#I had an excuse to spend a week doing nothing but letting my brain CHILL

[simonoliverseville]

“I’ve had the most relaxing week. If this clogged nose and scratchy throat would clear up, everything would be perfect.”

“My fever never ran very high at all, but I did have one. My brothers both got stuck with very high fevers and had to take medicine to keep them down. Dave too.”

“Shoutout to Eleanor for caring for 6 sick patients with no patience at once. She’s incredible and deserves all the recognition.”

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

[wastelandcth]

Coney Island - cth

summary: Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

author’s notes: this was...wow. i hope you all enjoy shoutout to @in-superbloom and @hoodhoran for letting me give them sneak peeks to hype myself up over it! 

warnings: mentions of a car accident, mentions of a hospital, angst, sorry there’s a cliffhanger. 

masterlist || request || more songs for calum

You’d always been told that finding your passion at a young age was a blessing. That finding the one thing you wanted to do for the rest of your life and running with it was a blessing in disguise. You’d never understood why everyone would say that to you, you loved making art and there had never been a downside to creating art. There had never been a point in your life where your job had become a stressor and where you’d regretted ever wanting to chase the thrill of canvas and paint. Every day you’d wake up and have the time and space to create scenery you’d seen in dreams or in real life, little pockets in time you could freeze on canvas for the world to see. It’d been a rough start, selling your work for whatever amount you were offered until you had your break and found yourself in a museum overseas staring at the large painting hanging on the wall of some museum you’d dreamed about. You’d been standing there in the empty halls, breathing in the quiet of the hall, the occasional footsteps bringing you back into the moments before a shadow next to you brought your attention away from your splatter of colors and lines to the person who stood next to you. And that’s how you first met Calum, in the silence of an art museum where his eyes studied your work as if he’d been trying to find all the secrets you’d hidden in the paint. It was where you’d told him about the painting, where you’d both found one another in more ways than one. 

That’s when you finally understood the blessing in disguise. 

Coney Island had always been a warm and distant memory to you, the boardwalk lined with thrills on either side, waiting to be explored. You remembered cotton candy dreams and spending days in the sun with your friends. Coney Island has been love and laughter, sunshine and summer days, and a place where the pit in your stomach was gone. It had been all you could think about when summer was mentioned, an inspiration to the painting you’d whispered to Calum about. The colorful swirls of paint and oils that gave you your first real break in the art world had all come from the place where boardwalks and rides had brought you nothing but happiness. 

But now, the boardwalk was silent and you felt like a ghost walking through it. 

The ocean was inviting, a teasing view from wherever you stood, tempting you to step into the sand and sink into its secrets. The boardwalk echoed with every step you took, bouncing the noise up into the sky where it returned as a sharp crack of thunder. The empty bench you’d found was hard and cold, leaving your bones aching with a chill you weren’t sure would ever go away. The wind thumping against your ears as you took in the cold ocean air into your lungs, letting the salty breeze burn them and leave you gasping for air. Your eyes searched the water, a muted gray and blue that seemed to stretch on for as far as your eyes could see, swirling with white foam from the waves that crashed onto the sand every so often. 

The lights from the amusement park flickered against the shore, strobing in and out of view which left you shaking and with teary eyes. The waves filled your head with the screeching of tires and breaking glass. The swirling of the ocean putting the same fear in the pit of your stomach as when you’d heard Calum’s scream. The scream that had been cut off as the call went dead. 

“I know I promised I’d be able to make it to dinner…” you mumbled hesitantly, frowning as you heard Calum’s sigh, “But I-”

“Let me guess, you have a very important gallery show and it just happened to slip your mind again so you’ll have to skip dinner with the band?” Calum mumbled, the annoyance in his voice obvious, “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. It’s fine, you’ll still make it to the show, right?”

“Well…” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair as the busy streets of Brooklyn surrounded you, “I’m really sorry, Cal.”

“Are you serious?” he scoffed, “We’ve had this planned for weeks now! You can’t just-”

“Calum? Calum?! Honey?”

The hospital had become a maze, turns, and twists that only led your farther and farther from your destination. With every squeak of your shoes against the vinyl floor, you felt yourself drifting farther away from him, from the man who’d you’d been putting second to your job and the one you didn’t know you’d be able to see again. Your adrenaline had been on high since the moment the emergency worker had answered the tenth call you’d made to Calum’s phone, telling you the what, when, and where had happened to Calum. You’d raced through the busy sidewalks, trying to find the hospital where Calum’s unconscious self was being sent to. But even as you walked through the barren halls, hands shaking and dried tears on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but blame yourself for it all. What if he never woke up and the last words you’d shared between one another was a fight? What if he never knew that you loved him more than anything in the world? What if all the nights away from him could’ve been switched for time spent together? 

“Darling?” one of the nurses said softly, breaking you out of the hurricane of thoughts, “Hey, take deep breaths, how can I help you? Are you hurt?”

“Where’s….they said he’d be here but I don’t..” 

“Who are you looking for, honey?”

“Where did my baby go?”

You’d been ready to answer, to tell them that you needed to see Calum and hold his hand. To make sure he was okay and that he’d be able to make it to his show that night, to be happy on stage. But that was all thrown out the door when the doors opened, bringing a gust of cold and rainy wind into the room as well as the man you’d talked to on the phone only minutes before. Your breath caught in your throat, your body going stiff as you watched them wheel him into the building and then away from you. He was bloody and bruised, his eyes shut in a way that seemed too peaceful for the situation he was in. His hair was flat against his head, the usual curls that had roamed freely on his head now matted with blood, and you couldn’t help but rush out of the building. The walls had started to close in, trapping you in as you watched Calum disappear behind a crowd of nurses and doctors, and you finally took a breath of air as the door shut behind you and the hospital was behind you.

The waves were louder now, crashing against the shore with a force so strong they shook the boardwalk beneath your feet. You hadn’t realized how far you’d walked, not until the familiar lights of the boardwalk shone beneath the fog that had come with the rain, how far you’d walked away from him again. It wasn’t like he’d want you there anyways, the annoyance in his voice had been a clue if you’d ever seen one. You had just pushed him aside again in order to go to another gallery you knew deep down you could afford to miss. It had been like that for weeks now, you both danced around the fact that you hadn’t been in the same city for months on end. Daily phone calls or text messages were replaced with a silence neither of you enjoyed and airplane trips became lonely. You’d been off traveling the globe as your newest works were displayed all across and Calum had been off promoting the band’s latest album. It hadn’t been the first time both of your jobs had overlapped schedules and being away from one another for this long had happened, but the silence was new. 

Which is why the fact that you were both finally in the same city was so important for Calum, and for you. But the idea of finally seeing him had caused the pit of anxiety to form and you found yourself looking for excuses to push him away. And now your last memories of him would be seeing his bruised body being wheeled away from you, the way his voice had cut off with a squeal of tires, and the sound of glass breaking. All because you’d put a distance between the both of you because you felt that intense feeling that you could no longer ignore. It had first started that night when his back became a canvas for your art, and his soft gasps whenever the cold paint hit his skin had ingrained themselves in your brain. The gasps and giggles mixed in with the smell of paint and you felt yourself falling more and more in love with Calum, seeing yourself old and gray with him. It had been terrifying and the shapes you’d made with paint had become nothing but a blur of colors. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against his arm, watching as you’d started packing up the paints and brushes you’d just used on his skin, “You know that?”

“Mhm, and lucky for you,” you teased, pushing down the pit of fear into the back of your mind, “I am deeply in love with you.” 

That’s what loving Calum had always been, a blur of beautiful colors. 

The air had begun to pick up now, swirling and swinging around the sky as the storm grew closer and closer. Not that it mattered much, your face was already soaked with tears and stained by the black mascara that had been running down ever since you’d walked out of the hospital. You wished he’d be by your side, hugging you and telling you it would all be okay. If you closed your eyes and focused hard enough you could hear his voice, modulated over the speaker of your phone as he told you about his day. He’d been trying to distract you again, the frustration of your newest piece not looking how you’d imagined bringing you close to tears. 

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? And then you can paint all over my body so you can find inspiration. I promise.” he chuckled quietly, probably laying in a dark room across an ocean. 

“I miss you,” you sighed, watching the sunrise out your window and rubbing at your tired eyes. 

“I love you,” he whispered, a smile in his voice, as if those were the only three words you needed to hear. Maybe they were, maybe those were the three little words you would remember before the crash pulled him away from you. 

Time seemed to tick by slowly, almost torturing you, as your eyes drifted from the ocean storm ahead to the screen of your phone. You knew it was coming, the call that would change your life forever. The one that would leave you broken and shattered on the beach like the shells that had crunched under your feet. Soon enough, the buzz of your phone would bring the time with Calum to an end. Soon, it would just be you, the ocean breeze, and the memory of Calum. The crack of thunder shook the world around you, almost making you miss the sharp shrill that came from your phone, the screen lighting up with a picture of Calum you’d taken a few months back. Your lungs froze, hands shaking as your thumb slid over the screen and accepted the call, bracing yourself for the inevitable. 

“H-hello?” you asked, mentally preparing for the tears that would fill the ocean with salty tears. 

“I think I-I forgot to say your name and they wouldn’t let me in no matter how many times I asked,” you stuttered out, your feet carrying you back towards the sidewalk, towards Calum, “I love you so much I’m so sorry I’ve been so far away.” 

