#I did start around that time. so it can count

[jungwnies]

F1 Grid | valentines day

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerlc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested or not) : spending valentines day with your f1-boyfriend

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : slight suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 3927

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : happy valentines day to everyone! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you weren’t expecting much for valentine��s day. it wasn’t that max didn’t love you—he absolutely did—but he wasn’t exactly the grand romantic gesture type. if anything, you were prepared for the day to come and go without so much as a mention.

that is, until christian horner made an offhand comment about how he was taking geri out for a fancy dinner.

“wait, valentine’s day is today?” max blurted, nearly dropping his red bull can.

lando, sitting beside him, snorted. “oh, mate—you’re so screwed.”

max bolted from his seat, leaving his engineer mid-sentence, and disappeared before anyone could even process what had happened.

you were home, lounging in one of max’s oversized hoodies, when your phone started buzzing with frantic texts from him.

max: are you home? max: never mind, you are. stay there. max: actually, don’t move. i’m coming.

you barely had time to process his sudden urgency before you heard the sound of his car pulling into the driveway at breakneck speed. moments later, he burst through the door, slightly out of breath, hair a little messy, and holding… a grocery store bouquet and a bag from a bakery down the street.

“hey,” he panted, trying to act casual but failing miserably. “happy valentine’s day.”

your eyes flicked to the half-crushed bouquet in his grip and then to the bag, which he handled like it contained the secret to world peace.

“did you forget?” you asked, crossing your arms but already grinning.

“no,” he lied. then, with a sigh, “okay, yes, but only because no one told me.”

you giggled, taking the slightly squished flowers from him. “max, the world has been advertising valentine’s day for weeks.”

“yeah, well, i don’t look at pink and red decorations and think oh, i should do something romantic,” he huffed. “but i fixed it, right?”

you peered into the bakery bag, pulling out a heart-shaped pastry, and smiled. “did you at least try it before buying?”

his face turned sheepish. “i got two. ate one on the way home.”

laughing, you tugged him down onto the couch beside you, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “it’s perfect, max. i don’t need anything fancy—just you.”

his shoulders relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

“… good. because i really did panic-buy the flowers,” he admitted, making you burst out laughing.

he may have been chaotic, but he was your chaos, and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

from the moment february began, you knew lewis had something planned.

it started when he casually asked you one night, his voice soft but certain, "will you be my valentine?" as if you could possibly say no.

you laughed, setting your book aside. "you're asking me like we haven't been together for years."

"i know," he grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "but you deserve to be asked properly."

and that was just the beginning.

by the time valentine's day arrived, you barely had to lift a finger.

when you woke up, there was a carefully wrapped box sitting on the edge of the bed, a note resting on top in lewis's elegant handwriting:

"good morning, my love. no need to stress about today. i have taken care of everything. wear this and be ready by seven. i will handle the rest. can't wait to see you. always yours, lewis."

you unfolded the tissue paper inside and found an outfit. the outfit. something effortlessly elegant, tailored to your style but with a touch of his own influence. he knew what would make you feel confident, comfortable, and beautiful.

a warmth bloomed in your chest. he had thought of everything.

when seven o'clock arrived, you stepped out of your room and found lewis waiting, looking devastatingly handsome in a custom suit. his eyes swept over you, appreciation lighting them up instantly.

"you look stunning," he murmured, stepping forward to take your hand.

"you picked it," you teased.

"doesn't make it any less true." he brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there. "ready?"

"always."

the evening was a dream.

lewis had planned a private dinner at a breathtaking rooftop restaurant, candles flickering around you, soft jazz playing in the background. the menu had been curated just for you. your favorite dishes, a wine he knew you loved, even a dessert he had requested specifically because you once mentioned craving it months ago.

it was not just the grandeur of it all. it was him. the way he leaned in when you spoke, completely present. the way he reached across the table, tracing absentminded circles on the back of your hand. the way his eyes never left you, like he was still in awe after all this time.

"you really went all out, didn't you?" you mused, watching as he poured you another glass of wine.

lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "you deserve it. i wanted today to be perfect for you."

you smiled, heart full. "it already was the moment i woke up."

his fingers intertwined with yours, a soft look in his eyes. "i love you, you know."

"i know." you squeezed his hand. "i love you too, lewis."

and as the night carried on, filled with love, laughter, and little stolen kisses, you knew that no matter how much effort he put into the plans, what truly made the night special was simply him.

ʚ・george russell

george had been unusually secretive the past week.

nothing drastic, just little things. hushed phone calls, a knowing smirk when you asked about plans, and the way he would randomly glance at you with a quiet excitement in his eyes.

"you will see," was all he ever said.

and you did.

on valentine's day, just as the sky began to shift into soft hues of pink and orange, george pulled up to a secluded beach with a playful grin on his face.

"i thought we could do something different," he said, reaching over to squeeze your hand before hopping out of the car.

your eyes drifted over the shoreline, the gentle waves rolling in, and the salty breeze kissing your skin. there was no extravagant setup, no overwhelming display. just the sound of the ocean, the warmth of the setting sun, and george beside you, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"you planned this?" you asked, smiling as he grabbed a picnic basket from the backseat.

"of course," he said proudly. "i wanted something simple, just us. no distractions, no cameras, no fancy restaurants. just this."

your heart swelled as he led you to a cozy spot where he had set up a blanket in the sand, the basket filled with your favorite snacks and a bottle of wine.

as you sat together, watching the waves roll in, george draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. "i know it is not much, but i wanted today to be about you and me, not some over-the-top production."

you looked up at him, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "it is perfect, george."

his lips curved into a soft smile before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "good. because there is nowhere else i would rather be than here with you."

the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of the waves lulling you into a peaceful state. at one point, george pulled out his phone and played a song quietly through the speaker, a mellow tune that matched the peaceful ambiance of the beach.

"dance with me?" he asked, holding out his hand.

you let out a small laugh. "there is no music loud enough to dance to."

"we do not need loud music," he said, pulling you up anyway. "just trust me."

and so you did.

you swayed together under the dimming sky, bare feet sinking into the cool sand, his arms wrapped securely around you. it was simple. it was intimate. it was everything you never knew you needed.

as the last bit of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, george whispered, "happy valentine's day, love."

resting your head against his chest, you smiled. "happy valentine's day, george."

and in that moment, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the warmth of his embrace, you knew that this was love in its purest form.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos had always been charming. but tonight, he was on another level.

from the moment he picked you up, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that made him look impossibly handsome, you knew he had something special planned. his smirk was dangerous, the kind that sent warmth through your entire body.

“you look stunning, mi amor,” he murmured, leaning in just a little too close as his lips brushed your cheek. his cologne lingered, warm and intoxicating. “i almost want to skip dinner and keep you all to myself.”

you rolled your eyes, though your heart skipped a beat. “behave.”

“i make no promises,” he teased, leading you to the car.

the restaurant was one of your favorites, a cozy yet elegant spot that carlos had somehow managed to book despite its usual months-long waiting list.

the moment you were seated, he reached across the table, fingers brushing over yours as he gazed at you with that signature, lazy smirk. “i think i am already full just looking at you.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “that was terrible.”

“but did it work?” he asked, lifting your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it slowly, deliberately.

your skin tingled. “maybe a little.”

he grinned. “good.”

throughout dinner, he was extra attentive, making sure you had everything you wanted. his knee brushed against yours under the table, his voice dipped lower whenever he leaned in to whisper something just for you, and his fingers traced light patterns along your wrist whenever he held your hand.

at one point, he tilted his head, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“what?” you asked, smiling.

“nothing,” he murmured, his voice soft but deep. “i just love watching you when you are happy.”

your heart fluttered. “carlos.”

his smirk returned. “what? it is true.” he took a slow sip of his wine, eyes never leaving yours. “besides, i like to remind you how completely, hopelessly in love with you i am.”

your stomach flipped. “you are really pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?”

he leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “only because i know what it does to you.”

your breath hitched. “you are unbelievable.”

he smirked, fingers brushing over yours again. “and yet, you love me anyway.”

you sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. “unfortunately.”

carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “i think you mean luckily.”

you looked at him, taking in the way his dark eyes burned with something deeper than just playful flirtation. beneath the teasing, beneath the smooth confidence, there was love. real, undeniable love.

and it was all for you.

as dinner came to an end, he reached for your hand again, tracing slow circles against your palm. “do you want dessert?”

you tilted your head. “are you actually talking about dessert, or is this another one of your lines?”

his lips twitched. “would you be disappointed if it was?”

you shook your head, laughing softly. “no.”

his fingers laced with yours as he brought your hand to his lips once more, voice low and full of promise.

“good.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles had monaco at his fingertips. it was beautiful, luxurious, and full of charm, just like him. but when valentine’s day approached, he surprised you with something unexpected.

“we are going to paris,” he had said casually over breakfast, sipping his coffee like he had not just dropped the most romantic idea possible.

your eyes widened. “paris? you live in monaco, one of the most beautiful places in the world, and you’re taking me to paris?”

he smirked, setting his cup down before leaning in. “everyone knows paris is for lovers, mon amour. and i want to spoil you properly.”

and he did.

the moment you landed, you felt the shift.

paris had its own kind of magic, the kind that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. the air smelled of fresh bread and soft rain, the streets alive with quiet charm. charles took your hand effortlessly, like he was meant to hold it, leading you through the city as if he had been born to love it, just as he had been born to love you.

the morning was slow and sweet, starting with a walk along the seine. he held your hand the entire time, stopping occasionally just to press a kiss to your temple, or to murmur something in french that he knew would make you blush.

“say something else,” you teased, smiling up at him.

he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “tu es la plus belle chose que j’ai jamais vue.”

you shivered at the way his voice dropped, the way his breath was warm against your skin. “and what does that mean?”

he smirked, tugging you just a little closer. “it means you are the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.”

your heart flipped in your chest. “you are too good at this.”

“i am only good at this because it is you.”

he spent the afternoon showing you his favorite hidden spots. a small café tucked away from the crowds, where he ordered for you effortlessly in french, his accent rolling off his tongue like silk. a bookshop near the notre-dame, where he traced his fingers over the spines of old novels, claiming he was looking for something special to remember this trip by.

“i do not need souvenirs,” he said, slipping his arm around your waist. “you are the only thing i want to remember.”

by the time evening arrived, he had one final surprise.

he took you to the eiffel tower just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in soft pinks and golds. as the lights flickered to life, he turned to you, his hands resting firmly on your waist.

“beautiful,” he murmured.

“the view?” you teased, even though you already knew the answer.

he shook his head slowly. “you.”

your breath caught in your throat as he reached for you, his lips finding yours in a slow, lingering kiss. there was no rush, no urgency. just the feeling of being completely and utterly his, surrounded by the city of love, under the lights of paris.

his hands slid to the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles as he deepened the kiss. he pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips, “you taste sweeter than any wine.”

your cheeks warmed, but before you could reply, he kissed you again, this time with just a hint of teasing, just enough to make your heart race.

by the time you arrived at the hotel, paris had already left you breathless.

the suite was stunning, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, warm candlelight flickering against the walls, and soft rose petals scattered across the bed.

you turned to charles, who was watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. “you really thought of everything.”

his smirk was slow, deliberate. “i always do.”

you stepped closer, hands resting against his chest. “why paris?” you asked, voice soft.

his hands found your waist easily, like he had been waiting for this moment all night. “because it is the most romantic city in the world.” his voice dropped slightly, eyes darkening as he pulled you even closer. “and because i wanted to make sure you never forget tonight.”

your pulse quickened as his fingers traced slow patterns along your lower back, his lips brushing just below your ear.

“i have given you paris,” he murmured, voice warm and deep. “now, i only want to give you me.”

his lips ghosted over your skin, teasing, lingering, waiting.

the night was still young.

ʚ・lando norris

you were this close to losing it.

sitting on your couch, phone in hand, you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over lando’s contact. it was nearly eight in the evening on valentine’s day, and there had been no text, no call, no nothing.

no “happy valentine’s, love.” no “can’t wait to see you.” not even a dumb meme.

you waited all day, giving him the benefit of the doubt. maybe he was busy. maybe he had something planned. maybe he forgot.

your blood simmered at that last thought. oh, if he forgot…

you hit the call button, heart pounding as it rang. once. twice. straight to voicemail.

“oh, hell no.”

you stood up, pacing the living room, preparing the argument in your head. you would start off calm. hey, babe, just wondering if you forgot a certain very important day? then you’d get passive-aggressive. wow, imagine forgetting your girlfriend exists. and if he dared to laugh, you would go full dramatic mode. maybe i should date someone who actually remembers i exist. maybe oscar piastri wouldn’t forget.

but before you could dial again, the doorbell rang.

you blinked, still mid-rant in your head. slowly, you walked over, swinging the door open, fully prepared to go off—

and there he was.

lando stood on your doorstep, slightly out of breath, holding entirely too many things at once. a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant, a small wrapped box, and a guilty, breathless grin on his face.

"hi," he said sheepishly, eyes twinkling.

you crossed your arms, biting back a smile. "you forgot, didn’t you?"

his jaw dropped in mock offense. "never!"

you gave him a pointed look. "then why do you look like you just ran a marathon?"

"because someone’s favorite restaurant takes forever to prepare food," he said, stepping inside as you moved aside. he held up the takeout bag like a trophy. "i have been standing in line for an hour. an hour, babe. do you know how many people are out there trying to get last-minute valentine's dinners? it’s war out there."

you snorted, shaking your head. "you could’ve at least texted me, lando. i was this close to picking a fight with you."

"believe me, i know," he muttered, placing everything down on the table. "i saw the missed call and almost died because i knew you were about to go nuclear on me."

you rolled your eyes as he unwrapped the takeout, the smell filling the room instantly. he grinned at your reaction, knowing full well how much you loved it.

"see?" he said, handing you a pair of chopsticks. "you thought i forgot, but really, i was just out here being the best boyfriend ever."

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure about that?"

he smirked. "mostly."

you shook your head, but when he grabbed a flower from the bouquet and tucked it gently behind your ear, your heart melted just a little.

"you do look really cute when you're mad, though," he added, grinning.

"lando," you warned, but he just laughed, pulling you onto the couch with him.

as you both started eating, he kept sneaking little bites of your food, dodging your half-hearted swats, grinning every time he managed to steal some.

"you're literally eating the same thing," you huffed.

"yeah, but yours tastes better."

"you are insufferable."

"and yet, here you are," he teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. "still mad at me?"

you sighed dramatically, resting your head against him. "i mean… i was really looking forward to yelling at you."

he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "i know. next time, i’ll text you, my bad."

"next time?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

he winked. "next time i make you think i forgot."

you gasped, smacking his arm as he burst into laughter, dodging you like an overgrown child.

eventually, you both settled down, tangled together on the couch, sharing food, jokes, and soft kisses in between.

and despite all your earlier frustration, you realized you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

ʚ・oscar piastri

valentine’s day was meant to be easy this year.

no over-the-top plans, no rushing to a fancy restaurant, no stress about whether a reservation would fall through. just you and oscar, a quiet night in, and the simple comfort of being together.

you had both agreed on it weeks ago, sitting in bed one night when he casually asked, “so, what do you wanna do for valentine’s?”

you had shrugged, leaning against him. “something simple. movies, dinner at home, just us.”

his response had been instant. “perfect.”

and now, as you stood in the kitchen, stirring the sauce for dinner while music played softly in the background, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

oscar walked in, freshly showered, his hair still damp as he leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy smile.

“you need help?” he asked, even though you both knew the answer.

“you just want an excuse to mess around,” you teased, throwing him a knowing glance.

he gasped in mock offense. “i would never.”

raising an eyebrow, you pointed at him with the spoon. “like last time, when you ‘helped’ by stealing half the ingredients and eating them before they even made it into the dish?”

he grinned unapologetically. “that was a tactical decision.”

laughing, you turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce as he moved behind you, arms sneaking around your waist. he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching over you like he was actually involved in the process.

“this is nice,” he murmured.

you smiled, leaning back against him. “told you. low-key is the way to go.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before pulling away. “alright, chef, what do i do?”

you handed him a cutting board with some vegetables to chop. “here. real help this time.”

he got to work, surprisingly efficient, only occasionally making faces at the onions like they had personally offended him.

by the time dinner was ready, the two of you set up in the living room, plates in hand, a blanket tossed lazily over your legs. the movie had barely started when you noticed oscar already halfway through his meal, focused but relaxed, like he was completely at home in this moment.

and, really, he was.

the two of you were tangled together on the couch, comfortable in the quiet moments, sneaking bites from each other’s plates, sharing knowing glances when something ridiculous happened in the movie.

at one point, he nudged you. “are you actually watching, or are you just staring at me?”

you smirked, setting your plate down. “maybe both.”

he huffed a laugh, shifting to face you fully. “well, if you’re gonna stare, at least make yourself useful.”

before you could ask what he meant, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips softly against yours. it was slow, unrushed, just like the night itself.

his hand found its way to your cheek, thumb tracing light patterns as he pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“happy valentine’s,” he whispered.

you smiled, brushing your nose against his. “happy valentine’s, oscar.”

he sighed contently, pulling you even closer as the movie played on, forgotten.

and in that moment, you realized that you didn’t need fancy dates or extravagant gestures.

because home wasn’t a place.

it was him.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[dearru]

i miss you, come here ! | t.oikawa

-> pairing: ts!oikawa tooru x gn!reader | sfw | cw: headcanons, suggestive content under the cut, reader is in university, long distance, manga spoilers ig, bittersweet ending | mlist 

-> rq: boyfriend headcanons with oikawa tooru

boyfriend!oikawa who started dating you in high school. you were heartbroken when he told you he was going abroad post-graduation, but he assured you that long distance would work.

boyfriend!oikawa who has never failed to text you “good morning” and “goodnight” despite the time difference between you guys. the messages are also always accompanied by a selfie of him. he says it’s to prevent you from “ forgetting about his pretty face,”  but that’s nearly impossible to do considering images of him are plastered on every magazine you read and news channel you turn on. it’s nice to have pictures of him that are solely for you, though. 

boyfriend!oikawa who brags to everyone he meets in argentina about how lucky he is to have you as his partner. his teammates feel like they’re the ones dating you from how often he rambles about how much he loves you. he could drone on for hours about how smart you are for going to university, or how cute you are when you scrunch your nose at him. he’s obsessed with you and makes it everybody else’s problem. 

boyfriend!oikawa who gets offended when his PR team suggests marketing him as an available bachelor to increase his popularity. he reassures you that he’d never sacrifice the integrity of your guys’ relationship to get a little ahead in his career. he express-ships a big bouquet of flowers to your door as a way to apologize even though he did nothing wrong. (he calls it “proactive damage control”) 

boyfriend!oikawa who unfollows everybody except for you on his social media accounts to prove his devotion. this causes quite a stir and results in your classmates staring at you when you walk into your lectures. you’re known around campus as “oikawa tooru’s significant other,” but you and him agree that there are worse things to be known as. 

boyfriend!oikawa who notices how stressed you get from being a university student, so he surprises you with a round-trip business class ticket to argentina. he squeezes you so tight when he sees you for the first time that you think you may suffocate. as he holds you, you can feel the wetness of his tears against the back of your shirt, but you decide not to tease him about it. you missed him too.

boyfriend!oikawa who’s excited to show you the life he’s built for himself. he shows you his favorite beaches, introduces you to his teammates (who you apologize to in broken spanish about how annoying your boyfriend is), and takes you to the best restaurants in town. when you two go out for food, he orders for you in perfect spanish, and the dishes he recommends for you to try are always better than what you would’ve ordered for yourself. it reminds you how well he knows you.

boyfriend!oikawa who’s shocked when you admit one night during dinner that you’re afraid that he doesn’t need you anymore because of how well he’s assimilated to argentina without you. he takes your hand and fervently reassures you that despite moving here, you’ll always be his home.

boyfriend!oikawa who won’t let go of your hand the entire time you’re walking on the beach afterward. “people are staring, tooru.” “let them stare.”

boyfriend!oikawa who takes you to the airport when you eventually have to leave. he impulsively buys a ticket for the flight solely to wait with you at your gate for as long as possible. when it’s finally time to board, he watches with teary eyes as you walk away. it takes all his willpower not to get on the plane with you.

boyfriend!oikawa who loves you more than life itself and is counting the days until he can be with you again. 

extras ! (cw: suggestive :3)

boyfriend!oikawa who’s loved kissing you since the beginning of your relationship, but now that you’re long distance, there’s a little more desperation in his touch. during nights spent together, he makes a habit of littering you with kisses. his lips start at the top of your head, make their way down to your stomach, and if he’s feeling lucky he goes a little further.

boyfriend!oikawa who unwinds after practice by hand-feeding you food. it’s cute at first, but sometimes it goes overboard and makes you wonder what his true motivations are.  “try this one. this one too!” “tooru, you’re gonna make me choke” “im just getting you prepped!” “FOR WHAT.” 

boyfriend!oikawa who almost convinces you to extend your trip simply by how well he knows how to make you tick. when you kiss for the last time, his hand snakes down your waist and pulls you closer in a way that leaves you breathless. he laughs at your blissed-out expression and tells you, “you’ll have to visit your lonely boyfriend again to get another one of those.”  you roll your eyes and whisper in his ear to inquire about other things you’ll get when you visit him again, and he goes red in the face.

—a/n: me making oikawa content on this blog is the equivalent of walking into your kitchen and seeing a fish cooking pasta.

[obsessedwithceleste]

You Can Say You Love Me Now

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: A little fake dating trope, just in time for Valentine's day

word count: 3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It was the perfect plan really. Or it had seemed like it at the time. When fueled by frustration, love, and desperation, what could go wrong? Theo had loved you for as long as he could remember and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. To himself at least. But to you, well, that was a bit more challenging.

Coming from a pure blood family, a sacred 28 family no less, Theodore’s fate had been sealed long before he was even born. Destined to marry another rich, pure blood heiress, have children, and secure the Nott legacy another generation. All ridiculous nonsense if you asked Theodore. What was the point of tradition anyway? Pretty much everyone who cared was already dead, so what did it matter?

Unfortunately for Theo, his father was not dead and had been trying to find a suitable match for what felt like years at this point. Names of witches that Theo couldn’t even match a face to had been floated by, but Theo had spoiled each and every potential match and his father had been growing increasingly more agitated by the day.

That’s when it had struck him. Kill two birds with one stone. Get his father off his back and gain the perfect opportunity to win over the witch of his dreams. Was it a bit short sighted? Sure. But he wasn’t left with many options at this point and this was as good a plan as any.

“Please principessa, you know what my father’s like. And it would only be a few months.” Theo begged, following close behind you as you make your way through the labyrinth that is the Hogwarts library.

“I am not going to pretend to date you for a few months Theodore. Or at all. That’s actually insane. Besides, no one would believe it anyway. We’ve known each other for how long? No one is going to buy the idea of us just now deciding to go out. Especially not your father. Do you know how long my mother has been trying to set us up?” you sigh, plucking another book off the shelf.

You had known Theodore practically your whole life. The two of you had been best friends since before you could walk. Your earliest memories involved waddling around the gardens of his family’s manor as your mothers watched on in thrilled bliss. There was simply no way the two of you would be fooling anyone.

“Well that’s just it isn’t it? Father has been hounding me to court you for ages, he’ll be too relieved to care,” Theo replies, an air of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, And what do you suppose we'd tell them hmm?" You ask.

"Don't know. We wanted it to happen naturally or some other sappy story. They'll eat it up."

You give your friend a pointed look. This was not the first time he had presented you with a half-baked plan that was certain to go wrong at some point.

“You’re being so ridiculous right now Theodore, this easily makes it on the list of your top ten stupidest ideas.”

“You keep a list?”

“It’s alphabetized.”

Theo has the nerve to look offended.

“Please principessa? I know your family has been on you too. This will buy us both a little time at least,” Theo protests. "Just think, we tell them over winter break, string it along awhile, and then after we've gone our seperate ways we're just too broken hearted to even consider any other possibilities for the future."

In all fairness, the boy was right. Your family had been bothering you for months now, asking if you’d found a special someone. You'd known when Theodore's father began ramping up the pressure for him to find a match that your family wouldn't be far behind, but it was honestly starting to get to be a bit ridiculous. And exhausting.

"It's not even completely incomprehensible. We've been mistaken as a couple before." Theo continues to press.

You glare at your friend, eyes rolling at the mere memory.

six months prior

It had been another one of your mother's usual, stuffy garden parties. The sun had been beating down on you all morning and all you really wanted to do was throw your blasted shoes across the lawn. Who thought it was a sensible idea to be out on the garden's cobblestone paths in scorching heat for hours at a time? This was not your idea of a good time.

"Principessa," Theodore greeted, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

"Don't even start, Theodore," you grumbled, leaning into the boy. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and if my mother tries to make me join one more conversation about the Ministry or some such I'll set the whole garden on fire."

Theodore just laughed, pulled you closer.

"C'mon love. We can sneak off to the lake I reckon. Berkshire just arrived so the mums will all be too busy throwing him at the Greengrass sisters to notice."

Had you felt a bit bad leaving Enzo to the wolves? Sure. But still, you had let Theodore lead you down the path to the lake, collapsing onto the lawn sofa that was perched almost picturesquely on the patio overlooking the glassy water.

You had closed your eyes, feeling yourself relax into Theodore as his fingers combed methodically through your hair. You didn't know how long the both of you had been sitting there simply basking in each other's company when an excited gasp jolted you from your peaceful bliss.

"Oh! Oh my!" the shrill voice of one of your mother's airheaded socialites tittered. "I wasn't aware the both of you were courting! Oh your parents must be so pleased- what with your families being so close and all-"

"We're not courting." You interjected, holding your hand up to stop the women mid sentence.

She had stuttered awkwardly after that before finally shuffling off. Had you been a bit harsh? Perhaps. But you simply hadn't been in any sort of mood to deal with the notion of dating your best friend.

