#^ echoing my words from last year.... (so far it seems not to have worked at all but please don't blame me i'm naught but one rodent) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holybibly · 1 year ago

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ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 |𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔫 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯| 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ

♡ Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ♡ Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ♡ Word Count: 6.6k ♡ Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ ♡ WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. ♡A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide.

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling.

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before.

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside.

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds.

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left. "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom.

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you.

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome."

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ❧ ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ

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fictionismyreality3 · 5 months ago

Text

Take a Break

Warnings: hints at smut no actual smut, romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: every so often the need for this man will just suddenly pop up like gOD LET ME LIVE

The fingers you were clenching around your pen were beginning to hurt. Trying to write this essay was making you feel more like a wide eyed freshman than someone aiming to finish senior year at the top of their class. You stared aimlessly at your laptop, your eyes burning from how long you’d been looking over the work you had so far.

Which was only the title.

Just 2 more months. 2 months and then you could graduate, and you’d have your degree, and you could have your dream job and not be cramming book after book in your head, hoping you’d pick up the knowledge when really all it did was make you feel like punching your-

“Darlin’? You doing okay with your homework?” The honeyed voice of your boyfriend echoed around your dorm you, a light breeze the only warning you were given as he appeared randomly behind you.

“Yeah, Jasper. M’fine.” But just looking at his unfairly gorgeous face made you want to punch him instead of your TA.

It wasn’t fair. He got to be stupidly handsome and smart and he could easily ace your classes, probably finishing your degree in a few days with his stupid fucking vampire memory, and everything was so easy for him that you- “Honey, you’re frownin’ at me.” Jasper��s words drew you out of your little thought spiral.

“Yeah, I know, I know.. I’m sorry, I just..” You took a deep breath. “This is making want to rip my hair out.”

Jasper’s face now wore a frown mirroring your own, his gaze ever attentive, searching your face like he was looking for some hidden solution you couldn’t see. He ran his hand through your hair soothingly, his thumb brushing away the crease between your brows. The frustration and self-loathing that was radiating off you had hit him like a thick summer heat, pulling him up to your dorm in an instant.

He didn’t like to see his pretty little mate upset.

You were supposed to be happy. It was the last few months of school and he should have been feeling waves of glee and satisfaction dripping from your pores. Not this. And so, Jasper made up his mind. It wasn’t often that he used his abilities on you, it was something you’d discussed early into your relationship, something you insisted could only be a last resort kind of thing.

But the tears welling in your big eyes made his heart clench, and he found himself layering calm and relaxation over you like a blanket. “Why don’t you take a break, darlin’?”

Your head went all fuzzy, the cotton candy filling your skull making the words on your computer screen seem irrelevant. Blinking slowly, it took you a second to realize what was happening.

“No, no Jas, I have to finish this.” The words of protest sounded funny in your ears, the idea of doing anything but slumping back in your chair seemed exhausting. “No, you need to rest. You work so hard, honey.” Coaxing hands pushed you back in your seat, a sense of lethargy filling your bones as you hazily made out Jasper kneeling in front of you.

“Can’t.. I hav’to.. have..”

A Cheshire grin curled over Jaspers lips as he watched your body grow lax and pliant. Sure, adding little bouts of arousal between the relaxation would be breaking the rules you’d set, but he couldn’t have his mate overworking herself. Ghosting his hands up your legs, he pushed a little bit more bliss into you, enjoying the little whimper that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, darlin, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

#jasper hale x y/n #jasper hale x you #jasper x you #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader #jasper x reader #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen #jasper hale

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cumonstevie · 7 months ago

Text

Home Sweet Home Part 3

Summary: "It's good to be home," you think as you arrive back in Hawkins, Indiana; not only three years older, but also as a mother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Just a shit ton of fluff

A/N: This took 8 consecutive hours to write so I hope you guys like it!! It's 3.8k words 😬 my back hurts from slouching over my laptop for so long so I'll edit this later.

A year and a half later

You and Steve have been doing so well at co-parenting for Penelope thus far. You had slowly eased Steve into her life, and she happily accepted him. It took her a while to comfortably call him ‘dad’ but once she started, that’s practically all she could say.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day when she confidently called him ‘dad’ without him or you having to tell her.

It was late at night- well, it was late for Penelope to still be awake, and you were trying everything to put her to sleep but she wouldn’t stop crying.

“Shhh, Penny, it’s okay.” You try to comfort her in your arms.

Her cries echo off your newly purchased apartment and you groan, rocking the toddler to try and calm her down.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

“Baby, please calm down-”

“I want daddy!” She cries louder and you halt your movements.

“What?”

“I want daddy!” Penelope sobs in your arms.

“I-” You’re stunned for a moment because this was the first-time hearing Penelope call Steve ‘daddy’ on her own without you or him coaxing her to say it. “Daddy will come over tomorrow, okay? But you need to go-”

“No!” She yelled, “I want daddy now!”

It didn’t seem like she was going to let up any time soon, so you walk over to the phone and hastily dial Steve’s number. It was only 8 o’clock so you knew he’d still be up- hopefully.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

“Steve,” you breathed. “Thank god you’re still awake. Listen, I know it’s kinda last minute but Penelope won’t go to sleep and she keeps crying and asking for you so do you think you could maybe-”

“I’ll be there in a bit. Leave the door unlocked for me, yeah?” You could hear him moving around at his place, probably putting his shoes on.

“Okay, thank you so much.” You let out a sigh of relief.

Penelope’s cries get louder and you think Steve can hear her because he murmurs, “My poor baby…” You hear his car keys jingling soon after. “I’m on my way.”

A few minutes go by and Steve knocks two times before coming in. You know he probably sped all the way over and you make a mental note to scold him after Penelope goes to sleep.

“I’m here,” he huffed out, seemingly out of breath.

Upon hearing Steve’s voice, Penelope lifts her head from your shoulder and turns to her father all teary-eyed. “Daddy!” She cried, leaning out of your arms and toward him.

He visibly freezes at her words and his eyes pan over to you, wide. “Did she just-” he’s cut off by your daughter's cries of ‘daddy’ as she tries to grab him. “Come here, baby. Daddy’s here, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He rubs her back soothingly and she slowly lays her head on his shoulder, doing the little hiccup-sob combination as she starts to calm down.

“Daddy…” She cried, “Stay.”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He hushes. “Daddy’s not going anywhere, alright?”

This seems to ease her mind because a few minutes later, she’s fully asleep in his arms. You silently guide him to her room where you watch as he puts her down and tucks her in. She stirs a bit but Steve gently pats her chest and she stills.

Once the both of you were sure she wasn’t going to wake up, you exit her room and walk back to the living room. The moment you enter the room, Steve pulls you into a hug.

“She called me daddy.” He beamed happily. “She fucking called me daddy, oh my god I feel like my heart is gonna burst open, I’m so happy right now.”

You hug him back, giggling a bit. “Yeah, it surprised me too.”

The both of you stay like that for a bit before he tears himself away from you and checks the time.

“It’s getting late, I should head home.” He says with a bit of a frown. “I can come by tomorrow if it’s alright with you?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. “You promised your daughter that you’d stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

You tell him he can take your room and you’ll sleep on the couch, but he refuses and says he’ll sleep on the couch instead. You protest but he shuts it down and you let out a huff but say ‘okay’ before going to get him a spare pillow and blanket for the night. You had started easing Steve into Penelope’s life little by little, starting with him visiting her at your place whenever he could (which he made sure to visit every single day no matter what). After she was comfortable with him being around, you segued into him taking her out, whether it be to the park, or to get ice cream (you also tagged along so that she was more comfortable). From that, he started taking her out, just him and her and not too long after, she started staying the night at his house.

He had done up a spare bedroom at his place just for her and she loved it so much. He pulled out all the stops for his little girl. Telling his parents about Penelope was a bit rough. He told you that they were a bit skeptical about him being the father but when Steve whipped a picture of little Penelope out of his wallet and showed them, they went silent.

From there, they were disappointed that he was so careless that it resulted in a child. He told them that they could be mad at him all they want but that he has a daughter now and he’s stepping up and although he doesn’t have a great relationship with them, he would love it if Penelope did.

They were obviously a bit hesitant but after meeting Penelope, they let their guards down. It made Steve happy that they showered her with love and affection but it also made him a bit upset because he never really experienced that from them.

He felt like this was a turning point for them, though. A good turning point.

Today was Penelope’s 4th birthday party and Steve insisted that it should be at his house. You didn’t fight him on it. You figured his house would be better suited for a birthday party than your little apartment.

A knock on the door alerts your ears and you quickly glance into the backyard, seeing Steve run around with Penelope, before opening the front door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie huffs out, “the band stayed and performed late and I didn’t get home till way later and then when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I put Pen’s gift so this whole morning I was tearing up my place looking for it.” He then shows you a poorly wrapped gift box with a smile. “But I found it.”

You giggle. “You didn’t miss much, Penny’s just been playing with the kids and Steve so far.”

“Thank god.” Eddie sighs. “Where do I put this?”

“We have a table outside for gifts. Come on.” You beckon him to follow you.

Eddie sets the gift on the table then makes his rounds saying hi to everyone. Steve is chasing Penelope around the yard and he lets out a playful roar as he picks her up and catches her. She screams and he laughs, giving her a kiss before setting her down carefully.

It was then that she spotted one of her favorite Uncle’s. “Uncle Eds!!”

The little girl runs over to Eddie as fast as she could, her pink tutu that she insisted on wearing even though it was cold outside, flowing about.

“Pen!” The curly-haired musician exclaimed as he knelt down and captured her in a hug. “How’s my favorite birthday girl?”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle Eds, I’m the only birthday girl!”

“You’re right.” He smiles before giving her a big kiss. “You’re getting so big, Pen. Don’t go growing up on me too fast.”

“Ima grow bigger and faster!”

“No! Don’t say that, I’ll cry!” Eddie pulls a dramatic frowny face which makes Penelope laugh.

Steve walks up beside you with his hands on his hips; a typical Steve Harrington pose. “Please tell her to stop saying that, she tells me all the time that she’s a big girl and it breaks my heart.”

Steve pouts at his daughter and she giggles in Eddie’s arms. “Daddy don’t be sad, when I get bigger ima take care of you!”

Steve’s eyebrow quirks up and he points a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that, little lady.”

“She’s not getting bigger, not on my watch.” Eddie says as he squishes her in a hug. “I’m gonna squeeze you in a little box so you stay little forever!”

Penelope gasps. “No!”

“Yes!”

Penelope wiggles out of Eddie's grip and starts running away from him. “No! Never ever ever!”

Eddie runs after her, telling her that he’ll never let her grow up. You giggle, watching the two and Steve turns to you.

“Everyone here?” He asks.

“Yeah, Eds was the last one to show up.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I say we let her play for a little while longer then sing happy birthday?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Harrington.”

He points to his head, then to yours and says, “Great minds think alike, Y/L/N.”

It was fairly easy to slip back into your friendship with Steve. After the awkwardness of him finding out that Penelope was his, the two of you acted as if no time had passed. It was refreshing and you didn’t realize how much you missed being around him.

To say your feelings for Steve were gone, would be a lie. Your feelings for Steve never really went away. Even if you tried so very hard to leave them behind, they only grew more when Steve would play with Penelope or spend time with her in general. He adapted to his role as a father rather quickly and you weren’t going to lie, it was attractive.

You would never tell him, though. You didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that the two of you had. Everything, so far, was good.

You had tried going on a date a while back but it fell through once you told the guy that you had a child. Steve was very upset about it. The date had lasted less than an hour. You were having a good time, asking questions about each other when you mentioned you had a daughter. The guy’s demeanor changed quickly and he closed himself off. It was awkward after that. He confirmed that you had a daughter once more and when you said yes, he cleared his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry but I don’t think this is going to work out.” He says. “You’re a great girl but-”

“But me having a kid is a problem.” You finish his sentence in a mono-tone pitch.

“No!” The guys exclaimed. “It’s just- It’s kind of-”

He stumbles over his words, trying to save face but you shake your head and pull out money for your meal, placing it on the table.

“It’s fine. I know me having a child isn’t ideal but maybe you should try to at least be an adult about it.”

The guy scoffs. “I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “Grow up.” You say before walking out.

You understand that dating someone who has a child could be a bit scary but he didn’t even give it a chance! He closed off the minute you mentioned Penelope.

You pull up to Steve’s house and slam your door shut in annoyance.

‘I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid’

Get real.

You knock on the door and patiently wait for Steve to open it.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you on the other side. “Why are you here so early? I thought you had a date?”

“I did.” He can sense the annoyance in your voice and he moves aside to let you in. You put your purse down on his table and turn to face him. “He wasn’t too keen on the fact that I have a kid.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he’s about to ask what the dude said but it’s like you read his mind because you tell him.

“Said he’s not about to play step-daddy to a kid that’s somebody else’s.”

“What the hell?” He has a look of disgust flushed across his face.

“Yeah,” you nod. “He didn’t even wait a few minutes before he was telling me that it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ between us! The minute I mentioned Penny, he shut down.” You huff out, running your fingers through your now messy hair.

“What a dick!” Steve is visibly baffled. “Welcome to the real world! There’s a chance that you might date someone who has a kid!”

“Right?” You agree. “Like I get it, I’m young and I have a toddler and yeah that’s kind of scary but he didn’t even give it a chance!”

Steve’s hands are on his hips as he shakes his head. “God, what an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “Probably dodged a bullet anyway.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m never gonna date again. I’m gonna be lonely forever!” You groan.

“No you won’t,” Steve reassures as he pats your shoulder. “There’s someone out there who will want to be with you and doesn’t mind that you have a kid.”

“Suuuuuure,” you mumble. “When you find him, let me know, alright?”

Steve chuckled. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Penelope comes running into the room shortly after, practically leaping into your arms and you cradle her to you. She tells you that her and Steve are gonna watch movies all night long but both you and Steve know she’s most likely going to fall asleep in the middle of the first movie.

She asks if you’re going to stay and watch movies with them and Steve encourages you to do so.

“What, you’re gonna go home and sulk about what a crappy date this was? Nuh uh. Stay and watch movies with your family.” He tells you.

“Yeah!” Penelope adds. “Watch movies with family! Daddy got the movie with the kitties!”

Aristocats has been Penelope’s favorite movie recently.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay.”

Penelope is happy and the three of you move to the couch. Steve puts the movie in and Penny sits in between the two of you, knocking out exactly midway into the film.

Steve puts her in her room then comes back out, coaxing you to stay for another movie. It works and he pops in ‘Just One Of The Guys’. You two enjoy each other's company and toward the end of the movie, you and Steve are fast asleep on the couch.

You gathered everyone around the table that held the cake as Penelope climbed on top of the chair. Steve puts a pink birthday hat on her little head and she insists that both you and him put one on as well.

You oblige with her wishes and put a pink hat on. Jonathan wastes no time with taking pictures of the three of you. He’d develop them as soon as he could and give them to you.

Penelope’s eyes scanned the yard as she beamed happily at everyone. Both yours and Steve’s parents were there, the Party, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan- all in attendance for your daughter's fourth birthday party. Your heart swelled knowing all the people that were present loved your daughter just as much as you and Steve did.

You all sang happy birthday to Penelope and she blew out the candles, causing everyone to cheer.

“Wait!” She shouts with her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m still wishing!”

“Oh! Sorry, sweet girl. Everyone shhh!” Steve says.

Everyone quiets down and Penelope is heard murmuring underneath her breath but no one can make out what she’s saying. After a bit, she opens her eyes and smiles.

“I’m done!”

Everyone cheers again and you cut the cake and plate it while Steve hands them out. When Penelope’s done eating her slice of cake, you start opening the gifts.

“Okay, this one is from Uncle Dusty.” You hand her the gift and she tears it open excitedly.

“A tea party!!” She yells out happily, turning to her father. “Daddy, we can play tea party! Thank you, Uncle Dusty! You’re my favorite!”

Dustin tells the four-year-old that she’s welcome as he beamed at her words. Eddie, however, wasn’t taking it too well.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “What about me? I was your favorite earlier!”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle dusty gave me a tea party so he’s my favorite now!”

Eddie sulks as she continues to open her gifts and Dustin sticks his tongue out at the musician in a mocking manner. Not too long after, however, Penelope opens Eddie’s gift.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She enunciated every word. “It’s a guitar!! Uncle Eds, it looks like the one you have!! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!!”

Although it was a toy guitar, you and Steve knew you would never know what silence felt like after this moment.

Steve rubs his face with his hands when he sees the gift. “Oh no…”

Penelope had been obsessed with Eddie’s guitar from the moment she saw it. She always wanted Eddie to play it and she always wanted to touch it. Eddie would tell you she was a musical prodigy in the making.

You and Steve give each other the same look before you say, “Say goodbye to the peacefulness.”

Steve groans while Penelope jumps up and down happily. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re my favorite now, Uncle Eds! We can play guitar together!!”

“Any time you want, Pen.” Eddie smiles at his niece before locking eyes with Dustin who stared at him with a blank face. Eddie mouths, “In your face!”

You finish up the gifts and the kids play with Penny for a little bit before you can tell that she’s beginning to get tired. You and Steve end the birthday party, thanking everyone for coming as they left. Once they were gone, Steve put Penelope down for a very much needed nap while you started picking up.

Steve joins you not too long after and when you’ve finished cleaning up, the pair of you slump down on the couch, exhausted.

“Penelope’s fourth birthday party was a success. Nice work, Y/L/N.” He raises his hand for a high-five, and you meet him halfway.

“Can’t take all the credit. You did most of the work.” You tell him.

“Yeah, but you gave birth to her. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here celebrating her turning four.” He smiles at you affectionately before his smile drops. “Oh my god, she’s four. My baby’s four.”

“Yep,” you nod. “And she’ll only get older from here.”

“Don’t remind me.” He pouts. “I want her to stay little forever.”

You laugh as he sulks for a bit. The two of you sit in silence and you close your eyes for a little before you feel Steve shift in his seat.

“Y/N?” He says and you open your eyes to find him facing you.

“Yeah?”

Steve bites his lip and his fingers tap against his jean-covered thigh. His habit every time he’s nervous.

“Um,” he starts. “We’ve been doing good, right? I mean, co-parenting and all.”

“Yeah…” You have no clue where this conversation is headed.

“And our relationship with each other is good. We don’t fight or argue or anything-”

“Steve,” you cut him off. “Spit it out already.”

You start to think he’s trying to ease into telling you that he was seeing someone, and you were preparing yourself to hear it, but his next words threw you off.

“I have feelings for you.” He says quickly and your eyebrows furrow as you sit up to look at him more clearly. “Well, I’ve always had feelings for you. They never went away. I just never said anything because you said you weren’t ready to revisit us romantically but, I don’t know, today just-” He sighs deeply, his fingers combing through his hair. “You look so beautiful today- well, you look beautiful every day and we work so well together that it got me thinking about what life would be like if we were, you know, together. As a couple.”

