#'well maybe that's just a good overtaking spot!!' you might say

[batsplat]

another bit of context that I think is key to understanding assen 2015 is that like. okay a last corner is a last corner; it's not like valentino has ownership over it or whatever. but there is also something in-your-face bold about thinking you can beat valentino rossi at that chicane. sure we don't quite associate the gt chicane with one specific iconic rossi overtake the same way we do last corner jerez or the corkscrew, but thinking you can steal the win from valentino at the chicane is kind of in the same spirit. that's valentino's chicane. he has made countless overtakes there over the years. he loves that chicane he really does

take 2013, where assen was the first race vale won after his ducati dry spell. his overtake on marc in that race isn't at the chicane, but it's in turn one - right after marc had made a small mistake on the chicane and gets poor drive down the straight. which could be completely innocuous, but is also the kind of thing that happens when you're defending against somebody you know is very good at one specific bit of the track. which marc knew. of course he did. after the start, valentino made two other overtakes in that race: on bradl and dani (the latter of which marc had an excellent view for). guess where they both happen. guess where marc overtakes dani

and marc straight up said in the assen 2015 post-race presser that his move there was premeditated, that he'd repeatedly tested out and planned that move during practise. marc, who obviously knows valentino's record at that track, who has studied him so so closely. who knew full well that the fight for the victory was most likely going to come down to the two of them, and knew it could come down to the very last chicane. his plan to win that race was to barge valentino aside, ideally on the final lap, at quite possibly valentino's best series of corners on the entire calendar. no wonder marc was pissed when it didn't work

[twirlyleafs]

“Reckless.”

Charles Leclerc x driver! Reader

TW: mention of death, fighting

~~~~

“What the hell was that?”

Charles’ angry voice cut through the hum of your garage like a whip, startling you enough to make you spin around to face him. You hadn’t expected him to be here this fast, you’d barely gotten out of the car, but then again maybe you should have. You knew he’d be angry considering the intense qualifying session where you’d wrung every last bit out of your car—and yourself. In those final two laps, you’d driven with reckless precision, pressing Alonso so hard in the corners that he’d had to back off to not risk contact. It wasn’t exactly clean racing, but it had earned you a spot on the second row. Fourth on the grid, your best start all season. The best you would probably be able to get out of your car. But as satisfying as it was, you knew that Charles would have something to say about it.

“Keep your voice down, Charles.” You muttered while unzipping the top half of your suit, hoping you could brush this off before it turned into a scene. Charles wasn’t having it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him, jaw clenched, his hands slicing through the air as he spoke, disbelief radiating off him.

“Keep my voice—are you serious? What’s your problem? That overtake was reckless. Fernando was barely an inch away from accidentally sending you flying into the wall!”

“Calm down.” You shot him a look as you brushed past him, hoping he’d drop it if you just kept walking. But Charles scoffed, immediately following you, his tone hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I was right behind you! I saw the way you went in—God, you’re just lucky it was Alonso and not one of the rookies. That could’ve been a disaster.” Charles was relentless, his words chasing you all the way to your driver’s room. Your fists were clenched, nails digging into your palms as you worked to keep your own frustration under control. You knew his worry came from a place of love, but right now, it felt like he was questioning you as a driver, as if he didn’t trust you to know what you were doing. And that stung more than you cared to admit. Once the door shut behind you both, his words softened, though they still held an edge. “What were you thinking out there?”

You let out a heavy breath, finally turning to meet his gaze. “I was thinking about getting a decent starting position. I wanted-“

“You don’t risk everything for a good position!” he interrupted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Have you talked to Fernando? He’s probably fuming! If that had been me in his shoes, I would’ve lost it—”

“Good thing it wasn’t you, then.” You snapped, turning your back on him as you began unzipping the rest of your suit. It felt safer to face the wall, where he couldn’t see the raw mix of emotions that tightened your throat and threatened to spill over. “You don’t get it, Charles. You have a team, a car, a contract. You have a future. A name. I’m fighting for scraps, like every shot is the last one I’ll get.”

He fell silent and for a moment you thought he might back down, let you have this small victory. But his voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp. “Maybe I don’t get it. But I do get that you’re pushing yourself too far. And one day it won’t just be a scare. You’ll get hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I can handle myself.” You retorted as you turned to face him, your gaze defiant. “I knew what I was doing with Alonso. I wouldn’t have tried it with one of the rookies, I knew they couldn’t handle that.”

“Can you?” His eyes held a look you rarely saw, a mixture of frustration, fear, and maybe even doubt. “Can you handle it, Y/N? Because from where I’m standing, that looked less like confidence and more like…like desperation.” His words hit you like a slap, hurting more than you wanted to admit. Was it desperation? Maybe there was some truth in that, but you weren’t about to let him see you flinch. Not when he didn’t understand what it was like to constantly have to prove yourself, to feel every race could be your last if you didn’t show results.

“Are you calling me a bad driver Charles?” You asked, the challenge clear in your tone. He ran a hand over his face, sighing in exasperation.

“I’m calling you reckless. Stupid, even. You could be amazing, I know you’re amazing, but you keep pulling moves like this and I’m just scared it’s going to end in disaster.”

You swallowed, ignoring the sting of his words. “I can’t afford to play it safe, Charles. You wouldn’t get it, you don’t have to get it. You’re in a car that could win a championship. I’m just trying to prove I belong here.” For a moment, he looked as if he was about to argue, his eyes narrowing with the usual stubbornness you knew too well. But instead, he just shook his head, stepping back, disappointment flickering in his gaze. He lingered for a moment, his gaze softened, as if he wanted to reach out but held himself back. Then he turned, leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered, his words hanging in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stood alone, the silence pressing down on you, and no matter how much you wanted to brush it off his words kept echoing in your mind.

The hours dragged on, the buzz of qualifying still lingering as you were pulled from one interview to the next. You smiled for the cameras, deflected the sharpest questions, and managed to shrug off any mention of that heated moment with Alonso. But under the surface, your mind churned with the memory of your earlier fight with Charles. His words still echoed in your head, gnawing at you in a way you couldn’t shake. Reckless. Desperate. You’d been called a lot of things, but hearing it from him hurt like hell. It was late when you finally reached the hotel, the quiet of the lobby a stark contrast to the noisy paddock. The tension in your shoulders was nearly unbearable as you made your way up to your room, the thought of sleep the only thing keeping you moving forward. When you unlocked the door and stepped inside Charles was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking up from his phone when you entered. He looked worn, the earlier fire in his eyes now replaced with something gentler, but equally intense. You felt your heart skip, torn between relief and irritation as the weight of your argument settled heavily in the air between you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, watching you as you set down your things.

“Hey.” You shrugged off your jacket, avoiding his gaze, the room feeling too small, too charged. Silence hung thickly for a moment before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he began, a slight hesitance in his voice. “For showing up like that. I shouldn’t have come into your garage and… yelled at you. That was out of line.”

You nodded, acknowledging his apology but not yet ready to let go of the frustration simmering beneath your skin. Slowly making your way across the room you stopped by the dresser to remove your jewelry, plopping your watch and bracelet down on the cold surface before turning around to look at him again. “You still think I’m reckless? Stupid?” Your voice was calm, even as your heart pounded in your chest. Charles looked down, rubbing his hands together as he seemed to weigh his words.

“Yes. I do. I think you’re incredible out there, but sometimes…” He paused, looking up at you, his eyes soft yet resolute. “Sometimes it scares me. Seeing you push so hard, knowing one wrong move could just, you know, just end everything.”

You sighed, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the dresser. “Charles, I’m fighting for my career. Every weekend, every race—it’s not just about points or a title chance. It’s about proving that I belong here, that I’m not just some driver filling space at the back of the grid.” You hesitated, struggling to put into words what you’d felt for so long. “I don’t have the luxury of playing it safe.”

“And you think I don’t get that?” His voice rose, a hint of frustration slipping back in. “I know what it’s like to fight, to have to prove myself. You think Ferrari didn’t make me feel like I had to earn my place every damn time I got in that car?”

You scoffed, feeling a flicker of bitterness as you met his gaze. “It’s different, Charles. You still always had the team behind you. A car that can get you to the podium on strategy alone. I don’t have that. I have to be better. I have to take risks.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t fight.” His voice was softer now. “But not at the cost of your safety. There’s a difference between fighting and driving like there’s nothing left to lose.”

You felt a flash of anger, his words hitting a raw nerve. “Maybe I don’t see a difference because I don’t have anything to lose, Charles. I’m already at the back. Already being picked apart by the media trying to prove women don’t belong here. That I don’t belong here. A good result like this might be the only thing keeping me on the grid next season.” Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your own words settling heavy on your chest. “Maybe I can’t afford to think about what I have to lose.” At that Charles expression softened, his eyes searching your face.

“And what about me? What if I lose you? Maybe you don’t see it that way, but to me you are the most important thing in this equation.” His words struck you like a blow and for the first time you felt the edges of your anger soften, giving way to something deeper and more vulnerable. You let out a breath, your gaze dropping to the floor as the truth of it all began to settle between you. You swallowed, feeling the prick of tears in your eyes but refusing to let them fall.

“You have to let me fight. Even if it scares you. Because I can’t be the driver I need to be if I’m holding back just to make everyone else feel safe.” Even with your eyes trained on the floor you noted Charles getting up, moving across the room towards you. The ache in your chest reached its peak when his hands carefully found your arms, slowly stroking down them until he could grip your hands in his. He sighed, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles.

“I don’t want you to hold back. I’d never ask that of you, I just-“ he paused and you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I just want you to be careful. To remember that you can get to where you wanna be without dying on the way. Baby I want you to have everything, I think you deserve everything and I’m here for you, as long as you don’t disappear on me.” The last of your frustration melted away as you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his embrace. The second Charles noticed you moving closer he dropped your hands, wrapping his arms around you instead. Tucking your head against the crook of his neck you let out a deep sigh, nodding slowly.

“I get it. I get what you’re saying. It’s just hard to think like that when I’m out there, seeing my chances slip away.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll try.” You whispered, the words more of a promise to yourself than to him. “I’ll try to be careful. But I need you to understand that sometimes, this is just how it has to be. It’s the only way I know.” You felt Charles nod, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses against the top of your head. You shuffled closer, letting your arms wrap around his torso as his tightened around your frame, grounding you in the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. “You won’t lose me.” You murmured against his shoulder, the words both a promise and a hope. Charles held you close, his lips pressing gently to your temple as you both stood in the quiet of the room, letting the tension and hurt melt away. And for a while, neither of you said anything more, content just to hold each other, finding a fragile peace in the shared silence. Tomorrow, you’d be back on the track, fighting just as hard. But tonight, you were simply here, together.

[scenetocause]

🧡 for norrussell please?

omg i was really hoping someone would ask for some genders georg. set in the every colour illuminates cinematic universe. this goes a bit beyond kissing so like, m or whatever.

"Hi."

George feels the bed shift, as much as Lando moving. It's light, behind his eyelids, which means he's slept in as long as the jetlag or apparently Lando will allow.

"Hello, you." Cracking his eyes open enough to see his husband looming over him jumbles his brain for a second, wondering when Lando got so big.

He seems much more normal-sized when he snuggles down onto George's chest, under the duvet, wriggling until he can lie between George's thighs. "Missed you."

It's hard, Lando not coming to every race, now. It's better for Lella, it's insane to drag a three-year-old across the world with them and she deserves better than being stuck on 14-hour flights every other week but George got so used to them always being there it's really hurting, to be apart.

"Missed you too."

Lando wriggles down on him again, like he's pleased, was worried George might not care. Even though they've been calling each other every possible opportunity, suddenly realising how much they had to say as soon as they couldn't do it casually.

Like Alex is such a fucking headache in qualifying, George never knows how he's going to beat him, until he does. Lella's getting really good at Mario Kart (and the things they don't say, that maybe it's starting to be time for her to try it for real) and Lando's got some new designs. The pygmy goats are definitely gonna have whatever goat babies are called again. Did you know Natalie Pinkham's leaving Sky?

Turns out you can get very used to having each other on tap. To picking up the conversational threads they've been weaving for years, that other people would only get tangled in.

"You can sleep in," Lando's sort of mouthing at his chest, just above his right nipple, in a kind of lazy way that feels like he's just checking George is real. "I've checked on Lella, she's watching cartoons."

"Oh really?" He can't help the slightly smug tone. Normally Lando would be bringing their daughter straight in to see George, so this means he's got other plans.

"Yeah." Lando props himself up, still strong even if he's a little bit softer around his hips, now. "Gonna fuck you back to sleep."

George knows he's a bit of a stereotype, all that British uptightness but him and Lando have always been filthy. Still, it's a shock to have Lando on top, Lando actually topping not just writhing around on a strapon or begging George to let him rub off on his abs or something.

It's getting George interestingly wet. Maybe they should try it again, when he's less tired. Just for the data.

"Ok, sounds good."

"It does, yeah?" Lando's got a bit of a cocky air to him, pleased like he knows he's turning George on. "Let me-"

George does, spreading his legs easily. It's still, sometimes, weird when Lando touches him like his but it feels safe, in their bed, in their house. Lando's big fingers gentle, where he's working them over and into George, rubbing inside him.

"Are you-" George tries to get his own hands on Lando, find his dick but he gets them batted away.

"Of course I fucking am. Do you know how hot you are?" Lando dips his head down, hiding it against George's chest. "Watched the podium like fifteen times, thought I was gonna have a wet dream before you even got back."

He can't help giggling, even when Lando's hitting the good spots and there's definitely a sense of urgency starting to overtake them. "Fuck - well, I'll try and win again, for you."

"For me." Lando sounds happy about it, mumbling into George's skin. "Fuck, c'mon."

Lando's tongue presses into George's mouth at the same time his cock goes inside him and it's easier to enjoy it, with the distraction of less complicated penetration. It's always been easy, with Lando.

They don't need to say they love each other, mouths too busy with every familiar curl of tongue, Lando's tooth gap sharp against George's lower lip. It's enough to make a man ludicrously wet, that they know each other so well. That Lando's panting, frantic after less than two minutes and has to break the kiss because he's that fucking turned on, whimpering into George's shoulder while he reaches a hand down to actually get him off.

It's over quickly, for them both, everything sharpened by having been apart from each other for what feels like the first time in forever. George forgot how much they need each other, how they'd almost started taking time together for granted.

It pulls an embarrassing sobbing noise out of him, when he comes and Lando's just as bad, sighing and whining against George's neck when his hips rabbit a few, last, jerky times. Ludicrous, is what they are. Always have been.

Lando kisses him again and George doesn't call out the fact his face is wet, clearly feeling the same emotions.

"Go back to sleep, I'm gonna take Lella to buy bagels." It looks like it takes a monumental effort for Lando to roll off him. Even though it's George who's still an athlete, he's definitely not capable of that right now, melting back into the sheets as Lando tucks him in.

"Y'should shower first," he suggests and Lando flicks his shoulder, through the duvet, for it.

"Thought I'd just wander to the bakery stinking of sex, actually." He probably won't but there's something still-cocky about the way he says it.

George smiles inton the pillow, eyes already closed, when he hears Lando add. "Bet none of them have ever fucked an F1 driver."

[liamgallaghermpreg]

bad times at the sage creek motel

– for @wincestwednesdays prompt: reputation

The gas station is fucking freezing, but at least it’s a slight respite from the bite of the Montana winter outside. It’s snowing; not bad enough to close school or anything, but bad enough for Sam to be vaguely worried about Dad away in the wilderness on a hunt. Sam’s winter coat is kind of shitty and a little too small, and if the snowfall doesn’t turn into a proper storm in the night, he has half a mind to drag Dean down to the secondhand store tomorrow. Two and a half weeks here already and Dad hasn’t said anything about leaving, at least not to Sam. Whatever he’s said to Dean must've been enough for Dean to go out and get himself a part-time job here at the Conoco.

There’s heat coming through the vents supposedly, but it feels futile with the cold getting through the poor ventilation. The windows look like they haven't been replaced since the place was built, cloudy glass and coming unsealed from the sills. Dean, lounging behind the counter with a pen in his mouth and a smirk on his face, has an ancient space heater pointed toward him and looks downright toasty despite the faintly dangerous-sounding rattling. Sam rubs his hands together and glares.

“I’m going to get another coffee,” he says, leaning over the counter and trying to catch some of the heat. “You want anything?”

“Epsilon follower?” Dean asks with a grin, tapping the pen on his teeth.

“It’s zeta,” Sam rolls his eyes, craning his neck to see how much of the crossword Dean has actually managed to fill in. It’s more than he expected, and he watches as Dean writes Z-E-T-A in the 41 down in his blocky capitals.

“I’m good on coffee, Sammy. You keep drinkin’ like that and you might stunt your growth, you know. Although maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, Sasquatch. Keep you from overtaking me.”