Theodore hadn't said a word, but you could feel him recoil ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice if it hadn't been you. And things were a bit, strained, for the following days. If you could even call it that. And then things went back to normal as if nothing had happened.

You would have forgotten the whole thing, brushed it under the rug as something to laugh about in a few years, if it hadn't left a nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You had never even allowed yourself to think that you could ever end up with your friend. Sure, years ago your mothers had shared the fantasy of the both of you ending up together one day. You were sure your mother was still convinced it might happen. But no. He would be auctioned off to the family of some wealthy heiress and you would be matched with some boy your parents deemed suitable. It was just how things worked.

Your feared your father was wearing going to wear through the carpet at any moment with the way he was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Your mother sat twiddling her fingers on the sofa across from you, watching your father in exasperation.

Theodore was quite pleased with himself. To be completely honest he really didn't think he'd get this far. But sitting smugly on the sofa of his father's office, arm wrapped securely around you as he faced not only his own father, but your parents as well, he felt on top of the world.

"Well? Is it true? Are you?" your mother asks, finally breaking the silence as she had apparently given up on your father being the first to speak.

Your father had stormed off to Mr. Nott's office before you could even let out a breath, and by the time you and Theodore had finally slunk into the room, your mother was already doing a piss poor job of hiding her excitement.

It had always been a dream of hers for the both of you to end up together one day. It was hardly a kept secret. Maybe Theodore had been right and their blind excitement would stop them from asking too many questions because this was truly horrific.

"Of course it's true! It better be! The way I found him all over y/n," your father interrupts.

Mr. Nott just gazes on, eyes seemingly boring into your soul as Theodore meets his father's stare with cool, nonchalance. The smug bastard.

"Oh it's all we ever hoped for!" Your mother gushes, eyes falling onto the portrait hanging on the wall of the late Mrs. Nott.

"Well. That settles it then. They'll begin courting. Or whatever it is they call it these days," Mr. Nott says finally. "But there will be no more of this, nonsense. Not under my roof."

a few minutes earlier

"After further reassessment, this is the stupidest idea you've ever had," you hiss. Glaring at the brunette boy in front of you.

You were currently perched on one of the many desks lining the library walls of Nott Manor. Theodore was pressed up against the side, warm hands on your thighs holding you securely in place and sending shivers down your spine.

"Hush amore. How else will they be convinced we've been hiding a relationship, hmm?" He asks, slowly guiding one of your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"Oh I don't know. Suppose we just tell them? Ever think of that?"

"Yeah, and how would that go? Hey mum, I've been secretly seeing the son of your dead best friend who you've been trying to set me up with for ages. This is definitely not a distraction. Please believe us." Theo scoffs.

"I'm being serious," you respond, giving the boy a light whack on the shoulder. "When I agreed to the whole 'pretend to go out' bit, this is not what I had in mind."

"We've kissed before," Theo drawls, all nonchalance.

"You know that's not the same Theodore."

Before Theodore is able to respond, likely with another of his dry quips that you had grown to adore (not that you'd ever admit it), the door of the library swings open, footsteps echoing on the marble floors.

You don't even get the chance to fully take in the reality of the situation before Theodore's lips are on yours. It's slow and soft and warm as you feel his thumb softly brushing circles on your inner thigh. A soft gasp escapes you as you melt into the boy.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your father's cutting voice calls out, breaking you from your trance.

You jolt away from Theo, eyes snapping up to meet your father's, face flushed with embarrassment. Theo on the other hand looked quite self-satisfied. Oh you were going to kill him later.

"Both of you. Into the office. Now." Your father snaps out, looking like he was wishing he could obliviate himself in that moment.

"How long are we going to keep this going?" you ask, eyes not quite meeting Theo's as you lean your head against him. It was another warm night in which you and Theodore had managed to sneak up to the astronomy tower.

Your visits to the astronomy tower had started back in fourth year. It seemed like forever ago. And now you looked forward to nothing as much as nights spent with Theodore gazing up at the sky. The nights were different now though, you supposed.

It had been what? Five months now? You were almost certain it was five months, but those months seemed to have flown by in bliss. You hadn't realized how easy it would be. You and Theodore seemed to have been carefully tip toeing the line between friendship and more for years. You simply hadn't put the pieces together. It had been a bit clunky at first sure. Awkward maybe. But this was perfect. Standing in Theodore's arms as the stars above you seemed to go on forever. Perfect.

three-ish months prior

"Shut up. Shut. Up. You're joking," Daphne squeals, eyes locking onto your fingers which are tightly interlocked with Theo's as you enter your dorm room.

Something you seemed to have overlooked when agreeing to Theodore's dating scheme, was the fact that an integral part of the plan involved selling the lie to your closest friends.

It was much more difficult than you had anticipated.

You had spent the first initial month spending all your free time with Theodore, never really leaving his side. Apparently this didn't seem out of the ordinary. The flowers sent to your dorm didn't elicit a single reaction from your roommate, nor did Theodore's constant pet names. No, what really did it apparently, was the hand holding. Scandalous.

Your friends never failed to miss an opportunity to humble you.

"Took them long enough. Don't know why you're so shocked Daph," Mattheo replies dryly from his spot on the floor, papers scattered around him. He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Well duh. We all knew they'd end up together eventually. Just didn't think they'd figure it out while we were still in school." Daph responds matter of factly. “Ugh. I owe Pansy 25 galleons now.” She groans, a frown appearing on her face.

"We can hear you, you know," Theo drawls, raising an eyebrow.

"Well it isn't as if the two of you have been subtle about it. Always holed up together in the library for hours at a time doing gods knows what."

"We study together," you reply, feeling the need to defend yourself.

"You’ve also attend every single ball together since, ever," Mattheo adds.

"Better that then go with whatever tossers our parents dig up."

"I've found the both of you asleep in Theodore's bed on more than one occasion."

"As friends."

"Right. You'd sleep together as friends, but drew the line at hand holding." Daphne says dryly. "You're both hopeless."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y/n, I damn near saw you hex Theo's hand off in fifth year when he tried to hold your hand, and even that wasn't solid proof that you two weren't already going out." Daphne snorts. "Hopeless."

"C'mon Daph, let's leave the love birds to it then," Mattheo says, gathering his papers. "Make good choices. Don't do anything I'd do," he calls as the two of them make a quick exit.

As soon as the door slams shut, you turn to look at Theo as if to ask 'what on Earth was that about?'

“They make fair points,” he says with a shrug, pulling you onto the bed with him.

"We weren't being obvious about anything Theodore. There was nothing there to begin with." You reply, allowing him to pull you onto his chest.

You knew there hadn't been anything there before, or at least you thought there wasn't, because this was all very new. Sure before you might've fallen asleep in the same bed after staying up until 3 am studying for your charms exam, but you'd certainly never seen Theodore look at you like this before. And you'd certainly never felt his hand creep under your shirt to rub soft circles across your rib cage. You'd definitely never felt your heart try to beat out of your chest like this. Or maybe you had.

"Is it really so absurd to think we've always been so close?" Theo asks, eyes very clearly focused on your lips. Not that you noticed of course.

"Maybe not," you reply, letting your head fall to rest on the boy's chest.

This was nice you thought to yourself as Theo's lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"How long do you want to keep going?" Theo asks after a moment.

"Don't know," you reply, feeling his eyes on you as you continue gazing out at the sky in front of you.

"Another month?" Theo asks carefully, pulling you ever closer.

You can feel your heart begin to race at the idea of it all ending so soon. You shake your head.

"You want to end it sooner?" Theo asks, voice wavering ever so slightly.

You shake your head again. You hear Theodore's sharp breath as he realizes your implication and you feel yourself growing increasingly more nervous as the silence stretches on.

You'd really, truly never allowed yourself to consider the idea of ending up with Theo. You knew that simply wasn't how the world worked. And frankly the idea of rejection couldn't even be a possibility. You couldn't allow yourself to lose your best friend. Or maybe you could. This was all his idea to begin with after all.

"What if we just kept going?" You ask finally, feeling the weight of the world lift off your shoulders.

Theo's arms tear away from you as he turns you to face him, hand holding your chin firmly in place, forcing your eyes to meet.

"Don't play with me like this, principessa," he says, voice all seriousness as his eyes scan your face, searching for anything that might suggest you're joking with him.

"I'm not."

And just like that, Theo's lips are on yours once more. They seemed to find themselves there a lot lately, melting your mind to absolute mush as he pulled you closer. You could feel your back, now pressed up against one of the marble pillars of the tower as Theo's lips moved slowly from your lips to your jawline, and carefully down the side of your neck.

"You can say you love me now," He whispers into your ear, his warm breath giving you chills as his hands continue to wander.

"I love you," you gasp out.

"Sorry, who?" he pushes, leaving little pecks across your jawline once more.

"Theo. I love you, Theodore," You say finally, just as Theo presses another kiss to your lips.

"And I love you, amore."

Did I start this well over a year ago? Yes I did, thank you for asking. Did I change the title three different times? Absolutely I did. Am I posting this before editing? Also yes. Cope.

[awordsmith]

tangled up 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer join forces to babysit both Jack and Henry.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s6 category: novella content warnings: not proofed, contains nothing but pure fluff, reader and spencer get mistaken as Jack and Henry's parents... reid with warmth !!  word count: 4.9k a/n: first novella fic whaaaa....i've been wanting to write this one for a while, but i knew it wouldn't be that long, so this is perfect for my first novella fic!!; enjoy!

The morning was cold and frosty, and the only thing able to mend it: a large, hot latte. Hotch approached your desk as you set your things down. He leaned over and whispered conspicuously, “Are you sure you can come tonight?”

You rolled your eyes and whispered back, just as secretive, and perhaps some more to show how dramatic he was being, “Yes, Hotch,” you saluted him, “Jack will be in good hands.”

A gruff sound came from his throat–as if signifying his disbelief, “If you say so, do you remember what time?”

“Hotch?”

He looked around, glancing back at you with pressed lips. “Yeah?”

“I got this,” you pushed his hand–gripping your desk–off.

“Right,” he nodded, “no I know.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, “so why are you stalling? Is this about your date? Because if you don’t want to go–”

“No,” he dusted his suit off, “I’m–I’m walking away.”

“Uh-huh,” you biot back a smile, feeling Spencer slide up next to you, “and what was that all about?” He kept his inquisitive gaze on your boss.

“Hotch had a date,” you stated, turning to look at him, “I’m babysitting Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded–but when Penelope called you to the roundtable room and you began to walk away with her, you could hear him mutter, “Why didn’t he ask me?”

JJ rushed in, she apologized for being late as she took her seat. The team watched her; she was flushed, but her face showed clear urgency. She rolled her eyes, “Please do not question me today, I already have enough explaining to do.”

It was silent, but then you just couldn’t help yourself, “...JJ?” She looked at you with a slight warning, but you still asked, “What happened?”

The air in the room evaporated as JJ sucked in a breath, then deflated against her chair, throwing her head back, “Henry’s babysitter quit this morning.” You kept quiet, waiting for her to elaborate. “Will and I were going to go out tonight, we’ve been planning this for weeks now.” she huffs, running a hand through her hair.

Spencer caught your eyes, and though you shook your head, knowing it’d be a bad idea, he still said, “Well, hey, you know I could watch him for you–if you still wanted to go.”

JJ raised a brow and began to shake her head slowly, “I don’t know, Spence–”

“I wouldn’t be alone,” you noted Hotch raising an eyebrow as Spencer motioned toward you, “— is watching Jack, we could babysit them together.”

JJ glanced at you, then at Hotch–hopeful, “Would you both be okay with that?”

Hotch eyed Spencer’s grin for a moment, “Fine, but — has to keep an eye on Reid too.”

“Uh–what?” Spencer threw his arms up, “I’m a great babysitter–are you laughing?” He glared slightly at Morgan.

“Sure you are,” you reached over and patted the top of his hand, you held his gaze for a split second–the both of you trying to hold in your laughter.

You could hear giggling inside. Jack clung to Hotch, he was eight, and yet he still adored his father. The night was young, but starting to grow darker. Today, you had only been called to air a case, so you worked from the office, which you didn’t have the pleasure of doing most days, making it pretty unique.

“Oh, hey guys,” Spencer called, walking up behind you. You frowned, noting his relaxed attire.

“And I didn’t think you owned anything but sweater vests.”

“Oh–you just had to comment.” He sighed.

“That I did,” you nodded, “that I did.”

The front door opened right as Hotch checked his wristwatch, “you guys made it!”

“Would you believe it? Hotch hasn’t canceled yet.”

Your boss glared at you, but your remark earned chuckles from the others, “Yep, and I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”

JJ stepped out of the house and moved aside, “come on in.” Henry popped his little head out from behind Will and motioned for Jack to follow.

Hotch leaned to the side, eyes only leaving Jack once the boys disappeared behind a corner. “Okay,” JJ approached you, hands on your shoulders, “I am trusting you.”

“Hey–uhm Hi!” Spencer waved, sticking his head over your shoulder, “I’m here too.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling her to be careful.”

After a bit of teasing Spencer, Hotch, Will, and JJ left in their cars. “Come, on, it’s freezing out here,” you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your zip-up.

“Let the night begin…”

Spencer stayed, feet glued to the floor for a moment as he watched you wander into the house. He couldn’t help the small smile that grazed his face; he covered it with a hand, closing the door behind him.

Inside you were asking the boys what they wanted to do. Hotch had picked you up from your apartment and you, him, and Jack drove over together–so when Henry suggested the movie theatre, you could only glance at Spencer, wondering if he’d be willing to drive.

He huffed, rolled his eyes, and fell back on the couch in the living room. “We can see what movies are playing, I guess.”

You huffed a laugh and gripped the couch with both hands as you learned over it, watching Jack and Hnery jump on top of Spencer.

“Okay, okay.” He pushed Henry’s foot out of his face and shot you a look when he heard you cover up a snort with a cough.

Upon scrolling through the nearest movie theatre, you found the newest Spider-Man movie was playing, but you had already missed the 7 o’clock one and the next showing was at 8:30. You, Spencer, and the boys agreed to that time, which left you about an hour before you had to leave. Spencer offered to pay and though you had debated with him about going half–he insisted.

You agreed, but only if he let you pay for the snacks. Spencer wasn’t a boyfriend and he wasn’t one of the girls, so it felt weird letting him pay for everything. He was older than you yes, but only by a couple of years, and though you had to remind him of that several times, he never once failed to pull that card over on you.

“What’s that?” Spencer motioned toward the bag you had brought–that you were now unloading on the kitchen counter.

“Ingredients,” you shrugged, “it isn’t real babysitting if you don’t bake something.”

“You bake?” He sat up, throwing something on the television to distract the boys before he made his way toward you.

You brushed it off, “Somewhat.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rounding the counter and meeting your hip with his, “so what are we baking tonight?”

“We?” You raised a brow. He nodded, lips forming a thin line to suppress a grin. “Oh, no,” you huffed a laugh, “we are not–do you even know kitchen etiquette?”

His face scrunched up, “I’m a quick learner.”

“Sarcastic Spencer never fails to amuse me.”

“Mmm,” he nodded, “what’s first?”

You shook your head, a grin escaping you. You snatched the butter he had picked up and smacked him on the shoulder as you went to go find a bow for it, “Wash your hands.” 

“Something smells good.” Jack rounded the counter.

“That would be the cookies.” You spun around and bent to your knees, pulling the oven open. 

“When’s the movie?” Henry came waddling in, Spencer not too far behind.

You glanced at him, expecting him to answer for the both of you. You smiled to yourself, pulling off the oven mitts when he said, “uh…we have about five more minutes before we should leave.”

You nodded and began searching for a container to put the cookies in, “boys, do you wanna go outside and help Uncle Spencer start the car?”

“Awesome!” Henry shouted, running off to find his coat.

“Can we really start the car?” Jack looked between you and Spencer.

“Of course,” you smiled, nodding.

“Cool,” he too ran off.

“If either of them wrecks my car, I’m holding you responsible.” He jabbed a warning finger in your direction.

You scoffed, wiping your hands on a rag, “right. Spencer, you drive a van.”

“An SUV,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, you don’t seem the type to care about messing things up.”

He held a hand to his chest, mock hurt flashing across his face, “–and what is that supposed to mean.”

You shrugged, but a cheeky smile pulled your lips upward.

“I’ll see you in the car,” he wandered off in search of the boys. You grabbed three cookies and set them aside on a napkin.

When you walked toward the door, you found Spencer and the boys already secure in the car. You locked the door and made your way down the drive.

“I have something delicious,” you handed each boy a cookie, promising to help Spencer clean out his car if it turned out they made a mess.

You took the third cookie and bit into it. Spencer watched you and he pulled off, turning onto the street. He hit a red light when you were halfway done with it, “were you not going to offer to share?”

Your eyebrows shot up momentarily, “you like sweets?”

“Half you met me?” he shot back.

You huffed, yanking his hand from the steering wheel and toward you, placing the cookie into his hand. The light turned green, so he steered with one arm and used his other to eat the cookie. It was a darling sight, truly. You giggled when a few crumbs fell onto the floor.

“I blame you,” he muttered, his mouth full of cookies as he made his proclamation.

Spencer had bought the tickets online, so as you parked, you made a game plan with the boys. Spencer and Henry would go to the bathroom because he forgot to say something back at the house and you and Jack would stand in line. There were a few games around–and of course, the boys asked to play when they saw them–but you only had ten minutes till the movie began, so you promised when the movie was over, you’d stay a bit longer to play.

There were only three lines open and from what you could tell, pretty long. Jack stuffed his hands into his tiny jacket pockets–he looked comfortable. “Do you know what you want to get?”

He pressed his lips together and notably looked around at the freezers and small box-like shelves separating the lines. They were only about two inches higher than him, maybe three or four higher than Henry.

“I’ve never been here.” You frowned. Jack had never been to a movie theatre or he had never been to this theatre? 

“What do you mean?” You stepped forward as the line moved up. A father and his daughter–probably around fourteen–stepped behind you. You took notice, but only because you’ve programmed your brain, they weren’t really important.

Jack shrugged, “What kind of snacks do they have.” You understood Jack didn’t want to speak more on the subject and because you cherished him, you dropped it–but you made a mental note to speak with Hotch about it later.

“Well, I think they have…gummy bears and–oh look–they have cornetto–personally I prefer the cup version–but that’s just me.” Jack laughed and stood on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the ice cream flavors.

You caught Spencer walking toward you, Henry skipping a few feet in front of him. He caught your wave and nodded toward Jack, who now stepped to the side of the counter–looking through the glass. “How much time do we have?”

Spencer checked his watch once more, his casual attire contrasting. He wore his glasses–which you absolutely adored–a pair of blue jeans substituted his normal khakis, and he wore a black hoodie with red writing on the back. He wore tenashoes instead of his work shoes and his silly socks were hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans. It made you frown slightly: you couldn’t tease him about it.

“Do you want anything?” You asked as the boys began listing off candy to the cashier.

“No, I’m good.” He shook his head, stuffing his hands into the singular pocket of his hoodie.

“Wanna share a bowl of popcorn?” You pleaded and eventually, he gave in.

You asked for two smaller bowls so you could split the large bowl between you, Spencer, and the boys. Spencer physically winced when you swiped your card–you saw it happen. It sent a flutter through you and your face reddened as much as it could. You covered it up with a laugh, hoping Spencer didn’t find it weird, though the look he threw you said otherwise.

You found your seats, the boys settled in the middle of the two of you. You separated the popcorn between the boys, but then realized it’d be an issue sharing with Spencer if he was all the way on the other side, so instead, you gave him one of the smaller bowls, filled his and Hnery’s, and shared the big bowl with Jack.

You made it in time for the credits which you hated, but Spencer loved. It put a goofy smile on his face as he explained every ad,s aying how they were trying to tug at your heartstrings or logical side. “But we’re too smart, aren’t we?” He met your gaze.

The boys turned toward you, where you now adorned a serious nod, “oh, yeah, we’re way too smart to fall fo that, right boys?” 

“Yep!” they nodded triumphantly. 

“And why is that?” Spencer rounded the question back to him.

“Because we’re profilers,” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Exactly,” you jabbed a finger at him, messing with his hair a little. He laughed and leaned away, pushing your hand toward the popcorn bowl.

Spencer watched you–but not just your person. He wanted your actions, your facial expression, the way you interacted and spoke to Jack, the way you joked with Henry, the way you took every opportunity you could to tease him about absolutely anything. 

He felt his heart tense and then fall to his stomach once he realized what was occurring. Was he falling in love? Was this what that feeling was? Was this how falling in love happened? You noticed minuscule, insignificant things about a person like the way they laughed? Or the way smiled? You analyzed them so thoroughly that you could tell what they would say before they said it. Or know the action they’re about to take before they make it?

He couldn’t tell. Spencer had never been in love before. He had never fallen in love. But was that what this was? He didn’t have a definitive answer, he just knew he wanted to be closer. To you. To you in every way. He wanted you to want to be close to him and he wondered if that was love.

Because if it was, wouldn’t that mean he’d already fallen? But it didn’t feel right.  It felt…like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he had been searching for an answer he knew was somewhere in his brain, but hadn’t figured it out until just now.

The movie played and he tried his best to watch it–he grasped the general concept, but he was more focused on, well, you.

Did he love you? Could he say that with genuine confidence? He wouldn’t know until he tried it out, but he couldn’t. Because what if he didn’t? What if what he felt for you was simply pure friendship–he’d be making a crucial mistake, one) if you didn’t like him you’d be weirded out and if you did he chanced hurting you, two) you worked together, that was an issue in and of itself.

He jumped when you stood, watching as you stretched. “What?” You raised a brow, a tired smile forming you mouth.

He found himself smiling back, his stomach flipping, “nothing. Just…tired.”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, yawning, “me too. We should head back now, it’s pretty late. We need to take them baths.”

“Yeah,” Spencer glanced at Jack, who was now standing, and Henry, who was fast asleep in his seat.

Spencer tried waking him slightly, but he wasn’t budging, “just carry him,” you suggested.

Deciding it was the only option, Spencer gripped Henry’s armpits and heaved him upward as gently as he could. You watched him as he laid Hnery’s head on his shoulder, the boy snuggling into the crook of his neck, hugging your coworker tightly. 

“Awww,” you sounded like Penelope but you didn’t care, this was too cute a moment not to capture. Whipping out your phone, you ignored Spencer’s pleas and snapped multiple photos from every angle.

Heading to the lobby of the theatre, you nudged Jack, “I’m guessing you don’t want to play some of the games anymore?”

Jack shook his head and rubbed his eyes, “no. m’just tired.”

You nodded, pulling him into your side as you walked, “Me too, buddy, me too.”

You passed an elderly couple on the way out, Henry slightly waking up when the cold air hit his face. “Are we home?” He asked.

The elderly couple snickered and said, “You’re a cute family.”

You opened your mouth to correct the woman, but her husband added, “You look just like we did, don’t they?” before you could. He turned to his wife, made clear by the matching rings.

“Oh, they do,” then she bent over and asked Jack, “What movie did your mommy and daddy take you to see.”

Instead of correcting the couple, Jack glanced at you, then Spencer, and grinned–though it was sleepy– “Spider-Man 2.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t seen that one, is it good?”

“Really good,” Henry answered from Spencer’s arms.

They laughed again, then apologized for keeping you and made their way inside.

You and Spencer said nothing as you made your way to the car. Jack and Henry were silent as well. You wondered just what was going through Jack’s head. Maybe he was too tired to understand or care about the women’s words. Yeah, that must have been it.

You decided you would ignore it just as you would ignore the flutter that continuously courced through you the entirety of the night.

With much prodding, you were able to get Henry into the bath. Jack didn’t take much convincing, but he assured you he could do it himself, which you shouldn’t have believed because he ended up getting shampoo into his eyes.

Spencer finished helping him, though it was hard because Jack insisted on showering. Eventually, the two boys were tucked into Henry’s twin-sized bed, and you and Spencer had a little free time before the others arrived.

You grabbed the bowl of cookies that you’d tucked on the counter near the fridge before you’d left. You meant to eat them at the kitchen counter, but Spencer wanted you to watch some movie he had put on. You would blame and hold him responsible for any crumbs that didn’t land in the bowl.

His chuckle was low and light, just like every other time you found yourself making him laugh. It sent a flutter through your chest and you had to turn away to keep from letting him know just how flustered that one sound could make you.

You shivered, you typically brought a sweater with you everywhere just in case, but you were going to JJ’s house, and you knew she’d let you borrow a few blankets. 

“Where are you going?” Spencer caught your wrist as you stood. Your heart jolted and you couldn’t help but stare at it. You blinked a few times before he let go. He sucked in a breath as if you’d stung him. You weren’t sure what he meant by that or if he meant anything at all by it. Spencer was normally an awkward person, but this didn’t feel like something he’d be awkward about, in fact, Spencer would never be put in this situation simply because Spencer hated physical contact.

Maybe that’s why he had such a reaction. You brushed it off, letting a shy smile replace the longing frown, “Just the hall closet to find a blanket…want one?”

Spencer shook his head and wanting to escape the atmosphere, you bottled toward the hall. You retrieved the first blanket on top. It was white with little blue bunnies. Cute. You thought, it must be Henry’s. 

“I’m back,” you hopped on the couch, keeping a cushion between the two of you, for fear of making him uncomfortable.

He declined your offer of a cookie and opted to lean back. It might have just been your imagination, but you were sure Spencer kept sneaking glances at you. You thought he must be bored, he’d put on a '90s romcom. Though you loved the, you were surprised when Spencer put it on. But then maybe he put it on for you and that’s why he kept glancing at you.

You huffed under a cookie, that’s so like him. 

Halfway through the movie, you’d discarded the bowl of cookies with four left and began to feel the lights dim. Or maybe it was just you. You took a moment and laid your head back but it was uncomfortable. As you shifted on the couch, a yawn escaped you. 

