milaje tensed up from his movements, all ready to defend the Princess should he attack her.

Right. He couldn’t be trusted yet.

He swung his legs around the table, but then immediately gripped the edge of the table with his eyes squeezed shut, his head spinning at the sudden movement. His body threatened to fall to the right due to the lack of weight on his left—a reminder of the events that took place in Siberia.

“Take it easy, Sergeant. Your body needs a moment to get used to—”

“I know,” he muttered. “I’ve done this before.”

He didn’t mean to cut her off, but Shuri didn’t mind. She watched him slowly breathe in and out, letting his body process the world outside of cryogenic freeze for the last time.

The last time. 

The last—

His fingers curled further into the edge of the table, and he bit his lip before taking a deep breath. He wasn't used to this—to be lying on a comfortable table after getting gently woken up. It was unlike his past experiences, where he’d still be standing in that chamber, frozen stiff while his handlers barked commands around him. Then, before his body was fully thawed, they’d unlock the restraints, letting him collapse to the filthy concrete floor, still unable to wiggle his toes.

He’d only have a second to breathe before he was then locked into a chair, losing his dreams from his restless slumber, and thrown back into the world as a ghost. 

But no more. No more of that.

Bucky took another deep breath and slowly opened his eyes to meet Shuri’s gaze. “How long has it been?” he softly asked.

She grinned. “It’s December 22nd, so you made it just in time for your holidays. Do you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah? Either way, American holidays look very fun. I’ve only ever seen it celebrated in movies but…”

But rather than answering her question, Bucky frowned, his eyebrows tight with concern. “It’s still 2016?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s…” He shifted uncomfortably, “…It’s only been a few months since I went under. Are you sure you cleared everything?”

Shuri raised an eyebrow with a hint of amusement. “Do you not trust my ability?”

“I don’t trust my mind.”

“Well, it’s best to start working on that trust. I’ve done my part and severed all strings tied to every word and phrase that could warp your mind. But while I have severed them, you must be the one to burn them.” She tapped on her screen, writing down a few observations. “I cannot cure you of your relationship with your past. Some words and phrases may still affect you, so you have to be the one to stop your instincts from following the commands.”

Bucky didn’t reply because he knew he couldn’t deny it. Dealing with his past—facing the worst of it—was a terrifying thought, but he had been running for so long that he was tired of hiding.

But being exhausted wasn’t the same as being ready.

The idea of having to run through his memories—through every command that shed blood onto his hands—felt like walking into a minefield, in which he wouldn’t know which memory would send him back to a place worse than death. Although he trusted that Shuri had cut the chains tying him to HYDRA’s control, the fact that it was now up to him and only him to fight his way out was horrifying.

What if he wasn’t strong enough? What if, when someone said those words to him, he’d lose control again and worse—lose himself entirely for good?

Bucky already wasn’t fully himself—he lost a good portion of his first life when he fell off that train—but he had long accepted that he couldn’t go back to being that man. But now, the thought that it was up to him to become something else—someone more whole than the shards that made up his body—made his chest tighten in a suffocating way.

He only just recently figured out who James Bucky Barnes was. How was he supposed to find himself further than that?

While Bucky sat in quiet thought, Shuri moved around the lab, typing notes here and there before standing in front of him once again.

“Now,” she gestured to his left shoulder, “we should do some work on that, yeah? So that it’s less…awkward.”

He glanced at his stump, still a bit unsettled by the sight, before looking away. “I don’t mind.”

“But you should. For one, the way HYDRA operated on you without your consent was horrible. But two—” she rolled her eyes, “—the internal structure in your shoulder? An absolute disgrace to modern engineering. I get that they did this in the forties, but come on, they could’ve done a much better job than that. Such imbeciles.”

Bucky couldn’t help but lightly grin at her words, pleased to have anyone call HYDRA idiotic for any reason. But his grin quickly faded as he looked back at his left shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’ve already asked too much from all of you.”

“Sergeant, you barely asked for anything.” She let out a chuckle that was tinted with disbelief. “If anything, this is the least we can do after my brother tried to murder you in broad daylight.”

“You all thought I—”

She raised her hand. “I know what we all thought, but still, there were better ways to address it. I know he’s called the Black Panther, but he could’ve been less animalistic about it.”

He sighed. “He was mad. He had the right to be. You— You don’t need to worry about this. I’ll manage.”

Shuri paused, gazing at the tortured soul intently before huffing out a breath. “Well, eventually, we should fix up your shoulder. I mean, your new prosthetic can’t attach itself to that—” 

“What?” Bucky snapped his head up with furrowed eyebrows. “New… What?”

A smile crept onto her face as she crossed her arms. “I’ve been working on a brand new prosthetic for you. It’ll be a while before you’re allowed to put it on, but I figured I’d get a head start on it.”

“Why?”

“...Because you’re missing an arm?”

“No, I…” He let out a shaky breath. “You don’t need to make me a new one.”

“Oh, I know, but it’s a fun project. I mean, making a vibranium limb to mirror the weight of your right arm? To ensure symmetry in your posture and avoid imbalance in your movements?” She sighed through her smile. “So simple, but so fun.”

“Vibranium…” His mouth dropped open, appalled by her actions. “I…I don’t deserve that.”

“Let’s wake up a bit more before you decide what you do and don’t deserve, yeah? Also, it’s a bit too late to tell me to stop. It’s practically almost done.” She turned around to tap on a couple more screens. “Again, it’ll be a while before you can put it on. I still have to talk to my brother about exactly when that…is…”

When Shuri turned around, she found Bucky sitting in silence, his shoulders hunched while his gaze focused on the floor. There was a fragility to his posture as if the kindness she was expressing was unsettling him more than pain ever could.

He had already been grateful to the Wakandans for letting him hide there, healing him, and helping to recover pieces of himself. But, to tend to the visible crack in his left side—to take back something that HYDRA ripped away and make it his—seemed to disturb the deepest parts of himself. It was as if the act of care—the desire to restore his humanity—touched something he didn’t know how to handle.

Shuri studied him carefully, his stillness flickering a twisted feeling in her. With a quiet sigh, she grabbed a stool and dragged it over until she was back in front of him. Bucky still didn’t look up when she sat down, but she didn’t force him to. Instead, she sat there quietly, searching for the right words to say because she knew he had been hearing horrific ones for nearly seventy years.

She took a long, deep breath, letting her shoulders slump as she softly spoke, “Sergeant Barnes, I understand that this is a lot for you. And I know that you believe you don’t deserve this, and I won’t decide what you do and don’t deserve. That’s not my place. But, that is what you’re here to do… Figure out what you want and need. I know that’s overwhelming—especially for you.”

With another deep breath, she frowned. “But…let’s be clear about one thing… You did not deserve to be HYDRA’s experiment. A project for them to test and break. And while I cannot magically erase what happened to you, I can, with technology, make this—” she gestured to his shoulder, “no longer hurt.”

Slowly, Bucky turned his head, focusing on the area where metal met his skin. His gaze lingered as his right hand twitched into a fist, slightly shaking at her words.

Shuri watched his body tense up and lightly shook her head. “The internal structure within your shoulder… I… Sergeant Barnes, I don’t understand how you’ve lived with that pain all these years.”

He was quiet for a moment, but only for a moment. Soon, his jaw flexed, then loosened as his voice came out with a tremor. “…I didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, now you do.” She sat up straight, offering a gentle smile. “I know I’m being insistent with working on your shoulder, but…we won’t do anything without your permission.”

Permission. 

What a foreign word to Bucky.

His fist clenched tighter as he shifted on the edge of the table, his body still unsure if it could rest or not. He wasn’t used to this. 

To be safe.

To have a choice.

To recover without being a burden.

Bucky still felt like one, but the Princess’s words assured him that he wasn’t one. Her offer felt too sacred to tackle—too good to be real. For a moment, he almost ran off, retreating into the darkness that he survived in, as the light blinded him too much.

But, as horrifying as the light was, it felt warm.

It was warm.

Slowly, Bucky tilted his head up and met Shuri’s gaze. She continued to sit there, patiently waiting while the Dora Milaje kept a close eye on the ex-assassin. Eventually, he let out a shaky breath and gave her the tiniest nod possible.

Because, after everything he went through, it wouldn’t hurt to try to have something good… Right?

To…live. 

Just like how the love of his life told him to.

Shuri leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a grin as she nodded. “Great. We’ll figure out a schedule. In the meantime, we’ll get you settled in one of our recovery rooms. You can rest there until the surgery, and afterward, we can figure out the rest.”

She then looked back and called out for one of the Dora Milaje. Bucky looked up to see Ayo, as Shuri called her, carefully listening to the Princess’s orders before walking past him to step out. He blinked, unable to make out what she had said; as someone who knew thirty or so languages, he was a bit intrigued to figure out how their language worked. Perhaps, while he stuck around Wakanda, he could learn.

Learning a new language just because he wanted to—not because he had to—stirred a light feeling in his chest.

He turned his head at his shoulder again, his brain slowly working to make an unfamiliar image—his brand new shoulder and arm, completely made out of vibranium. He wondered how it was designed—where the plates and seam lines would end up, and what color it would be.

He hoped it would be black. 

It was a silly desire, but it was an interesting discovery to make—of all colors that existed in the world, his favorite was black.

Dark and muted, kind of like him, but necessary for light to exist…kind of like him.

Maybe he was proof that bad things must happen for good things to be worth it.

“Thank you, Ayo!” Shuri suddenly leaped off her stool with a wide smile and then pointed to a nearby table. “You can set that there.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky looked to his side, and his breath immediately got caught in his throat when he saw Ayo set down a backpack.

A worn-out, black backpack with torn straps, covered in dirt and dust, last thought to have been destroyed or stored away in a facility unreachable to him.

His backpack.

Bucky sat up abruptly, his eyes locked onto his bag. “How did you …”

Shuri giggled. “They dropped this off right after you went to sleep. Agent Romanoff said something about how she’s broken into more secure places. Makes me wonder how well she’d do with our security system… Hm…” She tapped on her chin. “I’ll have to ask her to test it for me. Hey, do you think—”

Ayo blocked Shuri with her body, her spear raised at Bucky as he fell off the table, his legs still slightly numb from his sleep. Nevertheless, he stumbled to the table, disregarding the Dora Milaje’s defensive positions as he grabbed his backpack. His knees buckled once again, and he fell to the floor, but that didn’t stop him from unzipping the backpack with trembling fingers.

He shoved aside his old notebooks until he found one of the patches he had sewn on, and quickly ripped it off. He didn’t care if he looked desperate. He just needed to find—

Peace.

Bucky found peace.

With a shallow breath, he gently pulled out the locket from the hidden pocket, the cold surface stinging his quivering hand. Unlike his abrupt rush to get to his belongings, he sat on the floor as he gazed at the jewelry like a relic.

He thought he had lost the locket, just like how he lost you back in D.C.

And he never forgave himself for that.

Curling his fingers around the locket, Bucky then brought it to his chest, his head tilted forward with his eyes closed, apologizing without a single word uttered.

From close by, Shuri watched the stoic man suddenly drop his head with grief. Bucky, who found it discomforting to show any sign of vulnerability, was crumpled to the floor, barely holding himself together as all energy was spent on holding onto the necklace. Quietly, the Princess placed her hand on Ayo’s arm, gently guiding her aside with a reassuring smile, before looking back at the man. No words were spoken for a while; she let him have this moment.

Neither of them knew how long the moment was before Shuri finally whispered, “That necklace… It seems precious to you.”

Bucky didn’t move right away. He kept his head down, his breaths quiet, while his heart raced against the only piece he had of his guardian angel. Eventually, he brought his hand away from his chest, uncurling his fingers to gaze at the relic.

With soft eyes, he opened the locket and lightly ran his finger over the inscription.

“Yeah,” he whispered, unable to stop a teardrop from forming in the corner of his eye. “It is.”

<><><>

The tea in front of Bucky was cold, half-empty, and abandoned, as he could only silently watch the bookstore from the other side of the street. The sun was hanging low in the sky, but not quite disappearing, as sunset was not approaching for another hour. The wooden chair squeaked along with his leather jacket when he shifted, arms crossed over his chest as he let out a deep sigh.

Across the street, the windows of Cherry Nook were shaded by blinds half-drawn, the glass reflecting off the sunlight just enough that he couldn’t make out the inside. Bucky couldn’t see you, but he just knew that you were there, lost amongst paper and thoughts. He had been waiting for an hour already, but was determined to wait hours longer for the right opportunity.

The front door opened, and a customer walked out, clutching some books against her chest while speaking into her earbuds with a smile. Bucky sighed again—it wasn't the first time he had watched a customer leave the store, so he stopped sitting up, thinking it would be you or your coworker. He leaned further back in his seat and glanced at his watch, noting that your store was closing now.

He briefly closed his eyes, letting his mind piece together the memory he formed yesterday. It was a nice day, sunny and not too humid, just perfect enough for him to walk around aimlessly. To be able to go outside without having to fulfill a task felt like a gift, as his entire life had been focused on completing missions and winning fights. So, Bucky decided to treat himself to a leisurely walk—also because Sam had begged him to do something nice for himself instead of “rotting at home like a grumpy old man”—and enjoy the freshest air Brooklyn could give him.

Then, when he saw a bookstore in the distance, his heart twinged.

Reading had been a passion for him in the forties, when he was a young man who wasn’t broken just yet. He loved to visit every bookstore in Brooklyn, letting himself get lost in the aisles with endless stories before selecting a few to take home. It took a while, but one day he was able to remember his parents, who had surprised him with a bigger bookshelf, perfectly sized for the empty corner of his room, and he had thrown himself into his mother’s embrace while his father ruffled his hair.

There was an empty corner in his apartment now. Maybe stories were what his place needed.

But, it turned out, what he needed was you.

The moment you had begun to speak, right after he had helped you find your footing on the wooden floor, his body froze. The sound of your voice was one that he dreamed of, so to hear it again outside his mind stunned him.

Then, when you turned around, it was over.

He had found you again, and even though he was so flustered by your words and presence—so overwhelmed that his mind could only tell him to retreat—he was determined to keep you by his side.

Bucky opened his eyes just in time for the front door to swing open again, and he looked up to see your coworker stepping out. As she walked away, he saw that the front blinds were getting closed fully. Bucky sat up, his fingers twitching for his necklace as he let out a breath. 

Standing without hesitation, he tossed his cup into the trash and crossed the street, determined to find the real you.

<><><>

“Have a nice night,” you called out to the woman, receiving a wave from her as she continued speaking into her earbuds with two books in her grasp. 

The woman stepped out of the store, and your smile disappeared, simply ready to go home and stare at the ceiling until you eventually dozed off into the next day. You moved slowly, sliding a random stack of books aside that you would put away another time, and closed your eyes. Your heartbeat was fast, but not from excitement or joy.

It was only a matter of time before someone would come to see you again.

You had been anxious all day, flinching at the front door opening every time, thinking it was him walking in. Your mind was prepared to spew out lies—to deny, deny, and deny—but your heart was beating against your chest, begging for you to acknowledge the truth.

But the truth hurt, and you were sick of getting hurt.

You were just so tired.

As you lingered at the front desk, Mandy stepped out from the back room, already having thrown her headphones on around her necklace and scrolling through her phone to pick the right song to play for her walk home. Then she paused when she noticed you were lost in thought, and her eyes immediately softened while she let out a quiet sigh.

“Avery?” she called for you carefully. “Do you still not wanna talk about yesterday?”

She knew your answer, but still felt lost when you shook your head silently without looking back at her. Mandy could see that you were shutting down slowly, trying to defend yourself from something that could only be fixed if discussed. But you kept building up this wall around you, unable to care that eventually, when the wall was too tall, it would hurt more when it all came falling on you. Mandy didn’t want to pry—she just wanted you to be able to process your feelings rather than force them down, filling up the space until you couldn't do anything but drown within them.

That said, she was curious about one thing in particular.

Why the hell did he call you by your daughter's name?

But, rather than asking, Mandy took a steady breath and lowered her voice. “If you need to talk, you can call me.”