Sam turns on his heel and doesn’t bother to answer. He isn’t even sure why he came here, to the gas station to hang out with Dean while he works a rare night shift. He could be back at the motel savoring some alone time: choosing what channel the TV stays on, jerking off, taking a long shower without Dean hollering at him to hurry up. Instead he’s here, cold as shit and supposedly keeping Dean company but really just feeling inferior to the Friday USA Today. It’s understandable when Dean chooses to read the skin mags behind the desk rather than talk to Sam. This just feels like an insult.

Sighing, he grabs a cup off the wall and makes his way to the coffee dispensers. The sign boasts a signature Brazilian roast; Sam knows Folger’s when he tastes it.

He’s debating drinking it black or adding cream when the bell above the door sounds, tinny and way too cheery for 9pm and a snowstorm. A group of girls that Sam vaguely recognizes from the grade above him in school sweep in, two of them headed right toward the coffee station, the other toward Dean at the front.

“10 on pump 7?” Sam hears, and he doesn’t have to look to know that Dean is giving her his signature smile. Probably a wink too, the asshole.

“‘Course, sweetheart. Anything else?”

Sam tunes them out. He doesn’t need to hear it, not the girl giggling and finding way too many reasons to keep talking, not Dean indulging some high school senior’s heart eyes. Scowling, he ducks behind a shelf full of chips and beef jerky before the other two girls can spot him and give him the, you’re the new kid, right? rundown, which would make this already shitty night enter total suckfest territory.

“God, he is so fucking hot,” Sam hears, and he busies himself by turning to the fridge behind him and pretending to seriously weigh the differences between regular and Diet Coke despite the coffee already in his hand. “Like where did he even come from?”

“I guess he just moved here,” the other girl says. “I heard he’s ex-military.”

“Ex-military? I think he’s like, 20 years old. I heard he’s an ex-con.”

“Well, whatever. I heard he fucked Candy Patterson. You know, Caroline’s older sister? Did her behind Pop's after her Sunday shift.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” the first girl says. Sam can picture her covering her mouth, eyes widening in shock before cutting over to gawp at Dean. They’re probably going half-lidded with lust, her face a little flushed. He hates it. “Candy Patterson? Behind the bar? I heard he fucked Brianna Smith in that car he drives. Jesus! He’s been here for like 2 weeks and he’s already managed to get two girls to put out? In like, semi-public?”

“Three,” the other girl says, voice dropping low like it’s a secret. Sam has to strain his ears to hear. “You know how I’ve been kinda dating Alex, right? Well his older sister, Hayley – I heard her talking to her friends and apparently he gives head like a dream. Like, really enthusiastically and everything. Likes to make girls finish.”

“You think he’s sweet?”

“Who cares? Look at him!”

“Yeah, I’d definitely let him swipe my v-card.”

It’s enough for Sam, who feels weirdly hot despite the temperature. Grabbing a bag of chips, he stalks back toward the front of the store, where the girl’s gone outside to pump her gas and Dean is hunched back over the newspaper, pen flicking idly over his fingers.

“What’s up, Sammy?” he asks. “You know a style of romance music that started in the Dominican Republic, by chance?”

“I’m going back to the motel,” Sam says. The answer is Bachata. “Can I have the key?”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, but digs the key out of his back pocket, holding it out for Sam to take.

“Don’t wanna hang here for the next 2 hours?” he asks. “What, am I no fun? Looks like a shitty walk home.”

“I’m good,” Sam says, snatching up the key and ignoring the way his fingertips brush Dean’s palm. “I’ll be fine.”

“Got your knife?”

“Dean, I’m sixteen,” he says, already walking toward the door and pushing it open. “Chill the hell out.”

“Try not to beat your meat so hard it falls off!” Dean calls behind him. Sam can hear him laughing over the wind. He bites his lip, and doesn’t say try not to fuck anymore girls in the next 2 hours.

[on AO3]

[vro0m]

vro0m's rewatch - 187/332

2016 Brazilian GP

Alright penultimate race. Remember that if Nico wins this one it's over, and Lewis has never won there at this point. And it's actively raining! We open on the drivers truck about to leave and Lewis puts himself between Seb and Raikkonen, very close, very intimate. 

The grid : Lewis qualified 0.102 ahead of Nico. Then it's Raikkonen, Verstappen, Seb, Ricciardo, Grosjean, Hulkenberg, Perez and Alonso. 

The journalist on the drivers’ truck says the crowd has been shouting Lewis' name. Lewis says it's amazing especially given the weather for them to still be there and out. "Yeah I'm not Brazilian but I still have great support here which I'm so grateful for," he says. (And a handful of years later look where we're at! He IS Brazilian!) The journalist says Charlie has already stated it would be a normal standing start. Nice, Lewis says. He says he's glad they took into account the complaints that happened at another race that they should have started on the grid. He's very distracted because he's waving to the crowd and spotting his fans in the stands.

"Did you see your fan club there?" he's asked. "Ya." the journalist is kinda wholesome, he's not looking at Lewis, he's also looking at the crowd smiling wide with him rather than at him.

He says they have good reasons to be excited because Massa is saying goodbye and he might win his first race here. Lewis twitches. "Yeah it's not an easy race to win," he tempers. "Due to all these conditions every time we come, but it is one of the best grand prix there is and I just hope to be as prepared as I can possibly be." 

Oh and later on in the build up we learn that Ferrari is appealing Seb's demotion in the Mexico gp. Good luck guys. 

Ohhh and Grosjean crashed on his way to the grid. Lewis has been heard on radio saying it's very wet out there and it clearly is. The start is delayed. The drivers are split on whether they should do a standing start or a safety car start. 

And it's gonna be a safety car start after all. 

And here they go. 

Lewis immediately radios in that he can't see behind the safety car and whether they can ask Charlie if they can follow at more of a distance because he can barely see the lights. Seb says there's a lot of water on the straight and between 3 and 4 which wasn't a problem earlier. Daniel also says it's worse than the laps they did to the grid. Are they gonna red flag it? Lewis must have gotten the green flag to put some distance between himself and the SC but he slows down a bit suddenly and we get a concertina effect that looks a bit dangerous in these conditions. Like, some of them are overtaking each other by mistake. Jenson says visibility is "non-existent". At the start of lap 4 Sainz thinks they can race but the visibility is on the limit. Ricciardo then says they're close. They're all agreeing basically that the track is getting better and the spray is the issue. Max says it won't get better if they keep going so slow. Magnussen says "it's easily ready to race". Lewis says when he pits later if they could find a way to block the top of his visor it'd be good because water is dripping in his eyes. Safety car in at the end of lap 7. 

Nico was caught sleeping a bit. Verstappen overtakes Raikkonen for P3. Magnussen pits for inters?! That's not gonna end well. You can tell Nico is more cautious than Lewis. Someone has crashed I think. Yellow flash in sector 3 and I can see Gutierrez falling in the standings. Oh it's cleared! Maybe he just spun then. Jenson pits for inters as well. 

Lap 10, still don't know what happened to Gutierrez. Seb is closing on Raikkonen. Alonso, Bottas and Massa pit. Inters for everybody. It still seems early for that. So many people in the pits. Kvyat, Palmer, Ericsson. Nico says he thinks it's too early. Ricciardo is closing on both Ferraris. Ohhh and Seb aquaplaned a bit there, Ricciardo is ahead. Oh no. Okay so. Initially he just kind of drifted on the straight but as he rejoins the track he spins for good and finds himself facing the wrong way. Scary, especially in such low visibility. He manages to go again thankfully. He pits. Oh there's a problem with the gun! 7.9. It's bad. Ohhh. Someone's stranded and someone almost hit him at full speed. It's Ericsson. Safety car. For some reason instead of stopping in the area between the track and the pitlane entry he stopped IN the pitlane entry. Bad idea bro. OH GOD. AS THE CAMERA PANS AWAY THERE'S A RBR OR TORO ROSSO CAR DIVING IN THE PITS AT FULL SPEED. Did they collide?! There's debris from Ericsson's car in the middle of the track as well, that's what the camera was panning to. It's Max who pitted. He had to take evasive action. And the pitlane is now closed. It's unfair! Really stupid from Ericsson as well. Also Ricciardo is now in as well so? Lewis asks if it was someone on inters and he's told yes. Lewis says there's still way too much standing water. Nico is told they expect the rain is gonna get worse actually. Bad news for the inter boys. And we see a replay of Perez doing a full 360 on the track. Magnussen says he thinks it's too wet now. Too wet for inters? His teams asks. Too wet period, he says. The pitlane is open again. Ricciardo is under investigation for entering the pitlane while it was close. Palmer pitted to get back on the full wets. "Lewis, just give us some feedback on current conditions in terms of spray." – "It's– it's no different." – "OK roger." Safety car coming in again at the end of lap 19 and Massa is under investigation for overtaking before the safety car line.

Here we go again. Lap 20. The order goes Lewis, Nico, Raikkonen, Verstappen, Hulkenberg, Perez, Sainz, Nasr, Ricciardo and Ocon, at the moment. OH AND RAIKKONEN IS INTO THE WALL! It just took a couple of corners and as soon as they crossed the finish line he crashed. Oh shit he bounced from one side of the track to the other and almost crashed into Verstappen in the process. Loads of debris everywhere again. They're definitely gonna red flag this at some point right? The safety car is back out of course. Yep, it's a red flag. We hear that Seb was calling for it. "Yeah we need extremes, first of all, second we need to stop the race. It doesn’t work. How many people do you want to crash? I nearly crashed into Kimi in the middle of the straight. Couldn’t see anything." Everybody is getting out of the cars. Lewis is talking with Pez, his start engineer. Nico is talking, in French, with a man about his visor. He's eating a banana. We see a replay of Max almost losing it on the straight as well and he says on radio he wasn't even pushing. Massa gets a 5 sec time penalty for overtaking before the safety car line. Daniel gets one as well for entering the pitlane while it was closed. Lewis then comes back out and talks with Bono. They’re very very close. 

Okay we got the 10 minute warning for the restart. And here we go yet again, under safety car. Ocon immediately says the visibility is worse than when they stopped. Oh god. Perez is told heavy rain is coming (what did we get until now then?!) and they expect it will last FIFTY MINUTES. This race is fucked. Seb says it's still bad and Hulkenberg pits, which is weird because it takes him from P4 to P15. Nico says it's still very difficult. Oh Hulkenberg had a puncture. And Palmer has DNFd and nobody noticed. Max is told they're potentially expecting more rain as the commentators say they think it's getting raceable. Seb says it seems like it's getting heavier, he sees more rivers in turn 5 and says he's nearly lost the car several times around the track. Oh. Palmer is out because he crashed into Kvyat apparently. Somehow they didn't show us until now. And Max just overtook Nico under SC. And Perez behind him has to break hard to avoid him. "We should be going, Charlie." Lewis says with a touch of music in his voice. A couple laps later Ted reports that Max is saying the same thing and that the crowd is booing. 

But they're not going. 

They're red flagging it. 

AGAIN.

The whistles are LOUD. Lewis, when told about the red flag, says the track is fine. The public is very, very unhappy. Drivers aren't happy about it either OH HEY! THAT'S WHERE THAT GIF FROM SHY LOVER CHARLES LOOKING AT LEWIS IS.

Ted says he gets that people are unhappy but names Jules Bianchi. And he's right. And we get another 10 minutes warning after a good long while. But the teams are saying they expect the rain to keep going as it is or get worse. We still have 42 laps to go and I wonder if it's gonna work out. They go again under safety car. And again we're told it'll do more than 1 lap. 

It's lap 30. Lewis says the lap is no different and Max says it's a little bit worse but they can race and indeed the safety car comes in. Nico leaves some room to Lewis but behind him Max and Perez are so close to him they're almost overtaking each other. Max has positioned his car to overtake. Now Lewis slows down as well and he's gonna have to get it right. He does. Max is extremely close to Nico. Massa pits. Max overtakes Nico. We could barely see it happen with the spray. Ricciardo overtakes Sainz for P5. Seb overtakes Wehrlein for P10. Max was getting close to Lewis but Lewis sets a fastest lap. The gap is 1.5. 1.7. 1.9. There's tight skillful racing in the midfield. Seb is chasing Ocon for P9, half a second away. And then Ocon makes a mistake and Seb is ahead. OHHH and Max spins but miraculously manages to not hit the barrier but it's still costly because Nico who'd fallen back a bit is now wheel to wheel with him down the straight but Max stays ahead! 

It's lap 40. Lewis, Max +6.7 (!), Nico +1.5, Perez +6.7, Ricciardo +0.5, Sainz +3.9, Nasr +7.5, Alonso +1.2, Seb +1.2, Ocon +4.3. Ted says Lewis has radioed in that his tyres are starting to fall off and he's been told to try to cool them down. Ricciardo pits. He serves his penalty. Goes away on inters. Let's see how that goes. Welp. Perez is told they expect heavier rain in 5 minutes lol. Massa, Bottas and Jenson in P16, 17 and 18 are also on inters btw. Seb overtakes Alonso for P8, and Alonso tries to come back but finds himself forced wide by the Ferrari! Max also pits for inters! It might be catastrophic for RBR if they got the weather report wrong. If they got it right they might get a nice undercut. And Daniel is setting good lap times at this point. Hulkenberg pushed Ocon wide. Seb overtakes Nasr for P6, and Jenson wants to go back on the wets saying the inters are bad. He's told other cars are still going on inters and he says he doesn't care, and cannot drive through the last few corners on this tyre. (I would trust him given his skills in wet conditions.) He pits. Oh and we see Nico had a moment as well. Bono describes it to Lewis as a "half spin exit 12 through 13" and tells him to be cautious. Gutierrez says there's something wrong with his car. There's a big fight for P7 between Nasr, Alonso, Hulkenberg and Ricciardo. They're all under a second from each other. Yellow flags in sectors 1 and 3… oh it's a crash again. And it's Massa. For his last home race. What a shame! Safety car out. And he's also stranded in the pit lane entry which means the pit lane is closed. He gets out of the car and stands there waving to the crowd. Bro it's dangerous, go away. There's a photographer there who hugs him and says something to him in a very animated manner and taps his helmet. It's sad. He walks towards the pitlane waving and then someone gives him a Brazilian flag and he holds it open behind his head. He's trying very hard not to cry I think. Ted says Lewis reported he had an aquaplaning moment. It's bad for Mercedes that the pitlane is closed. They would have wanted to change tyres, probably. 

It's lap 50. 3 more laps and they get full points. Oh. 

There's a marshal crying for Massa. It's cute. Massa is crying too now. Still walking sadly all alone with his flag under the rain towards the garage. Soppy. In the garage, his son is waiting. This is the saddest shit I've seen in a while. In the pitlane a couple of Williams workers welcome him and hug him and comfort him as he walks. His son is walking in his direction with his mom. OH MY GOD. I'm gonna start crying as well. All the Mercedes mechanics are lined up in front of the garage clapping for him as he walks past.

And his wife and son hug him right there. He's sobbing. I'm so emo, fuck. His engineer also kisses him on the head. Now it's the entire Ferrari garage flocking to him and clapping. And his dad is there hugging him. The pitlane entry is now open. But everyone is still celebrating Massa. The Williams people are also waiting for him clapping in a line. He's hugging everybody. They're all hugging him. So many people are crying. 

Back to the race, Ricciardo is pitting for full wets again. Lewis is saying he can't keep the temperature in his tyre with how slow the safety car is going. Nico says there's more water now and asks how many crashes they wanna see. It's lap 54 and it's full points. Max says in the last sector "it's like a boat" and I read he also wants to go back on full wets. Verstappen pits. Now it's complicated. Of course Nico wants them to stop the race, he's second. But Max went from second to fifth because they pitted and now they're pitting him again. He's gonna lose out big time if they red flag it. He's P16 now. But they're not redflagging it! We're gonna go again! Here's the current top 10 then : Lewis, Nico, Perez, Sainz, Seb, Nasr, Alonso, Hulkenberg, Ocon, Kvyat. Here we go. 

Nico is very close. Lots of movement in the back. Oh yeah. Alonso spun. Oof. His front tyres went on the grass and the grass shredded. It's just mud. He didn't crash though and is going again, only in P17. Lewis pulled a gap. Max is up in P12 half a second away from P11 already. And P11. P10 is Daniel though, and P9 is Kvyat. Let's see how that goes. Hulkenberg is very close to Nasr. And Max overtakes Daniel. Hulkenberg overtakes Nasr. 