Spencer caught it, attention now fully focused on you, he smiled at your dreary state. He moved one leg under him and without really thinking much about it–if it’d make you uneasy or not–he took you by the shoulders and lowered your head into his lap. You noticed, but barely. He pulled the blanket over you as your arms wrapped around his thigh. Your head snuggled into him and when a satisfactory hmm released itself from your throat, he snorted a little. 

He loved you, or at least he thought he did. Spencer had never loved anyone. Well, he loved his mom, but he knew he was programmed that way. He loved quantum physics and math and chemistry and psychology, but those were very broad terms, and still not a being. He liked cats, but he couldn’t love a cat–well, he could–but that was a different discussion.

You, on the other hand, he always wanted to be around. You, on the other hand, he always wanted to talk to. You, he fell asleep thinking about; you, he dreamt about; you, he woke up to.

You were always on his mind, there was no way around it. In every conversation–though he rarely voiced it–he could always draw back to you. Penelope bought a new pink fluffy pen? You loved pens. Dereck couldn’t sleep at night because of his neighbor. You could sleep anywhere–it was a skill. Spencer couldn’t sleep at all, really, and when he did–well, he’d already know what he’d dream about.

He couldn’t escape you–but well, he didn’t want to.

The biggest evidence of his feelings for you? He hated–absolutely loathed–the thought of you talking to/dating/marrying anywhere else. He made a face, the thought disgusted him;; it made him sick.

The front door unlocking jolted him out of his thoughts… how long had he sat there watching you? Going back and forth in is mind? His mind began wondering and the lights began to fade. His shoulder drooped and he began pushing you backward, fixing you until you were both comfortable. 

“Just for…a bit…” he yawned before the lights went out.

Spencer jerked when he heard the front door unlock. He was always keenly aware of his surroundings–it was a bad habit he picked up in his years at the BAU.

JJ and Will stepped through the door as quietly as they could, the credits were rolling. The movie must have just ended. 48 minutes?

“Hey–” JJ whispered walking toward him.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, but was weighed down, and upon looking–found you still sound asleep. He smiled, but when he realized JJ could see him, he fixed it to a plain expression.

Spencer held up a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes widened slightly in concern when he looked down at you. Which was ridiculous, he couldn’t stay in this position the entire night, much less on JJ’s couch. You both had work in the morning and you needed to get home. Right…but where was Hotch? How would you get home?

He was startled by your shifting movements. Upon glancing at you again, he found you stirring. JJ covered up a small laugh, and turned back to Will, shushing him as he stalked over.

“Hotch texted, he should be here soon,” JJ whispered.

Spencer nodded as you lifted your head, he raised his arms just enough for you to have free reign, if you pushed out of his hold, he’d have no choice but to let go.

But you didn’t, you pulled him closer and buried your face into where his thigh met his hip. “Five more minutes.”

JJ snatched her phone from her pocket and began snickering, “Penelope is going to love this.”

“Hey–come on, JJ–don’t–” Spencer’s protests went ignored as JJ clicked a few photos and slipped her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans.

A knock sounded on the door not a moment later, Will went to open it while JJ sat on the arm of the couch and smiled down at her two coworkers. “Do you think she can hear us?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say no, but raised a brow and glanced at you questioningly, he wasn’t sure you knew where you were, let alone could make sense of a complete sentence. “I’m gonna go with probably not.”

They chuckled to themselves. Hotch waved, before following Will down the hall toward Henry’s room. You yawned and rolled onto your back, stretching over Spencer. “Hi,” you blinked up, a slow smile turning up your lips.

He met your sleepy gaze with one of his own, “hi,” he answered.

Hotch came back out with a very asleep Jack, calling out your name, You sighed, forcing yourself upward. “Guess I better go.”

Once again, Spencer felt his subconscious take hold of his body as he held an arm across your stomach, “I could take you…I mean I wouldn’t mind, besides,” he nodded toward Hotch and Jack, “he should get Jack home.”

JJ watched in silent awe. It was one thing for Spencer to shake hands with someone let alone hug them, so when she stepped through her doors and found you snuggled up to him, her suspicion-radar was going off. Spencer definitely had a thing for you, or at the very least felt most comfortable with you. In her mind, you were his person, and that didn’t have to be romantic, it was just how it was.

Now, though, watching his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind. Spencer Reid was in love. She wondered what kind of catastrophic event occurred for this to happen.

“You sure?” You murmured, rubbing your eyes. You were halfway leaning against his chest, and halfway using his shoulder to stay steady.

“Yeah, of course.”

Hotch seemed to get the gist of the conversation, whispered a few goodbyes, and headed out the door.

“You made cookies,” JJa noted.

“Yep, there’s four left, but they’re probably all stale now.”

“Well, maybe you two can babysit again and make me fresh ones.”

“I helped, you know,” Spencer added.

“Yeah, ‘helped’ so much I almost had to buy you a new pan.” After a good laugh, you stood and stretched, catching Spencer’s yawn, “well, it’s getting pretty late, we should head out.”

“Alright then, drive safe.”

“I’m always a safe driver.”

“I know you are, Spence.” She pressed her lips together, glancing at you, wondering if you even felt a smidgen of what Spencer felt for you.

The car ride was smooth, Spencer had been over a few times, and with his memory, he knew the way by heart. “Thanks for doing this.” You grabbed his hand as he pulled into your complex.

Spencer jolted, his head jerked down: his focus on where your hands connected. “Oh–sorry, I forgot–”

You snatched your hand away, but Spencer was quick to grab it back. “No–no it’s…” he stared at you. He could lose his mind and still be able to put a name to your eyes. They were like none he’d ever seen–which is opinionated, of course, in his mind, you were all there ever was. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, “I…know how you hate people touching you.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged sheepishly, “but when it’s you it’s okay.”

Your heart leaped at that and maybe it was because you were half-awake and when you were half-wake you became even more delusional than you were daily. “So, you don’t mind if I touch you?”

“No, not at all.” He replied immediately as if he had been programmed to.

You couldn’t help the goofy grin that made its way onto your face, “good to know.”

You opened the car door and started exiting his vehicle. “Hey, —?”

“Yeah?” You yawned again, the sky a blue-black kind of color.

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” You frowned.

“You know,” he tried motioning with his hands, which only made you snort.

“Nope,” you shook your head, “no idea.” You spun around, starting the path to your apartment, “see you tomorrow, Spencer.”

Spencer frowned, he knew he would think about this the rest of the night, if he could sleep he’d probably dream about it, and when he woke up, it would most definitely be the first thing on his mind.

a/n: lol i've been working on this forever (like a month) and i cried in my maths a few days ago because i couldn't understand it–#mathisnotforme

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Birthday - BREEDING ♡

SUMMARY / Adorable newlyweds, and your husband seems stuck on wanting to have kids.

warnings ✩ SMUT, FLUFF, switch! wooyoung, dom!reader, fem!reader, established relationship, you two just got married, reader is insecure, unprotected sex, light body worship, praise, oral (m), mommy kink

word count ✩ 2,26k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension@kitten4sannie@faeriehwas@lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Wooyoung, look at this!" you stand from the couch holding your laptop, running over to his desk and sitting your computer next to his. "These curtains would like nice in our room, right? They're so cute!"

Wooyoung glances over at the screen, smiling slightly. "Sure, love, whatever you want. Just don't let your online shopping exceed the budget," he jokes, his eyes not leaving his spreadsheet.

You roll your eyes playfully. "As if you ever care about the budget," you tease, nudging his shoulder with yours. He chuckles and finally looks up, his eyes scanning the webpage briefly before nodding in agreement.

"What's that?" he referred to the recommended items under the one you were looking at.

"Oh. Curtains for baby rooms." Your voice trails off as you realize what you've clicked on. You furrow your eyebrows and stare at them for a while, causing Wooyoung to stare at you.

"You…okay? You're staring at the screen like you want to blow it up." Wooyoung's voice pierces through the silence, a hint of concern in his tone.

You laugh nervously, "Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought." You quickly switch tabs to hide the baby products, feeling your cheeks warm up. "It's nothing."

He smirked a little bit. "No, cmon! Tell me! Did you see something weird?" He leans over, trying to get a peek at the hidden tab.

You swat his hand away. "It's just… I've been thinking about our future a lot lately."

Wooyoung sits up straight in his chair, his smile widening. "And what does our future look like?

You bite your lip, trying to figure out the best way to bring up the topic that's been weighing on your mind. "Well, it's just… I know you've talked about starting a family soon."

"A lot. I've been talking about it a lot. I keep sending you cute baby videos and you act like you don't see them." he blinks at you with his innocent puppy eyes.

You can't help but laugh at his persistence. "I see them. I just don't always know what to say." You admit, your heart racing as you prepare to share your feelings. "But, it's not like I don't want kids I just…"

"You just…? What?" Wooyoung asks, his smile fading slightly as he senses your hesitance.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "I just--I see all those videos of moms who's body change so much when they're pregnant and some of their husbands leave them. It scares me." You finally spit out.

Wooyoung's smile fades completely as he looks at you seriously. "What? Who would do that?"

You shrug, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I don't know. I've heard of it happening. Plus, there's all the stress and responsibility that comes with having kids. I think I'm ready for all that! Just…not the physical part…"

"Well, I'd never leave you. And we can always support each other through the tough parts," Wooyoung says gently, placing his hand on your thigh. His thumb makes small circles, trying to soothe your nerves. "And however your body changes, I won't stop thinking you're hot."

You give him a weak smile, feeling a bit better. "Thanks, but it's not just that. It's everything. The diapers, the crying, the sleepless nights…"

"And I'll do it all if I have to." Wooyoung's voice is firm and reassuring. He stands up from his chair and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. "But we don't have to rush into anything. We can wait until you're ready. We're young, we have time."

"No, I -- I do want kids! I'm super sure of that! A-And I don't mind doing all the mom stuff! Just, y'know, what if I turn into some ugly goblin." You laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood.

Wooyoung looks into your eyes, his gaze serious. "You'll never be a goblin to me. You'll be the most beautiful mom, because you're beautiful inside and out." His words hit you like a warm embrace, wrapping around your insecurities and giving you a comforting squeeze.

"You'll be gorgeous carrying my baby," he kissed your cheek. "Walkin' around all pregnant and happy, I'd love that."

"Ewww, it sounds like you have a breeding kink." you tease him, trying to lighten the mood with a playful giggle.

Wooyoung just stared at you and didn't answer. You stare back and gasp lightly, "You do, don't you?"

He instantly got red. "N-No! I don't I just-"

"It's fine if you do! You wanna get me pregnant that bad-?!" You laugh, poking him in the stomach. His cheeks turn a deep shade of red, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he tightens his embrace, his arms secure around you.

"…Oh my god, Wooyoung-" you pause. "Are you hard-?!"

Wooyoung's eyes widen and he clears his throat, trying to maintain eye contact. "….Maybe."

You burst into laughter, poking him again. "Oh my god, you do! You're so adorable!" You lean into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat against your chest. It's comforting, a steady rhythm that calms your racing thoughts.

"Can we go deal with…this though?!" he gulped gesturing toward his bulge. You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden shyness, a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor.

"Aw, yes baby." You say, a playful smirk forming on your lips as you slide your hand down to grip his hardening erection through his pants. "Let's go to the bedroom, shall we?"

He nods and you pull him along, his hand in yours as you lead him to the bedroom. The tension in the air shifts from the previous conversation, now charged with a different kind of excitement. As you enter the room, Wooyoung locks the door behind you, his eyes never leaving yours. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire for you as palpable as the air around you.

"You want me to touch you?" you ask coyly, your voice low and sultry as you trace a line from his neck to his collarbone with your finger. Wooyoung nods eagerly, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches your every move. You lean in closer, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper, "Where do you want me to touch you?"

"Baby, please." Wooyoung's voice is low, a pleading whisper that sends shivers down your spine. You feel empowered, knowing you have this effect on him. You bite your lower lip, your eyes scanning his body hungrily as you decide where to begin. You decide to tease him a bit more, tracing the outline of his erection through his pants, feeling it throb under your touch.

"No, let's use a different name…" you go silent for a minute. "Mommy, maybe? You like that?" You say with a mischievous grin.

Wooyoung's eyes widen and he swallows hard. "Yeah, I like that," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. You both laugh, the tension dissipating as you both embrace the playfulness of the moment.

"Yeah?" you tug at his sweatpants. "You want mommy to make you feel good?"

Wooyoung's eyes are glued to yours, his breathing hitched. "Yeah," he manages to get out. You smirk, feeling a thrill at the power play. You push him back gently onto the bed, straddling him. He watches as you pull his pants down, revealing his thick cock. You lean down, your eyes never leaving his, and wrap your lips around the tip. He groans, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair.

"F-Fuck," Wooyoung gasps as you start to bob your head, taking him deeper into your mouth. His hands tighten their grip on your hair, guiding you as you find a rhythm that makes him squirm beneath you. You can feel his cock pulse with every stroke, and you know you're driving him wild.

"M-Mommy-" Wooyoung's voice is a needy whine that sends a thrill down your spine. You suck harder, feeling his cock swell in your mouth. Every other time you sucked him off, it felt different. But now, with the new dynamic, it's like you're discovering each other all over again. You let one hand stroke him while the other moved down your body, pushing under your pants.

Your own arousal is evident as you feel how wet you've become. You pushed him down your throat, feeling his cock hit the back of it and gag, only to pull back and do it again. Wooyoung's hips start to thrust upward slightly, his control slipping as he gets lost in the pleasure. You can feel his heart racing under your palm where it's resting on his chest, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I-I'm gonna come-" Wooyoung warns, his voice strained with pleasure. You moan around his cock, the vibration sending him over the edge. He comes in your mouth and you swallow, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. You sit back, licking your lips as you watch him catch his breath.

"Lay back," you stand, pushing your pants and underwear down, revealing your wet pussy. "Let mommy take care of herself now." You climb onto the bed, your heart racing with excitement as you straddle his hips.

"You're so pretty," he says, his voice still shaky from his orgasm. He watches as you hover above him, his eyes fixated on your glistening core.

"Am I?" you giggle, rubbing yourself back and forth on his cock, which is already starting to harden again. "You like watching?"

"Mhm," he nods, his eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy gently brushing against his cock. You lean back, supporting yourself on your hands, and lower yourself down onto him. He gasps as you take him in, inch by inch, his length stretching you open. You've done this countless times before, but the new name play has added an extra layer of excitement to the act.

"Fuck-" he inhales sharply. "M-Mommy, you're so tight," he groans, his eyes rolling back as you start to move. You bounce up and down on him, your walls clenching around his cock as you ride him. The sensation of being filled up by him while calling him 'baby' is new and exhilarating.

"I-I love you, your body, everything…" he stammers, his voice thick with pleasure as you rock against him. You lean forward, pressing your breasts against his chest as you start to pick up the pace, your movements growing more urgent. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping together and your moans of pleasure.

He wraps his fingers in your hair, his other hand on your back. "Don't stop-" he begs, his eyes closed as he feels you ride him with an intensity that borders on desperation. You lean down and kiss him, your tongues dancing as you move together. His taste is still on your lips, a mix of salt and sweetness that drives you wild.

"God, I want your cum so bad," you chuckle, your voice breathless as you ride him, the feeling of his cock moving inside you making your walls quiver. "I bet you wanna fill me up so bad."

Wooyoung's eyes snap open, his gaze fiery as he looks up at you. "Mommy," he says, the word slipping out almost involuntarily. "I'm going to come."

"Yes, baby, come for mommy," you whisper, your voice a siren's call as you continue to bounce on his cock. The idea of him filling you up, breeding you, sends a thrill through your body that only intensifies your desire. You feel your own orgasm approaching as you lean into the role, your hips moving faster and more erratically.

"Fill me up," you purr, playing into his newfound kink. You can feel his cock twitch inside you, his body taut with anticipation. You lean back, arching your spine as you increase your rhythm, watching his expression contort with pleasure. The power of bringing him to the edge like this, calling him 'baby' in such a way, is intoxicating.

Wooyoung shut his eyes tightly and gripped your hips, his body trembling as you whispered those words into his ear. The thought of you actually being full of his cum once he filled you up was too much for him to handle. He felt his orgasm building as your pussy clenched around his cock.

"Cmon, give it to me. Get me pregnant," you say in a playful but urgent tone. "I wanna have your kids."

"Mommy-" he gasped, his hips jerking upwards as he felt his orgasm approaching. "I-I'm gonna f-fill you up," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. He moaned as his load emptied into you, the sensation of his hot seed filling you making him shiver with pleasure.

But you didn't stop. You kept going, bouncing up and down on his cock as he spurted his cum deep inside you. "Mm, yeah, baby," you murmur, feeling his warmth fill you up. "Give me all of it." Wooyoung's eyes fly open in surprise, his orgasm hitting harder than he expected as he watches you take his cum hungrily. His hips thrust upward, pushing himself deeper into you, his hands digging into your hips as he releases his seed.

"O-Oh my god-!" he gasps, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he feels you milking his cock for every last drop. "Y-You're so fucking good at this," he stammers, his voice laced with awe. The taboo nature of the role play has unlocked a primal need in him, and you can see it in the way he looks at you - with a mix of love and raw desire.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Every Light

Summary: The reader is driving along a long stretch of highway when a mysterious stranger on a motorcycle shows up and decides to have some fun with her...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: This fic takes place post 15x20 (with some canon fixes adjustments). Also, we all know (including Jensen) Every Light is 100% Dean coded, right?

____________

Your fingers tapped against the wheel with one hand, your other hand hung out the window of your car, dancing in the wind. Music blasted through the speakers of your SUV, Ramblin’ Man pouring out as you drove down the long stretch of quiet highway on the bright summer day. The barren Texas flatlands stretched for miles before you, not a single car in sight.

You let your foot go heavy on the pedal, racing across the plains, the warm wind nice across your cheeks. Driving all day from Phoenix to Austin wasn’t exactly fun, but you were in a good mood. A great mood. One of those rare moments of peace and serenity where you just felt still and whole.

You happy little bubble popped when you drove past a crossroads, a slick black motorcycle turning onto the highway behind you. Fuck. It was probably a cop. You’d been making good time too.

You sighed as it came up on you fast, tension rising in your bones as you waited for a siren, lights, something. 

The motorcycle pulled up on your side, crossing the dotted yellow line and keeping pace with you. You turned your head, getting a better view of the bike. Okay, definitely not a police officer. Not unless Texas shelled out for jet black racing bikes with no markings. The rider was in head to toe sleek black leather, tight against his body with padding built in you were sure of. You couldn’t see past his black as night tinted visor. He, and it was most definitely a he based on those shoulders, turned his head toward you before raising his hand, giving you a wave.

You raised your eyebrows behind your aviators. The rider gripped the handlebars again, starting to weave his bike left and right ever so slightly before he straightened again. You tilted your head when he lifted his right hand and signed a simple gesture. 

“Hi.”

Okay…what were the odds some crazed person knew sign language? Probably lower than average and if worst came to worst, you’d just gun it until you hit a town.

You waved back to him, the man sitting up more and returning it. Then he was leaning back even more, popping a wheelie. Your heart skipped as he tore down the highway besides you, only setting the bike down when you flailed your arm for him to get it down on the ground. He finally did so, pointing at himself and looking around when you frowned at him.

“Behave down there!” You shouted out the window, even though he’d never hear it. He simply kept driving next to you, playing as he did so, doing something even more reckless each time he got you to laugh or smile.

But eventually you were coming up on a town and the roads were about to get busier. He made a quick gesture with his hand before taking off ahead of you, getting in front of you in your lane and disappearing down the road.

“Boys,” you mumbled, trying not to think of the last thing he’d signed.

“I had fun, sweetheart. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Six Hours Later

You’d wearily made it to Austin and after a quick shower at your hotel, you headed out to grab dinner at a local bar. 

“Hi,” said a handsome man when he took a seat next to you at the crowded bar top. 

“Hi,” you said politely, returning your gaze to scanning the menu. The stranger's eyes lingered though, your head turning slightly to find a smile on his face. “Can I help you?”

“No, just funny running into you again today.” You raised an eyebrow, the man chuckling. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“Darn it,” he said, feigning a sigh. “Here I thought I made an impression. Did I not do enough wheelies?” Then he signed, “Sweetheart,” with his hand, flashing you a wink.

Your eyes went wide, the man smirking. “You! That was completely reckless.”

“So was going a hundred down the highway, rebel,” he teased. He turned his body to face you, smiling hard. “You’re telling me I wasn’t the best part of your day?”

“You’re a menace,” you said, picking up your drink.

“And that wasn’t a denial.” He waved down the bartender, pointing at your drink and holding up two fingers. “So. You like me better as the silent mysterious type with a helmet over my face?”

You rolled your eyes, taking the new drink. “It takes more than a pretty face to win me over, babe.”

“How about a ride on it?” You blinked. 

“A ride on your…” you swallowed, the man chuckling.

“My bike. Although you are more than welcome to ride anything of mine you like,” he said. You scoffed, ignoring the fact you hadn’t been with anyone in far, far too long and here was a man handsome as sin offering himself up to you. “Alright. I pushed too far. My apologies.”

“…Why do you know sign language?” you asked.

“My sister in law is deaf. I actually just became an uncle,” he said with a proud smile. “I had to finish up some work before heading back home for good. I’m going be a firefighter actually.”

He looked so…boyish for a moment that you smiled at his genuine pride.

“Good for you,” you said. “I’m just passing through myself. My old friend just had a baby up north.”

“So what’s to stop you from cutting loose tonight? I’ll even pay for dinner like a proper gentleman.” You glanced away, the man tilting his head when your eyes darted back. “I promise to be as well or badly behaved as you want.”

You looked him up and down, the man still sporting those boots and padded pants. 

Oh fuck it. 

“I ain’t getting on the back of that bike without a helmet.” His grin turned devilish, even when you held up a finger. “Calm down, big boy. Let’s see how you last through dinner.”

“You holding on tight?” asked Dean nearly two hours later when you were on the outskirts of the city. Only Dean. Tonight was a one time thing and that meant no last names, no histories, just plain old fun.

“Yeah, why?” you asked when he chuckled beneath you.

“Cause I’m gonna blow your mind, sweetheart.” He revved the engine and took off like a bat out of hell, going faster and faster, so fast your heart was in your throat. “Here we go!”

“What are you-“ You screeched when he popped a wheelie with you on the back, setting it down after only a few seconds. “Dean!”

“More you say?” Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” mumbled Dean, a kiss pressed against your temple. You groggily opened your eyes, the clock flashing that it was ten. You felt him pull the sheets up over your bare back, Dean running a hand over your head. “Wake up beautiful. You need a shower before you check out.”

“Yeah,” you yawned, sitting up in bed, watching him dress. He smirked as you openly eyed his body, Dean cupping your cheeks in his hands when he finished. “One night, right?”

“You deserve better than me, Y/N. You’ll find him someday. Until then though, just know you are the best I’ve ever had.”

“You say that to all the girls,” you laughed, Dean smiling.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he said, kissing you once more. “Careful driving today.”

“You too. And don’t flirt with girls like that anymore. You’ll kill yourself on that bike.”

“Only flirt with you, got it,” he said. You playfully punched his arm, Dean letting your hands linger one last moment before pulling away. “In a another life, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Dean.”

You hadn’t planned on getting such a late start to the day but your night with Dean had been worth it. In a way, you wished you’d forced the issue and gotten his number at the very least. Sure, the motorcycle ride and sex were great but he was good company, funny and silly but something grounded to him that let you know you were safe with him. Eileen was always on you about living a life more outside of hunting and now that you’d officially retired, you were about to start living it more.

Including telling her all about your wonderful hookup.

You pulled up outside a house in Lawrence in the suburbs just after seven, barely up the front steps before the front door opened and Eileen hopped out, pulling you into a big hug.

“I missed you too,” you laughed, giving her a big squeeze, holding on tight. While you’d talked, you hadn’t been able to see her in person since she came back from the dead and this reunion was long overdue. “Come on, let me see the baby.”

“He just went down for bedtime. But he will happily see you in the morning,” she said, taking your hand and dragging you inside. “We just got the grill going out back.”

“Good. I’m starving and miss your burgers,” you said, letting her have another round of hugs with you. “Well if I can’t see the babe yet, you gotta let me meet your husband.”

“You know he has a brother that’s single,” she grinned, taking you through the house and to the back deck where a very tall man worked over a grill. “Sam! Y/N’s finally here!”

“Well it’s about time,” he said, picking you up in a hug. He smiled gently as he set you down. “I’m so happy Eileen has a friend in town.”

“Maybe you guys can give me advice on how the whole retirement thing works. I’ve just been traveling around aimlessly the past few months,” you said, taking a beer when Eileen offered it.

“You’ll figure it out,” said Sam, the rumble of an engine on the street out front echoing through the yard. 

“That’ll be his very single brother,” said Eileen. You rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, he hunted too! You guys would so get along now that you’re both retired.”

“I’ve dated other hunters and it never worked out, thank you very much,” you said.

“You’re lucky I managed to grab the last bag of franks,” said an all too familiar voice. You spun around, Dean, your Dean from last night, standing right in front of you wearing jeans and a white plain t-shirt. He dropped the package of hot dogs, both of you staring at the other. 

“I told you he was good looking!” joked Eileen.

“You?” asked Dean.

“You’re Dean fucking Winchester?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N, Eileen’s bestie?” You both nodded, Sam picking up the package and looking at you both like you were nuts.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” asked Sam.

“Some would say intimately,” said Dean. 

“We’ll be right back,” you said, grabbing his bicep, ignoring the strength in it as you dragged him down the steps and around the corner of the house. You stared at him, Dean running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were a fireman!”

“I’m about to start my training. I was in Phoenix, cleaning up one last job but…someone had already fixed the sigils,” he mumbled. “You?”

“Yes, me,” you said, closing your eyes, putting your hands on your hips. “I worked out of Washington mostly. Eileen asked if I would clean up a sigil on my way down here. I-I’m staying here for a bit to help with the baby while I find a place in town.”