At that, you raised your head at her and managed to smile, sending a small wave of relief over her. “I know. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she smiled back as she slid her headphones on. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You followed her to the front, gave her one last wave as she stepped out, and began to close the blinds. Your smile still lingered, touched by Mandy’s overwhelming support and gentle caution. When you stopped the sunlight from reaching the store, you walked back to the front desk to retrieve your bag.

But just as you went to pick up your bag, the door behind you opened, and you immediately froze.

Something screamed at your heart.

With a shaky breath, you plastered on a mask and turned around, finally seeing the man you had been waiting for.

“Oh, Sergeant Barnes.” You put on a grin, adjusting your grip on your bag. “Welcome back. We just closed, but how can I help—”

“Stop.”

Your words trailed into nothing as his gaze stayed on you, trying to dig into you for the truth. But you kept the wall up, stopping him from going any further.

Bucky approached you slowly as if moving any faster would scare you off. His jaw clenched as he continued, “Rose, what are you doing?”

“Uh…” you shifted your stance, “I’m sorry… Rose?”

Your breath hitched as his heavy eyes pierced into yours. His lips pursed with so many words he longed to say—so many questions he had for the person who kept showing up when he needed her most.

“Yes. Rose,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re asking right now.”

“Oh, you do, actually.” He shook his head. “You really do.”

You both stared at each other in silence, the tension in the room rising as neither one of you refused to crumble. Reinforcing the confusion on your face, you cleared your throat and gently spoke, “Okay, I…I really don’t know what’s happening right now.”

“You and me both.” He took another step closer, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re lying to me right now.”

“Lying?” You shook your head, the tightness in your chest getting worse, but you pushed the feeling down. “Lying about what?”

“That you’re not her,” he said, his hands curling into fists as he let out a trembling breath. “Why are you pretending?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. Rose, I know you, and you need to stop pretending you don’t know me.” 

“But I…” You deeply exhaled, turning your body to face him better as sternness emerged on your face. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for doing this, but—” you frowned, gripping your bag closer, “I don't know you.”

Bucky’s gaze sharpened, his posture stiffening. “Yes, you do.” 

“No, I—”

“Yes. You do,” he cut you off, his breath slightly trembling as he quickly recollected himself. “You know me, Rose. You’ve known me for so long.”

“No.” You put a foot down, keeping your mask on as tightly as possible. “We’ve never met, and I need you to stop acting like I’m someone you know.”

“Rose—”

“I’m not Rose. My name’s Avery.” You sighed, shaking your head. “Look. Clearly, you got me confused with someone else, and I—”

“Stop—”

“And I’m sorry I’m not her, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you did.”

“Fuck— No, I didn’t.” Bucky harshly said, frustration unwillingly seeping through the surface of his skin. But then he bit his lip, his stomach churning at his tone, before he softened his voice. “Rose, you can’t lie to me.”

You stood up straighter. “I’m not lying, and my name isn’t Rose.”

“Yes, it is.”

No, it really wasn’t. That name didn’t belong to you.

“It’s Avery,” you huffed out, your voice steady with your practiced lies. “I’m closing up now, so you need to leave.”

Bucky’s voice began to waver. “Drop the act.”

“Sergeant Barnes—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay! Then,” you threw your arms to your sides, “what do you want me to call you?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t. We’ve never met.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not.”

Bucky took a slow step closer, voice soft but insistent. “You’re good at denying it, but you can’t pretend with me.”

Unlike him, where cracks began to form in his body, you didn’t flinch. If anything, you met his eyes with a sharp firmness, not an ounce of hesitation or fear within your voice as you replied, “I’m not pretending, and I need you to leave.”

“No.” His voice dropped, becoming more urgent as much as he hated looking desperate. “Rose, please.”

“Avery,” you sternly said again, putting your bag strap on your shoulder. “I’m Avery, and you need to go. Come on.”

You tried to walk past him—to guide him to the front door—but your eyes shot open when his hand suddenly found your wrist. Despite wearing gloves, you could feel the harshness of his metal hand, firmly wrapping around you, terrified of releasing you. You lightly tugged back, but he kept holding onto you. 

Your breath hitched. “Sergeant Barnes, let go.”

“Rose, please. Stop lying.”

“This isn’t okay.” You tried to shake his hand off. “Let me go.”

“No.” His voice finally cracked, and his eyes glistened.

And somehow, that broke you. 

You instantly looked away, facing the front door as Bucky’s tremors reached your body. Your head dropped, and he couldn’t see your face anymore, how your mask slowly began to fall apart. You swallowed back the pain and exhaled.

“Let me go,” you repeated softly, but just as stern as before.

Bucky choked on his breath while he shook his head. “I can’t. Not this time.”

Your breath threatened to hitch, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I said—”

“Don’t leave me.”

And then, you found yourself in a different place, but this time, it wasn’t Riverside Bookshop in 1943.

It was a small, dark clothing store, abandoned by its owners towards the end of an explosive battle. A tiny store that shielded two people, both bruised by the past and present, from the chaos that screamed just outside its windows. A store that didn’t feel like a store, but rather a haven for two people who loved each other so much that, despite all the pain they experienced, they could still imagine a wonderful life together. 

But the world was never fair to you and James, so it had sent you off to die once again.

Just not before he begged you to stay.

James faltered, clenching his jaw hard to prevent any more tears from escaping his eyes. “Don’t leave me,” he croaked.

And you told him that you had to. You had to leave to keep him alive.

But now, you had to leave to keep yourself afloat.

Slowly, you looked back at Bucky, no longer stern but now…

Terrified.

Terrified of him, and how he could break you.

Bucky’s eyes widened as you slightly tugged your arm back again, your voice now trembling, “I’m sorry… I’m not who you’re looking for. And right now…” You glanced at the hand around your wrist. “You’re hurting me.”

Instantly, his grip loosened.

Bucky dropped your hand while taking a step back, shock flickering across his face as if an old wound had been sliced open once again. He searched your face, and he could see it was you. He knew it was you, but there was something different as well. Behind those eyes that he cherished, there was a darkness to them—a shadow that he’d never seen before.

Every time you appeared in his life, you had been the same: quick and determined. You were like a storm that blew away his enemies, protecting him from death again and again. You were fierce enough to approach him when he was at his coldest as the Winter Soldier, breaking apart the ice that HYDRA cast him in. You were so selfless that you stayed at his side when a monster chased after you, toying with your life while being close to ending his. 

You were so alive that it kept Bucky alive as well.

But now?

You looked tired, as if you had surrendered your life a long time ago.

Bucky opened his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say, but when you looked at your wrist, his stomach dropped to see how red he had made your skin. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He didn’t—

It was you who broke the silence.

“Please leave,” you said while rubbing your wrist, “or I’ll call the police.”

He stumbled back, his eyes frightened as he looked at you one more time, and you could see how frazzled and pained he looked. His mouth opened again, desperate to apologize to you, but his eyes caught your wrist again, and he felt his heart twist. Without another word, his breath hitched as he quickly turned for the door, slamming it open and walking out of your store. 

You hurried after him, pulling the door shut and locking it immediately after. Your heart was pounding as you walked to the back, flicking off the switches and erasing all light within the store. But as you tried to go to the back door, your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the floor.

Your mask broke, and you began to sob. The bitter taste of your lies still lingered on your tongue as you wept into your hands, your body trembling violently after it struggled to keep itself together.

You weren’t the angel Bucky remembered. You couldn’t be.

You were selfish. You were selfish. You were selfish.

How pathetic.

<><><>

An apple landed on Bucky’s left hand before it got tossed up again.

He hummed, throwing the apple around and feeling out the vibranium arm for the first time. It was insane—he was given this arm not even a few hours ago, and yet he was already getting ready for the biggest war in the universe. Bucky set the apple down and gazed at the mirror, trailing his fingers along the scar where metal met flesh. No matter how hard the Wakandan doctors tried to remove the remnants of his imprisonment, some scars were just meant to stay.

Bucky sighed before slipping on a black undershirt, covering his scars, before he reached for his dark blue jacket. He placed his hands on the jacket, feeling the protective layer of enhanced fabric that still held so much comfort, and he couldn’t help but smile.

God, he loved Wakanda and their advancements.

A knock on his door took his attention away from the jacket. “Come in.”

The door opened, and he blinked to see Shuri walk in with Ayo and Nomble, two of the Dora Milaje. He turned and slightly bowed his head out of instinct, making the Princess laugh.

“Bucky, we’ve talked about this.” She shook her head with a grin. “No need to bow to me, although I do appreciate the courtesy.”

His cheeks were tinted pink. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nice to see somebody respect me around here,” she said teasingly. “My brother could learn a thing or two from you.”

He huffed out a small grin, then bobbed his left shoulder. “The arm feels great, by the way. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” She beamed. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“Not a single bit.”

“Great.” She clapped for herself. “I’m such a genius.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle while Shuri laughed. Then she gestured to the window, pointing at the clear sky. “I’ve come to let you know that Captain Rogers will be arriving with the others shortly.”

He nodded, glancing at the sky as if the aircraft would magically appear right then and there. But then he raised an eyebrow, looking back at the Princess. “What else?”

Shuri paused, tilting her head at him. “What do you mean?”

Bucky slipped on the jacket, not clipping in the buckles just yet. “Well, you didn’t come here just to tell me about Steve. If that was the case, you would’ve sent someone to tell me.”

She blinked before chuckling. “Damn, you’re good. I wanted to surprise you with something else.”

He raised an eyebrow before turning around and stepping towards one of the dressers. “Surprise me? What else could you—”

Bucky froze.

The air in the room went still, immediately noticeable by the Wakandans in the room. Shuri shifted while Ayo and Nomble glanced at each other, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t dare to hurt any of them but still feeling uneasy.

Well, maybe something terrible could happen, considering it was his necklace that was missing.

Bucky stared at the exact spot where he left the locket, just before he got into the shower to feel refreshed for the upcoming battle. Slowly, he turned around to meet Shuri’s eyes, and all of the warmth within his frost-blue ones was gone. Ayo stiffened, suddenly seeing remnants of the Winter Soldier in the man, and tightened her grip around her spear.

“Where is it?” he said, his voice empty yet carrying so much weight.

She let out a nervous laugh, raising her hands defensively. “Hold on! Don’t be mad. I didn’t—”

“Shuri, this isn’t funny.” He fully turned around, his jaw clenched as he glared at her. “Where. Is. It?”

“I have it! Damn.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small case. “It’s right here. Jeez, Bucky, I didn’t do anything terrible to it.”

“You didn’t—” His exhale was filled with anger, but he quickly calmed himself down as best as he could. Ayo loosened her grip when noticing the assassin disappeared from the soldier, but still watched carefully as he held out his hand silently, his gaze still locked onto the Princess. With a quiet chuckle, she placed the box into his palm and stepped back.

Before he could open it, Shuri raised her hand. “Now, before you get more upset with me, just take a look at it, okay?”

His eyes went sharp once again, opening the case while his blood boiled over the idea that the locket had been altered—ruined—just because somebody was obsessed with making everything better with technology and bullsh—

Bucky blinked at the locket.

It was normal. Aside from…

“It looks brighter,” he said, his voice no longer furious, but still flat.

Shuri smiled. “That’s because it is. The silver had tarnished over the years. From my understanding, your locket is over a hundred years old, so I cleaned it.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows raising in suspicion. “Just cleaned it?”

“Yes… Well…” She giggled. “I also treated it with a solution that gives it a protective layer, preventing anything from damaging it.”

Narrowing his eyes, he examined the locket closer, pulling it out of the box and staring at it intently in the palm of his hand.

“You can’t see it. It’s a very thin layer,” Shuri clarified, lightly laughing at his attention to detail. “It doesn’t look different, but I assure you that your locket is now stronger. Durable. Resistant to water, fire, you name it. Nothing will ever break it.”

“But…” His fingers twitched, wanting to clutch the locket close to his chest. “Why? Why would you …”

Shuri noticed his subtle movements and smiled softly—no amusement was present on her face. “Because this piece means a lot to you… It’d just be a shame if it ever broke, don’t you think?”

At that, Bucky looked up with shock in his eyes, his chest tightening from the unexpected kindness once more. He didn’t know what to say, but his gaze alone was enough to tell the Princess that he was grateful for not only fixing him but the relic he carried with his heart. He turned back to the locket, noticing how it glowed underneath the sunlight, and his breath quivered.

“Thank you,” he managed to whisper.

The Princess nodded before focusing on her Kimoyo beads, checking for the latest updates. Then, with a small sigh and a smile still on her face, she looked back up. “Captain Rogers will be here in five minutes. You know where to go.”

Then she stepped out of the room, the Dora Milaje closely following her, and left Bucky to stand alone in silence. His eyes were still fixed on the locket, and while the room had gone quiet, his mind was loud with the memories of you, his guardian angel. You’d always protected him, even when he believed he didn’t deserve mercy. Despite the consequences, you always stopped death from reaching him, no matter how painful it would be for you and him.

So…maybe…you could protect him again.

With a slow breath, Bucky clasped the chain around his neck and tucked the locket beneath his undershirt. He then reached for the buckles of his jacket, fastening each of them as the upcoming battle began to weigh him down. He looked in the mirror, smoothing down his outfit before pausing. With another breath, he placed his hand firmly over his chest, right where the locket rested, and his palm stayed there a moment longer than necessary.

Then, finally, he stepped out of the room.

The battle was gruesome and unrelenting—the worst war he’d ever been a part of, and he’d been a part of too many. Blood soaked his hands while dirt clung to his clothes, and pain seared into his body as he began to lose his breath. But, despite the fight trying to pull him to the ground, he fought on with everything he had, desperately trying to win alongside his allies.

But every time death brushed past him, his eyes would search for you. If you had appeared, he didn’t know what he’d ever do—would he have let you save him, or would he have tried to save you?

But in the end, it didn’t matter, because they had lost.

They lost, and Bucky suddenly felt his body go numb. He barely took a step forward as he whispered to Steve, the last person he saw, while you were the last person on his mind. And as he fell, leaving behind only specks of dust, he believed that you had finally failed to save him.

But then, he opened his eyes, finding his allies in the same place, now overgrown with wild foliage, and feeling strangely well-rested, like he had been sleeping for years. Before he was back on his feet, no longer numb, a sorcerer suddenly appeared, telling them all that they’d been given a second chance to win the war.

A second chance.

So, as Bucky waited for the portal to the next war to open, he placed his hand firmly on his chest, right where the locket had stayed, and he knew he was wrong to believe otherwise.

Of course, you would save him again.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday but I slept for the entire day because I'm still recovering from graduate school lol sorry!

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @redtaytan @lilfuturescars

Thanks for reading :)

[seeingivy]

the alchemy

actor!eren x f!reader

**an extra for my method acting fic

--

“Do you think that Marco has a crush on Amal?” 

When you look over to your left, after finally being able to tear your overly introspective eyes away from where the kids are playing ten feet away in Lana and Sukuna’s drawing room, you find that Eren’s offering you a particularly skeptical glance.

You can tell that there’s a hint of irritation in his eyes – that the thought you’ve posed is so particularly preposterous to him that he can’t even believe that you’ve said it – as you deflate and give him a glare. 

But it’s a thought that’s occupied your mind since the time that you got here, almost six hours ago, when you noticed how they were behaving – how they’ve been behaving. The way that Marco would sit next to her, pay attention a little too attentively, and everything else in between. 

“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, Eren.” you murmur. 

“Well, don’t say crazy things, then.” Eren states. 

“How is that crazy?” you defend. 

“Well, for starters, they’re five years old. The only thing they care about is what they’re eating for dinner in a few hours. And when we’re going to put Bluey on.” 

You frown. 

“I’m not saying that Marco’s about to propose marriage. Or that he’s like…sincerely in love with her. But…I can just tell, Eren. He likes her more than everyone else. Favors hers whenever he gets an opportunity to. Because he likes her.”  you emphasize. 