That’s what you would’ve said to Calum, if you’d only had more time and if you had said no to more events. You would’ve spilled your heart out to him, telling him all the secret words you had only whispered in the darkness of the room when you were sure Calum was asleep and his soft snores confirmed he’d never hear them. And even then, as the static of the ocean makes it hard for you to hear the call connect, the waves crashing onto the shore as the wind picks up doesn’t matter. Nothing matters then because the sharp inhale of air brings them to a dangerous silence, a silence that hurts your ears as the ocean, the waves, thunder, and air all come to an end with a soft whisper. 

“Baby?” Calum’s voice spoke out, the softness of it laced with a pain you wished you could take away. But it was Calum’s voice and that itself felt like a lightning bolt to the chest, a breath of fresh air, and a cold wave to wake them up. 

And that cold bench on Coney Island feels like the warmth of his voice. 

join my taglist: @hoodhoran​ @moonlightcriess @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lowkeyflop  @whoyougonnafind @hemmo1996-5sosvevo @ashtonsunflower @2fangirl4u @multistann @wiiildflowerrr @himbohood @in-superbloom @ashtonsunflower @suchalonelysunflower @killmywildflower @sebsbrokentoe @nicebasscalum

[ignisnocturnalia]

Variks x Reader Relationship HC's

Gonna write you as a new light, apologies my God-slaying siblings

News of the Pyramids over Europa reaches far and wide, as does stasis

With this discovery, relayed by a veteran guardian, also reveals news of the Eliksni who instigated the riot at the Prison of Elders

Being freshly revived, there's not much you can make out of the hostility the other Guardians offer the alien

Curious about him, you make a bold request to be stationed on Europa to "monitor" him

Of course, Zavala denies your request and speaks of how important your guns would be here at home

While you say you understand, you're secretly trying to find your way around it

The Drifter

You heard about his escapades to the frozen planet, reasons unknown, but still able to slip through Vanguard sanctions

As usual, a Guardian siding with the Vanguard approaching you with a purpose usually isn't a good thing

"Somethin' you want, kid?"

His tone is carefully jovial, bordering neutral, but you're not foolish enough to think he actually trusts you

"I need to get to Europa."

He stares at you for a solid minute before sizing you up, an inquisitive glare settling on his face

"What's in it for me?"

Having been on Strike detail for months on end, you've got a sweet heap of glimmer and nothing to use it on; you know he doesn't care a lot for the currency, so you offer up your weapons alongside it

He gives you a lopsided grin as he takes the arsenal, waving off the glimmer and taking you to his ramshackle ship

Unsurprisingly, it's a quiet ride, your own Ghost unsure of your actions

Drifter gives you little warning before transmitting you off the ship, leaving you to fall flat on your ass in the deep snow

Despite being a little upset about this, you finally see your goal, the very Eliskni that brought new questions to the ice planet

Every step you take lands your foot in a fluffy sheet of snow, sounding out with a crunch you had never heard before

Soon enough, you've completely deviated from the reason you came to the planet, completely obsessed with the snow under you

The entire time, Variks has been watching you from the window of his base making a fool of yourself

Distantly, he realizes that he thinks you're cute like that

"Here to help, yes?"

You are COMPLETELY caught off guard, turning quickly on your heel before slipping on the ice and landing flat on your ass

A shadow falls over you as you look up to see the well spoken Eliksni towering over you, and you're immensely thankful for the helmet hiding your blush

He offers you one of his real hands, helping you up and you can't help but notice how his hunched form is hiding a solid 8" from his height

Bringing you inside, you slowly decompress from the outside chill and Variks formally introduces himself

You quickly take note of how each of his sentences are punctuated by insect noises, which are quite fun to hear

You explain your circumstances and even though you can only see his eyes, you can feel the confusion in the air

"You left the Tower.. to see me? Variks does not know who you are; you do not know Variks, yes?"

You're slightly disappointed but not surprised by his suspicious behavior, after seeing how other Guardians harped about him

You then remember something very important

"I don't have a ship to get back."

Your ship still sat in the Hangar, locked down until it was needed for use

Variks stood in front of you quietly before also noticing something unusual about you; your weapons were missing

"Stay. I will contact your Commander."

You immediately spring from your seated position, grabbing at his shoulder before he can reach the comms

He seems to understand your plead

You spend the next few days eating freeze dried food, along with MRE's supplied by another curious party on Europa

Variks doesn't join you until he's finished eating in another room, and the conversations you can strike up are limited

You ask him to teach you Eliksni

He appears shocked at first but eagerly obliges, now showing up to eat with you

It's been a good couple of weeks, and you've got a few phrases and words under your belt

Nothing translates directly, everything is interpreted based on the small word choice

Variks didn't know, but you had spent the last 3 days trying to figure out what the closest thing to "I love you" was in Eliksni

That night, when you both settle down to eat, you eye Variks with a renewed purpose

The fuzz in your brain dissipates as, astoundingly, he moves to take off his mouth cover

You can't help but stare at his revealed face not noticing how he fidgets a bit under your intense stare

"Apologies, (y/n). I did not mean to ruin your appetite."

It was now or never

Moving over to sit next to him, you shyly looked up to see he had yet to put the mask back on, instead looking at you with uncertainty

"Yu ne ze." You are my gift. I love you.

The Eliksni's eyes widen and his body stiffens and you worry for a second that you've made a mistake before he turns fully and leans into your face

"Ma yun ne."

His mandibles are often used to caress your face

You find yourself with gifts and trinkets waiting in your small room in the base

He has you spot check his weapons, testing them out and generally having a blast with them

Other Guardians have seen you on occasion, but very few have approached you to ask questions about the mysterious Eliksni

Variks loves it when you hold his hands, even more so when you pet his face

When you find out he can purr, it's one of the most sought after sounds during your intimate moments, and sometimes he will purr simply to indulge you

Even if you're an undead warrior, Variks still piles furs on to your shoulders to make sure you don't get cold during outings

You have had to fend off assassins, often at the cost of your life

This pushes you to accept the deceptive whispers of the Pyramid, carrying you all the way to the Exo Stranger's den

She reluctantly agrees to teach you because of your inexperience, and although neither of you say anything, you and Drifter make quick eye contact

Variks can smell the Darkness on you and is very disappointed, but he doesn't tip off that he knows

Instead, he uses it as an excuse to put you under house arrest

He catalogues every single symptom you have that could barely begin to resemble a sickness, encouraging you to stay inside until you're better

During the nights, you notice he holds you much more tightly against his body

You apologize for your zealousness regarding his safety

Your lessons in Eliksni continue, and soon enough you can hold your own in small conversations with him

Whenever you or Variks look at each other trying to figure something out, you both always ask about the question in your mind

Whoever is asked ends up sitting in the other's lap, but you've found that it's much more convenient to sit in his own

This exploration leads to daily petting or grooming sessions, giving way for more risque activity to take place

Nsfw 👁👄👁

Variks orients himself as a switch, but you can tell he enjoys being on the bottom a little more if his rapid breaths are anything to go by

Brushing and lightly scratching segments on his exoskeleton are immense green lights for him, especially adding just enough force to push into the seams between his limbs

He's very gentle with his teeth, but the red marks he leaves on your body are generous from the amount of fondling he carries out

He's perfectly fine with both of you being bare, so long as a heat source is nearby

This level of exposure allows you to feel every rumble, trill, and moan straight from his chest and you can't deny just how hot it is to have an entire alien making these noises because of you

He delivers plenty of foreplay, always giving you the option to back out of it

With your size difference, you have to work to move up and down his body when you're both laying down

One of his favorite things is when you drag your teeth along his neck or chest, no real threat of harm but an undeniable thrill for him

He may start slow, but towards the end? You're better off simply letting him take care of you the next day

Fluff

After particularly tedious days, you will pull him into your shared room and pepper his face with kisses

Whenever he wants to nap, he selectively chooses your lap so you can massage his back or his forehead

Following the official announcement of your relationship, Zavala finally submits and gives you full permission to stay stationed on Europa, at the price of lengthy field reports at the beginning of every month

Variks, of course, teases you while writing these papers

He'll correct a mistake you made way back in the paper, laughing quietly in the back of his throat as you fume at the obvious inaccuracy

Besides Vanguard papers, you've taken it upon yourself to make him a new arm

You decide to gift it to him once the Dawning starts

Note: I leave some of my handcanons open ended for more ideas, and yes, I am aware they are more like one shot/hc hybrids, but hey, take it as an invitation to ask me to actually write out the whole thing. I will not write out explicit nsfw unless asked, and if I am asked, it will always be gratuitous and extremely detailed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Finals are eating my timbs tho, so I'm currently attempting to study for these hellspawn

[onlyfreds]

TRP Prologue - Welcome to the Story of Y/N L/N

Summary: To others, being princess is living the dream. To Y/N, it’s a living nightmare. But, that was until the day that she received the letter that changed her life and met the people who love her for her true self.

Warning/s: use of the word “damn”

Series Masterlist

Anybody else would think that being the first-born Princess is literally living the dream.

Let me tell you, it’s not.

“Y/N, put down the book and head downstairs for the Family portrait.” My mother, Queen Ahnica, snapped as she entered my room.

I sighed, placing a bookmark on the page I was currently reading, “Do we honestly have to do this mother? We already did this last year.”