“So you’re that friend of hers…” he trailed off, eyes darting around your face. His lips parted but no words escaped them. An unpleasant crack tore through your heart. Gone was the happy go lucky flirt from twelve hours ago. Instead a man filled with horrors beyond imagination stood before you, a desperation in his eyes that made your skin crawl. 

“You were wrong back at the hotel.” He shook off whatever thoughts were running through his mind, confusion entering the forefront of his mind. “This morning you said I deserved better than you.”

“You do,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m-”

“Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about you. We all have,” you said softly, taking one of his hands in yours. He swallowed, closing his eyes. “You deserve the world and I’m not just saying that because of last night. You more than did your part.”

“I’m not the guy from last night. I am severely fucked up-”

“Oh get in line, Winchester.” He blinked rapidly, brows furrowing. “You think you’re the only one with daddy issues and who’s died and seen the shit hunters do? No, you’re not. There’s plenty of us who have. I retired because of you. I retried because Eileen told me her friends the Winchesters saved us all and I could quit. I should quit. She told me to live my life. So you and me? We’re going to live our lives as fucked up as we are. And last night…fuck, I had fun. You had fun. I forgot about the nightmares and I think you did too. You think Eileen and your brother aren’t as screwed up as us? Of course they are but they aren’t scared to do the hard thing and move on. So why not us too? It doesn’t have to be together but-”

“Shut up,” he said, slamming his lips to yours. It was hard, rough. Something possessive underneath the surface that had you sucking in air when he pulled back, tugging your bottom lip along the way. 

“Kissing me won’t make me shut up, Winchester,” you breathed, Dean ghosting over your lips, cradling a hand against the back of your neck to keep you close. “We aren’t strangers anymore. You want more, you got to give me more.”

“You want a visitors pass to the insane asylum in my head?” he laughed dryly.

“Visitor pass? Honey, I live there, just a different ward is all.” He flashed his eyes open, green orbs hesitant. “I ain’t doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I’m screwed up too and you’re going to have to give as good as you get. I need that. You need that. So either walk away if you just want to be friends-”

“Odds are this crashes and burns,” he said. Your hands slid to his cheeks, smirking up at him. “What?”

“Good thing I got my own firefighter then.” He raised an eyebrow, smiling when you tilted your chin up. “Stealing my moves?”

“Just remembered you were warned, sweetheart.”

“We’re going to work on that self-talk.” You tiled your chin further, Dean meeting your mouth, a smile in it. For the first time in a long time, in years, you let yourself think about a future and what that looked like. Dean pulled away slowly when Sam called for you both, his thumb brushing your chin.

“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it with some help,” he murmured, trailing his knuckles down your arm, stopping at your hand to lace your fingers together.

Yeah, the future was looking a little brighter these days.

_________________

[mamayura]

Adrien not knowing what he wants

Hot take about Werepapas, I guess:

I actually like that Adrien said "I don't know" when asked what he wants/ who he wants to go with at the end of "Werepapas"

Cause the people who had to learn and come around in this episode's conflict were the ADULTS, not Adrien.

Adrien has already said that he isn't alone, he's living with Nathalie,

and Milly, too, acknowledged right away that Adrien has known her for most of his life so for Adrien she should count as more much than just an employee by now.

And he has not been trying to hide it whatsoever from Nathalie how much she means to him and that he wants to keep living with her. Literally the first thing we see in the episode's present time is Adrien running to Nathalie for comfort when hes crying over his dead mom, but she's pulling back so he does too eventually.

Marinette as pretty much unrelated main character doesnt know about this when she enters the conflict. Hence why she can effectively bring about development in Nathalie by challenging her long-established mind set and dynamic with Adrien due to Marinette's perspective adding a new angle and shacking things up:

Nathalie's inner conflict is one of my favourite things about the episode (and needs its own post if I get around to it), but for the context of this post, yes, she was the one who needed to come around. Not Adrien. He was already there from the get-go as we can see by him repeating the hug he started the episode with. Just now, Nathalie hugged back:

It was nice seeing Marinette help Nathalie take on her role in the end because Nathalie did the same thing Marinette did in Illustrhater for example. Acting like and saying things that eventually made Adrien accept that they don't want to be with him because, duh, that's now interactions work.

That's why he initially didn't say that he wants to stay with Nathalie in Paris when asked in the end. Nathalie too made him feel like he has to accept that that won't be an option, so he knew he had to decide between his grandparents:

The same Grandparents who had to come around in the end, too, and allow for Adrien to stay with Nathalie in Paris, even though both pairs of Grandparents are still the ones to officially hold the legal custody of Adrien (which I'm glad about that they did it like this and didn't bullshit some reason for Nathalie to get custody cause the episode is right, Nathalie has NO right to Adrien's custody whatsoever. They went with a very reasonable way to resolve this)

Its the ADULTS who had to come around. Not Adrien. Adrien already made it clear all episode what he wanted. But because all involved adults declared the outcome he wanted as a non-option, well, he honestly says that he doesn't know what else he wants (who he wants to go with).

And I- I just really like that Adrien was taking the situation serious enough to say "I don't know". That was very mature of him. To not just go with SOMETHING or go on about how unfair the situation is. Cause it definitely was, but this is a very serious legal matter that COULDN'T stay unresolved. He's an orphaned minor currently living alone with a person who's said to neither be an option as his guardian nor does she herself treat it like an option. This day COULDN'T end without at least some kind of temporary solution where he would stay now. It just couldn't.

I LIKE that he didn't repeat his denied desire that was already known to everyone around and instead seriously thought about the options he had.

I like that he loves and respects Nathalie enough to be the one person amongst Emilie, Gabriel, and now Marinette, too, who left the decision to HER if she wants to take on the position of his new mother:

As much as he wants to be with her, Adrien was characterized to understand that this is a massive thing to ask of Nathalie. He knows he means alot to her too but Nathalie was, by all accounts, objectively forced into this:

But especially by Emilie (look, I know she was literally dying slowly and painfully, I'm not judging her for wanting Adrien to be loved and taken care of. But I gotta ackowlegde that Emilie put alot on Nathalie without giving her a choice first):

In that regard I can't fault Nathalie for not having acted on her motherly feelings for Adrien and Emilie's last wish earlier than s5 (but God DAMN Nathalie, there is a difference between not doing it and actively making everything so much fucking worse!).

Adrien is the one person in this who respected how much was asked of Nathalie, so when she continuously acted like she didn't wanted to take on the role, he respected that. But this also means that the person who's responsible for Adrien coming to this "wrong" conclusion was Nathalie. Not Adrien. He's only acting accordingly to her actions and words:

So I like that Marinette got to help her in the end, because this is passive development that's very relevant to Marinette's character too. Even if I wished the show would hold Marinette to the same standards since both in Adrinette and especially Ladynoir Adrien gets mostly blamed for coming to the logical conclusions that Maribug doesn't like him or being with him in any way doesn't mean much to her because that's how she constantly acts like in almost every conflict ever. Over and over again. So I like that it was done properly this time around even if it's obvious that that was only possible because it was Nathalie and not Marinette.

And yes, I totally get not liking that Marinette is taking over the whole moment again. I'm not much of a fan of it either, to put it nicely. But it is wrong to say that Marinette is the one making the decision here and Adrien had no agency in deciding who he's staying with. Marinette is merely repeating old news she knows are true because that's what Adrien has been saying and acting like the whole episode and even already since season 5.

The decision was long made by Adrien. It were the adults who had to come around.

And beyond that,

I LIKE that Adrien said "I don't know" to the question which grandparents he wants to go with instead of the show having him make it all about his friends, girlfriend, or Ladybug. He only brings that up when he gets to stay:

Cause the question of where he would feel more at home and what is best for his future, when he has to completely start anew, is not just about his current friends, girlfriend, or his secret hero partner (who has made every precaution and decision possible to not actually have or need him in her life and job and he was made to accept that fully because that's her "rightful professionalism" same as killing your bf Ig)

I like that it was "I don't know" instead of "but my friends!", "but my girlfriend!", or "but I can't leave!".

Adrien saying "I don't know" means he thought of himself first and foremost and not everyone else:

I even like that "I don't know" means that he took the Graham de Vanilys into consideration despite how awful Emil was. Cause when the outcome Adrien WANTED (keeping his life in Paris by living with Nathalie) isn't an option, then he's perfectly in his right to not write off the possibilities he has with the Graham de Vanilys in London (and good heavens, I'm glad nothing ever brought up "but Chloé is in London! YIKES!").

I like that Adrien didnt write anything off when the decision was possibly about to change his whole future. Yes, saying "I dont know what I want" is a perfectly valid and even mature answer for a 14 year old orphan to give when they were JUST this day confronted with this situation that denied him the option he actually wanted:

And I also like that Marinette in the end didn't wasnt made to make Adrien's answer about herself in an usual moment of panic (in general, I truly LOVED how supportive Marinette was in Werepapas, even if the akuma battle incident is forever burnt in my love square heart in a very negative way. Yes, I think being willing to kill your boyfriend without trying any other solution first is bad, sue me ig. if that's what I'll be judged for, then I can live with it).

It is a far cry from Marinette in Representation for example being mostly written to make not getting to have her boyfriend near her out to be the biggest tragedy of Adrien being send to another country for good. I'm glad she got to be the supportive girlfriend for once instead of the show forcibly trying to falsely make her out to be the most important person affected by Adrien's tragic life. It was so refreshing and wonderful to watch Marinette getting to be in the lovingly supporting role of the relationship for a change, and it does WONDERS for her characterization.

While, of course, Marinette was motivated all episode to help Adrien not having to leave, when Adrien said "I don't know" Marinette knew that he's only taking the other options this seriously now because he can't have the option he actually wants.

She wasn't written to go into panic mode the second she heard Adrien NOT saying that staying in Paris is the most important thing on his mind. She knew the problem was laying elsewhere, even if I wished she hadnt made it abuut the Grandparents, but Adrien's right to CHOOSE (and yes, I'm fully aware that people will write this whole post off as salt because I didnt ignore or handwave away Marinette's consistent CANON characterization, even though that's not how salt works. I stand to what I said. More of Marinette as supportive girlfriend please, then we wouldnt have these problems)

I don't know how to end this with a nice little bow to wrap it up. I just REALLY like that Adrien said "I don't know", and how the episode treated the custody conflict for 95% of the plot which is very good for Miraculous.

[alexrosa13]

Valentine's Favourites

Sylus x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: 2,4k words, overuse of the word kitten and allusions to cat like behavior

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how are Luke & Kieran doing ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Any day spent with Sylus was worth remembering, anytime he felt like it he spoiled you with various gifts and dates, indulging every desire of yours. This time he decided to surprise you, how much will you like the gift he prepared for you...

Being kidnapped from your apartment by your boyfriend who didn't want to share any information about where you were going was not on your to-do-list but oh well, here we are.

It's not that you didn't trust him, it was the fact that you were dying to know what came over him to pull a stunt like this, and he refused to acknowledge your questions.

The audacity of that man? But alright, you can try to act like it didn't bother you, looking out of the window of his luxurious car you tried your best to recognize your surroundings, but it seems that he was taking you to a totally unfamiliar place.

"When will you end my torment?" once again you turned your head his way to stare into his very soul, but he didn't act bothered in the slightest, sly smirk tugged on his lips, he didn't even spare a glance your way.

"Soon, sweetie, I promise, you need to be a little more patient than that." his teasing voice made you want to both: kiss him and strangle him. With a loud sigh you turned your attention back to the outside world, the trees passing fast before your eyes made you feel dizzy.

You closed your eyes, promising to open them in a moment, but then a moment became a minute, then two, then fifteen...

Quiet music coming from the speakers soothed you to sleep.

Sylus couldn't help but smile at the sight, his love, cuddled up in her seat, looking so vulnerable and calm, in contrast to her usual storm-like fierce character.

Well, she had the guts to take over the Onychinus one day if needed. But he wouldn't leave her to take care of such a responsibility, of course. The hard and dirty work shall be his, so she can enjoy herself in the world without worries.

Without counting the worries she felt because of his stubborn actions, but that's a story for another day.

Seeing your body starting to lean a little forward, he used his evol to make sure you won't hurt yourself if your head was to drop and hit something. Seeing you all comfy and safe once again he returned his full attention (99% of it) to the road.

He enjoyed your curious questions and bold but empty threats thrown his way. His favourite one was when you said you'll hang him like a pinãta and let the twins have some fun, how did you even come up with that?

He couldn't help but wonder what your reaction for his surprise will be. Will you be happy? Or disappointment? Will you shed some tears of joy or maybe call him a lunatic for driving you to nowhere just to ask one question.

The only thing that matters is your reaction and answer. Hopefully, you won't get disappointed.

It was around two hours later when you arrived at the destination.

"It's time to wake up kitten." his voice and him gently shaking your body woke you up, your eyes slowly opened, like in haze you stared at him while he tried to bring you to a fully conscious state.

"What..." your sleepy voice made him chuckle a little, he saw you closing your eyes again. Yeah, cats needed their sleep more than anything, right?

"Sweetie, we arrived." he kissed your head gently, your eyes opened once again, still looking tired after your nap.

He caressed your thigh for a moment before leaving the car to go and open your door. The moment he got to your side and crouched down you pulled him into a hug. Instantly his arms pulled you closer to him, making sure to keep your posture comfortable, and not let you lean too much down.

After half a minute or so, he gently moved you to sit back, which made you let out a quiet groan of disappointment at his warmth disappearing from you. He reached out for your shoes that you took off before your nap, carefully taking your ankle in his hands, moving it to rest on his thigh and putting your shoe on for you, giving your calf a kiss before following the same steps with your other leg.

After he was done he looked up, noticing your eyes closed again. A smirk tugged on his lips while he shook his head at your attics, before standing up and picking you up from your seat.

You didn't even flinch, already used to him carrying you whenever he finds the occasion to do so.

Closing the car doors with his leg and clicking the button on his keys to lock the vehicle, he started walking with you in his hold, your hands gripped his shirt like a kitten afraid to fall. Your eyes stayed closed, trusting him completely with your well-being. Your relaxed features made his expression soften, his precious kitten all comfortable in his arms.

The sun started shining a little brighter, irritating your eyes even with your eyelids shut closed, you hid your face in his chest, your arms wrapping around him tightly. He laughed at your behaviour once more.

The same woman who acted all cold and harsh with him the first few months he knew you, now completely trusting him to keep you safe. Your relationship started on rocks, but you managed to build a castle from the rumbles. And he couldn't be happier.

A couple minutes later he finally reached the place he wanted to show you.

"Sweetie... Open your eyes." slowly you followed his instructions. Meeting his eyes above you, the warm light making his features look more gentle than usual.

Slowly he puts you on your feet, your eyes never leaving each other. You stood up on the rocky path still hugging his side.

"Look." he whispered, his eyes turning to look at something ahead of you. You turned your head around, your eyes catching the grassy field full of white flowers. You tried to tell what kind of flowers they were, but you stood too far away from them "Those are datura flowers." he answered your silent question.

"Datura?" you peeked at his face above yours, him still holding you in the back hug "Aren't those like super poisonous?"

"They are." he kissed your head, unbothered.

"Why did you take me here?" you tried to search your mind for any memories that could somehow be connected to those flowers, but your thoughts were blank.

"There's a legend about those flowers, but it's a tale for another day. They just have a symbolism that matters to me." he pulled some strayed strands of hair behind your ear "I didn't just take you here to stare at the flowers."

"You didn't? Then what for?" you looked at him, your full attention dedicated to him.

"There's another place here that I want to show you." he took your hand in his, pulling you to walk after him.

"How did you even find this place? We're two or three hours away from Linkon, we'll be coming back in the middle of the night." he only chuckled at your question.

"Who said something about coming back tonight?" you looked at him stunned, but he didn't even glance your way.

"What do you mean?" you questioned again.

"I own a house not too far from here." you scoffed at his words.

"Pff of course you do." you continued your walk side by side, you tried to guess where he wanted to take you, but everything around you looked the same, no matter how many meters you walked.

After maybe twenty or so minutes you complained about him taking you to nowhere and making you move around too much when you just wanted to chill in your home. The only thing he said was 'be patient sweetie' just like before in the car.

Soon the sun started to hide behind the horizon, you couldn't help but gaze at the breathtaking sight before you, not noticing how your lover's attentive eyes were watching you, taking in the view of your beautiful face coated with warm orange light.

Too taken by the scene in the sky, you didn't see when you walked up to the place he wanted to show you all along.

You felt him coming to stop, your head instantly turned his way, asking a silent question. He only looked at you, with one corner of his mouth raised.

Confused you started to look around, the sight before you made your eyes widen.

A huge, red tree met your eye. Something about it making you feel like under a spell. In a daze you stared as the leaves swayed slowly with the wind, there were some lights hung on the branches, hidden behind the layer of leaves.

Your daydream got interrupted by Sylus's voice.

"Come back to me sweetie." you turned your head towards him, looking at him, waiting for explanation. Why did he take you here? "This place is also a part of the local legends. I guess you could also say that it has a... personal meaning to me." he looked at nature's creation.

"Personal meaning? May I ask why is that?" you observed his face, his expression not giving you any clue.

"A couple of years ago, that very tree was dying, locals tried their best to save it, but their efforts were not enough to help with its withering state. I paid it no mind at first, until I heard a legend surrounding that tree. It's said that a dragon lived in this village centuries ago, ruling the lands for many years, until..." his eyes turned to you "He sacrificed himself for his lover."

"Why did he have to sacrifice himself for love..." you asked, your tone gentle, Sylus started to look vulnerable, his gaze turned even softer.

"I don't know, there are many tales explaining that, some claim that his lover was the one who killed him, their greed for his richest becoming stronger than their love, some say that people rebelled against him, and he had to sacrifice himself for his lover to run away, others believe that he had to kill himself or else he would have to hurt his lover." your face took a rather sad expression.

"Which one do you believe is true?" his head lowered to kiss your forehead, soft smile gracing his lips.

"If I had to guess." he stopped to think for a moment "None of them." you looked at him confused, he couldn't help but chuckle at your expression "None of them ever made enough sense for me to believe them."

"Does everything need to make sense?" you crooked a smile, looking at him with something hiding in your gaze.

"No." he turned to look at the tree before you.

"What's the real reason you took me here?" you read through him once again.

"When I came here for the first time, this tree was almost dead, but it still clung to the last string connecting it to life, not letting itself leave this world." it reminded me of myself, the last string connecting me to this world being you "I decided to help it and a couple months later it grew larger, healthy and strong. I couldn't help but come back to this place every once in a while, something about it brought me a sense of peace." something only you were really able to achieve.

"It is peaceful here, unlike your usual environment." you giggled, hiding your head in his chest.

"Don't tell me you don't enjoy the thrill in our life sweetheart." our? "I brought you here because I wanted to show you more... Peaceful piece of my life. Something that you deserve more than the usual routine of the N109 Zone."

"I enjoy my days in the N109 Zone, I wouldn't change a thing." you nuzzled you head into his torso, earning yourself a quiet laugh from the man.

"I know sweetheart, seeing you happy in my home makes my heart fill with joy every time." gently he touched your chin, making you raise your head and meet his gaze "That's also part of the reason why I came out with a proposition for you."

"A proposition?" you were confused, what could he possibly talk about?

"Move in with me permanently." your brows raised in shock, was he actually asking you that? But you already talked about it..

"But... We said that we'll do that once we'll be ready to get married and stuff..." you let out a nervous giggle. Of course you wanted to agree, but you thought that it was still too early for him?

To your shock you saw him leaning down.

"What are you doing-" don't panic, don't panic, DON'T PANIC.

He kneeled before you, your palm still resting in his, you felt your heart beating two times faster than normally.

"Marry me." his voice didn't falter, his gaze confident. You wanted to faint on the spot.

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Kitten, I'm not."

"Sylus I..." his free hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a red velvet box.

You watched as he swiftly opened it, your eyes falling onto the ring probably worth more than your apartment.

"So? What's your answer?" you saw how his eyes seemed to lighten up every time you looked at them, you couldn't help but think about how he looked like a cat, pretending that he found himself in the same room with his owner totally by accident.

Your eyes left the jewelry, now looking straight into his eyes. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Sylus..." you felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The man of your life, the one who treated you like you deserved the world, who saw you at your worst and still reminded you how beautiful you were to him, was proposing to you "Of course I'll marry you."

He smiled, not his usual cocky grin, but a genuine smile. Gently he put the ring onto your finger, the gem adoring your hand perfectly.

He stood up, taking your face into his palms, your hands went up to his elbows.

He watched your glassy eyes shine, felt your happiness like it was his own, and maybe - it was.

His head dipped down to plant a kiss on your lips, deepening it almost instantly, sharing his feelings with you.

He absolutely adores you, and he'll continue to, through every life and story.

[miniwheat77]

Secret Weapon. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, violence, war, blood, NO MINORS! This was a request that’s been sitting in my inbox a while :)

This is not edited.

“Captain.. what the fuck do we do?” Gaz pants out. His back is pressed firmly against the wall.

John thinks for a moment. What does he do?

Nikolai is unavailable. But he’s got an idea.

He lifts up his radio, turning it to a channel he hasn’t been on in years.

“Viper 1-1 page back.” He calls into the radio.

“Viper 1-1, copy.”

“We’re trapped on a rooftop.” Captain Price recites your coordinates. He had heard in passing that the pilot was nearby on another mission.

“Thirty-five out, we’re on the way.”

He sighs.

“Thank god.” He mumbles. The four are stuck on the rooftop. No where to go and hardly any ammo.

“We’re?” Gaz asks. They remember who the pilot is.

They fight all they can, all hope is about to be lost when the loud rumble of the helicopter comes.

The buzzing sound makes them perk up, seeing the flashback from the gun inside. They can’t see the person holding it.

Captain Price watches with a smile. The helicopter stays airborne until there is no one moving on the ground. They watch it land a couple hundred feet away, seeing two people get out of it. Clearing buildings as they make their way to the four.

The door finally opens, the four standing up. They’d been using the brick walls as cover.

You’re the first to step into their view, but you’ve got a ski mask on.

You grasp the hem of it, pulling it over your head.

You smile.

“Long time no see, Captain.” You nod.

“Shit. I could tell by how good the shots were that it was you.” He laughs. Pulling you in for a hug, hugging the pilot next.

The others watch, stunned.

“Oh uh… boys. This is Y/N.” He nods.

“My secret weapon.”

They take the time to shake your hand, introducing themselves to you.

But Ghost is completely taken off guard by you.

The way your hair falls after you take the mask, the fact that he didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone one was pretty as you.

What the hell?

You’d just saved his life. He was all out of ammo holed up in one building, if you hadn’t come? He wouldn’t even be alive to tell the tale.

It was the start of something Ghost never saw coming. Not in a million years.

———

It took a lot of convincing for you to join the task force.

Since you had made friends with the men, they bothered you to no limit to join. They liked you. You were skilled. They wanted you around all of the time.

When you eventually joined, Ghost spiraled completely out of control.

He avoided you like the plague because he knew what was coming and he was scared. He started drinking more, hiding in his room more. Socializing less and everyone noticed.

But only Johnny had caught on as to why.

He was falling in love with you, and he knew it.

He was falling and he was falling hard and he knew the only end to that free fall is the hard concrete when he lands. Ghost didn’t love. He didn’t because there was only heartbreak and hurt.

The first time it happened, he didn’t mean to.

You were doing your laundry, passing by his room with a basket when they fell out. He waited a while for you to come back for them but you never did so he swiped them.

A pair of panties.

Ghost was in too deep and he knew it.

Fisting his cock to the thought of you, face buried in your panties. He hated himself for what he’d become and he hated you for what you’d done to him. You’d made him a fool and he’d only spoken to you in passing.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Kill.

On missions he was ruthless.

He didn’t know anything other than violence and pain. So he pushed himself to no limit. Working hard, staying up late. Taking extra watch and beating himself up mentally day and night about how weak he’d become all because of a woman.

He spent hours and hours training and working out. He’d lost count the days he’d spent in the shooting range and his death toll jumped by hundreds and grew more and more with each mission he went out on. Ghost was smart and skilled. He understood everything but the only thing he couldn’t figure out was you.

Finally, Johnny cornered him.

Ghost was walking to his room, Johnny was hot on his tail, asking how he was doing.

“Fine Johnny. Leave it be.” He mumbles, he goes to close his door but Soap doesn’t let him have it. Catching it with his boot and walking in, closing the door behind himself. “There’s something wrong with you, you’ve got the entire bloody task force worried sick about ya so you better start talkin.” He growls.

Ghost raises his eyebrows. Johnny had never spoken to him like that before.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard what I said, Ghost.”

He crosses his arms and Soap doesn’t let feel intimidated by him, of course he does. But Ghost is his friend. He cares about him.

“Full offense Johnny, piss off. We’re not teenage girls and I don’t intend on sharing my feelings with you so I think you should leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll set up camp until you’re ready to talk about it.” He stands his ground. Ghost sighs. “I don’t know how to talk about it Johnny. I don’t even know what’s wrong myself.”

“That’s a start, LT. The hell has gotten into you? You’re like a machine. Wake up, eat, kill, sleep.”

Ghost sighs.

“That girl.”

Realization hits Soap like a ton of bricks.

“I just..” he sighs. Sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“You have feelings for her?” Soap asks.

“I’d say I have more than just feelings for her, Johnny.” Ghost wipes his face through his mask. “Shit LT.”

“No kidding.”

“Well you won’t get the girl by being so reclusive sir.”

“My plan isn’t to get the girl Johnny, life is painful enough as is!” He groans.

“Yeah, well life is too short to worry about what hurts and let what you’ll enjoy pass you. So get out there and try. Christ in heaven you’re a brick wall.” He groans.

Ghost sighs. Johnny is right.

“Whatever Johnny, I have a lot to think about so.. kindly. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But we’re not done about this and you know it.” Soap rolls his eyes, leaving through the door. He can’t believe it. Ghost was in love with you.

———

“Ghost page back.” Captain mumbles into the radio.

“Copy.”

“Soap is feeling ill. You mind taking over his 0100 patrol?”

