owenniasstars - Tumblr blog

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

OMGGGGGGGG

I can fix you

Hockey AU Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Pairing: Hockey player Simon Riley x data analyst fem!Reader.

Summary: Tention rises as you try to improve his performance. Spoiler alert- he's not a fan at first.

Word count: 4,100 something.

Warnings: Light smut.

Note: I might be making more of this AU, because I am kinda back on the Hockey fanfics at the moment. (Might not really be Hockey accurate though.)

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Your job was simple: analyze the numbers, track player performance, and keep your head down. You were a data analyst, not a coach, not a player, and certainly not someone who should be arguing with Simon Riley in the middle of the rink.

But here you were.

"You skate like you're afraid of breaking something," you snapped, arms crossed against the biting cold of the arena.

Simon—Ghost, as he was known on the ice—tilted his head, eyes glinting under the shadow of his helmet. "And you talk like you know what you’re on about."

Your jaw clenched. The man was infuriating. He was also one of the best enforcers in the league, a defensive powerhouse with a reputation for being impossible to get past. He was ruthless, strategic, and, unfortunately, absolutely terrible at taking advice.

"Your speed's down this season," you said, stepping closer. "You're holding back."

Ghost huffed, a short, unimpressed sound. "And what? You think your little spreadsheets can tell me how to play?"

"Yes, actually," you shot back. "And if you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d listen."

He smirked— just the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was almost worse than his usual blank stare because it meant he was enjoying this.

"Alright," he drawled, voice low and edged with challenge. "Show me."

Your pulse jumped. "What?"

"You think you know how to fix my skating? Prove it." He tapped his stick against the ice. "Get your skates on."

Your stomach dropped. It had been years since you'd been on the ice properly, but there was no backing down now. Not with Ghost watching.

And definitely not with the way his gaze lingered, like he already knew you were going to fall—and was waiting to catch you.

You weren’t sure what was worse—the fact that Simon Riley, had just called your bluff, or the fact that you were actually considering going through with it.

You stared up at him, his smirk carved into his face like he already knew you’d back down. Like he was daring you to try.

Shit.

"Fine," you said, your voice sharper than you felt. "But if I prove you’re holding back, you listen to me."

Ghost’s smirk deepened. "Deal."

Your skates cut into the ice as you glided forward, adjusting to the familiar but slightly awkward feeling of being back on your blades. It had been years, but muscle memory kicked in fast. You weren’t a pro, but you weren’t half-bad either.

Ghost skated a slow circle around you, watching. "Didn’t think you’d actually do it."

"You should stop underestimating me."

He let out a low chuckle, barely audible over the distant echo of a puck hitting the boards. "Alright then. Show me."

You took a breath, planting your stick against the ice. "You’ve been pulling up too early on your stops," you started. "You’re bleeding momentum before you need to, which slows you down in transitions."

Ghost raised an unimpressed brow. "Or maybe I just know how to control my movement so I don’t go crashing into people like a bloody wrecking ball."

"That’s literally your job, though."

He grunted, but didn't deny it.

"Watch," you said, skating ahead.

You picked up speed, your movements steady but aggressive, before shifting your weight and digging your blades into the ice. You came to a clean, sharp stop, sending a spray of ice in Ghost’s direction.

His mask did nothing to hide the way his eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Now, your turn Ghost." You said, turning your attention to him, while trying to catch a breath and don't make it too obvious. His stance was wide, solid, but you could see where he hesitated just a fraction of a second before his stops, just enough to take the edge off his speed.

"You're compensating for something," you said, "Left knee?"

Ghost’s expression darkened.

Bingo.

"Not injured," he muttered. "Just... old habits."

You skated closer, your fingers flexing around your stick. "You trust me yet?"

He just watched you, his jaw tight, something unreadable behind his gaze.

"You always this stubborn?" he finally asked.

You smirked. "You always this difficult?"

Ghost exhaled through his nose, like he wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t quite get there. "You’re trouble," he muttered.

You weren��t sure if it was the cold or the way Ghost was looking at you that made your pulse pick up speed.

"Alright," he muttered after a long pause. "Say you’re right—say I’m slowing down."

"You are."

His eyes narrowed. "Then fix it."

That caught you off guard. You blinked up at him, breath still coming a little faster from skating. "You actually want my help now?"

He exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t quite ready to admit it. "You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re not wrong."

Coming from him, that was the closest thing to a glowing endorsement.

"Alright," you said, shifting your grip on your stick. "We’ll start with edgework. If you can get more confidence on tight turns, you won’t instinctively brace as much."

Ghost made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. "I don’t brace."

You tilted your head, letting your smirk show. "Then you won’t mind proving it."

Something flickered behind his gaze and suddenly he was moving—fast. Before you could react, he cut a tight circle around you, his skates carving clean, efficient arcs into the ice. He was controlled, powerful, and when he stopped—right in front of you—the spray of ice nearly hit your face.

You stumbled back half a step, startled.

Ghost caught your wrist before you could fall.

The contact was brief but solid, his glove warm against your sleeve, his grip unyielding. You inhaled sharply, eyes snapping up to his.

He was too close. Close enough that you could see the way his breath misted in the cold air, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of something—cologne, sweat, a lingering sharpness of the rink.

His fingers flexed around your wrist before he let go.

"You alright?" he asked, voice lower than before.

You swallowed. "Yeah."

Liar.

His head tilted just slightly, like he could see right through you. Like he knew exactly what effect he had.

Then, as quickly as it happened, he skated back.

"Try to keep up, then," he said, his smirk making a slow return.

Your pulse was still racing by the time practice ended. You weren’t sure if it was from the skating or the way Ghost had looked at you when he let go of your wrist.

You tried to shake it off as you made your way through the tunnel, past the locker rooms. The team had filed in already, and the distant sounds of showers running, sticks clattering, and voices arguing over game footage filled the air.

You weren’t supposed to be in here. But you also weren’t supposed to be coaching one of the most stubborn players in the league, so at this point, what was one more bad decision?

Ghost’s locker was near the back, separate from the others. He wasn’t one to linger, always the first to leave after, rarely talking unless absolutely necessary. But tonight, he was still there, taping up his stick with slow, methodical movements.

He didn’t look up when he spoke. "You lost?"

You crossed your arms. "I don’t get lost."

Ghost huffed out something that could have been a laugh. "Right."

The air in the room was warm from the showers, a stark contrast to the cold rink. You ignored the heat creeping up your neck as you leaned against the wall. "You were faster by the end of practice."

He didn’t respond, just tore another strip of tape and smoothed it over the blade of his stick.

"You gonna pretend that wasn’t because of me?" you pushed.

Ghost finally glanced up, his gaze unreadable. "You want me to say thanks?"

You shrugged. "Would be nice."

He made a low sound, somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "Don’t hold your breath."

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the wall. "You really are impossible."

"Yet you keep coming back."

Your steps faltered for half a second. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one feeling the pull between you.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to shut it down before it could turn into something more. But before you could speak, another voice called out.

"Oi, Riley! You done brooding, or what?"

You turned just in time to see Johnny MacTavish rounding the corner, towel slung over his shoulder, still damp from the showers. His gaze flicked between you and Ghost, brows raising slightly at the tension in the air.

Ghost sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. I’m coming."

Soap smirked, clearly picking up on something. "Didn’t mean to interrupt."

You felt your face heat. "You weren’t."

"Sure, sure," he said, grinning like he absolutely didn’t believe you. "See you ‘round, then."

He clapped Ghost on the shoulder before heading out, leaving you standing there, still caught in the moment you weren’t sure how to walk away from.

Ghost exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "You really that determined to fix me?"

Your stomach twisted. "I don’t think you’re broken, Riley."

Something flickered in his eyes—something quick, unreadable. Then, just as fast, it was gone.

"Get out of here," he muttered, reaching for his duffel. "Before you start thinking I might actually listen to you."

You smirked, stepping back toward the exit. "Too late."

You told yourself you weren’t thinking about him.

You told yourself you weren’t replaying that moment in the locker room—the way Ghost had looked at you, the way his voice had dipped just enough to make your breath hitch.

You told yourself a lot of things.

But then the road trip happened.

The team bus was packed with gear, exhausted players, and the hum of pre-game tension. You had claimed a seat toward the middle, laptop open, reviewing analytics for the match against Dallas.

You were not paying attention to the man sitting across the aisle.

Ghost had his hood up, arms crossed, a pair of headphones resting around his neck. He wasn’t asleep, but he also wasn’t acknowledging anyone—classic Ghost behavior.

You tried to focus on your work. You really did. But then Soap, sitting in the seat behind you, leaned forward with a shit-eating grin.

"So," he said, voice low enough to not attract too much attention. "You and Riley, huh?"

You kept your eyes on your screen, fingers stilling over your keyboard. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Soap chuckled. "Aye, sure you don’t. Just sayin'—never seen him listen to anyone the way he listens to you."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "He doesn’t listen to me."

"Noticed he’s stoppin’ cleaner, though," Soap mused. "Movin’ faster. That’s you, yeah?"

You didn’t answer.

"Relax," Soap said, clapping your shoulder before leaning back. "Just don’t break his heart, alright?"

Soap just laughed, shaking his head like he knew something you didn’t.

And across the aisle, Ghost’s fingers tapped once against his knee—just once, barely noticeable. But you saw it.

Like maybe he’d heard everything.

The game had been brutal. Hard hits, dirty plays, and a one-goal lead that had come down to the final seconds.

Ghost had been a force, shutting down every attempt on net, getting under the other team’s skin until fists started flying. You weren’t sure if it was the strategy sessions or the sheer stubbornness, but he’d been faster tonight. More aggressive.

More himself.

The team was celebrating in the hotel bar, but you weren’t drinking. You were tucked into a booth in the corner, reviewing the game footage. You were so focused you didn’t notice him until he sat down across from you.

"You’re avoiding me," Ghost muttered.

You looked up, caught off guard. "I’m working."

He huffed, shaking his head. "Bullshit."

You tensed. "What’s your problem?"

Ghost leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. "You got in my head."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"You heard me." His gaze was heavy, unreadable. "Every time I skated, every time I stopped, I heard your voice. You sure you’re not tryin’ to fix me?"

Your mouth felt dry. "I told you. You’re not broken."

Ghost exhaled slowly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you said it, "You were better tonight."

His fingers curled into fists on the table. His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something back.

Then, without a word, he stood up.

The hotel was quiet.

Most of the team was still downstairs celebrating, but you had slipped away, the weight of the game and whatever the hell was happening with Ghost pressing down on you.

You told yourself you were just tired. That you weren’t replaying the way he looked at you in the bar, like you had gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

But then—a knock at your door.

Your stomach flipped.

You already knew who it was.

You took a slow breath before opening the door.

Ghost stood there, still in his hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets. His mask was gone, leaving his face shadowed in the dim hallway light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

You swallowed. "Ghost—"

"Simon," he interrupted.

You blinked. "What?"

His jaw clenched, "Call me Simon."

He never let people use his real name. Not teammates, not coaches, no one.

And yet, here he was, standing in your doorway, demanding it from you.

You felt lightheaded. "Simon."

His eyes darkened.

Then, suddenly, he was inside.

You barely had time to step back before he pushed the door shut behind him, crowding into your space. You should have been nervous—he was so close, his presence so overwhelming—but you weren’t.

"You got in my head," he muttered. "You’re still in my head."

Your breath hitched. "Simon—"

"You’re pissin’ me off," he growled. "But I—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can’t stop thinkin’ about you."

The words hit you like a body check against the boards.

"What do you want me to say?"

His eyes flickered down to your lips.

"Tell me I’m not losin’ my mind," he muttered.

You swallowed hard. "You’re not."

Something snapped.

Then—his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, all sharp edges and frustration, like he had been holding back for too damn long and finally let himself break.

You gasped against him, but he didn’t let you pull away. His hands braced against the door, caging you in as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this since the moment you first challenged him on the ice.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly your hands were in his hoodie, grabbing at the fabric, pulling him closer.

Simon groaned—actually groaned—into your mouth, pressing harder, like he was trying to prove something. Like he was trying to make sure you knew this wasn’t just a mistake.

Like he was staking his claim.

And God help you—you let him.

Simon kissed like he played—hard, relentless, and with no intention of letting you walk away unscathed.

His mouth slanted over yours, demanding, pushing, devouring. His hands, huge and impossibly steady, bracketed your face, fingers threading into your hair as he backed you up against the hotel door.

You should have slowed down. You should have stopped. But the way he kissed you—rough and unyielding, like he had been starving for this—made it impossible to think about anything but more.

A gasp slipped from your lips as he moved lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. His breath was ragged, his stubble scraping against your skin as he pressed against you, all muscle, all heat, all Simon.

"You have no idea," he murmured against your throat, "how long I’ve wanted to do this."

Your legs nearly gave out.

But Simon was already there, catching you, pressing you against the door like he didn’t trust himself not to tear you apart right there.

"Bed," you managed to whisper, you grabbed his hoodie and yanked it over his head.

His shirt went next, and—fuck.

You had known he was built—obviously—but seeing him like this, bare, scarred, solid, was something else entirely.

Simon didn’t give you long to stare. He was already on you again, kissing you deeper, rougher, guiding you backward until your legs hit the bed.

Then—you were falling.

Simon followed, his body covering yours, heat pressing into you, his hands already working your clothes off. Every inch of skin he revealed, he touched. Every inch of you, he claimed.

You weren’t sure who moaned first when he finally got you bare beneath him, but it didn’t matter.

"You sure about this?" he rasped, voice strained, like he was holding onto the last thread of his control.

You pulled him down, lips brushing against his.

"Shut up and fuck me, Riley."

His control snapped.

Simon wasted no time. One hand gripped your hip, the other slid between your legs, finding you soaking, ready, desperate for him.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, nearly losing it right then and there. "Look at you."

Your back arched as he teased you, dragging his fingers through your slick, his breath hot against your ear.

"You want me?" he rasped, pressing against your entrance but not quite giving you what you needed.

"Simon," you gasped, nails digging into his arms.

"Say it," he demanded, voice low and dangerous, like he needed to hear it just as bad as you needed him.

Your head fell back against the pillows. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

In one smooth, powerful thrust, Simon buried himself inside you.

You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, nails scraping down his back as he stretched you, filled you, ruined you.

"Fuck," he groaned, forehead dropping to yours, fighting for control as your body squeezed around him.

But you didn’t want control.

You wanted him raw, reckless, gone.

"Move," you whispered.

Simon set a brutal pace, his hips snapping into yours, taking you apart one deep thrust at a time. Every movement, every sound, every ounce of tension that had been building between you for weeks, months, longer than either of you wanted to admit—it all exploded into this moment.

He fucked you like he played—ruthless, unstoppable, and completely, devastatingly yours.

"Mine," he growled against your throat, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises.

You barely managed to gasp out, "Yours."

His rhythm stuttered, his breath came ragged, and his hands pinned you down as he chased his high—dragging you with him.

And when you shattered—when pleasure tore through you so hard you thought you might break—Simon was right there with you, cursing, groaning, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your chest heaved, your body still trembling, every nerve burned raw from him.

Simon stayed inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and uneven.

"You," he finally muttered, voice hoarse, "are the biggest fucking mistake I’ve ever made."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself.

"But?" you whispered.

His fingers brushed over your jaw, his lips ghosting against your temple.

"But I’m not sure I give a shit anymore."

You were fucked.

Not just because you had let Simon Riley break you apart in a hotel room last night—more than once. Not just because you could still feel the ache between your legs from the way he had taken you like he had something to prove.

But because now, by the ice at morning skate, you couldn’t stop looking at him.

And worse—he was looking at you, too.

It had started the moment you walked onto the rink.

Simon was already there, stretching near the bench, looking every bit the same as always—broad, unreadable, perfectly in control.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the second you walked in, his eyes snapped to you.

It wasn’t obvious. Not to anyone else. But you felt it.

And then—he smirked.

Smirked.

The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, standing there like he wasn’t the reason your entire body was still on fire from last night.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus, forcing yourself to act like nothing had happened. But it was impossible. Because every time he moved, every time his voice rumbled across the ice, you remembered.

You remembered the weight of him, the way he had growled your name, the way he had—

"Hey data girl."

Simon had skated right up to you, stopping by the boards, just close enough that you felt the heat radiating off him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes weren’t.

You swallowed hard. "Riley."

His lips twitched. "You look tense."

Oh, this fucker.

"Stretching helps," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "Wouldn’t want you getting all stiff."

Your brain short-circuited. Last night. His hands. His mouth.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

You forced a neutral expression. "You here to skate or run your mouth?"

Simon’s smirk deepened.

"Both."

Fucker.

You should have expected it.

Simon had always played hard, but today—he was on a mission.

And apparently, that mission involved driving you insane.

Every time he came near the bench, he would stop just close enough to make you notice. He’d glance at you, barely smirking, his gaze dark and knowing.

But the worst part?

He was playing better than ever.

Faster. Sharper. Completely in control—unlike you.

And then—the hit happened.

It was mid-scrimmage, a full-contact drill, but when Simon slammed an opposing player (who, by the way, was trying to hit you up before the game) into the boards with enough force to shake the glass, you knew.

That wasn’t just a hit. That was territorial.

The other player groaned, shoving at Simon's chest. "Jesus, Riley, calm the fuck down."

But Simon barely acknowledged him. He was already skating away—backward.

Looking at you.

Only you.

And you knew, without a doubt, that the hit had nothing to do with the play and everything to do with last night.

Your grip on the boards tightened. Fucker.

The second the final whistle blew, you were already moving.

You didn’t wait for the team to clear the ice. Didn’t wait for the knowing glances from Soap, or the way Simon had skated past you one last time with that same infuriating, cocky smirk.

You just walked.

Straight to the locker room.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was there.

Simon stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, his skates slung over one shoulder.

You spun to face him, still fuming. "What the hell was that?"

His expression was maddeningly blank. "What was what?"

Oh, you wanted to hit him.

"The hit," you snapped, crossing your arms. "The staring. The smirking. The—"

"The fucking?" he interrupted, tilting his head.

You froze.

Your pulse skipped.

And he knew it.

"Careful, love," he murmured, stepping closer, invading your space like he had every right to be there. "People might start to think you actually enjoyed yourself last night."

Your jaw clenched. "You’re an asshole."

Simon hummed, reaching past you to set his skates down on the bench. The movement brought him so close you had to fight the urge to back up.

Or worse—to close the distance yourself.

"You’re not mad about the hit," he muttered, voice dropping. "You’re mad because this time I got in your head."

He was right.

And he knew it.

You squared your shoulders. "I’m mad because you can’t keep your shit together on the ice."

His gaze darkened.

"Can’t keep my shit together?" he repeated, stepping even closer. "Right. Because you weren’t in the stands, watchin’ me. Because you weren’t picturing my hands on you the whole time."

You hated that he was right.

But you hated even more that your body betrayed you.

Your breath came quicker. Your pulse pounded. And Simon—fucking Simon—just smirked.

"You liked it," he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Shut up, Simon."

His eyes flickered. Something changed.

"Say it again."

You frowned. "What?"

"My name." His voice was rough. Low. "Say it again." his fingers were flexing at his sides like he was seconds away from grabbing you.

And God help you—you wanted him to.

But not here. Not like this.

So you did the only thing you could.

You took a slow breath, tilted your chin up, and said—

"Try to keep up, Simon."

Then you turned, pushing the door open, leaving him standing there.

Breathing hard.

Watching you go.

And if you weren’t mistaken—

Smirking.

326 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

two;

“What are you doing?” Your voice trembled, unsteady—a ballerina with mangled feet, poised yet painfully unnatural.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, as his fingers grazed the mahogany brush in his grasp. He didn’t answer, his dark eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between you. He seemed amused by all of this, or perhaps prideful.

You sat there, unchained but weak-hearted—though he had kept his promise. You were unchained.

Unchained and seated on an unfamiliar bed with grand, imposing posts and onyx-silk sheets. After an excruciatingly tense dinner, where every set of eyes at the table had cut into you like blades, Xaden had led you here. The silver-haired girl, in particular, had clutched her dagger tighter each time his gaze drifted toward your slouched figure.

Their whispers had danced around you like a ghostly waltz—sharp, feverish murmurs about your bruised wrists and hollow eyes. But you’d been too exhausted, too hollow yourself, to care. The soup in front of you had demanded all your focus.

You didn’t trust them. You didn’t trust him either—this man of shadows. Yet, inexplicably, he had fed you, given you a bed. And now he was… brushing your hair?

It was matted, straw-like, and stained with memories you couldn’t quite pluck free. The brush snagged against a knot, yanking sharply, and you winced. Xaden tensed, his patience fraying at the edges.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” he decided after a moment.

You didn’t protest.

He left, disappearing into the adjoining room, and when he returned, his outstretched hand was waiting for yours. Calloused, steady, and strangely anchoring. Against your better judgment, you placed your trembling palm in his.

“Come, little witch. If I wanted to bite you, you’d be bitten already.”

But as you rose unsteadily to your feet, his words stirred unease. He intended to join you.

The thought snagged on a sharp edge in your mind, but you were too weary to resist.

“Choose, Y/N,” a voice whispered from the corners of your memory, harsh and grating. “Kill him, and your power will be imminent.”

The agony hit like a tide, crashing over you until you clung to the onyx countertop for support. Xaden’s hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to steady you.

When you raised your head, the mirror greeted you with a face that was hauntingly familiar: your own, but hollow, bruised, and unrecognizable.

“Y/N.” The name fell from your lips like a prayer, fragile and disbelieving. “My name is Y/N.”

Xaden nodded once, his towering presence unmoving.

“Yes, it is,” he said simply.

A flood of questions threatened to spill from your tongue, but you turned to him instead, accusation lacing your voice. “You know me.”

His expression didn’t falter as he began rolling up the cuffs of his midnight-black shirt, exposing veined forearms.

“No,” he said, his voice like gravel, “not personally.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you, given that he was about to bathe you. He looked at you expectantly, yet you made no effort to move. He needed to answer your question. You needed to know why.

“Strip,” he ordered, his tone firm but not unkind.

You remained still. His jaw twitched.

“If you’re going to sit there rotting in gods-know-how-long a time worth of grime, it’s going to be a great inconvenience for me. So you need to wash yourself— with or without my help. Your choice.”

Heat flushed your face, and the protest died in your throat. “Not. Personally,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his earlier words. Were you to just sit wide eyed while he ran those awfully mangled hands down your skin? Your breasts, your— well.

For the first time, the corners of his lips lifted in genuine amusement. Slowly, he stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of your tangled hair behind your ear.

“Trust me, little witch. To me, you’re nothing more than a finely honed blade— sharp, useful, and exactly what we need to—” he stopped himself, and though you did not recognize much— you knew it was apprehension flashing in his eyes. “My desire belongs to the silver-haired girl downstairs.”

And your love, your mind supplied.

If that were true, why had they treated each other with such loathing at dinner?

Though Xaden’s words were an attempt at easing your hesitance— you still remained unmoving. Yet your prolonged silence seemed to unnerve him. He shifted on his feet before offering a compromise. “I’ll turn around.”

True to his word, he faced the wall, giving you the privacy to peel away the tattered cloth clinging to your starved body.

“Don’t turn around,” you whispered, tension straining your voice.

“I won’t,” he said softly, his shoulders rigid. “In the tub.”

The water enveloped you like an old lover, soothing every ache and gnawing pain. You curled into yourself, knees to chest, but when he turned back, the shadows didn’t entirely conceal you.

Xaden knelt by the tub, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over your hair. His touch was careful, deliberate, as he massaged circles into your temples. The silence between you was fragile but strangely comforting.

“You know of me,” you said at last, rephrasing your earlier accusation.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hands moving with practiced precision.

“What am I?” The question hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the bath.

Not who. What.

He paused, his fingers lingering on the sharp angles of your collarbone before he answered. “You’re very special.”

The words were maddeningly vague, but you didn’t have the strength to push. Instead, you murmured, “How did you find me?”

His hands resumed their work, scrubbing soap through your matted locks. This time, he didn’t pause.

“It took a very, very long fucking time.” He sounded exhausted at the idea of it.

“But you found me,” you pressed, desperate now. “Why?”

And then, the madness prickled at your very mind once more. Phantom voices humming… his voice— and his still lips. All within your head.

She doesn’t know her worth yet.

You think you do? This voice belonged to a woman.

She’ll learn soon enough.

Better hope she survives the lesson…

Before you had even a moment to ponder those ominous words, he tipped your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I told you, you’re special, little witch. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what that means yet.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. But before you could respond, he draped a washcloth over your trembling hand.

“Wash yourself,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Your cheeks burned as you obeyed, turning your body away from him to complete the task. When you finished, exhaustion pressed heavily against your fragile frame.

You knew your name, but not your home. Your love, your family or friends. Did you have any? This cage with its high stone walls and scrutinizing creatures, it frightened you.

“Please,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “Help me understand. I—I’m afraid.”

His eyes raked over your expression for a long moment— a mixture of admiration and pity flaring within them. He cupped your face in one damp hand, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped free.

“Stop crying. I’ll help you understand,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “And you’ll hate me for it. But make no mistake, little witch: what my rebellion does to you won’t be wasted. You’re a weapon, dormant for too long. It’s time to wake you up. It’s time to win the war.”

🏷️’s: @emryb

400 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, FIC — rhysand x reader.

DESCRIPTION: an anonymous journalist exposes the dark secrets of prythian’s elite, but when rhysand, the sharp and relentless owner of the night court gentleman’s club, uncovers her identity, she’s thrust into a dangerous game of blackmail, power, and unexpected attraction. NOTES - i HAD to do an ACOTAR fic. this is a modernish au with the brother’s best friend & enemies to lovers tropes. rhys is a rich playboy, reader hates him. steaminess ensues. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

“I’m going to tear that wretched bitch limb from limb the moment I find them.”

You flinched as glass slammed against the counter, the sharp sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet house.

Rhysand was never subtle. Even in stillness, he commanded a room like a shadow cursed to expand—endless, suffocating, all-consuming. Tonight, he was a storm unrestrained.

He didn’t look at you. He never did. Then again, no one else did either, not with you tucked behind a fortress of old books. Romances, plenty to keep you sated. Tonight, you sat at the table, half-buried in their pages, your too-large glasses slipping down the bridge of your pointy nose.

And there he was—draped in black silk and leather, his movements precise despite the whiskey in his hand. The veins in his forearm protruded most inhumanly as he gripped his glass, his jaw taut with sparsely-contained frustration. Lucien, ever the diplomat, poured him another drink with the practiced ease of someone who’d been smoothing over Rhysand’s outbursts for years. He had.

“The fine people of Prythian won’t care about whatever drivel this so-called author is printing,” Lucien said smoothly. “The Night Court has been thriving, Rhys. No need to let petty gossip get under your skin.”

Gossip.

You winced at the dismissal, your knuckles tightening around the spine of your book. It wasn’t just gossip. It was your work. Your words. The invisible sister of Lucien Vanserra had finally found her voice—albeit from the shadows. If no one would listen to your words spoken aloud, they’d damn well read them. At first, it had been an act of silent rebellion, a catharsis as much as a challenge.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

Behind closed doors had spread like wisteria vines through Prythian’s small town and beyond, and the Night Court’s elite. And while they laughed and whispered about the scandalous columns over their evening drinks, you watched from afar, quietly vindicated. No one could suspect the shy, unassuming adoptive sister of Lucien—odd, foreign, and entirely overlooked. It was empowering. It was ironic.

And it was dangerous.

“Trashy gossip?” Rhysand echoed, his voice low and cutting, dragging your thoughts back to the present. He smoothed a sheet of parchment across the counter, your latest piece, the inked words practically searing into his violet eyes. “Do you think the author would call it merely gossip? Or perhaps truth, Lucien?”

He read aloud, mockery dripping from his tone. “‘The pretty ladies of the Night Court have found their respect elsewhere. Swaying hips grow tired of catering to the insatiable demands of Prythian’s elite, their so-called leader no better than the braying beasts who frequent his clubs.’”

Your heart hammered as his voice sliced through the air, cold and unrelenting. Hatred dripped like serpent’s venom from his pearled teeth. Rhys crumpled the paper in one hand and let it fall to the floor, his lips curling into a humorless smile.

“Poetic, isn’t it?” he sneered, downing the last of his whiskey. “Two of my finest dancers fled last month, and suddenly, every fool with a pen thinks they’re the arbiter of truth. Do you think they imagine themselves clever?”

Lucien frowned, pouring himself a drink now. “You’re letting this rubbish get under your skin. I doubt anyone takes it so severely.”

“Oh, they do take it severely,” Rhys said darkly, quickly— running a hand through his perfected raven locks. “Whoever’s writing this isn’t just clever. They’re precise. Calculated. This isn’t some scorned drunkard’s ramblings; it’s surgical. And you—” he jabbed a finger in Lucien’s direction, “—you’re telling me to laugh it off while my name and my life’s work is dragged through filth?”

You sank deeper into your chair, praying they wouldn’t notice you. A silly worry seeing as most times, they never did.

“Whoever wrote this, I imagine they know you well,” Lucien said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. “You think it’s a man?”

Rhys scoffed. “Of course, it’s a man. No woman is that cunning.”

A sour taste filled your mouth, and you finally dared to glance up. His words, so casually spoken, ignited something in your chest. He was dismissing you. Because what, you didn’t hone the same parts as he did? Annoyance surged your posture straighter and your palms to fists. Before you could stop yourself, you muttered under your breath, “I think whoever wrote it doesn’t like you very much, Rhysand.”

The room stilled.

Lucien choked on his drink, half-shocked, half-amused. Rhysand, however, turned slowly, his violet gaze locking onto you with the weight of a predator assessing prey. Bat to bleeding, weak little bug. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to the space between the two of you. You only dared a blink when his lips curved into a slow, mocking smile.

“And what would you know of such things?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “You hardly seem the literary type.” His sarcasm was a direct mockery of what he’d called “rubbish” on more than one occasion. Your romance novels.

“Works of the devil, himself. Keep reading that rubbish and it will keep you lonesome forever.” He’d said once, one of the only times he’d spared you any words.