It's lap 60. Lewis, Nico +4.3, Perez +5.6, Sainz +3.0, Seb +1.3, Hulkenberg +3.8, Nasr +0.9, Ocon +2.2, Kvyat +1.2, no actually, it's now Max, then Kvyat, then Ricciardo in P11. Oof Max is now pressuring Ocon, who's catching up to Nasr. And Max is in P8. Gutierrez is out in a double retirement for Haas. He's shown throwing his gloves on the ground in the garage. Ricciardo overtakes Kvyat for P10, while Max attacks Nasr and is up in P7. It's really impressive what he's doing out there in these conditions I have to say. And Ricciardo is up in P9 after clearing Ocon. They're really the whole show in this race. And then he clears Nasr for P8 as well. Gutierrez and Steiner are having words. Seb is getting close to Sainz. But Verstappen overtook Hulkenberg for P6, and attacks him. But Seb defends and keeps his position for now. 5 laps to go. He attacks again, ohhh and Seb is on the grass… Was he pushed? He makes little work of Sainz, and that's P4. Incredible. Seb says he was pushed indeed. He says he was ahead. It's difficult to say tbh. Max sets the fastest lap and he's looming behind Perez now. What's the gap to Nico actually? Is Nico at risk? Oh yeah no he's not. Perez to Nico is 14.3 seconds and there's 3 lap to go. But he'll make the podium. Ooooof he attacks from the outside, Perez closes the door on him so he's off track but doesn't yield because he was ahead for sure and pushes Perez right back, he has the inside line in the next corner and they're a wheel to wheel in the exit and he's ahead into the next one! And that's the podium. And Seb overtakes Sainz for P5. Lewis starts his final lap. 

And it's the end of the race. 

Lewis wins ahead of Nico and Max. He's now ahead of Prost on the list of drivers with most wins, second only to Michael. He's also broken the record for the most different circuit he's won at, with 24. He is so so so happy on radio. Whooping, yelling, laughing. I'll post a clip of that. His first win in Brazil. Bono chuckles with him. Lovely. 

In the cool down room he talks tyres with Max and how much water was in the last sector. Max is very very elated as well. They're all kinda hyped up. Then they say something about staying second and Nico says Max wasn't faster than him and Max says he was but only for one lap then there was more water and he didn't have the grip. I think Lewis is impressed with his performance and he asks what time he was doing then Nico says "did you get the wall in turn 14?" and Max says "no, I just – Oh my god, that was a big moment." Lewis alludes to the fact that Nico also has a moment. Nico nods with a smile. He asks how Lewis knows. "Coz I know everything that happened in the race," Lewis jokes. "I saw it on TV." 

Brundle is conducting the interviews and he starts by thanking the public who stayed through it all. "What a race Lewis!" he says. "Not too bad huh?" Lewis says. They both chuckle.

He also thanks the fans. He says he was just chilling at the front and when it rains it's usually good for him. He says it was tricky for everybody though with the aquaplaning. He thanks the team, they are making history together. Brundle says he was talking about water getting in his helmet, was it the only drama for him? "That was the only drama, yeah. No mistakes, no issues, no spins." He says it was kinda interesting to hear along the race the people who spun behind him, but he didn't have that problem so he's very happy. 

The crowd is very agitated but I'm not sure why. Cheering then booing then chanting things I can't hear then booing again then singing like at a football match : ole ole ole ole, something something. 

Max speaks of his spin again and Brundle asks the others if they saw it and Nico says again he saw him pointing 90° towards the wall and Lewis says again he saw it on TV. Max repeats, baffled : "He was watching the TV!" (And now he’s the one doing so.)

Lewis says he'll give it his all in Abu Dhabi which is usually a good track for him but right now he wants to live in the moment. This has been his dream ever since the first time he saw Ayrton Senna race when he was 6. It's his first victory in Brazil and he says it's the 44th grand prix here so it's lucky. Brundle asks if it's one of his toughest wins, top 5 maybe? Lewis says it was one of the easiest ones. It was a very easy race generally. (I think he's being a bit cocky but I guess he really did not have any difficulty out front. The others did.) He says Silverstone 2008 was way harder. 

Niki says Lewis and Nico did a perfect job and Verstappen was outstanding. Oh and Johnny says he's one in a generation and it's good for Formula 1 and for the future “because we're gonna see stuff like that– can you imagine? Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen going at it? It will be awesome!“ Will it though? Lol. 

Lewis is very very happy he's finally won in Brazil. He says he remembers watching Senna drive there in ‘91 and thinking that's what he wants to do. He says he can now finally understand how amazing it feels and he's just super thankful and grateful to all the people who've helped him do it, his team.

They have proved this year they're the best team by far (they broke the record of the number of wins in a row or something like this I don't remember). He says in every area, “our hospitality, it destroys everyone else's, our food is the best, our guys in the garage are the best, our guys back at the factory are the best, my car is the best.” He's proud to be a part of it. The journalist says she has little notes about him because they didn't see him much during the race, how was it?

He says generally this is the hardest grand prix. He's been trying to win this thing for 10 years. But it just so happens that day was an easier race for him. He didn't have any problem, any mistake, any issue, nobody could match his times. It was amazing, he says. “Racing in the rain, here, on Senna’s turf, with Brazil watching, I mean it's a very very special moment which I will never forget.''

Finally she says the RBR guys pitted for the inters and it helped them (Mercedes) open a gap and if it wasn't for that stop Nico might have been further behind him in the points. “He got lucky today again,” she says. “Unbelievable,” he shakes his head, then laughs.

“When will it end. I mean RedBull made such a big mistake with that call.” He says there was never a moment, then says there actually was one moment after the first safety car the track was inter but more rain was coming. Other than that it was never an inter track.

He says when the team called him to say other people were going on inters he said they're crazy. He knew they'd have to pit again. And that's what they did. He calls it a shame. But there's nothing he could do about that. He says ‘he’ still had a great race and got back up to third, but it'd be good if they made good calls in the next race, he laughs. 

At the end of the broadcast, Simon asks who's gonna win, Hamilton or Rosberg. Everybody says Rosberg : Brundle, Di Resta, Hill and Johnny. 

[satanicspinosaurus]

Finally done with holiday stuff and get to read. <3 Also look at me, I learned what a readmore is so I don't spoil anyone on this fic!

>"I almost said something I shouldn't have to him, but I don't know why you don't want to tell him." 

Gale is starting out by advocating for the audience’s drama diet, lol 

>"I like you. You're the only person who knows what it's like…to grow up like we did." 

OH SHIT. OH SHIT. OH SHIT. Like yeah, OK, I am guessing minor celebrity status? Like just people be acting weird. Makes sense Gale was pushing so hard for Octavia for the job. 

>He sighs and slowly falls asleep with his hand still holding hers.

These TWO PARAGRAGHS. Gale is back on the old patch of everything is a flirt, and honestly I don’t think he’s wrong here. Like a basic reading makes me think, yeah Octavia is going to have to walk this back a bit. Also, for someone reason my brain is REALLY stuck on the Oct- prefix here. I mean literally oct (8) and avia (bird) in latin. Idk, probably a silly whatever but my brain ain’t letting it up. 

>Everything is too much, between the crowd, having to push aside her anxiety to perform for work, being dolled up like someone else wants her to, Gale being Gale, and even Astarion.

Glad she is feeling those feelings. I have written my concern that people are pushing her a lot, and ….

>She lowered her head onto the cold metal table and started to cry. 

Yeah, wow. Fair. 

>She wipes her face quickly trying to gather herself, the adrenaline overtakes the sadness she feels.

!!!

>Astarion is standing at the edge of her gate, he looked like a raccoon when it's caught rummaging through her garbage. "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you follow us back to my house like some creepy fucking stalker?!" Octavia speaks in a hushed, angry tone. 

I AM LAUGHING. STOP THIS. I CANNOT. There’s an albino raccoon named Meeko who has some sassy photos: (https://www.facebook.com/goCMNH/posts/keep-your-snoot-to-the-sun-and-you-will-never-see-the-shadows-meeko-sundaysnoot-/10158601065042297/?locale=ps_AF) Very Astarion of him.

>"What was that? I'm a little hard of hearing at the moment." 

I love how Octavia had a little breakdown, as a treat, and decided to go full boss mode after. 

>"Well, aren't you going to say something? Thank me? Anything?" 

DUDE. That is not an explanation. WHY WOULD THAT BE AN EXPLANATION??? 

>That was locked by the way.

Well, you know….not enough I guess. 

>"You haven't earned the right to stare at me like that." He teased, as if trying to ease the tension a bit.

Ohhhh interesting. It’s a timeskip, but I would imagine Astarion basically has to be professionally stared at a lot now. Maybe he’s in control of it in a way, but I do get a slight hint that it’s still not fun for him. It also might be because he’s putting the pieces together, but still. 

>You think I'm charming?" She sits next to him, smacking his shoulder. "Answer me, or you sleep in my living room next to Gale."

I- WHAT? 

>I like Gale, I do…just not how he wants me to.

Ah, sweetie, that’s a big mood. *Stares at Asation* You better be nice, fangs. She deserves it.

>I just want to do things for me. 

The cool thing is, you can push on that going forward!

>"You are wonderful." His voice sounds small and vulnerable, this is the most open she's ever seen him. 

Ahhhh. I have a soft spot for big claims like this. It usually only works if you know the person a long time, but the contrast of big claim/ small voice by charisma monster works so well here. 

>Can't I just be a slave to fashion, love?

Oh, clever. Clever. He’s buried an issue hint within his deflection phrase. Probably helps it ring true to some folks.

>"Hold on- I'm sorry

Nice. Octavia pushing back here is so fair. Especially since we know Astarion has a buttload more life experience than her. He can take it. And even without that, he’s in a position of power over her. 

>I don't generally share things with them no matter how friendly we are.

This is a good point. I think people couple those things. Privacy and trust are separate things. 

>"Do you think you can trust me a little further?"

I wonder if this feel nostalgic for him, or it’s him trying to work it out. 

>I'll trust you as long as you don't do anything to show me that it was a mistake. Like follow me home.

I really like this. I think it’s trusting but giving firm boundaries here.

Memories of Us Chapter 7

Chapter list : [ 1 ][ 2 ][ 3 ][ 4 ][ 5 ][ 6 ]

Summary: Octavia has a lot of feelings, mentions of family obligations and stress.

As always I want to extend my love to my bestie and beta @micropoe10 💞 without her I wouldn't be posting anything.

Inspired by @cheesy-cryptid 's art 💖

Tags:

@justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus

@tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel

Chapter 7 "these words are stones "

As Octavia and Gale cross the threshold of her house, she closes the door and leads him down to her couch. He splayed out with his arms hanging behind his head. Gale looks up at her, his face still covered in a faint flush. "I almost said something I shouldn't have to him, but I don't know why you don't want to tell him."

"It's complicated, Gale. Let's not talk about that now, okay? You need to rest." She sits down next to him and places a hand on his chest. "Lie down, I'll get you a blanket." She starts to stand when Gale holds her back, their hands still together. "I like you. You're the only person who knows what it's like…to grow up like we did."

His breathing starts to slow, sleep coming closer. "When you kissed me…Gods that must have been what it felt like to be one with Mystra…" he looks at her, a lump growing enormous in her throat.

"Gale..I..you're tired..you're not making sense. Let's talk about this in the morning?" His face falls a little and he kisses her hand, still in his. "You are incredibly beautiful. Thank you for taking care of me." He sighs and slowly falls asleep with his hand still holding hers.

She slowly pulls away and grabs him a blanket. After covering him up, she quietly takes off her shoes and exits to her back garden. Her dress drags on the floor so she picks up a bit and sits at the metal table she has outside.

The whole night crashes down on her. Everything is too much, between the crowd, having to push aside her anxiety to perform for work, being dolled up like someone else wants her to, Gale being Gale, and even Astarion. Why did she always feel so intimidated around him? Why can't she trust him like Gale says? She lowered her head onto the cold metal table and started to cry.

The tears spilled out like an overflowing teapot. All the stress she had felt these last two months finally explodes throughout her body. She's fully enveloped in the sense of self doubt, tears and sobs rolling out from deep within. Her breaths catch as she releases all of this negativity, when she hears the front gate creak. She wipes her face quickly trying to gather herself, the adrenaline overtakes the sadness she feels. Turning, she sees a familiar shadow come through the line of shrubbery.

Astarion is standing at the edge of her gate, he looked like a raccoon when it's caught rummaging through her garbage. "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you follow us back to my house like some creepy fucking stalker?!" Octavia speaks in a hushed, angry tone. She dashes over and pulls him towards the stone bench at the back of her yard.

"Explain. Now." She crosses her arms at the man sitting down in front of her, he clears his throat "I wanted to make sure you both got home safely. You two were acting unlike yourselves and.." he mutters under his breath, Octavia frowns "What was that? I'm a little hard of hearing at the moment."

Astarion furrows his brows and has a sideways frown, he crosses his arms and practically growls out "I was worried about you. Mostly you, but Gale too…he got really fucked up. More than I've ever seen. Made me ...concerned." his shoulders droop and he puckers his lips some. "Well, aren't you going to say something? Thank me? Anything?"

Octavia drops her arms putting them at her waist, "Thank you for what? Breaking into my garden? That was locked by the way. How did you even know to do that?" They stared at each other for a moment, but he was the one to crack first.

"You haven't earned the right to stare at me like that." He teased, as if trying to ease the tension a bit. She chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Seriously, what the hells are you doing here? Why did you come here? And don't do the thing you do where you're all charming and distracting and don't actually answer my questions." His smirk evolving into a playful grin "You think I'm charming?" She sits next to him, smacking his shoulder. "Answer me, or you sleep in my living room next to Gale."

Astarion looks at her confused, "In your living room? Gods, I didn't think you were that impatient." She stares at him, slightly annoyed, she scoffs "Nothing happened. Well, he told me he likes me…but I'm not really sure how to tell him I'm not…" she groans loudly and begins to tear up again.

Astarion notices and softens his voice "Octavia, what's wrong?" She faces him unable to stop the flow of her tears. "Little love, whatever could be the matter?" He reaches up and wipes her tears, resting his hand on her cheek. "I just don't want to let anyone down. I like Gale, I do…just not how he wants me to."

Astarion takes his handkerchief and hands it to Octavia. She wipes her nose and sniffles. "I'm so afraid of disappointing him, or you, or my family. They expect so much from me because of who we are…all the shit I went through because of who my godsdammed great great whatever grandmother was..it sucks. I just want to do things for me. For my enjoyment, not anyone else's. It feels like I'm nobody, just another person working in the background where I'm most comfortable."

They sit not speaking for what seems like forever, "You are Octavia. Eloquent, whip smart, hilarious, that's who you are to me. My favorite assistant. My left where Gale is my right. You two invigorate me. Without you tonight would never have happened. Even with all this other stuff." He moves his hand in circular motions in between the two of them, resting it on top of hers afterwards. "The only way you will disappoint me is if you do this to yourself. You're too damned good for that, dear."

She moves her hand a little, lacing her fingers into his. She hears his breath catch, as he tightens his grip a little. "You are wonderful." His voice sounds small and vulnerable, this is the most open she's ever seen him. Right now, even behind the glasses she can sense his gaze, now might be a good time to ask the question she never got the answer to back when they first met.

"You never told me why you always wear dark glasses indoors or at night. I mean I know you're an elf and can see in the dark, but isn't that a lot of work?" Astarion laughs, he rolls his lips in and bites one a bit. "Can't I just be a slave to fashion, love? Does everything need an explanation?"

"Fine. Have it your way." She untangles her hand from his. "You know, usually when people tell you some personal shit, it's nice to trust them a little to open up and not be such a rude…ugh nevermind I gotta go check on Gale." She gets up and turns to walk away, but he holds her wrist, tugging gently to stop her. "Hold on- I'm sorry…I just…it's hard for me to trust people. I don't generally share things with them no matter how friendly we are."

He glares up at her, from this angle she can see his eyes a little bit more. His lids were hooded, eyelashes a deep shade of gray, almost black. It didn't help that they were in the darkness of the night, or else she would be able to properly see. "Do you trust me?" Octavia looks down at him, she swears he has an almost pleading look to him, she swallows "Of course, Astarion. I trust you." He relaxes somewhat and speaks softly, "Do you think you can trust me a little further?"

The way he can soothe over whatever he did and make himself seem like the wronged party was impressive. Octavia just wanted to go lay down at this point, it was late and she was done with pretending to care. "Yes. I'll trust you as long as you don't do anything to show me that it was a mistake. Like follow me home."

She chuckles softly to tease him. She lets go of his hand "For now though, I'm going to bed. It's very late and I need to get into something warmer, I'm fucking freezing. Good night, Astarion, make sure you put the padlock back on the gate. I noticed it wasn't working all of a sudden." They laugh and she walks away from him. As she gets close to her door she looks behind her, darkness drapes around as he's vanished into the night. "Really hope I didn't just make a giant mistake."

[bonny-kookoo]

KTH/JJK: Dreamer 1

In which both Taehyung and Jungkook decide that there's enough love for three.

Tags/Warnings: poly, strangers to lovers au, hybrid reader, personal trainer kook, high end clothing label owner&designer tae, mild angst, mentions of (past) homelessness

Additional Chapter Warnings: just cute, so hints at homelessness

Chapter Length: short/mid

Next ->

It's early morning, sun not even fully up, streets still wet from last night's rain, as you walk around town.

It's quiet for once, and you enjoy it; the faint smell of a bakery starting to bake up their goods before they open up for the early customers, birds starting to fly around, first cars driving past. You're yawning; in search of a place to sleep- the night unsafe for you to rest as a stray.