“Not at all sir.”

Ghost finishes up what he’s doing and prepares for the patrol.

Since they’re out of the states and in enemy territory they have patrol often.

“Great, you’ll be with Y/N.”

Ghost freezes in his spot.

“Johnny page back.”

“Copy.”

“I see you in person, you’re a dead man MacTavish.”

“Already in for the night sir, door’s locked. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost can’t see it but the scot snickers to himself inside his room. Feeling very well actually.

Ghost meets up with you just before your patrol together and wants to crawl into a hole and die. You were so beautiful and there was nothing he could do about it.

It’s quiet for a while. The two of you walking alongside each other. It’s pitch dark out. The only lights come from the base. “So. How long you know Price for?” He’s trying to make small talk. Something that takes you off guard. He never seemed to be this open.

“Since I started in the military actually. He was at the convention I enlisted at.” You smile. “Really? I forget how old the man is.” He laughs. “I totally did not think you were this outgoing, Ghost.” You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You just do not seem the type for small talk.” You smile.

He chuckles. “Nah, the mask makes me unapproachable but that not intentional.”

“Than why do you wear it?”

“To hide my identity. I’ve killed a lot of people and don’t want retaliation.”

“Don’t they just know to go after the guy in the skull mask though?” You side eye him. “Yeah, but when I wear it I want to be found.”

“Good point.” You smile.

“Stop.” He throws a hand up in front of you suddenly. “Woah-“ you mumble. He looks around, every alarm in his body is going off.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles. He draws out his flashlight, shining at the ground. He doesn’t see anything, not for the first few feet at least. After that is when he notices indents in the sand. Footprints.

He follows them straight up to the barbed wire fence around the base.

“Price page back.”

He waits a minute.

“Captain Price page back.”

“Copy, what is it?”

“Footprints leading up to the Southwest fence. We’ll follow them and make sure it’s not a threat but we haven’t covered the north yet.” He says it into his radio and waits.

“Garrick and I will cover it, just be safe. Page back every ten until you know it’s clear.”

“Yes sir.”

Ghost tilts his head, letting you know to follow him.

You do just that.

It takes a couple miles of walking before you spot a building in the distance, thank god for night vision.

Ghost posts up and watches for a while, not seeing any movement. The two of you approach, you go slow. You never do see any movement, the building is severely run down, the roof is in bad shape and it’s dirty. “Do you think they’re human footprints?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Hard to say with the sand. Could be an animal of some kind. Could explain the staggering of them.” He explains.

You nod your head. “Looks like everything is clear Captain, we’re going to look around a bit and than head back.”

“Got it, we’re heading for bed. Page if you need anything else Simon.”

You step inside the run down building, it was once someone’s house. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Odd.

The rooms inside seem intact, aside from being dusty, frozen in time. Plants have taken over and some of the dishes that remain are broken but the bedrooms are still completely normal. The beds are made.

You walk inside and sit down on a bed, groaning. “I don’t wanna walk back yet.” You whine. “Take a break.” He laughs. “Okay.”

He chuckles. That didn’t take much convincing.

“Can I show you something?” He asks. “Sure, what is it?”

He moves to sit next to you, grasping his mask. Your eyes widen when he pulls it straight off. “You’re showing me this why? Explain yourself?” You laugh,

“No that’s not what I wanted to show you, this is.”

He grasps your chin and goes for it.

All the money in the pot. A gamble of a lifetime.

He plants his lips straight on yours and his blood rushes through him, his heart pounding so loud it’s all he hears. He expects you to pull back. To be disgusted with him.

But you don’t. You meet him in the middle and kiss him back even harder.

He pushes you back on the dusty bed raising himself up over you, one leg resting between yours. His thigh is flush with your clothed opening. He doesn’t stop kissing you, he takes even further.

When you feel his tongue on yours, you finally pull away with a gasp.

“Ghost-“ you pant.

“Simon. Call me Simon.” He breathes. “W-why are you doing this?” You hiss as he pushes his thigh further into you. “Because I’ve waited long enough to get my fucking hands on you. I can’t take it anymore.” He groans. You hadn’t expected him to be so forward, you also didn’t expect how handsome he’d be without a mask on. How overly willing he was to expose himself to you shows you that he trust you, and obviously had more feelings for you than he let on. Ghost didn’t just act out of lust, Johnny told you that.

Now you realize why you’d had that conversation earlier in the day. Fucking scot.

He gets your vest unzipped and grasps hold of your shirt, ripping it straight down the middle. He hears you gasp. “Simon!”

“Quiet, I’ll replace it with twenty more.” He breathes.

The click of his pocket knife makes you freeze. But he’s skilled with it, moving quickly, slicing the small slit of fabric holding your bra together. He shoves the fabric off of you and cups your breasts with his hands, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other. Pinching it between his fingers and tugging on it. You whine out, raising your hips and rutting yourself into his thigh. Ghost is the person you talked to the very least, yet here you are. On display for him.

“God you’re a fucking minx.” He hisses. He sits up and watches you roll your hips into his thigh. Desperate for him to touch you. You realize something.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing my panties, aren’t you?” You smirk.

He visibly blushes.

“You’re a cheeky thing! I can’t believe it’s been you!” You gasp. “Shut up.” He hisses. He doesn’t like to be embarrassed, you’re lucky it’s you or he would’ve told you to get fucked by now. “Fuck, how many have you gotten away with?”

He shrugs. “Lot more than you’d expect.”

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You laugh.

“Yeah, you’d think even worse of me if you knew what I did with them.” He growls. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his teeth and lips. Pushing his hand down the front of your waistband. He glides his fingers over your pussy, hearing you whine.

“Now I want to know. What you did with them.”

He chuckles, it’s dark.

“The smell of you is intoxicating, darling.”

You moan out. “Fuck I shouldn’t think that’s hot but I do.” You mewl. Lips parted as he sucks at your throat. Your jugular vein is pulsing and he can’t feel it with his tongue. He rests his hand over your head. “Been waiting weeks for a taste of you, doll. Now we’re here.” He groans, kissing roughly down your center. He’s rough as he tugs your pants down your legs, barely taking the time to unbutton them. You thought maybe he’d cut those off too, not that you’d mind anyways.

He kisses further down, hearing your breathing pick up even more as he presses lower. He doesn’t start slow like you thought he would. Starting by sucking directly on your clit, making you flinch.

You hiss, jumping away from him. You hear him chuckles as he starts his assault on it.

“Poor thing, so sensitive.” He smirks.

“Shut up before I ride your face, Riley.” You hiss, pushing a hand in his hair.

“Oh no?” He smirks. You roll your eyes.

He lowers his head back down, gliding his tongue up your slip.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

Just before he devours you whole.

He doesn’t relent, no matter how much you cry or squirm. He holds you down by your thighs. He presses his tongue into your opening, rubbing your clit with his nose like a dog. He’s filthy.

You didn’t think Ghost was the type to be so dirty. When he’s got you right on the edge, crying out in pure bless. You’re about to beg him not to stop but he draws back anyways. His lips are wet in your arousal. His cheeks are flushed pink, pupils blown wide with lust.

He sits up, grasping his shirt and forcing it over his head, going for his cargo pants next.

You’re watching him in a daze. Drunk off his lips and how he’s made you feel.

“I was normal until you came along, hm. Didn’t think I could feel what I feel until you saved our asses on that rooftop. I thought I’d be okay until you pulled that damned ski mask off and showed your fuckin’ face and now I don’t think I’ll be okay again. You’ll pay for it darling.”

He moves himself over the top of you, thrusting himself straight inside you to the hilt, you’re crying out.

“You’ll pay for it by letting me have this pussy whenever I want it.” He growls.

He’s relentless. Doesn’t matter how much you fall apart or how much you cry. He doesn’t let up. He’s rough, his pace is bruising. You can’t get out a single word as he works his hips into yours, using his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clit.

You’re impossibly wet around him, clutching at the old sheets so hard your knuckles go white. He laughs. He snaps his hips into yours, feeling how wet you are around him. Moaning and whining, writhing from the pleasure he’s giving you. You’ve never felt something so intense before. Not in your life.

He forces you to roll over, gasping out at the loss of him but he doesn’t give you long. Once you’re on your stomach, he’s raising you your hips and thrusting back into you. Pushing your face roughly into the mattress and holding your hands behind your back.

“Fuckin hell Simon!” You cry.

You feel good of course, but you need him to relent. Just for a minute at least.

“So much-“ you cry. “You’re mine. Say it.” He growls. “Maybe I’ll let up.”

“I’m yours!” You sob.

“Say it again!” He growls. He grips your hands hard.

“I’m yours Simon- fuck! I’m yours!” He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, slowing his speed but not his force. He pulls you up by your arms, still holding them behind you. Your eyes widen when you realize there’s a mirror above the bed. It’s broken and dusty but that doesn’t mean you can’t see yourselves in it.

He wraps his hands around your waist, still fucking into you but he’s being gentler now. Slow.

“Say it again.” His voice is a low growl. You almost miss it.

“I’m yours.” You whine. Raising your hand to touch his cheek.

“Again.” He growls even louder. Pushing into your belly. “I- I’m yours Simon. All fucking yours.” You’re nearly chanting it.

You sob, tears spilling over your eyelids.

“Now fucking scream it.” He grits his teeth, thrusting straight up into that spongy spot deep inside of you, sending you straight into your orgasm and you nearly do just that. You’re loud when you cum, barely getting out the words “I’m yours!” As you cry and sob, lurching forward and shaking through your orgasm. He fucks you through it, clutching onto you for dear life as he moans out, reaching his own high. He thrusts as deep as he’ll go before he cums. It’s a decision he may regret but right now, he doesn’t care.

You’re whimpering as he slides out of you. Taking in oxygen like it’s limited.

He helps you until you’re lying on your back again. Soothing you. He massages your skin, bringing you back down to earth.

Simon knew better than to be so rough but he lost himself.

“Shhh.. s’okay baby. I’ve got you.” He breathes. You close your eyes, steadying your breaths.

Simon was a lot of man, he knew he was.

He draws his fingertips over your chest and arms, your eyes follow them as he lets you relax.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I wasn’t too much was I?” He smiles.

“No- not at all. Though you came on VERY strong.” You smirk.

He laughs. “That’s the only way, baby.”

He sits up. “Now come on, we’ve got to head back before they realize we’re missing.”

“Yes sir.”

[amoristt]

the night falls like heaven

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, pining, nam-gyu's pov, lots of angst in an edgy way, very light drxg mentions,

a/n: this'll be a 2 part mini series! so excited to get this started ugh tysm to anon who requested this word count: 9.2k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・Nam-gyu was not a man of many regrets. 

If he had to count, he could fit them all on one hand. Mostly from when he was a teen. Younger and somehow even more impulsive than he was now, drinking through money like water and getting into fights he’d never remember. The worst of them all, however, was one he hadn’t thought would really eat at him. It was unlike himself to get hung up over a girl of all things, but good lord, he was hanging. Strings and all, like a marionette, bleeding and sore at the joints. 

Tough to swallow couldn’t even compare to the feeling of when that specific regret suddenly pops up in the same room after years of abandon. If he hadn’t been so down bad, the sight of you would have only ruffled up his feathers enough to remind him of a better time, but in God’s honest eyes, those feathers of his had been ruffled since the dawn of the very instant you left. The door hadn’t even had a chance to hit you on your way out, nothing but dust and tears in your wake. He was stuck fast, left to his own devices, bouncing between wondering why he let it go so bad and whilst also begging God himself to make you stop being such a bitch. 

But the worst part, the worst part is that even now you still carry this aura of over it all around you. Self-respect colliding with the want to be loved was never an easy tango to dance, all steps just pulling and pushing and trying to snuff out useless feelings and red hot passion. But you twirled until he did what he did best and nudged you to the brink of your breaking point. All that sweet, sweet adoration drained from your face and he saw it- dignity. He saw it on you on your  way out of his apartment, storming past him with biting tears in your eyes. And now, years later, he gets to see it again from across the room.

You’re sitting on a high, high bunk you’ve claimed as yours, people watching. Other than the initial moment you’d seen him in the bubble of people, you haven't bothered sparing him a second glance. It was a beautiful moment- your eyes widening, stopped dead in your tracks before you were on the move all over again. He’s sneaking glances through the corners of his eyes, watching you over his shoulder, and you can’t even give him another second of your day. And the thing that really bothers him is that he knows he can’t stop. 

Out of everyone in this room, your distant presence is a fiery beacon in the darkness and he’s an angry, bitter moth. It’s in his very nature to circle and flutter one step behind, seeking the light, burning at its touch. Singed wings and an endless sneer. If only he could just stop touching the heat, he would surely move on. But he just can’t, and the fact that you can pisses him off so much it makes him lose his breath at times. 

He wished, with the very core of his entire being, that you were weaker. Or, at least, stupider. Maybe then you would have lived up to his expectations and showed up to his door, or at his club, teary eyed and lonely without his superior presence around. He could see it behind his eyes at night, the waver in your voice when you’d beg him to come back into your arms, and more importantly, back into your bed. 

I told you so, he’d say, with that shit eating grin and a hand on your waist guiding you out from the cold.

A forlorn, guideless sheep in need of your shepherd. He could be that for you. If only the word boyfriend didn’t make him shudder with every last fiber of his being. If only that specific little thing wasn’t your breaking point. Your face haunted him- that halo around your irises fading into something far away and charred when he’d had the nerve to actually laugh at you for it. You were grabbing your things and leaving, and he sat watching every moment in clips. It wasn’t anything, back then. You were just mad, in a few days you’d be right as rain climbing into his lap and peppering kisses along his throat. You’d be back, he was sure of it. 

But then the days turned into weeks. And then, to his distaste, those weeks faded into months of silence. He started to catch himself looking for you in crowds, visiting places you’d frequented at just to linger around like an awkward ghost in case he spotted you through the shifting crowds. But you were gone- vanished.

Fine. You’ll never see me again, asshole. 

Those words had been etched into the very walls of his cranium since they’d left your lips in a scathing hiss. Such nasty words, but they shook with every consonant. 

Among your pride was a healthy blend of honesty. You had been true to your word- he really did never see you again. Wiped your slate spotless of anything Nam-gyu.

And it drove him fucking crazy. It made him sick to his stomach in a way he did not think was possible. It was out of control- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, you, you. He missed you more than he didn’t, and he was angrier at himself than he’d like to admit. So instead of admitting, he funnels all that anger into the very shape of you. Drags in the idea of you, his memories of you and shoves them down, down, down, until he truly did think he hated you, after all. 

Until he’s clenching his fist so tight he’s drawing blood and telling himself he’s better off now, without some whining bitch in his ear begging him to stick that boyfriend pin into the thinness of his skin. Thinks that without you hanging on his arm all the damn time, he could really go out and have some fun. He thinks, and he thinks and he thinks until he’s thought too much and suddenly he loves you again and he misses you so bad it’s crushing him under the sheer weight of your absence. 

So, Nam-gyu does what Nam-gyu does best once again, and he drowns himself out with the bitter taste of drugs on his tongue and the sear of alcohol in his blood. 

It all stops.

For a time, anyway. 

You always found ways to seep back into his mind one way or another. Songs that would only make it a second in before he was mashing the skip button. A tv show you’d watched together surviving on the screen roughly a whole minute before it’s switched off. Sometimes it was when he saw something he knew you’d like- a shitty video or meme. Other times you came to him in whispers while he laid out on his own living room floor, out of his mind watching the blank ceiling above him twist and writhe under his spotty vision with a needle poking out of his arm. 

But, most times… Most times you would slither your way to the forefront of his mind just before bed. The touch of you, the smell of you. 

The shape of you underneath him. Hands and quiet breaths. He could still hear the noises you made ringing in his ears, stored away in his memories just to taunt him when he was indisputably alone. Soft skin, even softer thighs. Always so warm, and so wet. So willing. You would come to him while he curled over himself in bed, drunk on porn and memories. 

And afterwards, when Nam-gyu had finished, he would throw his head back onto his pillow and ignore the way it felt like there was a lump in his throat. And that would piss him off even more, because fuck, you should be there with him. Laying by his side running your hands through his hair until he’s falling asleep balancing on the fine line of afterglow and dozing off. 

But you aren’t. You’re doing fuck all with who knows in places he’s never been to, places you probably begged him to go but he couldn’t even remember the name of. You hadn’t answered a single one of his texts, you hadn’t picked up a single call and everytime he hears the first couple seconds of your stupid voicemail he wants to crush his phone in his hands. Vexation was a slippery slope into the fires of fury- rage was like a parasite under his skin, eating away at what little rational thinking he had. 

Voicemail after voicemail. Text after ignored text. Anger was the hardest stage- rage grew horns on the crown of his head and it turned him into something he couldn’t recognize. Or, something he refused to recognize- desperate and heartsick. 

It was supposed to be you. Not him. 

He filled the endless gaps of you with drugs often and women when he could. For a short time it would work and he would wonder why he ever let someone else get him so, so low. But then the drugs would wear off. The random woman in his room that he never bothered to learn the name of would grab her clothes and saunter out the door. He stopped letting them stay the night. He could never sleep, stared at the ceiling until 5am wondering why he still felt like shit. He would be right back where he started, sitting on the couch, staring at the door watching you leave over and over again.  

You stopped updating your socials, quit hanging out with the few people that bounced between his and your crowd, successfully scrubbed him of your life entirely. After a year, he resorted to asking around if anyone had seen you. The answer, as always, was a firm no. It was a corrosive feeling, a constant churn and thrum within the cage of his ribs. It made him even more unrecognizable to himself. Made him invite women into his lap just to shove them away when they didn’t smell like you, or sound like you. Or laugh like you.

It had been so, so perfect before. It was fun, and it was hot all the time, and sex with you felt like heaven was a place on earth. Why couldn’t you see that? Why did you have to go and ruin it with your words and pleading eyes? Nam-gyu doesn’t roll like that. You knew that. He’s a free spirit, he tells himself. No chains, no labels. No holding him down. Even if it was at the feet of this gorgeous, gorgeous body and a honey sweet voice that just always seemed to know what to say. Beautiful eyes that always watched, a smile so saccharine, whispering words against his ear so dirty it made him shiver just to think about. 

The world was too vast to be held down. 

But, truth be told, he was held down. 

He is held down. 

When you walked out of his apartment those years ago, he never left that spot, chewing his nails and anxiously spinning the ring on his finger, watching you go. He started seeing it behind his eyes. Replays it, changes the course, wonders where he’d be right now if he’d just said something different. 

Finding you at the games was like divine intervention. It had to be. Some higher power had crossed his path and plopped you right in front of him. With rolling eyes and a deadpan stare at anything except for him, sure but you were there and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. God had heard his drug induced prayers of stupor. 

Now it was all about waiting. Waiting for the right moment to dive in and recapture you within him and he’d be right back to drinking you in at every chance he had. He’d do it differently this time, do it right so you’d cling to him and wonder why you ever wanted to leave at all. Make you wonder why you were so stupid to have been so stubborn when everything you could ever need was in the palm of your hand. He was sure of it. That strong, bullheaded expression would blitz is something vulnerable in his hands. A lurch of excitement riveted under his skin among the nerves. 

For now, he waits, and watches. Your presence could never go unnoticed by his dark eyes. 

It’s unfortunate for him that Thanos takes a notice to you, too. It’s hard not to, really, when every time he follows Nam-gyu’s locked line of sight it always leads back to you- this little sweet thing perched up at the peak of the bunks alongside the back, watching the room with this bored stare between mundane yapping with other players. 

“Someone you know?” Thanos’s voice had this subtle drip to it, this underlining excitement that Nam-gyu picks up on almost instantly. His expression stays cool, mostly uninterested despite the way he can’t seem to pry his eyes away from you even as he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

And then he’s stuck. Because his mouth opens for a split second to say, my ex, but he can’t quite say that, now can he? But he also can’t say an old friend either, because you simply weren’t. What you two had was something else entirely- a new plane he struggled to navigate, lovely when things were good, a hellscape when they weren't. The lines were always so blurred, fuzzy with sex and warm laughter.

He decides on something mostly true. “Someone I used to hang out with.”

“Girlfriend?” Thanos’s brow raises with his chirp, leaning forward with clear interest. 

“No.” It comes out quick- too quick, and too heavy. Tinged venom with more baggage than even he could handle at times. Thanos catches it on impact and whistles. 

“I see. So you won’t care if I go chat her up? Hm?” 

“Don’t bother. She’s not like that.” Nam-gyu’s scoffs before he can stop himself, this unsettling seed of jealousy planting itself in his chest. 

“Hm… I guess we’ll see, huh?”

You’re dismounting from your bed and climbing onto the stairs when Thanos jumps to his feet, and Nam-gyu can already feel that itchy panic starting to blotch away at his skin. His hands, his cheeks. That seed takes its place within him bearing vicious roots. 

“Man, don’t bother,” He’s touching at Thanos’s sleeve, his shoulder, anywhere he can to try and gather his friend’s attention. “She can be kind of a bi-”

All it takes is a swat to Nam-gyu’s chest to stop him dead in his tracks, words dying his throat. Shut down, watching his friend take quick steps to you, Nam-gyu following close behind to witness.  If only he could be firmer, never demanding, always suggesting. Always rolling over and showing his soft underbelly at Thanos’s whim. Instead, he lets his lips press into a tight line and let’s it all happen right before him. 

You’re on the bottom step and taking a seat, and you see the rapper approaching before he gets a word in, but your eyes skip over him entirely and settle onto Nam-gyu’s. Distress is building in his muscles, but he’s making damn sure to keep himself in check. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone? You want a friend?”

Up closer now, sharing your space, he sees all the things he’d been missing so deeply throughout the years. You still look just as he remembered- still bearing this expression of bemused coolness, still having these all seeing eyes that seemed to cut right through him. 

“A friend?” you hum, and your voice threatens to pull him in like gravity. “You wanna be my friend?”

If jealousy could sprout through his skin, it’d be an ugly beast of horns and claws. But it can’t, so instead, it takes shape in the way Nam-gyu’s eyes are flicking between yours and the rappers, hands wrapped up in his sleeves. 

“Stick with me, yeah? I promise to keep you safe. My number one priority.” And Thanos is patting his chest, flashing those painted nails. Makes Nam-gyu’s chest tighten, his stomach growing sicker by the second. 

Damn, you can see it, too. There’s no denying the way he’s cringing behind that distant smirk, and he doesn’t think to hide the way he’s twisting his rings on his fingers. When you click your tongue, he knows what's coming. 

“Stick with you, hm… Sorry, but I try to work alone. Partner’s tend to, how do I say…” Those eyes of your slice through him all over again, honing into him when you finish your sentence. “Disappoint me.”

Fuck. Disappointment. Oh god, how that sears into Nam-gyu’s skin. The way you look the rapper up and down, visually sizing him up, would make his heart leap into his throat if he were under that same scrutiny. He never understood how you could always be this intense with such a sweet, sweet face. Kindness was certainly a luxury and he missed it, that never ending fire that kept him warm.

“I can change that for you,” Thanos sings.  “I’m a legend here for a reason.”

“Legend? I’ve never heard of you.” Your brows raise in amusement. 

“You will. Thanos.” He puffs his chest out and nods, a half cocked grin playing over his lips. “Guy’s like me, we don’t disappoint.”

The man actually finds the nerve to reach down and pluck your hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips. Nam-gyu feels red hot scorching through his face but he’s locked in place, watching it like a car crash. Relieved when you yank your hand free and shove it into your jacket’s pocket. It’s the only good thing out of this entire interaction, he finds, especially so when Thanos’s smirk falters into a tight surprised line. 

“Don’t go and do all that. Guy’s like you will always disappoint me.” You lean back against the wall of the step, vexation evident over your features. “How about you talk to me again after the next game, yeah? Maybe I’ll feel different. Thanos.”

You always were so good at slamming the door in people's faces, always brought Nam-gyu joy to witness you shut down the advances of some poor loser trying to gain your affections. Thanos knows he’s been hung out in the cold, too. Barking up the wrong tree in the wrong neighborhood in the wrong country. So, he takes a loose step backwards and shrugs. 

“Your loss.” He sighs, and Nam-gyu follows him all the way back to his bunk in brooding silence. 

Wringing his fingers, he can’t help himself when casts a glance over his shoulder to find you one last time before you’re obscured behind metal frames and moving bodies. When he does, he feels a rush of heat in his cheeks when you’re already stuck fast staring right back, watching him go. He’s silent when he sits down at his little corner of the dormitory, silent when Gyeong-su is harping praises at Thanos. Silent, even, when Thanos says he’s determined to bring you to his side of the map. 

However, he noticeably tenses when Thanos mutters, “What a babe, huh? I should go visit her after lights out.”

Almost immediately there’s hands on his shoulders, pushing and nudging him, demanding his attention. The deepest of sighs leaves the rapper, ducking his head to find Nam-gyu’s eyeline. 

“Come on, man. Don’t be pissed, it’s in my nature, boy. Be honest. You into her?”

“Me and her…” Nam-gyu swallows. “We used to mess around.”

“Lucky you.” Thanos’s is shoving Nam-gyu’s shoulders again. “You cut her lose?”

No, she cut me loose. But Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to say that, the words lost and barred at the tip of his tongue. In the silence, Thanos takes it as confirmation. 

“That’s so cold. If I had her, I’d never let her out of my sight. Sheesh.”

Nam-gyu can’t even form words at all, anymore, irritation and envy wrapping tendrils around his throat and snuffing him out. Your earlier words spin through his brain like a carousel- come find me after the next game. Were you being serious? Were you just saying that to mess with him? He knows you- he knows your tone better than he even realizes, but he suddenly can’t decipher what’s honesty and what isn’t anymore. Jealousy blinds him, thick lenses leading him in all sorts of binds. 