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you held his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath it. “Maybe not,” you said, barely above a whisper, “but I know truth when I read it.”

Rhys tilted his head, the smile slipping from his face. His stare lingered, uncomfortably long, as though he were trying to peel back your skin and see what lay beneath. You squirmed in your seat.

Lucien stepped in before the tension could thicken further. “Careful, Rhys. She’s sharper than she looks.” He gave you a fond glance, but his words carried an undertone of warning. Behave.

“Sharper?” Rhys echoed, turning back to his drink. “Hardly. Your sister is as meek as they come.”

You gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the dilapidated cover of your book. Without another word, you stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. You gathered your things with deliberate slowness, each movement a silent protest, before stomping toward the stairs.

Behind you, Lucien sighed. “She won’t appreciate your company if you spend the night.”

Rhys’s laugh was low and awfully amused. “Even more reason to stay, then.” There was a gleam in his wicked eyes.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to turn back. But as you ascended the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhysand’s violet eyes lingered on you far longer than they should have.

“She doesn’t like you,” Lucien said once you were out of earshot.

Rhys was silent for a strained moment before he finally spoke, his tone almost… thoughtful. “No,” he murmured, more to himself than his old friend. “She doesn’t.”

The realization hung in the air, heavy and inevitable. And somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, you felt the first flicker of unease. Why had he assessed you, spared you a glance for a moment longer than necessary? It was unlike him. It was for a reason. It had to be.

Though you tried to convince yourself that your mind was only making shadows from things that were not in the light yet— you just couldn’t shake the feeling…

Your secret was no longer safe.

174 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 1

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5393

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

You grew up hearing about soulmates, but since you were raised by your Aunt Ellen, it was something you weren’t sure was even true. She’d shown you the mark that had shown up on her hip, your uncle’s name, when she’d turned sixteen. Soulmates clearly were a thing, but you were skeptical, even as a child.

“Hey, you gonna take care of the customers or just stand there daydreamin?” Ellen asked you.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized, tending to the men at the bar.

How did I end up working here, of all places?

Your mind constantly drifted these days, and it started a month ago. Your twenty-fifth birthday was only three months away. Jo continually teased you when she found you off in your head during work hours. Then there was your Aunt Ellen, who was getting more worried about you as the days passed.

The music from the jukebox sounded far away, almost muffled as you absentmindedly took care of the tasks of cleaning tables, the bar, restocking bottles, and filling drinks. Guys would flirt with you, but you’d only give them that fake smile and move on.

It was the birthday you’d been waiting for, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone. You were turning sixteen, and you’d finally see the name of your soulmate. Thanks to your aunt, you had gotten your hopes up.

But the day came and went, and nothing appeared. You had checked everywhere, even behind your ears. There was nothing. It took months to pull out of that depression, especially when those close to you asked about it. You also felt like some sort of freak. In all the research you’d done, you couldn’t find anything about not getting the mark when you turned sixteen.

“Geeze, Y/N. You’re really out of it today. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Ellen asked you, pulling you from your memories.

“Sorry. My mind seems to have a mind of its own today,” you sighed, glancing around the bar for a moment.

“You still bummed about the soulmate thing?” she asked you sincerely, in the way she did when she was gently trying to get you to talk.

You just shrugged your shoulders before taking off your apron, “I have to go help Bobby at the garage again.”

“Is it that time already?” Ellen asked, glancing at the clock, then sighed. “Alright. Tell the old grump I said hi, and don’t let him work you too hard.” That made you chuckle, “He never does, and I’ll let him know.”

Again, your mind drifted as you drove down the semi-busy streets to Bobby’s garage. He and your Aunt had been friends for a long time, so he was practically family, as was his wife, Jodi. Growing up, you’d spent half your time in the garage, helping Bobby fix cars.

Sioux Falls wasn’t a big town, but wasn’t tiny either. You knew most of the people who lived there, and they knew you. It was more like more of them knew of you, the girl with no soulmate. You sighed as you drove your 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400, a gift from Bobby you had to fix up, down the lonely road leading to his garage.

“Got something for ya, kid, but you gotta fix her up,” Bobby told you when you showed up for your shift that hot summer afternoon.

“I told you. You don’t have to get me a present this year,” you groaned.

A year ago, you began hating your birthdays, and you didn’t want to celebrate this one. You begrudgingly followed him to his garage, then to the side of it, where you noticed the tarp over something.

Bobby walked over and pulled the tarp off, revealing the shell of a 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400. You had fallen in love with muscle cars as a kid, watching The Dukes of Hazzard. Your jaw hit the floor as you ran over to her like a kid on Christmas.

He was smiling from ear to ear as he watched you look over everything, “She’s all yours, but you gotta do the work. You can’t let any other mechanic touch her. I’ll answer any questions, but I ain’t helpin' either.”

“Are you serious, Uncle Bobby?” you asked excitedly, popping the hood of the beat-up frame.

A small smile crossed your expression with that memory as you pulled into the driveway of Bobby’s garage and parked in the back. It seemed like so long ago, but it was one of your fondest memories that had made your birthday not so bad.

“I’m here,” you hollered, heading over to the car you’d been working on for almost a week at this point.

“How was the bar?” he asked, joining you in the garage.

“I was a space cadet, and Aunt Ellen is worried about me,” you replied, sliding back under the car to finish it up.

“You’re not a space cadet. I just think you can’t focus around all those people anymore. Come work at the garage, full-time,” he told you, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” you answered, tightening down a few more bolts.

“Besides, Jodi misses you being around more often,” Bobby added in an attempt to persuade your decision.

“I miss her too. Oh! Ellen said hi. I don’t know why she doesn’t text you more often,” you replied, sliding out from under the car, looking for yet another tool for yet another size bolt.

When you were in the garage, you always seemed to be able to focus. You knew Bobby had a point, and you’d been considering it for almost a month, but you weren’t about to tell him that. You wanted to let him think it was his idea.

Yeah, your mind drifted, but it was nothing like at the bar. Here, they were little snippets of memories: kids teasing you in high school, adults looking at you like you had two heads, and then there had been attempts to find a job but getting turned down everywhere due to not having the name of your soulmate on your body somewhere.

By the time your shift ended, you had the car completely finished. Looking down at the car, you stood there, covered with blotches of grease but beaming with pride.

“I’ll let the owner know she’s ready,” Bobby smiled, now standing next to you. “Think about it, though, okay?”

“I will,” you replied, giving him a hug before you headed home for the night since you’d already cleaned up the tools you’d used.

You lived in a cute little house not far from Bobby’s garage. It was the only thing that you had from your parents, along with a handful of pictures. You’d lost both of them to a car crash when you were only two, having no real memories of them.

Since you were two when you had lost them, you never asked Jodi what had happened or if anyone else was involved. You honestly didn’t want to know.

Dropping the things from your pockets on the table, you locked your door and headed to the bathroom. Your thoughts drifted again as you did your typical night routine.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time finding work, sweetie. You can’t work here till you’re at least eighteen. I can’t break that law for you,” Ellen sighed.

You crossed your arms and went back outside to your car. You knew why no one in town would hire you, and it was a stupid reason. However, being a teenager still, you were all hormones and now needed to go blow off some steam.

You peeled out of the parking lot and down the road to your parent's place, which would be yours in less than a year. The drive was short due to the speed you’d chosen to go, and a cloud of dust rolled over your car when you parked out back of the house.

Between the punching bag, the target practice, and throwing your knives till your arm was sore, you had finally calmed down some. You made a call to Ellen and told her you were going to sleep at your ‘almost’ house. She didn’t like it but didn’t argue either.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, curled up in the soft bed that would eventually be your permanent room as the sun set slowly. The thought of being alone for the rest of your life hurt more than you’d ever tell anyone.

Dinner that night consisted of leftovers, and you were thankful you’d prepared them ahead of time when the week began—baked chicken, potatoes, and gravy. You were far too out of it to even worry about a vegetable.

I’ll tell Ellen tomorrow.

Finally deciding to quit working at the bar as you cleaned up dinner and headed to bed, almost feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Slipping under the covers and getting comfortable, you also felt more relaxed than usual.

—----

Two hours into your shift, and Ellen had already had to pull you out of your head a dozen times. It was Saturday, so even the morning hours were busy today. You were just thankful that you never had to cook, knowing you would have ended up burning most of the food.

“Can you at least pay attention to the ones at the bar? Jo can handle the floor today,” Ellen told you, again sounding worried.

“I’ll try,” you sighed, glancing at the men sitting there.

There was no point in apologizing again. As you began taking care of the drinks, the bell over the door dinged, signifying yet another customer. Typically, you wouldn’t have even looked up, but something pulled at you.

It was three men, none of whom you recognized, and two of them looked to be around your age, with the third being older. All three of them sat at the bar, so you went over to get them drinks.

“What’s your poison?” you asked, putting on that fake work smile and not really looking at them.

“Three beers,” the older of the three said, “And please tell Ellen to come over.”

You were slightly confused but agreed. You set their beers down in front of them, then went to find Ellen in the back. “Hey, there’s a guy out here that asked for you.”

“Did you get his name?” she asked as she dried her hands.

“No. He didn’t say. He’s with two other guys who are younger, though, if that helps?” you replied as you followed her out of the back room.

You stopped halfway down the bar, but you were still behind it, as she was now on the other side, making her way to the three of them. The older man stood, both he and Ellen smiling as they embraced in a hug, which confused you. You managed to keep up with the drinks for those at the bar but couldn’t hear what the four of them were talking about.

“Y/N, come down here and get these boys a refill,” Ellen hollered, motioning for you to go over to them.

Rolling your eyes, you did as she asked, putting on that fake smile again, “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” one of the two younger ones said to you with what looked to be a flirtatious smirk.

“Don’t be flirting with my niece, Dean. She’s still what you’d consider innocent,” Ellen scolded the one who had just spoken to you, but to you, it sounded more like a teasing sort of joking around, which made you slightly curious. “Thanks. Like I need some stranger to know that sort of thing,” you grumbled.

“Sweetie, these are the Winchesters. They’re practically family. You met them when you were little,” Ellen replied, smiling happily.

For a moment, you were somewhat dumbfounded as to what to even say. You couldn’t seem to remember meeting the three of them. Ellen introduced you to John Winchester, the father of Dean and Sam, who were four years apart in age.

“I hate to do it, Aunt Ellen, but, I need to talk to you about something before I leave in ten,” you finally told her.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking quite puzzled.

“I need to take some time off for a while,” you mumbled, feeling bad.

“Take all the time you need, sweetie. I know things have been rough for you lately,” she said softly, then she gave you a hug. “And tell that old fart to stop by sometime.”

“Thanks for understanding, and I will,” you replied, relieved as you hugged her back. Then you looked over at the Winchesters, “It was nice to have at least met the three of you since I don’t remember meeting you before now. Not sure when I’ll see you again, though.”

“How come?” John asked, seeming fairly curious.

“I’m going to be working my other job full-time for a while. It’s the love of my life, honestly,” you replied with a smile, giving John your full attention.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked, which made you wonder if perhaps he knew Bobby since Bobby called you that all the time.

“I fix cars. Hate to do it, but I have to run,” you replied quickly, heading for the door and out to your Baby. However, your heart about stopped when you saw the black 67’ Chevy Impala parked next to your Firebird.

“Damn…” you breathed out in quiet shock and awe.

Shit! I’m gonna be late.

With that thought, you shook your head, pulled your gaze from the car, and drove to Bobby’s garage for your shift. It indeed was a beautiful car, and you knew that no one in town drove one of those. Through deductive reasoning, you figured it had to belong to the Winchesters. You just weren’t sure which one. Whichever one it was, though, they loved that car, and you knew it with how well it had been taken care of.

The leaves on the trees were changing colors already, and the light breeze was finally cooler than the summer heat that you hated. However, you didn’t notice much today; you were too excited to give Bobby the news.

You knew the smile you couldn’t hide would give it away, but you stepped into his little office anyway. You didn’t even have time to say anything before he did.

Bobby was smiling from ear to ear when he looked up at you, “Nice to know Ellen didn’t give you a hard time about being here full time. You can whip those boys on the morning shift into shape for me.”

“Like they’d listen to me,” you chuckled but rolled your eyes.

“They better, since you’re gonna be their boss from here on out,” he told you seriously.

“Wait? What?” you asked, in complete surprise.

“Kid, you know your shit, and you’re good at your job. You’re better at your job than the four boys I got workin here already. I’d rather just have you than all of them 'cause I know you’d get the job done like it should be, and you never cut corners,” he explained, being completely serious.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, still shocked.

“Just say thanks and be here at six tomorrow morning. Take the afternoon off and rest up,” he smiled.

You went over and wrapped him up in a hug. He knew the only reason you worked in the garage late was to avoid the boys he had working there in the morning. You had tried doing the dating thing after your sixteenth birthday, but realized quickly that no boy wanted anything to do with you.

That night, you were still smiling, even if you were apprehensive about being someone’s boss, let alone four grown men. People in the town were mostly courteous toward you but treated you like a plague of some sort since your soulmate's name never appeared on your body.

—-------

As you got ready that morning, you attempted to calm your nerves, but it didn’t work. You gave yourself mental pep talks all morning and even on the drive, but that wasn’t helping either. Your heart was still racing as you parked out back like you usually did.

Bobby was the only one at the garage for the moment, and he even told you to breathe more than once. He explained that you’d still be working on cars, but now you’d also be keeping an eye on the boys he had working there and telling them when to take their breaks. It seemed simple enough.

Benny, Cas, Garth, and Jack were decent guys and were all friends. They’d spend time at the bar in the evenings when you were at the garage. It was how you had avoided a lot of people in the town since they really wanted nothing to do with you. The part you were worried about was interacting with them, as their boss. Bobby was standing next to you as the four of them arrived and mingled into the garage.

“Boys, meet your new boss,” Bobby said sternly, and all four of them looked up at you.

You were sure your heartbeat could be heard throughout the room as you froze under their gaze. The only one who didn’t look at you like you were a waste of space or something to avoid was Garth, and you made a mental note of that.

Something in you snapped with how they looked at you, and you laid into them before Bobby could comment on their expressions. “Look, I know that at least three of you would rather not work with me. I’m not a bitch, but I will be if I have to be. You don’t like this, there’s the door,” you told them sternly, putting your hands on your hips.

“Seriously?” Benny asked, annoyed. His Cajun accent was thick, and if it weren’t for his attitude, you probably could have listened to the man talk all day.

“Yes, Benny. She’s got the right to fire you if need be. I suggest you don’t give her a reason,” Bobby replied, crossing his arms, almost daring the man to challenge his decision.

Garth stepped forward, though, with that kind smile he always had, “I, for one, am looking forward to working with you, Y/N. You seem like a nice person, fair.”

Your expression instantly softened, and you smiled at him. “Thanks, Garth.”

“Alright, get to work,” Bobby told all of you before he headed into his office to keep an eye on things.

You turned from the four of them and headed toward the newest of the cars that had been brought in the day before. Your nerves were shot, but you were proud of yourself for standing up to the three of them. Pausing for a brief moment as you looked down at the car, you decided on something.

I’m gonna just be me. If they don’t like it, they can quit.

You turned on the radio to the classic rock station, then got to work on the car. Benny raised an eyebrow and just watched you silently before he got to work with the other three. It was odd for you with the other four working there, too. It was something you weren’t used to, but you found yourself keeping an eye on them, even while you worked.

An hour into the shift, Cas had stopped working and sat on one of the barstools, sipping some water. You watched him out of the corner of your eye for a few minutes while still focusing on your current task. Five minutes later, he was back to work. You took mental note of it and focused on your task again.

Each of them did that, taking turns to sit for a few minutes, have water, and then return to work. It puzzled you, but you weren’t ready to ask them why they did it, at least not yet.

Just before nine, you heard it before you saw it. The beautiful purr of that Impala you had seen the night before. A smirk crossed your lips while you were unbolting the upper portion of the water pump for the current car in front of you.

The Impala stopped, and then she was silent. You could clearly hear three sets of footsteps heading into the garage. The four boys erupted with greetings to the Winchesters, more Dean than the other two. Even Bobby joined in.

So, they do know each other. Too bad the boys know them too. So much for maybe making a friend now.

You sighed and slid under the car, going for the bottom bolts now that the top ones were loose, completely ignoring the ruckus of greetings going on only about twenty feet away from you.

“Kid, you gonna come say hi?” you heard Bobby ask, and you realized he was standing next to you.

“I really wanted to get this finished, since the part finally came in, and this poor car has been sitting here for a week waiting,” you replied without moving out from under the car.

“Kid, don’t make me pull you outta there,” he told you a bit more sternly, and you knew he’d do it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding out from under the car.

“So much for not running into you again, Sweetheart,” Dean smirked, which made you roll your eyes.

“Dean’s gonna be starting tomorrow morning. Dean, she’ll be your boss, so don’t try anything funny. She’s also practically my niece,” Bobby told him, far sterner than you’d heard him talk to anyone before, which only piqued your curiosity as to what their past entailed.

“I’ll behave, Bobby, I promise,” Dean told him, somewhat seriously.

You noticed a small twinkle in not only Dean’s eye, but also in Bobby’s. It was like there was something they both knew but weren’t saying, at least not in front of you.

“You better, boy. I got no problems telling your dad and making him fire you,” Bobby replied, glancing at John.

That was when it hit you. You’d seen the initials JW on several different pieces of paperwork and even a couple of packages that had been delivered to the garage. John was Bobby’s partner in the business, and Dean was supposed to inherit it when John passed or retired. You were a bit surprised, though, that you had the power to fire the boss's son or at least write him up if you had to.

John’s laughter filled the garage at Bobby’s statement, “If I have to get involved, you’ll be in far more trouble than just losing your job.” There was a joke in there, but you could also hear the hint of seriousness in his tone.

What do the three of them know but aren’t saying around me? This is so frustrating.

“I said I’d behave,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the car closest to him while the boys gave him a hard time. But it was there, even if only a hint of it, a smirk, and you noticed.

That was when John and Bobby both turned toward you, and for some reason, it made you nervous. “We’re having a little get-together tonight at Harvelle’s, and you’re invited. Sam graduated and is getting a full ride for law school, and that calls for a celebration,” John told you with a far softer smile than you thought the man was capable of.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” you replied, completely unsure of the idea of being around people who really wanted nothing to do with you.

“Good. Then we’ll see you there around say, seven?” John replied.

“Okay,” you answered, not sure what else to say.

Due to your attention being on John and Bobby, you missed the silent conversations going on between Dean, Sam, and the four grease monkeys on the far side of the garage. Dean was mostly watching you while Benny and Cas were telling him things, about you. Sam was also watching you, but his was more out of curiosity than anything else.

John and Bobby hung out in the office with the door closed for at least another hour. Dean and Sam were distracting the other four while they worked. You, well, you were changing out the water pump, ignoring all of them. It was what hurt the least.

While you were tightening down the bolts under the car, you noticed a pair of feet standing next to you.

“You really don’t remember us, do you?” he asked.

“Sorry. I really don’t,” you answered, focusing on the bolt that was being a pain to get to.

“Wow. Kinda surprised since we went to the same schools and grew up in the same town,” he chuckled quietly, and you realized it was Sam and not Dean. Sam had a softer voice, and he didn’t call you sweetheart.

“I’m really sorry. I was kind of a loner,” you told him and finally got the bolt tightened down.

Sliding out from under the car and looking up at him, you felt like an ant with how tall he was. You shook off the feeling, got to your feet, and bent over into the engine so you could finish bolting the water pump in place.

“I remember. I heard about what happened, or uh, I mean- what didn’t happen when you turned sixteen,” he told you with that softness you were thankful for.

You shrugged your shoulders briefly, “Doesn’t matter. At least Bobby let me work here. All I ask is that you aren’t being nice to me out of pity. I’d rather be ignored.”

“I don’t pity you. I actually wanted to tell you something I found out while I was at college. It’s rare, like it only happens to one in a billion people. A traumatic event before the age of five can leave a child too scared to get their soulmate’s name when they turn sixteen,” he explained.

You froze where you were. It was more than anything you’d been able to find, and for a moment, you wanted to hope. You quickly brushed it away, though, remembering how badly you’d felt the last time you got your hopes up.

“You gonna keep going or just leave me hanging like that?” you asked, a little sharper than you intended.

Sam took a deep breath, and you missed him glancing at his brother momentarily, “Well, what I read said that the other person still gets their soulmate’s name. The one that went through the trauma has to fully heal from it before they get their soulmate’s name.”

You rolled your eyes, “Kinda hard to heal from something I don’t remember.”

“I just wanted you to know that me and my brother don’t see you like others do, and we’d like to be your friend, if you want,” he replied, then walked away to leave you to your thoughts.

Great. I don’t even know what to do to heal that sort of thing. I don’t even remember my parents. And now, the boss’s kids want to be friends with me. No, that can’t go horribly wrong, can it? Plus, I have to go sit through a celebration with people I don’t remember and others who want nothing to do with me, even if Ellen, Bobby, and Jodi will be there.

You focused on the car but finished it quickly before the Winchesters were even ready to leave. After wiping off your hands, you closed the hood and put the tools away before driving the car out to the finished area so it could wait for its owner to pick it up. When you headed back inside, your eyes were only on the office door, which was still closed. You didn’t see Dean watching you again.

“Hey, Bobby. Cars finished. I didn’t see anything else out back. What do you want me to work on?” you asked, setting the keys on his desk so he could get the paperwork together.

“How about you give Dean the tour? Show him where everythings at?” John suggested with a smirk before Bobby could say a word. “I figured Benny would do that, since they seem like friends,” you replied, not wanting to interrupt the six of them.

“I’m sure he could, but he won’t. You’re their boss. Comes with the territory,” John told you.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied in a slight mumble, heading back out of the office, closing the door, and then leaning on it.

As you crossed your arms, you watched the six of them. They looked like they were enjoying whatever conversation was happening between them, with Dean laughing at something he must have found funny. With a deep sigh, you walked over to them, slipping your hands into your pockets.

There was instant silence the moment you got close to them, but you didn’t let the hurt show, “John said I should give you a tour and show you where everything is,” you explained to Dean, not really looking at him.

Dean glanced at the office door then back down at you, “If that’s what my dad said, then lead the way, Sweetheart.”

Why does he have to keep calling me that? It’s not like he knows me. Maybe he calls all girls that, and it’s just his thing or something like that.

“Yeah, not like you been in here a day of your life,” Benny teased him, which made you look up at Benny, confused. “Huh?” was the only word you could manage.

“Oh yeah, Dean’s been working in here since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Cas chuckled, teasing Dean.

Your gaze went from each of them and then to Dean, tilting your head in a fair amount of confusion. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked away from you.

“What’s wrong, Dean? Worried she’ll figure it out?” Benny stated.

“Figure what out?” you asked as Dean glared at Benny.

“Nothing,” Dean snapped, still glaring at Benny.

So, Dean’s got some secret he doesn’t want me to know about.

“Do you still want that tour I’m supposed to give you?” you asked with a sigh, looking more at the floor than anywhere else.

“Dean, you were here less than a month ago. Did you really forget where everything is already?” Cas teasingly asked him.

You’d had enough, so headed out of the garage, tossing your hands up and hollering, “Never mind,” just before making it outside. Once you made it to your car, you texted Bobby and told him you were heading home since there weren’t any more cars to work on at the moment.

The six of them watched as you drove past the garage entrance and then down the driveway. You missed Dean punching Cas in the jaw. You missed John and Bobby going off on Benny and Cas. You also missed Dean going off on Benny. You were too pissed and hurt to even look back.

Bobby didn’t text you back, but you knew if he had an issue or needed you at the garage, he would have said so. The moment you got home, you went straight for the punching bag, needing to get the anger out of your system so you could shower.

How am I gonna get out of tonight? Can I even get out of tonight? Probably not. I’ll have to show up, at least. I can always leave early, though, right?

You groaned at the thought of having to be around people, knowing full well that getting out of it, even early, was going to be difficult. At least you weren’t required to dress up any, so you went for a pair of black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and your favorite deep green flannel pulled over it. At the garage, you typically had your hair pulled back, but for tonight, you left it down.

Parking near the back of Harvelle’s Bar & Grill, you were just staring at the building, dreading going inside and having to “people,” as you called it. The sun had already set, and the darkness was allowing the glimmer of stars to be seen in the night sky, but you didn’t notice them, just the bar in front of you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

Story Master List Main Master List

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @jamerlynn @jackles010378 @bruhidkjustwannaread @onthehuntforshinies

@chriszgirl92 @angzls @xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @onlyangel-444

@nancymcl @muhahaha303 @suckitands33 @kr804573 @justrandomthougt

@suckitands33 @mxtansy @scarletqueenx @krazykelly @roseblue373

@whimsyfinny @ladysparkles78 @aaathazagoraphobiaaa @hobby27 @perpetualabsurdity

@cicibunbuns @n-o-p-e-never @vanessa-boo @foxyjwls007

If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

259 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 12 - Above the Clouds, Beneath the Earth

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter ->

The sky was still dark, still full of stars, when Genevieve woke up in the morning. Tairn had promised her an early morning flight, so she could see the sunrise from his back, above the clouds and mountains. She made sure to be quiet as she snuck out of her room, her steps light as she opened the door.

“AH!” She yelped, jumping out of her skin when she opened the now locked door to her bedroom, just to find Liam sitting outside of the door. “What in Gods’ name are you doing outside my door!? Isn’t your room right next to mine?”

But clearly Xaden had other plans for her.

“Xaden wants a centinel outside your door at night until he can trust that you actually lock your doors, so here I am,” Liam shrugged, stretching the stiffness and sleep out of his body. “Garrick, Bodhi, Xaden, and I, all take shifts,” He paused, looking up at Genevieve in the doorway. “Do you think Violet will like this figurine I made of Astrape?”

The little wooden figurine in his palm was adorable, but Genevieve was too focused on the fact that she had a guard now.

“This is insanity, go back to your room,” Genevieve started, her tone final, but Liam didn’t move. “I don’t need a guard sitting outside of my room at night. We’ve already discovered that I can handle myself.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Liam says, his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just here because Xaden asked me to. If anything, shoot Xaden.”

“I’m not going to shoot Xaden or you,” she groaned, running a hand over her face. It’s too cold outside to be thinking harder than with slight reasoning, and all she wanted was to go outside and ride her dragon into the sunrise, but no. “Can you just let me go outside now?”

Liam laughed, his voice light as he stood up.

“Alright, alright,” He said, moving away from her doorway. “But I’m coming with you.”

“What? Why?” Genevieve asked, exasperated by the circumstances. “I’ll be with Tairn. I won’t die.”

“I have a dragon, too, you know. You’ll never know I was even there if that’s what you want. I’m just going to come with you.”

Genevieve ran a hand through her hair, trying to suppress her irritation. She could already feel the familiar pressure of the day beginning to weigh on her, despite the dark sky and the promise of escape on Tairn’s back.

“You’re not going to let me fly alone, are you?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

Liam smiled, his expression a mix of amusement and apology, but so charming that it usually disarmed people. “Not a chance. Xaden would have my head. Besides, a little company will do you good, and you still get your sunrise.”

“That’s not the point,” she muttered, crossing her arms, her mind racing for a way out. “I just… I need some space, Liam. Some time to breathe.”

Liam’s smile faltered slightly, his eyes softening with understanding. “I get it. Really, I do. But Xaden is just trying to look out for you. After what happened… Well, no one’s going to take any chances. Especially not him.”

Genevieve clenched her jaw. Of course. The incident with the cadets. She’d killed three people in her own room. Lost control. And now everyone saw her as a ticking time bomb. She sighed, gesturing for Liam to step into her room as she returned to grab her flight gear.

The thought of Xaden assigning her a gear, after everything that had already happened, filled her with a simmering annoyance. She had survived captivity, trained under the most brutal conditions, and yet here he was–deciding she needed to be babysat. But then again, after the incident with the cadets and her newfound, uncontrollable powers, maybe Xaden had a point. Not that she’d admit it.

Train’s voice rumbled in her mind, low and slightly amused. “It’s not the worst idea. You haven’t exactly mastered your abilities yet, and neither of us wants a repeat of what happened yesterday.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” she shot back, pulling on her boots. “And I don’t need a guard either. This is ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Train replied, his tone nonchalant. “But would it kill you to let someone have your back?” Genevieve paused at that, staring at her reflection in the small mirror above her dresser. Her eyes were tired, the dark circles under them a reminder of sleepless nights and endless battles–both physical and emotional. The truth was, she had spent so long relying on herself, fighting her own demons in silences, that the idea of someone else watching her back felt foreign. And maybe a little too dangerous.

She shoved the thought aside and grabbed her jacket, throwing it over her shoulders as she stepped to the doorway where Liam was waiting. He was leaning against the doorframe, inspecting the figurine of Astrape.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered.

Liam grinned, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside her as they made their way to the flight field.

“Just so you know, I don’t snore,” he said casually.

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “And why would I need to know that?”

“Because I have a feeling Xaden’s going to keep this little guard situation going for a while,” Liam teased. “You might as well get used to me being around.”

“You are not sleeping in my room,” she grumbled, her responses a low growl as they reached the flight field. But the moment her eyes caught sight of Tairn, the irritation melted away. His massive form was silhouetted against the faintest hint of dawn on the horizon, his dark scales shimmering under the starlight. There was a quiet power in his presence, and for a moment, Genevieve felt the weight of everything lift–just a little.

Tairn dipped his head as she approached, his golden eyes gleaming. “Ready?”

Genevieve nodded, feeling the familiar surge of excitement at the thought of flying. She placed her hands against his warm scales, and with a fluid motion, climbed onto his back.

Liam followed suit, his dragon appearing from the shadows with a low rumble. Deigh was smaller than Tairn, but no less impressive. Her sleek, red body cutting through the early morning as she stood proud for Liam to mount.

“Try to keep up,” Genevieve called out over her shoulder, a faith smile tugging at her lips.

Liam laughed, unbothered. “Race you to the clouds.”