“Steve…”

“I know, okay? I know I fucked up back then and I know you’re hesitant but god, Y/N, you take up so much space in my head. You and Penny. That’s all I care about. That’s all I want and that’s all I’ll ever need. Ever since you walked out of my house almost five years ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I haven’t been on a date since- well, since I was with Nancy because I didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want us to be a family, officially. Me, you, and Penny in a big house. I wanna come home from work and know that I hit the jackpot because I get to see my two favorite girls every single day of my life. I want-” He takes a minute to breathe before he takes your hand softly. “I want you.”

He’s looking into your eyes and you just know that he means every word that he’s said just now.

You don’t know if it’s butterflies in your stomach or if you’re gonna throw up.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

“Please say you feel the same way.” He says softly. “If you don’t, that’s okay and we can just go back to how we were before I confessed all of this but if there’s even a slight chance that you feel the same way, please give me the chance to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

A smile makes its way to your lips and your eyebrow quirks up. “For the rest of my life, huh?”

“Mmm Hmm,” he hums. “For the rest of your life, for the rest of my life, for the rest of our lives… I’m in it for the long run.”

“Steve,” you say softly. You watch as the boy in front of you hangs on to your every word, anticipating what you’ll say next. He looks nervous and scared, but also hopeful. You lean in and kiss his cheek softly. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling. “You’re in luck because I feel the same way.”

His eyes snap open and they sparkle in the light. “Really?”

“Really.” You giggle. “My feelings never went away either.”

“Oh my god.” He breathed out, pulling you into a hug.

You stay like that for a bit before pulling away. “I want to take this slow, though. I wanna do this right, I don’t want to rush things, Steve.”

He looks at you affectionately, rubbing the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N, as long as I get to be with you in the end.”

Tags:

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve x reader

415 notes · View notes

lynnie-ee · 4 months ago

Text

Day 6; Intimidation.

╰┈➤"Being stared at by one of the Leech Twins could scare anyone at Night Raven College, even you, especially if there's no apparent reason behind it. Jade, on the other hand, believes his plan to hint his feelings for you is working greatly."

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1.4k words.

╰► Character: Jade Leech.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

Jade Leech has got his eyes on you for two weeks now.

At first, it only happened when you were in the hallways, but you didn't think much of it because, there were a lot of students, why would he be looking at you?

Then it was at the cafeteria when you were surrounded by your first-year friends, but that meant nothing because they were pretty loud, there were a lot of reasons why he could be staring.

But then it happened at the library when it was just Grim and you, which was weird, but perhaps he was looking at your little friend, maybe finding ways to blackmail him into working at Mostro Lounge again.

You've made a lot of excuses about it, thinking that it'd be narcissistic to believe he was solely staring at you, but now, as you are seated at one of the few benches that were around the Botanical Garden, with Jade only a few meters away, you could feel his gaze piercing you.

And it was fucking scary.

He worked casually on some annotations as he looked at a few mushrooms in the area, which made you wonder how seemed to be deeply focused on it while still managing to feel like he was staring at your soul.

'I was just looking for a peaceful place to study, Great Seven.'

You sighed, already tired of such attention upon you, which only fuelled the frustration you already felt due to that damn alchemy assignment you couldn't do properly.

Once again doing the assignment incorrectly, you turned towards where your pencil case was lying, looking for an eraser.

"You did the third step wrongly."

The voice of vicehousewarden echoed through the garden, as you lifted your face to observe him, realising he was staring at the mushrooms instead of you, making you wonder how he was even able to see your notebook from so far.

“Thank you, I’ll correct it when I get back to my dorm.” You answered trying to be polite, an awkward smile on your expression, as you grabbed your pencil case to start packing up your things, instead of just grabbing the eraser. You had enough of that psychological torture already.

“A pity that you’re leaving so soon, Prefect.” He commented as you got up from your seat.

“Yeah, I’ve to run some errands today. Goodbye, Jade.”

“Goodbye, good luck with your errands.” The vicehousewarden spoke with his usual mischievous smile, as if he knew you’d go home straight away after leaving the Botanical Garden, away from his prying eyes.

What the hell was wrong with him…?

⤿

You wished that was the last time you were under the petrifying gaze of Jade Leech, but as usual for your luck, it wasn’t. In fact, you already had started to get used to it. This was Night Raven College, having a second-year student stare at you like a predator to his prey probably wasn’t even on your top five of the strangest things you’ve gone through ever since you arrived.

"Do you think Trein's going to put the class of this week into the next test?" Deuce questioned, as you walked along him, Ace walking behind with Grim. All of the classes of the day were already finished, and Deuce offered his room to finish one of the group homework that Crewel assigned last week.

"I think he said he would." Ace answered, balancing Grim on one of his shoulders.

"You both talk like you'll study for the test, how cute." You commented, chuckling softly, your laugh stopping immediately as out of nowhere, Jade appeared in front of you.

"Prefect, it's nice to see you." The vicehousewarden greeted, ignoring the panicked expression of the Heartslabyul first-years beside you. "I was wondering if you'd come to Mostro Lounge tomorrow, after class." He questioned politely.

"Tomorrow...? At Mostro Lounge?" The question escaped your lips, as your mind wondered what he could want from you.

"Yes, that's what I said." He reassured, his smile more insistent than usual.

"Yeah, sure..." You answered, mostly out of uneasiness, considering how widely known was around the school about the terrors of those who made the Leech Twins get annoyed.

"Wonderful, I'll wait for you, please be punctual." The second-year remarked, before turning around to continue his walk.

...

"Prefect, did you get into a deal with Azul?!"

"What the hell did you do wrong?! Messing with Octavinelle is awful, man...You're probably working at Mostro Lounge for at least 2 months."

"But I didn't do anything!" You excused yourself immediately.

"You didn't...? Then why did Jade ask you to go to Mostro Lounge?"

"I've got no idea..." You mumbled, sighing in exasperation. First the stares, and now this...

"Maybe you did something without noticing." Deuce suggested with a nervous tone.

"If that's the case, you're screwed, Prefect. Good luck with that, we'll visit you at your shifts at Mostro Lounge."

"Thanks for the support, boys." You commented sarcastically.

⤿

This was it, the moment of truth.

You walked through the doors of Mostro Lounge, your expression as confident as you could, even if you were behind scared. You wondered all day what exactly you did to be stalked by Jade Leech and then asked to come to his dorm, because there surely was an explanation for it. Still, when it came to Octavinelle's vicehousewarden, you knew it was safer to wonder rather than be involved with him.

"You arrived perfectly on time." Was the first comment from the second-year student as soon as they arrived. "Please follow me." He indicated the way towards a more secluded room of the Mostro Lounge, which you followed without complaint. You were already there, might as well you could try your best not to bother him.

As he stood in front of you, you wondered once again why could he ask you to come talk to him, perhaps it was Grim who got into a problem, maybe he wanted to blackmail you, or he even could want to persuade you into making a deal with-

"I asked you to come because I had a question for you, so I apologize if it was inconvenient for you at all." He started, your body getting stiff, as if getting ready for a fight. "I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to go on a hike with me this weekend?"

...

"A hike, you say?" You asked, startled, as he nodded. "You mean, just the two of us?" That was bad, wasn't it? What if he wanted to take you to a lonely place to make you disappear or something of the sort?

"Yes, just the two of us." He replied. "Or at least, that was what the book suggested-"

"What book?" You questioned, confused.

"Ah, just a book I read about human custom. It said humans usually liked dates on open spaces, or where they could do activities outdoors. Perhaps you aren't the kind of person that likes them? I could come up with other kinds of ideas indoors, if you'd like." The vicehousewarden explained, his voice steady as usual.

'Did he say date...?'

"No, I do like being outside and all of that, it's just that...You asked me to come here to ask me out?"

"Yes. My previous plans didn't seem to be working, so I figured it'd be best to approach you directly."

"What previous plans?"

"Well, the book explained that humans usually express interest through eye contact, is that correct?" The second-year questioned with a genuine expression that almost seemed adorable.

"Eye-contact...? Well, uhm..." You mumbled, wondering when you ever made eye contact with Jade at all. Wait. "You mean, like the times when you stared at me in class?"

"Indeed, was it effective?"

"It certainly caught my attention, for sure..." You mumbled, relieved to learn that his intentions seemed to be way less dangerous than you thought at first.

"I'm glad to hear that. Then, would you like to join me for a hike?"

You considered his words for a second, wondering whether it'd be a good idea or not. But after so much time being chased by his gaze, and so many hours thinking about the reason behind it, you considered a date wouldn't hurt, wouldn't it? He had perseverance, at least.

"I'd love to join you, Jade."

"I'm glad to hear that." He chuckled softly, surprising you with how cute he actually looked when he didn't stalk you through school hours.

"Jade."

"Yes?"

"From now on, if you want to learn about human customs, just ask me, okay?"

"In that case, I'll be more than pleased to be your student, Prefect." He replied, the small smile still on his face as he looked at you with his mismatched eyes.

Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind being the one staring at him now.

⤿

#twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oneshot #disney twst #twst x you #twisted wonderland jade #twst oneshot #twst jade #jade leech x reader #lynnie's post

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rivalsispunk · 23 days ago

Text

Driving Miss Crazy (Chapter 3 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mentions of male orgasm, pussy pronouns, Tony being a grot, more warnings added per chapter.

Word count: 5.5k !!!

Chapter summary: Working alongside you proves far more difficult for Declan than he anticipated and you're noticing that your handsome, moustached boss is getting a bit antsy.

A/N: This is a chonky chapter!! But hopefully it is well worth the wait. I am livingggggg for tortured Declan and him not being able to keep himself together. As usual, proofread but can't promise clean edits. Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Driving Miss Crazy

Your Vauxhall Cavalier’s steering wheel is slick with sweat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t end up with blisters on your palms from how tight you’re gripping the leather as you make the short drive from your flat to Corinium for your first day as Declan’s assistant. You hadn’t laid eyes on him since you fled the hot tub several days ago, save for watching his show on Thursday evening, brittle embarrassment nestled in your bones after your late-night encounter. Though Taggie’s snoring subsided when you both returned to bed, you were kept awake for hours at the thought of another O’Hara. The finger of whiskey you’d downed buzzed through your veins. Still, Declan’s bourbon-brown eyes boring into yours over the glass seemed to have intoxicated you further to the point where you were unable to close your eyes without seeing his moustache quivering over a miniscule smile.

Though you were up before the birds the following morning, Declan had already made for Corinium, his Mini Clubman Estate already gone from the drive. It was purposeful, his early leave. After you’d escaped back upstairs with his daughter the night before, he’d made his way to his office, polished off his bottle of whiskey and shamelessly fucked his hand to the image of your lithe legs stretched over the hot tub, and the echo of you promising him you could handle it. The moment he spilled himself over his fist was the moment the mortification consumed him. Mortified at himself for disrespecting his albeit fragmented marriage like that. For disrespecting you like that, and he couldn’t bear to run into you in The Priory’s kitchen the next day and pretend like he hadn’t done so. Luckily for him, you didn’t cross paths all weekend either, thanks to being off shopping for workwear with Taggie, just as he’d requested. Being privy to your usual everyday attire and how uncomfortable you seemed in Maud’s clothing was the only thing keeping Declan from pulling the plug on your hiring. He knew you’d opt for something no-fuss. Conservative, even. Something that would keep his regretful, wandering eye at bay. He just didn’t expect you to make conservative look so fucking sexy.

“Knock, knock,” you greet him, materialising in his office’s doorway. You’re dressed head-to-toe in black: black wide-leg trousers, matching blazer and black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt stamped with the band’s trademark logo. Your hair falls in loose waves, and you’ve accessorised with black pumps, and a megawatt smile lined with crimson red lipstick.

Declan’s breathing hitches. He never stood a bloody chance.

Despite the awkward note you ended your last encounter on, you bury the uneasy feeling as you step into your new boss’ quarters. “Is that mine?” You gesture to where Declan had Seb set up a desk for you in the far corner. He naively thought it would be more efficient to have you work from his office than out on the floor with the rest of the staff, but his cock throbbing against the inside of his zipper now said otherwise.

“Er, no,” Declan says, scrubbing at his freshly shaven jaw. “That’s just—it’s not… I was just trying something out. Redecorating, or something.”

He keeps bumbling excuses while he ushers you out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a desk that clearly belongs to someone else, littered with spreadsheet papers stained with coffee cup rings.

“You can set up here. I’ll have a couple tasks for you soon. I just need to take care of a few things first,” Declan snipes, stalking back to his office before you can get a word in. You tail him, his pert arse in his slacks barely a blip on your radar.

“Are you alright?” you question, your mind straying to the hot tub.

“Yeah, fine. Just grand,” Declan feigns, refusing to meet your eye while he pretends to busy himself with tidying his desk.

“Can I get you anything?”

A new assistant. “Just a coffee. Black, one sugar. Thanks.”

You can hear Tony Baddingham’s scaly laugh all the way down the hall as you return to Declan’s office. The Corinium director is sprawled out in his chair while his star talent leans against the window frame, cigarette hanging idly from his lips.

“Ah, hello again,” Tony croons your name and you recoil at the sound of it on his tongue. You can feel his eyes trained on your body as you cross the room and place Declan’s coffee beside him on the window sill. He doesn’t thank you, just grunts around his durry. It pisses you off. If he’s uncomfortable around you after what happened at The Priory, so be it. But you’re being professional. Would it kill him to do the same?

You turn your attention back to Tony. “Lord Baddingham. How are you?”

“Better now,” he confesses, rising from Declan’s seat. His stature is imposing as he moves around the desk towards you until you have to tip your head back to look up at him. “It’s good to see Declan made the right decision with his assistant. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you’d wear something a little more like what you had on the last time we met.” He edges closer to Declan, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow like they’re sharing an inside joke. “A little less Boy George, if you know what I’m saying?” Tony chuckles like he’s just cracked the world’s most hilarious one liner. Your tongue burns to scold him. If it were a grimy git at the local pub who had tried that, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him where to shove it. While Tony Baddingham was a grimy git and then some, he was also the one to sign off on your future paychecks. So, an obligatory smile will have to do.

Declan isn’t as forgiving. “It’s not a fucking fashion show, Tony,” he snaps. “She’s here to do research, not walk a bloody runway.”

“And I don’t disagree with you, Declan, but this is my station, she’s my staff and I’m telling her to wear something more appealing. Just like what you wore to your interview. Now, that,” he leers down at you, and you wonder if he can see the fury buzzing through you. “That was something.”

“Alright, Tony, that’s enough.” Declan flicks his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and steps between you and Baddingham. He keeps his eyes on you over Declan’s shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Declan squares his shoulders, jutting his head toward the door — a silent instruction to his superior. “I’ll see to her, okay?”

As Tony moves out of your immediate vicinity, his gaze rolls down your entire frame before huffing a one syllable laugh. “I’m sure you will,” he tells Declan, then: “My office. Five minutes. Cameron has some evil genius plan for ratings.”

You spend the better part of the morning waiting, making yourself a coffee, then waiting again for Declan to reappear from Tony’s office. He’s yet to return by half-eleven, at which point you stalk back into his office to make yourself at least somewhat busy. You begin emptying his ashtray and clearing his desk of empty coffee cups (and the occasional whiskey glass) before making a start on organising the tree of papers scattered across the rich timber. Half word-processed, the majority strewn with Declan’s skittish handwriting. At the bottom of the mess is some semblance of a to-do list with bullet points in no rational order.

Research agriculture.

Follow up Rupert Campbell-Black wife.

Lunch. Sinister.

Details. Westland. Michael Heseltine.

You doubt Declan has time to even touch any of those tasks with him being MIA all morning, so you park yourself in his desk chair and get to work.

“If I didn’t love this bloody job so much, I’d have half the mind to quit.” The string of Irish twang startles you from your notepad, and Declan appears equally as surprised to see you perched in his place. With a furrow in his brow, he scans the room. “You cleaned up?” He can’t recall a time his office had been as tidy.

“Thought I’d better make myself busy,” you tell him, popping up from the leather seat with your notes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a few calls based on your to-do list. No answer from the former Mrs Campbell-Black but I might’ve got somewhere with the Westland research.” You tilt the yellow paper pad in Declan’s direction, thrusting it into his hands despite the scepticism that paints his face. You chew the inside of your cheek while he reviews your notes, only stopping when he looks at you blankly. You can’t tell whether he’s going to thank you for your patience or fire you for sifting through his things.

“You did this? Today?”

You nod.

“Christ almighty. What on earth have I done without you all this time?”

You grin, warmth flooding through you with the inadvertent praise. “Suffered?” you jest.

“I’m afraid suffering is part and parcel of the job,” Declan counters, not mentioning how much suffering is ahead for him with you now a part of his team. “You should head home. It’s getting late.” He looks at the window, where the late winter sun has set.

“I was always told to never leave before your boss.” “Darlin’, if that was the case, you’d be here ‘til morning. So, go on,” he swats at your arm with the notepad. “Get home.”

Without another word, you gather up your things — not much, a water bottle and small assortment of pens scattered across Declan’s desk — and throw a small bye in your boss’ direction.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” Declan calls after you. “He was bang out of order.”

You swivel, lean up against the doorframe.“And if he barges in again demanding I wear something more likely to land me on the cover of Playboy?”

A glimmer of you in black garters and barely there lingerie snaps through Declan’s brain. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Your arms fold across you. You had a point, and Declan knew it. Tony would have every woman in this office under the age of forty strutting around in nothing but heels and a thong if he could.

“I’ll deal with him,” the Irishman settles on. He’s rather you covered up for him than dressed down for someone else. “You have my word.”

You bid Declan goodnight with one final, tight-lipped smile, offering the same to Deirdre and Daisy on your way to the elevator.

Outside, the sky is littered with stars, though their brightness is dulled by the stadium-worthy fluorescent lights beaming down on the carpark. There are far fewer cars left in the lot than there were this morning, so you make a beeline across the concrete to where your plum-coloured Vauxhall is sat on the outskirts. You savour the tiny bit of warmth the cab has preserved over the day as you shove the key into the ignition and—

Nothing.

You turn the key over again and get nothing but a singular clank from somewhere under the hood in return.

You try three more times only to get the same result.

Shit.

You scan the carpark for someone who might be able to help but at this time of night, the chances are slim. Sliding out from your seat, you round the front of your car and unclip the hood, though you have zero clue what exactly it is you’re looking at. You didn’t grow up with a father who’d taught you how to refill your oil or check for leaks. You don’t think you ever saw him with a tool in his hand once. Your parents always sent away for things to get fixed and now, you were cursing them for not imparting an integral practical life skill on you.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Jesus Christ!” Your hand flies to your heart as Declan falls into position next to you. “You really need to stop doing that.”

A chuckle wracks through him, his shoulder jostling up against yours. “Car troubles?”

“I think it’s carked it. The ignition won’t turn over.”

“Shove over.” He motions for you to step aside, handing you his briefcase as you comply. A few minutes pass as Declan jostles metal pipes and knocks his knuckles against others, black grease working its way onto his skin. Eventually he steps back and pushes the hood closed with a clatter.

“Yeah, she’s knackered,” he declares, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Grab your things. I’ll drive you home tonight.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking favours on my first day,” you mutter, thanking Declan for what feels like the tenth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting in his Clubman.