He should have talked to you. He should have made the first move and made sure the first time he was breathing your air was alone. Now he’s anxious, he’s resentful, and he’s humiliated for some reason he can’t quite place. It doesn't help when he can’t resist the urge to look at you one last time, just one for the road, and you’re chatting idly with a man lounging on the other side of the steps you’re currently sitting on. There’s a five foot gap between your bodies but Nam-gyu doesn’t care- the anger that rips through him is blind, you may as well have been fucking the man right in front of him. 

It’s all he can see, tunnel vision encompassing him all the way until the moment lines start to form for lunch. Stewing in his jealousy, a bitter taste blooming over his tongue, he doesn’t jump in line because he’s got an appetite, but simply because you were rather eager to fill your belly. He tails you, matches every step and still has to jump out in front of a random player from taking the spot directly behind you. 

You notice him with a fleeting look tossed over your shoulder, eyes darting from the corners of your eyes and then forward, still as a statue. Desperate to not interact. 

Nam-gyu can’t help himself.

“You into Thanos?”

You audibly laugh at him, and the sound makes him shred the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Everything. It’s everything to me. 

You look up at him over your shoulder, watching him through your thick lashes with scorn written all over those beautiful irises. There’s a flash image of you- a memory, tangled between the bedsheets, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and tear stained cheeks with his hand wrapped around your throat. It’s quick but it hits him like a sucker punch right to the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch you- he almost does, but the line moves forward a beat and you’re moving with it away from his hesitating fingers. 

“I’m just asking.” He’s trying to be coy, but you can see right through him. 

“You worried, Nam-gyu?” 

That hits him like a sucker punch too. He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue, how it rolled off so perfect and pretty even when you were pissed at him. Sometimes specifically when you were pissed at him, this bubbling anticipation running through him in waves, your passion always the spark lighting the fire in his belly. 

“I’m not worried.”

“You are.” Clocked him, again. Peered into the windows of him and saw that angry ocean of spite and regret behind his eyes. “I know you are. I can see it on you.”

“Not worried.” Nam-gyu shrugs, but he can’t meet your eyes anymore. 

Another sigh ghosts from your lips, but it’s quieter, defeated, almost. 

“I’m not interested in your friend. I’m not interested in anyone.”

And then, he says it. Quietly, as if he doesn’t want you to truly hear.

“...You seemed interested.”

“So you are worried.” You’re crossing your arms and he stares down into your hair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What if I was? You clearly had nothing to say about it. You were right there- you didn’t tell him we had history? Or did I mean that little to you?”

You’re mad. Holy shit, you’re still so mad at him. But then his brain scrambles to tell him the good side of things- anger is not indifference. So in some ways, maybe more than others, he’s still in that little dome of yours ratting around amongst your thoughts. Means that if he does this right, it would mean something to you to be better this time. 

His lips press into a tight line. He should have talked to you, and now it’s biting him in the ass. It seemed like everything always bit him in the end. And he always let it happen, watched and never interfered. You drive the nail you’d plunged into him even deeper when you throw his words, from all those years ago, right back in his face. That last thing he had said to you before you, or the idea of you, had become a black hole.

“You know what, Nam-gyu? What was it you had said? Oh- uh, why don’t you focus on yourself and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

It stings. It stings so bad that he physically recoils from the sound of his voice on your tongue, words spilling that just don’t seem right coming from you. Bitter resentment rises in his throat, this reflexive coping mechanism to bite back overtaking his senses. He wants to say I shouldn’t have said that. He wants to say, hear me out. But what ends up leaving him is just as ugly as the rest of his feelings. 

“Jesus. You’re still a bitch.”

The very instance those words tumble from him, he’s already regretting it with every fiber of his being. Even more so when you pluck your bento box from the guard and spin on your heels to glare absolute daggers into the very pits of his soul.

“Get over yourself. I’m glad we had this talk, it was very refreshing.”

This time he does jump to stop you, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just listen-”

“No.” 

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you scamper off to your little ledge, hopping up onto your bed and enjoying your vantage point above all else, focusing on your meal. The man you’d been chatting with earlier is in the bed next to yours and that’s just fucking great. The guard has to pry his stare off of you, and a bento box is practically shoved into his chest, urging him out of line. 

Nam-gyu hates the stone anchoring in his guts. Almost as much as he hates how his appetite never quite returned. All food tasted the same when you left, nothing compared to what you’d used to make him. 

The bento box was no different. 

That night, sleep avoided him. There was something keeping him awake- buzzing under his skin no matter how many times he’d rolled over and shifted himself into a new position. Of course he knew what it was- it never really left him, after all. The fact of knowing you were across the room, all alone in your bed, was this incessant knock in the back of his skull tapping him back into reality whenever he found himself comfortable enough to doze off. His mind was stuck on you, as always, wondering what you looked like right now. 

Did you sleep the same as before? Laying on your side, hair messed over the sides of your face and splayed over the pillow, those heavy lashes of yours kissing along the bone of your cheeks. He always told himself that it was you who was attached, that he was some great being and you simply touched the stars through him. How wrong he had been to think that, when the entire time he’d fit so perfectly against you, he a piece to your puzzle. 

How wrong he had been, because when he’s staring up idly at the ceiling, he thinks of the better days in his life. Always, always, it was you. Thinking of you sitting pretty in his passenger seat, watching out the window as the world blurred by in rushes. The wind blowing through your hair, your necklace catching the glint of the sun. You’d feel his eyes on you and you'd turn and smile at him so darling, so lovely, that he thought it could heal. Remembering when you’d walk into a room, shining like a beacon just for him. You’d find his lap, find his hair, find his lips against your own and you’d cry his name like a prayer. 

He was an idiot to have thought he was the something in the nothing- it was you. 

Even when he finally drifted off into sleep were you still infecting the very membrane of his mind. In his dreams, you were just as warm as you had always been. Bated breaths, hanging onto every word that left his lips, fingers that longed to touch and stroke and feel. His heart slowed to a peaceful beat, and his body curled into his pillow and blanket, trying to recreate the shape of you in his arms. For a time that evening, it worked. 

But then he woke up, and Thanos was leaning over his bed asking him if he was dead, and all those wonderful moments he’d relived were gone in a rush of bright lights and endless chatter bouncing off the walls of the dormitory. Like an addiction, the first thing he thought of when he sat up, was you. Thought about you all the way through the winding staircases and into a giant room with rainbow’s painted over the hard floor. So lost in thought that he almost misses it when the speaker starts instructing them- a 5 player minigame race. 

Teams of five. Okay, he could do that. Easy. Gyeong-su, him, Thanos. That was already three. 

It’s natural instinct when he starts to search for you in the bubble of people, his fourth member, even though he’s more than sure you’re all too excited to send him packing. The way you had looked at him at dinner the day before, he wasn’t sure if you’d even entertain a conversation with him at all, let alone join their team. But this is beyond an argument- beyond him trying and failing to lull you in, this is life and death. 

“Hey, there’s your girl again.” Thanos spots you first. He follows Thanos’s line of sight and sure enough, there you are, standing with your hands shoved into your pockets with this far away expression he can’t quite read. 

His girl. It would make him shiver, if he wasn’t already on the brink of tweaking. 

“Let’s go see if she’s changed her mind.” 

Thanos is running his hands through his hair and popping the collar of his tracksuit, a particular bounce to his step when he bounds right for you. Just as the first time, always on the lookout for yourself, you spot him coming before he gets to you. Already you’re annoyed.

By the time Nam-gyu slithers up beside him, you’re already turning Thanos’s first wave of advancements down, a snark to your tone and a glint in your eyes. 

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Thanos blinks, looks left and then right. “You’re good? I don’t see a team?”

“I’ll find one.”

“You got one right here,” He pats his chest again, before he slings his arm over Nam-gyu’s shoulder haphazardly. “Come on. You’ll be safe.”

The intensity in which you roll your eyes is fierce- an expression Nam-gyu really had only thought he could draw out of you. To make matters worse for his friend, you don’t even bother with saying no again. Instead you merely wave a dismissive hand and turn on your heels, meandering into the crowd. 

“You were right, Nam-su.” Thanos’s face drops and he unwinds his arm from Nam-gyu’s shoulder. “Not getting anywhere with that one.”

Nam-gyu is so focused watching you, that all he murmurs is, “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Yeah. Nam-su, Nam-gyu. Look over there.” He has to force himself to look away, following Thanos’s point in the other direction you’d gone. A girl with short black hair stands off to the side, eyes traveling and sizing up all her potential team mates. Thanos pops his collar again, a hound dog chasing a brand new scent. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

For the first time, Nam-gyu doesn’t follow him. He says, you go, you go, and lets Thanos wind himself up all on his own before watching him go. He’s much more concerned with you and your team, this sense of anxiety starting to bud in his gut. 

He finds you like a moth to flame. Your shoulders slump at the sight of him, tired and irked. 

“Not this again.” You groan. “What, do you think you’re gonna come sweeten me up and I’ll say yes? I’m not playing on your damn team.”

Nam-gyu shakes his head and steps in front of you when you try to turn away again. His nerves are on the rise, and so is his temper. You draw it out of him like nothing else, he can’t stop himself. 

“Why not?” He asks, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You cross your arms, barring yourself from him. 

“Because I’m not.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You don’t know what the next game is. You might need guys on your team.”

“I plan on it. There’s other men here other than you and whatever the hell his name is.”

Other men. Nam-gyu’s mouth dries up, his fingers already wringing in his sleeves. His jaw tenses with his temper, teeth grinding. 

You didn’t need other men, not when he would do anything under the sun to keep you safe. Anyone else may just let you die. Can’t you see that? 

“Why are you being-... Being like-...” He stops himself. Holy shit, his brain actually fires off the warning shot and he stops dead in his tracks staring at you in bewilderment. You adopt this expectant glare, a spiteful uptick to your lips that darkens your eyes. 

“Say it.” You sneer. “Go ahead, say it. I’m being a bitch, right?”

The word fights against his lips to get out. You’re waiting for it, at the edge of your seat, fully ready to take it in and chew it up and spit it out right back at him. But he bites it back and he swallows it down into his chest because this means something to him. Because it might mean something to you. 

“Being like this.” He stammers. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction. “Keep me alive?”

“Can you really trust anyone here? You know me.”

“I do know you.” A flash of something provoked and somber rivets within your eyes. Anger mounting, your heart colliding with your brain in real time right before him. “That’s exactly why I won’t be on your side.”

If he’d had his foot in the door before, you were properly shoving it back outside. He doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think of as a creature of impulse, and unfortunately when it came to you that meant he was all hands. 

“Wait-” He catches you just as you’re turning away, tries to bulldoze over your defiance and smooth out all the harsh edges of your protests with the broad flats of his palms. Fingers clutching your tracksuit at your shoulders and then he’s realizing that he’s touching you for the first time in years. Your skin from underneath your jacket is just as warm he remembers, your eyes are just as doe-like at his touch too. Stubborn and ornery but overflowing with passion and static energy that settled into his bones. He needs it, he needs it. The obsession of you hits him in waves of yearn. 

He needs you more than air, he thinks. 

“Get your hands off of me, right now.” But you aren’t tearing him away- so maybe that’s progress. 

“Come on.” He ducks his head, shoulders slumping, and it physically hurts him to feel this desperate. “Stay with me.”

Oh, you don’t like those words one bit. They hit your eardrums and your eyes narrow in slits, and then yeah, you’re reaching up and catching his wrists in his iron grip before ripping his paws off your jacket. It takes a long moment for you to speak, but when you do, he swears he can hear the devil amidst the heartache. 

“You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again.”

His hands twitch to touch you again- anything to keep you there for a moment longer. 

“Come on.” 

Sadness like pits swirl in your eyes, drags your lips into a frown. “You gotta’ stop Nam-gyu. I can’t do it.”

An awful, awful mass grows in his stomach when you turn your back on him. Gets bigger with every inch you build between you and him, threatens to take over entirely and swallow him whole right in the middle of that room. If it did, and he was to be gulped up by the void, perhaps he wouldn't have to feel like this any longer. And he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear behind all the moving bodies. 

He was weaker than he was three years ago. You made him weaker. Back then, if you’d been so sure of yourself he found it rather easy to deter you. A beastly way about him when he would have just ripped you by the hand and brought you over to his team and made you sit the hell down and just stay with him. Something possessive, something under his skin at the thought of you sharing the same air as anyone other than him. You used to be so malleable in his hands- but he knows, now more than ever, that that was truly never the case. You let yourself be pliable. You let yourself fall to him. He could never, not even now, make you do anything. Not really. 

That’s the part that burns him to the peaks of his soul. That strength about you. You’re so much stronger than him, with an energy iron so it’s like running headfirst into a wall when you’d no longer graced him with your softness. Such a double edged sword, that will of yours. That attitude and the passion made him feel alive. Cold and disposed after you’d properly slammed the gate right in his face. No leverage, no space for him in your heart any longer. 

It’s cold, Nam-gyu finds. Lonely without you. 

And then Thanos goes and invites some random girl with a poor attitude (that isn’t yours) and an even weaker buddy. He tries to tell him- remind his friend of the potential disadvantage but like always all it took was a dismissive wave to get him to screw his lips shut. Rolled over, tongue caught in his throat, weakened. 

He spends a majority of his time waiting for his teams turn arguing with Se-mi and tossing gazes over his shoulder to keep a very keen eye on you, only to find a sneer growing on his features after seeing you chatting with the same player as earlier, the man with the bed next to yours. Laughter and smiles roll from your lips as natural as breathing air, and he’s nudging you with his arm and you’re letting him with this expression of pure amusement. 

That should be him. 

That ugly face of betrayal peeks through the cracks all over again, with guilt and anger and regret following in tow close behind. Sitting on his shoulders like little devils, spinning and racing through his body in waves. If you saw his face- you’d never suspect it, but his hands shake in his lap. His jaw tenses so tightly his teeth could burst into powder. Squared shoulders and an endless drag to his lips. Something in the sight of you enjoying that guys presence is reminding him of all these shitty feelings he’d been faced with when you two were together- well, no, not together, he remembers- and then he’s even angrier. Angry at you, angry at that random ass player you were talking up, angry at himself for letting it get here in the first place. 

Thanos pops open his necklace beside him and draws a fun little pill from its contents, and Nam-gyu makes it a mission to get his hands on one of those sweet little pick-me-ups. The pill is bitter on his tongue but he swallows it down in delight. And it works, too, because the moment the colors start to glow and fuse together and all sounds become this echoing fishbowl of noises, you’re vacated from the corners of his fuzzy mind. For a time, he’s at peace all over again, lost in the blurry joy. 

By the time he comes down, he’s already back in the dormitory. 

Though it takes a moment for him to realize it, he’s taking inventory of all the surviving players. One by one, watching them fill the room and find their creaky beds or their little groups. Most were distraught, though some were particularly perturbed. It takes a couple teams before he understands that what he’s really looking for, naturally, is you. He’s always searching for you, even when he knew you weren’t searching for him back. 

That’s the change, and it dawns on him like a rapture. He’d never had to care before- you were always this constant in his life, something that would always bounce right back if he tossed you aside. He didn’t give a damn if it upset you, he didn’t give a damn if it ate away at you like termites through wood. But now he does, and he gives so many damn’s they’re driving him crazy. 

Any moment spent sober and lucid were moments entirely taken up by you.

Any moment now you’ll come strutting through those doors, head held high and gunning it to make sure Nam-gyu knew exactly how much you didn’t need him. 

But then ten teams turn into twenty, and twenty five into thirty. 

“How many teams were there?” Nam-gyu asks with a voice steadier than even he expected. Thanos doesn’t need to question anything, watching the doorway all the same. 

“Fifty-six.” Se-mi hums from her spot, leaning back against the steps. 

Thirty eventually turns to fifty. 

Too much time has passed, and you’ve still yet to pop out through that doorway. He double checks those who’d already shown their faces, hoping to find you through the cracks of them, but you’re simply not there. There’s a shovel digging pits and moats into his stomach. Another wave of players trickles in and he scans them all over the same, only to feel that hollowness inside him grow once more. They saunter to their beds, to their little groups, taking up space and taking up air that should belong to you. 

Where the hell were you?

“Only two teams left,” Thanos hums. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

Nam-gyu can’t force himself to answer this time around. So, instead, he presses his nails between his teeth and nervously shifts his weight from left to right. Though he shrugs, the anxiety within him was palpable, all lines and tension that he tried to bury with nonchalance. But it wasn’t working, and felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mind racing, thoughts circling him like birds over fresh kill. The final team walks through the doorway, slow as zombies, shifty eyed and hurriedly rushing to their beds. His eyes sit on the door, waiting, waiting. 

No one comes through. 

His shoulders fall limp. 

You didn’t make it. 

“That’s a shame.” Se-mi sighs, the sound swimming in Nam-gyu’s ears. 

Loss, real loss was a foreign feeling within his chest. He’d seen it described in the movies, in songs, this soul eating all consuming weight that blanketed over bodies and crushed, but nothing could have ever prepared for the blistering moment it wrenches itself within the confines of his heart, within the deep ache of his bones. It didn’t settle properly in his throat- his body trying to force the alien ripple of dread stitching itself right between his ribs. It hurts- his lungs can’t take in air. His breath wheezes past his lips in shallow pants, unable to tear his eyes away, like at any moment you’ll suddenly materialize right before him. 

He presses his lip into a tight line and digs his nails into his palms, anything to release a fraction of the agony festering within his body. 

Brain on fire, shaking hands and the image of you dead in a thousand different flashes, a sting to his waterlines that has him scrambling to shove his fingers against the thin skin. 

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“Bad luck. Sorry, boy.”

All the skin on his body has flushed red and sticky. He ducks his head down towards his lap, desperate to hide within himself, even more desperate to hide this part of himself from the watchful eyes of his group. He should have just made you join them. Should have thrown you over his shoulder and wrapped an immovable grasp around your arm and held you hostage until everyone had a team and then you’d have no one else to turn to. No one else, nothing else except for him. 

He can’t even hear his friend’s counterfeit empathy over the swell of his heartbeat in his ears. His body is too heavy to hold up, his arms dragging as lead, his head even heavier on his shoulders. Uncanny urges to tear at the skin of his face overcome him and he has to bury them into his hair in release, roughly running his digits through the black locks, trying to breathe and breathe and breathe. A lump the size of a boulder burrows into his throat.

Cracking his eyes open to peek down at his lip, squeezing them shut when his vision is wet and blurry. His lower lip trembles until it’s caught in his teeth, biting hard into the skin. 

Don't fucking cry.

Why did you have to be so stubborn? If you’d have just let him take care of you this one fucking time, you would be alive right now. You should be alive right now- pissed and glaring fury in his direction but breathing and taking up space and existing-

“Ah, they made it. Here I thought they were all goners.”

Se-mi’s casual tone barely reaches him, but it’s got him frantically flicking his gaze back up to the archway, his hands falling from his face, trying to see through the blotches in his sight. A handful of players take soft steps into the room, all shaken up, all bewildered.

There you are. His racing heart stops entirely.

You’re sauntering into the dormitory like a wounded animal, all hands wringing out in front of you and lines drawn into your frown. For the first time, in Nam-gyu’s eyes, you look small. Frightened. Every step you take has a weight to it he’s never witnessed you bear. And even from across the room, even with rigid tears trapped in the corners of his eyes, he can see the grip of fear on the flat of your throat. 

All those jumping thoughts settle into a tunnel vision, you at the epicenter of his quaking nerves simmering down into stillness. He forgets how his chest had twisted as if a knife had been planted between his collarbones, and he forgets how he had almost lost his lunch right there on the floor. All because you’re standing there in the middle of the room hugging yourself, white as a ghost, even paler when you lift your head up and see the way Nam-gyu is trapped in your line of sight. 

Nam-gyu see’s it. No hate, no dejection. 

Relief- this instant where your widened eyes soften, your frown lifts into a slack-jawed breath of solace. It rocks his world when it hits him and it lights a flame so hot under his skin it’s burning through his veins. All the air trapped in his lungs leaves him at once and he can pinpoint the exact moment all the tensions in his shoulders and back melt away in nothingness. The tears dry, his lower lip released from his gnashing teeth.

The man you’d joined earlier pats your shoulder and offers you a pathetic, wavering thumbs up. You can’t seem to return his dull enthusiasm. In fact, you look worse than Nam-gyu’s seen you thus far. Changed, all wires sticking exposed and sparking. There’s this lifelessness to your body when you climb up the stairs and have to heave yourself up into your bed, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your palms propped up over your knees. 

When your eyes meet his, he expects some sort of sign of contempt, or perhaps maybe you’d refuse to meet his gaze entirely. Instead, for the first time since you’d arrived, you find him first. 

You offer him a pitiful open palmed wave. 

The pearly gates crack open and Nam-gyu feels it again- warmth. Even just a little bit, like lighting a match in a snowstorm, huddling around the flame. He half cocks a smile, and he waves back. 

--

Lunch came quicker than he’d anticipated, and much to Nam-gyu’s dismay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to hop into line. In fact, ever since you’d let him jam his fingers back into your closing door, you’d hardly acknowledged anything other than your lap. Even more so upsetting, that player you hung around tapped your mattress to gather your attention, pointing to the line, sighing in defeat when you’d shook your head. 

Jealousy seeps into his wounds all over again, quiet, but equally as simmering. Don’t act like you know her. Little devils tapping away at his psyche. She doesn't need you to check up on her.

But then again, he realizes, maybe you do. 

His mouth dries when the sound of his thoughts footsteps come running up on him. His greed. His innate ability to leave you unchecked and grappling. That was among the sea of problems Nam-gyu had been struggling to grasp. Here he was, trying to drag you back into the tar pits of his hold and he hadn’t even tried the basics of kindness. The step one of it all. Always taking, taking, taking and demanding more at every swipe. Always expecting, never building. 

So he jumps into line before he can second guess himself, and he takes his bento box with a grateful nod and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s chasing the trail of you to your bed. From your high point, perched and unmoving, all he can do is climb the stairs and rest his hands over the corner of your mattress. Your far away gaze lifts from your lap and settles down to him. 

The air is different. The landscape of you has changed. 

“What is it.” Your tone is uncannily flat, but it’s void of its bite, its drive. 

“Can I come up?” 

It’s a simple request, but it leaves a shake at the end of his sentence. It’s only natural when he mentally prepares himself for you to slap no onto his forehead, but you scoot over, and he takes the spot so quickly you wouldn’t even have the chance to say no if you thought about it too much. He hoists himself up and over, fills the gap at your side, just as he should have done days ago. He sits the bento box at the crest of your lap.

“What’s this?” Blinking down at the food, you make no effort to pick it up. 

“Fish and rice.” Nam-gyu shrugs. “Looks like an egg, too.” 

“I can see that. I meant, what are you doing giving me this?”

“...You didn’t get anything.”

As your fingers gingerly touch the container, eyes scanning over the contents, Nam-gyu feels he can breathe easier. This is a win for him- you aren’t fighting him anymore. Still on the edge, always ready to run, but the look in your eyes isn’t pure hatred or outright hurt. A swell of pride overcomes him when you pluck the chopstick and murmur, thank you. 

You’re pliable. Now, more than ever. 

You eat in silence. He lets you eat in silence, even though peace isn’t exactly one of his virtues.  Partly because he doesn’t know what to say to you, but mostly because he’s got this innate fear that he’s going to say something shitty and you’re going to hate him all over again for it. A million words are always shoving and pushing against his lips and he fumbles with navigating them. So, silence, it is. 

But it doesn’t bother him. Silence meant that you were simply just there, existing, the one thing he had longed for over the years. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d fucked up when he began to miss the very presence of you. No sex, no drugs, no push or pull, just you. And now he gets to take whatever you’ll give in micro doses, greedy and starved for you. Fighting the urge to pull you into himself where you could never climb out. He refrains- he forces himself to just be there. 

No longer could he be the creature he had been all those years ago. He had to be different- not all rough edges and clawing hands, ripping and taking. Or dark eyes watching your every move, or jagged words cutting your flesh with the highs and lows of his tone. Something better, this time. Something for you. 

Tomorrow would be a new beast entirely. And, in less than a few hours, the lights would flicker off and bask the dormitory into hues of red and blues. You would lay alone in your all-too-large bed and he would sink into his mattress drugged out of his mind thinking countless thoughts of you, you, you. The distance would feel like miles- he needed you right there, right then, always. Anything other than what he had sitting beside you was a vast ocean. 

The bento box appears in front of his lap, half eaten.

“You’re not going to eat it?” Nam-gyu’s brows knit.

“You should eat, too. What, scared of my germs now?” You murmur, and when he meets your eyeline, he sees something familiar in those hues. Something nurturing, sweet. Tender. 

Nam-gyu picks up the chopsticks, and he eats.  For the first time in years, his food tastes like food.

[rivalsispunk]

Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

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

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

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating. 

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him. 

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted. 

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust. 

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again. 

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?” 

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus. 

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.” 

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement. 

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear. 

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you. 

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again. 

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you. 

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch. 

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause. 

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world. 

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again. 

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid. 

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick. 

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin. 

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat. 

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door. 

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead.  “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag. 

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare. 

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him. 

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before. 

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words. 

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you. 

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall.  A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook. 

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam. 

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan. 

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre. 

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business. 

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan. 

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.” 

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?” 

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one? 

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library. 

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” 

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest. 

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.” 

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.” 

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?” 

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip. 

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall. 

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you. 

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time. 

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan. 

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this. 

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

[wolls-angel]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ hockey song (cover) - Offside AU ˚₊‧ ୨୧

pairing: j. woll x popstar!reader summary: Y/N is in Toronto to meet her best friend's new boyfriend and they go to one of his games. Little does she know a certain goalie is captivated by her. lyrics: Oh! The good ol' Hockey game / Is the best game you can name / And the best game you can name / Is the good ol' Hockey game word count: 1.4k warning(s): pure fluff, not proof read notes: yayyyyyy first chapter of Offside !! so excited to finally share this with you all. i hope you enjoy !! xoxo fun fact: ik this song by heart. offside masterpost - next chapter

You hear a high pitched squeal come from behind you and immediately know exactly who is standing there. Iris Bennett, your best friend since... well, forever. You turn around and open your arms to invite her in for a hug. It has been 7 horrible months without your best friend, but now you are here, in Toronto, to play a show and (more importantly) meet Iris' new boyfriend.