“Connie sends Amal her over with gummy worms and chocolate for every playdate. If I were him, I’d like her more than everyone else too.” Eren responds, aggressively yanking the towel on the rack to emphasize his point, before he takes to drying the dishes that you’ve just washed. 

You sigh, as you turn your back towards the group of them, and lean your cheek against Eren’s bicep. He absentmindedly turns to his side to press a swift kiss to the top of your head, before he continues wiping the dishes down. And he takes a beat, almost for a full minute, before he sighs. 

“You really think that he likes her?” 

You smile. You knew that he was going to give in. 

“Yes.” you state. 

Eren shakes his head, almost like he’s giving some quiet consideration to the thought – that Marco really could like her, that it was a sincere possibility – before he turns to you. 

“I mean, you’re obviously not coming up with this out of nowhere. At least I hope you’re not. And it’s very clearly bothering you that I’m not entertaining this conversation, so go ahead and tell me the whole spiel that you prepared.” 

“Really?” 

“I never said that I was going to agree with you. I’m just saying that I know you’re not going to drop it and I want this whole thing to be over when they all leave later.” Eren responds. 

You give him a nod, choosing to ignore almost the entirety of his sentiment, as you move to his side and push up onto the counter. 

“First of all, he can have a crush.” you state. 

“Okay, I’m not negating the fact that he can have a crush. I just don’t think it’s anything you should be working yourself up over. Or that it even means anything.” Eren deadpans. 

You lightly smack him across the shoulder. 

“You’re insane. Our son having a crush on Connie’s daughter isn’t a big deal?” you whisper. 

In reality, it was the biggest deal. The biggest deal because it was something that you sincerely hoped for – a sweet childhood love, for your own kids. The fact that almost all of your kids' peers were the kids of friends of your own – Jean and Mikasa, Connie and Maryam – it was almost the perfect recipe to what you wanted. 

Good families. Real love. 

“It’s not a big deal when they don’t even know how to spell their own names. Or how to spell anything. And he doesn’t even like her.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“First of all, when they all got here today, he waited until Amal got here to start playing the board game. When I asked him why, he said that they wouldn’t stop the board game just for one person and he knew that she would feel left out, so he waited so that it would be two people who weren’t playing and they would have to stop.” 

Eren gives you a fake smile. 

“So he’s an empath. And Maya and Olivia could learn to be a little more inclusive. You should be proud I raised a kid that’s so considerate.” 

“Oh, you raised him all on your own?” you deadpan.

“I mean…” he jokes. 

You smack him with the spare towel. 

“Shut up. Maya’s…inconsiderateness comes from you.” 

“That’s not a word. And I’m just saying, Marco’s just being nice. Like he always is.” 

“Well, he didn’t do that for anyone else. I’ve actually never seen him turn down a game of Candy Land for anything.” 

Eren rolls his eyes. 

“Be serious. Do you remember the meltdown he had when you accidentally cleaned the game he had set up last week?” you add. 

“Yes, but…” 

“And he always asks. He even asked when we walked over here if Amal was going to be coming, because he wanted to play with her.” 

Eren shakes his head. 

“That’s so inconsequential. You can’t be serious.” 

“Why are you so against the idea?” you state. 

Eren sets the plate down before turning to face you and lifting his freezing cold hands to cup your face. His eyes look particularly bright, even in the dim light, and it nearly makes you forget what he’s saying for a split second. 

“Look, it would be really cute. You know, Connie’s daughter, our son. But that’s just the thing. It’s too cute. The thought of the two of them together is too good – especially given how excited that it would make you and Connie – and I don’t want you getting your hopes up. Or Connie for that matter. Especially before they learn their numbers. And how to spell their own names. And what colors are.” 

You sigh. 

“I know. I just am excited. And I just thought it was really sweet, all the stuff that he was doing. You know the gummy worms that she brought? Like the two sided, colored ones? She said that she liked the blue and red ones so he took them all out of his pack and left them for her.” you murmur. 

“And?” 

“And almost all of the ones that he had were blue and red. It was sweet. You know, to give that up when it was his favorite candy and pretend like it wasn’t just so he could have it.” 

Eren smiles, maybe for the first time in the entire conversation. You can’t help but lean back and give him a confused look, one that he clocks almost too quickly – with widened eyes – before he immediately lets go and returns back to wiping the dishes around. 

“What was that?” you ask. 

“What was what?” 

“That. That thing you just did.” 

“I didn’t do anything, sweetheart. Drop it.” Eren responds. 

“You definitely did. You like…smiled. Like you know something. Did Marco say something to you?” 

Eren scoffs. 

“As if that mama’s boy would share something with me that he didn’t tell you.” Eren deadpans. 

The two of you drop the conversation as Teddy strolls into the room from his baseball practice with Grace at his side, the former hanging his baseball bag against the hook, as he gives you a slight wave. Grace is more expressive than Teddy, coming up to at least give you the smallest half hearted hug, before she runs off and joins Olivia, who has been patiently waiting for her arrival, in the main room. 

“How was practice?” you ask. 

“Good. Just sore.” Teddy responds, as he scoots to your side to wash his hands. 

“Did you talk to Sukuna and Lana?” Eren asks. 

Teddy shakes his head, earning him an annoyed look from Eren. 

“I told you to call. You know they do miss you when they go on trips like this?” Eren retorts. 

“Yes, yes, I know, I know.” 

“Leave him alone, Eren. He’ll call when he goes upstairs, right?” you ask. 

Teddy gives you a nod, before making his way over to the fridge. You turn and give Eren a glare, one that he dismisses entirely. He had a penchant for getting on Teddy’s back whenever Lana and Sukuna left for a trip, something that annoyed Teddy more than anything else. 

“What are you guys arguing about?” Teddy asks, as you note the faint streaks of the black paint from his practice melting down his face. 

You reach for one of the clean towels when he retreats back to your side with a sandwich in his hands, before reaching for his cheek and wiping the lines off. You can tell that he’s annoyed by his first attempt since he tries to move away, before giving up entirely and letting you wipe the marks off. 

“We aren’t arguing about anything.” Eren states. 

“We aren’t. He’s just being weird and not telling me something.” you respond. 

“What do you mean?” Teddy asks. 

“I don’t know. We were talking about something and he quite literally froze up, let go of me, and then went back to cleaning off the dishes.” 

Teddy gives you a weird look as you let go of his cheeks, before he pushes up on the counter, and dangles his legs off the end. 

“Hm. What were you guys talking about?” 

“Don’t tell him. You’re going to spread a rumor.” Eren responds. 

“Oh, shut up. He’s not a gossip.” you respond. 

“He isn’t. But his parents are.” 

“His parents are in Switzerland for the next week. I’m sure he’ll forget by tomorrow.” you defend. 

“Yeah, what’s your deal, Eren? Just tell me.” Teddy retorts. 

Eren rolls his eyes, before you turn to Teddy. 

“I think that Marco has a crush on Amal.”

Teddy narrows his eyes at you. 

“That’s it? I could have told you that last week. And my parents said that a month ago, Eren.” 

“What?” Eren asks. 

“They did?” you add. 

Teddy gives you a halfhearted nod, as he reaches for an apple from the basket, and takes a particularly loud bite. 

“Mhm. Do you remember that three legged race thing at Gracie’s sixth birthday? He suddenly didn’t want to play anymore when Amal wanted to partner with James.” 

“Oh my god, do you think she likes James?” you respond. 

“They’re five. And who would like Jean’s kid over Marco? He’s a menace.” Eren deadpans. 

“James is four, Eren. He’s just as cute as Jean, don’t let your guard down.” you retort. 

“Let my guard up for what? You’re acting like we’re playing a football game.....and since when did you think Jean was cute?” 

“Eren. Objectively, he is very good looking. You can’t be serious.” 

“Leaving that aside, they’re five years old.” Eren repeats. 

Teddy rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, you can’t really play an age card, Eren. You’ve been in love with your wife since you were a pre-teen.” 

“Pre-teen is different from toddler.” Eren defends. 

Teddy rolls his eyes. 

“No one is saying he’s going to propose marriage. It’s just a crush. They’re little kids.” Teddy adds. 

“Thank you! This is what I’ve been saying the entire time. Then he just had to start being weird when I brought up the candy thing. Have you noticed that he always gives her his favorite candy and just pretends like he doesn’t like it so he can’t have it?” 

Teddy snorts. 

“Oh, yeah. He may look like Y/N, but that’s your son, alright.” Teddy responds. 

You lean back. 

“What do you mean by that?” you ask. 

“Teddy.” Eren warns. 

“You know. The frosting and cake thing.” Teddy responds. 

“What frosting and cake thing?” you retort, pressing him on. 

It seems that Teddy seems to read the situation too quickly – mainly from the fact that you’re pressing him on and that Eren’s trying to make his best effort to prevent him from doing that – and gives in. 

“You know Eren doesn’t actually like the cake part of cakes? He likes the frosting. He even used to eat it like raw from the can, of those like synthetic ones that you can find at the store.” Teddy responds. 

You scoff. 

“No, he doesn’t. He likes the cake part. That’s why we always share and he eats the cake and I eat the frosting. So we don’t waste it.” 

Teddy smiles. 

“No, he really doesn’t. Ask my mom. He used to eat like an insane amount when he used to live with us, you know, back then.” 

You turn to Eren, whose cheeks are slightly dusted pink. Guilty – like you’ve caught him in the act. 

“And what? You just lie and pretend like you like the cake?” 

Eren shrugs. 

“What do you mean? You’ve been eating it this entire time and just pretending?” you repeat.

“Yeah.” 

“Who does that? I mean, what’s the point?” 

Teddy pushes off the counter, switching the hand the apple is in, to sling his arm around your shoulder. He looks right at you, an almost mischievous grin on his face, as he leans closer. 

“He does it to make you happy. Obviously.” 

You slump your shoulders down. 

“Eren, there’s enough cake to go around.” 

“I like sharing!” he defends. 

“We can share other things. You don’t have to eat cake when you don’t like it.” you defend. 

Teddy shakes his head at your side. 

“You know, being your partner in life is basically his entire shtick. And apparently, it also applies to your choice of dessert. You should be happy you’ve found someone so devoted to your joy, Y/N.” 

You narrow your eyes at Eren, who gives you an incredulous shrug. Teddy gives the two of you one last grin, and a swift kiss to your cheek, before he takes his backpack that he left at the door and treks up the stairs. 

“You know, he’s been giving a lot of attitude lately.” 

“He’s a teenager. That’s his whole shtick lately.” you defend. 

Eren rolls his eyes. 

“Are you really upset about this cake thing?” 

You deflate, before looping your arms around his neck, and looking up at him. You can tell that the motion makes him smile – brightly enough that you can see his dimples – and narrow your eyes at him. 

“You really don’t like cake?” 

“I hate it. Almost every single thing that you’ve ever said about cake is something that I agreed with.” 

“Then don’t eat it!” 

Eren shakes his head. 

“Well, I’m used to it now. And we’re not going to back out of sharing cake – which is our shtick – because we’ve been doing it for so long.” 

“That is not our shtick.” 

“So giving up your preferences for someone else is only cute when Marco does it?” Eren asks. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Obviously it’s cute when you do it. You’ve been doing it since…since we were filming and I never even noticed.” 

“That’s kind of the point, sweetheart.” 

You shake your head. 

“Well, I have tons of secret romantic gestures that I do all the time too.” you defend. 

Eren laughs. 

“Are you trying to one up me?” 

“No! I actually do have secret romantic gestures that I do.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do! How would you know?” 

Eren shakes his head. 

“Trust me, I know.” 

“They’re secret. That’s the whole point – that you have no idea that they’re even happening.” 

Eren reaches up, attentively tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear, before giving your ear a quick pinch. 

“Trust me. There isn’t anything that you can’t keep a secret from me, and I love that about you.” 

You cross your hands over your chest. 

“Yeah. You should be more like me. Keeping secrets is really bad taste. Keeping secrets from your life partner is really bad taste.” you retort, emphasizing every last word. 

Eren gives you a full bodied laugh. 

“Okay, life partner. I can make no promises, but I’ll try.” 

--

ten years later - homecoming night 

The second you unlock the door to the house, Marco all but rustles past Eren on the porch through the door, and bounds up the stairs as quickly as he can.

The resounding sound of his bedroom door slamming shut is heard before you can even turn all the lights to the house or hang the keys back onto their hook, and it sends an unnerving feeling down your spine. 

“I thought he was just being quiet.” you murmur. 

Eren frowns. 

“Me too, sweetheart. Thought he was just tired from all the dancing that he did.” he whispers back. 

The two of you seem to have the same thought, almost instantaneously, as you look over to your left where Maya’s standing, notably and uncharacteristically quiet as she hangs her coat up on the rack.

It seems that she’s picked up on the thought that the two of you have had – that interrogating her is the best way to go – so she opts for an awkward salute and darts away to the kitchen. 

You and Eren spare each other a look, mentally noting that something definitely happened to Marco at the dance and agreeing that she’s keeping whatever it is to herself, before following after her into the kitchen.

She’s fast with it – already yanking the loaf of bread out of the case and reaching for the jar of Nutella – as you take her side and Eren walks away to get her a plate. 

“Hi Miss Maya.” 

“Hi Mom.” she responds, dragging out the syllables. 

“How was the dance?” you ask. 

Maya shrugs. 

“Good. The DJ was kind of bad. Someone spiked the punch. The dance was in an aquarium if you can believe it, so we spent most of the time walking around and looking at everything.” 

Eren brings a plate from the cabinet and sets it down in front of Maya, before quickly wrestling the jar from her and tasking himself with making the sandwich, before gesturing for you to attempt to ask again behind her back.

Eren’s always particularly cautious when it comes to these things – approaching the kids about personal matters because he was always so unsure of what to say. 

“Is there any way we can like…do something to preserve it?” she asks. 

“The corsage?” you ask. 

“Yeah. I just wanted to see if I could keep it. Since it’s the first one I’ve ever gotten and everything.” 

You smile. 

“I can do that. Like a pressed flower thing with the petals if that’s okay? And we can put the ribbon on the wrist in a little glass case with the flowers.” you ask. 

Maya gives you a nod, one that you return, as you set the corsage aside on the table. 

“So. Who gave you that? Must be someone special if you want to keep it.” Eren asks. 

Maya glares at Eren.

“My friends and I all got matching ones. And I just wanted to keep it because it was like…my first dance ever, you know? And I know that it’s special to get to go to one.” Maya states. 

“I’m just teasing, sweet pea. No need to get all upset over it.” Eren states. 

You note that her cheeks glow pink at being caught exaggerating over a simple comment, as you shoot Eren a look to leave her alone, before taking the corsage from her and setting it to the side. 

Eren takes a beat. 

“But why’s it so special, Maya?” 

He clearly didn’t take the hint. She takes a bite of the sandwich before she gives the two of you a halfhearted shrug. 

“I don’t know. You guys never got to go to a school dance together. Or school for that matter.” 

“We went to school, Maya.” Eren deadpans. 

“She means real school. You know, with school dances and prom and homecoming games and stuff. You’re right. It is very special. That was one of the things that I felt like I missed out on the most when I moved back home and had a break from acting, that I didn’t get to do normal things like other people because I picked something else.” you respond. 

You sigh, before pushing the thought away all together.

And abandon all attempts to beat around the bush, only because the thought of Marco sitting alone in his room upset, seems to make your stomach more uncomfortable and unnerved as time goes on.

That and the fact that Eren and Maya could easily argue about the dance for another hour. 

“You seemed like you had fun though, which is good to hear. We can’t really say the same about someone else, can we?” 

Maya frowns. 

“Please don’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it when it’s his thing to tell and…” 

“So something did happen?” Eren asks. 

Maya groans. 

“Dad.” 

“We should know! Just so we can help him out.” Eren responds. 

Maya shakes her head. 

“That’s like sibling code. He said that he didn’t want to talk about it so I don’t want you guys to go up there and start giving him a lecture about how things will work out and love exceeds all boundaries and stuff and that everything is forgivable with time and all that.” 

You and Eren spare each other a wide eyed glance. Only because there’s so much in the statement to unpack that you can’t even pick what it is that you want to respond to first. 