“You’re not askin’. I’m offerin’,” he tells you without taking his eyes off the road. You study him as he drives, all stoic and permanently etched with determination. His knuckles are white as large hands grip the steering wheel, silver wedding band glinting under the streetlights. In the small confines of the car, Declan’s overwhelmed by the soft jasmine scent of your perfume. It reminds him of a breeze through a sunlit garden in summer — fresh, but warm. Inviting, even, making him want to pull over and nuzzle into the crook of your neck so he drowns in it. He clears his throat as the need sets in, filing through his thoughts for something to distract him.

“Your family visit you much?” is what he decides on when he realises he knows little to nothing about you.

“Not at all,” you tell him, a sad laugh tumbling out after your admission. “My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a psychologist, so they don’t really get much time away. When they do, they’d rather jet off to Spain or Greece or somewhere equally as picturesque.”

“You’re joking.” Declan’s disbelief tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You, coming from the likes of Baddingham and Co?” He had a hard time placing you within the wealth of the city. You were just so humble. So grounded.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, kind of.” “Don’t hold it against me.”

Hold your parents against you? No. Though there were other things that could tempt Declan if he just let himself go.

“But you’re so…” He steals a peek at you, then back to the road, considering his words.

“Go on, I can take it,” you say, anticipating a verbal blow.

I bet you can, he shamelessly admits to himself. Then, out loud: “You’re just not an arsehole, that’s all. Rich folk are usually right pricks.”

You can attest to that. Your parents easily fall into that category. “That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And you don’t have a boyfriend? No uppity intellectual waiting for ya back in the city?” Declan doesn’t know why he asks. You’ve not sent away for anybody, not that he would’ve noticed, but he was sure he’d have heard about a boyfriend in all the hours you spent at The Priory.

“Not anymore.” You say quietly, trilling over the dry skin peeling away at your thumb. Not anymore. Your admission shouldn’t send Declan’s pulse galloping like a racehorse.

You continue to divulge about Samuel, who you’d met in your second year media law lecture at university.. “His ego didn’t allow for two smart people in the relationship. You know, he told me that my intelligence is what drew him to me in the first place, but turns out he couldn’t handle it in the long run. Everything became a competition and it rotted our relationship from the inside out.”

“Hope you sent him packing.”

You shake your head. “He cut me loose, can you believe it? Got the shits when I got the internship at The Times over him.” As you roll over the hill leading to the village, the Clubman splutters when Declan changes gear, masking the fucking idiot that falls from his lips. How could any man not want you? The notion was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Boys never know what they want,” Declan imparts.

A scoff scratches your throat. “What, and men do?”

You have Declan on that one. He glances at you in the passenger seat, then thinks of the years’ old snapshot of Maud that lives in his wallet.

No, no they don’t.

“I’m just up here on the left.” You gesture to the strip of shops on the left a few moments later. Declan pulls the Clubman to the curb and flicks the engine off. He arches over the steering wheel to get a look at your building through the windscreen, scepticism colouring his features.

“You live in the butcher’s?”

“I live above the butcher’s.”

“Must smell like a slaughterhouse in there.”

“Sometimes. It’s not all bad. The man who runs it, Mr Green, gives me a discount on meat. Chucks in a few extra sausages free of charge.”

“Free sausages, eh? Living the life.”

“Well, they’re Lincolnshire, so I’ll say.” That earns a chuckle from your boss, followed by a too right in agreement. You click off your seatbelt and gather your bag in your lap. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate it, Declan.”

“No bother. I’ll swing past in the morning and pick you up.”

You rear back at his offer. “You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi. Catch the bus.”

“The buses around here are as late as a pregnant woman’s period. Taxi will cost you a small fortune. I’ll pick you up.” There’s no room for discussion or pushback as the Clubman roars back to life. “Seven forty-five, alright?”

Declan wasn’t expecting to have a heart attack before eight AM the following morning, nor was he expecting you to heed Tony’s suggestion, when you step out from your flat in a skirt that cuts mid-thigh, sheer tights and a skin-tight red turtleneck sweater, paired with knee-high black boots. You won’t lie: complying with Tony’s request made your skin itch, but you had a job to do, and you couldn’t do it with Tony constantly breathing down your neck. Declan’s eyes trail over the sheen of your thighs when you slide into the Mini, mouth going dry at the view. He’s about to chide you, make a comment about you already bowing down to the big boss. Then you bring up Michael Heseltine and the Westland notes again, offering your thoughts, and he’s taken again by how fucking clever you are. He can practically hear the cogs in your brain working as he drives you both to Corinium. You sing along to Paul Simon and Heart between ideas, your manicured nails thrumming on your knee in time to the music.

Declan tells you he’s organised for your car to be towed and fixed up by a local mechanic — a friend who owes me a favour, he says when you protest — and that the work will take a couple of weeks. And so, Tuesday marks the first time in a long time that Declan consistently leaves the office at a reasonable hour, and driving you quickly becomes his favourite part of his days. The pair of you chat about everything under the sun, from your upbringings — you in upper class London and he in backwoods Ireland — to your favourite musicians — George Michael for you, Nat King Cole for him. You don’t ask about Maud and Declan makes no mention of her either, diverting the conversation when anything rears too close to their relationship. He’d much rather talk about his kids; complimenting Taggie’s cooking and homeliness, repeating some crazy story he’d heard from Caitlin when she’d called from boarding school, or bragging about Patrick’s accolades at university. While he was certainly stubborn and sometimes cold, Declan’s love for his children pared all of that back, revealing a proud and honest father. It was one of, if not, your favourite thing about him.

The two weeks your car was in the shop went by too fast for either of your liking, the drives to and from Corinium just not quite feeling right without the other. Your perfume lingers in the Mini, the result of your constant presence, every bit of you woven into the fabric of the seats. If Declan just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, it’s like you’re still right there next to him, humming along to the radio or trying to pitch him wild guests for his show. You miss his dorky dad jokes, and Declan misses you giggling at them, your laugh a melody that warmed him from the inside out. You were still at The Priory often enough, helping Taggie prepare catering or the two of you lounging about watching Four Men Went To Mow, but it wasn’t the same for Declan. He much preferred having you to himself.

While you became more comfortable with each other outside of hours, you and Declan also settled into a rhythm in the office. You fed off one another’s creativity, bolstering ideas and show notes until they were airtight. It only took a week for Declan to relent and set you up at the spare desk. It was easier having you nearby rather than constantly moving between his office whenever you had something to add to your findings. You’d also kept up your more put-together wardrobe; tight skirts, and blouses, and high heels. Not that Declan was complaining, but it made his life just that little bit harder, made him more than a little hot under the collar, whenever you bent over to retrieve a box of files or leaned over his desk to show him some of your findings.

There was a lot you loved about your job — the ability to ogle Declan across his office being up there — but you lived for Thursday nights when Declan’s show aired. Watching it from home on your TV set was one thing, but seeing it unfold live in the studio was beyond your imagination. It was incredible seeing your work behind the scenes put into action, and it was made all the better by Declan; always charismatic, stern and unwavering when the time called for it. He was magic, and no matter how hard you tried, you never could seem to wipe the grin off your face while you stood watching on the sidelines, and Declan loved to see it whenever he glanced in your direction.

It was rare, unheard of, even, for someone to receive praise from Declan, the journalist’s standards so high that he rarely found anyone who could meet them. But somehow, you did. Your research was thorough, always annotated with further notes and references. You weren’t afraid to get on the phones and track down sources. His show, already a success, was made infinitely better by your addition. Not to mention, your coffee was fantastic. Not even in twenty years of marriage had Maud managed to perfect his preference. Still, he rarely raised his satisfaction with you, a simple good or thanks sufficing. No, he saved his satisfaction for moments he was alone. He’d officially given up willing his throbbing cock to flaccidity when thoughts of you creeped in during the quiet hours, allowing himself the quick gratification before the shame set in.

About a month into your tenure at Corinium, Declan was in a foul pit of a mood. He’d barged into his office already on the warpath. He barked orders at you and spent the better part of the morning criticising an upcoming guest, when he’d spent the previous day praising him. He even had you remake his coffee four times after complaints that it was too sweet or too cold or some other ridiculous excuse, despite making it the same way you did everyday. By the time four PM rolled around, you could count on one hand the times Declan had actually looked at you, each time egged on by a scowl. In your short time at the company, and with Taggie’s advice, you’d learned to let your boss be when the stress of the job got to him. Even if you’d built enough rapport to tell him to pull his head in.

It wasn’t until you were leaving for the day that Declan spoke to you without a growl in his voice. “You did grand today,” he says, the comment shocking you as you stood up from your seat. “I know I’ve been an arse all day. I’m sorry. You did a fantastic job, really.” His dark features were soft as he peered up at you from his desk.

“Mr O’Hara, are you paying me a compliment?” You feign shock, hand flush against your chest as you pretend to be scandalised.

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells you, a smile ghosting over his lips. He turns back to his notes, but unbeknownst to you, he’s unable to read the muddled words on the page, his brain fixated on the way you cooed Mr O’Hara. All breathy and innocent and unintentionally sultry. You made his name yours.

He hates how much he loves it.

When Declan pulls up to The Priory that night, your Vauxhall is in the drive, and his one thought is that he can’t do this tonight. Can’t do you tonight. It’s late, already half-ten by the time he’s slugging through the door, temples throbbing with a Baddingham-induced headache only made worse by the Duran Duran blasting through the house.

“Taggie!” he booms, dumping his briefcase and corduroy jacket on a chair by the staircase. All he wants is a shower and a whiskey, maybe a cigar, in bed, and he’ll be damned if he does it with the walls of his home rattling to the soundtrack of his daughter’s mixtape. Declan trudges upstairs, lethargy weighing his legs down as he stalks down the hall towards Taggie’s bedroom. Light pours out of the half-open door, followed by your laughter. “Taggie, Jesus fucking Christ, can you turn that bloody racket—”

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when you step into view, your back to the door. The black dress you’d worn to the office is discarded on the floor, the full expanse of your body of full display, safe for a plain black bra and matching high-waisted underwear.

“I don’t know, Tag,” Declan hears you say over the music. “Red or black?” You stretch your arm out of sight to retrieve two short dresses that you then hold up against your body. Freddie Jones had invited all of the neighbouring families and friends to Bar Sinister on Friday night for drinks and karaoke, and you were struggling to decide what to wear. Your usual jeans and tee getups were too casual, and your work attire was too, well, work. The stereo clicks, swapping out Rio for Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat.

“I love this song!” you announce, pipping up and down to the beat. Your back arches slightly with each little leap, the ripple of your muscles accentuated every time you hit the creaking floorboards. He feels like a creep, lurking in the shadows, continuing to watch you through the ajar door as you dance around the room in nothing but your underwear, but he can’t tear his eyes from you. Declan worries his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your legs, looking impossibly longer now without clothing, and where they stretch into the sweep of your arse. He wants to take you into his mouth, bite down on your supple flesh, hard, before soothing the inevitable red mark with a sloppy kiss. His cock rouses at the temptation, the feeling of his pulsating tip pushing against his trousers making it difficult for him not to march straight into Taggie’s room and swoop you away to his own so he can show you what he thinks about all day while you’re across his office.

Reality wracks the back of Declan’s mind. What the fuck is he doing? He if had a pound for every time he caught himself leering at you, feeling that heat coil in him until there was nothing left to do but steal himself away to privacy and relieve himself like a sex-obsessed teenager, he’d have enough to pay of his family’s London leaving debt and then some.

Sometime later, once Declan had gathered enough sense, enough strength, to tear himself away from his post outside Taggie’s door, the music in her room recedes low enough that you and your friend can hear each other without yelling.

“I’m going to head home,” you tell Taggie, sluffing out of the robe she let you borrow and back into the ribbed black dress you’d picked out that morning. “Early morning tomorrow and I do not want to catch your dad in another one of his moods again.”

“Fair enough,” your friend relents, passing you the outfits you’d narrowed your options down to. You shove them into your bag, which is already busy with notepads and teabags you bring from home, and tug Taggie into a hug, whispering a farewell into her mess of tawny hair. You slip into the hall and pull her door shut, the walkway enveloped in darkness aside from the small flood of yellow light beaming around the corner. As you head towards the stairs, you notice the light is coming from Declan’s bedroom, where he was probably reading one of those many memoirs or pouring over notes for his show tomorrow night, during which he’d interview the Bishop of London, Right Reverend Graham Leonard. He definitely had a whiskey in hand or by his bedside, and you’re put in mind again of that night the pair of you were in the yard. The memory elicits goosebumps as you pass through the sliver of light and by Declan’s quarters. It’s not until you’re nearing the top of the staircase that you hear a grunt that halts.

What was that?

The noise rouses again, though this time it’s more like a groan, echoing from the room you just passed. You backtrack a few steps — you know you should just be on your way, but you can’t help yourself — and peer into Declan’s room through the slight crack in the door. He’s turned away from you, bracing himself against the dresser by the window. He’s shirtless, and far more tanned than you’d expect for somebody living in England, his back all corded muscle and shoulder blades that pinch together with rigorous movement. His trousers hang low on his hips, low enough that the top of his arse is visible over the waistband, a sparse trail of coarse black hair blooming on his lower back. Under the light, sweat prickles on the back of his neck, and another moan slips from him as he pumps his right arm up and down. It’s only then that you realise what you’ve stumbled upon.

Declan’s none the wiser that you’re watching him the same way he’d done to you not much earlier. His eyes are clamped shut, shielding you from the anguish and pure filth they’re laden with while he lets desire run its course. His breathing is turning almost whimper-like with his frantic movements, while yours shakes deep in your stomach. Saliva pools around your dumb tongue, mouth lax as you observe Declan fist himself with so much savagery his whole body is shaking. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t look away from. A delicious, sordid trainwreck hurtling towards an explosive end.

Then you hear it. Only just. Your name slips from his lips so quietly you wonder if you made it up.

It’s not the first time Declan has allowed you ownership over him as he tugs himself raw. He’d tried to deny it, tried to morph your image in his mind into Maud’s but it was no use. He was stupid for you. If it’s just him, his hand and his mind, who is it hurting? Nobody has to know.

But now you do. You know what Declan looks like coming undone, and it’s abundantly clear that it’s you spurring on his animalistic display. An odd sort of pride shoots through you, heat blooming at your core, pussy clenching around nothing as Declan seethes oh, fuck, your name flying out his mouth amid a string of obscenities as he comes. Hot, white ropes spurt over his fist and down his aching length, and his heart bucks against his ribcage as his climax rolls through him, vision flanked white from the intensity of his orgasm. It takes Declan a few moments to gather himself, to come down from his high. He has to squint once he opens his eyes, the well-lit room a stark contrast to the dark corners of his mind. His back burns, as if someone’s stare is boring into him, and his attention snaps to where he foolishly left his door ajar. But the hallway is empty, and he hears your car chug to life in the driveway, followed by the unmistakable crunch of gravel under its tyres.

Eeeeeeeeek, now we're getting somewhere! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog if you loved this chapter as much as I did writing it hehe

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x female #declan o’hara x you #declan o’hara x reader #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #best friends dad!declan o’hara #rivals smut #boss!declan o’hara #declan o'hara #rivals fanfiction #rivals hulu #rivals disney+#rupert campbell black #aidan turner #declan o'hara fanfiction

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snowysosturn · 26 days ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, flirting, drinking, being intoxicated

The Uber pulled up to a classy restaurant in downtown LA. Nate held the door open for me, gesturing for me to step out first. “After you, princess” he teased with a grin.

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a smile. The place was stunning, candles lit on every table, large groups of people filling each one.

We were seated in the corner with a perfect view of the restaurant as a whole. The menu was overwhelming, filled with dishes I couldn’t even pronounce. Nate, sensing my indecision, leaned over the table. “If you’re stuck, just order the steak. You can’t go wrong with steak.”

I ended up ordering just that with mashed potatoes, while Nate opted for lamb chops. We ordered vodka to the table, how classy, but the conversation flowed effortlessly. Nate had this way of making me feel comfortable, allowing me to forget everything going wrong in my life.

We laughed about faking 7 minutes in heaven last night and swapped embarrassing stories from our teenage years. By the time dessert arrived, we were both sat back in our chairs, not too far off a food coma.

“This place is insane” I said, looking around as the lights dimmed slightly, the atmosphere beginning to change.

“It gets better trust me” Nate replied with a smirk.

As 10pm approached, the restaurant began its transformation. The tables near the center of the room were cleared away, allowing space for a dance floor and a DJ set up at the far end.

“You ready to have a good time?” Nate asked, already standing and holding out his hand.

I laughed, taking it. “I’m always ready”

We danced in the centre of the dance floor, only ever coming off it to get a drink or take a shot. It felt nice to feel so carefree in the moment. A break away from drama was exactly what I needed.

Hours passed in an instant. We stepped onto the garden terrace for some air, the terrace was quiet, dotted with couples kissing and girl groups gossiping.

I leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights. Nate stood beside me, his hands in his pockets.

“You like Matt, don’t you?” he said after a moment, his voice unusually serious.

I blinked, caught off guard. “I mean, he seems to be a nice person to everyone else, so-”

“No” Nate interrupted, turning to face me. “I mean, like, like him. Like, you have feelings for him.”

“What would ever make you think that?” raising an eyebrow at him, utterly shocked.

Nate’s eyes softened, almost smirking at me. “From the way you two were last night. The tension? The way you argue? There’s no way you don’t have feelings for each other. It’s written all over your faces.”

“Nate, that’s ridiculous.” I said finally, forcing a laugh. “Matt doesn’t even like me. Half the time, he can barely even tolerate me.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me” Nate countered, his tone calm but firm. “The way he was acting last night? That wasn’t someone who doesn’t care. And you? You wouldn’t have been that upset if you didn’t care either.”

I didn’t know what to say in response, so I stayed looking into the distance.

“Look..” Nate continued, his voice softer now. “I’m not trying to start anything. I just think there’s something there, whether you want to admit it or not. It’s like them.. What are they called?.. Enemies to lovers tropes!” Nate laughed.

“Hmm I’m not too sure of that Nate” I said, trying to play it off. I stared down at my hands, Nate’s words echoing in my mind. Did Matt? Care? Did I?

Nate’s gaze softened as he studied me, and for a moment, I felt like he could see right through all the walls I’d suddenly built up. “Alright, alright..” he said with a sigh. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t push it. But you’ve got to know, you two are like.. one bad argument away from getting together. It’s obvious.”

I chuckled, trying to let the tension in my chest ease a little. “You’re just being dramatic.”

Nate leaned in, his voice dropping slightly as he added, “I know I am, but you know I’m right. And if you’re really not going to act on it, that’s fine. But if you ever change your mind, I think you should go for it with him. Matt’s a mess, sure, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just him being an ass. There’s more there. And trust me, he won’t be able to keep playing it cool forever.”

His words hung in the air between us, and I couldn’t help but feel my stomach flutter slightly.