She glared at me, “Do you always have to ask? Now stop this nonsense and give them a smile when we get down. We don’t want the press giving a bad image, don’t we?”

I mentally rolled my eyes as I followed her out of the room, “Yes mother.”

We headed down to the lounge where the royal photographer, my father (King Michael), and my younger sister (Princess Christel) were waiting for us.

I sat down beside my sister, who gave me a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on top of mine.

“Don’t worry.” She reassured, “This’ll all be over in a minute.”

And boy did that minute feel like an hour.

When we had finished, Clark, our chief of staff approached us.

“Your highnesses,” he greeted, giving a small bow, “There is someone wanting to see you.”

My mother and father exchanged a confused look, before we followed Clark into the guest lounge.

Standing there was a middle-aged woman, her hair in a tight bun and a stern but gentle look on her face.

“Good day Mr. and Mrs. L/N, or should I say your highnesses.” She said, giving a curtsy,

My father smiled, “Good day Ma’am. What assistance could we offer you?”

The woman chuckled, “My name is McGonagall and I’m just here to give your daughter, Princess Y/N, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, “Me?”

My sister looked at me excitedly.

The woman nodded, handing me an envelope with the words, Princess Y/N L/N, Montenaro Palace.

Christel nudged my shoulder, “Go on, open it.” She encouraged.

I opened it and pulled out the letter inside.

Dear Mr/Ms. L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I looked up again at the woman, my parents were both stunned into silence, “Am I really going to learn magic?”

McGongall nodded, “Indeed dear, and at the best wizarding school Britain has to offer.”

“But magic isn’t real.” My mother interjected.

McGonagall brought out a thin, stick and with a small wave of her hand, bubbles erupted from it. She then pointed to a teacup on a nearby table, turning it into a teapot.

“So magic is real?” Christel asked in awe.

McGonagall nodded, “It is.”

I turned to my parents as I gave them a pleading look, “Please mum, dad. Can I go.”

My parents exchanged a silent argument before my father said, “You may go. But if this is some sort of scam. You will regret dragging my daughter into this.”

The woman nodded, “You will regret nothing your highness.”

She then turned to me, “I’ll be meeting up with you next week to get your school supplies.”

As soon as she left, my mother turned to my father, “How could you let her? She’s ten! She should be attending finishing school, not some sort of magic school with a bunch of idiots!”

My father sighed, “We’ve taught her everything that she could be taught in finishing school ever since she was five. She’ll be fine.”

--

When September first rolled around, McGonagall brought me to King’s Cross Station and she had instructed me how to board on to Platform 9 and 3/4. Thankfully, I was able to leave before my parents realized that I was wearing “normal” clothes. Because if they did, I would’ve received a full lecture about maintaining an image for the press.

To be honest, jeans and a shirt were a lot more comfortable than a corset and a gown.

At first, I thought it was absurd. But after seeing the serious look on her face, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt and run into the barrier in between Platforms 9 and 10.

I closed my eyes, braced myself for impact. But a cold chill came over me before I heard the chatter of a lively crowd, I opened my eyes, seeing a red and black train with a sign that said, Hogwarts Express.

A hopped onto the train, looking for a spare compartment. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me as the princess, and I wish they wouldn’t.

I found a compartment that was occupied by two identical looking gingers.

I gently knocked on the compartment door, sliding it open a bit before asking, “Excuse me, but is it okay if I sat here? Everywhere else was full.”

One of them nodded, “Of course you may. I’m George by the way.” He said, offering his hand with I shook, giving him a small smile.

He then nodded to the boy sitting opposite of him, “That’s my twin brother, Fred.”

Fred stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up as Fred was snapped out of his trance by George laughing.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, grinning sheepishly.

I giggled, “It’s fine.”

The three of us bonded over the train ride and became fast friends.

Despite the fact that Fred and George were identical twins, I had absolutely no trouble telling them apart, though something about Fred made my heart race a bit faster and the butterflies to rise up to my stomach.

--

It’s been three years since I first met the twins. I was now in my fourth year at Hogwarts.

Before I headed down to the Great Hall for Lunch, I adjusted the necklace I was wearing.

Once I arrived, I immediately slipped into the seat between the twins.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, looking up from her book, “Where did you get that?”

I looked at her, slightly confused, “Where did I get what?”

“That necklace.”

I looked down and realized that I wasn’t able to hide my necklace in my blouse properly.

“My mum gave it to me.” I managed to stutter out.

“Why? What’s wrong with her necklace?” Ginny asked, “It seems alright to me.”

Everyone in our group was watching me and Hermione, obviously interested in the exchange.

“Well, it’s not just any necklace.” Hermione stated, “There’s only one necklace like that.”

Fred chuckled, “Hermione, I’m sure that necklace is one of billions.”

“No.” She insisted, “There is only one necklace like that and it belongs to the first-born princess of Montenaro.”

She stared at me intently, I could almost see the gears turning in her brain. Besides, she was called the “brightest witch of her age” for a reason.

“Oh Godric!” She gasped and I knew she had come to her conclusion, “What was your last name again?” She asked.

I sighed, “L/N.”

“How did I not notice it before?” She said, most likely to herself, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Hermione, not all of us are geniuses here. So, mind catching us up on what exactly makes sense?” Harry joked.

“The reason why Y/N has that necklace, even though it’s super rare, is because she is the first-born princess of Montenaro. She’s part of the L/N family, she’s basically royalty.” Hermione explained excitedly.

The group looked at me for confirmation.

“Is it true love?” Fred asked softly, “You’re a princess?”

I nodded, letting out a quiet, “yes.”

Everyone was dead silent; you would have thought that someone had just dropped dead in front of us.

Angelina was the first one to break the silence, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I sighed, “I didn’t want you guys to treat me differently. Because when your royalty and others see you, all people can think about is: she’s the princess, she’s next in line for the throne. And being princess, I’m never free. Every decision is made for me, every word, every moved has to be supervised because there’s always some sort of protocol that’s against it. You guys love me and care about me not because I’m the princess. But because you see the real me. You don’t see me as ‘Princess Y/N’, you guys see me as just Y/N.”

I felt Fred hold my hand under the table as I continued, “Here, I am able to be myself, without having to worry about the damn rules or the press. That’s why I spend every holiday I could at the Burrow. Because I like being free. Because I’ve felt more at home there that when I’ve spent a portion of my life at the palace. That’s why I kept my identity a secret. I feared that when you guys learned the truth, you would treat me differently.”

Fred and George encased me in a “Weasley twin hug” as the former kissed the top of my head.

“We’ll always love you darling.” He whispered, “Whether you’re royalty or not.”

I smiled, “Really? You’re not mad that I kept all of this a secret?”

George chuckled, “Of course we’re not.”

“Fred’s right. To us, your being a princess is just a title, but what matters is the side of Y/N that you want to show us.” Ginny added.

I laughed as all of them wrapped me in a group hug, “What did I do to deserve friends like you guys.”

Fred laughed, running a hand through my hair, “What did we do to deserve being friends with an actual princess?”

“Way to ruin the moment, Freddie!”

“Did you have to bring it up now?”

The rest of the group chimed as they playfully scolded Fred.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @gostupid-godumb @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff  @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @lunylovelovegood @thefallengodesse (Send a Message/Ask or fill out my taglist form if you want to be added!)

𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@dobbys-leftsock @freddiemylovelg @georgeweasleyswhre @gostupid-godumb @robinisfreddieshoe​ @potters-heart @evieevergreen @fandomscombine @messagesinthesky @the-romanian-is-bae @thefallengodesse

[rocketink]

YOUR EYES TELL

In which you kiss Wonwoo twice at a party while getting over your ex and now you have a huge crush on him while you try to look for your soulmate. Or, your soulmate mark means how many times you’ve kissed them and now you have to ask your exes around while trying to accept there’s no way Wonwoo’s kisses have something to do with you.

Pairing: Wonwoo x gender neutral reader

Genre: angst + fluff

wc: 2.8k (I’m sorry I keep making them so long!!)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and maybe a curse word around there + a very hateful ex that says mean things to y/n :(

notes: credits to tiktok for this type of soulmate!! I found it very interesting haha // mingyu’s minghao’s soulmate aus! I’ve been a little lost I’m sorry, I just need to find inspiration sometimes and I wasn’t feeling like writing:( also!! Shall I continue with soulmate aus or should I start thinking about the gossip girl series?

You still don't know what to do with the number two next to a pair of drawn lips that you can see on top of your head when you watch your reflection in the mirror. This can only mean one thing: you've kissed your soulmate two times. Your mother already warned you, this type of soulmate is almost exclusively from your family, and if your counter says 0 you're in a risky position because you don't feel like kissing random people in any place of their body until you find your other half. But when the day comes and your counter already has the number two in it, you feel nothing but relief. Initially, of course, because that could only meet one thing: you have already kissed that person, a low number of times.

You want to tear your hair apart before dialing Seungkwan. He would either make a big deal out of it or be completely chill and transparent. You don't know if you like what he could tell you, but you decide to take the risk.

"I've got some big news," you say right when he picks up.

"Oh really? Me too!" He seems happy today, that's good.

"On the count to three, we'll say what we have to say, okay?" Seungkwan hums in approval and you sigh.

"I got my soulmate mark today,"

"Vernon has finally asked someone out... WAIT, WHAT?"