When Iris told you she met someone you never thought it would be a hockey star. "His name is William Nylander. Look him up, Y/N" and you did. Tall, handsome, blonde. You understood why she liked him. But you wanted to meet him. It just so happened that you had booked Scotia Bank Arena the day after the Leafs were scheduled to play there, so Iris Invited you to the game as her plus one.

She ran into you at full force, "I missed you!!". She was a little taller than you with shorter blonde hair and the kindest eyes you could ever imagine. You lose your balance for a second but she stabilizes you.

"I missed you too, Iris," she pulls away, "How have things been?". All she does is smile and cover her mouth, as if she's trying to hide her excitement, "Amazing! Y/N, you have to meet Willy. He's amazing and so sweet and so funny and just the perfect guy". You smile at her excitement. She hasn't spoken this way about a man in a very long time.

"I'm happy for you, babe," you look around and notice how people are starting to recognize who you are, "Time to go to the hotel?"

"Yeah".

The drive to the hotel is filled with giggles and gossip as you tell Iris about your breakup with Milo and her first few months of dating William, who she lovingly refers to as Willy.

The Leafs management had been very kind in arranging your accommodations for staying in Toronto, in exchange for an appearance at a game. Your publicist, Janine, agreed but only if you could steal a player the next night for your show. So... everyone was happy.

You were staying in the Royal York, a gorgeous old hotel right across from the arena where you would be attending the game and playing your show. The staff seemed nice and they were able to bring all your luggage to your room no problem. When you got to the hotel room, there was a box on the bed with a card beside it. You drop your purse and open the card.

ANGL, We are so pleased you will be joining us for our game against the Anaheim Ducks tonight. As a token of our appreciation for your work and talent, we hope you will wear this bedazzled and signed Joseph Woll jersey. We are excited to see you at the game. ~ Leafs Management

You smile and open the box. Just like the card said, there is a bedazzled blue Leafs home jersey. Of course you decide to wear it. How could you say no?

The gossip between you and Iris continues as you get ready for the game together. Normally WAGs don't wear their man's jersey or sit in the front row, but Iris wasn't going to make you do all the fan stuff on your own. She put on her jersey, reading Nylander 88 on the back, and a pair of crisp blue jeans to match.

"He did what?" Iris' jaw drops as you nod, finishing your makeup. "Seriously, I can't believe you didn't leave him sooner... What an asshole. Telling you to lose weight because it would be bad for him to have a fat girlfriend? He's just self conscious he couldn't lift you up at Disney". You let out a giggle at that comment. You see Iris check her watch in the mirror and she says, "Shit, girl, you need to change. We're gonna be late and I told Willy I'd get you there for warm ups".

"Perfect timing, because makeup is done," you swipe the last bit of lipgloss on your lips and put the tube in your purse. Iris hands you the jersey. It fits well. Kinda oversized, which you like. You fix your hair and sigh. You didn't even look up who this Woll guy is. What if he's some controversial guy who has a criminal record and is barely being kept out of jail? What if he beats his girlfriend?

"Come on, Y/N, we need to go!" Iris yells from the other room. You slip on your black leather platform boots and grab your purse, following Iris out the door.

Scotia Bank Arena is already bouncing with excitement when you arrive. The Leafs are all on the ice and skating around, warming up. You take your seat and number 88 immediately comes up to the boards, waving at Iris. She waves back and then points to you. You wave and smile. That must be William. He waves and mouths "nice to meet you" before blowing a kiss at Iris and skating away.

Thirty seconds later, another guy, number 23, comes up to the board. He waves at Iris and shoots you a wink before continuing on his way. You laugh at the gesture and ask Iris, "Who was that?". "Matthew Knies. Young guy, very nice. I can introduce you if you want..." Iris shrugs against you and wiggles her eyebrows. "Stop that," you playfully hit her thigh. Then, you hear a horn. The game is starting.

The game is exciting. Leafs score. Leafs powerplay. Offside. Ducks score. Leafs score. Leafs score. Ducks penalty. Icing. Fight. Leafs score. Two minutes to the end of the 3rd and its 4-1 Leafs. The arena is buzzing. Your leg is bouncing and you are holding Iris' hand for dear life.

The whistle blows and the man over the speakers shouts, "We forgot to mention a little surprise for all you music lovers in the crowd tonight. Please give a warm Toronto Maple Leafs welcome to popstar, ANGL!". The crowd roars as the camera pans to you and Iris. You wave and blow kisses up to it, smiling sweetly.

The Leafs goalie turns to look at you while tapping his stick on the ice as if to clap before getting into position for the face off. This is exciting. Ducks empty net. Pumped up crowd and thirty second left in the game. The ref drops the puck and the Ducks captain wins the faceoff, shooting it at the goal. The goalie males the save and there is a path. He gives it a good hit and it travels down the ice, into the Ducks net. The whistle blows signalling the game is over and the announcer says, "Leafs win 5-1 annnndddddd Joseph Woll with his first goal of the season, unassisted!". The arena erupts in cheers and you even hear people chanting "And after allllllll, you're my Joseph Wolllllllll" (like Wonderwall by Oasis).

The rest of the Leafs line up to give the goalie, or Woll, a hug before they all file off the ice. You get up to leave but Iris tells you, "No, wait, we have to see who are the three stars of the game," so you sit back down. The announcer begins, "And now, your stars of the game! Third star of the game, from your Toronto Maple Leafs, number 88, William Nylander," the crowd cheers and Iris jumps up and down, screaming. William skates onto the ice and gives his stick to a young boy in the front row across the ice from the bench.

"Second star of the game, from the Anaheim Ducks, number 11, Trevor Zegras". There is very little applause from the audience and Zegras doesn’t even come on the ice. "Finally, the first star of the game, from you Toronto Maple Leafs, number 60 Joseph Woll." The crowd cheers again and Woll skates onto the ice. He turns towards you and smiles, tossing his stick over the glass to give you. He mouths "nice jersey" and skates away.

You can feel your cheeks heat up and you look at Iris, whose mouth is hanging open. "What?" you ask her. "Nothing, nothing. Just seems like a song worthy moment, you know?". You laugh. Maybe it is. All you know is you'll be going to a lot more hockey games from now on.

*ur.angel has added a post*

[armysantiny]

Yes, no, maybe so? – Sylus

P: Sylus x gender neutral reader | G: angst, hurt/comfort, drabble | Inc: nightmares, Sylus having nightmares, Sylus' pov, that night where MC shot him, a reversal au (kinda), implied work trips, a lot of hurt and some comfort as a treat, a much needed cuddle at the end | Wc: 1.15k | W: blood, nightmares, gun mention | R: G

Min's notes: Look I said I like giving the LIs angst, aight? And this idea's been rattling in my head for a good month now. Enjoy <3

Sylus isn’t sure how he ended up here. Between endless business meetings and clearing up loose ends, the hallways surrounding him should be familiar, be somewhere he’s more than used to. But they’re not. His already irregular heartbeat trembles, a cloying, uncomfortable blend of fear and trepidation clogging the back of his throat, forcing him to stay silent as each step brings him closer to his supposed destination. Where’s he even walking to? In all his years building a name for himself, what could possibly have him trembling like this?

And where’s y/n?

Y/n’s supposed to be coming back from their overseas mission tonight, their flight in particular tracked on his phone just so Sylus can be there on time to pick them up. It’s been several—three—torturous weeks without his beloved’s presence, phone calls and texts barely making up for the lack of a certain hunter at home and in his arms. Sure, Sylus could have coincidentally found himself there and kept an eye on y/n from a distance, but he’s already promised y/n that he’ll wait for them to arrive.

He's never broken a promise made to his beloved, and he doesn’t intend to start doing so now.

So lost in thought as he walks, that Sylus freezes the moment he hears laughter so familiar that it hurts. It tears him out of the confines of his mind, forces him to take in the scene facing him with growing horror. A growing horror as Sylus recognises what it is exactly that he’s looking at.

Y/n sits in a chair—no, a throne—regarding him with dangerously amused indifference, one of Sylus’ weapons resting precariously in their lap. Their smile is a precious thing, something Sylus covets for himself like the selfish dragon he once was. But not this. Not the cruel, calculating expression wearing his beloved’s face.

“What is all of this?” He asks, quiet against the ringing in his ears. “Sweetheart... what are you doing?”

Y/n doesn't answer him, doesn't grant Sylus anything more than the upturn of their lips and a short huff. Like they never even heard him, and whatever his beloved is reacting to has nothing to do with the words that spill out of his mouth. He wants to reach out, hold them close and ask, no, plead for them to stop entire charade. Instead, his body moves on its own, a puppet on strings he can’t see, slave to a force he can’t reason with.

Vitriol pours out of his mouth; accusations of murder Sylus knows to be false. False because y/n would never kill in cold blood. Where his hands are stained red frequently, he can count on one hand the amount of times y/n has willingly joined him in staining their hands with human blood.

So why? Why is he saying all of this?

He blinks again, and Sylus wants to be sick, hands shaking as he’s stood over y/n. Holding firearms usually comes so naturally, a comfortable weight on a normal day, but not this. Anything but this, where y/n wears his smirk, pulling him closer until his hulking form encompasses them on the chair. The barrel of the gun presses against their chest, and this time Sylus doesn’t stop himself from begging.

“Sweetheart, kitten, please,” he chokes out, pulling his hand away only for y/n to yank it right back. He’s sure he still has his Evol, nestled away in the depths of his shared soul, but it’s not listening to him. Not obeying his desire to stop this. “Don’t make me do this to you, anyone else but you.”

“Why? Do you need help?” Y/n coos, wrapping their hand around the gun and pressing Sylus’ finger on the trigger, teasing it the very same way he did months ago.

A mistake, it was a mistake. I misjudged, please, forgive me.

“Go on, shall I help you? Yes, no, maybe so?”

His words. Those were his words. Oh, Sylus really feels sick now. Understanding hits him in waves, drowning him in the truth of the current situation. How could he possibly forget? How dare he forget the way he first treated his beloved back then; still stuck in the delusion that they remembered the past the two of them shared? Everyday, he’s tried to make amends, apologise for his brutish desperation in the face of their reunion. And y/n, sweet, precious y/n, they’ve forgiven his sins time and time again.

But Sylus can’t forgive himself, not when his actions hurt the love of his life in ways he could never fathom. He feels it now, he assumes; the dream, fear, concealed fury that that threatens to burst the seams of self-control. All the emotions his beloved—

The gun goes off.

“No, no, no— shit, my love, no.” Sylus cries, flinging the weapon aside to who knows where in favour of stemming the flow of blood. There’s so much, spilling past his fingers and drenching their shirt. It fills his mouth, cloying in the back of his throat, drowning his senses. Desperation digs its claws into him like he’s never felt before, pushing at him to fix this, cursing Sylus for being able to stop all of this blood from spilling.

Y/n’s eyes have lost their glow, yet their voice echoes, a mockery of his failure. His futile attempt at trying to outrun fate.

“Sylus?

It hurts, twists and squeezes his heart until it cracks.

“Sylus, love? C’mon, please, you need to wake up.”

How can he wake up, when they won’t be there in his arms?

“Sy—”

Y/n’s eyes are warm as Sylus bolts upright, warm and concerned and not at all lifeless as they search his face. His chest heaves, too hesitant to check his hands for what Sylus is too scared to even think of. But he doesn’t need to, his beloved bringing his hands to their face, miraculously blood-free. It doesn’t make sense, he felt the gun go off, felt the blood seep through his fingers.

“Darling, I— I don’t understand…”

“It was a nightmare, Sy,” y/n answers, a soothing balm to the terror in his chest. “You’re here, with me, I promise. Whatever it was, it won’t hurt you.”

Sylus almost wants to refute their claims, make a case for why that particular nightmare will never truly leave him, but he says nothing. Instead, he basks in their embrace, pulling y/n flush against his chest so he can feel their heartbeat and breathing in their scent until it overpowers the blood he swears he can still taste on the back of his tongue.

“…feeling any better?” They ask, and Sylus’ heart grows more than he thought possible. God, they’re just so sweet.

“Now that I’m sure you’re in my arms, I am.” As long as y/n’s with him, no matter where the two of them are, Sylus’ heat will always be whole. “Thank you for comforting me, my heart.”

“Anytime.”

[skzdust]

I Want You To Want For Me

SMUT. MINORS DNI.

To the person who inspired this: basically it wasn't even my decision to write this, since you brought it up in the first place. <3

Had a ton of fun writing this one though, hope you all enjoy!

Title from "PUPPET" by Tyler, The Creator.

Summary: You and Minho have been waiting for a day you can be his all day, and it's finally here.

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Includes: free use, oral sex m receiving, face fucking, fingering, light somno, praise, degradation, scratching/marks

Word count: 1.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz,

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You woke up to a hand between your thighs.

You moaned softly, arching back into your boyfriend and resting your head on his shoulder. “Morning, Minho.”

“Good morning, beautiful.” He murmured, and you took a breath as he focused his attentions on your clit. “You remember what today is?”

“Yeah.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Good girl.” His finger moved faster. “Want you to come for the first time today like this.”

“That’s not going to take long.” You were still half-asleep, but Minho felt so good, and as his other hand moved down to circle your entrance, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release.

“Minho, Minho, Min—oh!” You came, shuddering through your orgasm. Minho let up once your legs started twitching.

“Okay, I’ll let you get ready for the day.” He placed a kiss to your temple, and you could feel the smile on his lips. “Wear something cute for me.”

“Yeah, I will.” You got out of bed, grateful your legs weren’t shaking just yet.

You went through the steps of your morning routine and chose an outfit you knew Minho would like, with a low-cut top and a short skirt. You stepped out of the bathroom, and Minho hummed appreciatively from where he still lay in bed. “You look amazing, baby.”

You did a little twirl for him, your skirt floating up to reveal just a tease of the lace underneath. “Thank you. Thought you might like it.”

“I do.”

“So, what did you want to do today?”

“Oh, just relax. Didn’t have anything in mind.”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Nothing in mind, huh?”

“Nothing in particular.” Minho’s grin was sly. “What do you want to do today?”

“I was thinking playing some video games would be nice, and I want to order food, not feeling like cooking, but that’s about it.” You shrugged.

You could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “I can work with that.”

You laughed, walking out of the room. “I’m going to have some cereal, and then I’ll probably boot up the PC.”

—

You’d been sitting at your computer for a while now. You noticed when Minho walked in, but you just hummed in his direction, too absorbed in your game to acknowledge him beyond that. At least, until he leaned over your keyboard and pressed the escape key.

“Minho!” You protested, looking at him. “I was—”

“You were what?” Minho smiled innocently, his eyes wide. “As I understand it, you’re mine for today, which means I call the shots, got it? And I want you to suck me off.”

“Can I at least finish—”

“Are you going to listen, or am I gonna have to fuck that attitude out of you?” Minho’s expression shifted.

A wave of heat ran through you. “No, I can listen.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You got up, and he took your place in your chair. You knew what was expected of you at this point as you fell to your knees in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl.” He mumbled, pushing his sweatpants down.

You were on him before he had to tell you anything, wrapping your mouth around the tip and pushing yourself down onto him.

“Fuck.” He moaned, putting a hand on the back of your head to steady himself. “Fuck, babe, you feel so fucking good. Keep going.”

You kept going, pulling back occasionally to press kisses and lick along his length. “Tastes so good, sir.”

“You like my cock that much, prove it.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Prove it? Am I not doing that enough right now?”

“I want you to choke on it, I want you to gag. Get all of me in your mouth, can you do that?”

“Yes.” You took a deep breath, then you began to take him into your mouth, gagging a bit when he hit the back of your throat. You steeled yourself to get the final bit of Minho’s cock into your mouth, and you knew from his deep, loud groan that you’d succeeded.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good.” He said, shallowly beginning to thrust in and out. You coughed around him, feeling so full but not full enough, not where you needed it. You were so aroused, you could feel yourself growing wet. You knew Minho probably wouldn’t pay any more attention to your pleasure until he came, not because he didn’t care, but because he wanted to teach you a lesson.

You tried your best to keep yourself steady, pulling back to gasp in a breath every so often before going right back to his cock.

“Good.” He all but growled. “Good sluts know to just shut up and take it.”

You moaned loudly at that. You liked being Minho’s good slut, you wanted nothing more.

You closed your eyes as he began to use you in earnest, fucking your face at a shameless pace. You choked around him, doing your best to keep your bearings in the dizziness the whole thing was bringing upon you.

Eventually, though, his hand tightened in your hair, and he let out a long moan as he came in your mouth. “Don’t— don’t swallow.” He panted.

You didn’t, sitting there with his cum on your tongue, looking up at him patiently.

“Such a good girl.” He let go of your head. “You can swallow now.”

You swallowed, taking a deep breath once you could open your mouth again. “Jesus, Minho, that was… that was good.”

He laughed. “Good, I’m glad you had fun. You can get back to your game now.”

“But—”

“You should get back to your game.” He said firmly, getting his pants zipped and standing.

“Yes, sir.” You sighed.

“Don’t worry, you know I’m not done with you for today.”

You smiled as you got back in your chair.

—

“You want to get food?” Minho walked into the room, holding his phone. “I was thinking that one Chinese place you like.”

You looked up. “That sounds great!”

He sat down beside you. He kept the delivery app up in one hand, but the other came to rest on your thigh. You smiled at it, and then smiled wider as it began to make its way further and further up.

He selected a few things and handed you the phone. “Here, pick whatever you want.”

You scrolled through the menu, and hissed in a breath when he began to rub two fingers right where your thigh met your torso. Your eyes almost fluttered at the sensation. “Minho…”

“What?” He said innocently. “Finish your order.”

You selected a couple dishes and submitted the order. Minho had started to creep closer and closer to your entrance, and it was as you were handing his phone back to him that he pushed one fingertip inside. You squeaked, nearly dropping it.

“Careful, babe.” He laughed softly, taking it and setting it to the side. “We’re going to see how many times you can come before the food gets here.”

You whined. “Yes, Minho.”

He pushed two fingers inside you, and your head dropped back with a loud moan.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty.” He whispered. “How do I get you to make that sound again… I mean, I have some ideas. Wanna test them?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, your head still leaning back on the couch cushions.

He curled his fingers up, and you whimpered.

“Close, but not quite.” Minho murmured. “We should keep going.” He pulled his fingers all the way out, and then pushed them back in, three this time. He began fucking you, setting a punishing pace that had you clenching down around his fingers.

“Minho…”

“That feel good?” He said. “Doesn’t it feel nice to be so full?”

You nodded, humming your agreement, although it came out much closer to a whimper than a hum.

“That’s a good little slut.”

You whined. It was always hot when Minho got sick of the praise and decided to start being mean.

“You like that?”

“Be meaner to me, please.”

He snickered. “I can do that. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Needy little thing. You just want to come, isn’t that right?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes, wanna come.”

“Luckily for you, I’d like to see that.” His voice was like a fine whiskey, smooth, but made you burn to the very core. “You’re just a toy, just for me, so you’re going to do exactly what I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” You shifted as he found a new angle, pushing even deeper inside of you. “Yes, God, Minho, harder.”

“Such a whore.” He pulled his fingers out so he could drag you down on the couch, prompting a whine from you as his fingers coated with your own wetness met your thigh. He started fucking you again with them, the new angle allowing him a ferocity that had been contained before. Strands of his hair fell down around his face as he fucked you, his eyes raking up and down your body. Their weight made it feel like there were almost scratch marks in their wake, and you wished he’d do that to you next: scrape and mark up your body until every inch of you belonged to him.

“There something you want?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Just was thinking it’d be nice to have some marks.”

“Oh, is this not enough for you?” He punctuated with a particularly hard thrust that had you seeing stars. “You want me to mark you up, too?”

“Mhm.” You nodded.

“Greedy slut.” He sighed. “You always want more, don’t you?” With the hand not currently wrecking your hole, he scraped lightly down your side.

“Harder, please?”

“Jesus.” You could hear the eye roll, but he obliged, digging scratches into you.

Your mouth fell open from the sensations. “Fuck, Minho!”

“Too hard?” He smirked.

“No, it was just— God, I’m going to come.”

“Tell me when you’re close.”

“I’m close, don’t stop, Minho, please don’t— fuck!”

Minho’s nails dug into your side as you came, the pain making it even more delicious as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

You opened your eyes, and Minho was smiling at you. “Good?”

“Yeah, fuck, that was so good.” You threw an arm over your eyes. “Fuck.”

“Well, our food isn’t here yet, so we’re just going to have to keep going, aren’t we?” Minho’s eyes were big with false sympathy.

“Oh, no, I think we are.” You nodded. “How horrible.”

“Horrible indeed.” He agreed before starting to moving his fingers again.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 10

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda loses her virginity to the most eligible bachelorette in America.

content warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Natasha is still. Too still. And quiet. 

With her heart pounding, Wanda sets her wine glass down, her stomach dropping. Her fingers shakily trace the edge of her plate, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way to take back the words she just uttered.

“I apologize,” Natasha begins, and Wanda’s head shoots up so quickly that she feels a muscle in her neck strain from the force. “For my silence. I’m just… surprised.”

Those dark green eyes are focused on her, and Wanda practically holds her breath, her mind racing. “Surprised?”

“Well yes,” Natasha smiles slightly, her eyes slowly trailing down Wanda’s top, lingering slightly before her eyes snap back up. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Wanda.”

She doesn’t elaborate, simply draining the last of her wine before standing. Her steps are confident, her hand outstretched as she walks around the table to stand at Wanda’s side. When Wanda looks up, she notices the way Natasha’s pupils have dilated, the barest hint of dark green around them. 

Taking the older woman’s hand, a brave move that Wanda barely even had the wits to think about, she stands. 

“I would be honored to be your first,” Natasha murmurs.

Oh god, it's so sweet and so cliche, but Wanda doesn’t really care. This feels like a scene straight out of one of Kate’s raunchy romance books that Wanda secretly likes to read. Normally, she would have to imagine that the handsome, older man with a dark past in the book is actually a woman, but now the scene is playing out before her very eyes. She doesn’t quite know how to react. 

“I would like that,” Wanda whispers, feeling Natasha’s hand squeeze hers gently before the older woman turns and starts walking down the hallway. This one is a different one, not leading towards the playroom, like Wanda had been expecting. She focuses on the hand wrapped around hers, the strong fingers guiding her as they walk in silence. 

Natasha stops in front of a door, the dark mahogany framing her red hair as she turns and faces Wanda. Timidly, Wanda looks up, finding nothing but softness in those eyes as Natasha brings a hand up to cup her face. 

“You can leave at any time, alright? I want you to feel comfortable with me, so tell me if you don’t like something or want me to stop.”

Smiling, Wanda feels relief course through her. She would say that Natasha is adorable, with her slightly rambling sentences and the way her eyes are earnest and kind. But, the slightly possessive grip of the older woman's fingers against her cheek says otherwise. Wanda doesn’t mind, her brain turning to mush as she feels her body relax, her heart rate quickening again, but this time, not from nervousness. 

“I understand,” Wanda murmurs, stepping forward into the woman’s space, loving the way her cinnamon scent wraps fully around her. She hears Natasha’s breath hitch and smiles slightly, emboldened. “I want this. I… I want you.”

Wanda never understood what authors meant when they said that a character’s eyes darkened. But in every sense of the word, Natasha’s did. Her pupils dilated even further as she took a steadying breath, her other hand coming up to wrap around Wanda’s waist. The look in her eyes was intent, and Wanda felt as though a spotlight had just been thrust upon her, the woman’s attention solely focused on her.

“By the end of the night,” Natasha muttered, leaning in close enough that Wanda could feel her breath on her neck. Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and she shuddered as she felt Natasha’s teeth lightly bite down on her ear. “I will have you moaning my name until your voice gives out.”

Biting her lip, Wanda pulled back slightly to look at Natasha’s face. She pretended that she wasn’t affected, but her flushed cheeks were not fooling anybody. “So confident.” 

“I know what I want. And I always get it.”

“Open the door,” Wanda said, her voice breathy and full of want. She didn’t care. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, her mind emptying until the only thing she could think about was Natasha. She craved to have those hands wrapped around her waist, her throat, tangled in her hair. She needed her mouth on her skin, that wicked tongue gliding over her neck and down her chest until-

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, her voice low and raspy. The hand around Wanda’s waist shifted until her fingers grasped the waist of her pants, pulling her inside the bedroom. 

Wanda didn’t have the chance to look around, the dim lighting hitting her eyes for a moment before the door shut solidly behind her, and strong hands pushed her against it. Her own limbs failed to respond, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides for a moment, before she came to her senses, reaching up and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s toned shoulders, pulling her in. 

Warm lips caressed hers, and Wanda didn’t think twice before she parted her lips slightly, letting Natasha’s tongue in. She focused on the woman, loving the way her hands wrapped around her waist, her body pressing against hers until Wanda was fully against the door. The older woman’s chest pressed into hers, her hips trapping Wanda’s as her thigh pressed solidify between her legs, and a soft whimper escaped Wanda as she sucked desperately on Natasha’s soft lips. 

“I’m trying to be gentle with you,” Natasha rasped out, breaking the kiss and moving her lips to Wanda’s neck. “But you’re not making that easy.”

Wanda attempts to respond, but the only thing her mouth does is let out a low whine. She’s never felt like this before. It feels like all her nerves have been set aflame, and she’s throbbing with need as Natasha sucks a hickey into her neck. The strong fingers pinning her waist against the door are driving her insane, and she lets out a pathetic-sounding gasp as she ruts her hips forward, the friction against Natasha’s thigh making her head spin.

“Do you want to be mine?”

Oh, what a question. Wanda nods with every ounce of strength that she has left, her eyes intent as she locks her gaze with Natasha’s.