“I appreciate the advice” I said, my voice quiet, unsure how to process all the things Nate had just put out there. “But I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Nate gave me a smile, as if he was already predicting my answer. “You don’t have to be ready. But sometimes, you just have to let things happen.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Just don’t make the mistake of waiting too long.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but I couldn’t help the swirling thoughts in my mind. Was Nate right? Was I just afraid to admit that I had feelings for Matt? There was no way.

Nate put a hand to my back, breaking my thoughts. “Anyway, don’t worry about me. I’m just a spectator here. I’ll let you sort out your mess with Mr. Moody. But don’t wait too long to figure it out.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at how blunt Nate could be. “Thanks for the advice” I said, a little more genuinely this time. “I’ll think about it.”

Nate gave me a wink. “You better.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, the weight of his words lingering in the back of my mind as we both turned back to the noise and lights of the club.

“You know what, I’m in the mood for something sweet.. Like a milkshake or something.” I say, hoping Nate sounds up for one too.

"A milkshake? At this hour?" he asked, grinning.

I shrugged, a playful smirk on my lips. "What? Do you not think that sounds nice right now?"

He shook his head, pulling out his phone to look up nearby spots. "No you’re right it does, Mel’s Diner is open 24 hours, and their milkshakes are elite."

We made our way to Mel’s and when we arrived, the place was lively with a mix of night owls and others like us who clearly have been partying all night long.

Sliding into a booth by the window, Nate and I scanned the menu. “You already know what you’re getting?” he asked, his eyes flicking to me.

“Chocolate, obviously” I said with a grin. “What about you?”

“Vanilla” he replied confidently.

I snorted. “Seriously? I never thought anything about you would be vanilla.”

He feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “Hey it’s a classic! You can’t go wrong with it.”

We placed our orders, and just as the milkshakes arrived, Nate’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen. The time just hitting 3 am.

“Chris is facetiming me”

Matts POV

The flashing lights of the casino along with the constant dinging of slot machines and chatter of hundreds of people was about to send me into sensory overload. It was the kind of place that was meant to distract you, to make you forget whatever was eating away at you. But even surrounded by all this chaos, my thoughts kept circling back to Y/n.

Christina and Rachel were waiting for us near the roulette tables, all smiles and dressed to a T. Rachel greeted Chris with a playful hug, while Christina’s attention shifted to me. “Long time no see” she said with a flirty smile, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “I got a weird text from you last night.. What was that about?”

My face went scarlet. I forgot about the message Y/n sent off my phone last night.

“Oh sorry, we were playing a drinking game.. Someone had to text something off my phone.. Thats all that was” I try to explain.

“Oh thank god! You had me worried for a sec.” She said with relief.

I gave her a nod, trying to seem engaged, but my mind was elsewhere. My jaw clenched involuntarily as Christina kept chatting, and I couldn’t help but glance at my phone. Nothing. No messages from Nick, no updates from the house. For all I knew, Y/n was out there with Ethan, getting sucked back into his ways.

“Matt?” Christina’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You good?”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Chris, however, wasn’t buying it. He turned to me, almost pulling me to the side, his brows furrowed. “Alright, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing” I said quickly, but Chris wasn’t letting it go.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so Rachel and Christina couldn’t hear. “You’ve been in a mood all day. What’s going on? This trip is supposed to be fun.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m fine, alright? Just tired.”

Chris was clearly unconvinced. “Bullshit. You’ve been acting like someone stole Trevor since we landed. Plus you had a nap. A five hour long one!”

“I’m literally fine” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Let me guess, this is about Y/n still?”

I glared at him, but his smirk only widened.

“Dude, if you’re jealous, just admit it” he said, leaning against the table.

“I’m not jealous.” I snapped.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, this whole vibe you’ve got going on has nothing to do with her being on a date with someone else?”

“I don’t care what she's doing.” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah like I believe that” Chris waved me off. “Look, man, if you’ve got feelings for her, maybe you should actually do something about it instead of acting like you can’t stand to be near her.”

I scoffed, but his words hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. “Whatever” I muttered. “Let’s just play.” My tone of voice starting to pick up.

Chris clipped me on the back of the ear, his usual grin returning. “That’s more like it! Let’s have some fun and let loose!.”

I nodded, as Christina sidled up next to me, giggling about the game ahead.

The casino started to feel smaller as the drinks flowed and Christina’s laughter grew louder in my ear. She was leaning closer now, her hand brushing against my arm as she talked about some story I barely paid attention to. I nodded along, my focus dulled by the whiskey and whatever cocktail she’d handed me earlier.

Chris was across the table, grinning as he raked in chips at the roulette wheel. Rachel sat beside him, seemingly just as entertained by his charm. I tried to focus on the game, but Christina’s presence was impossible to ignore.

“You’re quieter than usual tonight” she said, tilting her head to meet my eyes. “Not like you.”

I shrugged, taking another sip of my drink. “Guess I’m just tired.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Doesn’t seem like that to me. You’ve just got something on your mind. Maybe I can help take the edge off.”

Before I could respond, Chris clapped his hands together and declared it was time to leave the tables. “Alright, let’s hit somewhere with better music. Nightclub time!”

We piled into the car waiting outside, the city lights blurring as we sped toward one of Vegas’s VIP clubs. The bouncers waved us in after Chris’s charm worked its magic again to secure us a table with bottle service.

Inside, the volume of the music made it impossible to speak to anyone on a normal level. Christina stuck close to me, her arm looping through mine as we made our way to the table. “This is more like it!” she said, pouring me a shot of tequila and handing it over.

I downed it without thinking, the burn in my throat growing. The night was about to blur into a wash of lights, music, and drinks. Christina’s laughter grew louder, her touches more lingering. At some point, she pulled me onto the dance floor. The alcohol hindered my resistance, and I let her lead. Her hands slid over my shoulders as she swayed to the music, her body grinding against mine.

“You’re finally loosening up” she said, leaning close to my ear.

I smirked, though it felt forced. “Guess so.”

The drinks kept coming, the bottles on our table never empty. Chris and Rachel were lost in their own world, and I could feel myself slipping further into the night. Christina leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered something I didn’t catch over the music. I nodded anyway, letting the moment carry me because, for now, it was easier than facing what was really on my mind.

Chris stumbled up to me, a sloppy grin plastered on his face, it had been a while since I seen him this drunk. “Man, I wish Nate was here!” he slurred, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “He’d be tearing it up right now.”

Chris fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, 3 am showing as he pulled up Nate’s contact. “Let’s facetime him. Any bet he’s just sitting around bored as hell. He’ll wish he came when he sees this place!”

Before I could argue, Chris had already pressed the button, and we both leaned in toward the screen. It rang a couple of times before Nate’s face popped up. The background looking nothing like our house.

“What’s up, boyyys?” he greeted, loud enough to make Chris laugh.

“Dude, where are you?” Chris asked, his words tumbling over one another. “We’re out here killing it, and you’re-” He squinted. “Wait, are you at a diner? Drinking.. a milkshake?”

Nate tilted the phone slightly, and sure enough, he was sitting at one of those old school diner booths, milkshake glass in hand.

“Yeah” Nate said casually. “Gotta get a milkshake after the club, yous should try it later!”

Chris leaned closer to the screen. “Who are you with, though? Don’t tell me you’re solo right now.”

Nate chuckled, glancing off screen before turning the phone slightly. My stomach dropped as the camera panned over to her.

Y/n.

She was sitting across from him, sipping from her own milkshake, looking relaxed and.. happy.

That’s who she’s on a date with? The thought hit me like a bus, and suddenly, everything around me blurred. My ears buzzed, drowning out the rest of the conversation as my brain zoned in on one thing. Her. With Nate.

I turned away from the phone abruptly, needing to put distance between myself and the scene unfolding on the screen. Chris called after me, but I couldn’t stay there. Not while they were laughing and chatting like that.

I didn’t even realize where I was going until Christina appeared in front of me, her hand lightly grazing my arm.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked.

I nodded, though the knot in my chest tightened.

She smiled softly, her eyes searching mine. “What do you say? We go back to your hotel room?”

I hesitated for only a second before nodding again. “Yeah.”

“Alright” she said, slipping her arm through mine. “Let’s get out of here.”

I let her lead the way, my mind still spinning as I tried to push away the image of Y/n with Nate.

Y/n’s POV

It wasn’t long before Nate answered, holding the phone up infront of his face.

“What’s up, boyyys?” he greeted, I could hear Chris’ laugh through the phone, assuming Matt is also there since he technically just addressed them both.

“Dude, where are you?” Chris asked, his words tumbling over one another. “We’re out here killing it, and you’re.. Wait, are you at a diner? Drinking.. a milkshake?”

Nate tilted the phone slightly, to show Chris he was sitting at a diner booth, while getting the view of his milkshake in.

“Yeah” Nate said casually. “Gotta get a milkshake after the club, yous should try it later!”

“Who are you with, though? Don’t tell me you’re solo right now.” I hear Chris question.

Nate chuckled, glancing at me. Soon after he panned the camera around to show me.

“Is this who you’re on a date with?!” Chris’s voice cut through the background noise, a hint of surprise and confusion in his tone. I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head slightly.

“It’s not really a date” I said quickly, trying to clear up the confusion. “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah” Nate chimed in, “just friends. Nothing crazy.”

Chris, however, didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, but I thought you-” He paused, almost as if he was reconsidering something. “Your Instagram story?”

I bit my lip, god it really was getting a reaction, but before I could respond, Nate jumped in. “You know, I told her to use that caption. So, don’t get all worked up.

Chris laughed to himself, clearly having a great time in Vegas considering how drunk he sounds right now.

“Hey where did Matt go?” Nate asked, his tone casual, but there was an underlying curiosity there.

Chris’s voice came through the phone again, a bit distracted. “He’s with Christina” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal.

The words hit me harder than I expected. Christina? My stomach twisted in a way that felt unfamiliar, and I caught myself gripping my milkshake glass just a little too tightly. Why did it bother me? I had no reason to care. Matt was free to do whatever, or whoever, he wanted.

But the ache in my chest didn’t match the logic in my head.

Nate, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow at me. “You okay?”

I forced a shrug, trying to act like it didn’t affect me. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I said, taking another sip of my milkshake to buy myself time.

I knew Nate was wrong.

Matt Sturniolo doesn’t like me.

a/n: nate is playing matchmaker and EVERYONES jumping to conclusions

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#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers #matt sturniolo fanfic

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holysmokesblog · 3 months ago

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The Gray Reunion

Vi x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Violence, mentions of illness, blood, slightly spicy kisses ;)

Summary: In the midst of the chaos, you struggle to help the people of the Lanes. The truth behind the disaster sparks a confrontation that will test your bonds

Note:English is not my first language, sorry

In the past few hours, your modest apartment had turned into chaos. At least a dozen people had knocked on your door seeking help, intoxicated by something you hadn’t seen in years.

They could barely fit into the small living room, which also served as your kitchen and bedroom, waiting for you to help them, coughing out toxic fumes. Everyone expected you, just as your father had done in the past, to help or offer a solution, but you were completely lost, fumbling with medical supplies that had been stored away for years.

"The gray," murmured an older woman who was holding her husband as he struggled to breathe.

"That’s impossible," you replied. "We haven’t had problems with that in years, the ventilation system..."

"Then there must be a leak," she interrupted, raising her voice before a violent cough cut her off. You watched as her hand was splattered with blood. She inhaled deeply before continuing, "I’ve been through this before, but we don’t have the years on us anymore. Your father treated it countless times. Doesn’t he have notes somewhere?"

You sighed in defeat. "I’ve lost most of Dad’s things over the years. All I have left is what you see." You placed the stethoscope on a child’s back to listen to his breathing. "There’s nothing I can do. We just have to wait for the lungs to clean themselves... and stay far from the leak."

A collective groan arose from the people packed into your small space. "And how are we supposed to do that? We live there! Where can we go?" Various complaints began to rise.

"I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t. We just have to wait until they repair the leak."

"They’re not going to fix it! It’s those damn enforcers! They’re killing us to get to Jinx!" Another wave of murmurs rippled through the room.

You tried to remain calm. Could that be true? Were the people above really capable of poisoning everyone just to catch Jinx? Those above had taken so much from you already that it seemed entirely plausible. But then an image came to mind—Violet. She was in Piltover now, and she would never let this happen, not to the place that had been her home for so many years and still was yours. Right?

You continued your work, trying to calm the rebellion brewing in your living room, tending to the most severe cases of nosebleeds and eye hemorrhages. But there wasn’t much more you could do. Around three in the morning, the last person finally left.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto your bed, utterly defeated. Chances were, all the patients you’d seen today would return tomorrow with new symptoms. It was impossible to recover from the gray while constantly exposed to it. You knew that if it was a crack, it would take years to fix. And if it was intentional, if they were hunting Jinx... that would also take time. There was no way they’d catch her.

A knock on the door kept you from falling completely asleep. You cursed under your breath—new patients. Your father’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you how he wouldn’t rest until he’d helped the last person who needed him. You repeated the phrase to yourself before getting up to answer the door, only to be met with a great surprise.

Vi stood there, but the most shocking thing was her outfit. She was dressed as a full-fledged officer, an enforcer. You couldn’t suppress a gasp of utter disbelief. You had spent years of your life together; you knew her story as well as your own, and never would you have imagined the possibility of her wearing something like that—not even as a joke.

"I’m truly surprised," you murmured. She scoffed in irritation. You stepped aside to let her in, and she dropped her new, heavy gloves onto your floor. You bit your lip to keep from scolding her.

The past few days had been madness: Vi’s return, the search for Jinx, and your responsibilities trying to honor your father’s legacy had left you with barely a moment to breathe.

"Lots of patients?" she asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Too many," you replied, collapsing onto the bed again. She still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "You can lie down if you want... Unless you’re scared of dirtying that pretty uniform." She let out a short laugh before lying down next to you.

"I’ve barely seen you since you came back... I don’t think I ever got to tell you how happy I am that you’re here... Despite everything."

"Yeah, I suppose the first hug you gave me said it all."

"I mean it, Vi," you said, turning to face her. "Everything got so hard, but now you’re here, and I feel like things will get better."

She smiled faintly. "Yeah, we just have to fix a few things, and everything will improve." She propped herself up to sit beside you. "You look really pretty," she added. "Those dark circles suit you."

You couldn’t help but laugh. For just a moment, all the bad things disappeared. It was just the two of you in your small apartment—no Jinx, no gray, no problems in the Lanes. Just you two. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. She froze for a moment.

"I thought you missed me," she teased.

"I did."

"That’s not a reunion kiss. This is." Without warning, she leaned over and kissed you deeply. You welcomed her eagerly—it was like a breath of fresh air, something rare where you’d grown up. The kisses grew more intense, and your hands wandered over her torso and back. Vi positioned herself on top of you, using her hand for support on your pillow. But she quickly pulled it back.

"What’s this?" she asked.

You looked to the side, confused, and saw a large bloodstain. You hadn’t even noticed it. You sighed. "I’m really sorry." You sat up slightly, but Vi didn’t move off you. You grabbed the pillow and threw it to the other side of the room. "It’s been such a complicated day with the ventilation cracks."

"Yeah, don’t worry. I’m not at my best, either."

"Doesn’t seem like it." You kissed her intensely again, and she adjusted immediately.

"When all this is over, we should go on a real date. Like dinner and all that cheesy stuff."

You laughed against her lips at her failed attempt at romance. "I just hope it’s soon."

"It will be," she declared confidently. "Once they catch Jinx, everything will get better, and life in the Lanes will change—just like Vander always wanted."

Vi’s hands slipped under your shirt as you shared another passionate kiss, but her words lingered in your mind.

"Wait, wait, no," you said, pushing her slightly so she moved off you.

"Oh, do you want to take control, doll?" she teased.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" She looked confused, so you pushed her again to sit beside you. "The gas? Was it you?"

Vi stayed silent, hesitant to answer.

"Is this some kind of joke? You’re poisoning us just to catch your sister?" you shouted, furious.

"Hey, hey, it’s not like that... I mean, yes, but not how you think."

"You bitch," you spat, jumping out of bed. "Do you even understand the damage you’ve caused?"

"Listen to me. We used the gray to clear the streets, to keep people safe," she tried to explain.

"Used? Who’s ‘we’? You and your new enforcer friends? Well, you didn’t protect anyone!" You exploded. "Do you have any idea how many people you hurt? At least fifty came here today!"

"She’s a murderer! She killed half the council, she—"

"She’s not a traitor," you cut her off sharply.

The room fell silent as you watched Vi clench her fists in anger. You’d struck a nerve.

"Did you really do this for her? Or did your new enforcer friend convince you?" you spat, unable to hide your disgust.

"Don’t call her that!" Vi’s hands grabbed the collar of your shirt, pushing you against the wall.

You stayed inches apart for what felt like ten seconds before she let go, though she didn’t step back. Her heavy breathing mixed with yours, and you could smell the perfume from her uniform—a scent impossible to find down here.

"Get out of my house," you whispered.

"You have to understand—"

"Get out!"

Vi sighed loudly, grabbed her heavy gloves from the floor, and walked to the door. You opened it for her, stepping aside. She crossed the threshold without meeting your gaze but stopped in the doorway.

"I hope your new friend is worth it." She didn’t turn around, just kept walking down the dark street, away from your home.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

What had you expected? Nothing had stayed the same over the years.

You locked the door before collapsing into bed. Tomorrow would be another hard day in the Lanes.

#arcane netflix #arcane series #league of legends #league of leguends #vi arcane #arcane lol #arcane league of legends #arcane x reader #arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #the grey #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane season two

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dovesdreaming · 5 months ago

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Beyond the scrubs

Summary: Alex karev is dating an attending (reader) in secret until he can’t take the hiding anymore.

A/n: I’ve forgot to say on my other posts but thank you for 300 followers (now more) <3

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: talk of injuries

It started as a fling-no promises, no complications, just a way to blow off steam during the long, grueling hours at Seattle Grace. Alex Karev wasn’t the type to settle down, and you weren’t the type to let yourself get caught up in messy entanglements. You were both driven, ambitious, and in control. At least, that’s what you told yourselves. The on-call room was your safe haven, the place where you could steal moments together, away from prying eyes and the judgmental whispers that filled the hospital corridors. Late at night, when the rest of the world was sleeping, you’d find each other in the dimly lit room, the only sounds being the hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of scrubs.

“Hey, you” you whispered as you slipped into the room, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. Alex was already there, leaning against the wall with that familiar smirk that always made your stomach flutter. “Hey yourself” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “Long night?”. “Isn’t it always?” You sighed, walking over to him. The stress of the day seemed to melt away the moment you were in his arms, your bodies fitting together perfectly. You kissed, slowly at first, savoring the few minutes you had together. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was part of it. There was something more between you both, something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit.

As you pulled away, you looked into Alex’s eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. “We need to be careful” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “If anyone finds out…” “I know” Alex cut you off, his tone more serious now. “But I don’t want to stop”. “Neither do I” you admitted, your resolve wavering. “But we both know how it’ll look. I’m an attending, and you’re… well, you”. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor”. Alex quipped, his smirk returning, but there was a tension in his jaw that you didn’t miss. Your expression softened, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re a damn good doctor, Alex. One of the best. But people talk, and the last thing I want is for anyone to think you’re getting special treatment because of… this”.