“Just because it was true for us?” you repeat. 

“Forgiveable with time?” Eren defends. 

Maya gives the two of you an exasperated look – like the premise she’s provided the two of you is completely reasonable. 

“We don’t lecture, Maya.” Eren adds. 

“You do. And…and I’m sure Marco gets it and he knows that things can work out, but sometimes they don’t. Especially when the person you like doesn’t like you back and you say some things that aren’t so nice…so just…leave him alone. It’s not something that you guys can understand.” 

You frown. 

“He likes someone?” 

“It’s definitely something that we can understand, Maya.” Eren defends. 

Maya deflates. You elbow Eren in the side – trying to signal that this is not the time for him to be having this conversation or getting offended – before turning back to Maya. You spare her one glance, and just as you expected, she immediately folds and divulges what the two of you have asked of her. 

“It’s Amal. Don’t talk to Uncle Connie about this because we all kind of agreed that the last thing we want you all to do is start fighting with each other.” 

You feel an uncomfortable pit in your stomach. 

“Would anything warrant us fighting with each other?” you ask. 

Maya sighs. 

“Look. Amal said some things to Marco and he said some things back after the fact. She went to the dance with her boyfriend tonight, which…which is why Marco’s upset. He knew that she had one but he didn’t really think that it was that serious, but they seemed like they really liked each other and they were together all night so it obviously made him upset.” 

You can’t help but feel your heart drop in your chest, as you give Maya a quiet nod, and Eren’s particularly silent at your side.

You can barely even process what it was that she said – the fact that your sneaking suspicion that he liked her was correct, that your other suspicion that she liked him back was almost completely wrong – and the single thing that you wanted to protect Marco from was the one thing that happened to him. 

Eren glares. 

“And?” 

“And what?” Maya repeats. 

“What did they say that was so bad?” 

Maya sighs. 

“Don’t say anything. Please.” Maya states. 

“We won’t, Maya.” Eren responds. 

“Amal’s boyfriend basically told Amal beforehand that he’s not really comfortable with how close they are with each other, especially since she told him that she kind of used to like Marco when they were in middle school.” 

“I knew it!” you whisper. 

“That’s not exactly helpful. Keep going.” Eren responds. 

“He asked her to keep her distance. She told him and they just got into a disagreement. Marco was confused why it was such a problem and she…she got so frustrated that she mentioned it was because she used to like him.” Maya offers. 

Maya pauses. 

“He was upset. Reasonably so. Amal told him that if he was ever serious enough to make a move, it wouldn’t be a problem. That he can’t be upset when everything that was happening was because he was to chicken to ever be serious about anything. Then he responded and told her that it wasn’t fair that she expected that of him – that she never even really cared him in the first place if she was able to throw their entire friendship away for something so stupid. That she was just as afraid of him to let anything happen for real.” 

“Oh.” 

“How heated was it?” Eren asks. 

“Pretty bad. I’m pretty sure that they’re not going to talk for a while. And she’ll probably distance from me too. But don’t let it affect you and Uncle Connie. That’s why we weren’t even planning on mentioning it.” 

Eren frowns. 

“You don’t have to sit here managing our feelings. We’re adults. And sure, it might feel like you’ve put us in an awkward position, but you’re all your own people. Don’t ever feel like you can’t come to us for anything.” 

Maya sighs, a breath of relief. 

“You know, you don’t have to stop talking to Amal if you don’t want to. She’s your friend too.” you offer. 

Maya shakes her head. 

“It feels wrong. I just want to be there for Marco, not make anything too awkward for him.” she responds. 

Eren walks up to Maya’s side, before sticking his hands firm on her shoulders, and visibly squeezing hard. 

“It might be hard, but you know he’ll appreciate it later on. That you’re here for him.” 

“It’s not hard at all actually. We’ve been together since the start. Kind of hard to imagine it any other way.” she murmurs. 

Maya gives the two of you a quiet nod, before pressing a kiss to both of your cheeks, and retreating to her own room with the half finished sandwich in your hand. You and Eren turn towards each other, and you can’t help but bury your head into his neck, as you roll over the thoughts in your head. 

That Marco liked Amal. That maybe he never even stopped liking her in the first place – from your first inklings of his interest as a kid – and now she was with someone else. That in some shape or form – his heart was crushed right now. That he could possibly be sitting there biting the words that he said. 

“Is it bad that I want to cry right now? And it didn’t even happen to me?” you murmur. 

Eren shakes his head. 

“Is it bad that I want to assault Amal’s boyfriend?” 

“Yes. He’s fifteen.” 

“Hey. I defended your thing.” 

“Well, I didn’t say that I wanted to assault a child, Eren.” you murmur. 

The two of you quietly laugh, before the heaviness settles back into the air, that it feels particularly thick and you can’t even stomach it, before you pull back to look at him. 

“Don’t worry. This is my territory.” Eren offers. 

“What do you mean?”

“Saying something you don’t mean. When you want to say something else entirely? It has me written all over it.” 

The feeling is so foreign – so foreign that it feels like you can’t even access that part of you anymore – the one that had pain that was associated with Eren at one point. He was so cemented into your life, quite literally in the center of it at this point, that it felt impossible to access that part of your brain, the one that remembered exactly what this feeling felt like. 

“Maya thinks we lecture about love? What exactly did she say again?” he whispers. 

“She said we give lectures about how things always work out and love exceeds all boundaries and stuff just because it was true for us.” you repeat. 

Eren narrows his eyes. 

“That’s so ridiculous.” 

“Imagine saying that to us when we were separated. Or filming together and too uncomfortable to talk to each other. It is true, but it definitely didn’t always feel that way. And I remember, it was particularly annoying when everyone was trying to convince me of the fact when that felt like that was the last thing to be true.” 

You sigh. 

“Maybe we should just go sit there with him. So he knows that he’s not alone.” 

You smile. 

“Yeah. No lecture.” 

The two of you quietly tiptoe back upstairs, offering a quiet knock against his door, before you peek in. Marco has all of his lights shut off, except for the lamp that’s on his bedside table, and his coat is discarded against his bed. 

He clearly didn’t attempt to change into more comfortable clothes, still clad in his button up shirt, as Eren reaches for the coat and puts it in a hanger, and you move around to the side that Marco’s facing.

You note that there’s fresh tear streaks on his cheek, falling horizontally from the way he’s lying down, as you reach forward to wipe the wetness away from his face. 

“Hi Marco. You mind if we join you?” you whisper. 

“I’m not talking about it.” Marco clarifies. 

“That’s fine. We were just going to lie down next to you. That’s all.” 

Marco flits his eyes between the two of you, Eren now standing at your side with his hand on your shoulder, as he gives the two of you a begrudging nod. The two of you give each other a halfhearted smile as he scoots over – Eren taking the left and you taking the right. 

It’s uncomfortable for the three of you to squish together on his bed, especially with how tall Marco’s getting, but you scoot in and intertwine your hand with his. You note that Eren’s pushing the hair away from his face, that he’s attentively focused on fixing it the same way that he does to you, and you absentmindedly squeeze Marco’s hand three times as you eye all of his baseball trophies and medals on the wall. 

Marco eventually returns the gesture and squeezes your hand back – one that luckily he knows the exact meaning of – and it makes your heart clench.

And it takes Marco twenty minutes, twenty minutes before he even divulges anything, and it nearly jolts you when he speaks again.

“I think I love Amal.” 

You pinch your lips together. 

“I know.” you respond. 

“She doesn’t love me back. Or she…she did and doesn’t anymore? I don’t know. She just doesn’t like me anymore.” Marco adds. 

Eren sighs. 

“We know.” 

Marco’s quiet. The two of you are quiet too, only because you don’t know what to say – can’t muster up the right string of words that could even provide the simplest solace. 

“Do you guys know how I realized that I liked her?” Marco whispers. 

The two of you shake your heads. 

“Sometimes, I’d walk into the room. You know, at Uncle Connie’s house, or at Teddy’s engagement party and…and I just found myself looking for her. I’d always walk into the room and look around, like…like frantically trying to find where it was that she was. Wasn’t really comfortable until I knew where she was for sure. It was the only place that I wanted to be. She’d ask me to get a drink or have to get up and leave to say hi to someone and I would just feel it, like in my gut, always aware of where she was and waiting for her to come back. Sometimes it felt like she was the only one there or she…” 

“She was all of the love in the room.” Eren adds. 

You can feel your heart drop in your stomach. 

“Just like you’ve always said. I get it now.” Marco finishes.  

You lean your head against his shoulder. 

“I’m very sorry, Marco. There’s no…nothing we can say to make it better and trust me, that…that kills us that we can’t fix this for you. Especially when we know how bad it hurts.” you murmur. 

Marco gives you one teary eyed laugh. It’s enough to make Eren smile, from what you can see in the dim light, as he returns to raking his fingers through Marco’s hair. 

“You’re funny.”

“What’s funny about that?” you deadpan. 

Marco shakes her head. 

“You don’t have to try to fix this. If anything, I’m sorry if I make things awkward for you and Uncle Connie. But this was going to happen to me at some point.” Marco responds. 

“Don’t worry about Connie.” Eren responds. 

“Yeah, I know, I just mean…” 

“No, really. Don’t worry about him. We’re all going to be just fine.” Eren adds. 

“Plus. What do you mean you knew that would happen to you?” you ask.

Marco shrugs. 

“Heartbreak. It was always going to happen to me. I mean, you guys haven’t really dated people other than each other, not technically anyways, and you guys still had your fair share of it, so…don’t know why I’d be spared from it.” Marco adds. 

You don’t get it. 

“I guess.” 

“I mean what I’m trying to say is that it’s…it’s okay that she doesn’t love me back. It was a long shot anyways.” 

Eren frowns. 

“Who said it was a long shot?” 

Marco shrugs. 

“It just feels that way. I’ve never even liked anyone else or even dated someone or held their hand. The premise of someone even liking me back feels like a long shot…that you can like someone, that they actually like you back, that it would actually work out. I feel like there’s so many factors, so many things that have to go right, for it to even work out in the first place and start dating. Then when you start dating, there’s other things that can go wrong – like someone moves away for college, you start liking someone else, producers think that you two shouldn’t be together for your careers.” 

You and Eren narrow your eyes at him and note the smallest whisper of a smile on his face. 

“You know. That stuff. But I just have to figure out what I’m going to do next, I guess. Especially since, I said some shit things to her.” 

Eren hums in response. 

“I’ve said worse.” 

Marco turns over to you. 

“Think she’ll ever forgive me?” 

You smile. 

“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s impossible. There was a time when forgiving Eren seemed impossible too.” 

Marco sighs. 

“Even when I told her that I never even loved her in the first place? That it was unfathomable that I ever even felt that way?” 

You pinch your lips into a line. 

“Oh, yeah. We kept going at it for a little bit when Maya walked away.” Marco adds. 

“Time will help. Growing up a little and getting…getting new perspective on it will help both of you too.” Eren asks. 

“Kind of have to talk to her at some point, right? We’re basically family.” 

“You won’t have to see her all the time. We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with..” Eren responds. 

“There’s other fish in the sea too, you know? You can meet people at other places. You know, when you go play college ball…and then get signed to the major league…and then become a hall of famer.” you joke. 

Marco shakes his head, smiling at how preposterous your comments are – at least to him. 

“You haven’t done anything yet, kid. So much to see and so many more people to meet. There’s still a lot to do.” Eren adds. 

“It’s pretty rare for most people to get it right on their first try.” you offer. 

Marco smiles. 

“You guys just get to be the lucky exception to that.” 

“As long as this doesn’t deter you from ever trying again. To be with someone, to love someone. Just promise us that you won’t ever shut it out if it’s with someone else.” Eren states. 

Marco smiles. 

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.” Marco repeats. 

The two of you smile. 

“It always seems to come back to him, when it comes to me. The other Marco, the one that told the two of you that.” 

You and Eren pause.

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know. I just feel like he always comes up, that I know so much about him, that I feel like I knew him. I obviously didn’t, but it just…he’s always brought up. By you guys, or Uncle Jean, and Connie that it’s just…I don’t know.” 

“Well, you never realize how important or impactful someone is until they leave. You don’t even realize how important certain moments are until they pass by and they’re gone.” you respond. 

Eren instinctively reaches for your free hand, across the way. You shoot him a halfhearted smile, and he squeezes your hand hard. 

“That’s not true.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“I mean, I know it’s true for you. Because you didn’t think that he was going to leave the way that he did. But I can realize the value of certain moments, as they happen you know. I know that in this moment in time that things can really only go up from here, now that this door is closed forever. And I’ll always remember that you guys were here with me, that I wasn’t alone.” Marco responds. 

You and Eren exchange a smile, before offering a breathless laugh. You reach over and flick him on the cheek – that earns you a laugh from Marco – before glaring at him. 

“What’s so funny, asshole? That was so sweet.” you state. 

Eren shrugs. 

“I just can’t believe this is our kid. If it were us, we’d be catastrophizing to the next level.” Eren states. 

“Writing depressing songs. Performing them in front of each other.” you add. 

Marco laughs. 

“That’s true. But you guys still do that, even when things aren’t even that serious. I mean the fact that you’re crawling into my bed with me right now is like…next level dramatic. That’s just how you guys are naturally.” 

Marco takes a beat. 

“And maybe it’s just proof that it won’t be like this forever. I think when it really came down to it, you both held out hope when it really mattered. Even if you didn’t say it out loud.” 

--

ten years later - midseason 

Marco’s able to make his way to the hospital on the sixth day. It’s when Connie’s mellowed out for the most part – certainly less weak from how the infection he had the week prior, the slightest bit more lively – and when the rest of you are able to breathe the smallest sigh of relief. 

He’s able to stomach cracking a few jokes, watch a few baseball games. And the rest of you rinse and repeat the same routine. Make trips back home. Get some sleep in between driving here and back. Before starting it all over again. 

And avoiding, desperately avoiding, thinking about the bombshell that the doctor dropped a few days ago. At least not until he was out of here for good. 

“How was your sleep?” Amal asks. 

Connie shrugs. 

“Worst I’ve ever had. But it’s okay.” 

Amal smiles, reaching forward to intertwine her hands in with his, and lean her head against the railing of the bed. 

“Did the Phillies win?” Connie asks. 

Amal shakes her head. 

“Did Marco start?” 

She shakes her head again. 

Connie turns over to where you and Eren are settled, a thin blanket spread over your legs and the seats so small that you’re both uncomfortably pressed against the wall. Eren’s slumped against you, making a horrible attempt to keep up with the book that you’re reading, as you elbow him in the side. 

“What’s going on? Why aren’t they playing him?” Connie asks. 

You shake your head. 

“He has to take breaks. With pitching and all.” you murmur. 

“He hasn’t pitched in a week. His arm is just fine.” Connie retorts. 

In his first year out of college, nearly three years ago, Marco signed with the Philadelphia Phillies as a free agent. He’s been with the team ever since, renewing his contract each season – and consequently, spending almost the entire year, from February to September, halfway across the country. 

And as a Los Angeles native, it took everything out of Connie to root for another team but he put it all aside as Marco’s biggest fan. Something he took serious pride in, as the first person in earnest to tell him to consider playing baseball for the major leagues in high school. 

Advice he gave him to deal with his fallout with Amal. Devoting himself entirely, to something that was just his.

Baseball.

“I think he’s just taking a break right now, Connie.” 

Connie nearly goes slack jawed. 

“Who takes breaks in the major leagues? Is he injured? Is he going to need another Tommy John surgery?” 

You shut the book, making the gesture abrupt so as to note your exasperation. With the way Connie acted, you’d be convinced he was the coach. 

“He’s okay, Connie. I promise.” Eren offers. 

“Plus, if it was something serious, he’d tell you. Right guys?” Amal offers. 

You and Eren give her an affirmative nod. She shoots the two of you an appreciative smile – since she was always particularly too stressed that Connie worked himself up too much and made himself more tired – before turning back to him. 

You eye your watch. 

“Eren and I are going to go down for some coffee. Want to come with, Amal?” 