"It's so good that Vernon has finally risked his life asking someone out! He still has all the parts of his body doesn't he?"

"Vernon's unlucky love life is not important now, tell me everything about your mark!"

So you tell him, knowing you can explain yourself to the fullest because Seungkwan is fond of details. You tell him how you almost fainted this morning, how glad you are for not having to kiss some stranger's ass, how unsure you are of your future right now and how you can't start the list of how many people you've kissed on your own.

"Let's make a list together, then!" Seungkwan's too giddy about this, he's teasing you, and you know it, "where should we start?"

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Wait, really?"

"Yep, the first year of high school was wild, not much kissing but it was there. Then there's Im Changkyun, but we were still too young so we didn't kiss much, we mainly held hands. And then there's..."

"Kyungho..." Seungkwan whispers his name as if it was forbidden, and you almost laugh at your friend's hatred towards your latest ex.

"Seungkwan, breaking up with someone because you are not compatible is not a bad thing."

"It's not. Doing it over a text message and two weeks after you started dating and then blocking you is."

"Yeah, right." Seungkwan's right, Kyungho was an asshole to you, he behaved like a kid when you were acquaintances and it didn't change when you began dating. Throughout your two weeks of relationship, you saw him like five times because he barely made time for you. You can't remember how many times you've kissed him, but you wouldn't be surprised if only two times happened.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" You close your eyes. This is what you didn't want Seungkwan to remind you.

"Jeon Wonwoo," You say his name in a whisper and you're afraid Seungkwan hasn't even heard you, but he always does. "What happened doesn't count, he... is not available now."

"Y/n, the universe does not care if making out with Wonwoo one night counts or not, or if he's available or not. It happened, there's a possibility, it's there."

Seungkwan is, once again, right, but you don't want to be reminded of that night, or else your feeling for Wonwoo will hurt more than they do now.

It happened the night Kyungho broke up with you. Your feeling for Kyungho weren't the big thing, but you did spend your time and effort trying to make it work. You felt tired of giving and not receiving and ashamed of him being the one to break up with you and not the other way around. Seungkwan said Mingyu was going to a party with a few friends and he invited the golden trio (you, Vernon, Seungkwan) and he didn't let you complain.

You met Jeon Wonwoo at the party. You had seen him around campus a few times, in Mingyu's group of friends, he was incredibly eye-catching. That night, Mingyu introduced both of you properly and you don't know how you started talking. You don't remember much of that night in general, your brain preferred to forget all the traumatic experience of the breakup as the shots you took with Wonwoo kicked in (not many, but you were tired and they hit hard). What you do remember is pouring out your heart to a handsome stranger, him listening to you with beautiful eyes and speaking careful words. You remember kissing him first and Wonwoo following your lead. You remember him stopping you and you almost wanting to cry as you felt his touch all over your face.

"You just want revenge, Y/n. I can't give you that," you closed your eyes, you just wanted to sleep for a while. "Come to me when your head and your heart are completely sobered. Meanwhile, we can be friends." You nodded, a little ashamed. He gave you a sweet peck on the lips and a tight hug. When you got home and thought of what had happened that night, you knew your heart didn't need Kyungho anymore, your heart needed Jeon Wonwoo.

A few daws later, Wonwoo was seen around the halls with a beautiful girl by his side, too close to him, wishing for the same lips to kiss her as you had been kissed. You know from Mingyu that they lasted for two weeks, Wonwoo broke up with the girl, but Wonwoo told you he never liked break-ups. He must be feeling sad.

It's been two weeks ever since, and you are just like you were the first day.

"So your plan is talking to each boy, one by one?" Seungkwan raises his eyebrow. He's judging you.

"Yep, do you have anything better?"

"Are you asking if I have a plan that might not damage your integrity? I'm afraid I don't."

"Then shut up, when the time to find your soulmate gets to you I might not help you." He rolls his eyes and looks at the list you've made with the four names."

"And how are you going to approach them? Do you even know where they are?"

"Jungkook is friends with Mingyu, I'll try to talk to him without Mingyu knowing... Somehow. I still follow Changkyun on Instagram, that won't be hard. The only hard one is Kyungho, I don't know anything about him, thank God"

"And Wonwoo is the most approachable one, isn't he? Why don't you talk to him first?"

"No damaging my integrity is what we are looking for, remember?"

"I still don't understand why you don't want to talk to him. He is a nice guy, he'll be very chill about anything."

You almost tell Seungkwan that that's the problem. That night shouldn't have happened, not when you were heartbroken and Wonwoo was into someone else. Maybe that's the thing that hurt you, Wonwoo liking someone else and being heartbroken because of the break-up.

"I'd better talk to Changkyun now, the sooner the better, right?"

Talking to Changkyun was both a victory and a loss. He was a good friend of yours when you were younger and it's been a lot since you last talked to him. He wasn't weirded out by the sudden soulmate topic and instead he spoke freely about it, you suddenly remember how he had always been an open-minded guy. However, he had already found his soulmate.

You move on to the next person on your list almost immediately. Talking to Jeon Jungkook without Mingyu knowing was harder than you thought it would, mainly because you know nothing about him ever since he moved a few years ago, and you can't find him on Instagram or twitter. You know the only thing you can do is ask Mingyu directly, so you get Seungkwan to do it for you.

"Why do you want Jungkook's number?" Seungkwan looks at you after Mingyu pops out the question, you expected him to just give it to you, he is not the type to get into someone's business. He must be really curious.

"Just... Woozi told me... he's looking for a singer for his new song... Yeah... that,"

"Aren't you and Dokyeom his singers?"

Seungkwan looks uneasy. He is too honest, he doesn't like lying. He keeps on looking and you and you decide to help him help you because this is not looking good.

"You know how stressed he's being lately, Mingyu," You feel Mingyu's, Seungkwan's, and Wonwoo's eyes on you, "He thinks that trying a new voice will help him,"

"Then why isn't he asking me himself?"

"Mingyu, just give them Jungkook's number, it's not that deep," Wonwoo steps in "Excuse him, ever since he found his soulmate he is not as nice as he was."

Mingyu complies as his hyung tells him and you feel your heartbeat rising. You don't talk to Wonwoo a lot after that night so listening to his voice feels like reliving the events. Especially when his eyes don't leave yours, almost as if saying 'I know you're lying'. That night, he sends you a text

Wonwoo: Have fun with Jeon Wonwoo is typing... Wonwoo is on line

Whatever he was writing, you'll never know. You couldn't answer the text either

You don't know what's funnier, Kyungho trying to delete himself from your life or you trying to locate him back. Jungkook was not your soulmate. He actually gave up his soulmate life after a very tragic story with his supposed-to-be soulmate and now he dedicates his life to art, in any of the ways. It was a sad story, you cried like a baby at your situation and then at his while he laughed softly and told you soft thing like he always did. It was gratificating.

But now, your list only points towards one direction, and that is Kyungho's old working place, a café near some beautiful parks, and an outdoor basketball court Kyungho himself used to play in. He did a lot of things but being a good boyfriend or friend, actually.

You feel scared for a second 'will he be there?', 'How will he react?' 'What if he's my soulmate?' You stopped in your tracks. You didn't want to have such an awful person as a boyfriend. Great, another fear added to your list! But when you find the guts to come inside the café and he is right there, wearing the same clothes and same hairstyle he always had, you feel like ending all this as soon as possible.

His gaze changes when he recognizes you, surprised.

"Hi, Kyungho. I know you don't want to see me, but can we talk?"

"My shift ends in ten," he speaks after a few seconds "wait for me outside"

You do as he asks. For a second, you think he might run away through the back door or something, but he complies and meets you outside the café.

"What are you doing here?" Straight to the point, as he's always done.

You roll your eyes and he keeps a straight face.

"Have you found your soulmate?"

He laughs as if you had told the funniest joke.

"What now, baby? You want me as your soulmate so bad?" You want to slap him in the face.

"Just answer my damn question."

"Why do you think I left?" Your eyes go wide. Does this mean that he... You almost feel like crying, why does your soulmate have to be him and not Wonwoo? You shouldn't have, but you must admit you had gotten your hopes up for a second. "I'm joking! You should have seen your face!"

"So... No soulmate then?" You ask, pretending to find his joke boring when you're just furious.

"No, no soulmate Y/n. I feel nothing when it comes to you." Your hand moves faster than you think, and you surprise yourself when he grabs your wrist before your hand can reach his face.

"Nice try, Y/n. Maybe try again?"

"What if I do it for them?" You could recognize that voice everywhere. Kyungho turns around and there he is, Jeon Wonwoo. He is so close to Kyungho it's almost comical: Wonwoo is a bit taller, so Kyungho looks like a defenseless animal. "I play basketball nearby, you know? I wouldn't mind using you like a ball."

Kyungho is going to make another comment, you know that, but Wonwoo doesn't let him.

"Let's go, Y/n. We have better things to do." Wonwoo puts his hands in his pockets and begins to walk and you follow him, without looking back at a very scared Kyungho.

"Do you always go around asking exes if they've found their soulmates?" He asks and you blush.

"Not really"

"I'm guessing it was not just some random thought?"

You sigh, you didn't want to have this conversation.

"No. My soulmate mark has appeared and I had to do something about it."

"Oh, how random, mine has appeared too." You want to ask him directly about it, but you can't find your voice. "It's a number, what about yours?"