With a sharp motion, both dragons launched into the air, their wings beating powerfully against the cold morning wind. Genevieve held tight to Tairn as they soared higher, the ground quickly disappearing beneath them. The sky opened up before them, vast and endless, and for the first time in days, she felt free.

As they climbed above the clouds, the horizon began to glow with the first light of dawn. Breaking through the clouds, the sky opened up before them in a blaze with colors–deep purples, fiery oranges, and soft pinks blending together in a breathtaking display. Genevieve’s heart swelled at the beauty of it all. The stars reflected the twinkling of her heart as she laid back and watched them disappear in the light.

For now, there was just the sky, the wind, and the sunrise.

“You fly, and the world falls away,” Tairn murmured in her mind.

And that was exactly what she needed. A moment where the weight of her responsibilities could disappear, even if it was just for a little while. She could pretend, up in the clouds, that she wasn’t a spy, that her heart wasn’t constantly torn between loyalty, revenge, and something far more dangerous.

Up here, she was just Genevieve. No spies. No traitors. No guards, except for Liam who kept true to his promise of keeping his distance. Just her and Tairn, flying free.

“You will always have this,” Tairn whispered, his voice a comforting rumble. “No one can take this from you.”

But as the sun rose, a part of her knew it was only a matter of time before she had to come back down. Back to reality, back to Xaden confusing her heart, back to lies and half-truth that filled every corner of her life.

————————————————-

“Hale!” Professor Carr exclaimed, a sickening expression of joy and excitement on his face. “It’s our first signet training lesson one on one! Isn’t this exciting?”

“Call me Genevieve,” She said, her voice snapping.

His eyes flashed with annoyance.

“I just want to see what you can do today, especially since you tried to hide your signet from me.” He said, and his voice was sickeningly soft and sweet. A horrible contrast to the man who used to spit at her when she was captive. “I knew that with a dragon like Tairn you would be powerful.”

Genevieve nodded, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Her squad and Xaden had tried to keep her signet under wraps, tried to make sure that no one knew how dangerous she was becoming, but it's hard to hide the vines that seem to always be creeping up her legs every time she stood still for too long, and it's hard to hide the flowers that bloomed after every step she took on ground besides stone and wood.

“We’re going to start your training with a simple test,” Professor Carr said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You see, I want to feel what you can do. Unleash your signet, Hale. Let’s see if you can handle it without, well…” He paused for dramatic effect, grinning like a predator, “killing anyone this time.”

Genevieve’s jaw clenched, the memory of the cadet’s lifeless bodies flashing through her mind. Her fingers twitch involuntarily, and she balled them into fists to keep the vines from appearing too soon.

“Relax, Hale,” Carr crooned, stepping closer. His presence felt suffocating, too familiar. “Or should I say Genevieve? You were so much more… compliant under General Sorrengail’s care. Have you forgotten how to be obedient?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a wave of nausea rolling over her as the memories of her captivity rushed back—the dungeon, General Sorrengail’s smile, the darkness that seemed to swallow her whole. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She had Tairn now. She had power.

And yet, that power terrified her more than Carr ever could. And she needed him to learn how to control it.

So, taking a deep breath, she focused on the ground around her, willing the vines to stay dormant, and for the ones she had already sprouted to retreat back into the earth. In her mind, the image of their threads of life were woven back into the blanket of the earth instead of manipulated into her own thread of life. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But she could already feel them stirring, breaking out of her weak control, responding to her rising anger.

“Go ahead,” Carr taunted, his voice a low whisper. “Show me what Lilith’s little pet has become.”

Genevieve snapped. Her vision blurred as the ground beneath her cracked open, vines erupting from the earth, spiraling towards Carr with a speed that startled even her. He flinched, his smug grin faltering as the tendrils coiled around his feet, tightening with each passing second.

Tairn’s voice echoed in her mind, a deep, rumbling presence. “Control it, little soldier. Don’t let him bait you.”

But the vines continued to rise, dark flowers blooming in their wake, their petals shimmering with an unnatural sheen. Carr’s eyes widened in fear, and for a moment, Genevieve relished the panic in his expression.

“Stop this!” Carr said, forcing his voice to be strong, but his eyes gave way to the terror that her vines were causing. All the arrogance was drained from his face as the vines twisted higher, nearing his throat.

Genevieve hesitated, her breath ragged, the fury coursing through her veins like wildfire. She could end this. She could make him pay for every moment of her suffering, for every cruel word and sickening smile.

But something inside her wavered. This wasn’t who she wanted to be. She wasn’t General Sorrengail. She wasn’t a monster. Even if she wanted to kill him, he’s the only man alive who is trained to figure out how signets work. She needs him.

With a sharp inhale, she closed her eyes and willed the vines to release. Slowly, they retreated, slithering back into the earth, the flowers withering and crumbling into dust as she took life back.

Carr stumbled back, his face pale with shock. But his grin was sinister, evil almost.

“Good, Hale,” He said, his voice disgustingly shallow. “Do it again. Focus on that target,” he gestured to a dummy across the field from her. “And will those vines to fight. Life Weaving is about giving life and taking it too.”

Genevieve's hands trembled as she released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The ground still felt alive beneath her feet, pulsing with energy, but she wasn’t ready to unleash it again. Not yet. She had to remember her goal—control. She was no use to anyone if she couldn’t rein in her power, no matter how satisfying it would be to strangle the life out of Carr.

Her eyes flickered toward the dummy, its lifeless form a far cry from the man in front of her, yet it stirred the same sick sense of hatred. Life and death, she thought, a bitter taste on her tongue. Carr made it sound so simple, so mechanical, but it wasn’t just life and death. It was everything in between.

“You think this is some kind of game?” She snapped, eyes narrowing at Professor Carr. “I’m not your puppet.”

His eyes flickered toward her, still carrying that disgusting amusement, but now there was a trace of something darker beneath it. Fear. “Oh, but you are, Hale. You’re the best weapon we’ve ever had, and deep down, you know it. That’s why General Sorrengail kept you locked up. You’re dangerous. Even she knew you would become something she couldn’t control.”

Genevieve’s chest tightened at his words, the weight of them pressing against her ribs. She had spent over a year under Lilith’s thumb, every day a reminder of how powerless she’d felt. And now, here she was, faced with the power she had always dreamed of, but the cost of wielding it felt heavier than she’d imagined.

Carr’s eyes flickered to the dummy in the distance. “You need to understand your abilities. Control means understanding when to take and when to give. That’s the difference between you and General Sorrengail. She knew exactly how much she could take before she had to give something in return.”

Genevieve gritted her teeth. Lilith had been methodical, cold, ruthless—but she wasn’t the General. She wasn’t going to become her.

But the vines, they were an extension of her now. She could feel them, like a second pulse under her skin, ready to spring forth at her command. Carr was right about one thing: she needed control or the power would consume her.

“I think you underestimate how much I’m holding back,” Genevieve shot back, her voice cold as ice.

Tairn’s presence surged in her mind, steady and grounding. “You control this. Don’t let him get under your skin. He wants you to lose control—don’t give him the satisfaction.”

But Carr’s smug expression was a taunt all on its own, every word out of his mouth pushing her closer to that edge. She turned her gaze to the dummy, focusing her power, trying to draw on the same force she’d just unleashed without letting it overwhelm her. Her palms grew warm, the air around her humming with tension as the earth stirred once more. Vines snake from the ground, slower this time, more deliberate. She focused on each tendril, guiding them towards the target.

“Faster,” Carr barked. “You’re not weaving life, you're playing with it like a child. Do it again.”

Genevieve’s control faltered as his words cut through her concentration. Her pulse quickened, and the vines sped up, twisting violently as they reached the dummy, wrapping around its wooden form. The flowers bloomed again, dark and deadly, their petals shimmering under the sun. She gritted her teeth, trying to rein them in before they consumed everything in sight.

“Better,” Carr said, stepping closer, inspecting her work. “But not good enough. You’re holding back, Genevieve. You can feel it, can’t you? That raw power waiting just beneath the surface. Stop trying to control it—unleash it. Or are you afraid of what you might become?”

She glared at him, chest heaving as she fought to maintain control. “I know exactly what I’ll become if I let go.”

“Oh?” Carr leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “And what’s that? A monster? A Weapon? Something worse?”

Her heart pounded in her ears, and for a moment, the weight of his words pressed down on her. The vines tightened around the dummy, cracking the wood as they constricted, and she felt the pull—an urge to push further, to let the vines spread, to tear the whole training field apart if she wanted.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She had to master this power, not let it master her. With a fierce breath, she released the vines, letting them fall limp at the base of the dummy. Her fingers twitched, but she forced herself to stay still, refusing to rise to Carr’s bait.

“Again.” He said, sneering the words between gritted teeth.

And she complied, sticking the target again and again, over and over until the fire simmering underneath her skin exploded.

Her skin radiated heat, and it felt as if she was being struck by lightning. She was nearing burnout, her own body resembling more of a skeleton than a human as she struck again.

“You need to stop,” Tairn bellowed, his voice strict and commanding. Genevieve’s breathing came in ragged gasps, each strike against the target sapping her strength. The air around her crackled with energy, the heat of her signet flaring wildly as she neared burnout, her control slipping. Her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, the raw power coursing through her veins a searing reminder of just how dangerous she could become. Each command from Carr grove her further, pushing her to the brink of her limits.

“Stop,” Tairn’s voice thundered in her mind, filled with urgency and concern. “You’re on the edge. You’re reaching burnout, you will die if you continue.”

But Carr’s sneer only grew more pronounced as he watched her struggle. “You see, Genevieve? This is what true power looks like. You are destructive because of this power.”

Genevieve’s vision blurred, her hands shaking uncontrollably as the vines grew. She collapsed to her knees. She could feel the power inside her building to an unbearable level, and it was all she could do to keep herself from breaking down completely. The dummy was barely recognizable now, its wooden frame splintered and covered in thick, dark vines.

“No,” she managed to croak, her voice barely audible over the roar of her own power. “I need to stop.”

The intensity of her power was reaching a critical mass, and she felt as if she was teetering on the edge of a precipice. If she went any further, she might not be able to pull back. The threat of losing control was real, and it made her shiver despite the heat radiating from her.

“Genevieve, focus on me.” Tairn’s presence was a grounding force in the chaos, a beacon of calm amidst the storm. “Let go of the anger, and find the balance. You can do this.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out Carr’s taunts and the searing heat that was making her feel faint. She visualized the threads falling back, weaving themselves back into the earth. The flowers wither away, back into the pattern of the world. She willed herself to find the center of her own power, to channel it into control rather than destruction.

With a supreme effort of will, she forced the vines to recede, letting them unravel from the dummy and and sink back into the earth. The heat slowly dissipates from her body, leaving her weak and trembling. Her knees sunk into the now plush grass beneath her.

When she finally opened her eyes, Carr was staring at her with a mixture of disdain and grudging respect. “That was a start. We will do more next lesson.” His words were clipped and cruel. “You have potential, but potential means nothing if you can’t harness it. You’re a force of nature. Learn to control it, or it will control you.:

Genevieve nodded, her breath coming in shaky gasps. “I understand.”

Carr’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Good. Remember, power is a double-edged sword. Wield it wisely.”

As he walked away, Genevieve sank further into the ground, laying on her back as she let the grass grow around her, her strength finally giving out. Tairn’s comforting presence enveloped her, a soothing balm to the raw edges of her psyche. She took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to regain her composure.

“You did well,” Tairn said softly, though there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “He will be here soon, to take you from this field.”

Genevieve didn’t respond, she just closed her eyes and nodded, letting the late November sun warm her shocked body.

Xaden was coming to save her, again.

Genevieve lay motionless on the soft grass, her body aching from the strain of her power, every muscle screaming in protest. The earth around her felt as if it was responding to her exhaustion with a gentle embrace, the vines and grass curling around her limbs protectively held her close. It was a small comfort, the only one she had as her mind raced with the lingering sting of Carr’s words.

A force of nature. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that. It implied something wild, uncontrollable. And she couldn’t afford to be either.

Tairn’s presence was still there, steady and reassuring, but even he felt distant now, his concern threading through their bond but not overwhelming her. She needed space to breathe, to think, to push away the fear of what she would become.

But despite everything, her body betrayed her with trembling hands and ragged breaths. Carr had pushed her too far, too fast, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to keep her promise to herself. Control seemed so far out of reach when the anger surged so easily, when every moment was a battle to hold back the power bubbling beneath her skin.

A soft crunch of boots on grass made her heart jump. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was–Xaden’s presence was unmistakable, a dark cloud of tension that always followed him, but today there was something softer in the way he approached, the usual hard edge dulled by worry.

“Gen,” his voice was low, a mixture of anger and concern as he knelt beside her. “What the hell did he do to you?”

She opened her eyes slowly, her vision clouded with exhaustion, but even through the haze, she could see the barely restrained fury in his expression. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes scanning her face as if he could will her back to strength through sheer force.

“Pushed me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “He wanted… control. He wanted me to break.”

Xaden’s face darkened, his hands hovering beside her as if he didn’t know whether to pull her into his arms or to give her space to breathe “You’re not broken,” he said firmly, the intensity in his voice making her chest tighten. “He doesn’t get to win.”

A weak smile tugged at her lips, though it faded quickly as the reality of her body’s limitations set in. “Feels like he did.”

He waited for a moment, his eyes looking into hers, searching for some semblance of an answer for whether or not she was ok with him touching her. If she felt as if he would die if he got too close, he would back off, wait until she was strong enough to walk on her own and walk with her to her bedroom. But if not-

“It’s ok,” she muttered, her voice strained and tired. “I know I won’t kill you, not anymore. I see the threads now.”

Without hesitation, Xaden gently slid his arms under her, lifting her from the ground with ease. The vines that had wrapped around her limbs loosened, as if sensing she was safe now, retreating back into the earth. His warmth enveloped her, and for the first time in hours, she allowed herself to lean into it, to let the weight of her exhaustion melt into him. Resting her head on his chest, she breathed in, and the scent of mint and leather condition filled her senses. She sighed contently, Xaden smelled like safety.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Xaden muttered, his voice low and dangerous as he carried her away from the training field.

“Not today,” she breathed, the effort of speaking draining her already depleted strength. “We need him… as much as I hate it.”

His arms tightened around her, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in her words, even if it killed him to admit it. She could feel the tension rolling off of him and into their bond, the barely contained rage he was holding back for her sake. But she wasn’t blind to this protectiveness that had bloomed between them, the way he was willing to save her even when she couldn’t save herself.

“Rest,” he murmured, his voice softer now as they moved closer to the buildings of Basgiath and away from the fields, the chaos of the day fading into the background. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner. We’ll figure this out.”

Genevieve nodded, and closed her eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in weeks.

For now, she would rest. For now, she would let him carry her.

—----------------------------------------------------------

The rest of November passed in a blink of an eye, leaving in a blur of shadows and strain. Genevieve spent twice a week from mid-November to mid-December with professor Carr in special private sessions, aimed to help her get control with her power, but with each lesson, it felt as if she was getting weaker. Losing control.

In the dimly lit sparring gym, Geneviev and Violet squared off, their staffs made contact with a series of sharp, resounding thwacks. With the force of the blow, Genevieve winced, her arms jolting. Her arms felt like glass, her bones weak.

“I think you’ve been doing too much giving,” Violet says, her breaths heavy and labored. “Maybe it’s time to take some life, too.”

“I’m not going to kill someone because I feel weak, Violet,” Genevieve bit, but the harshness in her words was masked by the concern Violet exuded.

“You look like a skeleton, have you seen yourself?” Rhiannon points out. “Your eyes are completely sunken in and you’ve lost weight. You were skinny to begin with but it’s like your signet is eating away at you. You need something.”

Genevieve groans in annoyance, rolling her eyes. “I know, but last time Carr made me take life it felt as if I was draining the Earth from its pulse. And I can barely sleep after I do it. Not to mention I can’t even lock my door without freaking out so Liam sleeps outside my door and I feel so bad.”

“About that…” Liam trails off, looking away sheepishly. “I talked to Xaden the night you figured out I was doing that so he may or may not have warded your room so that only you can open it.” He stopped, and Genevieve blinked blankly. “It’s not like it’s locked! It just can’t be opened!”

Genevieve stared at Liam, incredulously. “That’s the same thing!”

“No it’s not like that,” he shook his head in protest, face flushed. “You can still get out anytime, just no one can get in.”

“Genevieve, you need rest,” Rhiannon pushed gently, her brow furrowed with worry. “No one’s saying you’re weak, but you can’t keep this up.”

But it was a weakness. Genevieve hated the way her body betrayed her, the way it had begun to recoil every time she drew on her signet. It gnawed at her, sucking her dry. Carr’s lessons were supposed to help, but they were slowly consuming her, leaving her feeling hollow.

“I can handle it,” she snapped, more to herself than to them.

“We all understand that signet training is hard-” Genevieve cut Violet off.

“No, you don’t understand!” She exclaimed, her anger finally blowing over. “Your signet hasn’t manifested! Hell, you haven’t even started channeling!”

Violet immediately backed off, a flash of hurt and jealousy hitting her face like a bolt of lightning.

“Genevieve! Violet has her struggles just like you. We’re all trying our best, be nice.” Rhiannon chastised as if she was talking to a misbehaving child.

“Yeah you all have your struggles but you can’t relate to mine, so stop pretending like you can!” The wooden staff in her hands broke in half, And the break was quickly swallowed by creeping vines and dark flowers. The room fell into a stunned silence as the floral growth consumed the broken staff, the dark blooms spreading out like a living nightmare.

Her friends watched in shocked silence, their fear palpable. Violet’s gaze was fixed on the floor, Rhiannon’s brows furrowed in distress, and even Liam’s usual calm was marred by discomfort.

Between the threads that were constantly now in her vision, she could feel the walls around her growing once more. They thickened with every ounce of fear that the people around her exuded. Genevieve watched as her own heart broke into pieces, and was cemented into the wall around her. The wall that was once broken down and destroyed, allowing Rhiannon, Violet, Sawyer, Ridoc, and now Liam in, was firmly built up strongly once more. Blocking them out.

Genevieve’s heart ached as the silence stretched. “You’re all afraid of me,” she said quietly, the hurt clear in her voice. “You’re afraid of what I might do, of what I could become.”

The silence that followed Genevieve’s words was thick, suffocating. Her friends shifted uneasily, but no one rushed to deny it. The air was heavy with the scent of the dark flowers that had sprouted from her shattered staff, the vines now curling menacingly around the gym floor. She could feel it—their unease, their uncertainty. It pressed against her, invisible but undeniable, just as tangible as the walls she’d erected to keep them at a distance.

“Everytime I look at you guys, I can see these threads connecting you to the Earth. And now I know how to keep myself from snapping those threads with what little control I have of my signet, but even despite this control that I’ve managed to grasp from nothing, you all look at me as if one wrong move and I’ll snip your thread short.” She explained, her voice shaking as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “I can feel it in the way you talk to me, the way you look at me as if I’m about to explode and take you all down with me.”

Rhiannon’s lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Her usual sharpness was softened by uncertainty. Violet opened her mouth, but closed it again, glancing at Liam, who stood tense beside her, his hands almost protectively clasped around her arm. No one rushed to reassure her, and that silence cut deeper than any words could have.

“We’re not afraid of you,” Liam finally said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “We’re worried about you.”

“That’s not true,” Geneveive’s eyes narrowed, her grip on the broken staff tightening. The flowers wrapped around it pulsed as if in tune with her anger. “You’re all terrified. I see it. And don’t you dare try to lie to me about it. I can practically feel your fear.”

Rhiannon, ever the leader, took a cautious step forward, her hand extended “Genevieve, we’re not—”

“You’re lying and you know it!” Genevieve cut her off, stepping back, the vines curling tighter around her feet. “You say you’re worried, but I can feel the space between us growing every day. Don’t you think I notice how you all treat me now? Like I’m some problem waiting to be solved?”

Rhiannon flinched, but held her ground. “We’re not lying. We don’t know how to help you. That’s all it is. But we care. We’re not afraid of you, we’re afraid of losing you.”

Genevieve’s heart twisted at those words. She wanted to believe them, to cling to the hope that her friends hadn’t abandoned her, but the truth that she believed so deeply in her heart felt like a heavy stone lodged in her chest. She had lost them, in some way. That bond, that trust—they were fraying, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

The threads that connected her to them, the ones she saw every time she used her signet, were so fragile. She feared that with one wrong move, she’d snap them, and they’d be gone for good.

“You will lose me,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “At this rate, I’m losing myself.”

Liam’s face fell, and for the first time, he looked truly helpless. “We don’t want that to happen. We’re trying to be here for you, but…”

“But what?” Genevieve pressed, her voice sharp again. “You don’t understand what it feels like. You don’t know what it’s like to have your own power drain the life from you. I can feel myself dying everyday. And when I take life, I can feel myself being filled with power again, being filled with life.”

The admission hung in the air like a death sentence. Genevieve’s words, raw and unfiltered, spoke the truth of her power. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” she whispered, her voice cracked, full of fear and exhaustion.

Her friends exchanged glances, tension thick between them. They couldn’t fully understand, but the weight of her words was clear.

“Then let us help,” Violet said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to fight this alone, Genevieve.”

Genevieve backed away, shaking her head. “You can’t help. I’m dangerous. One touch from me, and—”

Without hesitation, Liam closed the gap, grabbing her hand. His fingers wrapped firmly around hers, despite the faint pulse of energy beneath her skin. “We’re not afraid of you,” he said quietly, his grip steady.

Rhiannon stepped forward, grabbing her other hand tightly. “When I say this you better believe me,” She paused, looking into Genevieve's eyes and searching for her confirmation. “We aren’t scared of you, Genevieve.“

Violet, not far behind, rested her hand on Genevieve’s arm. “You don’t have another hand, so I can’t hold it, but we trust you.”

Genevieve’s breath caught. Her power hummed beneath the surface, but they didn’t pull away. The walls around her heart cracked, just a little. Maybe she wasn’t alone after all.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

“You won’t,” Liam said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

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

Hey guys!! How are you all? I just got an interview with my dream uni, so I'm doing pretty good (OMG I AM FREAKING OUT)!

On another note, I have reposted chapter 1, completely re-written with new information and just a lot better, because I definitely have grown as a writer since the start of the book. I'll be updating on the normal schedule, but also slowly posting the revised chapters as well.

As I re-write, please go back and read them (if you want to, of course), as I will be changing and adding things, so stuff will make more sense. Besides that, chapter 13 will be up either on sunday or saturday, so keep your eyes pealed for that (there will be smut)!

Let me know what you guys think! I'll see you all soon~

73 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 9 - The Freedom of Wings

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter ->

Genevieve’s breathing was sharp, as her feet hit the ground running in the bowl-shaped forested valley that the Threshing was in. Her daggers made a light clicking noise, as she ran, her mind pulling herself towards a clearance. It's been at least an hour or two now, but she hasn’t come across a single dragon that’s looked at her when she tried to look back.

If the Gauntlet was war, Threshing is the ninth circle of the inferno. From all sides there are cadets bonding their dragons, and there are cadets falling from their seat off of the back that they believed would carry them out of hell and into freedom. She tries to tune it all out, to focus on the unnatural beating of her heart, but all she can hear is their screams and the thuds of their bodies hitting the valley, and how it sounds like Aurelie’s body when it hits the cliffs.

It was mind-numbing. The endless drumming of her feet on the soft grass was awful, and all Genevieve wanted was a dragon. Her ticket to freedom and out of this tragic machine of war and death was right within her reach. She wanted a dragon.

But the right one would come.

“Be calm, little soldier,” The voice that had remained silent since Presentation now boomed clearly. “The clearance isn’t too far ahead.”

There was something of a panic in the disembodied voice in her head, or at least a tone she couldn’t quite place. It was almost nauseating. What in Gods’ name is in that clearing?

Genevieve gritted her teeth, her pulse quickening in sync with her steps. The voice that had been silent through most of her journey now seemed eager, its words cutting through the exhaustion that weighed on her limbs. Her instincts told her to trust it, but the underlying tension in its tone sent a shiver through her.

“What do you mean, ‘not too far ahead?’” She muttered under her breath, though she knew the voice could hear her thoughts just fine. Her heart pounded not only from exertion but from the unsettling nature of it all. Gods, she thought. What am I running toward?

And then the clearing came into view as she emerged from the treeline, her body still hidden in the shade. Sunlight spilled through the canopy fracture in beams, and in the center, Violet stood in front of the tiny golden feathertail. Xaden was right across the treeline, immediate relief flooding his facial features as he made eye contact with Genevieve from across the clearing.

Sgaeyl is lurking behind him, her beautifully piercing blue eyes staring right into Genevieve’s as she stands frozen against her. Another cadet Genevieve never bothered learning the name of is passed out on the ground next to Violet, and in front of Violet, right behind the golden dragon, is a huge blue one.

It's the biggest dragon Genevieve has ever seen with her own two eyes, bigger than Sgaeyl, but smaller than General Melgren’s dragon, and looking at Violet, it seems to have bonded… her. Violet has a dragon, and she doesn’t. The reality hits her like an arrow through her chest.

The dragon is a beautiful blue daggertail that looks suspiciously like Sgaeyl, and it stares down at Violet, their iridescent blue scales shimmering in the late morning sun. Their tail gleamed in the heat of the sun, every dagger that covered the tip of the tail deadly and sharp, and awe-inducing. Genevieve almost wanted to go out and touch it, touch the deadly blades that covered the end of Violet’s dragon.

Emerging from the clearing, she clears her throat, making herself known. Violet shifts on the balls of her feet, glancing at Genevieve, before her eyes cast upwards. But Genevieve doesn’t follow.

“Turn around, little soldier,” The voice echoes, and this time it almost doesn’t feel like the voice is in her head.

Slowly, her hand clutched around the hilt of her sister’s dagger, Genevieve turned around, the sun blocked from her vision. Her heart skipped a beat as her grip tightened, the world seemed to slow down, the faint rustle of leaves above her drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears.

The sun had vanished behind a shadow, large and imposing, casting darkness over her where there had been light only moments ago. She had felt fear before, many times, but this was different. The fear that coursed through her veins was primal, something ancient. The kind of fear that coils deep in the pit of your stomach and eats away at your bones.

The ground beneath her felt as though it might give way any second.

Genevieve finally looked up.

The breath left her lungs in a sharp exhale, her body instinctively taking a step back. Towering above her was a dragon unlike she had ever seen. The sheer size of the dragon made even the huge blue daggertail behind Violet seem small in comparison. Its scales were a deep, glistening obsidian, catching the faintest glimmers of sunlight like shattered glass, jagged and menacing. Its wings, half unfurled, cast a shadow that covered the entire clearing.

But it was the dragon’s eyes that locked her in place.

They were a molten gold, glowing like embers, and they seemed to bore straight into her soul.

“We finally meet,” The voice boomed in her head, and Genevieve felt a rush of adrenaline surge through her body. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She could feel Violet’s gaze on her from behind, she could sense the tension radiating off of Xaden from across the clearing, but none of that mattered right now. It was just her and this dragon, this huge, terrifying dragon. She didn’t know if she should run, or bow, but the dragon wasn’t giving her a choice.

It leaned closer, its massive head lowering until its snout was inches from her. Its breath was hot and smelled faintly of ash and sulfur, reminding her of a fire that had burned long ago. A low growl rumbled from deep within its chest, vibrating through the ground beneath her feet.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Genevieve,” The dragon spoke, and the ground shook.

“You’re the voice in my head” she whispered, reaching her hand out and resting it down on the top of the dragon's head. The dragon’s eyes interlocked with hers. “How do you know my name?”

“And to think, I’d almost forgotten just how loquacious humans are.” He sighed, and the heavy breath rattled the trees. Genevieve cast a glance back to where Violet and Xaden once were, but Violet had already taken flight, and the golden was missing too. Xaden caught her eye, before mounting Sgaeyl and flying off as well, and then she was alone in the clearing with the- no, with her dragon. “I assume you want to fly? Get on my back.”

The dragon didn’t have to say it twice. Genevieve easily climbed the dragon’s trunk of a leg, taking her seat on the mount. The smooth, scaly divot in front of the dragon’s wings already feels like home as she sits and grabs the ridges of the scales of the pommel. Everything about this dragon is so much bigger than the model, and a part of Genevieve doubts if she can even sit and stay seated on a dragon this size, but he chose her for a reason, so she would sit.

Genevieve inhales swiftly as the dragon takes a stand, his body raising over the trees in the clearing. It pushes itself to a launch, and Genevieve’s heart soars into her chest.

“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fianclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line,” Tairneanach starts, and Genevieve tries to commit it to memory while taking in the sights around her, the feeling of flying. “But I’m going to assume that you’re absorbed in the feeling of flight right now, so Tairn will do until I have to remind you.”

Train cuts through the sky as Genevieve holds as tightly as she can to his back. He dips and turns, and the smile on her face grows with every motion. Flying felt exactly how she imagined it too. It felt like freedom.

“I want to stand,” Genevieve spoke over the bond between them, her voice a mixture of pleading and pure excitement.

Tairn groaned, and took a hard left turn, “I forget how hard it is to have a young rider,” he grumbled. “Don’t be stupid.”

Who was Genevieve to ignore a dragon other than a fool, but she didn’t care. Pushing herself to a stand, she stood on the pommel of his back, her arms outstretched, a wide smile painted across her face.

This was freedom. No, this was… power.

The wind whipped around her, tugging at her hair and clothes as she balanced on Tairn’s back, arms spread wide as if she could grasp the very sky itself. Her heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear–it was from the sheer exhilaration coursing through her veins, the raw, intoxicating sense of control that she hadn’t felt in years. The landscape below was a blur of greens and browns, the forests, cliffs and rivers mere streaks of color beneath the speed of their flight. For the first time since she stepped onto the training grounds of Basgiath, Genevieve felt more than just a survivor. She felt invincible.

“Sit down, fool, before I send you plummeting,” Tairn’s deep voice resonated in her mind, sharp with concern and edged with a protective tone she wasn’t sure if the dragon himself could place. Still, he allowed her a moment longer to stand, as if recognizing that the reckless exhilaration was part of the reason that he chose her.