Alex’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I know I’ve earned my place here. And so do you”. His words sent a warmth through you and you found herself smiling despite the situation. “You’re right” you said softly. “We’ll just have to be smart about it”. “Yeah, smart” Alex echoed, though there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he was already planning on breaking that rule.

As the weeks went by, you managed to keep your relationship under wraps. You were careful. No stolen glances during rounds, no lingering touches in the halls. But there were moments when the facade almost slipped, when Alex’s hand would brush against yours, or when you would catch yourself watching him a little too intently as he worked.

It was during a particularly stressful day in the ER that you had your first real scare. A trauma case had come in, a young boy, barely ten, with a gunshot wound to the chest. It was all hands on deck, and the pressure was palpable as the team worked to stabilize him. Alex was in the thick of it, his hands steady as he assisted Dr. Bailey with the surgery. You watched from the sidelines, your heart in her throat as you fought to save the boy’s life. When it was finally over, and the boy was stable, the tension broke like a dam, relief flooding the room. “Good work, Karev” Bailey said gruffly, her way of acknowledging a job well done. Alex nodded, pulling off his gloves and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. As he turned to leave, he caught your eye. For a split second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, the intensity of the moment pulling them together like a magnet. Without thinking, Alex reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture that was too familiar, too intimate for the public setting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly pulled away, your eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Dr. Bailey’s sharp gaze was on you both, and you felt a pang of panic. But before she could say anything, Bailey turned away, muttering something about paperwork and leaving the room.

“Close call” Alex murmured as you walked out of the OR, his voice laced with a mix of relief and amusement. “Too close” you replied, your pulse still racing. “We have to be more careful, Alex. If Bailey had said something..” “But she didn’t,” Alex interrupted, his expression serious. “Look, I get it. We have to keep this quiet. But I’m not going to act like I don’t care about you. Not in here” he gestured to the hallway around them, “and not out there”. You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had to keep your distance, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a determination there, a certainty that you couldn’t deny. So instead, you nodded, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

It was a few weeks later when everything came to a head. You’d been playing the game for so long, sneaking around, keeping your relationship hidden, that it was starting to wear on both of you. Alex was growing more frustrated, his usual bravado masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface. You too were feeling the strain, the constant fear of being discovered gnawing at your nerves. The final straw came during a particularly hectic day in the clinic. Alex had been working nonstop, dealing with a never ending stream of patients, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. You wanted to reach out, to offer him a moment of comfort, but there were too many eyes, too many people who could see.

And then it happened.

One of the other attendings, Dr. Stevens, made a comment, a casual remark about how Alex was getting all the best cases, how he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. It was said in jest, but the implication was clear: favoritism. You felt your stomach drop, the color draining from your face as the words hung in the air. You waited for Alex to brush it off, to let it slide like he usually did. But instead, he snapped.

“Maybe I get the best cases because I’m a damn good doctor” Alex retorted, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Or is that too hard for you to believe?”. The room went silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. You could see the shock on everyone’s faces, the way they exchanged glances, as if suddenly realizing there was more going on than they’d thought. Dr. Stevens opened his mouth to respond, but Alex didn’t give him the chance. “You know what? Screw this. Yeah, I’m seeing Dr. Y/L/N We’ve been together for a while now. And it’s got nothing to do with my work. So if anyone’s got a problem with that, say it now”.

Your heart stopped, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just done. Alex had just blown your cover, exposed your relationship to the entire room. But as you looked at him, standing there with that defiant look in his eyes, you realised something. You didn’t care. You weren’t ashamed of what you had, and you weren’t going to let anyone make you feel like you should be. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your voice steady as you spoke. “Alex is right. Our relationship is personal, and it has no bearing on the work we do here. If anyone has a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

There was a murmur of surprise, but no one challenged you. Dr. Stevens, for his part, looked chastened, muttering an apology under his breath. As the room slowly returned to its usual hum of activity, Alex turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Yeah” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m sure”.

And just like that, the secret was out. It wasn’t easy, and there were still challenges to face. Whispers in the halls, disapproving looks from some of your colleagues but you faced it together, no longer hiding, no longer pretending. Because in the end, it wasn’t about what anyone else thought. It was about the connection you shared, the trust you had in each other. And that was something worth owning, something worth fighting for.

Thank you for reading <3

#blog #fanfiction #fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #disney #greys anatomy x reader #greys anatomy #greys anatomy fanfiction #alex karev #alex karev x reader #doctor reader

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auraxins · 7 months ago

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notes: sunday x gn!reader, angst, post-penacony story (inc. spoilers)

vomited this out at 4am with no edits and no attention to coherency you're welcome goodnight

When you're granted access to visit Sunday, a part of you wishes that The Family had told you no.

His cell is imposing, far larger than he has any need for, with elaborate chains keeping his arms shackled above his head. There is something about the droop to his frame, the aversion of his gaze, his closed eyes, that tightens your chest.

He looks small.

He looks lonely.

(You're hurt, you remind yourself. In his endeavours to rid his world of the ardors of survival, Sunday had hurt you. He had hurt so many of the people you cared about.)

And yet there is a pain etched deep into his face when he finally looks up at you. Those golden eyes are tarnished, tired, but most importantly they are surprised. (Whether it's because he sees you, or that he's been warranted a visitor in the first place, you remain unsure.)

You take a tentative step forward. The guards outside move back into formation as the cell door falls shut.

Sunday doesn't speak. You don't think you want him to. He simply watches, with those pained eyes, as you decide what to do.

"I haven't forgiven you," you speak at last, choking down your nerves. "You know that, don't you?"

Dry lips part, then close. He opts instead to nod.

You take another step, and another, til a mere stretch of your arm separates you from the silken feathers around his head. (A distant, echoing voice at the back of your mind lists off all you might be capable of from this distance. Another cries out to flee.)

"I trusted you." Though you try to stifle it, your voice cracks. "You broke my trust, Sunday."

He can't seem to find the words to answer you today. It's a palpable change from how talkative you're used to him. (You wonder briefly whether it would be easier for him to speak back, or if you prefer it this way. At least you've the freedom to say what's on your mind.)

"You know, at first they wanted to arrest me too." A dry, bitter laugh escapes you. "The Family thought I was working with you. I wouldn't be surprised if they still did. Maybe that's the only reason I've been allowed to see you, so they can figure it out for themselves."

You move to sit, cross-legged on the floor at Sunday's feet. Looking up at him like this feels uncomfortable, strange, but it also gives you the perfect angle to get a better look at him.

Despite the dishevelled clothes and hair that are so clearly a result of the aftermath of his incarceration, he maintains a faint air of elegance. It is settled into the fine curve of his jaw, the delicate long lashes that frame those tarnished eyes- which continue to watch you with an amalgam of pain and surprise- and in the sweeping arc of his body as he leans forwards in his chair.

He's beautiful, as he always has been.

And yet it remains difficult to separate him from the image of that ascended monster you'd observed the Express engage in battle. The looming figure, the stark brightness of its porcelain form, had haunted you for days. Almost weeks.

(But Sunday himself has haunted you for far longer.

He continues to now, with his silence, with his gaze. Akin to a ghost, the man you have allowed to obscure your mind lingers fleeting and restless.)

When he speaks at last, after so many year-long minutes, you fear you've succumbed to a hallucination.

"I've missed you," he says. It comes out rasped, strained, accompanied with a heaving cough, but it rings out clear as day in the silence of his cell.

A soft jingling, then a harsh clank, draws your attention to the chains above his head. He'd tried to move his arm, you surmise, and failed miserably. You can't decide if you're glad he can't reach out to touch you like he seems to want. (Your fingers twitch at your sides, echoing the sentiment.)

Sunday once longed for freedom. In the sanctity of his office, he had told you as much. The metal that bites against his wrists and ankles now feels so terribly far removed from such a vision. (If he had the chance, would he have taken it back and spread his wings? Or has he always been fated to remain caged?)

Your chest heaves as you feel a tear well up in the corner of your eye.

(You can't cry here, not now. Not in front of him.)

One of the guards knocks on the door. One more minute. A sigh of relief falls past your lips.

"You're leaving already?" Sunday asks. If you didn't know better, you'd think those dulled eyes of his mirrored your own right now.

You don't speak as you walk to the door, waiting patiently for the guards to let you leave.

Through the final stretch of light that paints his cell, you take one more glance to him. You try not to catch what he mouths, but the sight is seared in your mind within an instant.

"Is everything okay?" A guard asks, arm outstretched to escort you from the prison.

"I suppose it'll have to be," you say.

#sunday x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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ssa-dado · 4 months ago

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17 - My Decline

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: slow burn, fluff, platonic only for the two of them Summary: You return to the BAU after receiving a call from Erin Strauss, informing you of Hotch's suspension and offering you the role of Unit Chief for two weeks. Despite your initial hesitation, you accept. Visiting Aaron Hotchner later, you share a heartfelt conversation, reflecting on your past, and the complexity of balancing personal life and work. As your first case unfolds, you call him after a long night, easing the tension with humor and familiarity. Warnings: Grief, abuse of power, blackmail, Strauss being Strauss Word Count: 9.8k - my fault - I love when they tease each other Dado's Corner: Thank you for sticking with me through that last chapter! Initially, I’d planned to cover the events of 3x2 as well, but as I wrote, I realized that would mean adding another 15k words. I already have a cute scene written where Y/N interacts with the team as Unit Chief on their first case. Would you be interested in reading that in the next chapter, or are you happy with the temporary version of Y/N as Unit Chief with the final scene I included in this part? My inbox, DMs, and comments are open for your thoughts!

masterlist

Every time you returned to Riverhead, it was as though the town held its breath, waiting to pull you back into shadows you had tried so hard to leave behind. Work seemed to find you here with an unyielding persistence, like a ghostly echo refusing to fade.

You’d joke about it sometimes, saying it was your father’s ghost that stirred things up. It was easier to pin it on him than to admit the truth: that you still had never truly left your work behind, not fully.

And perhaps, in some way, he hadn’t either. He’d been a man devoted to his work, and maybe, in the quiet corners of this town, traces of that dedication lingered, like invisible threads stretching from one part of your life to another, reeling you back in whenever you drifted too far.

Today, though, you had hoped for silence, a chance to let the quiet wash over you, to absorb the memories without interruption, like a sponge soaking up all the forgotten echoes of the past. Today, you wanted to sit with the pain, to breathe it in, to feel every bit of it as a way of holding onto something long gone.

Walking in the cemetery felt like slipping back in time, as though you were stepping into a version of yourself you barely recognized. The years had dulled some things but never fully erased them; grief had etched itself into your bones, a quiet companion you’d come to carry with you everywhere.

Grief, in its own way, had become a fragile thread tying you to the memories you didn’t want to lose. Sometimes, you even found yourself grateful for the pain - it was a reminder, the only way of still keeping him close. It was the proof that he had once been here, that his absence now carried meaning.

Just then, your phone buzzed, a shrill interruption that broke through the delicate quiet you’d wrapped around yourself, shattering the stillness you had hoped to preserve.

Of course. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“Agent Y/L/N?” The voice on the other end was cool and composed, edged with authority. “This is Erin Strauss, Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I believe you’re familiar with me.”

You took a steadying breath, straightening your posture instinctively, though the name on the other end of the line tightened something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried. “Yes, Agent Strauss,” you replied, keeping your tone polite, neutral, though the tension was harder to mask than you’d hoped. “It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you.”

But the truth was, the only reason you knew of Erin Strauss was because of the last person you wanted to think of here, in this place where memory was still raw and sacred.

His name rose, unbidden, lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

“Likewise,” she replied, her voice a cold, clinical blade, slicing through the air. There was no pretense of warmth, no room for pleasantries. “I’ll get straight to the point. I trust you’re aware that Agent Hotchner has been suspended pending further investigation into his conduct.”

Agent Hotchner.

Suspended.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, as if the air itself had turned to lead, pressing down on you. You wanted to ask what had happened, to reach out and tear the answers from her, but you stopped yourself, knew you had no right to know.

Not anymore.

You pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose, fighting for composure, feeling that old, raw fury clawing its way to the surface. How was it that he could still do this to you? How could he, after all these months, still find his way into the cracks of your life, seeping through like some lingering ghost that refused to be exorcised?

You had thought - foolishly, naively - that you’d finally carved out a life beyond his reach, a place where he could no longer haunt you. And yet here he was, even now, his presence clinging to you, seeping back into your world as if he had never left, pulling you back into a storm you had fought so hard to leave behind.

“I wasn’t aware of it. Not at all,” you replied, keeping your tone even, a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.

But there it was, that flicker of concern, betraying you in ways you thought you’d buried. Even over the line, you could sense Strauss dissecting it, reading into the silence, filing it away as if she could pull apart your thoughts by their lingering echoes.

“Well, he has,” Strauss continued, her voice precise and clinical “Which brings me to the reason I’m calling. I’m offering you the position of Unit Chief for the next two weeks during Agent Hotchner’s suspension. Your experience in behavioral analysis, particularly your work across Europe, has been… noteworthy. I’m sure your unique perspective will be useful to the team during this transitional period.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no real admiration behind the compliment. It was as if she were reciting a list of credentials from a file, rehearsed and impersonal, a courtesy she barely found necessary.

“You’ve clearly kept your skills sharp,” Strauss went on, her voice smooth but with an undercurrent that hinted at a carefully concealed disdain. “Your approach to teaching behavioral analysis is, admittedly, unconventional, but I can appreciate the results. And, of course, I already have proof that you’re capable of handling this role. Your assistance on that active case a few months ago was… impressive, given the circumstances.”

Her voice took on a faint edge, an almost imperceptible shift in tone. “Yes, your input was quite thorough, handling an active case remotely while simultaneously using it as material in your class. Creative, to say the least. Though I imagine that level of multitasking might have had something to do with the procedural lapses that Agent Hotchner is now being scrutinized for.” She let the words linger, a barely disguised dig cloaked in the form of praise.

A surge of guilt twisted in your chest, the memory of that case coming back with a painful clarity. You’d offered to take on the paperwork, had insisted on it, hoping to shield Aaron from the potential fallout.

But of course, he hadn’t let you.

Always so determined to take the brunt, even when he hadn’t put a foot wrong, as if it was some kind of penance he couldn’t quite absolve himself from - he always did that.

Always insisting on being the shield for his team, stepping in to shoulder the blame even when the choices hadn’t been his. It was as though he’d internalized everyone else’s missteps, using them as a way to reinforce some twisted version of leadership, one that blurred the line between loyalty and martyrdom. You’d wanted him to let you handle it, to let you bear the consequences of your own decisions, but he had blocked you at every turn, unwilling to cede even a fraction of control.

Strauss continued, her voice almost syrupy, a layer of falseness woven into her words. “Your ability to work under pressure is something I can certainly appreciate, and I imagine your insight could be… helpful, given the current state of the BAU. This is an opportunity for you to step into a role that aligns perfectly with the skill set you’ve cultivated over the years. After all, that case demonstrated a particular tenacity I’m sure will be invaluable to the team in Agent Hotchner’s absence.”

It was a backhanded compliment, laced with subtle reminders of the position she held over both of you, a demonstration of her power to pull strings and twist the narrative to suit her ends.

She was offering you the role, but not out of genuine respect for your abilities. No, it was simply another move in the game she was playing, a way to manipulate and control the situation, to remind you - and perhaps more importantly, Aaron - that she held the reins, that she could dangle your career, your reputation, like a puppet on a string.

You could feel the trap closing, the subtle manipulation laced within her words. “Agent Strauss, I appreciate the offer,” you replied, choosing a measured tone, “I’m not sure I’m the right fit for the role, especially given that I’ve been out of the field for quite some time. I left the BAU to focus on teaching, as you know. I’m committed to that position now.”

Strauss let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s precisely why this opportunity is so valuable,” she said, her voice softening with a feigned empathy. “It allows you to step back into the role temporarily, to reconnect with the work you once dedicated yourself to. After all, you spent three years working side by side with Agent Hotchner - 1998 to 2001, wasn’t it? You were twenty-one when you joined. Such dedication at a young age.”

Strauss's words were carefully chosen, her quiet, almost predatory curiosity about your connection with Aaron cutting deeper than you’d expected. It was as though she was testing the boundaries, probing to see how far she could push, each glance sharpened with intention. Her gaze lingered, calculating, always one step ahead, watching every flicker of your reaction, waiting to see what she could draw out and use against you.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied cautiously, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “We worked together closely during that time.”

“And more closely than most, from what I understand,” Strauss continued, the hint of amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You were quite the team, both in and out of the office. But I find it curious - since you two were such… close friends, I would have expected you to check in on him after all this time. Nearly a year without any contact, if I’m not mistaken? Exactly since that case you had assisted on”

The words hit you like a cold shock, igniting a wave of disgust that you could barely contain. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy, it was the realization that she had stooped to such unethical tactics. The complete disregard for boundaries, the way she sifted through your personal history as if it were nothing more than a tool for manipulation, made your stomach twist. Your grip tightened around the phone, fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to maintain a calm facade, the resentment simmering just below the surface.

“Agent Strauss,” you began, letting a hint of disappointment seep into your voice, as though you were quietly dismayed that she would resort to such tactics. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying,” you continued, your tone sharp, “but if you’re asking me to take this position, I’ll need the terms in writing. That is protocol, after all, isn’t it?” You paused just long enough for the question to linger, then pressed on, unwavering. “I expect the details of my transfer and my return to the academy to be formally documented, and I want confirmation that my role at the BAU will be temporary - two weeks, no more, no less.”

A silence stretched between you, taut and heavy, and you could almost feel Strauss weighing your response. Finally, she spoke, her tone hardening. “You’re in no position to negotiate, Agent Y/L/N. This isn’t an offer, it’s an assignment. However, I’ll ensure that the necessary paperwork is sent to you. But let me be perfectly clear, if you’re thinking of refusing, you’d do well to remember that Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation. The future of the BAU depends on a leader who follows the rules.”

Taking a steadying breath, you kept your tone cool, sharp, refusing to let her see the turmoil beneath the surface. “And I’d remind you, Agent Strauss, that if Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation for not following protocol, then my transfer should be treated with the same level of rigor. I expect everything in writing - documented, as per procedure - before I set foot in the BAU. If you’re going to ask me to take on this role, then we’ll do so by the book.”

“Very well,” Strauss replied after a pause, her voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. “You’ll receive the documentation by the end of the day. I trust you’ll be prepared to begin on Monday.” Her words were a sharp dismissal, and before you could respond, the call ended abruptly, leaving you standing there in the cold, the silence almost jarring after her precise, clinical tone.

You turned back to your father’s grave, inhaling deeply, trying to ground yourself in the familiar stillness of this place. For a moment, you let the tension drain away, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breath, allowing a semblance of peace to return.

You cast a wry smile at the gravestone, brushing a leaf off its weathered surface. “Why don’t you ever send me calls from people who want to give me a pay raise?” you asked softly, almost imagining his laughter in response. “It’s still related to work, isn’t it?” You chuckled, the sound hollow, an echo lost in the quiet cemetery.