"A number too"

"That's nice!" He smiles sweetly, your heart is about to burst "Which number?"

"Two"

"Oh." He looks lost in thought for a second "Well, at least it's not Kyungho"

"Yeah, I don't even know why I dated him"

"I'm wondering the same thing. You deserve so much better," how can he be so chill about all this? All you can think is how he is the last person on your list.

"Jeon isn't your soulmate either." It wasn't a question, he was just confirming it.

"How do you know... about that?"

"I told you, Mingyu is not as nice as he was. He likes to gossip now, with his soulmate. Jungkook told him how he wished you found a soulmate who treated you nicely and how comforting he found your chic-chat"

That guy...

"I guess the universe thought I deserve something else, but what could be better than Jungkook?" You joke.

"Maybe try with another Jeon?" He chuckles when you don't answer him.

Does he know...?

"Aren't you going to ask me what my number is?" He knows.

"What is your number, Wonwoo?"

"Ten." What? If Wonwoo isn't your soulmate then... You will never recover from this low blow. "You seem surprised."

"I just- I thought that maybe... You know since that night... And I might be wrong but I'm sure I've never kissed anyone else apart from my exes and you... I'm sorry, I must have made this uncomfortable."

"Oh no, absolutely not" He is trying his best to stay calm, but you can tell he's a little nervous "so your soulmate mark is how many times you've kissed them?"

"Yeah"

"Mine too" Could this be possible? That much of a coincidence?

"That's... Curious, I think"

"It is." He is looking at you again with that look, the one that says 'I know everything about you even before you do' but this time you catch up.

"You think that we..."

"There's only one way to try."

When his lips meet yours just like they did that night, you find the same comforting feeling. It's like being pulled, like magnets. You feel safe.

And then you remember something you had forgotten about that night. You were feeling sad and tired, but Wonwoo's presence made everything better, your eyes were closed. You had kissed Wonwoo for the first time but then he cut you off and told you to come back when you were sober (but you were sober!). You thought he was caressing your face slowly with his fingers, trying to comfort you, but he actually gave you a kiss.

One on your right cheek, then another one on your left, then another one at the tip of your nose. His lips moved your jaw and placed a small kiss there, then on your chin and another one very close to your mouth and finally he planted a kiss on your forehead and you opened your eyes. He then kissed the back of your hand which made both of you laugh.

It is true that you kissed him two times, and it is true that he kissed you ten.

When you parted, a small eleven was placed on top of his head with a pair of drawn lips just like yours.

"I see a three there, soulmate." He pointed to the top of your head.

"And I see an eleven there, soulmate." You do the same thing he did. He hugs you "I'm so glad it's you, Wonwoo. You don't know how confused I was, I thought you were broken-hearted because of a break-up!"

"You just made that up by yourself! You should have asked me first instead of Jungkook or Kyungho."

"I know. I was scared you would end up being my soulmate but you wouldn't like me back"

"Y/n, I'm head over heels for you." You smile and he leans closer "You know what? I hate odd numbers."

"Me too."

He kisses you one more time.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Special shoutout for @perseusannabeth @thewayshedreamed and @arin1030 for blessing my year with their amazing one shots/multi chapter updates even though 2021 has barely began. Your beautiful writing made me take a break from frying my brain with studying.

So here it’s, Part Six. Enjoy!

In which she makes a friend, Part Six

“Arms up. Feet apart” Nesta followed his instruction, getting in position “I want you to focus all your power in your fists. Redirect the flow to them.”

It was not Cassian’s voice who Nesta heard. No, it was the voice of the Lord of Bloodshed. Of the Commander of the Illyrian Armies.

They had been trying for an hour, maybe two. Today was the second time in the week since they’d first started training together that Cassian was trying to teach Nesta how to maintain a constant flow of her powers. To not let her spend herself with one killing blow like she had done with Hybern.

It was hard. It was impossible.

Nesta had no ideia of what she was doing. She couldn’t tame the beast inside her to behave and do what she wanted to. She felt stupid while silently willing her fists to gather that blinding light she had fired at Hybern or even the silver flames that appeared when she lost control.

Nothing had happened in two days.

Not to mention she also had to think about her fighting stance, balance, Cassian counting out loud while she punched, all the while keeping her grip on her power.

And she had not been able to confront Cassian about the troubles at camp that he was keeping from her. That only made her more annoyed and restless.

“Focus Nesta” Nesta snapped back to attention at his words “Your figure is excellent but your mind is far away. If you get distracted on the battlefield you can get hurt. Or worse, killed”

“I am paying attention. If you could only be more precise about what exactly I’m supposed to be doing—”

Cassian laughed, which only served to ignite that fire that seemed to roar whenever they were in the same room.

“My powers are totally different from yours sweetheart. You have an enormous amount of it too, from the little I’ve seen” his hazel eyes scanned her, as if he could see beneath her skin and pinpoint where her power resided inside of her “But you lack control”

“Aren’t you supposed to be some legendary warrior? With seven siphons and all that” she spat back, wanting to jab him at his poor job at teaching her, but she only earned a feline smile back.

“Have you been paying attention to me Nes? I’m flattered” he placed a hand on his chest, feigning surprise.

Nesta gritted her teeth. Most of the time, she didn’t know whether to throttle him or kiss him. Sometimes both.

“Whatever you’re doing right now sweetheart, keep it up” Cassian said, amazement lacing his words.

Nesta raised her fists, which had fallen beside her body during her spat with Cassian, and she realised that she had done it. The silver flames that sometimes appeared were dancing along her hands, turning the air around them hot, although they did not burn her.

Nesta allowed herself to feel proud. She had done it. She could feel her power flowing all through her body down to her hands.

Raising her fists, Nesta got into position like Cassian had taught her.

And she punched him.

Cassian allowed her flaming fist to get dangerously close to his face before he dodged it, sidestepping. She aimed again. And again. Until they were dancing a dangerous dance, Cassian blocking and avoiding her fists, while Nesta concentrated in keeping the flames alive and remembering the correct steps.

She thought she had finally caught him, feigning a punch towards his face while actually aiming at his gut — a move Cassian had recently showed her — when he took her arm in an arm lock, pulling her body flush towards his.

“That was good” he breathless said, so close Nesta could see the green in his eyes “But you still are too slow in the transition. And you look at where you want to hit me. That’s what gave you away”

Nesta opened her mouth the retort, but no sound came out. She got conscious of how close they were. Of how Cassian didn’t seem bothered by her flaming fists.

She didn’t know whether she was feeling hot due to the exercise, the flames or the proximity with him.

“You are always surprising me, you know that?” Cassian murmured, his breath sending chills down her spine.

She was burning. She couldn’t breath or think, her thoughts running fast and incoherently around her head. She could only look at him.

She wanted to pull him closer.

She wanted to push him away.

She wanted to kiss him.

She wanted to scream at him for making her feel this way.

Nesta wanted and wanted and felt everything too deeply. His body against hers. His breath, mingling with hers. His grip on her army getting loose. His deep hazel eyes like molten chocolate, his pupils dilating and his gaze flicking from her eyes to her mouth and—

A bird’s cry shook Nesta out of her trance, and she quickly put some distance between her and Cassian, her flames flicking out.

Dangerous. It was dangerous to allow herself to get close to him. To let him slip between the bars in which she caged her heart.

“I think that’s enough for today” Cassian said, nervously clearing his throat “You— Are you going to train with me and Kaelin today?”

Nesta trained with Cassian everyday in the mornings, Kaelin joining then in the afternoons after her own training was done. Cassian had proposed to Nesta that she practice in the afternoon only three times a week for now. He said it was best not to demand so much of her body in the beginning.

But he always asked her if she would join then or not. Even if it was the day all three of them were supposed to train together.

“I’m fine” Nesta managed to say, grateful that her voice did not give away how she was feeling “I’ll be here”

Cassian only nodded, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. If Nesta didn’t know any better, she’d think he was just as shaken as her.

“Azriel...Azriel is coming to Windhaven tomorrow” Cassian blurted out, before Nesta could excuse herself.

Nesta only raised an eyebrow in question, as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’

“He’s going to stay here four days, maybe a week. We have some... some matters to discuss”

“Matters about the Illyrians rebelling?” she asked, taking him by surprise.

“How—”

“Just because you tell me nothing it does not means nobody else does” she snapped.

“It has nothing to do with you” he snarled and Nesta raised her chin in defiance.

“I think it does if I live here now”

“I didn’t want you here”

Nesta felt as if she had been punched in the gut. She felt that spark that had been slowly coming back to life vanish, turning into cinders.

As if it never was there.

“Wait, I— I didn’t mean it like that” Cassian desperately said, seeing the change in her mood.

“Of course you did” she snorted “I’m no more of a burden to you than I was to my sister. I understand”

“No, Nesta it’s not that” he ran his hand through his hair, freeing it from the bun that held it “Please believe me”

Nesta only remained quiet, eyeing him. Trying to decide if he spoke the truth or was pitying her.

“You have suffered enough. You have given enough. You don’t need the weight of another war on your shoulders. I—” he took a sharp breath “I cannot bear to see you go through it all again. I thought it was best for you to not know about it”

“It was not your decision to make!” she spat at him “You should have thought about that before banishing me here!”

“I told Feyre this was a stupid ideia! But she was desperate!! She blames herself for all the dangers you and Elain went through and she had no ideia what to do!!”