Reluctantly, Genevieve crouched back down, gripping the ridged scales that jutted from Tairn’s spine like the bones of an ancient god. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her chest still thrumming with the sheer rush of it all.

“Was that so hard?” Tairn huffed, his amusement barely concealed beneath the gruffness of his words.

Genevieve smiles, the adrenaline still singing in her veins. “I could have done that all day.”

“Lets hope you last more than a day,” He retorted, though there was no real bite to it.

“I can’t believe I made it this far!” For the first time in her life, as those words left her mouth, or rather her mind, they were full of joy. The disbelief in her own heart was drowned out by the pure and utter happiness of flight.

“I can’t believe I’ve made it this far as well, little one,” Tairn said, his voice calm and smooth, but clearly carrying a tone of happiness for her as well. He had heard her inner turmoil. He knows what she is. “And now we’re going to have to put on a show. I don’t believe I have to tell you to hold on, do I?”

“I’m never letting go!” She said, and figuratively and literally, Genevieve had no intention of even coming down from the skies. She had no intention to ever back down from flight. A dragon had seen past everything, and still looked her in the eyes with his beautiful golden gaze, and chosen her. She would never let go.

His wing gave a mighty beat, and suddenly, she was upside down, the shift in momentum pressing her flat against his scales as her knees dug into his sides. She let out a breathless laugh, the thrill of the ascent washing over her. His wings beat with an almost lazy power, but the speed was overwhelming, and soon the forest clearing, Basgiath, and the other cadets around them were mere dots in the expanse of the earth and sky.

Her heart raced, but her body felt like it belonged to the wing now, every motion of Tairn’s flight coursing through her as if she were the one soaring through heaven. Stealing a glance over Tairn’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Violet’s blue dragon below, and Violet almost magically still in its seat, but she quickly turned back to her own flight. For a fleeting moment, she felt something she hadn’t in years—and a wash of overwhelming hope flooded through her.

“Why did you choose me?” Genevieve asked through the exhilaration, her breath shaky.

“Because you have seen horrors beyond your life, and decide to fight,” his voice resonated in her head, a familiar feeling that she had now grown to be used to. A feeling that she would learn to find solace in. “Without even knowing it, you have protected your sworn enemy in place of yourself because you care, Genevieve. I chose you because you chose life.”

For a moment, her heart ceased to race, and it became just a calm rhythm of drumming in her ears. I chose you because you chose life. I chose you, because you chose life. Her mind swam through the sea of emotions that threatened to drown her every time those words repeated in her mind. No longer was she relishing in the feeling of flight, but using it as a blanket of comfort to cover the strange feelings those words brought to her.

“But don’t dragons value strength?” She questioned.

“What is choosing to suffer in order to protect others if not strength, Genevieve.” He said, his voice genuine and sincere as he dipped and turned among the clouds. “But please, do tell me what I should value.”

But the flight was soon over, it was time to land, and the other dragons in the sky split a path for Tairn as he descended through the clouds and down to the landing field at Basgiath where Professor Kaori was waiting to hear the names of the bonded dragons.

As they land, the dragons and their riders cheer, but not for Genevieve. For Tairn, and she can’t help but think it’s ironic. One of the most hated and feared cadets was bonded to the dragon everyone wanted. She’s the most unlikely to bond a dragon as revered as Tairn.

“You are by far the strongest of your year, and one of the most cunning,” Tairn’s voice cut through Genevieve’s thoughts. She swallows hard at the almost compliment that her dragon has now given her. “You defend everyone worth defending, even those who you claim to hate, and the strength of your courage is stronger than the strength of your body, Genevieve.”

The group splits, making a space for them to land, and the second she disembarks from his back, she can feel the faces on her, the people with their hushed whispers. As calmly as she can with her heart racing, she walks to stand in front of Commandant Pancheck, and a few other high ranking officials. Right in front of her, with her eyes wide in disbelief, is General Lilith Sorrengail.

“Is that really—” Commandant Pancheck starts, but General Sorrengail cuts him off.

“Don’t say it,” She hisses, her voice as cold and unforgiving as Genevieve remembered it from three months ago. She nearly flinches, but she holds herself strong, her eyes never wavering. “Not until she does.”

Genevieve refuses to break. Her eyes never shift from Pancheck’s and the roll-keepers. She won't look at Sorrengail, who is looking intently at her dragon. She can tell that this woman is implying that she would somehow be able to hijack a dragon, forcing the second biggest dragon in the vale to carry her on her back.

“Name?” the roll-keeper asks.

“Genevieve Hale,” She says, her voice strong and commanding as she tells her name to the roll keeper, who writes her name in the Book of Riders.

“And please state the name of the dragon who chose you, for the record?”

Genevieve lifts her head up high, before she responds.

“Tairneanach.”

She smiled, her eyes narrowing as they met the gazes of the cadets around them, and a single thought resonated between her and Tairn;

“Let them watch.”

—————————————

“You two are insane!” Ridoc exclaimed, picking up both Genevieve and Violet in a bone crushing hug. “You rode in on the baddest motherfucker in town!” He said directly towards Genevieve, who scoffed. “And you rode in on two dragons!?” He said to Violet, who immediately waved it off.

“Put them down!” Rhiannon chided. “Violet is bleeding! ” She says, her eyes twinkling with excitement and relief.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Ridoc says, and then Genevieve and Violet are planted squarely on the ground.

“It’s fine,” Violet says, brushing off the fresh dirt on her bandages. “Are you alright? Who did you guys bond with?”

“The green dagger tail!” Rhiannon grins. “Feirge. And it was just easy! I saw her and then I just knew.”

“Antrim,” Ridoc says with pride. “Brown Swordtail.”

“Sliseag!” Sawyer throws his arm around Rhiannon and Ridoc’s shoulders. “Red swordtail.”

“Tairn,” Genevieve says, her voice beaming with joy. “Black morningstartail.”

“And you, Violet?” Sawyer said, nodding to the discourse surrounding her name and her dragons, plural.

“Astrape, blue daggertail,” she says, her voice strong but laced with surprise at the fact that a dragon bonded her. “And Andarna, golden feathertail.”

Genevieve’s mind swims. Violet bonded two dragons. That was nearly unheard of. Violet bonded the second biggest dragon of their year and a feathertail. Her mind grapples with the reality of it, but her trance is quickly broken.

The five of them are swooped up into a hug by Sawyer and Ridoc, all cheering. Violet and Genevieve share a glance, and Violet is almost surprised at the glee on Genevieve’s face. She looks like a different person. They both do.

“Where’s Trina?” Violet asks, breaking the cheers.

Genevieve nods her head sadly, her face falling. “I saw her fall from the back of an orange clubtail, no chance she survived that. And Tynan?”

Genevieve watches as Violet winces. “Astrape flamed him when he tried to attack me,” She says, her voice low. Genevieve studied Violet’s expression, noticing the flicker of guilt in her eyes as she spoke about Tynan. For a moment, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding—violence had been part of their survival for so long, but each death still carried its weight. Genevieve knew that killing wasn’t something Violet took easily, and if Tynan died because her dragon felt the need to protect her, then to her, it was her fault.

Even if Tynan was an asshole, no one deserves death for being annoying.

Rhiannon, always quick to break through the somber moments, patted Violet on the back with a reassuring smile. “Hey, you did what you had to. We all did. No one’s getting through this unscathed.”

Violet nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line, though the tension seemed to ease at Rhiannon’s words.

Ridoc, sensing the shift, clapped his hands together. “Alright! Enough gloom and doom! We made it. We survived! And look at us—dragons, baby!”

His energy was infectious, pulling the group back from the precipice of grief, if only momentarily. Sawyer grinned, elbowing Genevieve lightly. “He’s right, you know! We bonded dragons! And I don’t think we’ve even processed it yet.”

Genevieve offered him a faint smile in return, but the new thrill of the bond with Tairn hummed beneath her skin. She hadn’t noticed it before, the power was a lot less and she didn’t know what she was supposed to be feeling, but now that they had been together physically, the power was surging. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, powerful and dangerous, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt… alive.

Finally, the dragons return, and they go back to their formation. Genevieve realizes that this is about Violet. The dragons have made their decision about whether or not Violet is allowed to bond two.

“What did they say?” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, whose presence she can now feel again after he had blocked her out when they were in the vale. “Is she allowed to bond the two of them?”

“Be patient, little soldier,” He grumbled over the bond.

“Codagh had relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl,” General Melrgen projects his voice across the field with lesser magic. “While tradition has shown us that there is one rider for every dragon there has never been a case of two dragons selecting the same rider, and therefore there is no dragon law against it,” he declares. “While we riders may not feel that this is equitable-”

“Bullshit,” Genevieve snaps.

“Dragons make their own laws. Both Astrape and Andarna have chosen Violet Sorrengial, so their choice stands.” He finishes, and the crowd murmurs. Genevieve catches violet’s shoulders sag in relief.

“As it should be,” Tairn grumbles. “Humans have no say in the laws of dragons.”

Genevieve agrees, but remains silent as she watches General Sorrengail step forward and project her voice formally closing this years Threshing ceremony, promising the unbounded a chance next year.

“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end,” her voice echoes as she finishes the speech. “Riders, step forward.”

“What?” Genevieve asks, casting a glance of confusion to Violet and Rhiannon, who both are moving forward.

“Just five steps,” Tairn says, and she takes them.

“Dragons, it is our honor as always,” General Sorrengail calls out. “Now we celebrate!”

A flash of heat hits her back, and Genevieve hisses in pain as those around her cry out. Her back feels like it's on fire, yet everyone across the field is cheering, some of them are racing to the new riders. Others are caught up in their embrace.

“You’ll like it,” Train promises. “It’s unique.”

The pain fades, and Genevieve tugs her shirt off, hoping to catch a glimpse at the mark that's been ingrained into her back. Rhiannon gasps as she sees the expanse of the mark on Genevieve’s back.

“Genevieve, your mark!” She exclaims. “It’s beautiful!”

“Would you like to see it?” Train says, his voice as soft as a menacing, death machine dragon’s voice could be.

“I would love to,” She replies, her voice nothing more than a whisper in her mind.

Suddenly, Genevieve’s eyes aren’t hers, and she’s looking at her own back through the eyes of Tairn. The view is from above, but she can clearly see the intricacies of her relic that spans her back. Her eyes see the black swirling marks, the clouds of black that cover her from shoulder to shoulder and down to her waist. In the familiar empty spot in the center, Tairn’s mark sat.

The black clouds that marked her skin were an unsettling but entrancing sight. She always had an idea of what it looked like, as she had seen the other relics, but seeing it on herself was terrifying. The patterns were like smoke caught in an eternal dance of chaos and order, and the marks appeared as if they were shifting, the edge blurring as though the clouds might come to life and consume her whole. Yet, there was something undeniably beautiful in their fluidity. It was a mesmerizing contrast to the jagged scars that lined her skin beneath the dark coils of ink.

The mark felt alive. It exuded power and anger, each swirl a testament to the battles fought and the storms weathered. The black stretched from the nape of her neck, following the curve of her shoulders, sweeping down to her waist, giving the impression that her body was marked by the shadows of a storm, ominous and ever-moving. And nestled in the center, Tairn’s relic was projected into the empty space, it was as though the mark was holding its breath–an ominous pause in the swirling chaos.

Like the eye of the storm, ever watching, ever calm, the silhouette of the large black dragon seemed to be alive. His huge wingspan covered the space of her shoulder blades, shifting the magic of her rebellion relic around it comfortably. His golden eyes stood out against the vast coverage of black, and she loved it.

“It’s… haunting,” Genevieve whispered, her voice caught somewhere between awe and unease.

Tairn hummed in agreement. “A fitting reflection, don’t you think?”

There was an elegance to the new and intricate design, but it was the kind of beauty that warned of danger. The darkness didn’t symbolize the end of the rebellion anymore; it was the beginning of her’s. It spoke of the strength forged through suffering, the toll of her choices and the scars that would never leave. Rhiannon had called it beautiful, but as she stared at the expanse of her own back, she now saw it for what it truly was. It was beautiful, but it was lethal.

The contrast between the solid, inky black, and her pale, battle-worn skin created a striking effect, highlighting the tension between what she had survived and what still lurked beneath the surface. The mark radiated power, but it was also a reminder of the danger she constantly carried within, a warning to anyone who got too close.

And yet, even with the haunting quality of it, Genevieve couldn’t deny the allure. The black clouds, swirling endlessly in their dark rhythm, were captivating. It was the perfect manifestation of her strength and her pain—a rebellion, beautiful and broken, written into her very skin.

—————————————————

Hey all~ what’s up? I got so much support on the last chapter, and I’ve been writing so much recently, that I thought I would update again!

The news is finally out now as well- Tairn bonded Genevieve! I want to know, who do you guys think Astrape is? Astrape is the Greek goddess for lightening, so I thought for Violet that would be a fitting name!

Let me know what you guys thought from this chapter. Leave a kudo, like, or a comment and tell me your thoughts! And- let me know your signet predictions for Genevieve!

71 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 2 months ago

Text

official elon musk hate post reblog to hate like to hate reply to hate

163K notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 3 months ago

Text

Neighbor! Simon who is sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, a hand on his stubbly chin while he tries to figure out how your washing machine works.

Meanwhile you're stirring a pot on the stove and glancing down at him apologetically every now and then.

Funny that there's a pack of Marlboro on the windowsill of your balcony along with an ash tray you'd bought especially for him.

Simon's muddy shoes are in your hallway more often than not, and you decided to get him a pair of slippers since he spends so much time there.

He wears them religiously, you find it adorable.

When you finally hear a click and the washing machine whirrs to life, you're so overjoyed that you wrap your arms around his waist and stand on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw.

His expression barely changes except for the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight.

He rubs gentle circles into the small of your back. You insist he stays for dinner.

He ends up sleeping on your couch, just in case something else goes wrong in your new apartment.

9K notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 4 months ago

Text

HEAVEN SENT.

Lieutenant Riley has a reputation for being mysterious. Somehow, you've managed to avoid his reportedly tempestuous demeanour for your entire career at the base infirmary; that is until he's dragged himself in one day with a wound to the thigh. Even though he's uncooperative and brutish, you come to discover that his impassiveness is just like the mask he wears and as time moves on you find yourself ambitious to take it off.

tags. eventual nsfw so mdni. afab/female!reader x simon 'ghost' riley. nurse!reader. some oc charas. slow burn. mentions of ptsd, scars, trauma, mental health issues etc. smoking and alcohol use. non-canon compliant (fuck canon!). wc 5k.

a/n. christ you guys are so thirsty for this ship...honestly i can't blame you. i am so excited to write this series and share it with you all you guys have no idea! based on a few silly drabbles and endless conversations with @stckrz (thanks love, couldn't do it without you) it's now become a planned out story which even has me gripping my chair. i can't thank you all enough for the endless amount of support i've received so far, it means a lot. i have put the taglist link (and other links) to join it at the end.

CHAPTER I. DON'T HESITATE.

“Beds three and four are ready for discharge if their workups come up negative,” Matron tells two of the other girls beside you at the nurses station. The infirmary has been suspiciously quiet in recent days, and you can’t help but be fearful for whatever the next wave of chaos is going to bring. With only a few soldiers who need attention, you find yourself with more time than you’d like. Filling up supplies and mopping the floors over and over again—you’ve been itching for something new.

Your name is called and you dart your focus up from where you’re sitting at the computer updating some files. “I need you to go see what’s going on with Lieutenant Riley in room two,” Matron's voice is perfectly authoritative, honed with years of experience and wisdom and in this moment you know she’s frustrated. “Darn Lt.'s never bloody say what the problem is.”

“Yes ma’am,” you respond, logging off the computer and grabbing a clipboard with paperwork on your way to the private rooms. Not knowing what to expect, your footsteps are light and unhurried until you come across the window of the room you know the lieutenant is in. The blinds slightly obscure the sight of him—absolutely massive compared to the table beneath him—but then you see it and your heart drops into your stomach.

What was once a walk turns into a hurried jog as you push the door open to see a crime scenes worth of blood pooling around the large gash on his leg, the black soaked fabric simply torn apart by the lieutenants own bloody fingers as he pinches the wound and—

Pluk.

Like a lunatic, he’s got the medical staple gun pressed against the agitated skin, making a sloppy attempt at closing the wound. Your heart is thumping in your ears, and you stand there with the stupid clipboard like a deer in the headlights as you watch him adjust the gun slightly lower, pulling the trigger again. Even without any kind of numbing cream all that slips past his lips is a low grunt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Your voice is strained, the question just slipping over the lump in your throat as you think about the amount of paperwork you’ll have to fill out.

“You was takin’ a while,” he doesn’t even give you the grace to look in your eyes, just takes a sharp breath in and fires the thing again, crimson pooling under his fingers. “I ain’t got all day.” You’re dumbfounded for a moment longer until your body is moving on its own, striding over to his side and grabbing his wrist before he does more damage.

“Stop that,” prying the gun from his hands is useless, not when he’s double your size like this, practically looming over you. You move your hand away so he can put it down himself, a heavy breath of relief falling from your lips—less paperwork, no arguments. “You’re fucking crazy,” it’s not meant to be said aloud, it’s barely even a whisper really, but when it’s only the two of you in the room it’s deafening.

He’s still masked, the familiar skull hanging over his balaclava. It’s the only thing you know to identify him by—Ghost—his name always making the rounds at the nurses station. “He’s massive,” one of the girls would whisper, “stood next to him the other day and I couldn’t even see his face when I was looking straight!” Matron would always somehow manage to interrupt the conversation at the perfect time. “Ladies, back to work.”

Even concealed, you can feel the way his eyebrows raise at your words and you can also feel the sudden pit of fear rush through you. His voice is like gravel, condescending when he scolds you. “Watch your mouth. ‘M still your superior.”

So much for superior, you think, he’s supposed to be intelligent but here he is stabbing himself with staples. It’s unlike you when you bite back at him, the whole situation igniting something fiery in your veins. “I’m the one trying to stop you from getting an infection,” you step back so he can see your face, disrelish written all over it. “Or sepsis. Which seems to be what you’re going for with the way you’re handling this.”

The lieutenant glares at you through the mask until his bloodied hand is snaking to his neck, tugging the woven fabric up his face. His nose peeks out from beneath him and even though you really shouldn’t, you let yourself look at the forbidden skin—scarred and broken from years of service, lip split just ever so slightly.

He coughs awkwardly when you’re staring for a little too long, embarrassment clawing at your hot cheeks. “I’ll be quick if you comply,” you provide, trying to cut through the unsettling tension between you two. It doesn’t take you long to snap your gloves on and assess his injury, diligently cleaning off the thick blood and preparing the site for stitches. “Would you like me to explain or just get on with it?” Only after you ask do you realise that it was pointless.

Nonetheless, he offers you a low grunt about the latter and you're starting the procedure with careful precision: a shot to numb the area—although you’re not sure if he really needs it—tweezers to pull out the messily punctured staples, and then the needle is in your hand closing the skin together. Your work is slower than his, but it’s neater and you amuse yourself with the thought that he’ll be more grateful when he walks out with no infection and a smaller scar.

“If you could stand up please,” you watch as the muscles of his exposed leg ripple, stitches pulling a little more taught. “Does it hurt to put pressure on the leg?”

“No,” he pulls the balaclava back over his chin, hiding away the skin you're sure any of the nurses would kill to see.

“If you sit back down but scoot towards the edge of the table,” you say, reaching over for the ointment and bandage roll as he does so. You notice the way his trousers are soaked with blood, instinctively grabbing the scissors to cut the dead weight off.

“What’r you doing?” He asks before you can make the first cut.

“It needs to go if I’m gonna wrap it.” You’re unhesitant as you try to snip at the fabric, suddenly more eager to get yourself away from the lieutenant. Ghost’s hand catches your wrist, almost painful with how easily he keeps it still, calloused fingers pressing into your veins. “You’re not cuttin’ it.”

“What does it matter? They’re gone anyways.”

“‘M not walking around the base like a clown,” he snaps, releasing his grip. “Do it without cutting it.”

Now you understand why the Matron has a vendetta against the lieutenants. So goddamn stubborn. While arguing with him and getting your way would quench your thirst, you decide that it’s below yourself—and your pay grade—to do any differently than what he commands.

It’s clumsy work, fingers awkwardly trying to wrap the bandage around the back of his thigh without dirtying it with blood or grime, having to fiddle with the mesh as you pass it around without really being able to see. You try to hide your frustration and annoyed puffs of breath for the sake of professionalism, but deep down you want him to know he’s ridiculous. There’s a lot of things you'd do to see his ego knocked down a notch.

Before he can retreat you have him sign papers which he barely glosses over—just rolling his eyes and murmuring curses about 'damn medics’. When he stands to readjust himself as you begin cleaning up after his mess, his eyes roam over your figure, almost glaring at you with menace.

“You ever talk’t me like that again and I’ll have you doing laps with the recruits.” The lieutenant's voice is stern, almost cruel with how he towers over you, turning to the door and pulling it open, leaving the infirmary with a limp as the door slams shut. The room suddenly feels more quiet than before save for your light breaths, something steady thrumming in your chest as you watch his fading figure from the window—big, brutish, looming. Only once he’s completely disappeared does ‘yes, sir’ fall from your tongue.

The months drag on, and too soon it’s November.

During the winter the infirmary becomes packed with flus and colds and injuries. You’re stretched thin across your work, the shifts become longer while the days are shorter and you lose the time to even think about your interaction with Ghost.

You barely see the lieutenant in the time that passes, only in brief flickers across halls and med bays. You’ll catch his eye for a brief moment only for him to be distracted by something else—a call of his name or being shuffled into an office. The nurses continue whispering about him, always giggling and teasing you about how you dislike him for one simple interaction.

“Oh come on. He’s just like that because he has a reputation to uphold,” Katie laughs while you’re having lunch. Still sitting at the computer and stabbing at your salad, you try to reason with her yet again. “Just because he’s got a reputation doesn’t mean he needs to be an ass.”

She hums, eyebrows raising as she slides herself over on her chair closer to you. Glancing over at your screen, she pulls just slightly away. “You're trying to apply for the training to become a junior doctor right?”

You look over your shoulder at her amused expression, uncertain of what she’s going to say next. “Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“You’re not that dense, honey,” she smirks, that sickening nickname making you cringe. Trying to ignore her, you turn yourself back to the seemingly endless amount of words on the screen—everything you need to study up on if you’re going to even be considered for training. Despite your ignorance, she continues on anyway. “If you’re going to be considered you need someone to put in a good word for you…” She trails, waiting for your response which never comes. “Someone who everyone respects…”

It clicks in your head far too easily, spinning yourself on the chair to face her. “You’re not serious.”

Katie’s wide, toothy smile and passionate nodding tells you otherwise. Too quickly you find yourself rejecting any possibility that he could have anything to do with your future. True, he was a bit of an ass when you’d first come across one another, but you also willingly moved your foot across a line which never should've been crossed. You don’t think someone of lieutenant Riley's reputation would pardon an encounter like that.

“Stop overthinking it,” she demands, taking the fork out of your hands and puncturing a quarter-slice of tomato on the metal. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s all smoothed over and you never know, maybe he liked that you had a bold character. I think it might even help you with your application.” Her lips wrap around the fork, chewing and swallowing your food. “No one needs a doctor who can’t make their case.”

Those words flick through your head for the rest of the week as you consider the possibility of getting the lieutenant in your good graces. It couldn’t hurt and from what you’ve heard from your friends his reputation exceeds anything you can imagine—everyone knows who he is, everyone knows that he has good judgement. As much as he seems like an uncooperative brute, you can’t fool yourself into thinking Katie’s idea was a bad one.

Your only issue comes with going through with it—getting him in your corner and seeing your drive to do this. From what you know he’s unreachable to someone like yourself, always busy, always away on one mission or another. A respected man is a wanted man. But you’re nothing but determined. If he’s the guy you need in your corner to get what you deserve—what you’ve been working your ass off for—then gods be damned you’ll do what it takes.

Within a small amount of time you come up with so many plans in your head you’ve almost exhausted yourself from thinking about it—the longer shifts and shorter days have you lethargic and achy anyways, but somehow without even properly becoming involved with him, he’s managed to drain you of your energy.

You’re almost out of ideas when Matron comes along the next week and serves you your ticket to him on a platter. You’ve never loved pre-mission check-ups more.

“Katie if you could look over Sergeant MacTavish,” her grey hair had almost glowed silver and gold with the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, a halo formed over her head—your very own angel. Calling out the names had dragged on for so long, until finally she’d said who you’d been assigned. The only one left: “I need you to tend to Lieutenant Riley.”

It’s like deja vu when you walk over to the same room where you’d first met him, everything so familiar except for your new ambition. You flick through his record in your hand, pushing the door open with your back as you turn your gaze up to him.

His whole figure is nothing but impressive, the black tee with his name printed over a pec hugs every single muscle, abs and biceps almost bulging from the tight fabric. He’s on the phone, almost silent as the person on the other line drags on before his gruff voice is giving a chaste goodbye and cutting the line. You notice how he’s still got the same balaclava on, brown eyes practically piercing through you as he waits for you to say something.

“Lieutenant Riley,” you fumble, staring at him a little dumbly for a moment, caught up in the moment. You watch the way the eyebrows of his mask move in confusion, “tha’s me, yeah.”

Right. You introduce yourself as clearly as you can, you need to make sure he remembers you. “I’ll be doing your assessment for today, do you have any questions before we begin?”

“How long’s this gonna take?” He asks, visibly disinterested. You approach closer to where he’s sat on the edge of the exam table, and you notice how his shoulders tense the slightest, his chart open as you go over the details of his medical history.

“Should take about thirty minutes,” you respond, focused on his most recent injuries reported. You pretend to ignore the way he huffs in annoyance, “are there any injuries, issues or concerns that I should know of that aren’t recorded?”

“No.” He gives bluntly.

“Okay then,” you continue, looking over his body to gather just a few of the smaller details you need to assess—a cut, a bruise, the same wound that had you in this room in the first place. Moving across the room so you can start preparing, you place the chart down on the counter and begin to wash your hands. You have your back turned to him, unhesitant to get started. “For this exam I’m going to need you to take your shirt off.”

By the time you turn back around, throwing the damp paper in your hand in the bin his shirt is discarded next to him, and it takes everything in you not to gasp. Attraction or not, it’s undeniable to believe he’s anything but some Greek statue come to life, his body carved to perfection. Chiselled like marble, beautiful, sharp. When he breathes his chest rises and falls heavily—a testament to his size, the way his abs contract and his pecs move just slightly, his dog tag settled perfectly in between them.

And then there’s the scars. So many of them everywhere, long and short and jagged and pinched. One across the top half of his peck and under his arm splayed; an old burn, the skin wrinkled with age and pain. He is a soldier not only by name, but by his body too. Like a trophy cabinet, each tinged line another day he’s survived—or each day that was almost cut down. Anyone would find it hard to hide their awe—yourself included.

But you have a job to do and an impression to make, so you push past the feeling of appreciation and stand before him, his mask still on—the chart advised not to bother asking. “I’m going to begin by examining and feeling your skin for any abnormalities, let me know if you need me to stop,” you explain, placing a hand on his bare shoulder.

His skin is incredibly warm when you touch it, and he shivers when you make contact with it. “I’m sorry, my hands are a little cold,” you murmur, beginning to slowly press with two fingers, moving them over inch by inch as you trace old healed scars.

Even after a few minutes, when you’ve made it across to the other shoulder and start assessing his arms he’s tense underneath your hold, muscles taught and stiff, making it harder for you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, all tough and apathetic, but his stance beneath you is different and you feel the need to ease some of his tension.

“Why did you join the military?” You ask him, it’s simple, most people give the same answer: to escape, to do some good. Your fingers move down to his elbow, pressing into it to check for tenderness.

“Does my medical record need’t know that?” He responds, almost unimpressed—like you’re some kind of stupid for even asking him that question. You look up at him to see him impassive but still wound up tight, and you’re a little offended by the way he just has to be so uninviting.

“You’re tense,” you provide instead, something in you tells you he’s more of a brute fact type. Maybe you just need to say it like it is. Your fingers trail down to his forearm where his tattoo barely hides the scars and prominent veins. “If I’m going to do this assessment I need you to relax, so I’m going to ask you questions, and I don’t care if you make up answers or just grunt—as long as you stop acting like you’ve got something pressed in your behind. Lieutenant.”

You don’t dare look up from where you stare at his tattoo, turning his arm over so you can check the other side before you take both of your hands and press your thumbs into his wrists. His pulse is so strong underneath the pads, you can almost hear it with how silent it is between you. You’re about to move onto the next stage when you notice a rough line at the base of his tattoo, it’s healed over but you train your focus on it for a moment—instinctively brushing a finger over as you realise what it is. What pain he’s been through.

He jerks, almost as if trying to snatch his own arm away from your grasp. There’s something painful hidden in his expression when you look back towards him, but he dismisses it before you can ask. “I’ll answer your questions,” it’s rough, concealing any feelings which might’ve lingered. “Jus’ watch yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, letting him take his hand back to his lap. And even though you think that after your slip up he’ll remain like a stone underneath your touch, you observe how his shoulders relax slightly, dropping down to large slopes. His breathing slows just a little, and he just looks at you expectantly. “Wha’s next?”

You let yourself take a deep breath, you need to remember your goal here, but more importantly remember he’s just human too. Putting on a smile, you go through your mental checklist, smirking at him just a little when you know what’s next. “I’m gonna need to check my own handiwork, sir. If you could pull up your shorts a little, please.”

His scarred hands pull at the edge of his shorts, rolling them up his thighs until you see it—pinker than the rest of the healed wounds, neat and short. You nod as though you’re intently looking at it, but really you’re biting at your bottom lip trying to contain your self-pride. It’s the best work you’ve done—almost perfect.

He speaks from above where you're feeling the wound, “you did’a good job.”

It’s hard not to beam at his words, ecstatic at the simplest praise only because it means you did something right last time, because then trying to keep impressing him is not a fruitless cause. You stand back up to full height. “Did you have any trouble with it? Like pulled or ripped stitches? Lingering pain?”