You had hoped, just this once, for a reprieve. Some distance, however brief, from the ghosts of your past life. But once again, work found you here, relentlessly shadowing you as if you’d never truly left it behind.

As you cleared away the dried flowers, a glint of something unusual caught your eye, half-buried in the vase at the base of the grave. Curious, you reached down, brushing off the dust until your fingers closed around a small, familiar object. The shape, the intricate details etched into the tiny replica—it took only a moment for you to recognize it.

The Guggenheim Museum.

You knew, without a doubt, who had placed it here.

Aaron.

A wave of emotion washed over you, and you felt a knot tighten in your throat, the weight of unspoken memories pressing down. He’d never mentioned it, never let on that he came here. But this small, quiet gesture, left behind in honor of your father, told you more than words ever could.

Eight years had passed, yet here it was - a piece of your history together.

Standing here now, holding that miniature Guggenheim, the memories rose up like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that you’d left him behind, that the distance you’d put between yourself and those memories was enough to protect you. But the ache was still there, raw and present, an undeniable reminder of what you’d shared.

You drew a shaky breath, closing your eyes as a single tear slipped down your cheek. You hadn’t realized, until now, just how much you had missed him - missed this, the quiet way you understood each other, even in silence.

And as you stood here, you felt something shift, a sense of clarity settling over you like the first light of dawn.

Perhaps it wasn’t the work itself that kept finding you every time you returned to Riverhead, but something else entirely - a reminder of the people who had mattered most, a call to reconcile the pieces of your life that you had so carefully separated.

You didn’t just want Aaron back in your life.

You needed him.

---

Standing outside Aaron’s door, you felt your stomach twist with nervous energy, a knot of tension growing tighter with each passing second. It had taken you over half an hour of pacing through his neighborhood, rehearsing what you would say, before you finally summoned the courage to knock.

You hadn’t called ahead. You hadn’t given him - or anyone - any warning of your visit. The thought of Strauss or someone else tracking the call, or even knowing about this meeting, felt too invasive. This needed to stay between you and Aaron.

The last time you had spoken, everything had fallen apart, like the carefully laid foundations of something important crumbling under the weight of words left unspoken for too long. But today, you needed to clear the air, no matter how painful it might be.

The door opened, and there he was.

Aaron’s eyes widened in brief surprise, his expression quickly shifting into something familiar, something that made your heart ache. You noticed immediately: his hair was cut shorter than usual, almost military in its precision, making him look even more distant. His demeanor was as calm as ever, but there was something about his appearance that hinted at the toll these past weeks had taken on him.

Without a word, he stepped aside, his gesture inviting you in with a quiet familiarity that felt both comforting and strangely tense. You brushed past him, acutely aware of the brief closeness, and the soft click of the door closing seemed almost jarring in the silence that followed. The weight of Strauss’s demands hung between you like an uninvited specter, casting a shadow over the space as you both stood there, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

The tension lingered in the space between you, an almost tangible weight pressing down on each moment of silence. Months had stretched out between you since you’d last stood like this, face to face, and with every glance, every slight shift, you could feel the weight of all the unsaid words hanging in the air. Aaron seemed to feel it too, the way his stance was just a little too stiff, his posture as guarded as his gaze, flickering between anticipation and a quiet wariness, like he was bracing for the inevitable.

“I was about to call you,” Aaron said, his voice cutting through the silence. He didn’t waste time on small talk, didn’t ask why you were here. He simply turned toward the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot. His movements were fluid, practiced, like this was something you had done a hundred times before.

You watched him for a moment, noticing how the shorter cut of his hair emphasized the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze. The look suited him in some ways, but there was something about it that felt deliberate - an attempt to regain control, to impose order on his life, especially now that the one thing that had always grounded him had been taken away.

A part of you couldn’t help but miss the way his hair used to fall loosely over his forehead, softer and more human, a subtle reminder of the man who existed outside of his role at the BAU. That version of Aaron – your best friend - seemed farther away now, replaced by someone more rigid, more distanced. He looked like a soldier who had been stripped of his command, and the realization twisted something deep inside you.

You knew he’d been telling people he was grateful for the time with Haley and Jack, and you didn’t doubt that he was. But there was a hollowness in his eyes, a quiet exhaustion that revealed the toll this suspension was taking on him. Without the job, without the structure and purpose that had defined him for so long, he seemed lost, adrift.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy for him: this man who had poured so much of himself into his work, only to find himself unmoored, stripped of the very thing that had kept him grounded.

Aaron poured two cups, sliding one across the counter toward you, and for a moment, his eyes met yours, holding your gaze. There was something so automatic about it, as though he remembered the rhythm you used to share and couldn’t help but fall back into it. You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into your fingers as you searched for the right words, feeling a sudden need to clarify, to explain.

“I didn’t know you’d heard already,” you murmured, feeling a bit vulnerable, holding the cup like it was an anchor. “Strauss didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”

He nodded, leaning back against the counter as he studied you, his eyes sharp but gentle. “Garcia mentioned the transfer papers Strauss put in. She told me you’d be taking over for a couple of weeks,” he said, his tone even, measured. “I figured it wasn’t something you’d decided on your own.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze dropping to the coffee, swirling the liquid in small circles as you spoke. “I need you to know that I never wanted this,” you said, feeling the need to rush through the words, to get them out. “I didn’t ask for this job. I never wanted to take over, not like this. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m some kind of… hypocrite. I said no before, and now here I am, back where I didn’t even want to be.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he set his coffee down on the counter, stepping closer, his posture relaxed but attentive. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice steady but kind. “I know this wasn’t your choice. Strauss is playing her games, and you’re just caught in the middle.” He paused, his expression softening as he added, “And I never thought you were a hypocrite. I get it," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "Peter wants you to have a life that allows you to be home, to have stability. I understand that more than you know."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you could see past the exhaustion, past the weight of everything he had been carrying. There was compassion there, a deep empathy that caught you off guard. “You were trying to build something stable, something you could control. That’s not wrong. But Strauss... she doesn’t leave much room for other people’s choices.”

You let out a shaky breath, there was something so grounding in his words, like he could see past everything you were struggling to say, like he understood it all without you needing to explain.

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully before continuing, his tone soft but sure. “I know you didn’t want this job. I know you didn’t ask for it. But, Y/N, you’re more ready for it than you realize.”

“Aaron, I haven’t been in the field for seven years.” your voice barely above a whisper. “The team… they respect you, Aaron. I’ve seen it. They trust you in a way I don’t think I can live up to.”

His eyes met yours, warm and steady, a quiet assurance radiating from him as he took a step closer. “You’ve been leading for years, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady and comforting. “Just in a different way. I’ve seen your students around you, the way they look up to you. This isn’t that different. You have that same ability, and they’ll see it, just like your students have.” He paused, and the intensity in his gaze deepened, a softness to his expression that made your heart ache. “They’ll trust you because you’ve earned it, Y/N. You’ve always been a natural leader. You’re stronger than you think.”

You felt a flicker of doubt, but his words gave you something to hold onto, a thread of belief that, maybe, you could do this. You gave a small, tentative smile, your voice barely audible. “I hope you’re right, Aaron.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, a warmth in his eyes you hadn’t seen in ages. Then, with a small smile, he softened, almost teasingly, “I’m always right, you know.” But the lightness in his tone faded, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. “And I know you’ll do this well. Better than anyone else could. I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it.”

Aaron paused, his expression turning wistful. “You were there for me when I needed someone to remind me of who I was. You’ve done that for everyone around you, always giving so much of yourself. That’s why I trust you with this. I trust you to lead them. Because I know that no matter what, you’ll always find a way to lift people up when they need it most. You did that for me more times than I can count, and you’re going to do it for them.”

A lump formed in your throat, emotion thickening your voice as you replied, “Thank you, Aaron.” The words felt inadequate, a mere echo of the gratitude swelling inside you, but they were all you could manage. Still, the enormity of the role - of stepping into his shoes, even temporarily - was almost overwhelming. The silence between you thickened as you gathered the courage to say the next thing weighing heavily on your mind.

Although his eyes flicked down briefly to your left hand, noticing what wasn’t there. The engagement ring. You saw his gaze, the way he hesitated, the slight furrow of his brow as he registered the absence of the ring. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t push. You noticed, tucking your hand into your lap with a quiet smile.

“You were right about the ring,” you said softly. “It was uncomfortable. So now… I wear it as a necklace.” You pulled the delicate chain from under your collar, the engagement ring hanging there like an afterthought, catching the light. His eyes lingered on it, the slightest tension in his jaw, but he nodded, a silent acknowledgment of what he’d told you all those months ago.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with a hint of vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I’m sorry, you know. For everything that happened that night. I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You offered him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, too. You were right about a lot of things. I just… wasn’t ready to accept them back then.” You sighed, the weight of your words settling between you. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away like that. Not without trying to make things right.”

He looked at you, his own smile mirroring yours, touched with a sadness that spoke of all the unspoken moments between you. “How did Peter take it?” he asked, his voice gentle, carefully treading into territory he knew was delicate.

You sighed, feeling the tension knotting in your chest again. “Not well,” you admitted, your voice quiet, strained. “We argued… a lot. He wants stability, a family, and I tried to explain that going back to the BAU was only temporary, that it was just for two weeks. But then he just - he snapped. He said I didn’t love him, that I’d never done enough to build a life with him. He’s never been like that before, Aaron. I’ve never seen that side of him.”

Your voice wavered as you continued, the pain of the argument spilling out. “I don’t know how he still doesn’t see everything I’ve given up for him. I left Europe, I left the life I was just starting to love because I thought it was what he wanted, and still… I’m never enough. I can never be enough.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he listened, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. He stepped a little closer, but didn’t push, didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give. Instead, he let a few seconds of silence settle between you, his gaze steady and full of a quiet understanding.

“You are enough, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. He spoke like it was a truth he'd always known, something he needed you to believe. “I’ve always thought so,” Aaron added quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, the depth of his sincerity almost too much to bear.

You held his gaze, searching for something you hadn’t known you’d been looking for. His words lingered, quiet and sincere, slipping into the hidden spaces within you where you’d kept so much of this buried. You took a breath, reaching into your cardigan pocket, your fingers brushing against the small object you’d carried all the way from Riverhead. With a steady breath, you pulled it out and set it gently on the counter, your hand lingering on the tiny replica for just a moment before withdrawing.

Aaron’s eyes fell to the miniature, widening as he recognized it. When he looked back up, his face softened, surprise mingling with a depth of emotion that you hadn’t expected to see. For a second, he was motionless, the realization settling over him, raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words breaking through the silence, fragile but laced with all the meaning you couldn’t put into words. “Thank you for paying your respects to my father. You didn’t have to… you never even met him. But it means more to me than you know.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but for a moment, nothing came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he glanced down, swallowing hard as he brushed a hand quickly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled, thick with the weight of everything he had never said. “I didn’t think you’d ever find it. Or if you did, I never thought you’d bring it up.”

Aaron's words barely rose above a whisper, yet they weighed heavy in the air between you. "But it felt right. Like the only way I could… honor him, even in some small way. He meant the world to you, and I - I needed to acknowledge that. It was that case, you know? When we stayed awake all night in that library… it’s when I realized that I wanted you in my life. It was my promise to always be there by your side, because he couldn’t anymore. That’s why I left it there.”

His words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like tendrils of unspoken emotion, thick and charged. And before you had a chance to gather a response, Aaron stepped forward, reaching out with a suddenness that took your breath away. In an instant, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, a tenderness that felt as real and grounding as the earth beneath your feet.

It was rare, this openness from him. All the few times you’d hugged before, it had always been you - arms outstretched, drawing him into a space he hadn’t often allowed himself. But now, it was his embrace wrapping around you, holding on like he was silently declaring something he hadn’t yet found the words for.

You could feel the solid strength of his chest against you, steady and warm, and for a moment, you let yourself fall into the closeness, let your chin rest just above his shoulder as you exhaled, melting into the comfort of him.

His hand found its way to the back of your neck, gentle yet firm, grounding you further. He held you as if he were memorizing the feel of you, as if he needed this connection as much as you did. And in that closeness, your senses were awash with the scent of him, a quiet, earthy warmth that rose around you.

Together, your scents created something unexpected, like stumbling upon a rose bush hidden deep within a dense forest, the fresh bloom intertwining with the quiet strength of the woods around it. The combined warmth was heady, almost tangible, filling the air with a fragrance that felt at once familiar and new, as though it had always been waiting to be discovered.

“I’ve missed you,” Aaron whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a gentle shiver through you - not from the chill, but from the tenderness wrapped around his words. His voice held a softness that cracked open something deep inside, making you feel, perhaps for the first time, the full weight of the time and distance that had stood between you. It was as if, in that quiet admission, all the years apart came rushing back, each one settling around you, filling the space with an undeniable, aching presence.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink further into the warmth of his embrace, tightening your hold on him as though anchoring yourself to this moment,

To him.

“I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You simply held on, breathing in the mingling scents, letting the silence settle around you like a blanket, thick and comforting. It felt like you were standing outside of time, wrapped up in the solace of his arms, the weight of the months and unspoken words slipping away.

His hand traced slow, steady patterns across your back, the rhythmic motion grounding you in a way that made you feel like you had finally come home. There was no rush, no urgency - only the quiet presence of the two of you, finding a calm within each other that neither of you had felt in so long.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands lingering on your shoulders, his eyes soft and searching. His gaze held yours, steady and tender, like he was trying to etch this moment into memory. There was an understanding there, a quiet reassurance that reached places you’d hidden away, his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel safe, seen, and understood.

You didn’t need words to fill the space between you, because everything you’d been longing to say had already been spoken, carried in the warmth of his arms, in the softness of his gaze.

“Actually, I have something else to ask you, I have a deal for you” he began, his voice carrying a warmth that made your chest tighten. He gave a small, tentative smile, and you could tell by the way he looked at you that this was important.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Another deal? You know, the last one didn’t exactly end well,” you teased, trying to lighten the moment, though your heart raced a little at what he might say next.

Aaron’s chuckle was rich and warm, filling the space between you and wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. “Well, that’s because you made the deal,” he replied, eyes twinkling with just a touch of mischief. “This time, it’s my turn.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you met his gaze, feigning a look of skepticism. “Oh, is it?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Go ahead, Hotchner. Let’s hear this all-important deal of yours.”

He leaned forward, his expression shifting to something a little more serious. “I have this… arrangement with the team,” he started, his tone quieter. “After each case, I fill in some of their reports - the less critical stuff, like case summaries, time logs, expense forms. That way, they can focus on the work that really matters, and when they get back, they’re not bogged down by paperwork.”

You felt a surge of warmth blossom in your chest, and your heart swelled as you listened. It was so undeniably Aaron, always thinking of others, taking on the less glamorous parts of the job so his team wouldn’t have to. “You’re incredible, you know that?” you said softly, the admiration in your voice clear. “All these little things you do for them… they have no idea, do they?”

He shrugged, giving you a small, modest smile. “They don’t need to know. They’re busy enough as it is,” he replied, his voice steady. “But with me gone, I need someone I trust to handle it. Just for these two weeks. I’d ask that you keep it between us, though,” he added, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “The last thing I want is for them to realize those reports even exist. They’re the kind of forms that can eat up hours, and I don’t want anyone else spending their time on them.”

You nodded, understanding both the significance of the task and the trust he was placing in you. “Of course, I’ll do it,” you replied without hesitation. “You don’t have to offer me anything in return, Aaron. I’d be happy to help you with this.”

But he shook his head, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, I don’t think you understand. I’m asking you to do something major,” he teased, his voice lightening as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know how it feels to come back after a rough case, only to stay even later to handle things that technically aren’t your responsibility. So, let’s make this interesting.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his stance, a smile beginning to form as you sensed where he was headed.

“Yes, here’s the deal,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with a familiar spark. “If you agree to handle these reports in absolute secrecy, and you pull it off without the team ever suspecting a thing, I’ll owe you a favor. You get one pass, redeemable whenever you want… and I’ll play something for you. On the guitar.”

You blinked, a warm smile spreading across your face as his words sank in. Memories of your first case together surfaced, and you were suddenly back on that train, laughing as he’d reluctantly admitted he could play. You’d been curious then, teasing him, trying to get him to prove it. But he’d kept that part of himself hidden, reluctant to share it. And now, all these years later, he was finally willing to let you in.

“You’re serious?” you asked softly, your smile widening as you searched his face for confirmation. “You’d actually let me hear you play?”

He nodded, his expression earnest, a gentle warmth in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “Yes. Just this once.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the warmth in your chest growing. “Aaron, I would’ve done this even without the offer. You didn’t need to put anything on the line. But now that you’ve offered… I’m holding you to it,” you replied, your tone both lighthearted and sincere.

He smiled, and you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle as he extended his hand, his voice taking on a formal tone. “Deal,” he said, as if it were a high-stakes negotiation.

You squeezed his hand gently, savoring the warmth and solidity of his grasp, letting the moment stretch a little longer than necessary. “You know, lawyers… always making deals,” you quipped, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

He chuckled softly, his hand still warm in yours. “We just like to cover our bases,” he replied, a playful tone weaving through his words. His gaze softened as he added, “Besides, I had to make it worth your while. You’ll understand after you get through a few of those reports. And if you ever need anything, you know I’m only one call away.”

You let out a small laugh, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you replied, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage. You, on the other hand, should try enjoying this break. Spend some time with Haley and Jack; you’ve earned it, and they’ll love having you around more.” Your tone grew softer, more sincere. “I know how hard it is for you to let go, even for a little while. But you deserve this, Aaron. And I promise, everything’s going to be fine.”

He looked down, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, but you could see the tension in his eyes, the weight he carried so silently. You held his gaze, your tone shifting back to seriousness as you continued, “The investigation will be over before you know it. They’ll see the truth of how much you care about your team and the dedication you put into your work. You’re the best person for this job, Aaron. Nobody else could lead the team the way you do. Two weeks will fly by, and when it’s over, everything will be back to normal.”

You paused, a small grin breaking through the seriousness as you added, “Though I can’t promise the team won’t be quoting Plato and Nietzsche by the time you come back. They might even learn a thing or two about Socrates if they’re lucky.”

He let out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as he shook his head, mock exasperation coloring his expression. “Oh, great. Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine the look on Morgan’s face when he tries to decipher why you’re discussing the allegory of the cave while tracking a suspect.”

“Well, consider it an upgrade,” you replied, matching his tone, “just expanding the minds of tomorrow, one Socratic method at a time. Plus, if anything, they’ll come to appreciate your much more straightforward, no-nonsense approach even more.”

He let out a sigh, feigning defeat. “Touché,” he replied, chuckling, then gave you a teasing look. “Just don’t go turning the team into a bunch of philosophical skeptics, alright? I think I’d prefer them grounded in reality.”

You grinned, unable to hold back a laugh. “You have my word,” you replied, though a mischievous glint lingered in your eyes. “No deep-dive existential debates while they’re on the clock… well, unless it’s really necessary.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a warmth in his gaze that lingered. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but full of something deeper, a sincere gratitude that reached beyond words. “For the reassurance. I don’t know how you do it, but you always seem to know exactly what to say.”