“Say the words, Wanda.” Natasha’s tone is serious, her eyes glancing between Wanda’s blown pupils and her swollen, parted lips. Her fingers dig into the younger woman’s waist, holding her hips in place as she waits for a response. 

“Yes, please,” Wanda manages, her words breathy as she looks up at Natasha. She looks utterly ruined, her eyes half-lidded and her hips attempting to thrust against the strong thigh flexing between them. “I want to be yours, make me yours, Ms. Romanoff.”

A half-growl and half-moan claws its way from Natasha’s throat, and she grasps Wanda around the waist before spinning her around and pushing her towards the bed. The younger woman is easy to move, her body pliant and soft beneath Natasha’s strong fingers. A small gasp leaves her lips as the back of her knees hits the bed, and Natasha wastes no time capturing them in a searing kiss. 

Fuck, the woman is everywhere. Wanda can’t escape her, and she doesn’t really want to. Somehow, she’s moved to the center of the bed, her hips straddled by firm thighs as Natasha’s hands explore her body. Every touch is electrifying, adding to the fuzzy waves of pleasure clouding her mind. The lips on hers are somehow both gentle and aggressive, sharp teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with a strong tongue. The scent of cinnamon mixes with the thick scent of arousal that stifles the air around them, and Wanda can’t remember the last time she felt this desperate. 

“Please,” she manages, her voice a broken whimper. 

Natasha lets out a low groan, her lips moving from Wanda’s swollen lips to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking harshly. “You should beg more often, it suits you.”

Wanda doesn’t really have a response to that, her mind turning to mush at the low, raspy quality of Natasha’s voice. She settles for a desperate sort of nod, thrusting her hips up slightly to relieve the pressure growing between her thighs. Her actions are stopped by Natasha’s body weight resting fully on her hips, but she doesn’t quite mind. 

Actually, she was quite enjoying the feeling of being trapped. 

“Are you really?” Natasha asks, and Wanda flushes. Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The woman on top of her continues, her eyes glinting slightly, “We can explore that later, Wanda, for now, I’m intent on making your first time memorable.”

Wanda lets out something that sounds like “Oh!” and then promptly forgets how to speak as Natasha places a steady hand on her sternum, pushing her down until her back hits the soft mattress. The older woman's figure above her makes her head spin, arousal coursing through her as strong hands find her wrists and pin them next to her head. 

“Try to stay still for me, can you do that?”

Goddamn, if that isn’t the hottest thing Wanda’s ever been asked. She manages a nod, sure that her face is flushed and her eyes wide, but she doesn’t quite care. The feeling of Natasha Romanoff on top of her is overwhelming in the best way, and she’ll do anything to please the woman.

“Anything, hm?”

Fuck. 

Wanda starts to speak, to defend the words that have slipped out of her traitorous mouth, but a hand covers her mouth and muffles any attempted words. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just gives her a stern look. Wanda quiets, blinking up at the woman as she focuses on remaining still, her fingers twitching as her eyes lock on the fabric that Natasha is slowly pulling up to reveal a smooth stomach and chiseled abs. 

To say that Natasha Romanoff is beautiful would be an understatement. Wanda can’t stop looking at her, every inch of skin that’s revealed sending arousal flooding through her. She practically feels her heart stop when Natasha pulls her shirt fully off, the sight of her breasts underneath a lacy black bra sending Wanda’s mind straight into a fuzzy headspace of need and pure lust. 

She doesn’t even register her own hands moving until she’s cupping the woman’s chest, her thumbs caressing the fabric of Natasha’s bra in an almost reverent manner. It only lasts a brief, glorious moment, before her wrists are firmly grasped and slammed back onto the mattress. 

“Ah ah,” Natasha tuts, her fingers squeezing harder for a moment. Her eyes are dark, and Wanda feels a spark of terror and arousal run through her. “What did I say?”

“To stay still,” Wanda answers, the words spilling out of her. She feels almost compelled to answer the woman, obedience thrumming in her veins. She doesn’t fight the tight grip on her wrists, but the feeling of being restrained sends her senses into overdrive in the best way possible.  

“Then be a good girl and obey,” Natasha says, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

Wanda nods, biting her lip as Natasha squeezes her wrists one last time before releasing them, her hands trailing down her body while her muscles tense from the electrifying touch. She has to remind herself to breathe, the sensation of Natasha’s fingers against her stomach and hips making her lightheaded with need. 

Those long fingers flex as the hem of her shirt slowly slides up her stomach, revealing her muscles clenching with need as her hips try to move under Natasha’s firm thighs. She would be embarrassed, but the heat within her is rising to an unbearable level.

The look in Natasha’s eyes when she finally pulls Wanda’s shirt free is nothing short of lustful and wanting, her movements becoming slightly rough as she palms the younger woman’s breasts, squeezing gently as she coaxes pretty whines and moans from Wanda’s mouth. 

It’s intoxicating, to feel and hear the woman below her reacting to every movement. Wanda’s hips are still futilely rutting against her thighs, the barest sensation against her throbbing clit driving her mad. 

Wanda can barely think, Natasha’s hands on her breasts sending warm arousal flooding through her. She can’t control the movements of her hips, her body reacting to the older woman’s touch as soft moans sound out. 

“Oh, please,” she whines, her voice barely above a whisper. It causes the hands around her breasts to squeeze, strong fingers finding her nipples through the fabric of her bra and toying with them. 

“Fuck,” Natasha breathes, her tongue wetting her lips slightly as she looks down at Wanda. “How could I refuse when you beg so prettily for me?”

The slightly possessive words send Wanda’s mind into a soft, fuzzy mess. She finds herself longing to hear more words come out of the older woman’s mouth, a need rising within her to obey every command that slips out of those sinful lips. 

She doesn’t get the chance to ask, Natasha’s fingers sliding over her body and working every nerve until she can feel electricity shooting beneath her skin. Her clit is throbbing, her underwear damp as she bucks her hips desperately up against Natasha’s strong thighs. 

“Tell me what you want.”

Wanda makes a noise of protest at the words. She doesn’t know what she wants. She wants Natasha’s hands to never leave her body, and she wants her tongue to keep licking up the side of her neck, and she wants the woman to fuck her and get rid of the throbbing between her legs. But, she can’t quite find the words, so she just whines and gasps out, “Touch me.”

With a low chuckle, Natasha softly nips Wanda’s neck and finally moves her fingers to break Wanda’s waistband.

Long fingers softly cup her, the pressure driving Wanda mad. She bucks her hips, but Natasha simply adjusts her position, laying halfway on top of the woman and pinning one of her legs between her own. 

“Let me take this off,” Natasha murmurs, pressing soft kisses on Wanda’s sternum before lightly biting the fabric of her bra that cups her chest. She pulls it away with her teeth, waiting for Wanda’s permission.

“Mhmm,” Wanda murmurs, regaining some of her breath. The sensations against her heating body and the intense look in Natasha’s eyes make her head spin, so she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of strong fingers undoing her bra. A small groan sounds out as the fabric falls away from her chest, and Wanda can’t help but smile, something in her soaring with happiness at the reaction. 

Teeth scrape lightly against her hard nipple, bolts of firey hot pleasure shooting through her body and pooling at her core. The woman seems enamored by her breasts, her tongue flicking over her nipples and sucking the tight nubs into her mouth, alternating every few minutes.

Wanda can barely stand it. She thinks she could cum from Natasha’s mouth and fingers working her breasts. Honestly, she’d never paid her chest much attention before, instead, she furiously worked sticky fingers over her clit while under the sheets, reading some trashy romance novel that was basically 130 pages of pure porn. Today was all about learning new things, she thought, her brain going blank again as Natasha teasingly bit into her nipple.

“Fuck,” Wanda moaned, not caring what she sounds like. “I need you to touch me, Natasha. Now.” 

“Oh, do you?”

The teasing tone set Wanda’s nerves aflame, her mind riddled with need as her clit throbbed desperately against the confines of her damp underwear. She was already close, the imminent orgasm drawing closer with each swipe of Natasha’s tongue and every twist of her fingers around Wanda’s sensitive nipples.

Something must have showed on her face, because Natasha quickly moved down, pressing quick kisses down Wanda’s stomach. She still took her time, removing Wanda’s pants and underwear from her wriggling hips, and kissing her inner thighs as she spread her legs. 

“You smell divine,” Natasha murmurs. Before Wanda can say anything in return, most likely some snarky remark about how the woman needed to start moving quicker, her tongue dragging through her folds. 

Oh. God. 

Wanda cums the second Natasha’s strong, hot tongue passes over her clit. The older woman makes a surprised sound, which is quickly followed by a throaty moan, her hands moving to wrap around Wanda’s thighs. 

“Keep going,” Wanda gasps out, her hips grinding against Natasha’s face, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her. Warm pleasure grows, her clit almost painfully overstimulated, but she can feel Natasha’s tongue slowly working her towards another orgasm.

Two long fingers prod at her soaked entrance, circling and gathering the slick wetness before smoothly sliding in. Wanda can barely feel them, her pussy so wet the sensation barely registers. That is until Natasha curls them perfectly against her g-spot, a wave of pleasure sweeping through her violently.

“You… I-” Wanda manages, her tongue feeling thick as she pants. Low, muffled moans sound out from where Natasha is licking her clit, her fingers pumping in and out of Wanda. The vibrations add to the pleasure, her orgasm drawing near again.

“Are you going to cum?” Natasha asks, detaching her lips for a moment to ask. Her face is slightly flushed, her lips glistening as she looks at Wanda with blown pupils. She slows her fingers as she waits for a response, a slight smirk on her face.

“Yes.”

“Beg for permission.”

Wanda blinks, her mouth falling open at the command. That was… hotter than she would like to admit. She feels her pussy clench around Natasha’s fingers, and she feels herself flush at the knowing look in the older woman’s eyes.

“Um, please?”

Natasha makes a tutting sound, shaking her head slightly as an intense look appears in her eyes. “You can do better than that,” she murmurs, watching Wanda’s face as she moves her fingers quickly. She curls them with each rough thrust, coaxing her orgasm closer. “Go on, Wanda. I know you can do it.”

“God, please, Natasha,” Wanda bursts out, the words spewing as she desperately chases her orgasm. “I’ve wanted you ever since that first day I stumbled into your office. I wanted you to bend me over your desk right then, and I need you to keep moving your fingers. Please, let me cum, I’ve been horny practically nonstop since our first meeting, I need you to just please-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, Natasha’s lips crashing down over hers and she murmurs her permission. Wanda can taste herself on the woman’s lips and tongue, and her mind goes blissfully blank as Natasha pumps rough and deep, bringing her orgasm to the surface quickly.

Pleasure washes over her, her pussy clamping down around Natasha’s fingers as she cums. It’s a full-body orgasm, her muscles clenching and releasing as she feels herself tremble from the force of it. Her legs are tight around Natasha’s waist, her fingers moving to tangle with the woman’s hair. Wanda can feel her eyes rolling back, her back arching as she feels her body convulse with pleasure, gibberish words, and moans streaming from her lips and into Natasha’s kiss. 

Those long fingers coax out every last drop of pleasure, Wanda’s slit giving one last pulse before she feels herself go boneless. Sinking into the mattress, she catches her breath, turning her head to look at Natasha. 

Dark green eyes gaze back at her, something intense about her gaze. Wanda doesn’t have the energy to think too hard about it, and her mind goes fuzzy again as Natasha slowly pulls her fingers out and brings them up to her lips.

“Suck,” she whispers, coating Wanda’s bottom lip with her own juices as she runs her fingers over it. 

Obeying, Wanda shamelessly sucks her arousal off Natasha’s fingers. She swirls her tongue around them and sucks, enjoying the hitch in the older woman’s breath when she does so. 

Pulling her fingers from Wanda’s mouth, Natasha reclaims her lips in a gentle kiss. It’s not as rough as before, but no less intense. She moves as they kiss, maneuvering Wanda until her head is propped up by pillows, laying half on top of Natasha as her hand rests on the woman’s stomach. The kiss ends slowly, Wanda’s eyes beginning to close of their own accord. 

“Do you want me to-” Wanda weakly gestures toward Natasha’s waistband.

The older woman chuckles, pressing a kiss against the top of Wanda’s head. “No, Wanda. Tonight was solely about you. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to make me feel good.”

Smiling, Wanda feels her body relax completely, practically melting against the older woman’s comforting heat. She feels a pleasant buzz throughout her body, her face still flushed even as her heart rate slows. She tries to say something, her lips moving silently against the soft skin of Natasha’s collarbone. 

“Sleep, Wanda,” Natasha murmurs, pulling a thin sheet over them. Her fingers brush over Wanda’s cheek, tucking auburn hair behind her ear. “You were amazing, and I loved every second of tonight. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

Wanda doesn’t hear much after that, her tired body finally succumbing as she drifts off. 

—

When Wanda wakes, the room is dark, a soft, warm glow of light creeping through the crack underneath the bedroom door. She blinks, her mind still fuzzy and content as the afterglow lingers. She has no idea how long she’s slept, her fingers grabbing the thick fabric of a bathrobe conveniently placed at the foot of the bed. Through the crack in the curtains, Wanda can see the barest hint of light, a sign that dawn is approaching.

The soft sounds of piano soar through the air, the notes almost melancholic in nature. Wanda tilts her head, tying the bathrobe securely around her waist before gently pushing the door open and padding down the hall.

Natasha is bent over the piano, a single, dim lamp softly illuminating her red hair. Wanda can just barely see the curve of her jaw, her attention captured by the steady fingers flying across the keyboard. 

Somehow, they manage to draw emotion out with each note. Sadness lingers in the corners of the room, amplified with each note Natasha plays, her keys performing a somber dance. Wanda wonders what exactly the woman is thinking about as she plays, not a single sheet of music in front of her, only the smooth expanse of mahogany wood and ivory keys. 

The music stops, and Wanda jolts as she realizes her presence has been noticed.

“Sorry,” she whispers, seeing the barest hint of a frown flit across Natasha’s tired features. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Perhaps I should be the one saying that to you,” Natasha responds, a wry smile gracing her features as she wipes her hands on her soft sweatpants. She stands, every movement graceful as she does so. Wanda can’t help but notice the way her pants hang slightly off her hips, a hint of her smooth stomach and abs showing as she walks towards her. 

“Are you… alright?” Natasha asks, concern softening the sharp features of her face as she walks towards her.

Wanda flushes, thinking about the bone-deep ache making its way through her body, evidence of their activities earlier that evening. She finds herself nodding, her fingers running nervously over the tie of her bathrobe.

“Are you sure that you…” Wanda trails off, biting her lips momentarily before she sees the hungry look appear in Natasha’s eyes at the action. “Did you have a good time?”

A small smile makes its way onto Natasha’s face, and she reaches out an arm to wrap around Wanda’s waist as she nears. “Yes, Wanda. I had a good time,” she whispers, pulling the younger woman close. Her fingers cup Wanda’s waist, her other hand tangling with Wanda’s, their fingers intertwined as she kisses her knuckles. “It was everything I imagined you’d be like, and more. I can’t fathom ever tiring of you.”

Well. That’s the most romantic thing Wanda has ever heard in her life, and she blushes hotly, her words jumbling together as she attempts to form a sentence. 

Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against her lips. “Come,” she murmurs, pulling Wanda back down the hallway, her thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “How about we cuddle until morning, and then I’ll make you whatever breakfast you’d like.”

“You can cook?” Wanda asks, mid-yawn. Her comment earns a light jab in her side, and she fails at hiding her smirk at the reaction from the normally composed woman.

“I can do many things, Wanda,” Natasha says, a slight smirk on her lips that tells Wanda exactly what the older woman is implying. She takes a deep breath, fighting her rising blush as they walk back into the bedroom, Natasha pulling her into her side as they slide under the sheets. Their limbs entangle, their bodies pressed close together as Natasha presses a soft kiss against Wanda’s head, the younger woman’s eyes already closing again, drifting off to sleep as she feels Natasha’s lips move against her.

“I could get used to this.”

---

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[topluvr]

HIII I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! can i request a jiyong enemies to lovers?? doesn’t matter if its headcannons or not!

Drunken Confessions

Kwon ji-yong x Reader

A/N: I feel like this is more frenimes to lovers so I'm sorry, but thank you for the request. Also reader is daesung's younger sister.

warnings: alcohol use

word count: 2.3k

Your eyes slowly shift open, the sunlight from the window shining through into your bedroom, the brightness caused you to squint your eyes shut. Once you adjusted to the light you got out of bed and started your daily routine.

You’ve been living in your new apartment for a couple months now, after finally moving out of your parents home you moved into a smallish apartment in seoul.

Your brother ‘Daesung’ made sure you had everything you needed. He helped you with unpacking, building your furniture and helping you decorate, his friends helped out sometimes too, well except for one. ‘jiyong’. For some reason he hated you.

You did grow up with his friends around, you were all close they always protected you, it was like having three extra older brothers. expect for jiyong, at first he was sweet to you always making sure you were okay and checking up with you occasionally.

However when you grew up and things changed, his mood and attitude towards you were replaced with more hateful ones, you had no idea why he was like this.

At first you thought he was just going through a lot but when it turned into years and his hatred towards you didn’t change, you started to feel the same way about him, Well kind of you've been crushing on him since the first time you met but pushed them aside for many reasons. The two main ones being your brother daesung would never let it happen and jiyong obviously didn’t feel the same way.

The two of you having at least one argument every time you go visit your brother, surprisingly you loved it, you loved when his eyes burn daggers at you when you tease him, you loved the way his voice slightly raised every time you annoy him. He treats you like shit but this only made you crave his attention more.

Once you were dressed, you headed towards your local coffee shop and ordered your daily coffee, you also got the guys their orders to surprise them with, before heading to YG.

When you arrived at the building the staff immediately recognised you and you were let straight in, you walked into the elevator and pressed the second floor button. The doors slid open and you stepped out into the long hallway heading towards the room your brother and his friends were usually in when they were working.

Your hand knocks against the door giving it two light taps. You hear a voice say come in so you twist the handle and walk in. The sight you were met with made your stomach flutter, it was jiyong he was sat in the middle of the couch legs spread, his black hair slicked back but a few strands falling in his face, you didn’t realise how long you’d been staring until you heard a throat being cleared.

“Enjoying the view?” He smirked looking at you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoff placing the coffee on the table in front of you.

“I know you want me, don’t hide it baby.” He jokingly pouted, You gave him a glare.“Shut up jiyong, you’re so full of yourself it’s sad.”

He stood from the couch and walked over to you. “Poor me.” He faked sobbed wiping his eyes, You hated it, hated the way his voice made you feel, hated the way your cheeks would heat up when he looked at you, You hated how bad you wanted him.

You stood in silence glaring at him, him doing the same until he moved closer, you could feel his breath on your face, your heart beating faster, ‘what is he doing’ you thought remaining still.

His face was now even closer to yours he leans in. “Thank you for the coffee y/n.” He laughs grabbing one of the coffees you placed on the table before walking out.

After you stood there for a minute trying to calm yourself down over the interaction with jiyong. You hear the door open and your head turns. You were met with the smiling face of your brother.

“Hi little sister, i didn’t know you were coming.” He said walking over to hug you. “I know, it was a last minute decision, I got everyone coffee though.” You giggle pulling back from his hug.

“So how is everything going with your job”. Daesung asked. “Yeah it’s going fine actually i’m enjoying it so far, and i’ve met so many new friends.” You smiled.

-

After you spent almost the whole morning with your brother you headed back home and decided to relax for the evening.

*beep* *beep*

You pick up your phone to check the notification.

y/f/n: Hi y/n, me and the girls are going out tonight, to the new bar that just opened, do you want to come?

y/f/n: It will be fun ;)

y/n: I’d love to, what time?

y/f/n: Be ready for 7 we will come get you in a cab.

You put your phone back down and got up to go get ready for the night.

After your shower you went to your closet to find some clothes, a while after searching you decided to go with a black short dress, fishnet tights and your black heels.

Your makeup didn’t take you long and by the time you were fullly dressed your phone buzzzed.

y/f/n: We are outside :)

You switched you phone off placing it in the little black purse you chose to match your outfit with, you also grabbed a jacket before leaving your apartment.

You and the girls arrive at the club, after waiting in the line for a while you were finally let in. You and two of the girls headed to the leather booths near the back of the club, the other girls headed to the bar to get the drinks started.

You all chatted for a while, and after many drinks some of the girls decided to head to the dancefloor, you and (y/f/n) stayed behind on the seats relaxing into the feeling of the alcohol.

“so how’s it going with that guy your always gushing over, jiyong is it?.” She smirked before taking a sip of her drink, You gave her a glare. “I do not gush over him and he’s being a asshole like usual.” You say rolling your eyes.

“hmm sure y/n.” She laughed, you look at her. “why don’t i go get us some more shots.” You fake smile, standing up, she let out another drunken laugh as you left.

Once you got to the bar you ordered 5 shots, you quickly downed two and headed back to the table with the rest.

As the night went on and your body consumed more alcohol. He couldn’t leave your head, you just can’t stop thinking about how close he got to you earlier, how his lips were so close to yours.

Your thoughts consumed you, you imagined how his lips would feel on yours and how badly you needed them there, you softly bit your lip at the thought.

Meanwhile (y/f/n) thought it would be a good idea to call jiyong, she could tell you were drunk and not really interacting with the group.

She leaned over and grabbed your phone from the table before heading outside, She unlocked your phone and searched for his contact, once she found it she clicked on it and let it ring.

“Hi, this is jiyong right?” (y/f/n) asked once the call connected. “yes, who is this?” He replied confused looking at your name on his screen but not hearing your voice.

“This is y/n’s friend, can you come pick her up she’s had too much to drink and no one else is picking up.” (y/f/n) confessed into the line.

Ji-yong replied almost immediately “Yeah send me the address i’ll be there.” He said sternly through the phone, after he got the address he said bye to your friend and left his house.

His drive over to you was silent yet his head was thinking of all the ways he’ll scold you for drinking too much, his hands grip tight on the steering wheel his jew clenching at the thought of you in such a vulnerable state.

He pulled up to the address your friend sent him, He made his way through the doors and headed in towards the crowd of people, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. That’s when he looked to the back where all the leather booths were, he saw your face and the pout that was plastered on it.

He made his way over to you and your friends. “y/n”. He said loudly over the music, Your head shoots up at the sound of your name, that’s when your eyes meet his, you were completely shocked to see him, but your drunk state causes you to stand up.

“JIYONGGG.” You screeched flinging your arms around his neck, your legs loosing a bit of balance when you stood up causing his arm to wrap around your waist, before you could even ask him why he’s here.

“let’s go.” He said in your ear, pulling you away from your friends, you didn’t protest just kept a hold of the man that’s been on your mind all night.

Once you got into his car your both sat their for a moment in silence. “How stupid can you be, getting this drunk you can barely walk and that outfit,is that for all the men you’ve probably been throwing yourself at all night.” He scoffed into the silence.

Your anger boils at his words, who does he think he is, speaking to you like that. “Why are you such an asshole.” You spoke looking at him.

“why are you such a bitch?” He replied, his eyes burning into yours.

You let out a sigh at his words and your head turned to face the window,no words enter the air after that,the only sound you heard was his keys as he started up the car. The ride to your apartment was uncomfortably silent , your head was slightly spinning from the alcohol.

his car pulled up to your apartment building and his door opened, He got out and walked to the passenger side to help you out.

You held onto his arm and slowly stepped out of the car. “why do you hate me?” You asked, your drunken words went straight to his ears and his head shot up to look at you. “I don’t hate you y/n.” He sighed.

“Then why aren’t you ever nice to me, you used too be i don’t understand what i’ve done.” The words fell from your lips, you raised you eyebrows waiting for his reply, you wanted to know why he treats you like this was it something you did you thought.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, I just- it’s hard to explain.” He replied stroking his hands through his hair and sighing. “Just fucking tell me jiyong i’m sick and tired of you treating me like shit, and i know i say things back but i’m just giving you the same treatment i get.” You scoffed pointing your finger in his chest.

The alcohol was definitely making you confident, the words you spoke would have never come out your mouth sober.

“It would ruin things i can-“ Before he could speak your words cut him off. “JUST FUCKING TELL ME JIYONG!” you yell, you were getting even more angry why won’t he just tell you.

“FUCK, i like you okay since the first day we met, you’re all i can think about and i’m sorry for being a asshole but i couldn’t do that to dae he would kill me if he knew i was thinking about his little sister like that, so i wanted you to hate me that’s why i treat you the way i do” His words hit you with relief, your body was frozen though and your eyes still connected to his.

You both stood there staring at each other, he was waiting for you to speak to say anything about his confession and when you didn’t he sighed. “Just forget about this okay.” He said heading back over to the drivers side of his car.

“wait” You spoke out gripping his wrist, he stops in his tracks. “I like you too, i always have.” The words finally left your lips, your head was spinning not because of the alcohol but because of him.

His body turned facing yours once again, he took two long strides, his hands grabbing your face, pulling your lips to his immediately.

The kiss initially took you by surprise but after a couple seconds your lips relaxed into his, his hands gradually moved to your waist to rest there and yours went to his hair.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode, the amount of times you’ve thought about this and now it’s actually happening and it’s so much better then you could have ever imagined. His soft lips exploring yours.

You felt his tounge wanting to enter your mouth so you let him, You moaned when your felt his tounge swirl against yours.

“The things you do to me.” He smirked pulling away. “I’ve wanted that for so long.” You whisper eyes never leaving his.

“Fuck baby, me too.” He groaned pulling you into a messier kiss then before. After what felt like hours he finally pulled back stroking your face in the process.

“I’m sorry for everything y/n.” He genuinely apologised, you smirk at his words. “It’s okay, you admitted to being an asshole and i’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.” You tease.

“You little brat.” He laughed, his hands pulled you in closer to him and his hands came down to give your ass a playful slap. You both burst out laughing at his action.

“How did you know where i was anyway?” You asked. “Your friend called said you had too much to drink and no one else was picking up.” He replied pulling you into his side as you both start walking to your apartment. “oh my god, i’m going to kill her.”