“Nah,” his voice is cooler, and you know that he’s finally loosened up. “Proud of yourself?” Moving back towards where his chart is on the counter, you begin to make brief notes on it. “Is it bad for me to say I’m a little surprised?” You laugh, letting the confession out easily.

“‘M a Lieutenant f’a reason. If you’re implying I'm unintelligent, you’d be wrong. I know how to take care of a wound.” You turn back around to find his gaze fixated on you, arms folded across the wide expanse of his chest.

“I’m sorry Lt, but with that stunt you pulled—you made me seriously doubt it.” You reach into your breast pocket for your light, pulling a lollipop stick out of a container on the side. “This is the ENT part,” you explain, coming in between his legs. “I’m gonna need to see your mouth.”

You’re waiting for him to resist, to yell or refuse—but he just shrugs, fingers reaching up to grasp at the fabric at his neck, dragging it up his face so anything beneath the bottom of his nose is exposed. Surprised by how easily he complies, you let yourself stare for just a moment longer than you had last time at the long scar which extends the line of his mouth on one side—drawn all the way to his cheekbone. It’s deep, just a shade darker than the rest of his skin. There’s another one on the other side of his lip, vertically cut through the flesh.

To think this man holds so many memories that he cannot erase or forget about. You’ve seen the way soldiers have broken under the pressure—from the trauma of this work that they do—left to live like empty shells. You can’t even begin to imagine the physical and mental challenges he’s been subjected to

Your thoughts don’t stray far as you continue on with the checks, diligent in your work but also attentive. He just sits calmly, letting you do what you must, answering your questions with brief answers and you come to enjoy this strange company of his. When you’re finished, he tugs the balaclava back down, hiding away the painful results of his hard labour.

“I’m going to check your eyes now,” you note, standing impossibly closer to him. “Have you been having any trouble with your vision recently?”

“None,” he says, following your instructions as you hold your finger up in front of him. Only this close do you see the lighter flecks of amber in his irises, glowing under the bright lights. They’re so unique, the lighter parts almost hidden by the rest of the colour—as if hiding some precious treasure. You’re reaching for your pen light again when you hear him quietly clear his throat, “how did you become a nurse?”

You look up at him confused for a moment, but then you see the genuinity in his eyes and you bite your lip to try to stifle your laugh. His nervousness seems to cost him some of his common sense, and he just waits for you as you click the light on.

“I went to medical school, sir,” you smile, the smallest giggle slipping past your lips when you see the way realisation dawns on him. “You’ll feel my fingers for just a moment,” and you place the pad of your index on his eyelid, lifting so you can check behind it.

He looks down in turn, met with the plush of your parted lips and he swallows hard. “Oh right.”

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry,�� you chuckle, taking your hand off his face and you notice his usually indifferent expression replaced by something else. It almost looks like he’s flustered. But only almost—there’s only so much you can infer from a masked man. “Look up at the ceiling please.”

He remains still, lost in thought with his focus set downwards and you close your lips as you awkwardly wait for him. “Sir, could you look up?”

His eyebrows raise slightly as he snaps back into himself, huffing and embarrassed as he looks upwards, murmuring “sorry.” You just smile at him brightly, stepping away to move onto the next part.

For the rest of the exam he keeps his mouth shut unless you ask for it, a delicate silence stretching between you as you take his vitals. He’s still cooperative, but you know that after making a slight fool of himself twice he’d rather not have it happen again. But you’re content like this, getting to shuffle around and tend to him with sharp focus. It’s a nice break from the mayhem going on outside the room.

When you’re finally done and he’s shrugging his shirt back on, you run through his results. “Flying colours, Lieutenant,” you hum, impressed. It’s not everyday you see soldiers of his experience and background do so well—without any background info someone could assume he’s still in his early twenties. “If anything changes, be sure to inform us as soon as possible.”

Nodding, he signs the forms you’ve handed him—this time without complaining—and you feel an urge to keep him for a little while longer. Something about the way he’s softened to your touch and presence tickles you happily, and for some reason you find yourself longing to drag your fingers over the ridges of his scars.

“Is that it?” He asks, handing back the papers and standing to his full height. You check over each page, the tangled scrawl of his signature dragged over the blank lines. “Yeah, that’s everything, you’re cleared to go.” You reply, tucking everything back into his chart and picking it up to take with you, “let me walk you out.”

“‘S not necessary,” and he’s moving towards the door when he spots something directly outside the window. He practically grunts, suddenly focused and approaching the glass, capturing your attention until you see it too.

Sergeant MacTavish grabbing a handful of Katie’s ass as they talk about god-knows-what.

You choke on your laugh, both amused and shocked at the way her face grows hot and flustered at his debaucherous touch. But you see a disappointment in Ghost—that of a parent to their misbehaving child—and he’s knocking at the glass before you can even intervene.

MacTavish’s head snaps over his shoulder to see his Lieutenant shaking his head, reprimanding him through the look of his eyes alone, burly arms crossed over his chest. The former doesn’t tolerate it though, snarling before throwing a middle finger towards Ghost, keeping an arm slung over Katie’s shoulder as they walk back to the front desk.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Ghost murmurs, “tell your mate ‘m sorry about him. Always gettin’ carried away.” You nod in agreement with him, coming up to the door and opening it so he can get through. He accepts the gesture, and you notice how he ducks down ever so slightly as he enters back into the centre of the infirmary.

As much as you’d like to keep him for longer, to see how much more pleasant company he can offer, you can see he’s itching to go. Like on command, his phone rings and by the look on his face it’s important. “Sorry, ‘ve got to take this,” he murmurs, and when he says your name and thanks you, you know you’ve done something right.

As he walks away, you blurt out a final offering—something to solidify that he will remember you. “Lieutenant,” and when he turns around, you feel warm across your face. “Good luck out there.”

He nods, answering the phone and you’re left wondering when—or if—you’ll see him again.

chapter ii.

taglist. @daikongirlie @serialkillerattracterhopefully @logansblackgf @haven-1307 @surenotsorry @myspaceisra @pa-co @bambikisses66 @xxkay15xx @korraofthereef @mikiyamarie @satxoru @viscade @clearwater-hoe @mareiasereia @cursedforlife @makrenee @oliyiviarodriguez @mydickishuge560 @webmvie @thenonweeknd @purplegamer99 @lillyrob @kiyoce @elliessweetheart @cameron1-1-1 @iem-2529 [now closed]

interested in reading more about nurse and simon? find the masterlist here!

got something to say about nurse and simon? a headcannon or a suggestion? drop it in my inbox!

thanks for reading!

572 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 4 months ago

Text

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: FUCK this one made me so emo. one chapter left

part 25: the final goodbye

word count: 2,791 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass | @strangeobsessed

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

You'd felt it before—the torrid pulse of power. It felt like molten gold dripping from your fingertips. The gentle thrum of your heart beating reminded you that Gods didn't burn. It was here that you thrived, perched before your tormenter with a pistol aimed at his crotch. John and Arthur dragged him down into the cellar, bound tightly to a chair with his hands tied behind his back.

With a cigarette in one hand and your finger flush against the trigger in the other, your narrowed eyes playfully stared at Bingham. He didn't look bothered, but that didn't remove any of the amusement that coursed through your mind. He knew he would be dead in an hour, and you were the only one keeping him alive.

"Should we—"

Tommy held up a hand, interrupting Arthur. "We are not here for a mercy killing. Let her work."

"Fuck," Arthur grunted, throwing back the full glass of whiskey.

"I thought he'd be dead by now," John muttered under his breath.

You took a long drag from your cigarette, feeling the smoke fill your lungs before blowing the pale cloud into Bingham's face.

"Look at you, y/n," Bingham chuckled as blood dripped down his cheek. "Powerful. Commanding."

You pushed the tip of your pistol further in between his legs, but still, he didn't flinch. "This isn't the time for flattery, Alfred."

"You're the one torturing me. My beautiful little bird, finally with her first kill of value." He smirked.

"I'm not a bird, let alone your bird." You sat back and crossed your legs. "I'm a fucking viper."

The shot rang loud, echoing throughout the cellar with a sharp crack. Bingham hung his head low, hissing in pain in between a bitter laugh. He looked down. Your gun was still positioned towards his kneecap—shattered and bloody.

"Yes, y/n!" Bingham cackled, his eyes wild and manic. "How did that feel? Tell me."

"You'll have none of my thoughts," you sighed, perching the cigarette in between your lips. You pushed the pistol into his stomach, twisting it until it was clean of his blood. "That bullet was for Ezra. Not that you would know anything about that."

"Of course, I—"

"—I know the truth, Alfred. I've been free of that guilt for some time now. You seem to have neglected that the toying of others does not remove their consciences."

Bingham's eyes darted back and forth between yours as if he was trying to detect the lies in your speech. After a moment, he sat up straight with a sigh, shaking his head. "It was fun while it lasted, y/n. You were so beautifully broken. Had I known it would shatter you, I might've adjusted my methods. But you have another now." His gaze shifted to Tommy. "You wouldn't have found him if it weren't for me. You should be thanking me."

"And what am I thanking you for?"

"You would not be this way without me. Admit it, y/n. You're addicted to the power. Addicted to the feeling of that pistol in your hand, the blood spilling on the floor. The bloodlust runs deep in us ghosts."

The second shot rang just as loud as the first.

"That bullet was for no one in particular." You stared at him, emotionless and still.

Bingham looked down at his left knee, just as mangled as the right. "And what now? Hm? My elbows? Or perhaps, one of your friends over there would like to use those razorblades on my eyes. Wouldn't that be fun."

You pushed the tip of your pistol against his cheek. "If I were to use every bit of my anger on you, I'd run out of bullets."

"And yet, you delay the inevitable."

The doors to the cellar parted with a loud creak. Michael walked in followed by two of the Blinders, carrying in a small table. They placed it down between you and Bingham while Michael opened his satchel. He set down a stack of documents, fanning them out before you with a content grin.

"You were right, Alfred. I was delaying, but not for the reason you think." You sat up straight and snuffed out your cigarette on the table. "Once you sign these papers, I will kill you. But not until you sign."

Bingham ignored Michael's presence, staring at you until you continued.

"This is Michael Gray, the Shelby Company, Limited, Chief Accountant. He will witness your signature on every single one of these documents, passing on all that you own into the hands of the Shelbys. The warehouses. The land. All of it. And then, our business is concluded."

"An intelligent woman until the end. I must say I am proud of you." He chuckled. "Though, I am... Surprised. Perhaps, impressed. How did you know about all of my properties?"

"Ms. y/n was kind enough to turn over your old ledger." Michael placed the red notebook, the one that lay tucked away in Tommy's desk for weeks, on the table. "Every transaction and acquisition you've made in the last five years, all here organized by value."

Bingham looked down at the notebook. "So, you were watching all these years... Clever little viper. Very well, y/n. I will sign. This is, after all, the board you designed. Who am I but a pawn?"

John hastily cut the rope from Bingham's wrists. He didn't resist, signing each document one after the other. When he was finished, Michael quietly gathered the papers and slid them back into his bag before standing beside Tommy.

At last, Bingham's expression softened into something more somber. He said his final words gently with the nod of his head. His eyes met yours for the last time as you positioned your pistol in the center of his face. You pulled the lever back, finger flush against the trigger once more.

"This was fun—this game of ours."

You allowed yourself the faintest of smiles.

"Goodbye, Alfred."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The air in London was damp, carrying the faint tang of smoke and rain-soaked stone. The quiet cemetery, tucked away from the city's hum, was a place where time seemed to slow. You walked beside Tommy, steps purposeful but measured, as though each one required conscious effort.

He’d said little during the journey, sensing your need for space. As you approached Ezra's grave, he slowed to match your pace before letting you step between him and your destination.

The headstone was modest, carved from smooth gray stone, the letters etched cleanly into its surface:

Ezra Hargreaves 1896–1923 Beloved Son and Friend

You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Tommy watched you, his hands in his coat pockets, letting the moment be yours as it should have been. From where he stood, he didn't feel like an outsider as he initially expected. It felt more like being a ghost on your shoulder, watching you deliver your gentle farewell to the man who'd loved you so dearly.

For a long time, you said nothing. You breathed in and out steadily, but your shoulders stayed tense, as if holding back a tide of emotion you weren't ready to face. Finally, you stepped closer, crouching to rest your fingers lightly on the edge of the stone.

“Looks like you got your wish to stay in London, darling,” you murmured. Your voice was soft, almost carried away by the wind, but Tommy caught every word. “Shame we never got to visit America like you wanted, but I suppose, now, you're free to go where you wish."

Your hand lingered, trembling slightly before you withdrew it. You straightened, brushing your palms against your skirt, and exhaled shakily. You removed Ezra's engagement ring from your pocket, turning it with your fingers until it was warm from your touch.

“I should’ve been here sooner. There were so many times when I tried. Every time I got to the platform, I felt the hand of guilt pull me back, and yet it always felt like you were waiting for me to say something, anything. You always said that being strong in the face of difficult times was something I was good at, but you were wrong. I thought… I thought if I came here, I’d have to admit it was real. That you were gone. And I wasn’t ready for that.”

Tommy lowered his eyes to the ground out of respect, feeling that any moment alone he could give to you would be best.

“I was so angry with myself, Ezra,” you continued, your voice gaining strength though teeming with the sadness that pushed gentle tears from your eyes. “And I've been angry for a long time. Longer than you would have wished. I was angry because I thought I’d failed you. Because I thought I didn’t deserve to miss you. To grieve for my own loss felt like a sin. But I see it now. I see it so clearly. Putting misplaced guilt above grief was selfish of me, and for that, I am sorry.

“I loved you,” you whispered softly, your gaze fixed on the name carved into the stone. You held the ring to your lips as if you were declaring every bit of your sentiment to seep into the metal. “With my entire fucking soul, God, I loved you. You will forever be the love I never thought I deserved. And I consider it the highest honor that I was the last woman to love you because I loved you fiercely. But it’s time… it’s time I let you go. I will let you go with the knowledge that, at last, I have found myself, and I have released the ghosts that have haunted me every night since you left.”

You closed your eyes with the slight shift of your head back until the sunlight warmed your cheeks. The weight you'd carried for years finally slipped from your shoulders.

"When we meet again, I will be a different woman. As I'm sure, if you were here now, you would have been a different man. It's time, Ezra. Time for the final goodbye."

You parted the soil with your fingers and gently placed the silver band down. You covered it softly, patting it down until it appeared undisturbed once more.

Tommy stepped forward, closing the small distance between you. He placed a hand gently on your back, a steadying presence without intruding.

When you turned to him, there was something different in your eyes—softer, less guarded. You looked at him for a long moment, as though trying to say something you couldn’t quite articulate. Then, with deliberate slowness, you reached out and slipped your hand into his.

Tommy’s gaze drifted down to your joined hands, the shift in your demeanor not lost on him. It wasn’t just the gesture; it was the way you leaned into his presence, the way your fingers curled around his as though anchoring yourself.

You didn’t need to say it—he understood. This wasn’t a goodbye just to Ezra; it was a quiet acceptance of what lay ahead, a tentative step toward a future you were finally willing to let yourself have.

Tommy gave your hand a small squeeze, his expression remaining composed, though a flicker of something softer passed through his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’ll come back if you want. But for now, let’s get you out of the cold.”

You nodded, allowing him to lead you away from the grave. You didn’t look back, but the remnants of Ezra's ghost whispered in your ear that he watched you walk away with Tommy, content and happy to see you depart with someone by your side.

As you left the cemetery, Tommy glanced down at your hand still in his, fingers intertwined, and he silently sent his own thanks to your ghost—an uncommon gratitude for accepting your farewell.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy led you to a hotel in the middle of the city, a short drive away from the cemetery. He didn't speak much on the way there, but, then again, neither did you. It didn't feel like an uncomfortable silence—maybe, it was a somber one. Tommy gave you the opportunity to expel the remnants of bad memories from your lungs, and in that time, you found yourself smiling at the little moments from back then when Ezra was alive and well. It was a kind gesture, to join you for the dreadful goodbye, one that didn't go unnoticed.

When you stepped inside the room, Tommy helped you remove your coat. He gently draped it on the rack followed by his own while you sat by the fire, massaging the ache in your neck.

As you closed your eyes and the warmth of the fire trickled across the floor, you felt Tommy wrap his arms around your legs, resting his cheek against your thigh. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he sighed across your skin.

"Thank you for coming with me today," you whispered.

"Thank you for allowing me to." Tommy turned to face you, his blue eyes gleaming from the warm light.

"I can't imagine what this must be like for you," you chuckled, though it was humorless. "Accompanying me to the grave of my former love. You know, considering."

He raised an eyebrow. "Considering?"

Your eyes softened as you realized you didn't know what you wanted to allude to. Since the night you spent together weeks ago, there was never any discussion as to what this was—whether it was a budding relationship that would lead to forever or if it was a passing moment between two lonely souls, alike in their own way.

Tommy sat up, leaning against the sofa, as he waited for your answer.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you admitted.

"Would you rather I say it for you?"

You smirked. "Don't tell me Thomas Shelby is capable of romance."

Ignoring your remark, he rose and sat beside you. He reached forward and rested his fingers on your cheek, stroking softly. His eyes fluttered down while he searched for the right words, if there were any.

"I think we've been playing the game long enough, Tommy." You interrupted his silence. "If neither of us can say it aloud to each other now, we might never."

"Maybe it's time for a new game," he said softly. "You said it yourself so long ago. Your loyalty for mine. You have mine."

You expected him to ask if he had yours, but he didn't. He had no intention of asking. This was no longer a matter of an exchange of equal values—he was declaring it. You had his loyalty and all the broken pieces that came with it.

"You were wrong, what you said back then." Tommy's eyes were somber yet sincere as he spoke. "You said there was only one love that takes us as we are. One love that would accept every ache and flaw that would not so easily be cast aside. So, I have to ask you now—if Ezra was that one, would you allow yourself to have another?"

You searched for the answer in his face and were met with another mirror. He looked at you with a gentleness you'd seen before from another time long ago. This was a man who accepted everything he thought he earned and fought for. He fought for you, and now, he was letting you decide if he'd finally earned you.

You placed your hand on his cheek and felt him melt into your touch. Thomas Shelby, for all that he was and could have been, was laid bare for you. You swore, in that moment, he willed you to see all that lay hidden beneath his eyes—the pain and the torment. The lost loves and the cracks they left behind. The nightmares would never fade, but, in time, the dreams would fill the spaces in between. Wherever he found places for you to fill, he welcomed you.

He was asking in his silence to love him wholly and entirely. No longer was it loyalty for loyalty. It was dedication to the time it took to see the other change. A soul for a soul—buried beneath a mountain of heartache. He offered his to you, and all that was left was to place yours in his hands.

Tommy's lips hovered whispers before yours. It was a small temptation, to accept his touch and know there was no turning back.

The familiar hand of Ezra's memory faded into the background, and you felt the weight of the years spent hidden disappear with it.

"I love you," Tommy whispered against your lips.

It was a small gesture, to say it first, but was one he delivered gladly.

32 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

Parking Spots and Matcha Lattes

Summary: In an attempt to get coffee, you meet a grade A asshole whose head you want to rip off. Meanwhile, Jake Seresin is pretty certain he just met his future wife in the parking lot of a coffee shop.

AKA Jake Seresin likes mean women, pass it on.

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved who isn't in the TGM fandom, but is the inspiration for this fic ♥️♥️

Part two is up! As is part 3!

It hadn’t been just a long day. It had been a long week.

And it was only Tuesday.

You were exhausted from working after hours to meet critical deadlines. If Barbara from admin found one more thing to nitpick, you were going to lose it.

So you decided to get coffee. Could you have made some at home? Absolutely. But you needed something, just a little something to make your morning brighter. Something that would remind you there was some good in the world and help you get through the first two hours of your day.

Instead of hitting snooze on your alarm clock five times, you got up after hitting it twice. You even remembered to apply deodorant and swipe on mascara. You left five minutes before your alarm to leave went off. Five whole minutes. You were on track to get coffee and get to work in plenty of time. Things were going well.

Too well.

You should have known something was about to fuck up your day when you saw the perfect parking spot. When the hell did that even happen? Never, you should have just gone to the back of the lot.

Foolishly, you started making your way towards the spot, thinking of all the things you could do with the extra minutes you would receive from your soon to be princess parking.

Your car and body lurched forward as you slammed on the brakes in order to not run into the white Jeep Wrangler that sped out from around the corner.

The heart palpitations you were experiencing from the sudden, potentially life saving decision descended into anger as you watched the speed demon take not just your desired parking spot, but also the one right next to it due to parking at an angle.

You gripped the steering wheel as rage seethed through your body. Instead of an elderly lady who just shouldn’t be driving, a tall blonde man dressed in some type of military uniform got out of the car. He didn’t even check his horrendous excuse of a parking job, walking into the coffee shop without a care in the world.

What a fucking asshole.

Normally you’d just find another spot and try to move on.

Not today. Because today was supposed to be a good day and you had done everything in your power to ensure it would start off on the right foot and this douchecanoe just ruined it.

So you found a nearby parking spot, walked over to the eyesore of a car and waited. All the rage and anger built up into you, thinking about his horrendous parking job, as well as the bullshit of your job.

You didn't even wait for him to say anything before tearing into him. The fact he was blonde and conventionally attractive added to your anger because of course a real life Ken doll would think it's okay to park like that.

"Hey dickhead! Who the fuck do you think you are, parking like that?"

"What the-oh wow," his voice trailed off when he took in all of you, not that you noticed.

"Is that how you drive tanks in the army? Because if so, holy shit, our country is-”

He scoffed, “Sweetheart, please. I’m a Lieutenant pilot for the Navy. And one of the best ones at that.”

Whether it was the Texan drawl that dripped through his voice or how he expected you to fall to your knees by revealing this information, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, so you can fly million dollar planes but can’t park without taking up two spaces?” You remarked. He seemed to be taken aback by your comment, which gave you the motivation to keep going.

“First off, who the hell drives through a parking lot at forty-five miles an hour?! There are kids-well teenagers-who walk through here! I know your car is obnoxious as your personality, but not all of us get an adrenaline thrill from having to slam on their fucking breaks so they don’t crash into you.”

You didn’t notice how his emerald eyes were wide and staring right at you. You were on a roll.

“In fact, you probably wouldn’t have had to park so offensively if you had fucking slowed down. Or, you could have had a shred of decency and repark. Don’t they teach that in the military? To have honor or some shit? Or were you too busy doing bicep curls at the gym that day?”

It was then you noticed that his eyes were wide, reminding you of those stupid disney princes your cousins used to fawn over as kids. The look he had on his face made it seem like he was in a far off place, it was almost…..dreamy?

“Hello?” You waved a hand in front of his chiseled face, “Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m trying, but your eyes are super distracting, has anyone ever told you that?”

It took your brain several seconds to process what he just said. Then you had to take another ten seconds to process that he wasn’t being cocky or a smartass when he said it. He was being genuine.

What the actual fuck?

—---------------------------------------------

Jake Seresin woke up this morning, like any other day. He got up early so he could get coffee off base. The Starbucks they had on base was always overcrowded and bitter. Plus, it was nice to get off base for a little bit, get away from things and have a sense of normalcy.

He was not expecting to meet his future wife in the parking lot of a local coffee joint.

Nor was he expecting her to introduce herself by yelling at him.

But it was kinda perfect.

You were stunning, even though you assumed he was in the army, of all things (he’d let that one slide, you’ll learn eventually).

The passion in your eyes as you pointed out exactly what was wrong with his parking job was admirable, alluring, even enticing.

Jake couldn't lie, he'd thought you'd be impressed or at the very least, taken aback by his rank.

Instead, you steamrolled right past it, continuing to list what he had done wrong, taking stabs at him along the way.

It was hot.

You were making valid points. He didn't have to drive that fast, it wasn't like he was late.

But it was also extremely difficult to focus on what you were saying when those big bright eyes of yours were burning into him.

How could he focus on anything else?

So he was honest and told you so.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" You threw your hands up in exasperation.

That we aren't making out right now, is what Jake wanted to say. But his mother would smack him if she found out that's what he said to her future daughter-in-law during their first interaction.

"I have no problem darlin'. In fact, I'm pretty great. Got a matcha latte and have just met the most stunning girl in the world," he flashed that blindingly white smile, ready for you to ask for his number.

"You parked like that for a matcha latte? You couldn't have made me slam on my breaks for something that doesn't taste like dirt?" You spat.

Huh, normally that line worked. The fact it didn't was more exhilarating than nerve-wracking.

Jake honestly found it borderline erotic.

"I didn't realize I had met a parking and coffee expert," He preened, that award winning smile remaining on his face. He was curious, what could get you flustered?

You swore you could see red.

Oh, he was trying. Trying to knock you off balance. Trying to see if he could rattle you. It fueled you.

"I'm not an expert, it's called being a decent human being with common sense, you knockoff Ken doll." The lovesick look on his handsome face remained. If he was a cartoon, hearts would appear over his head.

Oh, you were perfect.

Outright asking for your number wouldn't work. Compliments were going right over your head. He had to change tactics.

He looked over at his parking job before facing you again, "Y'know, you're absolutely right. That was a shitty parking job."

Your eyes widened, surprised that this walking Crest Whitening Strips advertisement could admit he had done something wrong.

Jake continued, "And I'd love to learn more about how to park correctly from you…over dinner."

When you started ripping into him, you weren't exactly sure what to expect. Most likely an argument that would end with middle fingers thrown in the air as you both walked away.

Not him asking you out.

"You want me to continue yelling at you about your inability to park over dinner?" You asked. Perhaps the lack of oxygen he experienced from flying planes had affected his ability to think. Perhaps folks should study the effects his job had on the brain. Not that Congress would allow it (couldn't interfere with recruitment).

That stupidly white smile remained on his face, "I was also hoping I could learn more about you too."

Hesitation filled you. The officer (or whatever his rank was) was being genuine. His compliments didn't feel forced. It was just odd that after being yelled at for nearly ten minutes, the conclusion he came to was that he wanted to go on a date with you.

"Buy me coffee first." You challenged, crossing your arms over your chest as an attempt to come across as intimidating, despite how much taller the soldier was compared to you.

A smile broke out onto his face. Not a cocky one, but one that was soft and sweet.

It was almost endearing. Almost.

"Anything for you darlin'," he declared, sea green eyes sparkling, "I'm Jake by the way."

You didn't expect him to go through with it. Nor did you expect him to jog ahead so he could hold the door open for you.

A warm feeling began to flutter in your stomach, until you remembered his heinous parking skills. That warm sensation would transform into a quiet, bubbling rage.

"Hangman? The fuck kind of name is that?" You asked upon hearing him say it to the barista.

"It's my callsign darlin'," he explained, like it was the most obvious and sensible thing in the world.

"First off, my name is not darlin, I just told you it two minutes ago. Second, you are way too smug to be telling me how your callsign is after a children's recess game, Officer." You ignored the confused stare of the barista who handed you your drink.

"I didn't get it from the game and it's Lieutenant," he corrected, his voice the sharpest it had been since talking to you.

A nerve had been struck. Or so you thought.

You leaned forward, your cardigan brushing against the khaki shirt he wore.

"Learn how to park properly and maybe then I'll get your rank right, officer." You were quite proud of yourself for that one, considering he was actually silent for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Jake was doing everything in his power to not sport an erection in the middle of the coffee shop. Because holy shit, you were hot. It was ridiculous how your smirk almost made his knees buckle.

He wondered if you'd prefer an early summer or fall wedding. He had always envisioned getting married in late May. But the rust colored cardigan you had on perfectly complimented your complexion. You'd probably looked great in mustard too. But those colors were more appropriate for a fall wedding and not-

"Cat got your tongue? Or does the navy have their own expression?" Your voice broke Jake out of his thoughts.

He just smiled, shaking his head, "Just got distracted by how pretty you are. Gonna tell you now, I don't know if I'll be able to focus on parking standards during our date tonight. Might need a second one for review."

You rolled your eyes, "It's not a date it's…. actually I don't know what you call it when you are teaching a grown ass man how to properly park over dinner-"

"It's a date." The barista called out before turning around to work on the other orders. Heat rushed to your face as Jake slipped a five dollar bill into the tip jar.

"Whatever" you fumbled to get your phone out, pulling up a new contact, "just give me your number so I can text you the address of the restaurant."

He quirked an eyebrow, "You're picking the place?"

"You can't drive for shit and out of all the types of tea lattes you could drink, you go with matcha," you leaned in to look at the sticker on his cup, "with skim milk. The federal government may trust you with their jets, but like hell I'm gonna trust you to pick a restaurant."

Oh, he was definitely going to marry you. In his head, he already tried out pairing your first name with Seresin and it sounded heavenly.

He just grinned, his emerald eyes shining and you really wished he'd stopped doing that.

The scent of cedar wood flooded your nostrils as he leaned in, his face much closer to yours than it had been so far. Was he bending his knees to be at eye level with you?

Focus, you told yourself. He can't park for shit and got zero sweetener in his drink. Who the hell does that?

"I look forward to showing you on our date that I have great taste, as well as many talents that will have you overlooking my parking skills," his voice was low, dripping with a pathetic attempt of seduction that made you want to bang your head against the counter of the coffee bar.

"Type your phone number in before I throw my drink at you. I don't care if I get fined with 'defacing government property'." You all but shoved your phone into his chest, earning a chuckle from him that sent more heat to your body than rage.

"Anything for you, Venus." Did the obnoxiously bright smile ever go away?

"Y'know, you could have a really strong legal case for what all the lack of oxygen has done to your brain, like not being able to remember my name."

Jake shook his head, "Oh, I remember your name. Venus suits you better. Hottest planet, looks great in rust," he motioned to your cardigan, "Goddess of love and beauty. It's quite fitting for you."

This guy was unreal. The grip you had around your drink tightened, your bottom lip pushing forward to form an annoyed pout.

"I look forward to our date tonight, Venus," He said as he handed you back your phone, his long fingers brushing against yours.