You felt a gentle tug in your chest, a familiar sense of understanding between you that had always been there, even through the silences and the distance. “I guess it’s part of the job,” you teased lightly, your smile softening. “Reading people.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, smirking as he shook his head. “Don’t go thinking you’ve got me all figured out now,” he replied, the hint of challenge in his voice playful but with an undeniable warmth behind it.

“Oh, I already have,” you shot back, a spark of playful defiance in your tone, though your eyes stayed warm and full of affection. “And don’t lie to my face, Aaron, saying you can’t read me like an open book. We both know you can.”

His smirk turned softer, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Let’s not go there,” he said gently, the edge of a smile still tugging at his lips. Then, his voice dropped to something more serious, more intimate, as he added, “Just... take care of them. And of yourself, alright?”

His words held more than just the usual weight of concern; there was something else there, a quiet plea, a tenderness that went beyond the job. You nodded, feeling your heart swell in your chest as the moment stretched between you, full of unspoken things, and yet, for once, you didn’t need words to fill the space.

“I will,” you promised, your voice soft but full of certainty. “And Aaron... take care of yourself, too. You’ve been carrying a lot for a long time.”

His gaze met yours, full of unspoken understanding. He nodded, his eyes holding yours for just a moment longer before he finally said, “I will.”

---

It was just after 5 a.m. in Newport, and the town lay cloaked in a thick layer of early morning fog, everything still and untouched by the first light. You were perched on the edge of your hotel bed, mind racing despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, every muscle still tense from your very first day as Unit Chief.

You hadn’t been in the room more than half an hour, but the adrenaline still pulsed faintly in your veins, keeping sleep at bay. Without thinking too much about it, you reached for your phone, scrolling to Aaron’s number. You knew he was awake - 8 a.m. in D.C. was a sure bet that he’d already be up, probably with a cup of coffee in hand, well into his morning routine.

You dialed his number, the soft ring cutting through the silence of your dim room. There was a flicker of hesitation as you listened to the tone. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to call him, maybe he wouldn’t want to hear about this. But then, on the third ring, his familiar voice answered, warm and steady, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying that calm, reassuring tone that had always grounded you. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now?”

You let out a soft, tired laugh, leaning back against the cool headboard, the weight of the day pressing against your chest. “You sound way too rested for me to take that seriously,” you teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “That’s because I am. I take it you’ve been up all night?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a sigh, the fatigue settling deeper into your bones. “Barely just got in. The team isn’t too thrilled about the all-nighter either.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Aaron’s voice softened, concern threading through. “That sounds rough, especially for your first case as Unit Chief. How’s the team holding up?”

You let out a small, weary laugh, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to ease the exhaustion that clung to every muscle. “They’re managing… but they’ve been finding ways to keep themselves entertained, despite the long hours. Apparently, it’s become a bit of a game for them to list all the ways you and I are, apparently, identical.”

Aaron chuckled softly, and you could practically hear the small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Oh? I can’t imagine what they’ve come up with.”

You shook your head, a grin creeping up despite the exhaustion. “Neither can I, honestly. But they seem to think the list is long. According to them, we’ve both got the same head tilt when we’re staring at a board for too long. They swear it’s ‘uncanny’ as Prentiss eloquently said.”

“Clearly, they’re imagining things,” he replied, his tone light but still carrying a touch of disbelief. “But I’m pretty sure I picked up that head tilt from you, though. I didn’t do that before we started working together, but if I do it, it’s definitely different from yours. No way they’re the same.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly, finding comfort in the easy back-and-forth. “Right, so any similarities we have are because you’ve been subconsciously imitating me? Oh, and they also pointed out that we both cross our arms the same way when we’re staring at the whiteboard. That one really got them going.”

“Now that can’t be true,” Aaron shot back, though you could hear the playful disbelief in his voice. “I’ve been crossing my arms like that since law school. That’s my signature move, you know.”

“Oh, no,” you said, the grin widening on your face. “I’ll have you know I was crossing my arms long before you ever knew me. If anything, you’re the one who picked it up from me. I don’t remember you doing it back when we were first working together.”

He scoffed, though the smile behind his words was unmistakable. “So now we’re claiming that all our mannerisms are one-sided? Right, of course, it’s me copying you, not the other way around.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stretched out on the bed, feeling the tension begin to slip away. “Well, maybe we’re more alike than we think,” you teased lightly. “Apparently, that’s the team’s conclusion. They even said we tilt our heads the same way when we’re deep in thought.”

He chuckled again, the sound warm and rich. “They’re reaching now. But you should count yourself lucky, though—at least they didn’t say you have the same stare as me.”

You let out a mock sigh of relief, your voice tinged with amusement. “Oh, thank God. If they said that, I’d have to be concerned. Your stare is… terrifying, to say the least. If I ever start channeling that, then we’re in real trouble.”

Aaron laughed softly. “Well, as long as you’re not giving them my patented death stare, I think you’re safe.”

“Honestly, though,” you continued, still smiling, “as long as they didn’t say I had the same look as you, I’ll let it slide. We’re allowed to have a few shared habits, right? It’s bound to happen after all these years.”

“Shared habits,” Aaron repeated, his tone mock-serious now. “Alright, I’ll let them have that one. But I’m still holding onto the fact that the move of crossing the arms is mine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your chest lighter than it had been all day. “Sure, Aaron. You keep telling yourself that.”

“But if they think we’re so alike, then I’m guessing you haven’t bored them with your philosophy speeches yet.” he replied, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You laughed, the sound surprising you with how much lighter you felt already. “Oh, no. I’ve been ‘holding back’ - mostly because someone,” you said, your tone laced with mock offense, “strongly suggested I avoid doing so.”

Aaron chuckled, his laugh rich and deep, filling the quiet space of your room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “Because if I remember correctly, someone told me, and I quote, ‘Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine Morgan’s face when you start discussing the Allegory of the Cave while tracking a suspect.’”

He laughed again, the sound so genuine that it warmed you. “Well, I stand by that. Could you imagine the looks on their faces?”

“I think they’d survive,” you teased. “But for the record, I have been holding back - thanks to your recommendation, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure they appreciate that,” he said, still chuckling. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing great. I know it’s not easy stepping into this role, especially with a tough case like this right off the bat.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, letting the warmth of his words sink in, a soothing balm against the exhaustion that clung to your bones. “I really appreciate that. Oh—wait till you hear this; it’ll boost your ego even more. They’ve already given me a nickname, and I think you’re going to get a kick out of it.”

Aaron’s interest was immediate, his tone curious. “Oh? I’m all ears. What’s the nickname?”

You grinned, settling back against the pillows, feeling the slightest bit of amusement cut through the haze of fatigue. “It started with Morgan calling me ‘Teacher,’ which, okay, I get. But by the end of the day, Reid had taken it upon himself to shorten it to ‘Teach.’”

There was a beat of silence before Aaron let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm. “Teach, huh? Seems familiar. Five letters, ends in ‘ch’... I see where they’re going with this.”

“Exactly!” you said with a laugh. “It’s like they’re trying to turn me into your clone or something. The moment they found out I was your partner not even a year ago, it was like my identity didn’t even matter. Just ‘Hotch’s partner.’ No individuality whatsoever! All these years, and you never even mentioned me. No wonder they’re treating me like some kind of Hotchner 2.0.”

He chuckled, a little sheepish but amused. “I’ll admit, I’m not big on personal stories with the team. But to be fair, I never thought you’d cross paths with them.”

You smirked, unable to let it go. “If you’d just mentioned me once or twice, they might’ve seen me as an actual person in my own right. Now, I’m ‘Teach,’ forever cemented as the philosophical shadow of Aaron Hotchner.”

“Well, to be fair, you are the Unit Chief now,” he replied, a lightness dancing in his tone. “But hey, that’s not so bad, right? They just see a lot of me in you, which I think is a compliment. You’re still very much yourself, even if they try to categorize you the way they do me.”

“Compliment?” you shot back, feigning offense. “If you want to talk about personal identity, I could launch into a full-blown lecture on the philosophical implications of maintaining one’s unique self in a world that constantly tries to define you, pigeonhole you…” You let the teasing note linger in your voice, leaning right into it.

He let out a loud, exaggerated groan, clearly amused. “Oh, here we go. I knew I walked right into this one.”

“Hey, you brought it up!” you grinned, unable to resist. “Don’t blame me if I start diving into existentialism and the whole ‘self versus society’ thing. I mean, we could be talking Kierkegaard, Sartre…”

Aaron sighed dramatically, but you could hear the affection in his voice, the smile you couldn’t see but could feel through the phone. “And here I thought I was safe from Philosophy 101 tonight.”

“Oh, you’re never safe,” you replied, putting on a mock-serious tone. “Not when you’re the one who kept me a secret for all these years, only to have me emerge as your apparent philosophical twin. Just younger, wittier, and of course, way more intelligent and let’s be honest – more pleasant to talk to. It’s almost poetic, honestly, if you think about it.”

He chuckled, a warm, soft sound that made you smile. “Alright, alright, I’ll take the blame. Though I’d argue I kept you a secret for your own protection.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” you teased, feeling the last bits of tension from the day melting away. You settled back into the bed, glancing at the nightstand where you’d stashed your current read.

He shifted gears then, his voice lightening even more. “So, what’s your reading material tonight? I know you’ve got a book with you. You always do.”

You smiled at the shared tradition between you, that small moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of your jobs. “Oh, I’m reading something fascinating tonight. Surprisingly slim, but technically part of a series.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking it over. “Slim and part of a series… Is it one of your philosophy books?”

You laughed, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Nope, not quite.”

“Then I’m stumped,” he said, sounding genuinely curious. “What is it?”

“Oh, you know, just a real page-turner. Beige cover, simple font, title reads ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’ and the author is none other than the illustrious U.S. Department of Justice.” You paused, letting your voice grow overly dramatic. “It’s riveting, Aaron. Really, you’d love it.”

Aaron laughed, a warm, full sound that managed to fill the quiet, early-morning stillness of your hotel room. It was one of those rare laughs that made you feel like you could reach out and touch the warmth in his voice. “You’re reading case files before bed now? Really?”

“Guilty, your honor,” you sighed, letting out an exaggerated breath. “I think it’s fair to say I’m fully immersed in the BAU lifestyle now. Case files as bedtime stories, an absolute treat, right?”

“If you’ve given up your novels for those,” he replied, amusement dancing through his tone, “then I’m genuinely concerned. That’s how you know it’s serious. But… while we’re talking about serious matters,” he continued, a note of curiosity creeping in, “how’s it feel having a whole hotel room to yourself for once? I imagine it’s quite the change from sharing a room with me on those long cases. I bet you’re enjoying the freedom.”

You grinned, settling further back against the pillows, feeling the tension of the day begin to melt away. “Oh, it’s luxurious,” you replied, letting your voice take on a light, teasing quality. “No one rustling around at two in the morning, no one’s phone alarm blaring at ungodly hours, no ‘I need to finish one last report’ moments. I’m living the high life here. All the peace and quiet I could ever dream of.”

“Luxury, huh?” he asked, his voice filled with playful skepticism. “If it’s so wonderful, then why’d you call me?”

You rolled your eyes, your grin widening. “Clearly, I’m still in ‘debrief mode’ and needed someone to unload all these heavy philosophical musings on. And since you’re the lucky recipient, I hope you’re ready for it.” You paused, feigning a haughty sigh. “But honestly, if you’re just going to tease me, I could always hang up, let you get back to whatever it is you do at 8 a.m. And I could probably get some extra sleep, for once.”

Aaron’s laughter softened, settling into something more tender. “No, no, don’t hang up. I’m glad you called, really,” he replied, his tone warm. “Although, I’d feel guilty if you didn’t get some rest. So,” he added, his voice carrying that familiar, gentle authority, “don’t keep me up too long, alright? You should get some sleep too.”

“Sleep?” you repeated, pretending to be horrified. “Who needs it? If I’ve survived this long without it, I’m practically invincible now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Well, invincible or not, try to get at least a few hours. For me, if nothing else. Deal?”

“Fine, fine, deal,” you said, a hint of affection lacing your tone. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Settling deeper into the bed, you felt a little of the day’s weight start to ease. Talking with him, even over the phone, brought a sense of calm that grounded you, and you realized just how much you’d missed the familiarity of it.

“Good,” he replied softly, then, with a teasing edge, he continued, “As you get back to your… gripping reading material, do you want to talk about the case? Or is it still too classified to discuss?”

You laughed, shaking your head, fully aware of how he loved to poke fun at Strauss’s emphasis on protocol. “Well, this case is still ongoing, and we are dealing with classified information here…” you said, adopting a mock-serious tone. “But maybe I could bend the rules just a bit. I could tell you about my very first day, the momentous occasion of ‘Teach’s debut’.”

“Oh, please do,” he replied, clearly amused. “And tell me, is my office still intact? Or have you scattered it with sticky notes and red string?”

“Don’t tempt me, but no, I’ve preserved your precious workspace.” you replied with a chuckle, picturing his face as he visualized the mess you could create. “It all started when…”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

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danihow · 1 year ago

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Love hurts

Han Seojun x producer!Reader True Beauty

Summary: Falling in love with someone who doesn´'t loves you suck, but it sucks more watching them hurt.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: unrequited love, han seojun is in love with jukyung, bad written, not proofread, angst.

A/N: i needed to do this to get this man out of my mind, my god why is he so perfect and so unreal.

You never thought love could hurt, not when it was such a beautiful feeling.

Working as a producer has been your dream all high school, being scouted by a Move Entertainment agent as a freshly graduated person was probably the biggest blessing you've ever received in the last 5 years.

You still remember your first day at the company as an apprentice of the bigger producers, sitting at the back of their studio in the couch and watching them come up with ideas, lead the idols and modifying simple sound onto a whole ass song.

Your heart felt so full of emotions that day you swore you could've cried from happiness even thought you were mistreated by other staff, you remember vividly how your face hurt from smiling on the way home.

Your shoes clacking against the tiled floor echoed through the empty halls of the huge building, it still amuses you to this day the was the floor never seemed to get dirty, always reflecting as if it was a mirror.

However, even if you could spot everything on the floor you still missed the person you were walking into, your head colliding against his tall back, startling out of your mind.

"Yah!" A man's voice flooded your ears before your eyes looked up to who you have crashed into, locking with brown foxlike eyes. "How do you manage to bump into the only other person in the floor?" He says, looking into you intently.

He was the prettiest man you've ever met, and even that was an understatement. The way his eyes complemented the rest of his face, his dark hair in a mullet giving him a mysterious and cool vibe that was just highlighted by his all-black outfit. It was probably the most memorable thing about that day.

"I'm sorry." You mutter, bowing a bit and smiling apologetically.

"It's okay, just look where you're going." He tells you in something between a reprimand and some advice, between polite and cocky. "You're a producer?" He asks, more for him than for you as he spots your producer badge hanging from your neck.

"Oh, yeah, I started today. I'm L/N Y/N." You smile politely at him, who nodded and gave you a weird smile back.

"Nice to meet you L/N Y/N, name's Han Seojun." He said before he continued walking, a small greeting bow before looking away. "Have a good night."

As the weeks rolled by you learnt from your superior that Han Seojun has a new trainee and was already relatively famous as it was too. Your encounter with the boy becoming more and more frequent the more he started practicing and the more you advanced as a producer. The two of you becoming close work friends rather quickly.

As the months turned into years and the level of comfort grew between the two of you the more your feeling for him surpassed the limit of friends, his laugh enticing a newfound warmth in your chest anytime you heard it, his eyes appearing in your daydreaming more and more often. Everything about him changing in your eyes to something else. Nonetheless, as your feeling for him grew with your friendship so did the secrets you knew from each other.

Even though you like him a lot you knew very well how much he liked Lim Jukyung, and you couldn't get mad at it, she has been in his live for far longer than you and is just and angel to be around; if anything you would've fallen in love with her too if you were Seojun.

"Y/Nie, you have done more than enough with those tracks, go home." Your superior mentioned as he walked in the studio, passing you a bottle of water and sitting by your side.

"Something is missing..." you mutter, your back aching from sitting in the same chair for so many consecutive hours, mouse scrolling through the track in the monitor for the nth time in the past half hour.

"You can review it tomorrow, go and rest." He said once again, pulling you away from the computer, your hands stretching as far as they could to keep on working until you were out of reach. His hand grabbing the mouse and saving the track. "Go." His voice was stern but with a hint of fondness, a soft smile on his face as you oblige.

Grabbing you bag and saying your goodbyes you walked out of the studio, opting for using the stairs as your exercise for the day. Eight flight of stairs you were kind of regretting your choice, but you were no quitter, so you kept going. "God my back's killing me." You whisper for yourself as your rub your neck tiredly, putting your coat on until a sound picked up your attention.

Instantly your mind went back to that one-time Jukyung playfully told you she heard from her sister that there was a ghost around the building, seemingly having been haunted herself a few times. "Aigoo..." You mutter, freezing in place as your ears try to pick up the sound again; a few seconds pass and you hear it again, however it seemed to be a sob.

Concerned and a bit less scared you kept on walking down, careful to not disturb whoever it was that cried silently. A few floors down you were met with the figure of a man, sat down in the stairs as his body shook painfully as he cried, his soft sobs flooding your ears and you wished to all the heavens above you were mistaking the silhouette with someone else.

Please, don't be him.

You took a few steps down, the closer you got the clearer he became before your tired eyes. "Seojun?" You asked in a whisper, close enough to crouch down and place your hand on his shoulder.

It shouldn't hurt so much to see the way he flinched at both your voice and your touch, his hand flying to push yours off as his face refused to turn towards you.

With a sigh you sat down beside him, not a word leaving your mouth as you looked ahead of you, giving him the time to do whatever he wanted with his appearance before you looked at him, letting him know you are not forcing anything out of him but instead offering him your company.

A few seconds passed by, maybe a whole minute before he kept on crying, hand trying so hard to muffle his voice as his tears never stopped flowing down his cheeks. Slowly you turned to look at him, taking the time to take in his appearance before sighing again. It hurt a lot to see him so broken.

"It's okay to cry it out, don't silence yourself." You whispered softly, hand slowly reaching for his and taking it off his mouth, a sob immediately following after. "I can leave if you want me to." You said, giving him a few seconds to react, taking his silence and lack of eye contact as a sign and stood up.

"Wait.... don't go," he said in a choked voice, hand flying to grab your wrist, eyes finally looking up at you between his tears. "Please."

"You don't have to ask me twice." You say, a soft and sad smile on your face as your crouched down in front of him between his knees, hands resting now on top of his cheeks and brushing away his tears. "You wanna talk about it or just exist for a while?"

Your tone was so sweet and full of patience he just felt like crying again, sniffing he kept silent, eyes roaming through your face and not once finding your company insincere. "I let her go." He whispers back, his eyes appearing as an open book for you to read, his mouth pouting and his eyes tearing again. "It hurts."

"I know it hurts, and it hurt to love her too, didn't it?" You ask, brushing a few stray hairs off his face and behind his ears, a mannerism you took upon on as his hair grew between haircuts. "I'm so sorry."