They were both screaming now, each one louder then the other.

“Sending you to the human side was off limits given the human queens! The other courts are civil at best with the Night Court! And I doubt you would want to be sent to another court were you knew no one and they were all wary of you” he laughed in disbelief “At least here I could— you would know someone”

“It was not her decision to make” Nesta said, her powers raging inside of her, all control from a few moments ago gone.

“I know that. I can—” he shook his head, trying to find the right words “I can try to call in a few favours. Maybe Helion...the Day Court is beautiful and his library even more spectacular. Or Dawn. They’re neutral ground and you seemed to like the last time we were there. For sure not Winter. I think you’ve had enough of this dreadful weather”

Cassian started to mumble to himself, trying to come up with a solution.

“Would not your High Lady need to approve it?” poison filled Nesta’s word, angry of how she had been banished by her youngest sister before “Don’t you report back to her about me?”

“She only asks how you are doing. If you’re eating. If you came out of your room. And I don’t say nothing else besides it. Feyre worries. She feels guilty of what she did” his eyes meet hers “She would not have to know. You could go, and I would only say that you were well when she asked. You don’t need to stay here Nesta. I won’t be your jailer. I have already failed you enough”

And Nesta knew — be it due to the raw emotion in Cassian’s voice, the way he looked so distraught, his hazel eyes pleading at her — she knew he was telling the truth. That he would get her out of Illyria. Would let her have her way.

She was tempted to say yes.

To say yes and run far far away from the eyes that seemed to judge and burn and condemn her, all the way from Velaris.

But then she thought of Kaelin. She thought of all the healers, the females and children at camp.

If a civil war was to break out, who would defend them? Who would make sure they’d not be in the middle of the cross fire? Who would make sure Kaelin was not found out?

And Nesta made her decision.

“I will stay” she declared, making Cassian look at her in surprise.

“But I have a condition” she added “You will not hide anything else from me. You will tell me what’s happening here. What’s happening with the queens. With the other courts. I won’t stay in the dark any longer.”

“I promise you Nesta Archeron,” he said, his voice full of emotion “I will tell you even the Mother’ secrets if you want to”

~•~

Nesta spent the rest of the day lost in thought. Her conversation with Cassian — or screaming match to put it more truthfully — had opened some old wounds. Wounds she had thought to be already closed.

How foolish had she been.

Her quietness did not go unnoticed. Jacira was more talkative than usual, trying to cheer Nesta up and make her come out of her shell by any means, not caring if Esmée reprimanded her. But even the head healer took notice of Nesta’s mood.

“We don’t have much work today. You can deliver this tonic for me and then retire for the day” Esmée had said, a tad softer than usual “Now shoo! This won’t be delivered if you stay here looking at me”

And so Nesta found herself standing in the small craftsman center of the camp, walking towards a wooden building, its glass window identifying it as a clothier. The bell above the leaded-glass door tinkled as Nesta entered, warning of her presence.

“The shop is closed” a sharp voice said “Come back later”

Nesta looked at the female behind the polished counter. She had dark hair, which was braided in a style similar to the one Nesta favoured, offering a clean view of her sharp brown eyes. She wore a simple green dress, and Nesta noticed the female’s wings. The scars on them.

“I didn’t come to buy anything” Nesta walked towards the counter, placing down the package containing the small vial “I came to deliver this. I take you ordered this from Esmée?”

The female nodded, taking the package.

“So you’re the High Fae who’s working alongside the healers now” Emerie scanned Nesta, eyeing her pointed ears.

“What of it” she replied, straightening her spine, a mask of cold boredom on her face.

“Nothing” Emerie raised her chin, her posture matching Nesta’s “No wonder you decided to help them. They’re nice, and even Esmée’s presence is more pleasant than staying all day alone”

Nesta tried to calm down the fire inside of her, raging at the implication. She didn’t need her powers getting out of control here, destroying the store and hurting the female.

“Males are such emotionless creatures, don’t you agree? ” she added, waiting for a reaction back “I hope you gave the Commander hell for leaving you by yourself like that”

“He’s not— we’re not a couple” was Nesta’s only reply.

Emerie intrigued her. She was not like the other females Nesta had meet. She could recognise the fire inside of her, meeting Nesta’s gaze without fear.

She reminded Nesta of how she had once been. Before the war. Before she was Made.

“You aren’t?” Emerie raised an eyebrow, shrugging “Either way, I for one know I wouldn’t leave a guest unattended for such period.”

Nesta was excused from answering when the door opened, a familiar voice greeting them.

“Emerie, I finished with my deliveries, is there anything else I—” Kaelin stopped mid sentence, seeing the scene before her eyes.

“Kaelin, what are you doing here?” Nesta asked, surprised to see the girl.

“I do deliveries for Emerie sometimes. To the families who live too far or are too poor” the young girl stretched her wings a bit, shaking off the cold “Esmée let you go earlier today”

“She asked me to deliver something and call it a day” she inclined her head towards Emerie.

“Well, it’s a good thing then! You can stay for tea with me and Emerie!”

Nesta felt her cheeks redden.

“Kaelin, you can’t just invite me to someone else’s house!” she hissed, shocked at Kaelin’s boldness, her old manners classes coming to mind.

“I’m not bothered” Emerie said, coming from behind the counter “I can have some kind of courtesy towards those who I want to”

Kaelin grinned and opened a side door with a staircase — which lead to Emerie’s home in the upper floor of the shop — already moving up.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to” Emerie added, seeing Nesta hesitate “Kaelin tends to act before he thinks. But I know he’s a good kid, so I won’t be offended if you choose to go back to your General’s home”

Nesta thought about saying how Cassian was not her General. How his home was not hers. How she had a thousand thoughts screaming in her mind. How her powers were singing beneath her veins and how afraid she was of losing control.

But she was even more curious about Emerie, a female who did not bow like the others, the sole owner of a shop in such a place as Illyria.

“I hope you have biscuits” she choose to say instead, feeling hungry for the first time in long while, the thought of eating not scaring her in the least.

•

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{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list}

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter three: koreatown

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 3.4K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: so...as i’m turning this PWP into a P “with” P i actually had to add some plot lol. i really hope you guys like the direction this story is taking and i’m starting to feel a bit more confident about how it’s going to end. but please let me know what you think, hearing from you guys makes my day. i’d love to know if you think the plot is making any sense.  i mean, as much sense as a story about jungkook as a super hot criminal robber on the run with a federal agent lover could possibly make, ya know?

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

A postcard comes in the mail seven weeks after San Juan.

Colorful block letters urge you to VISIT BELIZE over decorative shots of the country’s beautiful beaches and most visited spots.

The only thing that appears to be written on the card is your address. You examine it dozens of times, looking from front to back for any other marking. You come up empty.

There is one unusual thing you notice, though.  

The postmark.  

Clearly written at the top: Los Angeles 90005.

There’s no way this card was mailed out of Belize and there’s very little chance Jungkook managed to get back inside the country without setting off a thousand alerts on your phone.  

You assume he must have routed it through his parents.

You’ve tried so damned hard these past few weeks not to think about what happened in Puerto Rico.  You’ve tried to forget the full-body shock you experienced when he asked you to play along with his absurd fantasy.  You tell yourself there’s no way he could possibly believe that you would go on the run with him.  

But then you remember the look on his face.

Seeing this postcard -- holding it in your hands -- makes San Juan real again. It’s not some bizarre fever dream you had or some figment of your imagination.  The emotions it dredges up are uncomfortable to confront. 

Is he in trouble? Is he asking for help? What are you supposed to do with this?

Logically, you know there’s nothing you can do.  

So you slip the card into your bedside drawer and file the information away in that part of your brain that seems to now be dedicated to thinking about Jungkook Jeon full-time. 

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

Over the next few weeks, two more cards arrive.

Guatemala.

Honduras.

That fake passport Jungkook apparently managed to get his hands on seems to be getting a workout.

Each time a new card comes in the mail -- always postmarked out of LA, the knot in your stomach seems to loosen.  He’s still going. He’s not locked away somewhere.  

Not yet, anyway.

You try to remind yourself that he’s smart -- really, really smart. He has a knack for staying under the radar. His Spanish is probably pretty decent at this point. He’s making or finding enough money to stay on the move.

Maybe he’s got a plan. Maybe he’s figured something out.

But it’s hard to keep the anxiety at bay. You watch your phone like a hawk, waiting to see an email or text saying he’s been caught.  You spend every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

So the cards go into your drawer -- and you get up and get dressed and go into the office every day like you’re not secretly rooting for the criminal so many of your colleagues are looking for.

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

The other shoe finally drops when you bump into Agent Novak in the cafeteria one afternoon. 

Novak is one of those guys who looks like he’s straight out of central casting on a crime show.  He has the appearance of a boxy, overgrown boy.  Always dressed in a muted grey suit, always sporting a military-grade short haircut.  The only thing that stands out on his completely non-descript face is his big mouth.

And right now you should be very glad for his big, fat mouth.

“You hear about your boy Jeon?” he asks, while piling his plate high with mac and cheese.  The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end for a moment at the mere mention of Jungkook’s name.

You move down the buffet line next to Novak slowly, the sudden adrenaline rush making your limbs feel weak and loose.

“Jeon?” you ask with feigned nonchalance. “Courthouse Houdini?”