Your eyes couldn't roll harder, "I look forward to serving my country by teaching you how to properly park, Hangnail."

"It's Hangman."

Now it was your turn to smirk, "Nah, Hangnail suits you better," your voice dropped, mocking his southern accent.

With that, you left the coffee shop. You had to, otherwise you were going to throw your drink at him.

You missed the downright lovesick smile that adorned Jake Sersin's face as he watched you walk out.

"Thanks for helping me meet my future wife y'all," He said to the very confused baristas.

"She looked like she wanted to murder you," one commented.

Jake laughed, shaking his head, "Don't worry. I'll win her over."

As you got in your car, a vibration from your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, a message from an unknown number flashing on your screen.

Looking forward to our date tonight. Can't wait for your lesson Venus ;)

Oh that bastard. When the hell did he have time to send himself a text to get your number?

You shook your head despite the fact he couldn't see you.

A loud horn made you jump. You looked up from your phone to see the living embodiment of a Ken doll in his car that was now in the middle of the parking lot, right across from your car.

He waved. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his stupid face.

Instead, you rolled down your window.

"What the fuck are you doing?! You're going to block traffic!" You yelled.

"Text me your address Venus! I'll pick you up at seven!" He winked, driving away as he ignored your comment.

At least he wasn't speeding through the parking lot this time.

Maybe there was hope. Maybe. Doubtful. Probably not.

On the way back to base, Jake wondered if you'd prefer a silver or gold band for your engagement ring.

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

@spidervee @sebsxphia @hangmanapologist @xbamboowishesx @rae-gar-targaryen @theharddeck @abibliophobiaa @mothdruid @stranger-nightmare @princessphilly

6K notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

Three Little Words

Summary: Peter is determined to tell the reader he loves her. Here are the three times he tries, and then one time he finally gets it out.

Warning: Some language, sexual innuendos (no smut, not yet), a little angst, reader has a nickname. Just a lot of fluff. I didn't proofread, so I apologize

Follow up to Glad You're Home (you will want to read it otherwise this won't make sense)

Part three is up!

“So when you’re gonna tell her?”

“Is this a question or another Tik Tok thing?” Either way, Peter find Miles’ timing to be awful considering they were in the midst of going after a pair of robbers.

“It was a question….but that is a line from a song that was in Top 40 radio, so you’re improving!” Peter didn’t expect to get a lot of Miles’ pop references-considering the ten plus age gap-but when MJ started teasing him about living under a rock, he wanted to do better.

MJ.

Despite three months of dating, there were still times he had to convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming. That all this was real. He could easily get behind the multiverse being real, the fact that there were other Peter Parkers-who also were Spider-Man-that existed in other universes. That was easy for him to wrap his head around. What he couldn’t wrap his head around was the older Peter’s suggestion that there was someone out there for him. It was just easier to accept that he was an outlier, that he didn’t have an MJ, that he already had a soulmate, and she was long gone.

And then he saw her. She was breathtaking, which was honestly the main reason he tried leaving at first when during their initial meeting because he knew if he stayed, he was going to be absolutely smitten by those bright eyes and smile that lit up the room by the end of the night.

But she refused to let him go, which made no sense in his mind until he heard that nickname, which simultaneously made everything in his mind click and send it into overdrive because shit that was MJ, his MJ, who was only inches away from his face, tending to his wounds.

“So do you have a plan yet on how you’re going to tell her that you love her or you going to wing it….no pun intended?” Miles asked, dodging a huge piece of metal that had been thrown at him.

“I have a plan.”

“Like an actual plan…..or like the ‘plan’ you had when you tried to ask her out?” Miles asked. Peter was glad he had a mask on so no one could see his redden face.

“Hey stranger, what brings you here?” You asked after opening up the window. You were surprised that it was Peter, not Miles, standing outside on your fire escape. He appeared to be in much better health compared to when he was brought to your place the night before. It was strange to see him outside of that spandex suit

“I…I wanted to bring back the clothes I borrowed,” He said, holding up a folded shirt and pair of sweatpants.

“Did you swing around while carrying clothes? Because that would be impressive, although slightly impractical.” You said, stepping outside to join him.

“No, I….I have my backpack. I keep all my stuff in it,” He pointed to the one he was carrying, “You were joking, weren’t you?”

You giggled, “Little bit. So is there a reason why you’re giving me these clothes?” You paused, “And not Miles? The owner of said clothes?”

Shit. He didn’t think this through.

“Uh, I figured…you know you see him more than I do, and this way, you can……” He stumbled, face turning red.

“Do you want to go grab lunch?” You asked, hoping to put the poor guy out of his misery. It was clear that the plan was to come over and talk to you. And the beginning of the plan was really good. He just hadn’t thought it all the way through.

He sighed, relieved that she was able to pick up on what he was trying to do, “Yes. I would love that.”

“Awesome. There’s this new Italian place I’ve been wanting to try, but it’s a date spot so I didn’t want to go without a date,” You explained as you began to crawl back into your apartment.

“Date?” He squeaked out. You looked back, a grin forming on your face.

“Yes, that is usually what you call it when two people have kissed each other and go out to lunch. Is that okay?” You asked. You would be really surprised if he wasn’t okay with it, but now would be the best time to find out.

“That is….more than okay.”

She was the one to initiate a date. Peter was thankful because it had been so long since he dated that he had no idea what he was doing. Usually his strong suit was quick comebacks and witty remarks, but his brain felt like cotton whenever he saw her. It wouldn’t be the last time MJ had to initiate things.

“So….this isn’t sushi?” He asked. You rolled your eyes because this was the fifth time he asked.

“Peter, it’s called Poke,” You explained before taking a bite of your bowl.

“It’s Hawaiian,” Miles added.

“But….it contains rice, raw fish, and stuff like avocado and seaweed.”

“Yes, those are common toppings people put on a Poke bowl.” You weren’t sure why he was having such a hard time grasping the concept. It was also entirely possible he was being an ass on purpose to get you to crack.

“No, those are things you put in sushi.” Peter remarked.

“He’s not wrong,” Miles whispered to you.

“Okay…fine. But sushi usually has all these things wrapped up and sliced into neat little rolls. This is not a neat little roll,” You motioned to your bowl.

“So, it’s deconstructed sushi. Why don’t they just call it that?” He remarked. You could see the smirk forming on his face.

“Because it’s not sushi. It’s Poke,” You held up your fork, as if that would make him realize he was wrong.

“It literally has all the same ingredients as sushi, it’s just in a bowl!”

“Why are you so upset about this?” Miles asked.

“Because it’s sushi! It should just be called sushi!”

“Wow, I didn’t know my boyfriend was so adamant about the name of a food he won’t even eat.” Your eyes widen and your hand flew up to cover your mouth. You two had been dating for a little over a month but had yet to label things.

“What did you call me?” Peter asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have to pee, I’ll be back,” Miles said, getting up quickly so he could watch from the sides without being involved. He would say he wanted to stay out of the drama, but the truth was he couldn’t pick between the two of you if his life depended on it.

You looked up to make eye contact with your favorite bug boy. It was time to own it.

“Boyfriend. That is what I’ve been calling you whenever anyone in my apartment tries to set me up with their nephew or delivery guy. At first it was to emphasize that I wasn’t interested, but also because,” You paused, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

His face was hard to read. It reminded you of the look he had when he discovered your nickname the night you two had met.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed your free hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

“I would like that too,” He said softly. You see his eyes beginning to water and could imagine the wide range of emotions he was experiencing. You knew this was a big deal for him, which was why you hadn’t been pushing the need to label things.

“YES! Finally!” You two turned around to see Miles standing by the soda foundation machine, first in the air.

Peter hadn’t minded when she initiated their first date. Nor did he mind it that she had initiated the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation. But there was a saying: once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern. And it definitely became a pattern for her to take charge when it came to many firsts in their relationship.

You two were watching a movie. You texted Miles, telling him specifically to not show up. You had on the lowest cut t-shirt you owned and the jeans that made your ass incredibly difficult to ignore. You had your head in his lap, playing with the ties of his sweatpants. You really thought it could not get more obvious than this.

And somehow, Peter Parker remained oblivious to all your hints. You were pretty sure if you took your top off right now, he would just ask if you were feeling warm and offer to turn on your AC.

So it was time for Plan B.

You sat up and swung a leg over him, straddling his waist.

“I need you to rail me,” You enunciated every word, refusing for there to be any misinterpretation.

He heard you loud and clear. It was obvious by his widen eyes and shaky hands that were resting on your hips.

“Oh?” Was all he could squeak out.

“Now. I need you to fuck me. Now.” You breathed heavily. He nodded his head and before you knew it, his hands were gripping your thighs, allowing him to stand up and carry you to the bedroom.

She had initiated a lot. And while that was one of the many things he loved about her, Peter couldn’t help but feel…lesser. Like he wasn’t pulling his weight. You had created all these memorable, magical moments and he just wanted to do the same.

Which was why Peter was determined to say it first. He wanted to be the first one to say those three big words. He knew you felt the same way and were just holding it back-trying to take things slow since this was his first relationship in years. He needed you to know that you were the best part of his day, of his life.

“Are you going to tell her tonight after her show?” Miles asked. Peter looked up to see the two robbers were properly webbed, no way of escaping.

“I mean, I don’t know if that’s the best time,” Peter started.

“That’s the perfect time!” The two looked up to see one of the robbers looking down at them, the other nodding in agreement.

“Have….have you been listening to our whole conversation?” Peter asked, unsure whether to be embarrassed or upset.

“We were curious. It sounds like you really like this girl.”

“Uh yeah…I do, but it’s not exactly something I tend to talk about with the people I’m fighting with.”

As much as Peter didn’t want to admit it, those robbers had a point. Tonight would be a good time to tell her. He and Miles were seeing the show she was currently in. He had flowers, had put on a suit jacket and tie. If there was any time to tell her, it was tonight after the show.

“Alright, I’ll stay back here. You tell her that you love her, you kiss, then I’ll hug the both of you and remind you how Miles Parker is a great name for a kid.”

Peter groaned, covering his face in the flowers so no one could see how red it was.

“I’m just saying-“

“Miles.”

“It’s a great name and a great way to honor the person who brought you together.”

“You realize in order for that to happen, I have to tell her I love her, she says it back, and then we have to get married. You do realize that’s a long process right?”

“I’m aware Peter. But it’s always good to start thinking about these things now-“

“Please just stay behind.”

“Peter!” He looked up to see you standing there, backstage. You were still in your costume, running towards him.

“I got you bro…..over there,” Miles said, running off. At least he was now picking up when the two should be alone.

You stopped running once you were several inches away from him. It wasn’t the first time a significant other had seen you perform, but something about looking out in the crowd and seeing him, seeing Peter with that big, lovesick grin you loved so much, was exhilarating.

“Are those for me?” You asked, pointing to the flowers. There were sunflowers, your favorite.

“Actually, they’re for the crew, I was just blown away by their performance.” You laughed, playfully grabbing his shoulder (you could never hit him-even if it was pretend). He leaned in, bending a bit so you and him were at eye level.

“You’re incredible, has anyone ever told you that?” He whispered. You were thankful you still had your stage makeup on, which made it harder for people to tell if you were blushing.

“Yes….but I like hearing it from you,” You teased. You leaned in to close the gap because you were tired of waiting. It had been maybe six hours since you last kissed him and yet it felt like the first time again. You broke away for air and he rested his forehead against your’s.

“MJ, I-“

His sentence was cut off by a cast member calling-no, yelling-your name. You broke away to see your cast motioning for you to join them back on stage, most likely to take a group photo.

You sighed, “I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back. I promise.” Before he could say anything, you ran off, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Peter sighed. The moment had come and gone. He would have to tell you another time. Maybe it was for the best? You probably wanted this to happen in a more private setting.

As soon as the picture was taken, you ran back to him, your eyes gleaming.

“What was it that you were trying to tell me before we were interrupted?”

“Oh, nothing. Just….I’m amazed by you,” He said softly.

“I’m so happy for you guys!” Seemingly out of nowhere, Miles was there, wrapping the two into a group hug-which was a common occurrence.

“Uh….why?” You asked, not seeing the daggers Peter was sending with his eyes, along with mouthing the word ‘No’.

“Why? Because,” He made eye contact with Peter and his eyes widen, “Oh. Because…you guys are just great together. You know, as soon as Peter told me he was single, I knew you would be great for him, MJ.”

“If you’re asking to make a speech at our wedding again,” You started, “I already said yes.”

“I’m sorry, you told him he could do what now?” Peter asked. You laughed as you motioned for the two to come back to your dressing room. You weren’t completely serious, but seeing Peter’s reaction to you mentioning the idea of your wedding was always fun to see.

-------

“Babe, you know the recipe only calls for three cloves of garlic. You do know that, right?” Peter asked as his wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I’m aware. And the recipe is wrong,” You said as you peeled another clove.

“Is there a vampire I should be on the lookout for?” He asked, pressing his nose into your hair.

“I just like garlic. Garlic makes everything better,” You remarked.

“Yeah, except your breath,” He muttered into your hair.

“Oh please, like you would go without kissing me,” You said, walking over to the trash can to toss out the scraps of garlic skin.

You felt something sticky latch onto your hip. Before you could say his name, you were back in his arms. You had a love/hate relationship with his web shooters. It terrified you, but was also insanely attractive when he used them on you.

“You….” He paused, trying to think of a comeback, “….are not wrong.” You threw your head back to laugh. He leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your neck. You wrapped your arms around his back so you could stay like this. Stay in his arms as he pressed soft kisses up your neck, up your chin, and finally, to your lips.

“Peter,” You sighed into his lips. It took every ounce of you to not say those three words. You didn’t want to be the first. You wanted him to say it when he was ready.

“MJ,” You leaned your head back so you could see his face, “I….I-“

“It smells amazing in here! What are we making tonight?” Peter closed his eyes to take a deep breath, as that was the only thing that could stop him from yelling at the kid.

“Teriyaki chicken,” You told your neighbor.

“Please don’t encourage him,” Peter whispered to you. He would give Miles a hard time later for interrupting a moment he knew the kid wanted to happen, once you were out of earshot.

---

“You know, it would have taken us less time if we had just swung to the top,” Peter said as he climbed what seemed to be an endless set of stairs.

“I’m still reeling from that time when Miles swung me around,” You told him, looking back to smile.

“No offense to Miles, but he’s still working on swinging around,” Peter commented.

“How’s this, you can swing me around….from your Aunt May’s doorstep to the street,” You offered.

“That’s a waste of my web shooters,” He retorted, pretending to be offended.

“So is this view truly the best view of New York City? Because I usually like to burn my thighs in a different way,” You smirked, raising an eyebrow.

He was thankful that they finally reached the top, mainly so he didn’t need to respond to how much she liked having sex with him, because the thought still made him speechless.

“Alright, here we are,” He said, opening the door. You had long heard of his favorite spot, but until now you had only heard about it, never seen it in person.

Having lived in New York City for nearly ten years, you’d thought that you had seen all the breathtaking sights by now.

“Wow,” was all you could say as you stepped out onto the rooftop. It was easy to understand why this was his favorite spot. It was quiet, the sounds of cars and people below making great white noise. It was subtle, reminding you they were still there but not overpowering. All the different colors of the lights below blended, creating a beautiful illusion.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. You looked up to see him with that smile that made you weak at the knees every damn time.

“Thanks for taking me to your spot Tiger,” You whispered, blushing as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Of course. I figured it was time I share my favorite spot with my favorite person,” You rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him. The sight of you, looking up at him with your big, bright eyes, made his heart flutter.

He cradled your face in his hands, stroking your jaw with his thumb.

“Hey tiger,” You whispered. It was moments like this you wouldn’t trade for the world. The world got to see Spider-Man, but you had Peter Parker. Peter, who was so sweet, so gentle and just full of devotion and adoration for you.

“I….I never thought I would feel this way about someone again.” You nodded your head, encouraging him to keep talking. Since you knew about him being Spider-Man from the get-go, it made things easier to talk about. Specifically, the past you two had before meeting each other.

“If someone had told me a few months ago I would be feeling this way, I would have told them they’re crazy. But….now you’re here. And I-“

An array of sirens-both police and ambulances- interrupted him this time. You groaned in frustration.

“You have to get that, don’t you?” You muttered into his chest.

“No, Miles said he could do the patrol himself tonight.” It wasn’t so much that he said he would, moreso that Peter asked him to.

“That was nice of him. What…what were you saying before we were rudely interrupted by the NYPD?” You asked, getting a chuckle out of him. He leaned down to gently kiss your hand that was he holding.

“What I’ve been trying to say is, MJ, I-“

This time it was his cell phone that interrupted. The catchy jingle, alerting him that something Spider-Man related was on the other line.

“You…should probably get that,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment. You knew something serious was going on if Miles was calling him while on duty.

It took everything in Peter not to throw his phone off the Empire State Building. He begrudgingly picked up, “Yes Miles?”

“Hey man, you know how I said I got it tonight?”

“Yes Miles, I remember that. Very clearly.”

“Well, I don’t have it.”

Peter sighed, “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up and grabbed your waist.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m not going to make you walk down all those stairs. That would make me a horrible boyfriend,” He said, making sure you were secure in his arm.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, don’t you fucking dare-“ Too late. You were flying and didn’t feel bad how loud you screamed in his ear.

-------

Waiting was the worst part. You knew he would do his best to be safe-he made more of an effort to keep himself safe while fighting since you two started dating-but the possibility of him not returning was always in the back of your mind.

You had to force yourself to sit on the couch, your back to the fire escape. Looking at it would just make things worse. You tried reading a book, but his words just kept replaying over and over in your head.

“What I’ve been trying to say is, MJ, I-”

You wanted to throw his phone off the building so badly. You had a strong feeling what his next words were going to be, and you were desperate to hear them.

You still worried. Even though it was faint, and their appearance was rare, you could still hear that voice in the back of your head, telling you that this was too good to be true. That he didn’t feel the same way, that you were just a steppingstone. That one day he would find someone else, and you would be left in the dust, just like before.

It was why you had been so careful not to say it first. You didn’t want him to feel any pressure, to feel like he had to say it just because you said it. You wanted it to be genuine, for it to happen when he was ready.

The tapping of your window broke you away from your thoughts. You looked up to see him and relief filled your body. You ran over to the window, opening it so he could come in.

“You okay?” You asked, scanning his body for any injuries. You noticed some minor cuts, nothing too awful.

“You should see the other guy,” He laughed as he came in. He’s had a key for about a month now, but he never used it.

“I hope you gave him a punch for me. You know, for ruining our date and all,” You said as you inspected the cut on his upper chest. It seemed to be the worst one he had tonight, the one that would require some attention. You grabbed his hand to lead him back to your couch, your first aid kit already on the coffee table.

“I may have,” He said as he sat down.

“Alright Tiger, you know the drill.”

“You know, I think at this point in our relationship you can just ask me to take off my clothes for you.”

You rolled your eyes as you got the bandages and wipes. He rolled his suit down so that you could get a clear look at the cut. You began to clean it up with the wipes, because you will be damned if he gets an infection.

He couldn’t help but notice how cute you were when you focused on something. Your nose would scrunch up, your eyes narrowed in on whatever it was you were doing. He noticed it right away when he first met you, as you were tending to his wounds.

“Do you know why I wanted to leave that night we first met?” He asked. You stopped, looking up at him.

“Because…you were afraid of me knowing your identity,” He made that very clear.

“No.”

“No?”

“I knew if I stayed, I would be head over heels for you by the end of the night. I….you were so beautiful and warm and the idea of having feelings like that terrified me.” He didn’t hide how terrifying this was for him. How it had been so long since he had been with someone, that he had been able to convince himself that he wouldn’t have someone, that he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m glad I didn’t let you go,” You said, a small smile creeping across your face.

“Me too,” He whispered. You grabbed a bandage because you really wanted to kiss him. You placed it on his chest, knowing that would keep it from bleeding further, which would allow him to heal faster. As soon as it was on, he pulled you into him. You rested your forehead on his, feeling at peace now that he was safe and back in your arms.

“What’s up baby?” You asked. Touch was Peter’s love language, but something was different tonight.

“I never thought this would be possible,” He said softly into your shoulder.

“What would be possible?”

“You.” You almost wanted to turn away due to the intensity of his gaze, “You….healed a cold, bitter heart. You loved me back to life. I don’t want to imagine where I would be without you.”

You wanted to make some sarcastic comment, so you could quickly wipe away the tears forming in your eyes. But you knew it was no use-he could hear your heart beat from a mile away.

“I love you so much and I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last two days because I….I need you to know. I love you.” It was all over when you saw his eyes were glassy, just like yours.

“Peter, I love you too,” it felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. You had been keeping those words inside of you for so long and now you felt free to say it.

It was hard to kiss when you both had a huge smile on your faces, but you made it work. He gently hooked a finger around your chin, which allowed him to place sweet, small kisses all over your face, declaring his love for you between every kiss. You laughed, trying to chase after his mouth with your’s.

In that moment, only the two of you existed. Just the two of you, in your apartment, on the couch that was the focal point of that fateful night where Peter Parker was brought to you and you fell in love with each other.

3K notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

part 11: an even exchange

word count: 2,216

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

You leaned against the worn oak counter of your bookshop, the faint scent of leather bindings and aged paper swirling around you like a cocoon. You only managed to distract yourself for an hour at a time whether it was with a book out of place or the stray customer on a slow day. Still, your mind drifted, pulled from your focus, and it wouldn't stop.

"Fuck," you continuously swore under your breath. It felt less like an expression of your frustration and more like a reflex every time you thought about Tommy again. And when you did, you felt the flush return to your cheeks.

It had been impossible to focus the last few days. After you left Tommy standing awkwardly after the near... incident, you avoided the Garrison. You avoided the betting house. You avoided him. Unfortunately, that provided no solace. It seemed as if the longer you actively tried to steer clear of his face, your mind would wander again. His eyes would meet you in the depths of your thoughts, and once again, the flush returned.

The bell above the door jingled sharply, disrupting the comforting silence. You didn’t bother to look up. “We’re closed,” you said curtly, voice tempered.

“Good thing I’m not here to buy a book.”

The voice was familiar and confident, a grating blend of smugness and urgency. That got your attention. You turned slowly, your gaze void of curiosity as it landed on the man standing in the doorway. He was dressed plainly but carried himself with the kind of confidence that set your teeth on edge.

“What do you want, Kennedy?” you asked. Almost instantly, your guard was up.

He smirked, unfazed by your chilly demeanor. “Got some news you might want to hear.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Surprise me”

“Shelby,” he said, the name cutting through your composure like a blade. “He’s in trouble.”

Time froze, and the stillness of the bookshop's air started to suffocate you at the mention of the name.

“How would you know that?”

Kennedy chuckled, opening and shutting the books on the counter. “Don't overthink it, y/n. All I'm doing is returning the favor. You let me sell you out to the Blinders, and now, I'm in their good graces. Word is, Mr. Shelby is at a warehouse on the east side. Ran into a spot of bother with some lads who don’t much care for his business dealings. Thought you might want to know.”

You stared at him, your nails digging into your palms. You hated how your pulse quickened at the thought of Tommy in a precarious spot. Hated how the very idea of him—his voice, his smirk, the damn way he looked at you—got under your skin. If it had been anyone else, you would have wondered why this information came to you. Where was John? Arthur? Anyone but you. Even worse, your legs suddenly felt the twitch like you were ready to act.

Kennedy tilted his head, his grin widening. “You gonna stand there and pretend you don’t care, or are you gonna do something about it? I know how you are with your investments.”

You stepped closer, your eyes narrowing. “And why are you so eager to tell me this?”

He shrugged, unfazed by the venom in your tone. “Let’s just say I’ve got my reasons. Do what you want with the information. But if I were you…” He let the sentence hang ominously before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more.

You stood there with your hands braced against the counter, breathing shallow. Your mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. You wanted to ignore it, to shove the warning aside and let Tommy deal with his mess on his own.

But you couldn’t.

“Damn it,” you muttered under her breath, shoving away from the counter. Your movements were sharp, angry, as you grabbed your coat and revolver.

This wasn’t about him, you told yourself as you locked the door and stepped into the cold. It wasn’t about the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were losing control of something you’d worked so hard to master.

No, this was about… You truly didn't know. Maybe by the time this was all over, you'd have a better idea. Maybe, eventually this would make sense. You swore, once, that you'd never do this again. Emotions—just like people and trust and loyalty—were collateral. You couldn't waste another moment on anything that would inevitably be your downfall.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stalked down the cobbled street, the faint glow of gas lamps lighting your way. You hated that you didn’t have a better answer.

Hated even more that you might have cared enough to not need one.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The warehouse was silent, save for the soft rustle of wind seeping through the broken windows. Tommy Shelby stood in the center, his hands bound behind him and a fresh cut bleeding down the side of his face. The men circling him didn’t bother to mask their smugness. Tommy, as always, remained calm which naturally irked them more.

“Think you’re clever, don’t you?” one of them sneered, stepping closer. “Not so clever now, eh?”

Tommy said nothing, but even he could feel the weight of this one—this was a gamble, and for once, the odds weren’t in his favor.

The man raised his fist, ready to strike Tommy again.

The first shot echoed like thunder in the confined space. One of the men dropped before the others could react, a bullet buried cleanly in his chest.

The second shot took out the man nearest to Tommy.

The rest scattered, scrambling for cover. You stepped out from the shadows, revolver steady in hand, expression ice-cold. You didn’t look at Tommy. You just let him watch.

“Who the hell—” one of them started, but your sharp gaze silenced him mid-sentence as you raised your finger to your lips to hush him in an almost-playful manner.

“Leave now,” you said, your voice low but commanding, “or you won’t leave at all.”

Your calmness was unnerving, more terrifying than a scream. One man tried to make a move toward his weapon, but you fired a warning shot that grazed the ground near his feet.

“Gentleman, I'm being kind,” you said evenly with the teasing tilt of your head. "I have a habit of being cruel at the best times. Please, don't force me to be unladylike."

The men exchanged frantic glances before deciding it wasn’t worth the fight. One by one, they backed away, retreating into the shadows until the warehouse was silent again.

You holstered your weapon, crossing the distance to Tommy with measured steps. Stopping before him, you looked at him with an inscrutable expression. You tried to steady your hands even as your heartbeat roared over the night's usual din.

This was the second time you had to act on behalf of a Shelby, and all you could do was remind yourself that this was just another debt Tommy would have to repay. Somehow, the thought didn't help.

Tommy’s voice broke the quiet. “Always with the theatrics, y/n.”

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “By all means, refuse my help next time.”

He raised an eyebrow, even as his hands remained tied. “And here I thought you were going to stay hidden.”

“Turn around,” you said coldly, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Tommy obeyed without a word, letting you cut through the ropes with a knife you pulled from your coat. He turned back to face you, rubbing his wrists, his piercing gaze searching your face.

“You didn’t have to do this."

Your eyes met his briefly without answering.

The space between you seemed to shrink, the air thick with something unsaid. Tommy took a step closer, his voice dropping. “So, why did you?”

Your jaw tightened as you stepped back. “Like I told you before. It's just business.”

Tommy tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just business,” he repeated.

You glared at him, hand tightening around the knife. You turned on your heel, walking briskly toward the exit. But Tommy wasn’t done.

“You walked away once before,” he called after you, his voice cutting through the darkness. “What’s stopping you now?”

You paused, your back to him. Your grip on the knife was tight enough to turn your knuckles white. Just as he did to you before, you let silence stretch until it was unbearable.

“Your life for your tragedy,” you replied stoically as you turned back, catching the full weight of his gaze. “Consider us even.”

The words hung between you, a statement of debt repaid. Your stare held his for a long, burning moment before you turned and walked away, leaving Tommy alone to reckon with the realization: you just bound yourself to him, and in your own way, evened the scales.

"Now, fucking drive me home."

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy stayed in the warehouse long after you disappeared, the smell of gunpowder still hanging in the air. The faint echo of your words twisted in his mind like a knife until he finally found the will to move his legs and meet you in the car. He noticed—though you probably didn't think he would—the slightest tremble in your hands. You tried to conceal it by clasping them together, steadying yourself in silence. He left you at the bookshop, and you didn't bother to grace him with a goodbye before you slammed the door shut.

You’d walked away from him before. That night when he'd come so close, your lips hovering near his, your breath soft against his skin, he could still feel it, the weight of your decision to step back, leaving him to wrestle with the raw vulnerability you’d exposed.

And now, tonight. You made your choice to save him, stepping out of the shadows like some avenging angel—or devil, depending on who was asked. Your calm precision, the cold fire in your eyes—it unsettled him.

It fascinated him.

Back at the Shelby estate, Tommy stood outside with his eyes turned to the moonlight. He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the bruise forming along his cheekbone. The sharp sting grounded him, but it wouldn't quiet his thoughts. You weren't like anyone else he’d known. You weren't predictable. You weren't someone he could read as easily as the men who worked for him or the women who sought his attention.

You made him work for it, and he wasn’t used to that.

Your words felt like a challenge, a test he hadn’t even realized he was taking. You weren't just reminding him of his moment of vulnerability—you allowed him to see that you truly listened, though you’d never admit it. But your words also felt like an opening. Even now, every action taken between you two were weighted in value. If it was his life you granted in exchange for his moment of fragility, he couldn't imagine how heavy the burden of knowing his truth was to you.

The faint sound of footsteps broke his reverie, and Polly appeared in the doorway.

“You alright, Tommy?” Polly asked, her voice gentle and tinged with concern.

He nodded, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

“It was foolish of you to try to handle that situation on your own, but you knew that already. Heard she saved your skin back there.”

“I’m aware.”

“Not the first time someone unexpected did that, but none of them were her.”

Tommy exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the dark. “I know.”

Polly circled the room, clearly debating whether to say more. Finally, she settled on, “And will you thank her?”

Tommy’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile if it weren’t so fleeting. “She wouldn’t want that.”

“You say that like you know her, really.”

Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, the embers briefly glowing brighter. “Because I do.”