“Sure. You’re fine here, Dad?” 

“Maryam’s here. Go ahead.” 

The three of you give Connie a halfhearted wave goodbye, before making your way down the hallway, nearly shuddering from the drafty, cold air outside the room. You’re all particularly silent as you make your way over the the elevator, Eren absentmindedly reaching for your hand to stay standing, and the three of you file into the elevator in a line. 

“Are you excited to surprise your dad?” you ask. 

Amal nearly jumps up at the question, eyes wide, before looking over at you. 

“Yes. Yeah, I…I can’t believe Marco would do something like that. My dad’s going to be so happy.” 

Over the course of the past year, Amal and Marco, albeit very slowly, reconnected. 

Connie, now reaching the end stages of his second successful transplant, was slowly deteriorating. Routine colds became serious infections and it was starting to feel like it did back then. 

Connie was in the hospital more often than he wasn’t. Walking too slow, too tired to talk. Exhausted everytime you saw him. 

And Marco – Marco who adored Connie as a mentor more than anything – couldn’t help but be distracted the more time he spent away. 

The only thing he could do was ask. Again and again – how Connie was doing, if he was able to stay up to watch his game, how he was feeling today, what changed in his treatment plan. And the only person who could coherently answer, who knew the answer as soon as it was relayed to everyone else, was Amal. 

He wasn’t satisfied with the answers you and Eren gave him. He felt better knowing that it was coming from someone who was by his side at all times. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Amal. Maybe not originally, but it definitely did now. Not that his love for Connie was displaced, but from the conversations you were able to overhear in passing, it sounded more like twelve year old Amal and Marco giggling, than Marco just being plain old concerned. 

And midseason, Marco decided to pivot entirely. Granted, you figured it was a mainly rash decision that came from the news that you received last week – that Connie wouldn’t be able to handle  another transplant – and was moving back home. 

Since he decided that he was going to sign on with another team to be able to spend more time here. It was a rash decision, one that Amal constantly talked about not understanding, and you weren’t exactly sure why it was bothering her so much. Why she was so pressed to know what his thought process was when he did it.  

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen him in person, right?” Eren asks. 

Amal nods. 

“I think Teddy’s anniversary party. Two years ago? He’s always really busy these days.” 

“I mean, the Phillies aren’t even in the same league as any of the teams out here. Has to be something special for him to come out here outside of his routine.” you offer. 

“I know he’s going to be really happy that he’s coming home. He misses you guys. Talks about you all the time.” 

Eren looks over at you, an almost devious look in your eyes. You shoot him a warning glare. 

“How would you know that?” Eren asks. 

Amal’s eyes go wide. 

“What?” 

Eren shrugs. 

“That he misses us?” 

You roll your eyes. Eren was reserved when you brought up the idea when they were five years old – that they could like each other. At twenty-five, it seems that you and Eren had seemed to switch positions entirely. And become an instigator apparently.

But you were just being conservative, that making anything awkward between the two of them would just make things worse at this point. You would also make it a point to argue that Eren was just being overly hopeful. 

“And here I thought he was just calling to check in about Connie.” Eren states. 

You elbow Eren in the side. Amal’s cheeks flush pink. 

“He does! No really, I swear, we spend most of our time talking about him. Other stuff just comes up sometimes. We’re just…catching up after a long time.” Amal offers. 

“Must feel like nothing’s changed, right?” Eren asks. 

Amal smiles. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it makes me kind of sad we fizzled out afte everything that happened, when it was inconsequential, but I guess there’s no point being upset about it now.” 

“Eren. Leave her alone, please.” you respond. 

Amal shoots you a smile. 

“Okay, fine. But just saying – don’t think it’s as inconsequential as you’re making it out to be.” Eren responds. 

The elevator whirs to a stop, the doors opening up, as the three of you make your way down the hall to the cafeteria, where Marco and Maya were waiting. You shoot Eren a glare at your side, one that he ignores, as you turn around the corner, and spot the two of them sitting by the window. 

You note that Amal tucks her hair behind her ears before walking up, as Eren reaches over and pokes Maya’s cheek to get her attention. She immediately swats him off, annoyed by the gesture, as you turn to give him a big grin. 

“Are you excited to be home, Marco?” you ask. 

Marco responds with a hug, one that’s painful at this point with the amount of time he spends working out, as you attempt to tap out of the hug on his shoulder. He immediately pulls back, shooting you an apologetic look, as you shake your head at him. 

Maya rolls her eyes, before turning over to Amal and giving her a quick hug. It’s at that moment that Marco seems to have realized that Amal’s come down with you and Eren, and gives her an almost ear splitting smile. 

“Is that you, Amo?” 

Amal very excited smile drops into a glare at him. 

“Don’t call me that.” she mumbles. 

“Call you what?” Marco asks, his tone almost sing-song. 

“Amo. We’re not two years old anymore. You’re old enough to pronounce my name.” 

Marco reaches forward, pinching the side of her cheek that she quickly swats off, before giving her a proper laugh. 

“But it’s just so much more fun that way.” Marco retorts. 

You and Eren shoot each other a look – mainly to confirm that the two of you are seeing the same thing – as you step back, looping your arms in with Maya’s. Amal takes the lead, Marco basically clininging to her side, as the three of you step in line behind back to the elevator. 

“So.” you start. 

“What’s the deal with that?” Eren murmurs, quiet enough that only the three of you are able to hear it.

Maya shakes her head and you swear there’s the smallest making of a smile on her face. 

“Don’t ask.” 

“So there is a deal with that? That we shouldn’t be asking about?” you whisper. 

Maya gives you an exasperated sigh. 

“I think they’re just catching up on lost time.” 

You shoot her one last look, before the five of you file down into the elevator this time around, as Marco teeters back and forth on the balls of his feet. A nervous habit – one he’s had since you were a kid. 

“You don’t have any reason to be nervous, Marco.” you state. 

“I’m not. I know I made the right choice.” Marco responds. 

“Why are you rocking back and forth then?” 

Marco shakes his head. 

“Just feels weird to be back. For good, you know?” 

“What do you mean for good?” Amal asks. 

“I signed a six year contract. I’m back home for good. At least for the time being.” Marco states. 

“Oh.” Amal murmurs. 

The elevator dings as it slowly stops and the five of you beeline down the hallway. You absentmindedly reach for Eren’s hand as you turn down the corner and enter the room again, noting that Jean and Mikasa arrived in the time that you spent downstairs. You shoot them a smile in recognition, before leaning against the wall. 

“I’m going to start needing a bigger room if you’re all planning on coming here so often.” Connie jokes. 

“You should start looking into options.” Marco states. 

Connie turns his head to the side, to note exactly who it was that says that, and immediately widens his eyes in shock. Mouth slightly parted and a frown on his face, before he looks around, almost like he’s checking if everyone else can see him too – to confirm, that yes, he really is here. 

Connie’s entirely distracted by the sight of Marco, mainly murmuring under his breath about how much he’s grown – something you entirely can’t believe on your own with the amount of training that he does – as he takes to feeling him up. 

“How’s your arm? You haven’t played in a while.” 

Marco pinches his lips into a smile. 

“Yeah, I’ve just been resting up.” Marco responds. 

“Resting for what?” Connie asks. 

Marco grins, so boyish that you see the four year old still in him. 

“My start as a Los Angeles Dodger.” 

Connie’s face drops into a frown. Connie looks around the room, mainly at the fact that the group of you can’t seem to contain your laughter at how shocked he is – for a second time – as he turns to you and Eren for confirmation. 

“Seriously.”  Eren confirms. 

You reach in your bag for the crumpled up jersey and throw it straight at him. 

“It’ll be official later today.” 

“I haven’t been playing for a few weeks since we were negotiating deals and all that.” Marco adds. 

“You’re switching to Los Angeles? Mid-season?” Connie asks. 

“Figured it was better to be close to home. I can see you more often and Maya when she’s around.” 

Marco takes a beat. 

“And someone has to deal with the crashout that Amo has almost ever week.” 

“Hey!” Amal responds, reaching forward to smack him. 

Connie looks down, before running hand hand over the letters on the jersey. 

“You did this for me?” he murmurs. 

Marco shrugs. 

“It’s no big deal.” 

Connie drops the jersey into his lap. 

“No big deal? You were doing amazing where you were, kid.” 

Marco shrugs. 

“And I’m sure I’ll do great here. Even better, since this is really where I want to be. No distractions, my family to support me. And best of all, I can be here for you. Almost as often as I can afford.” 

Connie frowns. 

“You did this for me?” 

“Sure did. Wouldn’t be anywhere without you guys.” 

Marco pauses and turns to Amal. 

“Every single one of you.” 

Needless to say, you and Eren spend at least two hours trying to deduce what that meant on the drive home. 

--

six months later 

You and Eren make your best attempt to ignore Marco and Amal shouting outside the door. It’s a task that proved to be particularly difficult – not only because they’re super loud, but also because it’s the first time they’ve argued in the six months since Marco’s return.

Of course it happens on the precipice of Connie having another surgery at the end of the week and, of course, right outside of Connie’s hospital room. 

From what you can see through the blinds, they’re both particularly angry, waving their hands around, pinching the bridges of their noses. Marco’s almost red in the face, Amal can barely barely keep eye contact with him, so much so, that it sneds a nervous wave through your stomach. 

“Should we intervene?” you murmur. 

Eren shakes his head. 

“They’re adults. They can handle this on their own.”

“Can they? It’s been twenty minutes of this.” 

“We can’t intervene.” Eren states, through clenched teeth.  

“Maybe they can handle this when he’s not in earshot? And about to wake up?” 

“I can hear them just fine.” Connie murmurs, eyes pinched shut as he stirs in his bed, his body visibly stiff as he moves in his bed. 

“Sorry, Con. Not sure what’s gotten into them.” you offer. 

“What are they arguing about?” Connie asks. 

Maryam shrugs. 

“None of us know. I could sense they’ve been off since the beginning of the week, since you got in here.” Maryam offers. 

“Does it seem serious?” Connie asks. 

You lean back. 

“Not sure. I mean, they haven’t argued since….since they stopped talking, all the way back then. At least to my knowledge.” you respond. 

It’s the first time the four of you address that – that Amal and Marco hadn’t talked for years, because they liked each other. It was an easy topic for the four of you to avoid, mainly in name of keeping the peace, but it always seemed to linger in the air.

Since they spent what felt like the entirety the last ten years refusing to be present, when the other was in attendance. 

Connie deflates, as he gestures for you to get them. You walk over and knock on the window loudly – enough to stop the two of them from arguing and look over – as you gesture for them to walk in.

They shoot each other one last warning glare, before joining you inside, the two of then notably quiet as they lean against the counter pushed against the wall. 

You walk over to the side of the bed and place a hand on Connie’s shoulder, noting that his skin is ice cold when you touch him. 

“How are you feeling though, Connie?” you ask. 

He shoots you a weak smile. 

“I would feel better if I got some more sleep.” Connie murmurs, shooting a warning glance to where Marco and Amal are standing. 

You watch as they both look down at the ground – Marco focusing on his untied laces and Amal nervously fidgeting with their hands – as they refuse to acknowledge what he’s said. 

“Amal. Come here.” Connie murmurs. 

You move out of the way, pushing the empty seat closer to the bed so that she can sit comfortably, as you take the spot that Amal was just occupying, and loop your arm in with Marco’s. 

“What’s your deal, kid?” you murmur. 

Marco shakes his head. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing, Marco.” 

You watch as Amal reaches over, intertwining her own fingers with Connie’s, as she reaches forward and squeezes his shoulder. 

“What are you guys fighting about?” Connie asks. 

“Nothing, Dad.” 

Connie shoots her a glare. 

“I just…I don’t appreciate you guys arguing like that.” 

“Trust me. We don’t have much fun doing it either.” Amal repsponds, sarcastically. 

Marco nearly breaks out into a smile. You note that he makes his best effort not to. 

Connie shakes his head. 

“I just…” 

Connie looks down, as he fidgets with the bracelet that’s hanging from her wrist. 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t alienate or fight with the people around you. I understand that all of this can be stressful, but you’re going to need these people. Especially him, when he’s been here the entire time.” 

“I know. I know, I just…” 

Connie shakes his head. 

“It makes this easier for me. Knowing that the two of you are fine, that he’s going to be here for you, because it means you won’t be alone when I’m gone.” 

Amal’s face immediately drops. And at your side, Marco seems to tense up. 

“Dad. What are you…”

“We all know I really only have a few weeks left. Realistically. And while I know won’t get to see you finish graduate school or get married or anything…I feel better knowing that you’re surrounded by good people who will take care of you. People who took care of me when I was younger. If I had listened to them, I probably could have had more time with you.” 

You watch as Eren drops his gaze, focused on fidgeting with the bracelet clad around your wrist. 

“Don’t talk like that.” 

“You know it kills me that I won’t ever get to meet the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. At least let me have the solace that I know you’ll be in good company. That people will take care of you.”  

“You can’t be serious. Don’t talk like that.” she repeats.

Connie sighs. 

“It’s time for us to be serious.” 

Amal deflates before she looks back, teary eyed at Marco, who exasperatedly lifts his hands in the air. She closes her eyes, almost in silent recognition, before turning back towards Connie. 

“Dad.” 

Amal sighs. Marco straightens up at your side and pushes off the wall. He places his hand on Amal’s shoulder and squeezes. 

“We’re having a very heated conversation. But that’s just because we’re both very passionate, especially when we’re talking about you. We…are just fine. I’m not going anywhere.”  

Connie shakes his head. 

“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s her. She has a tendency to alienate people when she shouldn’t. Let people walk away when they shoudn’t have.” Connie states. 

The comment is pointed. Pointed at enough at the one thing no one in the room ever seems to acknowledge. 

“Well, she can try as hard as she wants. I won’t be going anywhere, I swear.” Marco states. 

From where you’re standing, you watch as Marco looks down at Amal, eyes widened, as she vehemently shakes her head. You get a feeling that whatever he just said – whatever the two have been saying for the past few minutes – weren’t responses to Connie, and instead, a continuation of whatever they were doing outside. Just as heated as it was out there, as Connie turns to you and shoots you a confused glare. 

“Do you guys want to share your conversation with the rest of us?” Eren asks. 

“I think that would be very appreciated, wouldn’t it?” Maryam adds. 

Amal shoots Marco one last warning glare, before he takes a deep breath in. 

“Amal and I have been together since the end of last year. Almost eleven months. And she hasn’t wanted to tell any of you…because she’s scared that it’s going to make it real.” 

“What?” you ask. 

“I’m not scared it’s going to make it real. I just don’t want to divert attention away from my dad.” 

“You wouldn’t divert attention away from your dad. If you were listening, you would understand that it would probably make him really happy. And it would probably do you some good to not be living in a lie.” 

Amal shakes her head, almost exasperated. 

“I know it would make him happy. It would make all of them happy! But that’s just the point, we don’t even know where this is going, we can’t just back out of it when we don’t know! It’s not a lie – it’s an obstruction of truth to protect him. ” 

“What do you not know? How can you possibly not know?” Marco asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“How can you not know where this is going with me? Are you seriously still trying to sort your feelings out?” 

Amal pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“I don’t know where you’re going to be a year from now. That you won’t remember what happened years before and suddenly decide, you’re not about this. If this gets to hard for you.” 

“I’m about this! I’ve always been about this.” Marco defends. 

“Oh yeah? You could easily be spending what’s probably the highest point of your career outside this hospital celebrating. But you’re not. Because of me. You think that won’t catch up to you? You think you won’t resent me for it later? You’re not about this, because you don’t even understand where it’s going to go.” 

Marco shoots her one last glare, before reaching for his bag that’s lying across the counter, and reaches for a small velvet box that’s in the front pocket. He tosses the box over at her, his arms crossed over his chest, as he watches her open it up. You and Eren stand on your tiptoes to get a peek – a peek at a glittering diamond ring set in the box – as he raises his hands in the air. 