"Why does it hurt so much?" He said while desperately looking into your eyes for an explanation, his own hand clutching his chest as if trying to take his heart out. "Why do I had to love her out of everyone?"

He sounded so broken, so exhausted of his feelings it made you teary too, a burning sensation starting at your throat threatening to choke your upcoming words.

"You don't choose who to love, just how she didn't choose not to love you." You mutter, blinking away the stinging in your eyes. "It's part of life as much as it sucks." You whisper, shuffling in your feet that hurt from crouching for so long. "Love hurts, it's dumb how much loving can hurt when it's such a beautiful feeling, huh?" You can't help but chuckle at your own words, how ironic.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles after a while, his hands brushing off the last of his tears as he has now calmed down a lot more, you still crouching in front of him, never once taking your attention away.

"Don't apologize for being human." With a smile your hands sneak up to grab his and stand up, pulling him with you. "Come on, let's go and get some air. away from this creepy stairway." With one of your hands you clean his face of, not wanting anyone to see he was crying as your other hand never loosens around his.

As you walked down the stairs with him trailing behind you Seojun couldn't help but notice how secure your hand held his and how your presence soothes him, a small grateful smile on his face.

"Thank you, Y/N." He mutters as you drag him along, not once yapping or complaining of this ruining his tough image as he would've done every other day.

"That's what friends are for." You smile at him over your shoulder, because even if Han Seojun doesn't love you back, love hurts and it's part of life.

#han seojun #han seojun true beauty #seojun #han seojun x reader #seojun x reader #han seojun fluff #seojun fluff #han seojun fanfic #true beauty #true beauty scenarios

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

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hate to remember you like this

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'angst with a happy ending' rated m wc: 1000 cw: mention of car accident, medical emergency, temporary amnesia tags: post-break up, assumed unrequited feelings, getting back together

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

"Eddie, it's Steve."

Robin's words echoed in his head as he boarded the plane.

He left Steve three years ago because Steve told him to go, told him that if his dreams were so big that he couldn't stay then he had to leave and not come back.

Steve refused to talk to him since, refused to visit when all the kids came to his shows, refused to show up to Christmas at Wayne's.

So he shouldn't be on this flight to see Steve.

But Robin had insisted that Steve asked for him, and Eddie couldn't ignore the immediate need to be there for him.

Despite time, distance, and the constant feelings of regret mixed with heartbreak and anger, he still only wanted Steve.

He didn't know what happened, just that Steve had been in a medically induced coma for over 24 hours and the moment he woke up, he was begging for someone to get Eddie.

Robin had mentioned that he didn't seem to have all of his memories, but didn't tell him any details on which memories he may be missing.

He sat in his seat and hoped that whatever he was walking into would be closure for his heart.

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

The kids were all sitting in the waiting room when he arrived at the hospital.

The moment Will saw him, hell broke loose.

"Who called you?" he asked.

"Robin. Are they letting people back?" Eddie asked.

"You shouldn't be here," Will said.

Eddie looked at his stance and couldn't help but smile. Will had grown incredibly protective of Steve after Eddie left, much to everyone's surprise.

"He asked for me. I promised I'd come if he ever needed me."

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Room 186. He was awake a little while ago, but they're only letting two people in at a time and Robin and Joyce have been with him for the last hour."

"Thanks."

Room 186 wasn't far down the hall. He could hear Joyce's motherly tone fussing while Robin sounded like she was rambling to herself.

When he walked into the room, his breath caught in his throat.

Steve was bruised, and half of his head was wrapped in bandages that looked like they needed to be changed.

But he gave Eddie a soft smile.

A smile he didn't deserve.

"Baby, tell Joyce to stop worrying herself to death over me. I'm fine."

Baby.

Robin and Joyce glanced over at Eddie, waiting for his reaction.

"I got it from here, Joyce," Eddie smiled at her and Robin, understanding coming over him swiftly.

"Alright, Eddie's got ya for a bit, but I'll be in the waiting room if you need me," Robin said, patting Steve's hand.

She gave Eddie a death glare on her way out of the room, silently suggesting that he would need a room at the hospital if he dared to hurt Steve in any way.

He sat down next to Steve, taking in his injuries.

"What took you so long?" Steve asked him, pouting slightly.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Got caught up with the band."

"But it's Wednesday. You don't have practice on Wednesdays."

Eddie sighed.

"Stevie, what year is it?" Had no one checked him for a concussion at any point in the last 12 hours?

"1988."

"It's 1991. You remember my band made it?" Eddie was going to get murdered by Robin for ruining whatever fantasy Steve's mind had settled on.

"What? But-" Steve's brows drew together as he tried to work through his own thoughts and memories. "You guys made it?"

"Yeah, we did."

They sat in silence while Steve processed.

Eddie felt the moment his memory started to come back, the room suddenly going cold.

"You left."

"Steve-"

"You left me," his voice broke, much like it had the night he screamed at Eddie as he walked out the door.

"I did."

"Why'd you come?"

"You asked me to. I'll always come when you ask."

Steve looked at him, his eyes heavy from whatever cocktail of drugs were flowing through his system, glassy with unshed tears.

"Then why did you leave?"

"You asked me to."

"I wanted you to stay. I always wanted you to stay."

"I wanted you to come with me."

They were both tense, Eddie's hands curled into fists against his thighs and Steve's body curling in on itself, preparing for a fight Eddie wasn't going to give him.

"I couldn't."

"I know."

"So, you'll leave again and I'll stay?" Steve asked, choking back a wet sound that Eddie recognized as a sob.

"I'll be here as long as you need me."

Steve searched his face.

"Why now?"

"Because you asked. Because I know what it's like to leave you and I know it's not worth missing you." Eddie gulped. "Because I love you too much to walk away from you again. Not unless it's what you want."

"I never want that."

"Then I'll be right here," Eddie reached for his hand, holding it gently in his own.

"You can't, though. You made it, Eds."

"I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. Okay?"

Steve stayed silent for a while, but didn't pull his hand away.

"You'll stay while we figure it out?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. As long as it takes."

"Seal it with a kiss?" Steve asked, the way he did when he asked for Eddie to promise that he'd take out the trash, or stop at the store, or love him always.

Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's.

Steve smiled as he pulled away.

"First thing to figure out: a new car."

"You totaled it?"

"She was good to me for so long. Unfortunately, she took things worse than I did."

Hard to believe looking at how swollen and bruised most of Steve was.

But they sat and talked through his plans for another car, something he could take on longer road trips to visit all the kids at school, see a few of Eddie's shows.

They'd figure it out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #angst with a happy ending

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eldritchscribblings · 7 months ago

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Ever At Odds

Thranduil X Reader

Part 2

Reader is an artist who has taken up a temporary residence in Mirkwood, but keeps bumping into an irritatingly handsome elf king. What happens when a late night encounter forces them together?

Word Count: 2876

Warnings:

swearing

part two will have smut

Notes: I'm sorryyyyyy I didn't want there to be a part two but it took me so long to write this part and I wanted to get it out asap for y'all <3 Pt 2 will be out soon, I'm moving across the country, so writing is slow rn.

A cold autumn wind blew through the halls of Mirkwood, biting into the very bones of those who dared set foot in the ancient woodland realm. In the ages past that bitter wind would have only howled, but its teeth had grown sharper in recent times. Not only did the wind sink its teeth into those unprepared for the woods, but it had turned its teeth upon its own people; the elves, as well. The time of elves on Middle Earth was drawing to an end.

You, of course, were well aware of that from your perch in Imladris, watching as elves dwindled and men rose to power. You were a long way off from leaving for the Undying Lands yourself, but you had already begun to feel that tug in your soul to move from your idle nest and wander towards the sea. And so you’d decided to bide your time by traveling middle earth and sketching all that was old and new among the elves; making a record of what you’d leave behind. It had been a comforting work to put your brush and pencils to paper and convey the millennia of love and sorrow that each individual stone and sapling possessed, and it had satiated you to know that once your work was completed you could leave Middle Earth with a contented heart. But as every tree must survive a storm at some point, your storm came in the form of an elven man with thick furrowed brows and a disposition that would make soot taste sweet; King Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm.

You’d arrived in Mirkwood nearly two years prior after being rescued from a giant spider by the guards and losing your favorite quill (poor Flutterflick) among the leaf strewn ground. After a quick interrogation, you were released into Mirkwood to do your duty, and yet everywhere you went for peace and tranquility you seemed to run into the Elven King. The first time it happened you hadn’t realized who he was until he threatened to have you locked in the dungeon for disagreeing with him on the best elven wine and whether charcoal was best used compressed or as a powder. You’d tried to avoid him after that, and yet this maze of a realm kept twisting you back towards him whenever you tried to get away. Which was how you found yourself sitting in an archway sketching your view of the vaulted ceiling within this particular area of the hall in the middle of the night, using a candlestick as a light.

It was the wee hours of the morning; a time you were certain the tall blond of your nightmares would be having one of his own, far away from where you’d secluded yourself. The only noises were the hush of a breeze blowing through an open window and the soft scratching of your pencil against the parchment you’d clipped to the thin drawing board in your lap. Your eyes darted seamlessly from the page to the section of empty hall you were drawing, your steady hand moving quickly to gesture in the wider picture so that detail could blossom with ease when you pulled out your softer charcoal. With the silent night enveloping you, it had been easy to fall into a trance of placing your pencil to paper and letting the world fall away into lines and values. You should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

“It’s a bit late for sketching fine architecture.” Thranduil’s voice echoed from behind you, and you sighed and pressed your lips together in irritation.

“My aim was to be uninterrupted, My King,” you spoke slowly and surely, presenting each word as nothing more than it claimed to be in hopes he would leave you alone. “It’s a bit late for anyone to roam the halls alone, don’t you think?”

“I am not alone, and neither are you now.” Realizing you had no intent to face him, he walked around and knelt in front of you with a disappointedly curious expression. “How fortunate it is that we can keep each other company on such lonesome nights.”

“Oh, please.” You met his steely blue gaze with a challenging one of your own, attempting to prove yourself unafraid and ward him off. “You and I both know that the two of us together always leads to disaster.”

“Only because you bring disaster with you everywhere.” Thranduil laughed softly and licked the pad of his forefinger before pinching out the flame of your candle between his forefinger and thumb. You were grateful for the darkness to hide a traitorous blush growing on your cheeks, undercutting your disturbed expression. “Finish your sketch in the daylight. You’ll make fewer proportional errors.”

“Is poisoning your kindness with insults meant to be amusing or alluring? Because it is neither.” The only reason you were so confident with your words was because the worst Thranduil could do is send you where you already planned to go ahead of schedule. Of course that was only in theory. In truth, a part of you enjoyed the little games you played together; the spiteful spitting of venom brought energy to your day, negative or positive. You couldn’t deny he was a handsome King, but you could deny giving him the satisfaction of knowing you held him in any regard.

“Have I misled myself on the quality of your mettle? Forgive me if I have caused any true harm.” The first sentence was a sharp retort, the same wit you had begun to expect from him. The second was genuine in a way that surprised you.

“Don’t delude yourself. The only way you could bring any harm to me is with a blade. And I doubt you’d want to stain this lovely hallway.” You responded with a similar genuineness that you hid within your humor, although by the look of his expression he seemed relieved enough to surmise he’d picked up your intent.

What the fuck was your intent? Half flirting with a widowed king? He was an elf who could toss you out a window or carry you down to the dungeons as easily as he’d carry a sack of grain. You inhaled and sharply shoved your charcoal pencil back into your pouch, looking away from Thranduil to shove the image of him carrying sacks of wheat like a handsome miller’s son out of your mind. Truth is you’d daydreamed about kissing Thranduil to shut him up as much as you’d daydreamed about killing him for the same outcome. It was strange to think of how a two letter difference changed the entire context of your fantasies.

“I am no mortal man so easily prone to violence. I take offense that you would think I am capable of such a thing.” Thranduil’s voice changed tone, causing you to look at him again. He was dead serious with a furrowed brow as he knelt before you, reaching forward to take your hand in his. “My guards brought you here and promised you safety. I will not make liars of them.”

“A noble, if impersonal, thought.” You responded with an equal amount of seriousness, gathering your supplies in one hand and placing the other in his as he helped you to a standing position. His intent mystified you, making you unsure of if you’d been wrong about him or if this was a lure to finally catch you when you least expected it. Either way, as you began to walk down the hall back to your rooms he walked beside you with the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise serious face.

“Do you really think of me as cruel and unkind?” Thranduil asked softly after you had traversed a fair amount of the hall.

“Yes and no.” You replied after taking a moment to chew through your words. It was strange of him to ask the question, stranger still for you to answer honestly. You were friends, but it was a friendship that danced a fine line between confidants and the king and his favorite jester. “I think you capable of cruelty. I think your role requires unkindness. Your presentation fits the role you fulfill. I would no more expect a thatched roof on a palace than a wisened king to be tender hearted.”

“I don’t like the word wisened; it makes me feel old.” Thranduil interjected despite you being done speaking. “But I understand. And I appreciate your point of view. You’re insightful. It’s fitting for your role as an observer. I am curious, I always see you drawing and sketching instead of talking to your fellows. I’m curious as to what you draw when you’re not intending on showing it off to people.”

“Truth be told, it’s mostly animals and people. I carry around smaller sketchbooks for those and it’s idle work to do while I watch and listen to those around me.” You felt the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. Not even death would stop you from blabbing about your art when prodded. “Of course, for those sketches I prefer drawing with metals. You can use a stylus made of silver to make marks upon parchment as well as any charcoal. It’s quite beautiful in the light.”

“Then I must see them.” Thranduil stopped abruptly, causing you to have to turn around after several paces and realize he was at the door to your chambers. If you’d known you were close to your rooms you would’ve just stayed quiet. Having the Elven King in your bedroom, looking at your art, was a bad idea.

Art was your escape, your passion, your diary. There were notes about your feelings and poems about your life scrawled among the pages among grocery lists and drawings of cats napping in sunlight. There were also -you realized with sinking dread- one or two drawings of the King that you did not want him to see. You had to get out of this.

“Sire, it’s very late-“

“Nonsense, you’re up later than this quite frequently, as am I.” He stood by your door, waiting for you to open it for him. His excitement faltered for a moment as he seemed to consider the situation, and he then added; “If you truly do not desire it, I will not impose myself.”

“No, I simply hesitate because I am afraid you will not find my art as impressive as you hope.” Your eyes were firmly on the handle of your door as you opened it and allowed yourself and Thranduil into your rooms. He was very close to you as he entered behind you, and you caught a hint of his scent of petrichor and spices in a way that sent your head spinning.

Your rooms were simple. Far from grand with books and papers strewn about haphazardly. As you entered you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you at the state of your things, but you would not let it show. Your bed was in one corner, luckily you had remembered to make it up before leaving, but the bedside tables were covered in strewn papers and pencils. In the opposing corner there was a desk with your notebooks and sketches, and that was where Thranduil made his way to as soon as he entered.

“You live your life messily.” He stated, looking around the room before passively picking up one of your loose sketches from your desk. It was a picture of a young couple walking the halls together arm in arm, oblivious to any observer. Oblivious to you. “I do not question it. You prefer to be hidden away whenever you leave your chambers, so it must be comforting to have such things to hide yourself behind in your own dwelling.” He chuckled, glancing at you as he perused through your art, leafing through the piles of sketches on your desk. It wasn’t as if you could tell him not to, and although you were surprised at his understanding of you, you’d never admit to yourself or him whether he was right or not.

“Or perhaps you simply collect too much and want it all near you, like a raven building its nest.” Thranduil continued despite your silence, unphased by it. He reached for a drawing closer to you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment that sent a shameful shiver down your spine. It was only when his gaze left you that you realized he had grabbed one of the drawings of him, but before you could protest, he had turned it over to look at it. It was one of the less embarrassing ones; he was sitting with his chin resting on his fist, staring off into some uncaptured distance. His face was peaceful and yet melancholy. It had been at one of the star celebrations that you had forgotten the name of last year; you had been sat at the sidelines happily drawing those partaking in the merriment when you had seen him. His sadness as he sat on his perch above his kin had captured your attention, and you hastened to put his likeness on your paper lest the spell of the moment be broken. He was beautiful to you in that moment, beautiful and wounded. The moment had ended with your eyes meeting and him sending a prideful smirk your way that left your stomach churning, but you would always remember how striking it was to see past his hardened exterior for one brief moment.

As you watched him then, taking in that art piece that had truly cemented your growing fascination with the widowed king, you could not decipher the emotions on his face. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines of his face as they were portrayed on paper, and he hunched over the drawing to better see its details. You almost made a joke, just to break the hideous silence, and yet something stopped you. Your words were stoppered in your throat with tenuous curiosity and something inside you told you to bite your tongue.

“I remember this night,” Thranduil whispered, tracing the roughly sketched embroidery on his portrait. “I was lost in thought, not one of them was pleasant, but my mind was determined to see the end of the chain. I could sense eyes on me, but there is always one person or another watching my every move.” He looked up at you, and the depth of his gaze was hauntingly sirenic, like a calm sea below a dark gray sky. “You were different. I saw your brow furrowed as you looked at me, always fiery and determined to find a flaw where no one else will.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, no more than a twitch of his eyes, and yet it comforted you.

“A gap in your personified stoicism is more so due to a lack of divinity than any flaw.” The words flowed easily from your lips, and you stepped closer to him so you could look at your art. “Truthfully, when I found you ‘lacking’, I found you more fascinating than I did when I believed you perfect. Like how a fly, when caught in amber, reveals the quality of the jewel.”

“Am I to be the fly in this metaphor?” He teased, lowering the drawing and stepping closer to you.

“You are aware of what I intended, my lord.” The tone of the conversation had turned lighter, but the air remained tense. It was taking all your might to will yourself not to look at his lips, or his chest, or anywhere but his eyes or your feet. You were afraid any slight unexpected movement would be perceived the wrong way and break the wavering thread of connection between you.

“What if I were not? What if we were to spend another year misinterpreting each other? Dragging out your stay here in Mirkwood for no perceivable reason?” He seemed as hesitant to move as you were, waiting for some unknown signal to allow him to act.

“Then I suppose, should I be prevented from completing my work, I would need to stay here longer.” You were beginning to catch on. Perhaps there was more to this banter and teasing than you had originally thought. Perhaps the guilt-ridden attraction that had festered deep within your gut was mirrored in his own tumultuous emotions. You leaned slightly closer, taking your drawing from his hands and setting aside.

“To properly record Mirkwood in such sketches as yours would take decades…” Thranduil drew out the idea, but did not finish it. Instead, he stepped forward and tenderly placed his hand upon your cheek, caressing you gently. “May I kiss you?”

The thought struck you like a blind man meeting a drunken bird, and you inhaled sharply as reality dug its cruel claws into your skin. He was the king. He had asked you to kiss him. But more than the king, he was Thranduil. Your playful nemesis who was the bane of all your existence and yet whose presence you yearned for in the darkest parts of night. Was this change in your relationship worth it? Was this a risk worth taking?

“Yes.”

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