But did he? The question lingered as Polly left him to his thoughts. Tommy stayed rooted in place, the chill of winter seeping into his bones. He replayed the moment the gunshot rang in the warehouse as if hearing it again would change the memory all together.

The corner of Tommy’s mouth curled, though there was no humor in it. You needed an excuse to do what you did and tried to make it seem like his story was a debt you couldn't have lingering on your conscience. You’d turned the tables on him yet again, made him feel like he was the one being measured by value alone. He wasn’t used to that either because you weren't using it for your benefit, not for a moment alone in bed. You didn't want him, at least not in the way others did. You were just there, ready and willing as long as he was willing to give it all back to you. This was different.

And perhaps he didn’t mind.

Snuffing out his cigarette, Tommy straightened his coat and walked into the night with only his thoughts to fill the silence.

43 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

[3]<-

[4]

›Bad Idea<

Pairing: Hong Woojin × Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies with benefits to Lovers

Warnings: 18+, explicit Smut, under 18 DNI!, Fem!Reader, suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names,, hate sex, ANGST, overstimulation, thigh riding

Word Count: 8.5k

Note: That’s the last Part of a Story that I really enjoyed writing. No worries I‘m already working on another Story about Bloodhounds. The chokehold these guys have on me is unreal… Hope you liked the Story. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always a blessing. Stay healthy and much love! ~Sky

Summary: As Gunwoo‘s little sister he wanted you to finally meet his best friend. Unfortunately you don't get along. He gets on your nerves, you fight all the time and yet you can't stop messing with each other. One evening you get into a dangerous situation and end up bruised and bloody at his apartment. And you suddenly have to ask yourself: Why do you feel so attracted to that idiot?

Chapter 7:

The Secret

The very next evening you were waiting in front of his apartment and when he saw you there, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and you braced yourself from the wall you had been leaning against.

"I'm bored," you said monotonously, and his gaze was already glued to the hem of your short skirt.

"So what?"

"Wanna fuck?"

"Sure."

Already you stumbled into his apartment, ripped the clothes from each other and between heated kisses and greedy touches, you threw aside your cell phone where Gunwoo tried to call.

A few hours later you came moaning on top of him as you rode his dick. As he painted your walls white with a hand around your neck, pressing you onto his throbbing dick, you climbed off of him and snuggled up to him.

"You know..fucking you almost made me reconsider whether i hate you or not," he said, pulling you into his arms and leaning his chin into the crook of your neck as he stroked his fingers over your bare stomach.

"Oh really? What's the verdict?" you asked, wiggling even closer to his chest. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and his hair tickled your neck as he did so, making you giggle.

"Hmm..nope not even a little less."

A little offended, you turned around so you could face him. You pouted and stroked your fingers down his chest.

"Not even a little? Let's see if we can change that... Round two?"

Your suggestive smile and the way you raised an eyebrow made him smirk. The warmth in his eyes enveloped you and you never wanted to get out of his bed again if he stayed here with you.

"If you're asking me that naked and all sexy, I don't think I can resist," he replied charmingly, stroking the contours of your face as if it were an expensive sculpture he couldn't get enough of.

You winced with a chuckle as he pinched your side and pulled you closer again. Your lips collided and you kissed him until you couldn't breathe.

That's exactly how it went every time.

You were still a trio. You Gunwoo's annoying little sister and Woojin the chaotic good-for-nothing best friend. You argued, pounced at each other and never missed an opportunity to show that you didn't like each other.

But as soon as you were alone, you leaped upon each other.

The fact that your meetings were a secret between you made it even more exciting.

You slept together all the time. The smallest arguments made you tear off your clothes and throw yourselves on each other, fucking in heat and with no hesitation. It was the best sex you ever had and you were actually happy when you were with him.

However, it didn't go unnoticed for long. It started one night when Gunwoo was looking for a movie in Woojin's room to borrow from him and instead pulled out your black lace bra from between his pillows. That combined with the scratch marks that were increasingly reflected on Woojin's back, and was mockingly acknowledged by his training partners, Gunwoo put one and one together.

"Who is it? Who is this girl? Are you together?"

He had been bugging Woojin until he admitted that there was indeed someone. However, he would die before he told him that it was his sister.

"So like... Do you like her or something?", he asked out of nowhere a few months later as he helped Woojin train. He held the punching bag and looked at his friend, who froze in motion.

"Why would you think that? How could you think that?" asked Woojin, the sweat on his forehead doubling.

"Because you keep daydreaming and you barely have time outside of training... You must spend a lot of time with her," he said and Woojin shook his head as he punched a little stronger than necessary.

"We're just fucking. Nothing special. I don't even like her, actually."

Gunwoo had nodded, wanting to let the subject go. After all, he didn't understand it anyway. Woojin was so secretive that he didn't want to bug him further. Still, Woojin kept talking, between strained gasps as he punched the punching bag:

"I don't know. Really. This has been going on for a while now. The sex is incredible, but she keeps driving me crazy. We can't be in the same room without me getting restless and my heart jumping out of my chest."

The younger one pressed his lips together and tried to stifle a knowing smile. Later, as they sat together on the rooftop, winding down the day with protein shakes and fresh dumplings, Woojin said:

"I think I have come to a conclusion".

Gunwoo looked at him and asked with his mouth full, "Which is?"

"I am allergic to her"

He snorted in disbelief and choked on his shake.

"Wait... what?" escaped him between gasps and coughs.

But Woojin just nodded insistently, "I am allergic to her..."

It was almost like being in a bad romance movie. You couldn't be with or without each other. Endless arguments over the stupidest things every day, that ended with the most amazing sex every night. One minute you were ready to kill each other and the next you were sneaking off to have sex.

No matter when and no matter where.

You were addicted to each other and at this point, you could say you were only arguing and maybe even using each other just to fuck. You tried everything to keep it a secret from your brother. But you also became careless as time passed.

Finally, in addition to your underwear, he found a shirt that he had given you, where you had left it in Woojin's bed. Of course, he had recognized it immediately and before Woojin could explain anything, Gunwoo snapped and had given him a strong punch in the face.

He was furious that you had kept it a secret from him for so long and he was very very stunned that such a thing had happened behind his back all this time.

Now Woojin sat on your couch and you pressed a bag of frozen peas on the bridge of his swollen nose.

"He got you pretty good..." you said affectedly, and you felt guilty. After all, you were partly to blame.

Gunwoo and Woojin had randomly come in, Woojin had bled all over your apartment after your brother had hit him unannounced in the middle of the nose, and after that he had brought him here to have someone take care of his bloody nose and most likely to confront you.

Since then, your brother had been pacing back and forth in front of you, trying to calm himself down. He could have guessed it. At the latest when Woojin was so interested that one afternoon. Gunwoo and he had made ramen on the roof of his apartment. A little ritual where they just chatted and let the training day end.

"I can't stand it at home anymore," he sighed, dropping into the chair next to Woojin.

"What's wrong?" asked Woojin, stirring the pot.

"Y/N's girlfriend is visiting and they talk all day! Without a break and I have to listen to everything even in my room... They're so loud!", he sighed exhaustedly and Woojin patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Even in the kitchen, you're not safe from the chatter... I hear things really I don't want to know."

Interested, Woojin raised his eyebrows and paused.

"What do you mean? What are they talking about?"

"Don't make me remember," Geonwoo sighed, and that's when his best friend elbowed him in the side.

"You can't start and then not tell the details."

Gunwoo stretched, groaning, as if the coming words would cause him physical pain.

"I suspected she was seeing someone. She's rarely home. Sneaks at her room abnormally early in the morning and lately she's even humming when she's working at the store. It's really creepy by now," he began, and Woojin had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning widely.

"Anyway, I overheard her talking about it with her friend in the kitchen. She said it was the best sex of her life, but wouldn't say with whom..."

Gunwoo shook himself in disgust and took over stirring the ramen. The corners of Woojin's mouth slowly lifted and he tried not to ask too suspiciously.

"Best sex of her life? That's what she said?"

"Yeah... It was disgusting enough, can you please not repeat it?" he asked and Woojin nodded quickly, though he would have loved to hear more. Inwardly, he was as happy as a little kid who got an ice cream cone as a reward for a good grade.

Even as he had beamed the rest of the evening, Gunwoo had suspected nothing. You could both see how sorry he was. He really hadn't meant to hurt Woojin. But it had also been wrong of you to lie to him for so long.

The two most important people in his life had lied to him for months and abused his trust.

"Gunwoo..." you began carefully, meekly, but he interrupted you:

"No! Don't! I'm not angry... But I can't be around you right now. I need to focus on the fight."

That came on top of it, too. Gunwoo had an important fight in the next few days that he had been training for for months.

"That's okay. Talk to me when you're ready, bro. I'm gonna go now...", Woojin said and stood up.

He looked at the peas in confusion and held the bag out to you a bit dorkily.

"You can keep those," you said in an occupied voice, and he nodded. When he disappeared through the door, you stood up too and gave your brother a worried look.

He ruffled his hair and ran both hands wearily through his face.

Chapter 8:

The Date

Over the next few days, things calmed down a bit. Gunwoo seemed to come to terms with it. At least he didn't mention it anymore. At his boxing match, you were both there cheering him on. The friendship between the two boxers was too strong after all and the they needed each other. They were inseparable and even you couldn't destroy that.

Later that day you celebrated his victory and while you ate pork belly, laughed and carelessly spent time together as before, your guilty conscience gradually faded away. Before you could say goodbye to Woojin in front of the restaurant and run home with Gunwoo, he held you back by the hand.

Questioningly, you looked up at him and that's when Gunwoo said:

"I'll go ahead and wait for you."

Gratefully, you gave him a curt look, which he returned with a smile before walking out of earshot.

"He's not mad at us anymore. That's good," Woojin said, kicking a pebble into the road.

"What's wrong?" you asked curiously, watching him squirm around for a while before he managed to look you in the eye.

"Do you want to do something tomorrow?"

You furrowed your eyebrows in wonder.

"Sure. I can come over if..."

"No... Not just to fuck. I'd like to spend time with you. Outside, get something to eat, and then go to the park?"

Completely perplexed, your mouth was open and you looked at him as if he'd suggested you jump off a cliff.

"The weather is supposed to be nice..."

Since you didn't answer, he became more and more uncertain. You looked for sarcasm or some malice, but nothing came. He just looked nervous. He cursed himself and swallowed hard as he stared at the floor. Why the hell was he so restless?

"Nevermind. That was a stupid idea. Just forget about it," he dismissed it, wanting to turn around and just disappear.

Unconsciously, you grabbed his sleeve and he turned back to you. Confused, yet with hope in his eyes that sprouted like the first snowdrops in spring.

"No. That's a nice idea. Will you pick me up?"

His face lit up and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah. At two?"

"I'll help out at the store until three, then we can get going."

"Sounds good."

Silently, you just looked at each other. Nothing around you seemed to matter. The traffic, the people pushing past you on the sidewalk, and even the cloud pushing in front of the sun.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," you repeated, and as soon as you caught up with Gunwoo, your cheeks glowed and your stomach did flips. He said nothing. He just smiled and put an arm around your shoulders as you turned into the street to your apartment.

While you waited for Woojin to pick you up, the same question played incessantly in your mind:

Was that a date?

Something inside you hoped so. As you took off your apron and checked your hair in the mirror, you heard the store door and Woojin's voice.

You almost cried out, you were so tense.

You had put on some makeup, were wearing a red summery dress because you knew that was his favorite color, and when you heard how happy your mom was about his visit, you felt warm. When you stepped out into the store, his eyes were immediately on you. His face lit up and his eyes wandered endlessly along your curves.

"Hey..." you said a little meekly.

"Hey. You look beautiful," he said, not knowing what to do with his hands. It was weird not meeting just to sleep with each other.

"Thanks... You too," you replied, and he really did. He was wearing ripped jeans and a tank top, so you could probably stare at his muscular arms all day. Your mom was obviously surprised by the sudden niceness between you and looked back and forth, puzzled.

"Shall we?" he asked, and you nodded. Before you could say goodbye to your mom, she came rushing out from behind the counter and thrust a bag into your hand.

"There's a little snack in there. Have a nice day," she said, placing a hand affectionately on Woojin's cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you very much Mrs Kim." he said enthusiastically and it was heartwarming how happy he was. You knew by now that he didn't have a very good relationship with his parents. That's why he looked up to your mother and enjoyed the affection she gave him.

As soon as you walked side by side through the streets, directly towards the park, a strange silence spread. It was completely absurd to spend time with Woojin without arguing. Birds were chirping and the park was decorated like a painting in various shades of green.

On the way, you picked up an iced coffee and eventually chatted as if it were a normal thing to be together. Only without Gunwoo. It was new how much you laughed even just the two of you and before you knew it half the day was over.

In the park, you spread out your jackets and lay down under a tree, through whose branches scattered rays of sunlight hit the earth and warmed your faces.

Although you thought it was supposed to be weird, it seemed perfectly normal as he put an arm around you and you snuggled up to him. You ate the donuts your mom had packed for you and teased each other until you fought over the last piece.

He may have been a good boxer, yet you were winning. At least that's what you thought as you proudly shoved the last piece into your mouth and he watched you, fondly smiling.

After a while, watching the sky, you asked:

"What do we do now?"

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at you.

"What do you mean?“

"I mean, what is it between us?" you asked, as that question circled you over and over.

"I think we're friends?"

Friends? Was that really the right word? Did you want you guys to just be friends? You tried to tell yourself it was so perfect. With no obligations, no extra thoughts, if everything just stayed the way it was. But it felt wrong and something in you resisted it. By now you were sure: you wanted more than that.

You just didn't know what. You wanted more days like this, where you laughed together, got talked about nonsense, looked together in the sky. You even wanted more fights and arguments, if that meant falling into bed with him at the end of the day.

"Friends who sleep together regularly?"

"Exactly..."

He played with a strand of your hair and wrapped it around his finger, lost in thought. You looked up at him and his absent look made you suspicious. It was as if he wanted to say something, but didn't dare. You intertwined your fingers with his and leaned your cheek against his chest.

A couple with a dog walked by, talking animatedly.

The sudden silence became more serious than either of you wanted. You indulged your thoughts and it was almost intimate as you enjoyed the last rays of the day's sunshine snuggled together.

"I'm sure you have other people you can sleep with. You have the pretty face for it," you said to lighten the serious mood. You didn't want to deal with what could be.

What if he really just saw you as a friend? Someone to blow off steam with, but nothing more. But then why had he brought you here today, and why had the day been so nice? Was he already bored having sex with you?

"Additionally, you're a possessive little freak, but it's very endearing," you added, and he grinned in amusement.

"But I only want you."

Stunned, you looked at him and when your eyes locked, it took your breath away.

"I've gotten too attached to you already," he added quickly.

Woojin flashed another, kindly mocking grin. Teasing, as ever. He tried to keep it light. Better that than wanting too much, knowing he would never get it.

You averted your eyes again and followed the couple, arm in arm, as they watched their dog run across the park.

Was that disappointment squeezing the air out of your lungs?

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

You played with the hem of his tank top, and he slid his hand down your sides until it was firmly against your hip.

"Why do you put up with me? You obviously can't stand me. So why?"

You didn't dare look at him, afraid he might read your true thoughts and feelings from your face.

"The sex is good," you murmured, and that's when he looked up at the sky and laughed, chuckling and your body shivered excited.

"Is that all it is? Then why did you come today?"

So many questions you didn't know the answer to. You didn't know why you agreed, you just knew you wanted to. You wanted to spend time with him outside of your bed or his room.

Why wasn't clear to you.

"I don't want anyone else either. I may have started to like you," you finally blurted out and he thought his heart would burst.

"Really?"

He looked at you incredulously and straightened up a bit. Immediately you blushed with shame. All this could not be, but you could not lie. Your body betrayed you anyway.

"Stop staring at me like that, creep!" you drove at him and pushed him so that he fell on his back and looked into the leaves with a smile.

"I don't believe it... Did Y/N Kim really just admit that she likes me?" he gasped, running both hands through his hair as if you had just revealed to him that you could fly.

Immediately, you regretted being so honest with him and rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"Shut up. I said maybe. You just ruined it again," you grumbled and crossed your arms. Why did he have to be so annoying anyway?

You felt vulnerable and that was a scary feeling.

Woojin sat up again and when he saw your tense expression and the sadness you were trying to hide behind a carefree mask, the grin died.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and turned you so that you were looking at him. Then he pulled you to the floor with him until you were on top of him, his leg between your thighs, pulling you into a deep kiss.

He was gentle, loving, running his hands down your sides and letting his tongue slide over your lower lip as light as a feather. By now he didn't care at all that you were in the middle of public.

Especially when your lips were too kissable and he just wanted to litter you with kisses all day.

You buried your fingers in his hair and melted in his arms as you opened your lips and he slid his tongue into your mouth. This time, it wasn't a contest. Not a race either of you wanted to win. You were moving in unison.

Your body was made for him as he curved perfectly into his. The kiss was more intimate than anything before and full of tenderness.

You could feel his heartbeat and it was reassuring that it was racing just like yours.

Between kisses, you felt him smile and pull you closer by the hips in a demanding way. He ran his hands under your shirt, over your back, so that his fingers left a trail of heat on your soft skin.

When he lifted his leg between your thighs and brushed against your middle, you gasped involuntarily into his mouth. You almost couldn't help rocking your hips just a little. You were desperate for some sort of friction and relief. Just hearing his voice, his body so close to yours, made you tense. You began to slowly rock and sway your hips, letting out small groans and pants.

As your fingers pulled at his hair, he moved his thigh teasingly and gave more pressure directly on your covered cunt. Immediately you got wet and the desire made you roll your hips against his leg.

Embarrassed, you bit your lower lip as he bobbed his leg and grinned as he felt you heatedly rubbing your cunt against him.

"Look at you... All desperate and needy. And in public," he whispered in your ear and you whimpered softly as he rubbed his thigh harder against your cunt.

To outsiders it just looked like a couple cuddling and whispering loving words to each other.

"Woojin I can't...," you murmured tensely and he watched as your lustful face tried to keep its composure.

"Take what you need, sweetheart," he murmured to you, guiding your hips against his leg with one hand. With the other he pushed your head to the side to kiss your neck.

Time began to stop and you rolled your hips harder against his thigh. The thought that someone could catch you only sent more arousal between your legs and made your skin tingle.

He was peppering kisses down your throat, stopping to suck a pretty red mark over your pulse point.

Every shift of his hips bumped up against your throbbing core and he held you tightly by the hips as you lost yourself in pleasure. Even clothed the drag on your clit was brilliant, you knew you were going to ruin your panties but the orgasm that was coming your way was worth it.

He bounced his leg just right and watched as your hips stuttered slightly and ran one hand under your shirt to knead your breast. Too inconspicuous for anyone else to notice what he was doing, but you felt every little movement so intensely that you buried your face in his neck. With a sharp curse, your hips continued to roll against those muscular thighs and your eyebrows pinched together from the unbelievable pleasure.

Your lips traveling to his collarbone as you squeezed your cunt against him, the friction on your clit sending electricity through you and as he grinded your hips intensely against his thigh a few more times, you came with a gasp and your body trembled on his.

Satisfied, he stroked a few strands of hair out of your forehead as you calmed down and kissed your temple.

"My good girl," the boxer praised, "Do you feel better now, dollface?" he asked and you nodded slowly and sunk against him. You were too sensitive now but your hips continued to roll lazily, trying to chase the powerful release.

"Thank you..." you said and snuggled closer to his chest. He bit your neck gently, then murmured suggestively:

"You can thank me at home with your sweet pussy. After all, it's mine."

You shuddered and your eyes met. Lasciviously you grinned and you played with his waistband.

"Shall we go?"

He nodded and the lust grabbed you like a tornado, pulled you with it and left no hesitation. You walked together to his apartment, your hand firmly on your ass and as soon as you were through the door, you took off your clothes.

You didn't even made it to his bed this time.

Instead, he ended up on top of you on the couch and the romantic kisses got hot and fiery. As soon as you had your underwear off, he said impatiently:

"Turn over! On all fours!"

With glowing cheeks you did as he said and before you could prepare yourself you felt a hand firmly on your hip and him slipping out of his boxers. The sight was intoxicating as you waited on all fours, ready and willing for him. Your elbows and knees were propped up to support your weight.

"Let's see how much my doll can handle."

He licked his lips before pressing his throbbing tip against your entrance, rubbing and tapping. Fear and excitement filled your body, his tip at your entrance stretched you out already and made you gasp.

"Less talking, more fucking", you snapped.

"You little bitch," he laughed and when his tip entered you, your arms weakened immediately.

Your hands gripped tense, into the padding as he thrusted ruthlessly into you, a rasping gasp escaping him.

"Asshole," you hissed, your voice trembling with pain.

"Fuck... You're so hot when you're angry," he moaned with his hands firmly on your hips, he tucked himself deep inside you, giving you no mercy with his vicious movements. Your nosy moan echoed throughout the apartment, but you didn't have enough self-awareness to stop it. His thick cock stretched out your walls so deliciously, your pussy constricted snuggly around him. He groaned at your tightness, wet and warm all around him.

His thrusts were brutally quick, as if he was trying to win a race. Or prove a point. Your eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy as you lost reality. You felt your mind leave your body. You feared your brain would melt and run out of your ears as he slammed into you from behind. You swear you were dangling above yourself. His pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound of skin slapping and the squelching sound of your aching cunt filling the room.

He noticed that you've been almost cumming all over his cock, your tight walls spasming around him. With your lack of oxygen, the world slowly slipped away from you in a lustful haze. Your pussy tightened around his length as your orgasm suddenly waved over you. Your body and mind submerges into a blissful fog as your climax surrounded him. His thrusts became chaotic and messy as he felt your cum soak his cock and you moaned his name incessantly between unholy whimpers. Heavy breathing, hearts racing, muscles trembling, and sweat glistening. You were trapped in your world of lust and passion.

He let you catch your breath for a moment as he turned you around by your hips and pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"Your perfect. So perfect for me. I want that forever. I wish I could have that forever," he said, his voice wavering dangerously.

Your hands were tight against his chest and you wanted to ask what he meant, but you didn't get to as he thrusted into you again incessantly, your nails dug into his muscular shoulders, and the way he fucked you forced uncontrollable sobs from your swollen lips.

You wanted to hide your face against his chest as the next orgasm threatened to tear you apart, but he pushed you back by the shoulder and his eyes bored into yours caught in a swirl of bliss.

"I want to look at your pretty face when I cum," he gasped, and somehow the moment felt final. There was something strange in his eyes and briefly you thought you saw sadness flashing in them.

But then the next orgasm sent you into a bright light until you saw stars.

As soon as your walls clenched around him, he gasped sharply and his lips crashed against yours. He bit your bottom lip and his thrusts became incoherent as he was about to cum.

Simply kissing him in your dizzy state felt euphoric, your insides contracting,

„Fuck." he sucked in a sharp breath "Still so fuckin' tight for me."

You stared overwhelmed into his eyes, they were filled with so much passion instead of lust. But there was something else. Something that weighed heavier. It felt warm, loving and engaging. The word was on the tip of your tongue, but it weighed far too heavy to speak it or even to grasp it in your thoughts. It was a feeling you had only read about in books or seen in movies. Your heart fluttered, his stare was gentle yet his thrusts were rough as he came inside you and his eyes nearly rolling back. By now it felt like he knew your body more than you did. His tip kept on kissing your g spot, causing you to let out stuttering whimpers as he spilled into you.

"Shit..." he huffed, panting heavily. Your chest raised up and down, catching your breath.

Still buried deep inside you, he collapsed on top of you and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You stroked your fingers along his back, along his tattoo, and he wrapped his arms around your body so tightly that you gasped.

"Woojin... Babe you're crushing me," you chocked and he immediately eased up a bit.

Without further ado, he turned so that you were on top of him, but continued to hold you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn't careful.

He did not pull out of you. With your pussy still squeezing him and sucking him in so good, he just couldn’t.

"I don't want to lose you," he sighed, stroking through your hair. Looking at him a little puzzled, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more behind his words.

"I'm here," you assured him, taking his face in both hands before kissing him lovingly.

"Let's stay like this for a while. You feel so warm," he murmured and you nodded, resting your cheek against his chest. He seemed more affectionate than usual. You also noticed how desperately he'd cling to you: how he'd tightly hold your thighs at his sides, how his fingernails were digging into your skin, how deeply he was trying to bury himself into you. Looking at your flushed face, all tired out, you couldn't look any more beautiful to him even like this. He looked at how you closed your eyes to give your body a break.

He absorbed everything: your expression, your touch, your warmth, your moans, your pussy, and most of all, your affection was his at the moment. The entirety of you was his and his alone and he would not change it for anything.

The next time you looked into his eyes, there was this vulnerability that surprised you. He wanted to say so much and yet he couldn't bring himself to say a word.

He wanted to say how much he wanted you to be his, how much he had fallen in love with you. How he loved everything about you. Your laugh, the angry glint in your eye, every one of your strange mannerisms.

But that wouldn't be fair.

Not when he was soon gone.

Chapter 9:

The Dream:

Just a few days later, you walked through the door at home yawning, wanting nothing but sleep after a tiring late shift at the café.

But when you saw Gunwoo packing his bag through the door gap in his room, you became curious. You went to his room, jumped on his bed and watched him.

"What are you doing? Are you going somewhere today?" you asked, and he was already swinging his bag on his back.

"I'm just going to bring Woojin some things he left here and then help him pack."

Completely confused, you straightened up, slid to the edge of the bed, and asked:

"Packing? For what?"

Now Gunwoo looked at you just as uncomprehendingly.

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Told me what?" you drove at him a little more briskly than you intended.

"Woojin has qualified for the Amateur Boxing Championship in America."

The info threw everything inside you upside down.

"That's great! He's always dreamed of this!" you said excitedly. Gunwoo nodded vehemently.

"If he wins there, both of us might be able to compete in the World Championships soon. Wouldn't that be crazy?" he exclaimed excitedly and you followed him into the hallway where he put on his shoes.

"But what does that mean? When is he going to America? The competitions are taking place in a few months, aren't they?"

Gunwoo looked up at you and replied:

"He got an offer from a famous coach who wants to prepare him for it. He's already leaving this weekend."

"What?" you gasped in disbelief, your throat instantly tightening.

"How long will he be gone?"

"That's still unclear. Half a year until the competition in any case. What happens after that, no one knows yet. If he does well, he can go straight to the next competitions."

As exciting as it sounded, to your ears it was just a disaster. Stunned, you dropped onto the sofa as soon as Gunwoo disappeared. Woojin would be out of your life in just two days, and maybe forever. And he had told you nothing.

All night long you tossed and turned in your bed. Your chest ached at the mere thought of Woojin going to America. At the same time, your guilty conscience paralyzed you.

It was his dream to box in the professional league and it didn't seem so far-fetched now.

When the first rays of sunlight broke through your window, you still hadn't slept a wink. Sighing, you sat up in bed and made a decision. You had to see him. You had to confront him and ask him about it.

So you slipped into your jacket and shoes and left the house early in the morning. Outside his apartment, you took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

It took a while, but finally he opened the door and looked at you in amazement. Actually, you expected him to look completely sleepy, his hair a mess and sleep still in his eyes like every morning.

He was not an early riser, and yet he stood before you, alert and wide awake.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, letting you enter. In his living room you understood why he was already awake. There was an open suitcase on the floor and around it were clothes, his passport and other things. So it was true.

You turned to him with a tense heart.

"When do you wanted to tell me?"

He was obviously uncomfortable. Sighing, he ran his hand over his face and that's when you realized how tired he actually was.

"I was going to tell you... But I didn't think you'd care."

Stunned, you walked up to him.

"What, are you serious? You were just going to disappear without saying anything?", your voice automatically became louder and he stubbornly returned your gaze.

Actually, he had been incredibly afraid. Afraid that you really wouldn't care or that you were even happy when he disappeared. That would have broke him.

Since he had received the letter, he had thought of nothing but you. Instead of saying that, he shrugged.

"We're not together."

A lump formed in your throat. Did he really care that little? Your lower lip quivered dangerously, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

"Was it really that meaningless to you? Am I just a fuck toy for you that you could use at will?" you asked, and he would have loved to scream out loud. Would have pulled you into his arms and kissed the hurt expression from your face. But he was scared and frustrated.

He was afraid of what he would do if you rejected him and even more afraid of what he was willing to do if you didn't.

"Do you care, then? Didn't you just use me for your own pleasure? Or else you wouldn't come crawling back to me, begging me to fuck you so good you forget everything else," he drove at you and you took a few steps back as his jaw twitched furiously and he stepped at you.

"What do you want me to say?" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice steady.

You didn't dare give in. The anger, desperation, and frustration mingled into a sickening taste on your tongue. You didn't know why you were so angry. It only hurt to look at him. He was going to leave and there was nothing you could do about that.

"What you feel," he replied, anger reflected in his eyes as well. He hated that he felt that way. That you had done this to him.

He felt trapped in a spider web and every movement only made him sink deeper into it.

"I can't stand you," you replied, and every word hurt like someone was pressing red-hot iron against your skin. Maybe if you denied it, the feeling would go away on its own.

He came even closer, sparkling at you with mesmerising eyes.

"You don't mean that."

"You don't know what i mean," you shot back frantically.

You could see how hurt he was. But you didn't want to ruin his dream by being selfish. If you just told him, that he meant nothing to you, he could leave without wasting another thought about you and live his dream.

That's what you wanted for him and telling him the truth would only make things complicated for him.

"It's okay. Just leave! If I never see your face again, I'll be happy," you shot back at him, something inside you breaking more with each word.

"I wish i never-" but he interrupted you by grabbing your hand.

"Don't say something you don't mean. Don't you dare," he growled, desperately looking for something to prove otherwise.

"Don't you realize? This isn't working. We're going back and forth. When we're not fighting, we're fucking. It doesn't work like that. We're like poison for each other!", you retorted, the shards of what was left in your chest digging deeper and deeper into your flesh.

"You never change, do you? You never fucking change. Always so stubborn; always thinking you're right," Woojin murmured and you wanted to wrap your arms around him, tell him you didn't want to let him go.