“I’ve always been about this. For months. You’re the one chickening out. You’re the one who doesn’t understand me.” Marco responds, before he pushes off the counter, and turns on his heel to exit from the door. 

You watch as Amal catches the box, entirely unphased by the fact that he’s stormed out o fht eroom, because she’s too busy staring down at the box, in what you’re assuming is disbelief. You and Eren shoot each other a look - your heads nearly spinning - before turning back to the group of them. 

“We’ll go after him. I think everyone here should just take a breather.” 

You and Eren – with Maya dragging behind on her heels – basically jog down the hall to catch up to Marco, who exits straight onto the patio of the hospital ward, and leans against the railing. The view below isn’t exactly pretty, a jammed street with loud honks, and the sun so bright that you’re all squinting your eyes. 

The three of you follow his lead, resting your limbs against the railing and resting your chins on top of your hands as you look down, at the people bustling by on the sidewalk. It’s quiet for some time – as you assume the rest of them are wrestling with the same thoughts that you are – except for Marco of course, who breaks the silence. 

“I wanted to tell you.” Marco offers. 

Eren sighs. 

“We can figure that much out, kid.” Eren responds. 

“She just didn’t want to mention it. It never seemed like a good time because we hadn’t seen each other in person for so long and then Uncle Connie was in surgery or it was an away week for me and I just…a lot of time kept passing by and before I knew it, it had been so long.” 

You smile. 

“We’re not upset with you.”  you add.  

“I know. That somehow makes it worse.” 

You turn over to Maya at your side, reaching to fix the flyaway hairs decorating her face behind her ears. 

“Did you know Maya?” you ask. 

She smiles. 

“I figured it out after the first month. Not much he can keep from me.” she murmurs softly. 

Marco presses his lips to the back of his hand. When he talks again, his voice comes out muffled. 

“What do you think I should do, Mom?” 

“You’re asking me?” 

Marco shrugs. 

“Seems like you were always the one who had to take a leap of faith. What do you think I should do?”

You smile. 

“Sleep on it.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. 

“Really? No, you should go for it, if that’s what you really want.” Marco murmurs. 

You all laugh, before you and Eren seem to have the same thought, and lean your heads against his shoulders. 

“If you wanted that advice, you should have asked, Eren.” 

“What do mean?” 

“He was the go-getter. Evne quietly, still doing something that took serious guts. But if you’re sincerely asking me, as someone who has doubts almost all the wya to the end, until it’s spelled out to me in simple letters, you should sleep on it. You don’t know how you’ll feel tomorrow in the morning. 

Eren smiles. 

“She’s right. Thinking about it too fast is never the best decision. I’ve just lucked out and somehow made the right ones, but you should sleep on it. We can all say bye and head home for today.” 

“If you think that’s what best.” 

You look down at the street, where the painter on the corner is painting what you can only assume is an ocean – a vast sea of blue all over the canvas. 

“The only thing I'm shocked about is that you...you were able to buy a ring without even consulting us?" Eren asks.

Marco shrugs.

"I mean, it's kind of like Auntie Lana said. When you know, you know?"

You can tell that Eren's fighting the urge to smile - that the thing, that warmth that's simmering in your chest from the sentiment - must be present in his heart too.

"You're really good at that, you know?" Eren states.

"Good at what."

"Sweet talking your way out of an awkward conversation."

--

The following morning, you can’t help but note how much Marco is fidgeting in the elevator – messing with his cap, cracking his knuckles, teetering back and forth – as you make your way down the hospital ward, back towards Connie’s room. 

None of you had talked since last night. Mostly because Connie barely slept through the night, riddled with stomach pain, and Marco and Amal didn’t get a spare second. Or didn’t spare a second to discuss what had happened. 

“Nervous?” you ask. 

Marco shakes hs head. 

“No. Just hope he’s okay, it didn’t sound great.” 

As you turn around the corner and walk into the room, the four of you abruptly stop in the doorway, taken aback by how particularly crowded it is in the room. Faces you haven’t seen in a while – Levi, Sasha, Lana and Sukuna and Mikasa – and little streamers hanging from the ceiling. The four of you give each other a confused look as you turn over to where Connie’s sitting in the bed, brightly smiling at the four of you. 

“Good morning.” Connie states. 

You set your bag down on the floor, as the four of you sideshuffle into what seems to be the only open spot in the room, and lean against the wall. 

“Morning, Con.” Eren murmurs, cleary barely even registering what’s happening – what he’s said – as he drops his hand and reaches for yours. 

“Did some decorating last night, did you?” you ask. 

“Big occasion today.” Connie states. 

“Is that right?” Maya asks. 

Connie gives her an affirmative nod. 

“So we’re obviously missing something then? If everyone’s down here, and seemingly more in the loop with these godawful streamers, than we are.” Eren asks. 

“Where’s Amal?” Maya asks. 

“Right. She would be down the hall, in the bathroom. You should go join her – Olivia and Gracie are there – and Maryam, who is probably no help with how emotional she can get.” 

“Emotional about what?” you ask. 

“Our daughter’s getting married, of course.” Connie states. 

That’s what gets Marco to break his vow of silence. 

“To who?” Marco asks. 

Jean’s the first one to cross the way, as he puts one arm all the way around his shoulder. 

“You, silly.” 

“What?” Marco asks. 

“Heard there was a ring. And that it was huge. We all want to see it.” Jean states. 

Marco looks like he's running a blank.

"Right. I...I don't exactly have it."

"Because you threw it at her? You threw something at your future wife?" Sukuna asks.

Marco gives him an awkward sheepish smile.

“I mean, we heard it wasn’t exactly a proposal, screaming at each other and all that. But given who your parents are, we would be shocked if there wasn’t an element of dramatics involved in all of this.” Levi offers. 

Eren rolls his eyes. And every sentence that everyone seems to say goes entirely over your head - because you can't possibly fathom what's going on. 

“I brought you a button up shirt. Best I could do on such short notice, when they told me to drive down here and procure a tux.” Levi mutters. 

Marco gives everyone a confused look. 

“Can…can I talk to Amal or something? What the hell is going on? I can’t exactly stomach this when…” 

“Take the shirt. Men’s bathroom is right next to where she is.” Levi states. 

You watch as Marco begrudgingly takes the shirt, before basically sprinting past the window towards where the bathroom is. Jean and Mikasa give you a quick swift hug, the latter wrapping her arm around you as she murmurs under her breath. 

“Trust me, we found out just minutes before you did.” Mikasa states. 

“I’m confused, is what I am.” 

Mikasa shrugs as Levi joins you at your side.  

“From what I understand, Marco and Amal had some argument yesterday? And he threw a ring at her? And then she was shocked, and she felt so horrible, that she arranged some wedding that Connie would be able to see by the end of the week.” Levi states. 

You sigh. 

“I see. I just think that…” 

There’s a warm hand that wraps around your waist. Eren’s sweet smell envelopes your nose as you feel him by your side

“Give me a second, Mikasa, Levi?” Eren asks. 

She gives you a squeeze on the shoulder, as Eren looks down at you, warm hands enveloping your cheeks. You narrow your eyes at him, particularly noting that he’s less shocked – not the slightest bit reserved. 

“You don’t seem very phased.” you murmur. 

“I’m not really sure what’s going on. Nothing to be phased about when I'm confused, sweetheart.” Eren responds back. 

“What’s going on is that my daughter is a coward. And probably too concerned that we're a burden to her, even more so to anyone else. And buying a ring months ago is a big gesture – a huge one that gives her heart consolation that your son really does loves her – and now realizes that she’s probably hurt him in ways she can’t imagine. For a second time.” Maryam states. 

“So…” Eren asks, gesturing for her to continue. 

Connie sighs. 

“If your son is bold enough to buy a ring after a few months of dating, my daughter is bold enough to marry him on the spot. That’s what happening. If he agrees to it, of course.” 

“Oh.” 

“And she wanted to do it right now, today. So that Connie could see it…if…if he doesn't make it to the end of the week.” 

"I see."

“I figure he'll come around. Big gestures seem to do that.” Eren offers. 

You shoot him a glare. 

“Hilarious. You’re just going to let Marco do this? He…” 

He wants to get married. Married right here, in a few minutes, in a disgustingly oversized shirt that Levi’s offered him. 

“He will make the right decision. You and I should just sit here and let him figure it out.” 

"Eren."

Eren shakes his head.

"On my life." he whispers.

"What?"

"Don't protest. Just let it happen."

“You’re sure about this?” you ask. 

“Trust me. Has he ever gone astray?” 

You deflate. 

“No, but…” 

“So let him stick with it. We've stuck with so many things, probably done so many things that look wrong to other people on the outside. Maybe this is what's right for him.” 

Eren shrugs. It’s a good enough answer for you, as you and Eren take your spot in the corner of the wall, as everyone makes small conversation. It feels like an eon passes – an insurmountable amount of time – as you all linger in the room, before the group of them return. 

Marco’s shirt doesn’t exactly fit him right. Definitely too big on him, loose around the arms. Levi definitely overestimated. Amal’s wearing sneakers underneath her dress, you’re assuming because she forgot about the shoes, and the bouquet that was wilting yesterday is in her hands. 

“Hi.” Marco breathes. 

“Hi Marco.” 

Of course Jean is the only one who responds. 

“So I’m getting married. Did…did anyone else figure everything else out?” he states.

There’s an excited giggle that goes around the room, a wolf whistle from Jean, that sends the both of them into a blushing red mess. Gracie and Olivia step up. 

“Clothes were the best that we could do on a short notice. Levi’s technically officiated to marry people, so he’s got that – I mean, you guys can sign real legal documents later this is obviously ceremonial – and you have a ring.” Olivia states. 

“Did anyone bring a ring for me? One that she can put on me?” Marco asks. 

You can’t help but lean back against Eren, as he rests his chin on top of your head, and feel your heart clench. There’s a quiet look around the room, as everyone eyes each other. 

“You can have mine.” Connie offers. 

You all watch as Connie slides the sliver ring off of his finger, before extending it out to Marco in his palm. 

“Great. I’ll give it right back after.” 

Connie shakes his head, his hand intertwined with Maryam’s, as he insists. 

“You can keep it. As your own wedding ring.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Marco states. 

“Dead serious.” he responds. 

You elbow Eren in the side. 

“What?” 

“Offer yours instead. He’s our kid.” you mumble. 

Eren nods quickly, as he sidesteps and gestures for Connie to put his hand down. 

“No, Connie. He can have mine. He’s my son.” 

Connie shakes his head. He reaches for Eren’s arm, his fingers clasped around his forearm, as he narrows his eyes. You swear his eyes are glassed over. 

“You…are hopefully going to need your wedding ring for a long time. A long, long time because you and Y/N are going to live the closest thing to forever. From what I assume is the universe's consolation for spending so much time apart. Mine won’t have much use towards the end of the week and I figured…they would make better use of it. I wouldn’t want you guys to do anything else with my wedding ring when I’m gone.” 

When you look up, there’s wet tears running down Connie’s sallowed cheeks. You’re unable to swallow the lump in your throat, as Eren slides his ring back on his finger, too quiet to respond, as Marco – who is unable to keep it in now too – takes the ring in his palm and twists it around in his fingers. You know for a fact that the date of Connie and Maryam’s wedding are engraved in the lining, along with their initials. 

“You’re missing one.” Sasha states, through her tears.  

“Missing what?” Niccolo asks. 

“Something old is the shirt. It’s Levi’s. Amal’s ring is something new, Marco’s ring is something borrowed. You guys just need something blue.” 

The group of you rummage through your bags and turn out your pockets. Until Maryam yanks something out of the bottom of her bag – the original jersey that Marco gifted Connie when he returned six months ago – that has blue stitching on the letters. 

“You want him to get married in a baseball jersey.” you deadpan. 

You all watch as Marco and Amal turn to each other and grin. 

“I’ll wear it.” Marco murmurs, as Maryam hands the shirt over to him, and you all watch him button it up. 

“That’s…that’s actually kind of perfect.” Amal murmurs. 

“That was the first thing that he did. Came back to LA for Amal.” Maya murmurs. 

And that’s how the rest of it goes – something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue – all wrapped up to represent all of the love, the most that you could fathom you'll ever feel, in the room.

--

an: two days ago was my one year anniversary of finishing method acting! as consolation for how much love you have given this fic, here's an extra! <3

taglist: not quite sure if anyone would want to stay on the taglist for extras. so I did not use it.

[tiktaalic]

It’s fun to look at Pamela and dean interactions chronologically because they are:

4x01: openly flirting with each other.

Like yeah of course. Of course. Of course you’re Dean Winchester and this is how you interact with a woman.

Next episode she’s in is heaven and hell where most of her interactions are with anna. Dean walks her in, so it could easily be argued that they did their flirting prior to arriving. And then she does some cursory flirting with Sam. But the only time dean DOES talk about her it’s very reserved.

Which makes sense. Their relationship is no longer hot woman meeting hot guy with no complications. It’s hot guy with a crazy guilt complex got hot woman severely and permanently injured.

Next one is death takes a holiday, where she definitely shifts her attention over primarily to Sam.

Sam’s also the one she calls back from astral projecting to help/save her from demons. Everything else with Sam and dean both is pretty down to business. But! Dean is the one who tries to comfort her about the afterlife, albeit badly.

She’s Mentioned in on the head of a pin almost entirely by dean in a guilty way.

SAM: What’s your problem?

DEAN: Pamela didn’t want anything to do with this and we dragged her back into it, Sam.

SAM: She knew what was at stake.

Dean feels bad about her dying. More than that he feels at fault for her dying. And she’s dead, which is something else that shifts the dynamic into more reserved / less wow the rack on that chick!

Next Pamela ep is dark side of the moon. Where she pulls dean away for a private conversation. Granted. This is probably because she wants to say her piece about The Michael Sword. Which amounts to hey man heaven is sick as fuck so it doesn’t really hurt anything if you kill a bunch of people as Michael and they end up in heaven. And then when Sam and dean are leaving, there’s this:

When Pamela’s in heaven, what she wants to do is kiss dean and have him kiss her back. This is the note they leave off on for just about 9 years/seasons.

Which brings us to nihilism ‼️‼️‼️

Lots of comfortable jokey ribbing of two people who are clearly friends and have been for a long time. And then. My cup and scepter.

In dean’s Ultimate but still constrained Fantasy he and Pamela are very good friends and she lays out very clearly that he doesn’t Actually want anything with her. Which is not something dean pushes back on. It’s rly easy for me to see an early seasons dean responding to how come you only want what you can’t have with some stupid line that is still fairly flirtatious (even if the woman’s response is the roll her eyes and smirk and continue to have charged interactions with him that go nowhere) rather than. Whoa. And it’s really easy to tell that early seasons constrained dean fantasies would be very different. I know the ones we saw (what is and what should never be, the dream/nightmare one I can’t remember the name of) they are incredibly domestic. In season two fantasy he has to Make Up A Woman because he doesn’t have any real connections to anyone. In the s4 (?) dream one he defaults to Lisa because that’s who he’s pinning domesticity on at the moment. So it would make some kinds of sense for him to repeat those fantasies in s14. But that’s not what happens. In Dean’s Constrained Fantasy Pamela is NOT interested in him, which contradicts reality. And this isn’t a misplaced guilt closing a woman off as a romantic interest thing, because in this fantasy Pamela Didn’t get her eyes burned out (deans fault if you ask dean) and she Didn’t get violently killed (deans fault if you ask dean). This is a very available woman who kissed dean the last time she saw him. And what dean Wants to happen is for her to be unavailable. So he can do flirting that goes nowhere.

There’s this:

And then there’s this from s2:

Dean DID independently in s2 figure out. This isn’t real, this isn’t right, I need to leave. He did Not independently figure this out in s14 because all the conflict elements were sanded out and he was very comfortable.

I don’t need a conclusion for this post but I’ll do it anyway. Dean Winchester is a closeted homosexual

[sweetdispatch]

Hi can I please have 5 peanut butter baklava with marshmallow thanks :)

Night walk - L. Hughes

v' bakery pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader summary: Luke liked you but you didn't know about it, when he met you with his friends, you started dating one of them until he cheated on you warning: swear words

Luke liked you for months but he was shy. When he knew that he wanted you, he met you with his friends and you became really close with his group of friends. To his surprise, his friend asked you on a date before Luke could and you started dating his friend quickly after the date. Luke felt betrayed by you and now, he hated having you around. 