“That’s the one,” Novak says, dropping two huge pieces of fried chicken onto his plate.  “My buddy in the Marshals says they’re pretty close to bringing that asshole in,” he continues, adding some crinkle fries into the mix for good measure.

God, you hope he doesn’t have a heart attack before you get all the information you need. 

He needs a trough, not a plate.

“Well, it’s about time,” you reply carefully and you hope it sounds convincing.   “Where?”

“Central America,” he says, reaching down to his plate to start picking off the crinkle fries one-by-one.  “Guatemala or some shit.”

A chill runs up your spine when you think about those postcards in your drawer. 

They’re close. 

They could be there right now.  

He could be in handcuffs again right now.

“Hope they have better luck than I did keeping him nailed down,” you say, willing your voice and face to stay even.

“Oh trust me,” he says, talking around a mouthful of crinkle fry. “They’re going to teach that motherfucker a lesson when they get their hands on him.  He won’t be able to walk, much less run.”

You swallow against the bile rising in your throat.

“That’s what he gets, right?”

Novak nods, grabbing for a chicken finger. You cringe when he shoves it into his mouth. Tiny pieces of the breading stick to his lips and you fight the urge to gag. 

God, has he always been such a pig?

“Damn straight.”

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

You circle the block three times before you feel comfortable enough to park.  

The neighborhood is quiet and clean and solidly middle-class.  The house you are looking for is neat and well-kept, lawn trimmed and flower beds nicely maintained. It looks like a nice place to live.

You cut the ignition and take a deep breath.

You have to remind yourself that Jungkook is not Al fucking Capone and there’s no reason for the government to have around-the-clock surveillance on his family home.  You have to maintain a level head even under this insane set of circumstances.

You try not to think about how furious he would probably be if he knew you were here right now.  

Maybe someday he’ll understand why you’re doing this.

Maybe someday you’ll understand why you’re doing this.

You’d worked late at the office, preferring to make this move when the sun went down.  You’re glad for the cover of darkness when you step out of your car and knock on the front door at the Jeon family home.

“Can I help you?” 

You take a deep breath when Mr. Jeon opens the front door. He has the same kind, handsome face as Jungkook, only his is weathered with age and worry.  

“Mr. Jeon, I need to speak with you about your son.”

His eyes widen for a moment. He seems to pull back and assess the way you’re dressed, figures out you’re one of those government-types.

“I’ve already said everything I have to say on the matter,” he says shortly, moving to shut the door.

“Wait, please,” you say urgently.  “I’m trying to help him, I swear. I can explain if you let me in.”

He stops for a moment, levels you with a critical look.

“I think he’s in trouble,” you say quietly.

Mr. Jeon sighs heavily before opening the door wide and letting you in.  

“I’m sorry to turn up at your home like this,” you say, moving immediately across the living room to close the blinds on all the street-facing windows.  “But I’m not sure how much time I have.”

He watches in total silence but you can see he’s unnerved.

“I’m just...being cautious,” you explain, and he nods.

Once you’re satisfied no one can see inside, you start to calm down a bit.  Mr. Jeon offers you a seat on the living room couch.

“This is a very strange situation, I know,” you admit. 

He remains mute and still, waiting for you to cough up some kind of explanation. 

“Do you know who I am?” you ask.

“No.”

His response is clipped and severe and you really can’t blame him.

“Okay,” you say, blowing out a breath. “Yes, I am with the FBI. But I --” you pause for a moment, grasping for a way to explain this bizarre situation. “ -- I know Jungkook.  Personally.”

Intimately. Biblically, as they say.

“Okay,” he says cautiously.

“I need you to get in touch with him because I think he’s going to be arrested. Soon.”

Mr. Jeon rubs a hand across the back of his neck.

“I don’t know where he is.  And I can’t get in touch with him,” he admits.  “He doesn’t want us to know where he is because then you people will have something to hold over us.”

You wince at the venom in that statement.

A faint voice from another room calls out.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Mr. Jeon says. 

He leaves you alone on the couch in the family room.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress pants as you take a look around.  The decor is soft and welcoming, with a few nods to Korea in the artwork on the walls.  It looks like a nice place to grow up, you think. The thought helps calm you.

He reappears after a minute.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says apologetically.  “I would really prefer my wife not know about this. This situation has already caused her a lot of pain.”

“Of course -- I understand,” you say quietly. “So you have no way to contact him?”

“No.  Not directly.”

“Then I need to know how you contact him indirectly.  He’s been sending me postcards somehow. Do you know who could be sending me postcards from him?”

His face falls a bit.

“I shouldn’t say.  I’m not trying to get anyone else in trouble.”

You lean forward a bit, fix him with a look that you hope conveys just how sincere you are about trying to help.

“I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble, either. But if you don’t give me that name, I promise you Jungkook will be. Please.”

Mr. Jeon sighs.

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

You pull the brim of your baseball cap low over your eyes and adjust your sunglasses before walking into Min’s Market.

The small, family-owned store is in one of Koreatown’s most populated neighborhoods. You keep your head low as you dodge people on the sidewalk to make your way inside. An electronic chime sounds when you walk in.

The only thing you see in your quick glance around the store is a young man behind the register. He stands when you make eye contact and you take that as the go-ahead to approach.

He’s not a large guy by any means, but he definitely gives off a do not fuck with me vibe.  You straighten your spine and get right to the point.

“Are you Yoongi?”

“Nope.”

He’s lying, of course.  His eyes are narrowed at you beneath long black fringe bangs and you can’t blame his skepticism given the giant sunglasses and the hat and the workout clothes you’re hiding under.  You look like you’re trying way too hard not to be noticed.

“I need to talk to you about Jungkook,” you say anyway.

“Never heard of him.”

Okay, not entirely unexpected.  You’d come prepared for the possibility that he wouldn’t want to play ball.

You reach into your bag and pull out the postcards, drop them on the counter in front of him.

“You’ve been sending me these,” you say firmly. “And we need to talk.”

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

Yoongi takes you to the tiny office tucked into the back of Min’s Market.  The space is cluttered with invoices and notes written in Hangul.  There’s a monitor display where he can watch the surveillance cameras at the front of the store.

He motions for you to take a seat on the one small chair he has and opts to lean against the office desk, arms crossed.

“So you’re Carver Street, huh?”

You take your sunglasses off so you can look him in the eye.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re… a Fed.”

He delivers that line with a cynical twist to his mouth that makes you feel self-conscious.

“Yeah.”

“Shit’s wild,” he says, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, wild,” you exhale nervously. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to be involved here any more than you already are, so I’ll just come out with it,” you say.  “I need to get in touch with Jungkook.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.  

“Look, I don’t know you, okay? Maybe he does, but I don’t.  And I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I’m not going to give you that information.”

You rub at the corners of your temples with your fingers.

“You know he’s been reaching out to me. You know he trusts me.”

Yoongi snickers.

“We haven’t exactly had the chance to catch up over beers since this whole mess started.  The only thing I know for sure is that he wants you to get those postcards,” he says.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you concede.  “I’m pretty sure he’s in Honduras right now.  And I need you to reach him as fast as you can. Because they are closing in on him and I don’t know how long he’s got.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“Okay.  I’ll tell him.”

“How fast can you reach him?”

“Look, I said I’ll tell him, okay?”

You tell yourself to relax before you scare Yoongi off entirely.  It looks like his patience with you is already worn thin.

“Okay.  Please tell him to try to get to Nicaragua,” you say, careful to keep the agitation from creeping back into your voice.  “They have a history of denying extradition requests to the U.S.  It could buy us some time to figure out what to do.”

“Us?” 

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a barely-concealed look of astonishment. You feel the blush that spreads across your face all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Him,” you correct yourself awkwardly, “it could buy him some time to figure out what to do.”

He grabs a pen and scribbles on a sheet of paper on the desk.

“Nicaragua, okay. Got it.”

“And please -- if you can -- get him this,” you say, handing Yoongi your own slip of paper with a number written on it.  “It’s a burner.  In case he needs to get in touch.”

Yoongi takes the number from you and nods.

“Alright.”

You stand to leave, knowing you’ve taken as much of his time as you’re allowed.  

“One more thing and I promise you’ll never hear from me again,” you say, pointing to the monitor inside the office.

“Delete that,” you say. “Please.”

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

You dig around in your cabinet until you find the wine glass you’re looking for -- the huge one -- and then you reach into the fridge for what’s left of your Sauvignon Blanc and dump it into that glass.

Nothing to do now but hope he gets the message in time.  

Nothing to do now but watch your work phone and see if he’s been arrested.

Nothing to do now but watch your burner phone to see if he’s contacted you.

It’s time to admit your nerves are shot.  Weeks of heightened anxiety are taking its toll and the past two days have felt like a marathon.  

You run a bath -- make sure the water is close to painfully hot before you sink into the tub.  Your body feels exhausted but your mind is still racing like you’ve shotgunned a cup of coffee.  

You lean your head back against the ledge of the bath and take a long drink of the wine.

What if he makes it to Nicaragua? What does that even mean? You buy a few more weeks of the same on-the-run bullshit and for what? 

What is the end game here? And for that matter why on earth are you doing any of this?

You barely know this man.  And now it’s starting to feel like you barely know yourself.

Your fingers and toes are pruny and the water is lukewarm at best when you finally crawl out of the tub.  You down the rest of your wine, throw a soft t-shirt on and fall into the bed.