But that would be selfish. He should chase his dream without another worry. You wanted him to be happy.

"I wish you all the best Woojin," you said, your voice finally breaking treacherously at his name. You turned quickly so he wouldn't see the first treacherous tears roll down your cheeks.

He sighed in anger before following you.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!"

He grabbed your hand and you pulled back as if he burned you with his touch.

"Stop telling me what to do!" you yelled back at him and he took a few steps back.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe all of this was a mistake. We would never work and all this is a big fucking mess. But please, before you go, tell me to my face that there's nothing between us. That I imagined all of it so I could have closure!"

All you wanted to do was cry and lash out. It felt like you were bleeding to death inside when you said:

"There's nothing there, and there never will be."

Every word was heavy as lead on your tongue and you feared your legs would give out if you looked into his desperate face for one more second. You wanted to tell him that there was so much you felt for him. That you believed you were seriously falling in love, but it would be selfish and dumb.

"All right..." he murmured, and the sadness in his eyes robbed you of the last of your hopes.

"I'm leaving now," you pressed out, and he watched as the door slammed shut behind you.

He didn't know how long he stared at the door, hoping you would come back and end the argument with a kiss, but that didn't happen.

Not this time.

Chapter 10:

The Love

With a curtain of tears obscuring your view, you stumbled home and as soon as you bursted through the door, past the confused Gunwoo, into your room, you collapsed on your bed sobbing.

Every muscle ached and you feared dying from the pain in your chest.

Putting his ear to the door, Gunwoo winced at the heart-wrenching sobs and cautiously walked in.

"Y/N?" he whispered, sitting anxiously at the edge of the bed.

You couldn't form a word, so tense was your body consumed by anger, rage, and grief. You didn't have to.

Gunwoo soothingly placed a hand on your back and pulled you closer until your head rested on his lap. Silently, he stroked your hair soothingly and was just there. Your big secure rock in the painfully raging waters. The anchor that kept you from sinking into the deep black tides of your mind.

For the next few days, you didn't leave your room. You couldn't bring yourself to touch the food your mom put on your nightstand and buried yourself under your covers, hoping you'd never have to leave your bed again.

By Saturday night, Gunwoo had had enough.

You felt the mattress beside you lower as he sat down.

"Woojin's flight leaves in an hour..." he said into the silence, as if you hadn't been counting the minutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" you grumbled into your pillow, trying to ignore the way your heart contracted painfully.

"You should tell him how you feel before it's too late."

Gunwoo's words made you look up, and as you looked at him, you realized he was dead serious.

"What, how.?“

"It's obvious. To everyone but you two idiots. You like each other and I want you to be happy. To do that, you have to tell him how you feel before he's gone."

"It's too late," you howled into your pillow as Gunwoo suddenly yanked the covers off you. The cool air against your bare legs gave you goosebumps.

"What are you doing!" you snapped at him, but he also ripped the pillow from under your head, causing your face to slam into the mattress.

"Get up! I'm taking you to the airport. Now!"

You stared at him, stunned, and slid to the edge of the bed.

"Are you serious?" you asked uneasily, and he was already tossing you a pair of jeans from your closet.

"I've never been more serious! Come on hurry up!"

So you picked yourself up, took new courage and got dressed. Excitedly, you kneaded your hands the entire car ride. At the airport, you already felt so sick that you wanted to throw up.

With Gunwoo, you ran past the many people. Like in an anthill, tons of people were scurrying around. Businessmen with suits, families with a convoys of suitcases, and groups of young people visiting relatives or were on vacation.

Hurriedly, heart pounding, you kept a lookout for Woojin, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe we're too late," you gasped as Gunwoo stretched his head and kept a lookout. He was taller and thus had a better view.

But there he suddenly pointed to a counter where Woojin was about to walk through the gate.

"There he is!" he shouted. His curly head and broad shoulders clearly set him apart from the other people.

You didn't have to think for a second to sprint. Like a maniac, you pushed past the people, earning indignant stares, but nothing would stop you from reaching him.

"Woojin! Wait!" you shouted, almost running over an old man. You apologized hurriedly and kept running. He turned around in amazement and when he saw you, he took a step out of the crowd.

Your feet seemed not to touch the ground and as soon as you reached him you threw yourself into his arms so violently that he staggered back a few steps, but he held you so tightly that that you lifted off the ground.

His smell and touch glued the pieces that had once been your heart back together.

You held him so tightly and swore never to let him go. By now you had attracted the attention of most of the people around you, but that didn't stop you from sobbing in relief.

You broke away from him slightly, but only to look him in the eye. He set you down carefully and his amber eyes scrutinized you in complete wonder. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to chatter away like a waterfall:

"I'm so sorry. I was so stupid. It's totally fine if you don't feel that way, but I'm pretty sure I fell in love with you. You mean so much to me and I can't sleep, eat or breathe without you... I just didn't want to mess up and get in the way of your dream.“

"Y/N..." he tried to interrupt you for the first time, but everything that had been building up burst out of you.

"You’re an amazing boxer and I didn’t want to make things complicated for you. Also I've never felt anything like this before and I was afraid you wouldn't want me."

"Sweetheart. Y/N?"

Sobbing, you didn't realize you were crying until he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs and cupped your cheeks lovingly. Breathing hard, you looked up at him and he smiled warmly.

"May I say something now?" he asked quietly, and there was so much affection in his eyes that you just nodded, sniffling.

"I'm in love with you. For quite a while now. I didn't know this feeling. When I was near you I felt things I had never felt before. But now I know: I'm deeply madly and head over heels in love with you."

"Really?"

He laughed at the look on your face. You were too cute with those puffy lips, reddened eyes, and beautiful affection in your eyes.

"Yes. Can I finally kiss you now?"

You nodded and that's when he pulled you by the chin into a kiss that blew away all the pain of the last few days like a violent whirlwind. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you snuggled up to him and deepened the kiss.

Now you knew what this strange feeling was that floated between you like a lukewarm summer wind. It was love.

The word suddenly didn't feel so far away anymore.

With closed eyes you slowly separated from each other, smiling and savouring the moment. You blushed when you saw how many pairs of eyes were directed at you. Nevertheless, you could not stop smiling at each other.

Then an announcement rang out, announcing Woojin's flight in a few minutes.

"I have to go..." he muttered in anguish, and you stroked his chest with your hands.

"Yeah I know."

He didn't want to let you go and it was obvious how much he was fighting with himself.

"Just to make sure: You're my girlfriend now?" he asked with that typical cheeky grin.

Your heart fluttered and you wanted to squeal with delight. You laughed blissfully and overwhelmed with happiness. He wanted to bottle up that sound so bad and keep it with him forever.

"Yes. All yours..." you replied and he looked at your features dreamily.

"All mine," he murmured and pulled you by the hips into a kiss again. It was getting harder and harder to separate from each other, but you managed somehow.

"You have to go! Otherwise you'll miss the flight," you gasped breathlessly, pressing your forehead to his.

"Will you call me?"

"Of course. After all, we're officially together now. We'll cheer you on from home until you get back," you said, and along with the joy, a little wistfulness now crept in.

After all, this was still goodbye. A temporary farewell, but still devastating now that you finally stopped being stupid and found each other.

"Take care of Gunwoo for me!" he said and that's when you noticed your brother standing behind you, smiling broadly but with teary eyes.

"Come here Bro!", Woojin said then and spread an arm invitingly.

Gunwoo literally jumped into the embrace and so you three squeezed each other tightly.

"Show them and win!" said Gunwoo and you thought you heard a muffled sob.

When you broke away from each other, you all had tears in your eyes and yet you were grinning broadly.

"We see each other soon...Maybe you can visit me?" said Woojin, and neither of you would move, nodding while sniffling and pouting.

When your brother pulled him sobbing into his arms once more, you laughed softly and wiped the tears from your eyes.

Then the idiot that you somehow fell in love with turned to you again, pulled you closer by your face, and gave you one last, loving kiss.

"I love you, dollface"

"I love you, idiot"

With that, you let go and watched Woojin disappear through the gate. Gunwoo put an arm around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. That wasn't exactly what your brother had in mind, when he wanted you two to know each other but having your best friend as possible brother-in-law wasn't that bad either.

Before Woojin disappeared completely, he saluted Gunwoo, which your brother returned with a laugh. Then he was gone and there were only the two of you again.

With a muffled sob you hid your face in your hands, while Gunwoo led you outside the airport.

„I‘ll miss his stupid face“, you cried and Gunwoo chuckled slightly.

He shook is head and looked at you with a healing smile.

„Who would have guessed…“

The End

——

@marked-unknown @littlebaby-bunbun @officialshania @choisoorin @fanaticnae @hoe4wonwoo @lola2004sworld @penny44224 @artisticbirb @amnmich @spaggedy @tasteskz-sworld

648 notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

me as an European

62K notes · View notes

owenniasstars · 5 months ago

Text

Something Perfect, Something New

Plot: Geon-Woo and Woojin hit it off with the new server at Geon-Woo's mothers cafe, more than any of them are expecting.

Pairing: Geon-Woo x Gn!Reader x Woojin

Request: reader recently moving to Korea (you don’t have to be specific about where she’s from) and taking on a job as a barista in Gun-woo’s mum’s cafe? (I’d imagine she has bigger aspirations later on but we all need to start somewhere, right?) And while the dude bros pay a visit to Gun-woo’s mum they also meet her and hit it off? This can evolve into something romantic for sure ✨

Requested by: @auraee

Warnings: Mentions of being followed/stalked towards the end, creepy guy. but don't worry Geon-woo and Woojin come to the rescue. References to a Poly-Relationship.

A/n's: I hope you meant for this to elude to a poly relationship because that's what happened! lol I see Geon-Woo's name spelled different all the time so I hope I went with the correct spelling (its geon-woo in show descriptions, and gun-woo in translations, but idk which one it really is) I started writing this a few months ago and just came back to it, so if you notice a change in tone or vibes halfway through that's why.

Words: ~4.4k

You smiled brightly at a couple leaving the cafe as you said goodbye. The evening was drawing near, as was the end of your first week at your new job.

After making the sudden, and quite terrifying decision to leave everything behind and move to Seoul to start over, you landed a job at a cafe.

The owner, Yoo So-Yeon had been gone for a while after her cafe was nearly destroyed by debt collectors. She had told you about how her son and his best-friend helped her, and she finally felt secure enough to come back. Though she didn't give much detail, you could tell the ordeal had a toll on her and her family.

You had heard she needed help after re-opening and were lucky enough to land the job. Now you were settling in and trying to discover yourself all over again.

"Quite a busy day today huh?" Mrs. Yoo said with a smile as she walked past you.

You nodded as you finished cleaning off a table, "Nothing we can't handle though."

She let out a soft laugh as she patted your shoulder. She was fond of you, and you of her. She helped you get settled into the unfamiliar city, and had even cooked for you various times. You were glad you met her.

Hearing the cafe door open you glanced up, wondering if someone missed the 'CLOSED' sign Mrs. Yoo had just put up. Seeing two tall attractive men enter you felt your heart skip a beat.

"Ah, there you two are!" Mrs. Yoo greeted happily as she walked over to the two grinning men.

'That must be her son and his friend.'

You watched them for a minute as they spoke, before the one you assumed was Mrs. Yoo's son, due to the scar on his face she had mentioned, glanced over and caught sight of you.

You felt your heart jolt as you bowed your head lightly in greeting and smiled.

Mrs. Yoo followed Geon-Woo's line of sight and exclaimed with a small clap. "Oh, yes! You finally get to meet!"

Mrs. Yoo walked over to you before grabbing you by the wrist and leading you over to the two men.

"This is Y/n, the one who I hired to help. Y/n, this is my son Geon-Woo and this is Woojin."

You smiled at them, "It's nice to finally meet you."

The two of them bowed in greeting smiling at you. Geon-Woo had known his mother hired you, but hadn't made the trip over to meet you, seeing you now, he wished he had.

His heart was hammering in his chest, and as Woojin subtly nudged his arm, he knew his friend was feeling the same thing.

Now sitting around one of the tables, Mrs. Yoo brought over some coffee. You could feel Woojin and Geon-Woo eyeing you, and every time you looked at them they quickly looked away.

You wondered if they feared you would do Mrs. Yoo harm after all that had happened to her. But this fear of suspicion quickly faded as they started asking you questions and talking energetically, as if they were just curious about you.

Your conversation with the two men lasted almost two hours, and you tried to ignore the sly and amused looks Mrs. Yoo was giving the three of you. You couldn't help but wonder if she might try and set you up with one of them.

Eventually, Mrs. Yoo told you to go home before it got too late. The two men offered to walk you home, and after an attempted refusal that went unheard, you gave in and allowed it.

Your conversation flowed as you walked home, and by the time you got to your door, you felt as though you had known the two for ages.

Three weeks had passed since your first meeting with Geon-Woo and Woojin. You had become closer to them than you had expected in the short time you knew them. They came to the cafe almost every day, gave you tours of the city, took you out to eat, and even helped you build the new furniture you bought for your apartment.

The seemed to always be around you now, and you weren't complaining one bit, you even started to miss them after being away from them for short periods.

Mrs. Yoo teased you about them being your boyfriends. You thought she just enjoyed the way it made you bashful and embarrassed. You hadn't quite understood just how serious she was yet.

On the outside, it was nearly impossible to tell who you were dating between them, if either, or both.

It was obvious something was developing between the three of you, but what, you weren't quite sure of yet. You were too afraid to focus on the 'what ifs' that you ignored what was already happening.

Woojin sighed as he stretched his arm across your shoulders, smiling at the new bed finally set up in your bedroom.

"See? Told you it would be worth it."

Goo-Wan smiled proudly as he started to open the new sheets you had bought for the bed.

"I still think it's too big." You said while eyeing the large mattress. You were glad to be rid of the air mattress you had been sleeping on, but this was...a bit much.

You missed how Goo-Wan and Woojin locked eyes as they began unraveling the absurdly large fitted sheet that would surely be a pain in the ass to put on.

You giggled at the two as they struggled to put the sheet on, each opposite corner coming undone as soon as they finished one.

When finished, they high fived in celebration before sitting on the end of the bed. As the looked at you with grins you felt you heart flutter before clearing your throat.

"You know I'm gonna make you two come over and do that every time I have to change the sheets right?"

They chuckled, sharing another look before turning towards you.

"How about some lunch?"

They nodded energetically and followed you out of the room. You promised them whatever they wanted for helping you finish setting up your apartment. It was the least you could do.

Watching Geon-Woo strategically time flipping the meat on the barbecue, you slowly sipped at your drink. You were overly aware of the nearby table of girls eyeing the two curiously as they whispered.

You hated that it annoyed you, so you tried your best to ignore it. Its not like you were dating them.

Looking away from the girls, your eyes locked with a mans at a nearby table. You involuntarily made a soft noise of shock at the sudden eye contact as the man smirked and winked at you.

You looked away quickly, but Woojin noticed the action. He looked back at the man before he gave an obvious look of annoyance as the guy continued to stare at you.

Woojin took a piece of meat and set it on top of your rice as he spoke somewhat loudly, "Here jagiya."

Your eyes shot up in surprise, as Geon-Woo quickly looked over at Woojin as well.

Woojin looked over at Geon-Woo before subtly motioning his head to the man nearby. Geon-woo looked back, seeing the man looking between you and Woojin, a somewhat amused smirk on his face before he eyed you knowingly.

Geon-Woo swallowed as his chest tightened with his own annoyance at the man, understanding what Woojin was doing. Geon-Woo, deciding to do the same, grabbed a few veggies as he placed them on your plate.

"Have some of these too jagiya."

Your mouth was now agape as Geo-Woo joined Woojin in his attempt at shooing off the stranger. You saw the girls nearby eye each other in surprise as they began whispering more.

You leaned forward as you spoke in a bewildered tone, "What are you doing?"

Woojin and Geon-Woo locked eyes for a second before they looked back at you, "Making sure that guy doesn't do anything."

You glanced at the man as he now avoided looking over at you. "What makes you think he was going to do anything?"

Woojin scoffed softy, "Oh please he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you."

You grimaced at the expression as you shook your head, making Geon-Woo and Woojin smirk.

Looking over at Geon-Woo you frowned, "Why'd you join in too? Now we're being gossiped about."

You motioned your head towards he girls who were still talking in hushed voices, but obviously about the three of you.

Geon-Woo and Woojin thought for a second before shrugging and speaking at the same time, "So?"

You stared at them bewildered, "It doesn't bother you?"

They shook they're head as Geon-Woo asked in an innocent tone, "Why would it?"

"Yeah, it's not like we're offended at the thought of dating you." Woojin added.

You felt your neck and ears grow hot, "But you made it sound like you were both dating me."

They nodded softly as if that was obvious and you blinked a few times unsure of what to say now. Woojin let out a soft laugh at your perplexed expression.

"Cute." He mumbled, making your ears burn even hotter.

You glared at him, "Don't tease me."

Geon-Woo laughed under his breath as Woojin stared at you with a challenging glare. "Make me."

You stuck your tongue out at him as you began picking at your food in an attempt to get past the almost overwhelming shyness washing over you. Geon-Woo and Woojin shared a knowing smile as they watched you in adoration.

Making it back to the cafe, you entered to find a few customers scattered around, as Mrs. Yoo had a conversation with another from behind the counter. Spotting the three of you, she waved in greeting.

Heading to the back to get your name-tag and apron, you were glad you didn't come to work during a rush, afraid you had left Mrs. Yoo to fend on her own for too long.

Coming back out, Woojin and Geon-Woo were at the counter talking with her. Seeing you she motioned you over and talked in a soft voice as she motioned to a young man in the corner.

"Your admirer is here."

You glanced at the man and let out a soft scoff, "Have you taken his order?"

"He says he wasn't ready yet. I think he was just waiting for you." She winked teasingly as you left with a soft shake of the head before heading over to the table.

Mrs. Yoo looked over at Woojin and Geon-Woo and repressed a laugh at their glare towards the man.

Woojin turned to Mrs. Yoo and spoke in a hushed and annoyed tone. "Admirer? Who is he?"

"A customer who came in once, and ever since he met Y/n has been coming every day since. But he only orders when Y/n is here."

Geon-Woo and Woojin looked back to watch you. You smiled politely at the man as you took his order. Their chests both clenched tightly as the man stared at you intensely with a smile, obviously crushing on you.

Heading back to the counter, you handed Mrs. Yoo the man's order.

"Did he ask you out yet?"

You spared a glance at Geon-Woo and Woojin and were almost thrown off by their intense stares.

You cleared your throat softly, "He asked when I was getting off work but I just told him I'm not sure. I'm not interested in him like that."

Mrs. Yoo nodded her head in understanding as she glanced at the two boys with an amused smile.

You looked over at the two and paused, "What?"

Woojin spoke with a bold tone, "You should tell him straight that you are not interested."

"I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Geon-Woo leaned closer, "He might get bolder though if you don't stop it now."

You bit the inside of your lip as you glanced back at the man, finding him looking away swiftly.

You sighed, "You're probably right."

Woojin nodded, "We are."

You looked back over at them again, noticing the change in their behavior. It was almost as if they were jealous again.

"Weren't you guys going to the gym to practice?"

Checking the time they both startled, "Ah we're gonna be late."

Woojin ruffled your hair as a goodbye as Geon-Woo went behind the counter to say goodbye to his mother before he gently squeezed your shoulder as he left. You waved goodbye to them before catching the man in the corners eye again. Your chest tightened as you felt a bit guilty at the thought of rejecting him when he hasn't even made a move. What if he just wanted a friend?

Getting back to work, you paid more attention to the customer. Noting that he stayed longer than usual, well after he had finished his food. When he eventually left, you let out a sigh of relief, suddenly realizing just how much his attention weighed on you. You hadn't noticed before, but now that you did, you felt a bit overwhelmed by it. Maybe it would be best to show your disinterest.

Flipping the sign from Open to Closed, you big farewell to Mrs. Yoo as she left, heading out to have dinner with her friends.

You kept the cafe open for longer than usual to let a group celebrate a birthday. But it meant you were now leaving after it got dark.

Checking over the cafe one more time as you shut everything off, you left the cafe and looked around at the darkened sky. Looking down the road, your heart jolted a bit as you noticed a hooded figure lingering on the corner of the road.

Seeing they were standing under a Bus Stop sign you let out a soft sigh. "Don't overreact Y/n."

Turning away, you began heading down the road towards your apartment. It was about a fifteen minute walk, and the night was cool and quiet. You took in a deep breath, picking up on the hint of barbecue nearby, reminding you of how hungry you were.

Walking past a few shops, your eyes caught on the reflection of the road behind you. Yours steps hesitated as your heart sank. The hooded figure from before was across the street from you, and walking the same direction.

You let out a steady breath as you continued walking. "Don't assume, but be cautious." You told yourself, as you kept a vigilant eye and ear out.

Noticing the figure crossing the street and remaining behind you, you decided to test your theory. At the next cross-walk you crossed the street, and your heart raced when the figure did the same. Next you turned down a road you never take, and they followed. You crossed the street again, and so did they.

Having enough, you reached into your pocket and texted your group-chat with Geon-Woo and Woojin.

"Are either of you awake?"

A moment later a text from Geon-Woo came through.

"We're at the gym, what's up?"

"I'm walking home, and I think I'm being followed."

Only a few moments passed before your phone rang. Answering it you heard their concerned voices over the line and the sound of them grabbing their stuff.

"Where are you?" "Are you okay? Why are you out so late."

Already feeling more relieved to be talking to them, you kept glancing at the reflection behind you, still seeing the figure.

"The cafe closed late because of a party. I'm getting close to that store we get our smoothies from."

You heard Geon-Woo's voice in the background, "We're about five minutes from there."

"Go into the store and stay there. Don't let them get near you okay?"

"Okay."

"Stay on the line with me."

As you got closer to the store, you could hear Woojin and Geon-Woo on the line, obviously rushing out of the gym and running. Your heart raced with adrenaline, but also gratitude of Woojin and Geon-Woos care for you. You desperately wanted them there with you now, but took relief in knowing they were coming to find you.

"I'm at the store." You said softly as you entered, sparing a glance back to see the figure was closer than before.

They hesitated as you headed inside. You hoped they wouldn't come in, or would pass by and give up on following you.

As you smiled at the cashier who barely spared you a glance, you headed to the back of the store and acted as tough you were browsing. Hearing the bell of the store as the door opened and closed, your heart dropped as you saw the hooded figure enter the store.

You made sure to keep your distance and you maneuvered through the store, grabbing a few things here and there.

You whispered into the phone, "They came in."

"We're almost there!" You heard a panting Woojin on the line.

You swallowed nervously as you rounded the corner again, the figure getting too close for comfort. Finally hearing the door of the store open with a clang you looked over to see Woojin and Geon-Woo.

You let out a sigh of relief as your body seemed to relax from the building tension in your muscles. As they hurried through the store to you, they glanced at the hooded figure who was only on isle away. The person turned away as Woojin and Geon-Woo approached you.

Woojin spoke out loud, obviously so the person would hear him. "Jagiya there you are. Sorry we're late."

As he got to you he set his hand on your shoulder and nodded. You nodded in return as Geon-Woo reached you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded at him as he gently pulled you to his chest, "Let's go okay?"

Agreeing, you headed to the front, as Geon-Woo took the things from your hand and paid for them, his arm remaining wrapped across your shoulder.

Woojin looked back at the figure and saw his eyes. His face dropped as he was sure it was the customer from the cafe. The figure quickly left the store, avoiding eye contact. Woojin's heart raced in anger as he barely resisted the urge to chase after him. but not wanting to freak you out more, he resisted, knowing he would need to do something later.

Heading back into the street, Geon-Woo and Woojin looked around for any sight of the man. Not seeing him they let out sighs.

Woojin cursed under his breath, "I knew he would do something."

You looked at Woojin in surprise. "He?"

"It was the guy from the cafe."

Your heart jolted, but it made unfortunate sense. A few days prior, you had finally made it clear to the man at the cafe that you were not interested. He asked for your number, and you rejected him. Kindly, you had hoped. But his demeanor changed, and he left silently. You hadn't seen him again since except for once, when you saw him lingering outside the cafe, looking in at you.

"You rejected him but he couldn't take it."

Woojin's words made you shudder and Geon-Woo pulled you closer. "Don't worry we'll handle it okay? I promise." Woojin nodded in agreement.

Their words consoled you as you let them walk you home, allowing them to remind you to never walk home this late without one of them being with you.

The whole way, you continued to glance around, fearing he was still lingering. Geon-Woo and Woojin feared the same, so once they got you to your apartment, they had a conversation while you were in the bathroom.

When you came back out, now in your pajamas, they had made themselves at home on the couch as Woojin ordered food over the phone.

"You're hungry right?" Geon-Woo asked and you nodded, feeling much safer knowing they were there, but fearing when they would leave.

Sitting down on the floor in front of them as you leaned on the table you looked at Geon-Woo. "Should I call the main office and ask the security to look out for him?"

Geon-Woo moved from the couch to the floor in front of you, "We already did."

You nodded, "That makes me feel better. I wont be awake all night."

Geon-Woo smiled softly, "You don't need to worry, we'll be here."

You rose your brow, "You will?"

Woojin hung up the phone and joined the two of you on the floor. "We're staying tonight, we decided."

"O-oh. I mean...that does make me feel better, but are you sure? I don't want to-"

"We want too." Geon-Woo broke in.

Woojin nodded, "We'd feel a lot better staying with you, to make sure you're safe."

You smiled, "I'd feel better too."

After you ate and watched a movie, Woojin and Geon-Woo started to get ready for bed. Meanwhile, you grabbed what extra blankets and pillows you had and began making the living room comfortable.

Geon-Woo, coming out of the bathroom and seeing you, questioned you. "What are you doing?"

"Making it more comfortable for you."

"But we're not sleeping out here."

You stopped and eyed him, "Huh? Then where?"

Hearing a noise in your bedroom, you frowned as Geon-Woo repressed a smile watching as you headed towards the sound. Turning off the lights and checking the door, he grabbed the pillows before following behind.

Finding Woojin in your bedroom, fixing the bed, you watched him in confusion.

He glanced over at you, and spotting Geon-Woo behind you and smiled. "Ah perfect."

Walking over, he took the pillows from him before setting them on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

He looked over at you, "Getting ready for bed?"

"In...my bed?"

He looked at the bed, then to you, then to Geon-Woo and back to you before nodding. "Why do you think we got you such a big mattress?"

Your mouth was agape for a moment as you tried to find words. "S- So you could sleep in the bed with me?"

He nodded as he grinned, finding your realization and bewilderment adorable. Geon-Woo walked past you and finished helping Woojin fix the bed before they both turned towards you expectantly.

You looked between them, before they motioned for you, "Come on."

Hesitantly, you approached, "Which side do you-"

"You get the middle." Woojin broke in.

"The middle?"

"You'll be safest there." Geon-Woo excused.

"And warmest." Woojin added with a smile.

You nodded mutely as you slowly climbed into the bed, your heart racing as they climbed in after. You lied on your back and stared up at the ceiling, overly aware of how close they got to you. Woojin was facing you as Geon-Woo was still sitting up against the back of the bed, looking down at you.

Your mind was still stuck on the fact that they bought you the giant bed for the purpose of sharing. Finally breaking the tense silence, you looked between them. "But you didn't know something like this would happen so why would you be prepared to have a big bed to share with me?"

They shared a glance and smiled before Woojin cleared his throat, "Are you sure you don't know why?"

Your mind flashed back to the various times they flirted, made jokes, or acted as though they were both dating you. The various comments from Mrs. Yoo about them being your boyfriends, or you being like a child to her already.

Looking between Woojin and Geon-Woo again as they smiled softly and knowingly at you, you felt your whole body get hot with embarrassment and nervousness.

Grabbing the blanket you slowly pulled it upwards until your face was hidden.

Woojin and Geon-Woo both chuckled before they climbed further into the bed. You felt them both beside you, and were sure they were facing you.

Feeling Woojin grab the blanket you tightened your grip as he tried to remove it from your head. You heard Geon-Woo chuckle softly as Woojin pulled harder.

"Jagiya" He said softly, making your heart leap.

Suddenly the blanket was yanked from your hands again and you were met with Woojin and Geon-Woo's smiling faces as they lied facing you, sandwiching you between them.

"You don't have to be scared, or worried." Geon-Woo began.

Woojin followed, "We're still figuring this out too. We never expected to meet someone we would both have such strong feelings for."

Geon-Woo reached over and gently caressed your cheek, "We want to be with you, and protect you, and make you happy. If you'll let us."

"It might take some time to get used to the idea, but we'll wait for you." Woojin finished.

You looked between them, your heart racing faster than ever before. "But what if it doesn't work out? Or what if it causes problem's between you?"

They looked at each other and shook their heads gently. Woojin met your eyes, "We've been talking about this for a while, and I really don't think that will happen. But if it starts too I promise we will work it out. We want to make this work. We want to be with you. So we'll go slowly from here okay? But we want you to know our intentions."

"Is that okay with you?" Geon-Woo asked softly.

You thought for a moment, aware of their gazes on you as they waited patiently, though nervously.

It was obvious you had developed feelings for both of them, and your fear of choosing, or being rejected had both been subdued. You weren't sure if it was going to work out. But you knew how you felt now. You adored them, and trusted them, and felt safe with them. You believed their words, and you wanted to be with them too.

Nodding slowly, you looked between them, and they smiled, relief and joy washing over them.

Woojin, overcome by his giddiness leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek, making you chuckle out of surprise. Geon-Woo chuckled as well, before he leaned forward and pressed a much more delicate kiss to your temple.

After a few more adjustments, you found yourself comfortably and safely drifting to sleep as Woojin and Geon-Woo slept on either side of you, their arms draped across you as they both held you close.

xx End xx

Wasn't sure where to end it, so I chose to stop here. This became a bit of an indulgence fic, but if there is anyone who wants a part two, or continuance of this fic/relationship, let me know, I would def be willing to write it!

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry,

-Taglist Form-

672 notes · View notes