You were completely clueless about his feelings. Luke never gave you a reason to believe that you two can be more than friends. That’s why when his friend asked you on a date, you happily agreed. You were grateful that Luke met you with his friends because thanks to him, you were now in a relationship. 

You wanted to say this to Luke but he aired you. He was treating you like you weren’t even existing. He never responded to your text or phone calls. When you were meeting as a group, he never said a word to you. It was weird for you because in your head, you did nothing wrong and he was acting like a dick. 

You tried to confront him but Luke never let you get close to him. When he saw you coming his way, he was making excuses. Many times, he walked away when you said only hello to him. This was your final straw and you decided to give up on him. You put your focus on your boyfriend and stopped caring about Luke. 

Luke hated hearing about you from his friend and your boyfriend. He didn’t want to hear about how wonderful you were because he believed that this should be him. When he was hearing your name, he always disconnected himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to hear any word about you.

Months went by and the weird atmosphere was still there. Luke was pretending that you’re not here and you were trying your hardest not to scream at him to get his attention and hear what’s wrong. One night, you ditched the party in the middle of the night without saying a word to anyone. 

Your boyfriend didn’t even notice that you were gone but Luke did. He was asking everyone where are you but no one knew. He was furious at his friend that he didn’t care where you were. It was 2 am and you were living far away from the pub. 

“How the hell could you lose her? You should keep her safe” Luke said loudly to his friend. 

“Man, chill out. She probably took a taxi or something. I don’t really care” He told Luke and he could feel the blood boiling in his body. 

“What do you mean you don’t care? She’s your girlfriend asshole” Luke pointed his finger into his chest.

“Oh you don’t know. We broke up today. She saw me kissing another girl and told me that we’re done because she can’t forgive me for cheating again” He shrugged and Luke looked dumbfounded at him. 

“You cheated on her? She’s the best girl out there, how could you do it?” Luke was getting mad at him with every word.

“Just got bored of her but kept her close because she wanted it” He said and Luke left the club. 

Luke knew he had to find you. He didn’t care anymore that he was mad at you. He only wanted to be sure that you’re safe. He slowly ran towards your house and after a couple of minutes, he saw you sitting on the sidewalk and crying. He stopped in front of you and tried to catch a breath. 

“I don’t have any money so you pick the wrong person to rob” You said without looking up. 

“I don’t want to rob you” Luke said and sat next to you. “I came to check on you. How long have you been sitting here?”

“Why do you care? For the past months you were treating me like shit so cut the crap” You told him and wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry for that. It was unfair to you and I have no excuses for this but I still care about you” Luke took his jacket off and handed it to you. “I heard that you broke up with your boyfriend” 

“Yeah, I guess I was too much for him because I cared about him and tried to do everything to make his life easier” You laughed pathetically. 

“Hey, don’t say that. He’s the one who fucked up here. You just tried to be the best for him but he didn’t deserve that” Luke tried to make you feel better. 

“Thanks” You sniffed. “I don’t know what to do now. Because of him, I ended up many friendships and I’m all alone” 

“You always have me. I might act like a dick but I really like you and I care about you. Sorry that I acted this way but I was just so jealous and I wanted to be in his place” Luke told you truthfully. 

“It’s so hot when you talk like that but why have you never said a word?” You asked him.

“I saw that you were happy with him and I didn’t want to ruin it for you” Luke said. 

“Well, you should. He wasn’t as great as it might look but I loved him so I believed that I could change him” You laughed. “It sounds so dumb, I was so dumb” 

“Hey, don’t say that. You weren’t dumb. You were in love and people in love are doing dumb things” Luke pulled you to his body. “Now, let’s forget about him and let me walk you home okay?” Luke stood up and handed you hand to help you stand up. 

You grabbed his hand and never let it go. In a quiet atmosphere Luke walked you home, making sure you arrived home in one piece. Next morning, he texted you to see how you were feeling. 

Since that night, you and Luke get back on the right track. You cut yourself from his friends and put yourself on the pedestal with Luke by your side. He understood that you don’t want to go into a relationship with him but he promised you to wait until you're ready to be his girlfriend.

[thinkingofausername]

Jason Todd's story will always be The Story to me.

On the surface he's a buff and gruff guy with guns, a comic-book character from the world of Batman, popularly associated with dudebros and their macho view on said characters.

Underneath that is one of the most potential-filled stories I've ever encountered.

First came Batman, Bruce Wayne, a man of wealth, reputation, resilience, innovation. Practically synonymous with vigilantism. Next was Nightwing, Dick Grayson, the Boy Wonder, the original Robin. Batman's greatest success. All that Batman is, and should be, and then some. Wide smile, bright eyes, a star since childhood.

Then came Jason Todd.

A scrawny boy from the streets, caught stealing a tire from the Batmobile, in the very street where Batman's parents were killed, on the very anniversary of the event. Batman laughed.

That little boy in a yellow cape, heart-shaped strands of hair on his forehead, believed being Robin gives him magic. He liked school, liked learning, liked homework. He liked reading. He was a theatre kid. For all the anger Dick carried when he was Robin, Jason was bright.

The last thing Jason did was try to save the life of someone who never cared about him.

He found his biological mother, who walked away and never looked back. She watched Joker beat him with a crowbar nearly to death. She watched a lunatic strike a boy, even smaller than his age would have it, with steel, again and again and again. She smoked a cigarette.

As the warehouse was about to explode, Jason, in pain as he was, shielded the woman who happened to be his mother. A vixen watched her cub thrash and bleed, caught in a trap, and still the little one yanked its mangled leg free and limped to cover its mother from a hunter's gun.

Jason Todd died that night.

Bruce was a mentor more than a father, Jason a sidekick more than a child. Dick would come to regret not giving more attention to someone who could've been his younger brother.

Jason, from this point on, would be known as Batman's greatest failure. A cautionary tale, a fallen soldier, a bloodied yellow cape bigger than the body which had worn it.

To wake up in a pool of overwhelmingly glowing green, wrapped in bandages head to toe, surrounded by cloaked strangers, when the last thing you remember is pain, fear, fire. His death wasn't merciful and neither was his resurrection.

He saw a stranger in the mirror. He died a malnourished child and awoke thrice his size, a white streak in his hair, eyes gone from blue to green, an autopsy scar on his chest. A discarded child, to a short-lived sidekick, to a walking corpse. As Robin he wore a mask, he would do so later on as well, and with the mask off he would see himself no clearer.

Robin's suit worn by a new kid, regardless of the last one's tragic end. The maniac responsible for his death still alive and free to walk the streets.

You are a cautionary tale and yet no caution was taken to prevent your tale from being repeated. You were neither avenged, nor was justice carried out. You are young, feeling aged in a way you shouldn't be. You are alone, life went on without you. Your death changed nothing. The world lost you and yet there's no empty space in sight, not even a dusty one.

Driven by rage and desperation, dressed in a costume of muscle and bullets when still a boy lie underneath, he faced the one he wanted to be his father. He got his throat slit.

He came back from the dead, did the unthinkable, appeared when it was believed he would never be seen outside of hallucinations and memories. He bared his belly, as he had the tendency to do.

He asked if his death meant anything. A batarang was thrown at his neck. Canines dug in when that mouth should've been licking wounds.

It seems a son couldn't get a father's love even after digging himself out of his own grave. It seems a victim couldn't ask for justice from the one who claims to be justice in a suit.

Still, he does as he always did. Protects, fights, prevents, avenges.

For all his intelligence, patience, calculation, resilience, vulnerability - only his rage is seen. A walking, seething, irrational failure filled with violence is what he's presented as. Just as he reached a warm hand after sleeping on a cold ground, his arm was broken for thinking comfort is lasting. Any attempt to voice his gut sinking in remembrance is heard as senseless shouting.

Bruce will always be right, Dick will always be better, Damien can call himself a son.

Joker shot Barbara and left her immobile, took pictures of her in the most vulnerable and petrified state one can be in, and still Jason is mad for wanting him gone. Still, Bruce would cling to his twisted morals rather than prevent future victimhood.

It's a story of solitude, potential, vulnerability, justice, endurance.

It's a story of a brightness overlooked under the shadow of tragedy.

It's a story of one most human, so ultimately and beautifully human, in a world of magic, mutants, superheroes. He can't lift a house with his bear hands, he won't put on a dazzling smile and performance. Though a billionaire's past sidekick, though beyond capable in thought and action, he is firstly a person in the highest and more honest way. Palpable among ones otherworldly.

It's a story of one who's lived through countless losses, and still he gives. He couldn't be a child, a pupil, a son. Bruce did what he thought was best and offered training and danger to lost and hurting kids he deemed would go down the wrong path unless guided by vigilantism's hand. Jason couldn't be an adolescent, make stupid mistakes, have an innocent crush. His path was paved with violence and survival very early on.

It's a story of becoming the person who would've saved you when you needed it most.

[rileygorski]

give me santos and langdon fighting over mel. they just both love her and want her attention.

like one day santos is trying to get her to go out with them and mel can’t “because frank—“ and she never finishes the sentence. santos has already left to go search for the motherfucker who keeps stealing her friend.

“seriously?” she walks up to langdon, seated at the nurse’s station. he doesn’t even look up from the screen.

“whatever i did, i’m not sorry for.” he says monotoned.

“you know ladies night is always on friday. right after work. it’s been two fridays in a row that mel hasn’t shown up to—because of you.”

now she has his undivided attention. “you know, santos, i don’t appreciate you belittling my girlfriend. she’s an adult who can make her own choices—if the choice is not wanting to go to some sleezy club with you, that’s on her.”

he has a point, but she’s not backing down. she needs mel to go. she likes spending time with mel and she’d do it more often at her apartment if that man wasn’t always around. plus this particular night she’d asked garcia to go and while it’s not quite a date yet because samira and whitaker are also tagging along, she wants to see if there’s something more than their flirty banter and longing glances outside of work. trinity hopes that safety in numbers will lower her chances of making an ass of herself. plus mel is so aware of everything she would no doubt pull her aside if she thought something she said was off or if the vibes weren’t good.

“could you just—i don’t know talk her into it? it’s karaoke night and she loves karaoke. please?” she’s not a fan of begging and doing it in front of langdon makes her sick but if it’s for mel, then she’ll do damn near anything.

“she also loves scrabble and a romantic dinner date with the love of her life.” he points out and trinity groans. “seriously, santos. i’ve been working nights for the past two fucking weeks since jack’s out of town. i can’t deal with the opposite schedules. it’s been fucking torture. the one day we finally have the same schedule and you want to take her from me.”

“take her from you?” trinity scoffs. “you’re so damn dramatic, langdon. you see her on your days off and i am forced to see it on her instagram stories—that shit’s disgusting by the way, i should report the both of you for harassment.”

he laughs but still answers with a simple, “can’t help you..”

and then she whines and it throws him off. she’s desperate, he knows, he’ll figure out why later but he may as well use it to his advantage now “unless..?”

she bites. “unless?”

“abbott’s back next week, take the rest of my shifts and i’ll try my best to convince mel to go.”

trinity doesn’t even have to think about it for very long, “deal.”

“but i’m getting her next friday.” he warns.

“whatever, walmart chris pine.” she replies with an eye roll.

mel comes bouncing over, right after. and langdon greets her with a “hey, sweetheart…” before pulling her over to an empty room as he keeps trinity’s promise.

[noiranamnesis]

“Bonjour,” Marinette greeted, her voice soft as lace, her smile warm. A few loose strands framed her face as she moved with ease through the kitchen, her focus shifting to the delicate folds of crêpe warming in the pan. At mention of wild dreams, however, she hesitated, the faintest flush touching the tips of her ears. Mon Dieu. Had their…enthusiasm carried through the walls? Her cheeks warmed, more amused than truly embarrassed, but still- how could she blame it on Tylio when she’d clearly been the one to start things? Pas que je regrette quoi que ce soit, she mused. Mais je ne veux pas traumatiser le pauvre Jeremy.

A breathy laugh escaped her when Tylio’s lips brushed the back of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, masking the shift in her thoughts with a teasing smile. “It's a good drink! Très légère…très rafraîchissante.” Then, with a sly glance over her shoulder, she added, “Et je ne dirais pas que tu étais si innocent que ça. Si je me souviens bien, c’est toi qui as ramené le limoncello dans ma chambre d’hôtel juste avant de me séduire.” A rewritten history, perhaps, but one told with a grin. She cast a knowing look toward Jeremy. “See? He enjoyed the Limoncello.” But when Tylio added, so casually, that he enjoyed last too, her hand faltered. Her smile held, barely, but her heart stuttered. Ne dis pas ça, mon cœur…pas devant lui. She only hoped the pink in her cheeks could be blamed on the heat from the stove.

Grate, drizzle, fold. She refocused, letting the movements calm her as she plated Tylio’s breakfast with practiced ease. When she set it down in front of him, her fingers brushed his forearm- light, familiar, wordless. Just for him. The atmosphere shifted slightly when Jeremy made a joke at Tylio’s expense. Marinette gave a faint shrug, intending to deflect, but Tylio was already responding with that signature calm she knew so well. He always sounded a bit like he was giving stage direction: firm, composed, and strangely comforting. Others found it exhausting, yet she found it endearing. Though she had to admit, Nadja once pointed out it was easy to find it charming when she could crawl into his lap and kiss him quiet. Not everyone had that luxury.

Jeremy’s resistance, though gentle, unsettled something in her. Not because it was aggressive it wasn’t- but because it was…misplaced? As if he didn’t understand the rhythm they moved in, not that he had a reason to know. Still, she appreciated his kindness, his effort. He seemed to mean well. With her own plate finished, she took her seat beside Tylio, not on his lap as she might have done if they were alone, figuring Jeremy would appreciate the gesture. Still, her knee brushed his beneath the table as she sipped from her water before taking a bite of her crêpe.

Then came the question about weekend plans.

Her eyes brightened. “Yes.” She nodded, a soft sense of pride creeping into her voice. “I want to get a pet, so we’re going to visit a few shelters today.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “A cat?”

“I haven’t decided,” she replied, reaching to run her fingers gently through Tylio’s hair. “But I figured I already have a cat, so maybe I should get a dog.”

Jeremy laughed, though the sound rang a bit thin. “That sounds nice. What time are you heading out?”

“After breakfast,” she said simply, still distracted by the way Tylio’s hair curled beneath her touch. “I wanted to get an early start.”

Jeremy tilted his head. “Mind if I tag along?”

Her hand stilled. The question caught her off guard- not unpleasantly, just... “Oh,” she said, blinking. “That might be a bit confusing for the animal, non?” She turned instinctively toward Tylio, her gaze seeking his before returning her attention to Jeremy with an apologetic smile. “I mean,” she continued gently, “it’s important they spend time with their owners first...so there's a bond from the beginning.” She didn’t mean to exclude him. Not truly. “But once we make a decision, you can definitely come meet them. It will be good to have them used to other people."

Jeremy chuckled lightly, masking a flicker of disappointment. “Sure, of course,” he said, lifting his glass for a sip. “I just thought- y’know, extra eyes, extra opinions…I’m great with animals.” His tone was easy, but his gaze lingered on Marinette a beat too long before flicking to Tylio. He leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped casually along the backrest. “Could be fun. And if it helps you narrow things down…” He let the words trail off, the suggestion left hanging, deliberate and unfinished, an invitation disguised as a passing thought.