You're so tired that you don't even notice the way you fall asleep slowly, back against the wall of the small bakery as you sit on the bench in the front; its nice here, cozy, makes your dreams turn vibrant with colors. You faintly hear two men talk to one another, before one hushes the other to be more quiet. "..do you think she might need help?" asks one, before the other answers, voice deeper.

"maybe she's just waiting for her owner kook." he says, before the voice named kook responds.

"but it's not even open yet." he says, giving a valid point- a hand steadying your body as you became more and more limp, unable to sit upright any longer. "what do we do?" kook asks, before the other deeper voice answers with a sigh.

"let's wait until the shop opens, maybe someone there knows more about her. " he explains his plan. You're slowly slipping, suddenly falling to the side- landing on something firm but soft, warm, with a nice smell to it. You're asleep- while Jungkook looks down on you, your upper body resting on his thighs as you're both on the bench in front of the shop. "have to admit, that's kind of cute."

"about what?" Jungkook asks, not even noticing how he'd started to softly rub your cat ear between his fingers, an action that makes you purr in your sleep.

"do you think she's a stray?" jungkook asks his lover, who shrugs, before he sits down on the other side of you, mindful of your tail.

"it seems like it." he mumbles more or less, watching your exhausted form sleep in his partner's lap. "no collar, no bracelet either." he hums, before he takes another look at you, in thought. "but even if she has an owner, I'd like to talk to her."

"I think she's perfect for the white spring sets." he mumbles, as he watches the way jungkook's inked hand plays with your ear.

"I thought you wanted to scrap it?" the young personal trainer asks, stopping his movements in the process.

"I did." Taehyung answers. "but.. I changed my mind." he smiles when you open your eyes tiredly, exhaustion clear on your features, even when shock overtakes your expression. You stand in front of them and bow in shame, tail now anxiously pressed against your leg.

"I'm so sorry!" you murmur quietly, before a hand pats your head, and someone chuckles.

"no need to be." Jungkook smiles, before Taehyung leans back with a smile as well.

"do you have an owner?" Taehyung flat out asks, making you squirm on the spot.

"uh.." you start, before he cuts you off.

"we're not from hybrid control. But I've been wondering-" he starts, before touching his bottom lip with his finger deep in thought. "would you be interested in modeling?"

"me?" you wonder, taken aback by it. "like, nude stuff or..?" you start, wary, but Taehyung shakes his head, man next to him wide eyed for a second.

"no no no, rather.. Ah, here." he says, giving a small card go you. Kim Taehyung it reads. Lead designer and CEO. "I have a new collection and you're perfect for it. I'm not just saying that to lure you in." he promises, and you look at the man at his side.

"don't worry, you dont have to say yes-" he explains. "he can come off as a bit forward sometimes, but the choice is always yours.

You shrug. "okay, sure." you say, before yawning. "I uh.."

"you can sleep in the car if you'd like." Taehyung says after getting up, visibly excited now.

"Tae she didn't even agree to staying with us in the first place!" Jungkook chuckles. "I apologize for him, it's been a while since he's been this energized. You're probably still tired." he sympathizes, and you instinctively shake your head. "we're not going to hurt you. Promise. Wait.. Here." he says, giving you something he pulls out of his wallet. At first, you think it's money-

But it's his ID card.

"keep it. As a security." he grins, and you try and give it back- but stop when he gets up and leads you to the car instead with ease.

You'd like to blame it on your exhaustion, but you know you'd never be able to win any physical fight against him ever.

So when you fall asleep in the car, you hope that the feeling in your gut is right.

That your dream might finally come true.

[hiddles-and-skittles]

Ride

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,585

Summary: Gatherings can't be that bad, right? Especially if your boyfriend convinces you to ditch early for a ride home on his motorcycle. It's just unfortunate he's gotta rile you up beforehand.. .

Warnings: 18+, kinda masturbation/edging by motorcycle???, teasing, pet names; sweetheart, doll, cocky Bucky (what? He's definitely a warning)

Notes: This idea came to me and I absolutely could NOT put it down. I don't typically write smut or anything along those lines, so any feedback is appreciated! This is way out of my comfort zone😅

____________

"Come on, Sam is waiting on us."

You roll your eyes and dramatically throw yourself back on the bed. "Yeah well, Sam can wait. I don't even want to be there."

"And you think I do?" He calls to you, pulling on his gloves and nearly stomping back towards your room.

"Bucky, I don't want to go." He stands in your doorway and you pout at him, making him sigh.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. "I know. But who says we gotta stay all night?" At this, you raise up from your mopey position. "We make an appearance, talk to Sam for a little while, then get lost in the crowd and disappear. He won't even notice."

You hum thoughtfully. "Good point." You swing your legs over the bed and slip into your Converse shoes, plastering a smile to your face and gleefully skipping due to the fact you'll get to leave early.

Sam was having a reunion party with some buddies from his Afghanistan tours. It was a huge event downtown, but neither you nor Bucky was a big fan of crowds. So the two of you only considered going in support of Sam.

Bucky stopped on the apartment complex's steps, narrowing his eyes at an empty parking spot. "He took my bike."

You snorted. "Cab it is."

________

Shortly you arrive at the event and he opens the cab door for you, his knuckles grazing down your arm to catch your hand in his. The action sends a shudder through your body and he smirks, stopping to give you a scheming look.

"What?" you ask him, furrowing your eyebrows and squeezing his hand.

"Nothing," he simpers.

You decide to be suspicious of him for the rest of the evening.

There are a plethora of people but you both advance through the crowd in search of Sam, Bucky stopping you to point out that Sam is quite preoccupied. He nudges you towards the most empty table he can find so you can sit down. On either side of you both is an empty seat, and the rest of the chairs are filled by half-drunk, burly men sporting drinks.

One of them turns to you and introduces himself and his comrades. A few of them take quick note of Bucky's name, quoting something Sam has mentioned about him before then thanking Bucky for his service. You wrap your arm around his middle and look up at him with pride, nuzzling yourself closer to your soldier.

You're both quiet as the vets around you continue their chatter about their best times, their laughter making the atmosphere light. You have to admit, you might actually be enjoying yourself. You're lost in a story about a guy teaching his kid how to hot wire a car when a hand squeezes your thigh.

Your knee immediately jerks and hits the table and you have to bite your bottom lip to stifle a yelp. A few heads turn in your direction and as you feel the warmth spreading to your face, you feign a sneeze, apologizing for the interruption. Bucky remains dead panned, although the sides of his mouth subtly quirk up. You glare at him. "Bless you, sweetheart," he patronizes. You shift uncomfortably as the men return to their conversations.

His hand makes its way back to your thigh and you inhale sharply through your nose. "Bucky," you whimper, swallowing hard.

"Gotta keep quiet for me, doll, or I'll stop," he tuts lowly. Instinctively you spread your legs a little to make enough room for his hand. Your breath hitches as he circles your clit with his middle finger, lightly tracing down your clothed mound. You curse yourself for wearing jeans, because the thickness of the denim heavily affects the way he feels against you.

But you want more.

He presses harder until Sam struts over to the table, and Bucky innocuously throws his arm around your shoulder. You huff in frustration and he chuckles.

"Surprised you two haven't left yet," Sam laughs, sipping a beer and slapping a hand over Bucky's shoulder.

"Why would we do that?" Bucky asks sarcastically.

Sam rolls his eyes playfully. "Stay awhile, enjoy the sunset and have a drink. They're all on the house." You both pause in thought. "I knew that would convince you!"

"Well," you start. "The sky is gorgeous right now. Maybe just one drink till the sun sets."

Someone then calls for Sam and he excuses himself, telling you he'll see you back at home later. You watch him disappear into the crowd, reality hitting you that you're still worked up from Bucky's teasing. And all it takes is a devious look from him to get you riled up again. You shoot up from your seat to thank the vets around you for their service, and tell them that it was nice to meet them, but you have some personal matters to attend to at home. Bucky follows suit, grabbing your hand.

You try to push your way through the crowd without an obvious, horny spring in your step, and as you pass by a table, Bucky fishes a beer with his free hand without stopping.

"I'll call the cab back here and we can-"

"No."

"What?" You stop in your tracks and Bucky lets go of you, continuing to walk to where his motorcycle is parked. He beckons you over with a crooked finger as he mounts the bike, and you fold your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow.

"What? It's not like he'll be able to drive tonight anyway." He foots the kick stand, placing his beer in the back compartment then bringing his hands up to twist around the handlebars. "Come on, let's go watch the sunset."

"The-the sunset?" You ask incredulously.

"What? You said it was pretty, let's go get a closer look." Your eye twitches at his feigned ignorance.

"Bucky I swear to god if you don't take me right now-"

He grins. "Then I just won't take you at all." He revs the engine once to accentuate his threat and you groan. "Come on or I'll leave you."

"Fine."

You march over to him and swing your leg over the bike, nestling yourself into his back and situating your hands on top of his shoulders. The engine roars to life, the heads of onlookers catching your eye and in one swift motion he kicks it into gear and you're off.

The winds whips your hair and licks at your face, causing you to constantly tear it away from your eyes. Once free, you take in the view before you, ever amazed at how the sun sets on the water; the sky glows with an orange and pink hue, making it look like a painting. And for a moment you forget about your throbbing lower half until you shift to get a little more comfortable on the seat and oh. Oh.

Your hands impulsively tighten around his shoulders and your jaw goes slack, gasping as the vibration from the motorcycle hits just the right spot. You let out a light moan and no sooner clap a hand over your mouth, hoping Bucky hasn't heard you. Your head slumps forward on his back.

"You good back there?" He yells over his shoulder.

"Y-yeah! Uh-all good!" you wheeze, attempting not to sound too out of sorts. The street is bare as he stops at a red light, and you try to breathe so as not to let the pleasure overtake you. It's not that you don't want to let go, it's just that you know you'll never hear the end of it from him of you do.

When the light turns green, he revs the engine so many times you lose count. Your mind is swirling in ecstacy and you start to pant faster, clinging onto Bucky for dear life as you near your release.

You screw your eyes shut, the coil finally snapping while you bite down harshly on the shoulder of his leather jacket. By this point you're unabashedly gasping and moaning, your hips bucking wildly into the seat as your clit is overstimulated to the point it hurts.

You pray for the ride to your apartment to end while he speeds up, causing you to sob into the waves of pleasure the vibrations are granting you. You claw mindlessly at his torso until he finally slows to a stop, and you catch your breath to come to your senses. You can't help the nagging, coherent thought that the ride home had taken a lot longer than usual and you realize the sky is now completely black and littered with stars.

He knew. That fucker knew.

Bucky dismounts the vehicle and stands before you with a hand on his hip and a smug demeanor. You lean forward on your hands, still heaving to try and even out your breath.

"Enjoy the ride?" Bucky taunts, flat lining his lips.

"Fuck-" pant  "-you," you nearly spit. He chuckles darkly. "You were edging me, with a goddamn motorcycle."

He scratches the back of his head. "I might have added a little extra something just for you."

You raise your head. "Why don't we go upstairs and you let me get my revenge?"

He huffs. "What's the point? You already came all over my seat."

"It wasn't your cock," you retort, untangling your wobbly legs from the bike. Bucky reaches out to steady you, pulling you to him by your waist.

"Fair point, pretty girl."

[helnjk]

A Brief Glimpse - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: there’s nothing like the rumors that students can come up with about their favorite teachers. especially when one of them is adamant on keeping her private life, well, private. 

Warnings: brief mentions of meals, one curse word but that’s it

A/N: a purely self-indulgent, fluffy fic inspired by this ask from kendall ( @lupinsclassroom ) who said that if i taught at hogwarts, i’d be the COMC professor! and i love me some good charlie content. this is also kind of a different style that i’m used to, i hope you guys like it! x

–

The top three favorite professors at Hogwarts were as follows: Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Longbottom, and Professor L/N. 

While most students would argue that Professor L/N could potentially overtake Professor Longbottom on that list, there was just so much they didn’t know about her. She was practically the perfect professor; she loved what she taught (Care of Magical Creatures), she was considerate and understanding with students who were struggling with the subject, and her office doors were always open to anyone who wanted to chat. 

Still, she kept her personal life very private and of course, the more she refused to answer their prying questions, the more intrigued the students became. All they knew was that she was one of the top students of her year, she was a Ravenclaw, and she fought at the Battle of Hogwarts years prior. 

There were many rumors going around the student body of Hogwarts about who Y/N L/N was. The most popular ones were that she was actually Headmistress McGonagall’s secret daughter, because of how close the two seemed to be. In reality, Y/N was just one of Minnie’s favorite students. The headmistress often joked how she should’ve been in her house instead of Filius’. 

Meanwhile, Neville was always open with the students, answering whatever questions they had for him, as long as they weren’t crossing the line between professional and personal. They often loved to ask him questions about his friendship with the Golden Trio or his stories of the war. 

“They’re getting more creative with the questions they ask me,” he shook his head, smiling slightly one dinner, “They’re trying to see if I’ll slip up and mention anything juicy about you.”

Y/N laughed slightly, eyes glimmering, “What sort of questions have they come up with now?” 

“Today Chapman asked me if I’d ever spent the holidays with other professors around my age,” Neville mused, “Or if Hannah was ever jealous that I was working with a girl so close to my age.”  

“Oh please, Longbottom,” Minerva tutted, and the two younger professors turned their heads in her direction, “At least your questions still have some sort of delicacy. Griffiths has actually asked me, point blank, if Y/N’s spent her summers with me.” 

The collective guffaw of the professors at the head table caused the majority of the student body to shift their attention to them. Of course, the authoritative looks that they sent at the house tables were able to convince them to get back to their own conversations, but now the Great Hall was abuzz with trying to figure out what made the professors laugh so loud. 

“I wonder when they’ll stop trying,” Y/N mused as the crowd of students began to slowly shuffle out of the Hall.

“Don’t count on it, L/N,” Minerva smirked. 

–

“Professor L/N?” a meek voice sounded from the door to Y/N’s office on Wednesday afternoon. 

The middle of the week was rather free for her, therefore she used it to catch up on grading and, if she had time, a little light reading. This afternoon, though, she was in the middle of writing an important letter. 

Her owl, Athena, perched at the edge of her desk and her scrutinizing eyes darted towards the fourth year Hufflepuff who stood by the door. Eloise Abbott, a shy young thing with a penchant for Care of Magical Creatures and one of Y/N’s best students, sent the intimidating owl an uneasy glance.

“Come on in, Eloise,” Y/N smiled as she slipped the ink and parchment she was using into one of the empty drawers of her table, “Don’t mind Athena, she’s just impatient to get this letter out.” 

The young girl shuffled towards the professor as Y/N asked, “Is there anything you needed?” 

“Erm, I was just wondering if you could check my Defense paper,” she mumbled, pulling out a parchment from her school bag, “It’s on Grindylows and other creatures we could encounter in the Forbidden Forest, and I know it’s not really part of your syllabus, but I just wanted to make sure I didn’t get anything very wrong.” 

Y/N smiled and held her hand out for Eloise to place the essay. It was silent as she read over what was written, that silence only broken when Athena let out soft hoots or ruffled her feathers. 

“Erm, professor,” muttered Eloise after a while, Y/N’s eyes glanced up from the parchment, “I don’t mean to pry, but why does your owl want so badly for you to finish that letter?” 

A soft chuckle came from Y/N’s mouth before she answered, “She just loves the person I’m writing to, and I honestly think she would rather be in his care than mine. Even if it were just for a few nights.” 

“But you’re wonderful with animals!”

“And he is too, I assure you. Maybe even more so than me.” 

Eloise nodded her head slowly, and Y/N could see the gears turning in her head. It perplexed the young student, who could ever be better with animals than her professor? She knew it couldn’t have been Hagrid, as he still lived on the grounds and Athena could visit him any time she wished. 

Maybe her favorite professor was friends with the Scamander family. Rolf Scamander definitely had ties to Hogwarts and seemed about her age. 

Before her thoughts could go any further with hypothesizing, Professor L/N handed her essay back, “It looks great, Eloise. I have no doubt you’ll get high marks on this essay.” 

Eloise could spot a professor’s dismissal anywhere, so she merely nodded as she took the parchment back. As she hurried out the room, she expressed her gratitude over her shoulder, catching Y/N pull out the letter she was writing with a soft smile on her face. 

–

The end of the school week came with a surprise visitor to the castle. The students could not stop discussing the presence of a dragon tamer on the school grounds. He had arrived later in the morning, trudging up the pathway from Hogsmeade and making his rounds around the school.

Headmistress McGonagall greeted him at the gates with a smile and a hug before she took his arm and the two of them had tea in her office. Of course, as the students weren’t used to seeing an adult that wasn’t the faculty or the staff in the castle, his presence sparked many conversations.  

“I saw him knock on Hagrid’s door!” said Neil Chapman to anyone who would listen to him at lunch, “He had some burn scars all over his arms and really bright red hair. He seemed really cool.” 