Morning arrived and the pleasantness of their night still lingered, even when Tylio opened his eyes and found himself in an empty bed. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep in during the weekends, although he never let that habit bleed into the weekdays. He got out of bed, massaging the stiffness out of his shoulder with one hand and putting on some pants with the other. A faintly amused smile tugged at his lips as he noticed Marinette's sweater still on the floor, as well as her skirt, briefly transporting his thoughts back to the previous night. Strangely, though, he didn't see her underwear anywhere. Did she put it back on? He smirked a little bit. Maybe she was wearing it again, just to see if he would notice this time. He put on a clean shirt and it wasn't until he headed into the hallway and heard distant voices in the kitchen that he finally remembered Jeremy had spent the night. It had completely slipped his mind. For a moment he wondered whether Jeremy had heard anything, but he quickly banished that thought. Jeremy had been so drunk, he must have been fast asleep the whole time. Hopefully he was feeling better now.

Tylio found both of them in the kitchen, greeting Jeremy with a polite smile and Mari with a kiss to her temple. "Bonjour", he told both of them, a subtle chuckle following his greeting. He was in a good mood. "Or afternoon, maybe...I thought you would wake up after me. Are you feeling any better?" The question was directed at Jeremy but he was not really looking at him—his gaze was on the back of Marinette's shoulders, searching for any hints of black lace peeking out from underneath her shirt. There were none, as far as he could tell. Curious.

"Yeah I'm good", Jeremy replied, taking a bite of the breakfast Marinette had so generously prepared for him. It was just as delicious as the dinner she served last night. He could tell that she'd made it with love. "I'm just glad I could crash here. I haven't been that wasted in a long time...had some pretty wild dreams." His eyes flicked over to Marinette as he said that last part, trying to make eye contact with her. She had to know what he was talking about. The moment they shared. Her hair was still sitting in his pocket, wrapped up in a paper handkerchief he found in the bathroom. He'd find a better place to keep it as soon as he got home.

"You really like to feed unsuspecting men limoncello", Tylio teased as he moved to stand behind Mari, leaning in to press another kiss to the back of her neck.

Beneath his calm veneer, Jeremy was seething but also confused. Because what was Tylio even talking about? Did Marinette like to feed people drunk? She wasn't like that. Clearly, she had offered it to him out of hospitality, to make him feel more at ease. He did get a little tipsy but it was not half as bad as he pretended it to be, and something about the way Tylio bullied her just for doing nice things rubbed him the wrong way. But it was no wonder. They were a bad match from the start. "I survived", Jeremy chuckled, and he was surprised how casual he managed to sound under the circumstances. "And I had a good time anyway. I enjoyed the night. Especially the food, it was incredible", he complimented Marinette once more while Tylio drifted over to the coffee machine. A strange decision, when Marinette was just about to serve him a wonderful breakfast, but again, he wasn't surprised. Tylio didn't appreciate things the way he did.

"I did too", Tylio spoke up again as he poured himself a large mug of black coffee, taking his first sip of the morning.

Jeremy was quietly irritated by this statement. He said it so casually, clearly thinking that Jeremy was not aware of what had taken place last night. He seemed to truly believe that he somehow deserved his place in Marinette's life.

"We were just talking about morning routines", Jeremy changed the subject. "I was just telling Marinette that I didn't think you had one, except for drinking coffee. I gotta say, you're kinda proving my point." Another chuckle from Jeremy, while Tylio walked back over to sit down at the kitchen table and took a glance at his phone. Jeremy's eyes narrowed as he tried to get a look at the screen. While he wasn't personally offended, he was highly interested because what did he have to do on his phone right now that was so important? It was the weekend. No one at work was going to respond to him. And if he happened to be in contact with some other woman, that would be very convenient. "But I guess we all got our rituals and schedules..."

"Huh?" Tylio looked up from his work email, putting his phone on the table. "Oh, speaking of schedules...I informed the rest of the crew about the reshoot on monday. It should be fine, there's only a small scheduling issue with one of the crew members but—"

"He don't know how to quit, does he?", Jeremy chuckled as he looked at Marinette and gestured towards Tylio. Deep down, he was still hoping that Tylio's overzealous work attitude was just aiding in covering up some kind of affair. That would truly be ideal. "Relax. We can make it work with just the four of us. It's only one scene."

"Yes, one scene that will turn into multiple shoots if we don't get it right this time", Tylio corrected him, but this time Jeremy welcomed it because he felt it helped him sound like the most reasonable one.

"What are you saying, you don't have faith that Marinette will act her ass off?"

It was said sort of jokingly, but for some reason Tylio could have sworn he sensed an undertone of criticism. Normally, he would have shrugged it off but knowing that Marinette sometimes had moments of insecurity about her performance, he didn't want to just leave it there.

"No. It's not her acting. If anything we're the incompetent ones. We could have checked the weather forecast, we wasted an entire day shooting outside when we could've known the light would be changing frequently", he clarified, and Jeremy shrugged, taking another bite of his breakfast.

"Why does anyone have to be incompetent though? I think we're all pretty good. We'll do fine. It's okay to take it easy on the weekend, is all I'm saying."

This time, Tylio had no retort. He just looked a bit surprised—over the past few weeks, Jeremy had been very adamant about working hard but maybe that attitude was limited to the weekdays only. He couldn't really fault him for this, but the fact that Jeremy suggested they work on the scene yesterday evening had sort of lead him to make the assumption that they shared a similar insatiability when it came to their job.

"Anyway, since it's the weekend...", Jeremy underlined once again, his attention now shifting back to Marinette. Well, it had been with her throughout most of the conversation, he was constantly checking to see what she was doing, where she was looking, what her face looked like. "You guys have any plans?"

[ragnarockz]

this but Maya 😵‍💫

Tip Jar 💰

Lock Me Up 💛🔒

LC 🪙 OUT HERE LIKE HERE YOU GO! GO BE SMUTTY AND FERAL!

AND YOU'RE RIGHT! I SHALL! 😤

Ohhhhhhhh mmhmmm mmhmm mmhhm. Something about being punished from Maya and taking it. Asking for it. Oh, Reader...I UNDERSTAND!💛🔒

Also maybe I cheated with this because we got maya saying i hate you and reader begging for that cu- *GUNSHOTS*

Maya x Reader

Work had been painfully busy and complicated and it felt like there was no end in sight of all the little things that could and had been going on.

Maya and Matt were on your case constantly; Sal and Quinn promised to help you but were so caught up in their own work it left you the odd man out. And Maya? Your boss? Was pissed.

She had no time for fuck ups or laziness and no time for mistakes that would cost them time to waste no one at Continental had. It all came down on you and you knew it was, without a doubt, your fault. Maya could only give you cold glances and whispers of annoyance under her breath as she pretty much avoided you at all costs when it came to your working environment.

She didn't even whisk you away to go get lunch with her like you usually did.

On top of that, she didn't even sneak you off to some random boardroom to make out with you on your break before slapping you ass and telling you to leave first and get back to your desk so it wouldn't look suspicious. Meanwhile, with a smirk on your face, she would return shortly after you with always something slightly askew. She wanted people to know you two had been fooling around moments before.

But that was then and this is now and it felt like you'd go hours without seeing Maya and those times you did? Well, she was mad. Pissed.

You thought maybe you needed to be the one to break the ice during all this high-tension. Ask her out on break; grab the both of you lunch. Maybe she'd treat it like a peace offering of some sort; you, spending your hard-earned money buying her a mediocre sandwich from the overpriced cafe across the street.

So you did; you ran down right when your break started to get her and you a lunch that could be eaten quickly with coffee to wash it down. Hiking back up into the office with both your lunches in hand, you make your way into her office and set your lunch down on her desk.

Maya doesn't even look at you; keeps clicking away at her laptop.

You clear your throat and she still doesn't give you any attention. Maybe she is actively avoiding you.

"Maya?"

Nothing; daggers at her screen as she types away.

"Maya."

"I'm actively trying to fix your fucking mess. Unless, you want to fix it. Which you should...it is your stupid fucking mistake!"

You bite your lip as you stare at her and feel your blood run cold. You feel bad, of course you do, you were hired to be good at this job under her. And now here she was, fixing up a stupid little mistake you had no idea how you'd gotten it wrong in the first place.

"Maya, I'm s-"

"A fucking apology isn't going to fix this fucking mess! What the fuck do you think? Oh, Maya, I'm sorry for fucking up my simple little pussy ass job! Get a fucking grip!"

You bite down on your tongue because god forbid you snap back at your boss. Sure, you have become more than just coworkers; she'd rush you back home with her and bend you over her couch and fuck you into oblivion. But for you two talk back at her? At work? At her job and your mess?

Death sentence.

She hits down hard on one key before she pushes herself away from her desk and lets out a loud huff. Her gaze shoots over to you and burns into you. You're both silent and you know you're on the receiving end of her anger.

You hate how wet it's making you to know at any given second, she could really, really snap at you.

You watch as she stares at the food and coffee left on her desk that she just notices now; a little less blinded by her disappointment in you. You swear you see a glint of softness behind her eyes as she realizes what you've done for her but it quickly leaves her face as she pulls herself back closer to her desk and drums her fingernails on the desktop.

The sound sends shivers down your spine because you know, something absolutely disgraceful is running through her mind.

Your body starts to react before she even opens her mouth. Taking steps towards her and her desk; Maya still sitting down in her chair. At this point in your messy relationship, she doesn't even have to ask you and you already know where her brain goes. You belong to Maya Mason. No questions asked.

"If you think allowing me to fuck you is gonna clear up this fucking mistake..."

You shake your head at her because you know it won't, not logically anyway. Continental will still take a hit and you'll be either fucked literally or figuratively and if you play your cards right, both.

Maybe she's realized that as she lets her hand drag away from the desk so she can push herself away from it again. She's allowing you room, access to her. She's allowing you to come stand between her and her desk.

"Over or on top?"

She smirks at you as she shakes her head as if you're just so pathetic, so fucking desperate. You can see it in her eyes; the words she doesn't say yet out of her mouth.

She doesn't even reply; lets you make your choice. Allows you to pick your fate at her mercy. You carefully pack up her desk and offload it onto your own just beside it. Carefully moving her things to give the both of you clearance to fuck on top of it. She watches you with amusement as you try to bide your time because you know whatever she dishes out will be punishment enough for fucking up both hers and your job.

You make your choice then; on top. Because you want to look her in the face as she berates you and points out all your faults while fucking you into her desk. Your skin prickles at the though of it as you sit yourself down onto her desk and spread your legs just wide enough for her to stand in between them.

"How did I know...you have a thing for punishment, don't you, Sweetheart?"

Venom dripping from her perfectly lined lips as a glint in her eye reads danger. She's coming closer; closing the gap like a snake winding up before striking in for the kill. You feel your skin flush; burning hot now as you can hardly wait you start to swing your one leg slightly in anticipation.

She loves watching you squirm and she hasn't even put a finger on you yet.

"Punishment when it comes from you, yes."

She grins and shakes her head at your confession; a wrong thing to say out loud. To admit.

Those perfectly manicured fingers of hers grab and press into your knees and you wince as you feel her nails prick your bare skin. Your shorts have hitched up higher to reveal your soft inner thighs and she eyes them like a goddamn prize before her. Her fingers drag up from your knees and to your thighs, turning inwards to ghost against your soft skin.

You moan desperately and she laughs in your face.

"I hate you. You fucking worthless excuse for an assistant...all you're good for is a fuck during company time."

You almost don't hear her at first; don't register the words that flew out of her mouth because now, she's yanking down your shorts to let them fall at your ankles. Her fingers and hands move with ease, precision, as she slides her left hand down into your underwear and swipes dangerously at your throbbing clit.

You whine desperately, painfully and buck your hips into her hand. She pulls that hand out you so desperately want to fuck into and slaps your pussy against your underwear to the extent that she can at this angle. A dull slap that makes you clench around nothing.

"Maya...Maya, please..."

You just barely manage to moan out as you let your head hang down, eyes closed as you feel the echo of a throb between your legs. You roll your hips towards her; fucking nothing and knowing she's watching you fall apart for her.

"Please, what? You're the fuck up...and now you're begging me to fuck you? I don't think you deserve that...do you think you deserve it?"

You nod your head so hard you think it's going to snap off from your neck. She laughs at you and her hand comes back; almost too roughly. Painfully. She grabbing you through your underwear as she tries to finger you through the fabric. You rock your hips again and dare her to claw right through them.

You know she would but she's getting impatient now.

"You. You take them off. You're the one being a desperate, moaning slut."

And you do.

Because she's right.

And you are.

You pull them down to join your shorts at your ankles and wait; the cool air of her office hitting your bare, wet skin. The throbbing is painful now; drawing you to sudden and slow madness as it eats in your mind how badly you need her fingers inside of you. Nails and rings and all. In you so deep you'd see stars and cum almost instantly.

She'd hate that and you'd love it.

"I hate you-"

"I want you to cum inside of me."

She backs off and smirks at you as she watches you slowly lift your head so you could meet her gaze. The silence between you is heavy, loaded. You know you're asking too much of her especially with the colossal fuck up still lingering around.

Can you ask for forgiveness this way? Letting Maya Mason fuck you to right a wrong?

Of course you can because without a second thought, you watch her reach into her own pants and pull out her cock.

Of course she would have been packing today, of all days. She probably knew you'd ask for forgiveness with her cock.

"If you think this is going to solve anything...you still owe me, Pet..."

You moan again as your legs spread wider and she laughs once more; mocking you with just how badly you're begging for it. She must think you're so easy. Maybe, you think, you should remind her of that.

"I'll owe you anything you want, Maya...please...anything. If you want to use me for just your own personal fuck toy, I-"

But you don't get the chance to finish; not in the way of words. She's closed the gap between you and her; hands digging into your waist as she pulls you close. She almost drags you right off of the desk but she quickly and expertly anchors you onto her. One fluid motion and her cock is pushed inside of your waiting cunt.

You fold forward into her; forehead almost touching her own. But you know she won't let you do that; you'll ruin her hair and makeup. That knowing fucking fact that is so Maya Mason makes you moan loudly and roll your hips to a new fever so badly it almost throws her off her own game.

She collects herself quickly as she presses her hands into your hips and basically guides you down so that you're half laying on her desk; supported up by your forearms now. You watch through half-lidded eyes as she eyes your neck in which, you crane it out to the side for her and hope her teeth makes contact sooner than later.

The thought of her biting down onto the side of your neck would surely make you cum on the spot.

But she doesn't, not yet anyway. Because Maya still needs to be in control and she's the one who will control you until the very end.

Pumping herself into you with ease; she watches every tick and shutter your body gives her. You're giving yourself fully to her as she fucks you hard and deep and fast onto her desk.

"What did you say you wanted from me, Sweetheart? Tell me again..."

You swallow hard as you try to catch your breath; another whimper escaping your lips before your mumbled words do.

"Iwantyou...tocum...insideofme..."

What happens next bends your brain as you watch her nonchalantly reach to the side of her harness and lift out the syringe attached to her cock. You can see the semi-opaque lube inside of the plastic that's connected to the tube leading down. One single press of that plunger and she's coming inside of you.

Her hand holding the syringe draws it closer to you than to her and suddenly it all becomes clear.

Maya Mason wants you to pull the trigger.

Maya Mason wants you to literally make her cum inside of you.

"Oh...Maya..."

You whisper so sweetly you watch as her hardened expression melt away. You've given yourself totally over to her and she's relishing in it; feeling like a fucking goddess.

Your shaking hand reaches out between yourself and her; feeling the sweat covering your skin as your forearm brushes against yourself slightly to take hold of the syringe.

She doesn't say anything, just makes sure as she's staring in your eyes that you watch her gaze drift down to where she can see her cock pumping into and out of you. You follow her gaze and meet that spot as well.

Your thumb rubs gently onto the flat grooved flange before you use pressure; pressure building between your legs just like it does in your thumb pad as you press down.

Press down and instantly feel her fill you up; cumming deep inside of you.

The both of you gasp almost in unison as you keep pressing until there's nothing left in the syringe and that excess dribbles out of you and onto, around, over her cock.

Your hand lets go of the syringe; no longer caring because you've gotten what you wanted. Cum filling you so much that it's too much; overflowing onto her and you and her desk. Coating your thighs because of course she's still slowly fucking you because god, does she love watching herself over stuff that perfectly wet pussy of yours that's all hers.

And possibly, always will be.