It was as if the whole Gryffindor table was gathered around him as he told and retold how Hagrid’s booming voice announced that Hogwarts’ resident dragon tamer was back. Rumors floated around the school for the rest of the day, each student having something to say about the mysterious man. 

“He’s gorgeous though, isn’t he?” sighed Daphne Griffiths, as she and her best friend roamed the hallways on the way to their next class, “All rugged and handsome. I caught sight of him walking towards the quidditch pitch after Transfiguration.” 

All the professors had to stop themselves from full-on grinning at the different things they had heard about Charlie Weasley gallivanting around the grounds, but none of them as amused as Professor L/N. 

“Hurry along then!” 

Y/N stood next to a small paddock at the edge of the forest, next to its open gate. At the center of it, a cluster of fluffy creatures rolled around and play fought with each other. 

“Alright class,” she clapped her hands together, “We’re having a little bit more of a relaxed class to end the week. A crup of one of the Hogsmeade villagers just gave birth about a month ago and her owner’s graciously allowed us to spend an afternoon with the puppies.”

The second year students cooed at the litter of small dog-like creatures with two tails. As soon as she finished her sentence, the group of them rushed to get inside the paddock, each one wanting a turn with the small puppy-like things. Once all the students were inside, she shut the gate and joined them as they congregated around the tiny crups. 

Y/N was grateful that her last class of the week was with younger students. They were much easier to please and sometimes more eager to learn. Of course, almost anyone would be enamoured by the litter of puppies running around.

With her wand pointed at her jugular, she began the small spiel she had prepared for the lesson, “Now, as most of you might know, crups are basically magical dogs…” 

Most students weren’t really paying any attention to her little lecture, but she told herself that at least she tried. She understood the need to coo over cute little puppies, she could let it slide just this once. 

From where she stood towards the other end of the paddock from the gate, she had a panoramic view of the class, just in case anything happened. She doubted anything would, but at least that way she could keep everyone in sight. 

“Of all the magical creatures in the world, you chose to teach about crups?” 

A strong voice rang through the open space and caused many of the students to turn their heads at the sound. Somehow, Charlie Weasley had made it to the gate of the paddock without Y/N noticing. Upon seeing the redheaded dragon tamer so close to them, murmurs spread among the young students.

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking in the sight of him with his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face. 

“Oh wipe that smile off your face, Weasley, you try teaching these kids all week,” she replied, raising her voice slightly so that he could hear what she had said. 

“I guess they are quite adorable,” he caved, leaning his forearms against the paddock and seeming as if he was going to observe them their whole class. 

The students observed their playful and easy banter, in awe that their professor knew the ever mysterious man. 

As her wards were still distracted by him, she said, “Pay him no mind class, he’s harmless. The crup puppies need your undivided attention!” 

As soon as the prying eyes were off of him, Charlie sent Y/N a cheeky wink. She couldn’t stop a smile from growing on her face at the gesture, but she shook her head to indicate that they could talk after her class was over. 

“Professor L/N?” a young girl walked up to her, sending a furtive glance over her shoulder to where her friends were gathered. 

The group of them gestured to her to carry on and Y/N’s eyes lit with amusement, “What’s up?” 

“I-er, we wanted to know how you know the dragon tamer guy? The other professors haven’t said much about him when asked.” 

The young student fidgeted nervously, picking at the hem of her sweater as she glanced up at Y/N. Despite being in the rather early years of her journey at Hogwarts, she knew that Professor L/N enjoyed her privacy. She didn’t want to overstep. 

Y/N sensed this apprehension and gave her a soft smile, “We were in the same year at Hogwarts. He was a Gryffindor and I was a Ravenclaw, but we managed to have a few common classes.” 

“Cool!” 

Before anything else could be said, the girl scurried off to meet her friends with the small tidbit of information she was able to gather from the otherwise close-lipped professor. 

Thankfully, the rest of the hour passed by rather quickly. 

As soon as the bell rang, it was obvious to Y/N that the students were stalling. She had dismissed them fairly quickly and had already begun her process of cleaning up. Meanwhile, the majority of the class was still situated inside the paddock, shuffling around in groups. 

Inwardly, she sighed, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it, it was the end of the school week and they were free to roam (or stay) in any part of the grounds and the castle they wanted. 

Inevitably, Charlie had gotten impatient waiting for them to clear out. Instead, he strode confidently through the gate and towards where Y/N was directing the puppies to stay. 

“Charlie? What are you–”

The remaining students, who had been not-so slyly watching the redhead stride through the paddock, all collectively gasped as he pressed his lips firmly on their professor’s. 

Y/N began to weakly protest, the logical side of her brain screaming at her that this was definitely unprofessional, but the emotional side took over as she was surrounded by the scent and the presence of her boyfriend. Her boyfriend whom she hadn’t seen in months and made a special trip to Hogwarts just to see her in her element. 

Thankfully, Charlie pulled away fairly quickly, his arms still firmly wrapped around her body, a dopey smile on his face. 

Once Y/N gained her bearings, she slapped his chest, “Charles Weasley!” 

“What?” he grinned. 

“You’ve just kissed me in front of my students!” 

–

Despite the–shall we say scandalous?–first encounter between the couple, the rest of the afternoon was quite lovely. Y/N showed him all of the creatures under her care and in the section of the forest that was relatively safe. They also borrowed some old brooms from the shed and raced each other out on the pitch until their cheeks were painful from laughter and their noses were red from the cold. 

By the time dinner rolled around, of course the whole student body was aware of what transpired between the handsome dragon tamer and their favorite Care of Magical Creatures professor. 

This was the first piece of juicy information that they had gotten on Professor L/N, and while they were highly amused at what had happened, they were also not surprised that she was dating someone who worked with dragons on a daily basis. 

They also couldn’t deny the fact that she practically lit up in his presence. They had never seen her so at peace and so happy as when she was with Charlie. Anyone with eyes could tell that the pair of them were in love. 

Minerva had also graciously allowed Charlie to sit at the Head Table with the rest of the faculty at dinner, which caused quite the stir. 

Practically all sets of eyes were trained towards the couple as they ate their dinner fairly normally. 

“You two seem to be the talk of the whole school,” the headmistress teased. 

Charlie sent his favorite teacher a shit-eating grin, “Must be my dashing looks that’s got them all interested.” 

“Please, Weasley,” Y/N tutted, “They’ve just gotten a huge piece of information about me. This is basically their Christmas.” 

“Maybe they’ll finally stop hounding me with insane questions now!” Neville chirped happily, and the table erupted in laughter. 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​ @nuttytani​ @mesmerisedangel​ @amourtentiaa​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ 

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic​

[jaehyunfirstlove]

first date

Pairing: jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: fluff, smut (18+ only)

Warnings: dry humping, unprotected sex, swearing

Word count: 0.9k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77 @mrg-jjh @keeach @the-universe-in-you-jjh @nootnoot-yoonoh @winniet @jaejoongiewifey-blog @iknowyuno​ @10chitaphrr (send me a message/ask if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: i reached 900 followers recently and realized i hadn’t done anything for it, so here’s something i wrote a while ago and didn’t know what to do with lol :) thanks so much to all of you for following me and liking my fics!

It was your first date with Jaehyun, and you had meant to take it slow, so how you found yourself straddling him on your couch you didn’t know.

Oh right, it was because of how he looked at you, with dancing eyes and a smile that made dimples form in the wells of his cheeks. Or possibly it was the way he laughed so genuinely at your jokes, his deep voice echoing in the walls of your small kitchen. Maybe it was the way he was so drawn to you, always wanting to be close, standing behind you as you cooked, side by side as you washed dishes, knees touching as you sat on the couch.

You had wanted to take it slow, but sometimes these things are beyond your control.

“Jae,” you broke away from his lips, hands on his chest, “I was going to take it slow.”

He looked up at you with hooded eyes, lips kiss-stung, hands stilled on your hips. “We can go slow,” he said softly, and you nodded. He leaned in and kissed you then, tenderly, taking his time as his lips moved ever so sensually over yours.

Slow might have been a bad idea.

Now he was moving his lips along your jaw, the heat of his breath igniting your arousal, and when he got to your neck you were breathing heavily. When he found your sensitive spot you inhaled sharply, hands threading through his hair.

“Oh,” you bit your lip as he sucked, not hard enough to leave a mark, but it was enough.

“Is this still okay?” he asked you, breathing hard against your neck. “Should I go slower?”

“No, it’s good,” you answered, your brain turning hazy. You had pretty much forgotten why you wanted to take it slow in the first place.

You felt him smile against your skin, his hands now starting to roam over your ass. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered between kisses down your neck, “I’ve just wanted this for so long, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You melted against him, holding him tighter to you. “Me too,” you admitted, as he pulled back to smile at you. You leaned in and kissed him, and when your tongue entered his mouth he bucked up into you, his hard bulge pressing against your core.

“Mm, Jae,” you moaned, breaking away from his lips because the pleasure you were feeling from him dry humping you was making you crazy.

“Can you come from this?” he asked in awe, watching your face as you started to fall apart.

“Mm, I don’t know, it just feels so good,” you managed to say, as he continued to rub his bulge against you. The friction against your pussy was heavenly, your panties already soaked with your arousal.

He took it as a challenge, a determined look of lust overtaking his face. He dug his fingers into your ass then, holding you tight against him as he rolled his hips against you.

“Oh, mmh,” you cried, rolling your hips in tandem with his. The sensation of his hard length rubbing along your clothed slit made you throw your head back in ecstasy, and you figured if he was this good with his clothes on, you could only imagine what it would be like once he was bare, filling you up to the hilt.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gazed up at you, eyes half-lidded, lips flushed, “you’re so hot.”

You continued to grind your hips against him, chasing your high, and the closer you got the more intense his movements got, short breaths escaping you as he felt impossibly harder underneath you.

“Oh god, you feel so good,” you whined, “I’m so close.”

He reached down between you, eyes never leaving your face, finding your clit over the layers of clothing and rubbing furiously. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you could feel the heat rising through your neck and into your face, your orgasm coming hot and heavy as your pussy pulsed around nothing. You couldn’t even moan or whimper, every sound stuck in your throat as your body shuddered from the pleasure.

“Was that okay?” he asked, rubbing his palms along your thighs as he looked up at you. “Was it slow enough?”

“Yes,” you said, fighting to even out your breathing, “but I think I’m done with taking it slow.”

He tilted his head at you and smiled. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, and in an instant his expression changed. He flipped you onto your back on the couch, immediately diving in and sucking marks onto your neck. He paused only to remove clothing, and when he finally got you naked underneath him he let out a deep sigh as he slid his hard length inside you.

You bit your lip trying not to cry out as he parted you, and you could feel him breathing heavily against your neck. He went slowly, ever so slowly, inching his way inside you so that you could feel every ridge of his cock.

“Oh Jae,” you moaned, “you can go faster.”

“I really can’t,” he said through gritted teeth, and you could see the beads of sweat forming on his brow, “I really need to take it slow.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the irony so you just settled in, trailing the tips of your fingers along his back as he filled you up.

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional​​ for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head. 

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you. 

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks. 

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication. 

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.  

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile. 

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed. 

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it. 

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly. 

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off. 

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically. 

He glares. 

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar. 

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks. 

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible. 

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole. 

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-” 

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye. 

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands. 

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent. 

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line. 

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water. 

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there. 

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you. 

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat. 

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be. 

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten. 

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls. 

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you. 

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers. 

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.” 

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble. 

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens. 

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy. 

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered. 

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder. 

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

[honeytae]

You’ll always be my favorite person.

okay...here we go...this is my first venture into a mini-series! this will have four or five parts i think...it’s just super fluffy friends to lovers, you know the gig. they’re idiots but...they’ll find their way eventually <3 i hope you all like this, please let me know if i did okay  tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters genre: angst, fluff, IDIOTS TO LOVERS warnings: mentions of cheating, depressive themes (breakup aftermath), namjoon is in denial word count: 3.3k

In which your best friend, Kim Namjoon, helps you get over your asshole ex-boyfriend; perhaps, maybe, he was never the one you loved anyway.

Your eardrums still buzzed from all the shouting. 

Your socked feet repetitively hit the ground, bunching the fabric of your shirt in angst as the aftershocks of the breakup rung through your body. You’d been pacing your living room ever since it happened, a painful lump in your throat threatening to rear it’s head as you debated calling him.

Him. Your best friend, Namjoon. The one you could go to for anything, the only one you wanted to go to. Especially in times like this, when your hands were shaking and your chest felt tight and constricted. 

It was definitely not a good time, only a few hours before his workday began, but you felt as if you were going to drive yourself insane if you went on like this. 

Tapping on Namjoon’s contact, you caved, pressing the phone to your ear to hear the two deep notes before they abruptly stopped.

“Hello?” He rasped, clearing his throat at the gravelly voice he’d just displayed, you staying silent on the other line as guilt seeped through your veins.

“Were you sleeping?” He hears your much too awake voice say through the phone, shaky in a way that had him alert in an instant. 

“No, no,” he lied, sitting up against the headboard as his brows furrowed in worry, “what’s wrong?” he asked immediately, concern taking over his tone as he heard you hesitate, balls of his feet landing on the ground as he clutched the phone tighter at the sound of your sniffle. 

The mere question made tears collect on your water line, lower lip trembling as your face scrunched up in a silent cry that wracked your shoulders. 

Trying your best to regain your composure, you ran a hand through your hair, pushing it away from your face as your stare directed out the window adjacent to you. 

“I don’t even know how it escalated so much but we got into a fight, he left, we broke up.” You blurt out, biting down on your lip to silence the sob coming up your throat and threatening to spill out into the microphone of your device.

There was a heavy moment of silence between the two of you, one that would typically be filled with a joke or poking fun at the other for their awkwardness. But this one was tense, Namjoon’s anger bubbling in his chest echoing in the silence as you stifled your cries.

He’d been there for you for multiple breakups, being the shoulder for you to cry on each time someone broke your heart. It was heartbreaking for him as well, seeing you so shattered over someone who didn’t deserve you. Someone who didn’t deserve your love in the first place. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, pausing for a moment at a loss for words. “Are you okay? That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not.” He answered himself, grabbing his glasses from his bedside table to slide atop his ears. 

“I’m coming over.” He announced, standing from the mattress and stumbling over to his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of sweatpants to hastily slip on as he lifted his shoulder to his ear in order to hold the phone so that he could still hear you.

Immediately, you began to shake your head no, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see you. 

“Joonie, don’t, I’m sorry for calling-“

“Love, I’m coming over. I’m already on my way.” 

When Namjoon arrived, you couldn’t help but collapse into his arms, his strong limbs wrapping you up in a tight hug as he shut the front door behind him. 

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.” He whispered, hand placed on the back of your head as your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs, his own heart breaking at the sound of your choked cries being muffled into his shirt. 

He stood with you in his grip for a few minutes, letting you cry in his arms as he swayed you comfortingly side to side. 

“Can I walk you over to the couch?” He inquired softly, getting a stoic nod from you in response, never lifting you head from his chest as he began shuffling both your bodies over to the living room. 

You blindly followed his lead as he lowered himself down onto the couch, placing you beside him on the cushion and welcoming you closer when you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Rubbing his palm up and down your spine, he watched as you steadily began to breathe slower. 

“What happened?” He murmured, watching with gentle eyes as you lifted your head from his body, pouting as you sat up straight against the back of the sofa, looking down at your lap dejectedly. 

Shoulders heaving in a long sigh, you ran a hand through your hair to push it away from your face, the patience exuding from the figure next to you easing you slightly. 

“I was the one who ended things.” 

Namjoon made a quiet noise of surprise from his spot next to you, eyebrows raised slightly as his eyes widened. 

Out of all the relationships you’d been in during his time of knowing you, you’d always been the one who was broken up with. Your history with dating had left Namjoon angry time and time again at the brutal endings that had come along with it. 

“What’d he do?” He asked firmly, tone protective yet knowing as his eyes implored your sullen figure. Fiddling with your fingers, you blew out a sigh, bra it yourself for the explanation to come. 

“Do you remember Hobi’s party?” You asked, Namjoon cocking his head in confusion at the abrupt question.

“Remember when I stormed off and you had to come find me?” You elaborated, a light bulb sparking in Namjoon’s brain as he slowly nodded. Yes, he did remember that.

He remembered coming back from the restroom and not being able to find you, clueless as to where you’d gone before his friends filled him in that you’d suddenly fled without reason. 

Circling the yard several times without finding you, he walked into Hoseok’s house, poking his head into each room with no luck. 

It was when he glanced out the window of the kitchen that he saw a light outside in the dark; a phone screen lighting up none other than your face, low to the ground making him scrunch his brows in confusion before scrambling to exit the house to make sure you were okay. 

Namjoon, ever the gentle giant, couldn’t walk quietly to save his life, shoes pounding against the pavement with each long stride he took toward your hunched over frame. 

The sound of his footsteps had only jarred you slightly, setting your phone down in your lap with a sigh as he sat down beside you on the curb of his friend’s driveway. 

“How’d you end up here?” He had asked, ready to poke fun at you before he noticed the sad gleam in your eye, a frown suddenly overtaking his face as you merely shrugged in response. 

It was a complete contrast to how you’d been just before he’d left for the bathroom, laughing and singing and having fun with him and his friends. He didn’t know what could’ve possibly happened in that short time he was gone. But you were upset, which automatically made him upset.

He tensed up when he realized you might want to be left alone, opening his mouth to ask if that’s what you wanted but pausing once you scooted toward him to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He remembered the words you whispered after a few moments of heavy silence, Namjoon’s heart pounding in his chest as your hands wrapped around his bicep.

I love you.

Moments like that were the hardest for him. Of course he remembered. 

“Yeah. Well, I stormed out because he was letting this girl sit on his lap, practically making out with her.” You scoffed, picking at a string dangling from the sleeve of your shirt as you frowned at the memory.

Silence absorbing the room, you glanced up at Namjoon, unsurprised by the perturbed look on his face.

Namjoon seemed beyond appalled before the emotions on his face turned into anger, his once gaped mouth tightly shut, clenching his jaw while his eyes shot daggers at the man who was no longer in your life. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He finally spoke, facial expression hardening by the second with the new information. 

“I was embarrassed, Joon. Obviously him going to someone else is a message that I’m not enough. I didn’t want anyone to know that, not even you.” You shrugged, Namjoon’s face scrunching in confusion at your explanation.

“That’s such bullshit. He’s sleazy. That’s why he went to someone else. His actions don’t insinuate anything about you.” He fumed, causing you to shrug tiredly.

“It was fucked up, and he knew it. He apologized, said he was just drunk.” You sighed, playing with your fingers in your lap again as Namjoon listened, glancing at your side profile as you heaved another deep exhale. 

“I bought it then, but I don’t believe a word of it now. She’s been blowing up his phone ever since that night.” You confessed, Namjoon’s eyebrows knitting together at your words.

“Was he,” Namjoon started lowly, not daring to finish the sentence he had began. 

“I don’t know, I can’t prove it, but he was messaging her all the fucking time, Joon. It made me feel really weird.” You sighed, resting your elbow on the back of the couch to place your temple onto your palm, letting your eyes fall shut in exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t feel good about that either. God, what a fucking dick.” He said in disbelief, looking at your tired form with a sympathetic frown before shuffling his body closer to you.

“C’mere.”

You heard the return of his soft voice call for you, reaching his arm out behind your back to welcome you into his chest, wrapping you up in a tight hug as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

“I’ll always be here for you.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair and making you exhale a sigh against him. 

“I know you will. Thank you.” You whispered, clutching onto his soft shirt with a ball of your fist into the fabric. 

“And I’m gonna kick his ass.”

You exhaled a small wheeze at that, burying your face into his shirt, his solid figure providing a comfortable headrest for you. 

“You’re not gonna kick his ass, Joon. You’re too good for that.” You patted his shoulder fondly, sniffling against him as his hand circled your spine. 

Namjoon sighed, knowing you were right. He’d never be able to. But god, if only he was a little tougher. He’d beat any asshole who decided to toss your love away.

Tucking his neck in to look down at you, he recognized the closing of your eyelids, your breathing slowing as you fell into slumber. 

Your eyelashes fanned out onto your cheeks, the skin slightly pink from the salt that had been trailing down from your eyes earlier. Your hair was caught in the dampness, causing Namjoon to gently gather the strands and push it back behind your ears. 

Carefully turning his body around the sofa, he slowly lowered his back to the cushions, you snuggling up on his chest as his hand rested on the crown of your head. 

Staring at the ceiling, he could not fathom the fact that someone would choose anything over this. Over you. He had your love, and he threw it away. It angered Namjoon to no end.

Namjoon, who had been your protector since second grade when he’d helped you get your hair untangled from the swingset. He still remembered the vision when he’d seen it get caught from across the schoolyard, running away from the soccer game him and his friends had been playing in order to help you. 

He could still picture your big eyes staring at him as he untwisted your hair from the chain, explaining to you that he had experience doing this because it’d happened to his younger sister so many times.

You’d been quite shy then, only saying a polite thank you when he was done and taking his slightly sweaty hand to shake it when he offered it to you.

“Namjoon. I’m new.” He explained with a smile, withdrawing his hand to push his glasses up his nose before backing away from you as his friend called out for him.

“I’ll see you later!”

From that day on, you and Namjoon had steadily grown closer, running around with each other at recess and sitting together at lunch. You’d broken out of your shell with him after spending so much time together, your shyness slowly fading as he gained your trust.

As you went into middle school, you two stayed close despite every other friend duo or trio breaking up, the both of you managing to avoid drama all the way through your freshman year. 

That was the year Namjoon got his first girlfriend.

They’d only dated a few months, but he’d been left heartbroken when she wanted to split up. It was you that came to his rescue, stopping at his house with his favorite takeout and rocking him from side to side when he eventually broke down in your arms. 

You had always been there. And his crush had been too, but he’d, through years of suppressing it, gotten to a point where he could act like it wasn’t. 

After all, you were best friends. And that was enough for Namjoon. Having you in his life in any capacity was enough.

•••

You awoke a few hours later to a blinding light in your living room, sun piercing your swollen eyes making you cover them with your palms, a groan slipping past your lips at the heavy weight of your eyelids protesting your consciousness. 

Rubbing them to hopefully soothe the feeling, you pulled your hands away from your face, grasping the blanket on top of you in confusion. 

Dropping your head back down onto the couch, your mind raced with flashbacks from last night. The way he had screamed at you when you’d reached for his phone when it wouldn’t stop ringing because of that fucking girl, how it had turned into a huge argument that ended in you breaking up with him, collapsing in tears as soon as he left. 

You felt dizzy at the memory, the nearly two hour long argument draining you mentally, emotionally, and physically. 

You remembered calling Namjoon, him coming over-

Namjoon. Where was he?

Opening your eyes again, you tried to sit up, scooting your butt back on the couch to straighten your spine. It cracked as you did so, causing you to groan lightly as you turned your neck, sleepily looking around your living room. 

Finding your cell phone on the coffee table, you reached your arm over to retrieve it, looking at the bright screen with squinted eyes. 

Bypassing the rest of your notifications, you read the timestamp, concluding with a sigh that Namjoon had most likely left last night and already departed for work.

Standing up off of the couch, blanket still draped over your shoulders, you shuffled to your bedroom, plopping yourself down on your bed face down with a grunt. 

You couldn’t help the way your mind started spinning with the events of the last few months, the spiral and eventual downfall of your relationship. 

Was he the love of your life? Probably not. But fuck, you’d devoted time and emotion to him, you’d defended him to your family and friends and made yourself look like an ass while doing so over him, and you still weren’t enough. You weren’t enough.

Silent tears began soaking the pillow below you, your sniffles filling the room as you covered your face with the blanket, trapping yourself in the darkness beneath the tent of fabric. 

Finally, the fresh tears stopped falling, your bedroom once again encased in silence as you shut your sore eyes, hoping for some sleep to distract yourself for a bit.

Just as you were about to plunge into sleep, you startled awake at the sudden feeling of a hand on your shoulder before settling at the familiar warmth and size of the palm. Namjoon. Your gentle, goofy, over-sized best friend.

“Hello?” He called to you, tugging at the blanket again to which you released your grip, allowing him to see the wet trails down your reddened cheeks as you pouted up at him.

The devastated look on his face made you feel even worse, never liking to see Namjoon with such a glum expression.

His dimpled smile belonged on his face, the gentle scrunch of his nose when he laughed at something making him look not too far off from when you used to make him laugh in elementary school. 

Seeing Namjoon sad was always a trigger to you, and with your current mental state, it was no exception. You couldn’t hold back the choked sob that came out of your mouth, Namjoon instantly sitting back against the headboard and welcoming you into his side as you crawled to him. 

“Oh, love.” He frowned, hand trailing up and down your spine to coax your cries. 

“It hurts, Joon.” You whimpered, the man soothing your hair back with a frown.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He said softly, not knowing what other words to say. 

Honestly, he was fucking furious at him. Furious for playing with your heart like that. But he needed to be here for you, present to make sure you were coping healthily. 

“I thought you left for work.” You whispered, Namjoon humming softly in response.

“Mm, no, I called out. I just went to go pick up some coffee.” He explained, gesturing over to your bureau where two to-go cups of coffee sat side by side. 

“Why’d you call-”

“Because you need me and I’m not going to leave you. Plus, I woke up late today anyway. There was no time for me to go back home and get dressed then get there.” 

“You didn’t have to call out for me, Joon.”

“Love, I wanted to. I promise.” He said, causing you to sigh against him. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled, not knowing quite what you did to deserve such a selfless person in your life. 

When it came to absolute sweethearts, Namjoon took the cake.

“Plus, now I can spend my day with my favorite person. Who’d give that up?” He squeezed your shoulder, raising his eyebrows when you stirred in your position.

His words caused you to pick your head up off of him, Namjoon ignoring the daggers you sent him while he smoothed your fuzzy bedhead down with his palm. 

“You wanted to spend your day with a crying broken me? Really?” You practically scoffed, Namjoon squeezing your shoulder in response. 

“Hey, crying you is still you. You’ll always be my favorite person.” He defended himself, you shaking your head at him with a small smile. 

Laying back down against him, he latched an arm around your waist, securing you in his hold and making you exhale a bit of the tension in your body. 

“Wanna watch something?” He looked from the blank television back to you snuggled against his side, your nod causing his arm to reach over the bureau to grab the remote. 

“The usual?” He wondered, beginning to type the letters into the search bar when you nodded once again. 

Setting the remote down as the Looney Tunes introduction music played from the speaker, both your and Namjoon’s eyes glued to the screen as you lost yourselves in the nostalgia it provided. 

It brought you back to simpler times, when you were in fifth grade having your after school snack at Namjoon’s house, fruit that his mother had cut up for the two of you. 

It brought you back to simpler times when stupid men hadn’t wormed their way into your heart, only to reject you once they had you. 

Being brought back to earth by the man beside you with his hand trailing through your hair, you closed your eyes, thanking him in your head for always knowing what you needed. 

You knew you’d be okay eventually. Namjoon wouldn’t let you fail.

He never had.

[alliedbiscuit]

msr fic / s7 post-closure but pre-all things / wc: 3398

Scully takes Maggie out for a birthday dinner, and you'll never guess who they run into.

************

“So, how are feeling about dessert?” the waiter asks hopefully.

Maggie Scully scoffs. “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat another bite. Maybe just a cup of coffee? Decaf, please.”

“Mom, are you sure? You should get dessert,” Dana Scully prods, stopping herself short before she could let it slip, “It’s your birthday!” The last gift her mother would appreciate is a gaggle of underpaid waiters singing some public-domain-compliant version of a birthday song while the whole restaurant turns its attention toward her. Like mother, like daughter.

Well, the daughter made an exception and found that kind of thing charming exactly once. But at least she got a nice keychain out of it. All her mother would get was humiliation and a chocolate lava cake.

As soon as the waiter leaves to fetch their after dinner coffees, Maggie reveals her true intentions.

“I was thinking we could go to that ice cream parlor down the street. If I’m going to indulge, I think I want a hot fudge sundae. Or maybe we could split a banana split?”

“Or you could get a hot fudge sundae and I could get a banana split, and we could split both,” Scully suggests.

“See, that’s why you work for the FBI.”

“Dessert Conflict Resolution was part of my training at Quantico.”

Both Scullys giggle.

“Does Fox have the same specialty? Or is that what you bring to the team?”

“Mulder’s dessert strategy is just to eat everything and then swim a mile and run five the next day. No, he’s a Takeout Menu Marksman, though. He knows where to order from and what to order so it travels the best and doesn’t get cold and congealed by the time it arrives. Might sound like a trivial skill, but it’s a lifesaver on movie night.”

Maggie continues smiling but cocks her head slightly. Dana realizes why almost instantly.

“You have movie night?”

“It’s not a set thing or anything. We just…if we’re not busy with a case.”

“You just watch movies? As coworkers?”

“As friends.”

“Just friends?”

Dana lets out a long sigh as she stares her mother down. Her mother, maintaining that gentle yet challenging grin. Dana considers her response carefully. She could offer a simple yes because that is the fact of the matter. They are just friends. She could criticize the wording choice. “Just” friends? Why does it have to be “just” friends? As if friendship isn’t somehow enough or isn’t valuable?

She could realize it’s her mother’s birthday and she’s the only other Scully woman left to confide in about matters of the heart, and although she doesn’t want to bring up the New Year’s kiss because she still doesn’t really know what it meant, maybe they both need this little gift of honesty, filled with tempered excitement and promise.

“For now,” Dana Scully finally admits.

Maggie’s grin grows as Scully just shakes her head and manages to keep her slight eye roll from reaching embarrassed teenager level. The waiter does bail her out a bit by choosing that moment to deliver their coffees.

“How is Fox doing? After his mother…” Maggie trails off, but her daughter knows not to expect any more specifics.

“Better? I mean, as well as can be expected. The thing is, right after that, he found out some more about his sister. About what happened to her. It was just so much all at once. I was really worried…”

Maggie reaches across the table to lay a hand on hers.

“But, it was almost like he was ready for it. He finally had some answers. Like it brought him some peace.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. He needed that.”

“We all do.”

*************

Maggie is the one to spot him first as they’re heading for the door.

“Is that- is that Fox?” she asks her daughter.

“What? No, he wouldn't…” Dana trails off as she looks straight ahead to where her mother was indicating and confirms that it is indeed Fox Mulder, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained to the floor as he appears to be waiting near the vestibule for the restrooms.

“Mulder?” Scully questions as she approaches, her voice giving away her confusion and growing concern.

His head darts up in surprise, but a beaming smile of recognition quickly overtakes his face.

“Hey, Scully! Mrs. Scully, it’s so nice to see you!”

“You too, Fox,” Maggie kindly replies, although a quick glance to her daughter confirms her suspicion that Dana is still very confused by his presence.

“Did you…did you need something?” She suddenly feels silly for presuming that he must have come there with urgent news or a case or something, but why else would Fox Mulder be at Petrino’s on a Saturday night? Did his informants trade in clandestine meetings in parking garages for family-style Italian?

“Hmm?” Mulder asks.

“You didn’t come here to find me? I told you I was bringing my mom here for her birthday, didn’t I?” He didn’t look like he had rushed to the restaurant from the office or his apartment as she had originally assumed. He had clearly shaved and combed his hair nicely. He wore an olive green sweater with dark blue jeans and a black wool pea coat rather than his leather jacket. He had definitely made an effort.

“You did, but I thought you were going out tomorrow night on her actual birthday. Happy birthday, by the way, Mrs. Scully.”

“Thank you, Fox. I’m going to have lunch with some ladies from church after mass tomorrow, so I asked Dana if we could do Saturday night instead.”

“Ah. What a weird coincidence then. I can’t believe we didn’t see you at all during dinner.”

We.

Oh God.

Mulder was on a date.

Mulder was on a date in this restaurant on the night he thought Scully wasn’t going to be there. Mulder was on a date right after Scully had confessed to her mother (and herself) that their “just friends” status was in the process of changing. Mulder was on a date right after he’d been through so much pain but seemed to come out lighter and more open and he wanted to share it with someone…who wasn’t Dana Scully.

“So, you’ve already eaten then?” Maggie asks since her daughter appears unable to form a coherent statement at the moment.

“Yeah, we just finished. I’m just waiting for her…” he seems to trail off just to motion towards the restroom rather than say anything indelicate, but then he notices Maggie’s poorly masked look of concern toward Dana, and then he notices Dana’s completely unmasked look of shock.

And then he gets it.

“Oh, no! It’s not…I want you to meet her,” Mulder insists as he grabs a hold of both of Scully’s elbows and then glances anxiously toward the restroom door.

Dana Scully looks like she might be ill.

Thankfully Mulder only stammers a moment longer until the restroom door opens and he finds reprieve when a tall, thin woman appearing to be in her mid-60s walks through the door.

“Aunt Helen,” Mulder calls.

Somehow Scully’s eyes manage to get even wider as some of the color returns to her face.

“Aunt Helen, there are a few people I’d really like you to meet. This is my partner, Dana Scully, and this is her mother, Margaret Scully.”

Aunt Helen smiles widely in recognition, first shaking Maggie’s hand and then Dana’s. “It is such a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”

She lingers with her hand holding Dana’s while she says this, and the younger Scully is left blushing. She hazards a look at Mulder, but he doesn’t look embarrassed by this revelation. He holds her gaze with nothing but pride.

“This is my aunt, Helen Briggs. She’s my mom’s sister. She’s visiting for the weekend from Charlotte.”

They all kind of marvel over the fact that they were in the same restaurant and what a coincidence and oh, we were seated near the back bar, that must be why we didn’t see you and Scully is just starting to feel her pulse return to normal as Aunt Helen laments not having a chance to talk with the Scullys.

“Well, Dana and I skipped dessert so we could go to The Big Dipper for some ice cream. Would you two like to join us?”

“Oh, that would be lovely. As long as we’re not intruding,” says Aunt Helen.

“Not at all,” Scully assures her. “There is one catch, though.”

“It’s not real ice cream. It’s that Tofutti nonsense, isn’t it?” Mulder groans.

“It better not be,” Maggie insists. “I don’t know how she eats that stuff.”

Scully ignores her mother and her partner’s bad mouthing of her frozen treats as she returns her attention to Aunt Helen.

“I’m afraid if you want to come along, you will have to reveal a few good Young Mulder stories. And by ‘a few,’ I mean as many as you’ve got. And by ‘good,’ I mean the more embarrassing the better.”

“I’ll start thinking now,” Aunt Helen laughs.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant,” Mulder says regretfully.

***********

They’ve just sat down to a small, round table for four with their ice cream when Mulder stands up to get them all more napkins, and Aunt Helen retrieves a small, rectangular piece of paper from her purse that she then deftly slides to Dana.

“Oh my god!” Scully exclaims with joy.

Staring back at her from the paper is a very young Fox Mulder. She guesses he must be around 8 or 9 in the school photo. His long, sandy brown hair falls just above his eyebrows. He doesn’t have his distinctive nose yet, but his bottom lip is already a little pouty. The real give away is the eyes. He’s grinning for the camera, but his eyes still have that soulfulness, that slight sadness.

She’s surprised. She knows she shouldn’t be. His eyes didn’t suddenly change when Samantha was taken. His eyes were probably always like that.

But she had always assumed that the great tragedy had flipped a switch for Young Fox Mulder. That before that single event, he had certainly been a perfectly happy child. Funny and athletic, popular for sure. But the humor developed as a defense mechanism later in life. And the sports were a great physical release as well as an excuse to be out of the house as much as possible. She didn’t actually know what he was like before, but now that she thought about it, home life was probably never all that great if it eventually led to a father sacrificing one child and leaving the other to always live with the guilt and loss.

It was very possible that Fox Mulder had always been a little boy with a lot on his mind.

In contrast, present day, adult Fox Mulder looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world as he returns with extra napkins, ready to tuck into his chocolate peanut butter ice cream in a waffle cone – that is until he realizes what his friend and partner Dana Scully is looking at.

“Oh come on. I was gone for thirty seconds, and you have the visual aids out.”

Scully continues to beam as Maggie finally gets a glimpse of the photo in her hand.

“Oh, Fox!”

“Okay,” Mulder said exasperatedly. “Does this meet your embarrassment quota?” he asks, looking pointedly at Scully.

“Not even close! This isn’t embarrassing. It’s adorable!”

Mulder rolls his eyes but can’t hide his bashful grin at her comment.

“It’s only fair, Fox. I know you’ve seen family photos of Dana at my house,” Mrs. Scully says, sounding like a mother well practiced in settling disputes between children.

“Just a couple. I do like that high school graduation picture, though. I still don’t know how you kept your cap on with all that hair.”

“That was the style back then. Everybody teased their hair and used a ton of hairspray.”

“I thought it might be a religious thing at Catholic school. The higher the hair, the closer to God,” Mulder teases.

Maggie and Aunt Helen chuckle, though the latter gives him a good-natured swat on the arm in admonishment.

“See, this is what I need, though. I need something from the teen years. That’s peak embarrassment fodder,” Scully says.

“If you ask our colleagues, I think my peak embarrassment fodder would come from about 1991 to present,” Mulder points out.

Aunt Helen just looks slightly regretful. “I’m afraid I don’t have many stories from those years, Dana.”

Mulder makes eye contact with Aunt Helen. “You didn’t miss much,” he insists. She looks like she wants to debate him, but he just places a hand on hers reassuringly, and they seem to make a silent agreement to not argue the point any further.

Mulder had never really mentioned any other family before. She knew his grandparents had all passed before she met him, but she had assumed, just like with everything else, that any other extended family connections had disappeared along with Samantha. That no one would know how to comfort and console The Mulders in a situation like that, with no explanation.

His aunts and uncles must have had questions, probably even had their own theories. Did his mother’s side suspect his father’s involvement, or did his father’s side blame his mother somehow? Did any of them blame…no, she couldn’t go down that route. Besides, did anyone ever suspect horrific things like that before the days of cable news and supermarket tabloids?

The point is, it was a tense situation, so Scully assumed they had all done what wealthy white people in places like Martha’s Vineyard and Boston and Raleigh did with any uncomfortable subject – they avoided it completely.

And that meant avoiding the little boy with a lot on his mind as he became a teenager with even more on his mind.

Scully had accompanied Mulder to a small burial service for his mother in Raleigh a few months ago. It was just the service. No gathering or dinner after, or at least not one that Mulder told her about. The attendees at the service were all pretty spread out, not much mingling. Again, it was another sudden loss shrouded in mystery. They all avoided particulars as much as they could.

Scully didn’t remember seeing Aunt Helen that day, but maybe she was there and just couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Maybe she wasn’t there because she couldn’t bring herself to go and then regretted it. Dana Scully didn’t know, and it didn’t actually matter. The point is that she’s here now. And that’s exactly what Mulder’s look of reassurance and acceptance seems to say.

It seems to help her perk up because she offers playfully, “Oh, what about that summer on Quonochontaug? I think you were 9 or so, and you were collecting leaves for one of your Indian Guide badges.”

“Oh god!”

“I’m hooked already. Not to jump ahead, but please tell me there’s poison ivy involved,” Scully says gleefully.

Aunt Helen’s bark of laughter and Mulder’s exaggerated eye roll are all the confirmation she needs.

“It was heavily involved! But that’s not the worst part. While he was working on his Leaf Collecting badge, he also earned credit towards his Wildlife badge when he came across a skunk in the woods.”

“No!” Scully shouts.

“Ivyed and skunked at the same time,” Mulder admits.

“Oh you poor thing,” Maggie adds sympathetically, but with barely contained laughter.

“He had to jump right from a tomato juice bath for the skunk smell…”

“Which didn’t work!”

“…into an oatmeal bath for the itching.”

“Which worked better, but I still smelled like a Grateful Dead concert.”

Both Scullys are full on giggling at this point.

“Do you remember what Grandpa Ralph said when he walked in and saw you and mom dunking me in a tub of oatmeal?” Mulder asks.

Aunt Helen pitches her voice deeper and amps up her Southern twang, “Why don’t cha dip him in some egg and flour next? We toss him in the frying pan, we got supper! We’re havin’ Fried Fox tonight!”

Now they’re all in hysterics. Even the man who usually hates his given name can’t help but laugh along, especially when it makes his lovely company so happy.

*****************

Scully enters the basement office Monday morning to find Mulder already there, flipping through an open drawer in the filing cabinet.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

He looks up and smiles. “Good morning. Long time no see.”

“How was the rest of your weekend? Did you guys do any sightseeing or anything?”

“No, we just had a late breakfast yesterday before I took her to the airport, but it was good to catch up some more. She told me to thank you again for letting us tag along for ice cream. It was really nice.”

“It was,” Scully agrees.

Mulder appears to be considering something for a moment before he crosses over to the desk and picks up a small envelope.

“She also told me to give this to you,” he says almost bashfully, extending the envelope in Scully’s direction. “She told me I couldn’t look inside, and I didn’t. But I think I know what’s in there, and if I’m right, you don’t have to keep it. You can just leave it here on the desk.”

Well, now she’s intrigued. Scully opens the envelope to find a small handwritten note at the top.

“I thought you might like these. I have plenty more too, if you’d ever like to see them or want any more stories. Please don’t be a stranger.”

Scully lifts up the note to see the remaining contents inside and finds a small stack of photographs, a mixture of more school photos along with a few wallet-sized family portraits and a couple candids taken on the beaches of the Vineyard or Rhode Island, she can’t tell. But she sees the same set of eyes in all of them.

She looks back to read the rest of the note.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Dana. Take care!”

Below Aunt Helen’s elegant signature, she has also written her home address and phone number. Scully will have to call and thank her.

“She tried to give some to me,” Mulder explains, “but I didn’t really want…and like I said, you don’t have to…”

“No, I’d like to keep them,” Dana insists.

Mulder lets her statement hang in the air for a moment, but he can’t help but diffuse it.

“You just want more blackmail material.”

“Something like that,” Scully says teasingly, but there’s no bite behind it.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

She chuckles lightly as she shuffles the photos into a neat stack to place back in the envelope, thinking that this is the point where they get back to work. Mulder stays standing in front of her and appears to be considering something again. Does he have another envelope that he’s afraid to give her?

“You know it was pure luck that we ended up at Petrino’s the same night as you. I actually gave Aunt Helen a few options and let her choose. I was pushing more for that Thai place in Arlington, just off Old Dominion. The one that’s been there forever,” Mulder explains.

“Oh, the one with the secret menu? I’ve still never been there. Can’t say I’m surprised that Aunt Helen wasn’t up for Thai food, though.”

“Yeah. Fair point,” Mulder nods for a moment too long before continuing. “Would you like to go there sometime? Like this Saturday? With me?”

Scully slowly looks up from the envelope to see Mulder’s face because in all matters, other than the divine, Dana Scully needs to see to believe. And the slightly nervous yet gentle grin that she finds allows her to believe it to be true – Fox Mulder has just asked her out on a real date.

“I would like that,” Scully says gently.

“Good. You wanna say 7:30? Or we can always figure out time later,” Mulder states, aiming for practicality to keep him from grinning like a complete idiot. He ends up grinning like a moderate idiot, but he’s okay with that.

“Sounds good.”

Yep, Scully will definitely have to call Aunt Helen and thank her.

[glowingbadger]

Could we get some thirst drabbles of Things Kurama would say in bed? And what he'd like to hear maybe?

As both his Yoko kurama time and later when he's also shuichi minamino please

:)

Y'know this was further down on my list technically speaking, but I need a Kurama break lol. As a side note, I feel like the MAIN difference between Kurama and Youko in bed is the difference between a quietly confident soft-Dom, and a cold, cruel hard-Dom. Both absolutely wonderful, of course~

CW: degradation, sub-dom

Youko & Human Kurama x GN Reader- Dirty talk HCs

NSFW 18+

Youko

Both of your wrists are held fast against your bed by one of Youko's hands, his grip hard and unyielding as he torments you. Your face is planted against your pillow as he looms over you from behind, easily surrounding your body with his presence. By now, you've been subjected to more pleasurable torture than you'd thought you could endure; his strong hands had punished and bruised your ass and thighs, long fingers had guided you to the brink of release only to abandon you- and all the while, that low, rumbling voice mocked you.

"How abjectly pathetic," he murmurs, hardly exerting an ounce of strength to keep you pinned beneath him, "So small- so frail... Do you even realize how effortlessly I could break you?" A large hand cups your asscheek, his rough handling causing your lingering bruises to ache. You try to stifle a whine, but his superior hearing can't be fooled.

"To think that I have lowered myself to mating with a human," he muses softly, "If Shuichi did not long for you so, you would not even be granted the privilege of worshipping me."

"Please..." you squeak out, but you don't manage another word before the strange sliding sensation of vines around your lower thighs draws you attention. Youko gives a low, haughty laugh as his plants do their work, and soon enough, his hand has been replaced by vines around your wrists while another set spreads you thighs.

"Please what?" he demands, positioning himself as though to mount you like a wild beast. His lips brush the shell of your ear, and it's the gentlest he's been with you all night.

"Please... use me," you whimper, straining to glance up at his powerful frame behind you, "Ma- Mate with me, please- I can't take any more-!"

His hand at your throat presses you down onto the pillow.

"Very well," he says, and for a single delusional moment, you think he's softened to you. Then, the hot, thick head of his cock presses against your opening. His words overtake your desperate moans as he pushes into you, inch by huge, throbbing inch, "But know this, human: you will never truly be my mate. You are not my equal, do you understand? Consider yourself fortunate that I deign to use you for my own satisfaction."

Something resembling "yes" falls from your lips amidst strangled cries as Youko's hips begin to move. His pace is harsh and deep, plunging into you as though you truly are no better than a vessel for his use. And when he growls dark things into your ears- things about pollen that will stimulate your body, poisons that will immobilize you beneath him- you're more than happy to fill the role.

'Human' Kurama:

Emerald green eyes feast on the sight of you bound to the bed in elaborate twisted and knotted vines. It was frankly quite artful how he's tied you into a blooming web beneath him- yet he's enjoyed toying with you for some time now, and you're not certain how much more you can take. You're trembling just slightly, your skin marked in a few choice places that just might be seen if you don't consider your attire very carefully for the next few days. Your body aches with the strain of over-stimulation, and with the paradoxical need to feel him inside of you. Yet, Kurama leans over you and brushes your hair from your face with a tenderness not quite matching the depravity of the view he's enjoying.

"Ku-Kurama, please..."

"Hush, love, just a little more," he says softly, and while his words are comforting, there's a calculated confidence in his gaze that you recognize from past battles. Dexterous fingers are at work between your thighs, already coated in your juices and yet still milking ever more agonizing pleasure from you. Your eyes silently plead with him, but he says, "Be good for me, won't you? I'll take care of you, I promise- but I need you to behave for just a little longer. You can do that for me, dearest."

His fingertips brush some indescribable spot, raw and over-sensitive from a night of teasing. Your body wants to arch up from the bed, but Kurama's bindings hold you firmly in place. With large, tragic eyes you gaze at him and murmur,

"Please, Kurama- I- I can't do it..."

He sighs, as though managing an unruly child, and leans in close to nuzzle your neck. With his lips warm against your skin, he takes in your scent at his leisure, yet never eases his pleasurable touch.

"Come now, my love- if you're good just a little longer, I'll unbind you once I decide to claim you," his voice is even, downright reasonable, and your will begins to fracture. He must be able to sense you returning to obedience, as he adds, "That's right, just like that- behave for me and you can do whatever you like when I make you mine."

With a last weakened whimper, you bite down on your lip and resolve to take whatever Kurama chooses for you, for as long as he likes. His gentle, soothing tone tames you instantly, and you can't help but want to be very, very good for him.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[spencersawkward]

hi i love your writing sm, could u do something w having sex w mgg in his trailer🦋

oh yes i can most definitely do that. i just did a blurb that included something similar but i have a whole other fantasy for this one that i think would be so hot. this is just like filthy smut i might have done a lil too much lol.

summary: reader goes to visit her friend, Matthew, on set. when he catches her doing something dirty in his trailer, he offers to help.

word count: 4.2k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, masturbation, dirty talk, face-sitting, degradation, Cocky Matthew, some semi-exhibitionism.

masterlist

my toes curl over the sheets and I let out a dissatisfied groan as I throw the abandoned vibrator onto the side table. ever since flying home from visiting friends in New York, I’ve been absolutely, embarrassingly... horny.

usually, my trusty toy is able to work wonders; this week has been rough, though. maybe it’s something to do with my stress-levels or maybe my body just doesn’t feel like cooperating. it doesn’t help that I have about an hour before I’m scheduled to visit my friend on the set of his show.

I haven’t seen Matthew in almost a year. between his shooting schedule and my own job getting more demanding, spending time together really hasn’t been possible. I miss his laugh and the way our conversations always flow so easily. whenever we hang out, it’s like we pick up right where we left off. and now, as I give up on trying to get one off before seeing him, I start to wonder what to expect. a tour? meeting his castmates?

to be completely honest, I don’t really want to do any of that. I’m sure they’re all very nice people and we’d have a good time, but the last week in the city was so full of group interactions that I’m really hoping to sit across from each other and just... talk.

there’s no point in speculating, though. instead, I glance over at my disappointing toy and sigh. maybe next time.

when I get there, Matthew texts me to wait for him so he can bring me to his trailer. everyone is bustling around, moving according to their own chaotic schedules. a couple golf carts occasionally roll through the space, toting actors and other personnel. it’d be overwhelming for anyone who isn’t used to it.

“Y/N!” Matthew’s voice cuts across the din of the set as he waves. he’s leaning out of the side of a golf cart that he’s driving, which makes me nervous as he pulls up to me. I raise my eyebrows in surprise as he stops the cart and hops out to wrap me in a hug.

he smells good, like expensive cologne and cool air. as he withdraws, he sets his hands on my shoulders and grins at me.

“you look great! how are you?” as usual, he’s talkative. I smile back, though, and take in his appearance. he’s always been handsome, but right now Matthew is looking especially good: the breeze has swept his curls, he’s got on a colorful button-up short-sleeve with parakeets on it, and there’s some stubble growing on his face that’s new. he looks older, more mature.

kind of sexy.

“I’m really well. cool ride you’ve got.” I nod to the golf cart and Matthew laughs.

“you wanna know a secret?” he smirks. I raise my eyebrows and he leans down a little to reach my height. “I’m not supposed to drive that.”

“how’d you get it?” I frown. knowing him, he probably managed to charm his way around the rules, but I’m sure there’s a funny story behind it as well. he’s full of weird anecdotes.

“one of my cast mates distracted the guy who runs the warehouse where they keep them.” he winks, then gestures for me to follow him. I slide into the passenger seat and before I can really process what’s happening, he’s swerving in a wide circle and speeding off.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” he practically yells over the sound of the motor. “but I know you’ve been busy.”

“yeah, I actually just started writing for this new show.”

“you’re downtown, then?” he glances over with a smile and then we’re slowing to a stop. an enormous trailer sits among rows of other enormous trailers, presumably for his cast mates. he turns off the cart and turns his body to face me while I talk. zeroes in on me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

“for right now, yeah.” I can’t help the smile. it’s been a while since I’ve worked in Los Angeles; I was working as a writer on one of Matthew’s independent films when I got an offer in New York and decided to relocate. and even though it was amazing there, I missed California sunshine and I missed him. we were inseparable before I left.

“so, what I’m hearing is that you’re now legally bound to hang out with me.” he grins in that dazzling way of his. I laugh and nod, climbing out when he does. he opens the trailer door for me. “I have to go back to work in about twenty minutes, but afterwards I wanna take you to dinner.”

“oh, I could have come later. I’m sorry.” I turn to apologize, but he’s quick to wave it off.

“it’s fine. as long as you don’t mind spending an hour in here, it shouldn’t be too torturous.”

I peer around the space, noticing the little ways in which Matthew has made this place his own: aside from all the complimentary gift baskets and notes, the trailer is occupied by strange trinkets that he’s collected, random books and notebooks that scatter the couch and what looks like an attempt at a desk.

“wow.” I say. he sidles up next to me, sighing and realizing that it’s a bit cluttered.

“sorry about the mess. I haven’t really had time to clean up.”

“no, no, I meant ‘wow’ in a good way.” I walk over to the couch and sit down, patting the spot next to me. he smiles, pushes an acting theory book out of the way, and sinks into the cushions a safe distance from me.

“tell me about this job, then.” he immediately starts. I shrug.

“it’s nothing huge, just a teen drama. everyone I work with is brilliant, though.”

“that’s amazing. have you had a chance to work on your art?”

I think back to all the times when Matthew and I would spend free afternoons doing doodle competitions of the crew, usually on random scripts. they were judged by other cast mates, anyone who would take the time to look. I don’t think I was supposed to be on set as much as I was, but it was worth it.

“I wish. my schedule is so busy now, I barely have time to make dinner for myself.” I laugh. he leans back into the corner of the couch, resting his arm on top of the back. I pull one leg beneath me and mirror his actions.

“that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing some new stuff.”

“I don’t think any of my co-workers would particularly enjoy the representations I do of them.”

“sour sports.” he says. the strangeness and vehemence of the sentiment makes me snort and I glance at the notebooks around the room.

“how about you? any new masterpieces?”

we go on like this for a while, just catching up and slipping into our inside jokes and memories as if they aren’t from a different time in our lives. although I was excited to see him today, there was a lingering nervousness about it going as planned. sometimes you try to reconnect and the spark is just... gone. but Matthew is still Matthew, and I’m still me.

he ends up leaving to go shoot sooner than I can believe, time passing quickly, and tells me to feel free to read any of his books or look through his sketchbooks. he never hides anything, and it’s admirable.

once he’s gone, I settle onto the couch with a used Ray Bradbury anthology that I found beneath a bag of sour candies and start to read.

my mind wanders, however, as I try to concentrate on the page. I think about how Matthew looks now, how the stubble makes his jaw even more defined. those wide, hazel eyes that always seem to glitter with enthusiasm. I don’t know if I’m still frustrated from the unsuccessful session with my vibrator earlier, but the thoughts begin to turn over in my mind and mingle with other ones.

there were moments with him that I remember, quiet ones where we’d be about to say goodnight or moments where he’d fall asleep on my shoulder in my apartment, where I’d look at him and consider the possibility. we get on so well, and he’s arguably one of my best friends. distance hasn’t changed that. there are things I would tell him that I haven’t told my other friends.

and when he’d brush against my skin, or grab my arm to get my attention, and my imagination would run wild. heated kisses and closed doors. finding the way to my bed in the dark, his hands on my waist while he crawls on top of me. things that never happened but that I imagined as if they were real memories seared into my mind.

and now, sitting in this trailer with this book and on this couch that smells like him, those feelings return like something lost, then found: rushing, feverish, overpowering. the images come in a flux, his weight on top of mine and his teeth dragging over my tits. on this couch, that’s all I want.

there’s a blush on my cheeks as I drop the book on the floor and undo the button on my pants. it won’t take me long; I can feel how wet I’m getting and I haven’t even thought that much about it. the pent-up excitement from earlier will overtake my senses. he said I have an hour, and this might take ten minutes tops.

as my fingertips brush over my panties, I close my eyes and imagine they’re his. curious, gentle, teasing before reaching below the waistband and cupping me. I whimper, starting to trace over the wet folds of my entrance with an eager hand. it feels good, right, and the heat of my body tells me that this time, it’ll work. my head is full of thoughts of him, and I dip a finger in, clenching around the digits. the heel of my palm presses into my clit and I moan, starting to work myself.

I imagine Matthew coming in here after he’s done and kissing me like he’s wasted enough time waiting; like he can’t wait another second to be with me. my pace quickens at the memory of his hands, veined and strong and sure, pumping into me. taunting me.

“Matthew...” I whine, removing my fingers to circle my clit with a hurried pressure. every second burns across my skin, reminding me that what I’m doing is wrong. I shouldn’t be touching myself in his trailer while he works, especially not when he’s coming back soon.

but it’s hot, too, and the rhythm I create is impossible to resist. I switch between fingering and toying with my bundle of nerves while clenching my free hand in the couch cushion. my eyes are squeezed shut as I get closer to orgasm, the knot in my stomach tightening with every moment.

“o-oh my god,” I hum. “Matthew--”

the sharp intake of breath makes my entire body freeze. my eyes fly open to see the bastard himself standing there, lips parted. he can’t seem to figure out where to look: my face, which was just contorted in pleasure while I moaned his name, or my pussy, which is almost completely on display now that I’ve managed to push my jeans down to my knees.

“oh my god.” I stutter, immediately removing my hand and sitting up. my cheeks are on fire and everything around me seems surreal. this can’t be real. “y-you weren’t supposed to be back for an hour.” I say stupidly. shit ton of luck that hour did me.

“we, uh, wrapped early.” he averts his eyes, then glances cautiously at my face. “I promise I walked in here before I knew. I never meant--”

“no, it’s fine.” I pull up my jeans, still too shocked to make any sweeping movements. he doesn’t seem quite sure what to do with himself, and I speak to break the silence. “sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wonder what you’d have done with an actual hour.” he says it like he’s attempting to lighten the mood, then winces as he realizes that he shouldn’t have said that. “sorry, bad joke. I’m just-- surprised.”

“Matthew, I’m so sorry--” I start. there’s literally no other direction to take this conversation. I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship within the span of a few seconds.

“were you saying my name?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised. I would like to sink into the floor and never come up again, I think.

“well, the thing is--” I take a deep breath. “I don’t normally, um... do that in people’s trailers?” my frown makes him smile a little as he relaxes. now that I’m fully clothed, he doesn’t seem so daunted. I scoot up on the couch and glance between the open spot and him to get him to sit. standing only makes it weirder.

he obliges, watching me pull my knees into my chest before I start to explain. guilt is building in my chest now, so much more real after being caught.

“I don’t wanna make this even more awkward than it is, but I feel like I should make it clear that there’s a reason why I was doing it in here and I’m not some freak who, like, contaminates people’s space. like, I was just gonna be super quick about it and be done because-- and now I’m justifying it, which is even worse--”

“hey, Y/N, relax.” Matthew reaches out and touches my wrist, his fingers soft as they pull my attention to his. when I finally muster the courage to look him in the eyes, he’s got a small smile on his face. “I’m not mad or anything.”

“okay.” I sigh, spine going a little less rigid.

“you were moaning my name, though, right?” he smirks. my eyes widen.

“don’t get too cocky,” I try to play it off. “I haven’t been able to get off for the past few days and I only tried it to see if it would work.”

“looks like it did.” he glances between my flushed cheeks and the hand that was playing with myself, which is now sitting on my jeans. how is he being so fucking smooth right now?

“whatever.” I turn my face away, knowing that anything else would be damning.

“are you still... frustrated?” he asks. his voice is low. my face snaps up, jaw dropping. one of his hands is covering the crotch of his jeans, trying to hide something.

“why?”

“I can help you out. only if you want to, of course.” he says this in complete seriousness. my gaze passes over his features once again to make sure I’m not absolutely dreaming. every line in his face, the intensity of those pretty irises, feels too real to be fake.

“like...” I think about his hands, about what he’s offering. it’s heavier than just sex, but also maybe not. it doesn’t have to be; we’re adults. our friendship wouldn’t be shattered by one encounter.

“like I’ll eat you out right now and fuck you until you can’t take it anymore.” we’ve moved closer on the couch, our faces inches apart while he says it so quietly that I wouldn’t hear it otherwise. the way he licks his lips, stares at me, tells me that we’ve already passed the point of no return. there’s no use in holding back anymore.

“mhmm.” I nod. if I say anything more, I’ll reveal more than he wants to know. that I’ve wanted this for a while, even though I tried to forget the way he makes me feel.

“come here, then.” he beckons me forward and I impatiently crash my lips to his. he responds immediately, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling me to him. he’s greedy, but not in a way that overwhelms. like he’s trying to enjoy the moment. his nose brushes my cheek when he deepens the kiss, my hands looping around his neck. he begins to bite on my lower lip, tugging to get me to moan. I let him explore me, those features that he’s seen so many times but has never touched.

we’re hopeful in our embrace, and my mind feels like spring and how I imagine the earth feels when it’s in full bloom. excitement in my veins as we get more heated. when his fingers unbutton my jeans, he pulls away to take a moment.

“sit on my face.” he breathes out, feverish. I nod, getting up to shrug off my jeans. he watches, licking his lips when I pull down my panties and step out of them, then take off my top and bra. he leans back as if to sink down onto the couch for me, but I shake my head.

“take off your clothes first.” I tell him.

“you wanna see me naked?” he knows the truth, but wants me to say it. the smirk on his face makes me annoyingly aroused. I just start to go for the buttons on his shirt.

“yeah, I wanna see you naked.” I reply. this makes him grin and he helps me out by working on his jeans. we strip him down and then we’re both there, looking at each other.

“c’mere, beautiful.” he grabs my hip and pulls me closer until I get on the couch and position myself. he lies down flat, gesturing for me to scoot up his chest until my core is right above his face. “perfect.”

I’m about to poke a little fun at him for being so confident when he reaches up, wraps his hands around my thighs, and pulls me down against his face.

I yelp, overwhelmed by how he moans against my heat and starts to eat me out. his tongue moves expertly, lapping at the wetness that’s gathered between my legs before teasing my entrance. I release a series of noises that are downright sinful, but the red marks he’s leaving in my thighs tell me he’s loving my reaction. his nose brushes against my clit and I start to roll my hips against his face, falling apart already as he switches between sucking, licking, and sliding his tongue inside me. I grip onto his hair, mumbling like a prayer.

he takes the opportunity to quickly slap my ass before returning to my thighs, burying his face and working with a divine acuity. I can’t believe how good it feels, throwing my head back and arching my spine while I hold my tits. Matthew moves my hand and massages one while he stares up into my eyes, lust evident in every sound and motion.

“Matthew, please--” I gasp. “don’t stop.”

he groans, running his nails down my stomach while I ride his face. I’m needy for him, only uttering his name and more pleas for his tongue. and the sensation of him holding me down like he can’t get enough makes the knot from earlier return easily. I lean back a little, swirl my hips, and then it comes like a white-hot wave.

“oh my god—“ I can barely get it out, moving with abandon. “it’s so fucking good.”

he lets my body slow to a reasonable pace, drawing out the high until I’m swallowing all the air I can get and pull myself away from him. Matthew’s grinning, mouth glistening while he sits up a bit.

“such a wet little pussy.” he tells me, licking his lips. I’m pretty much resting on his chest and I start to move off of him when he quickly straightens himself, wraps his arms around my waist, and pushes me so I’m laying on my back at the other end of the couch with him leaning over me.

I brush his curls out of his face, appreciating the hunger in his face. he craves more of me, and the erection he’s pressing into my inner thigh is proof. I look up at him.

“you’re good.” I concede. he shrugs, smiles. butterflies.

“I just think about it a lot.” the response is simple, but it’s the right one. I blush and he grabs his dick, pumping it a few times before lining it up at my entrance. I search his eyes, those widened pupils, as he shoves into me.

“shit.” he moans, jaw dropping once he’s reaching the hilt. “give it to me, baby.” I can feel him deep inside, cock twitching against my walls as he settles. one of his arms is over me, supporting himself on the arm of the couch, while the other holds my waist.

I don’t speak, only bite down on my lip and whimper through the initial shocks of him. it isn’t until he pulls out that I get more vocal. he starts to roll his hips, never breaking eye contact while I arch my back and moan.

“harder.” I whisper. he tightens his grip on me and slams himself inside. my body instinctively moves up away from the pressure, but he brings me right back down.

“is this what you were thinking about?” he breathes out. “me fucking you like a slut?”

I nod urgently, but he uses an index finger to tilt my face back to his.

“tell me who you belong to, little slut.” his tone is low, laced with lust when he bites his lip and watches my reactions to his cock.

“you.” I whine quietly, grabbing his shoulders for stability while he plows into me.

“louder, sweetheart. you were plenty sure before.” he mocks, pausing after to moan in my ear like he’s absolutely losing it. he roughly tugs me further against him and the sensation makes me cry out.

“y-you-- fuck!”

“c’mon, baby.” he pants. we’re definitely rocking this trailer with the way he’s ramming my body right now. I can feel him like he’s in my ribs.  

“Matthew, oh god--”

“show me how you cum, Y/N. lemme see you fucking break.” the final word is punctuated by him bottoming-out within me, his noises their own stimulation to my senses. I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard with all the thoughts firing in my brain. he doesn’t go easy on me.

“I’m cumming.” my hips jerk up into his, pussy fluttering like it’s trying to push him out. but the tension only makes him thrust harder, further, chasing his own release as I claw at his back and squeeze my legs around his torso.

“can I fill that tight little cunt up, baby?” he moans into my ear, our bodies like undulating waves. I nod and buck against him, which drives him mad as his thrusts get sloppier. we’re filthy together and it’s otherworldly. “good girl.”

he lets out a whimpering sound while he stills inside my body and cums. I feel him twitching, shooting his load into me. I’m writhing while I clench around him, both of us falling apart. for all his cockiness, he’s lovely when he’s orgasming-- mouth open, eyes rolling back into his head before focusing intently on my face, a sheen of sweat that glows on his cheekbones.

when he finally withdraws, leaving me naked and panting on his couch, his eyes run over my body appreciatively.

“that help?” he smirks as he straightens. I glare at him, kneeing him in the ribs, and he leans down to kiss my cheek, giving me a tender look. “I’m joking. are you okay?”

“more than okay.” I smile. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, closing and opening his mouth as if debating whether or not to say something else.

“you’re really beautiful, you know that?”

“thanks.” as if this man hasn’t already fucked me senseless, I blush, look away shyly. he grabs my clothes from the floor and hands them to me.

“do you want some water?” he’s worried about giving me space. there’s a question lingering between us that I’m afraid to ask, especially now that he hasn’t. Matthew has always been the more bold between the two of us.

“uh, sure.” if it means he takes his eyes off me long enough for me to regain my bearings, yes. I watch him pull on the rest of his clothes before standing and going over to his mini-fridge. I’ll need to clean up soon.

“so...” his voice is measured, hazel eyes slipping over my form.

“so.”

“dinner? and then breakfast?” he suggests. my eyebrows raise at the second question, one that he hasn’t mentioned until now. the implication makes me laugh.

“you think you’re getting this again?” I try to act nonchalant, as if I’m not already imagining it.

“oh, wait--” he frowns, hesitates. “that’s not what I meant.”

“what did you mean?” there’s a grin taking over my face, hopeful as I await his response. I guess we’re about to answer that question after all.

“I wanna finally take you on a date.” he smiles softly, surprisingly shy. I don’t even hesitate to answer.

“I’m in.”