All night you toss and turn and when you finally wake it’s like you never slept at all.

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

It’s a few days before you see Novak again.  

You happen to overhear his obnoxiously loud laugh just outside your office and your entire body jolts to attention.  

You jump up from your desk and peer outside.

Novak is busy chatting up a woman who works a few spaces down, no doubt boring her with unwanted banter about his weekend.  He happens to look up and you motion for him to come over. 

“Hey, yeah, I’ll be right there,” he says, and you head back to your desk on leaden legs.

Maybe he knows something, maybe he doesn’t.  

You’ve got to figure out how to walk the line between interested in the search for Jungkook but not too interested. Thankfully, Novak doesn’t strike you as the type to pick up on the subtleties of most interactions.  If he was, he’d stop bugging that woman right away.

He knocks loudly on your open door when he finally makes his way over.

“Hey,” he grins widely. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you smile back, feeling a cold panic spread across your chest.  Maybe you’re not ready to hear what he has to say. 

“I was wondering if your buddies ever caught up to Jeon.”

“Man listen,” Novak says, helping himself to a chair. “You are not going to believe this shit.”

Your fingernails grip your legs underneath the desk, dig painfully into the skin just above your knees through the thin fabric of your pants.

“Did he...get away, again?” you ask, desperate to keep a note of hope out of your voice.

“Yup,” Novak confirms.  “Piece of shit cleared out by the time the Marshals they sent down there managed to get to where he was. Some place in Honduras or something.”

Novak shakes his head.

“My buddies are sick of looking for his ass at this point. At some point they’ve got to call it off, right?”

You can barely register a thing he’s saying because oh my god he made it out.

“Wow,” you manage, trying to appear appropriately sympathetic and outraged. “That’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah so,” Novak says, “back to the drawing board on that one, I guess.”

You’re forced to sit through a few more minutes of his blabber and small talk but all you can think about is Jungkook making it out in time.  All you can think about is getting back to your house and to that burner phone.

When Novak finally stands to leave, you nearly sigh out loud with relief.

“Hey, good luck to your buddies, yeah?  That’s got to be pretty frustrating,” you say, walking him out the door. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass the message along,” he says. “I’m sure you’re just as ready as they are to see this guy get what he deserves.”

You smile weakly.

“Oh, definitely.”

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

You make a beeline for the ladies room and walk right into a stall.  

Once inside, you drop the seat lid and sit on top, desperate for just one moment to be alone with your thoughts.

He made it out.  He’s not in custody.  Maybe there’s a way to fix this entire mess.

Then you fall apart. 

You’ve reached the limit of what you can handle without some kind of emotional release.  The panic and the anxiety and the relief and the hope come together and boil over inside you.

The tears start coming and they don’t stop. 

You have to flush the toilet three times to cover the sound of your sobs.

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

You race home from the office and practically dive for the burner phone in your nightstand.  The entire drive back, you’ve told yourself not to expect a message.

It’s entirely possible he doesn’t want to contact you.  

It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t have anything to say to you after the way you left things in San Juan.  You tell yourself to be ready to see absolutely nothing when you check the burner.

But when you do unlock the phone, you find a waiting text.  You steel yourself for what he has to say.

nicaragua is boring [ 3:15 PM ]

send nudes [ 3:15 PM ]

You laugh.  

You laugh for so hard and so long your tears gather in the corner of your eyes.  You laugh until your sides start to hurt from the absolute absurdity.  

It’s so him that you have to laugh.

That night, when you fall into bed you sleep an inky black sleep, without dreams or interruptions.  

It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks.

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

[koushisatori]

I’m not telling, that I’m hurting

matsukawa x f!reader

genre: a slight bit of angst, and then a slight bit of fluff

warnings: hm, maybe the slightly suggestive last sentence <3

word count: 5.8k

note: pls accept my ugly baby, my brain fried itself writing it  (09.12. finally beta’ed my ugly baby hehe)

remember how I said Kuroo is a chill boyfriend and is quick to show that he dislikes something, openly seething and brooding?

Mattsun is even more laid-back in general, there's probably a picture of him next to the word in the dictionary

BUT he also hides it super well when he doesn’t particularly like something

Like, you're probably not realizing that he’s upset or angry until he decides to be very, very obvious about it

and even if he can't hide it (bc it's not only one thing bothering him but more, extremely rare) he won't talk about it on his own

Which is not only exhausting for you but also straining on your relationship at those times

There are two different kinds of pissed though

It isn’t something he wears openly but he gets jealous pretty fast

you’re beautiful, smart, funny and friendly

you’re everything he wants in his significant other and he’d do anything for you, but he hates how there are truly people out there thinking they could be better for you and ask you out 

ofc they want a piece of your attention, he understands, it doesn't mean he that he can't hate it

Bc..maybe (and he would never admit it) he was a bit more insecure than he let on, hiding it under a perfectly trained appearance, all lazy smile, and sarcastic comments

this is his usual state of being pissed, and it’s exclusively reserved for and directed at others

After you officially became an item, it got better - it’s not hard to see that you two were a package deal match made in heaven

back to the day, you started dating:

you two weren’t yet a couple yet but you both were pretty obvious w your wants

There was that unspoken push and pull battle between you regarding who would give in first and ask the other out officially

That moment, you were standing next to Matsukawa holding his hand  which is amazing come on, his large hands engulfing yours is a blessing

(‘’Mattsunnn, my fingers are so cold, will you warm them up?’’ – ‘’That’s a lame attempt of an excuse, Y/N,’’ he had said while taking your hand anyway ‘’you could have that every day, you know, all you have to do is ask me first’’ – ‘’In your dreams, Issei ~’’ ) 

it didn’t stop that one guy from his class, so arrogant and sure of himself, from coming up to you, completely ignoring Matsukawa, and asking you out?? 

Mattsun did not like that AT ALL

If glares could kill, you’d have to visit your boyfriend in jail every week <3

you just gaped at the other, it was hard to believe that this guy was serious but…he waited for an answer

moments of staring were followed with you both simultaneously - he, hiding his annoyance with sarcasm, you mildly concerned for the others health - letting out a ''What the hell''

Before you could tell the other guy that you're not the slightest interested, Mattsun answered for you

''It's sooo cute of you to ask me, but I think it would be unfair of me to agree and just leave Y/N hanging like that…additionally, I only have one hand holding hand available and…'' he sighed deeply, lifting your still firmly intertwined fingers, his brown eyes boring into the other guys ''I have to hold her hand for her for…probably forever, so you're…a bit late.'' 

Letting him pull you away, you giggle ''You know you kind of declared us as offical, a couple, for everyone to hear.'' - ''I absolutely did not do such thing, I'm now simply eternally attached to you and your hand, that's a difference.''

You won that round nonetheless bc him telling the other off was THE gossip for the next week

Your best friend gave you the glorious idea to attend his game at the end of the week in his volleyball shirt but tease him a bit until then about wearing his friend's one 

''You know I should totally ask Tooru if he would lend me his jersey, just to make that jealous bitch in my class shut up and stop pestering me simply for actually knowing him.'', ''Have you seen Iwaizumi's biceps? Please tell me that you wouldn't totally support our strong ace…and maybe open a cult just for his arms. Let me drop all of my life duties real quick, I'm meant to be a good housewife.''; ''Taka-chan said he'd pay for my lunch the whole week if I'd come to your game showcasing his number, you wouldn't mind right?'' 

The thing that had happened and you riling him up all week ended with the other kind of anger which is the silent treatment, completed with a very cold shoulder (which is also, in all honest, his specialty)

him punishing you with silence the whole Thursday as well as Friday morning

He avoids being alone with you, answers messages as short as possible, spends his lunch starring at his food, and not making eye contact

(he's still watching you, just bc he is currently annoyed with you after deviling him so much, doesn't mean he stops wanting to kiss your pretty face until your lips are swollen and your cheeks dusted in pink and red)

The worst is that he KNOWS that you're teasing him but he can't help it okay, you found his achilles heel  </3

Anyways, of course, when the opposing team arrives and they warm-up, you want your…not boyfriend but close enough boy friend to stop moping around (Makki begged you: ''please do something, he won't clown the others or joke around with me, all he does is sulking'')

Even without Takahiro coming up though, you would have gone to him before the game but it just makes it more adorable and hilarious bc he is a bit dumb there, I mean?? The only hand you're holding (and love doing whenever possible) does not belong to either Makki, Iwaizumi, Oikawa, or anyone else for that matter

It wasn't an easy task to discreetly rob him off of his other tricot but you managed

So, while they were doing their warm-up drills you - with Hanamakis help - sneaked into the gym

wearing HIS number on your back and front, together with a pair of jeans that he had complimented on dates before (they make your backside look amazing and you can't tell me that he does not appreciate a nice ass)

After you teased him with the others for so long, he immediately perked up when Hanamaki playfully wolf-whistled at you from across the gym, adding an ''You look amazing, Y/N-chan. Wanna get some food later?'' 

(Makki and you - overdramatically calling each other Taka-chan & Y/N-chan whenever possible to mock Oikawa a bit as well - ended up being best friends. bonus: you both LOVE to irritate Mattsun every now and then since he really only looses some of his composure in relation to you)

glaring at his best friend, Matsukawa strode over to you and dragged you right out of the gym again

then, a few minutes of silence

him checking you out kind of hungrily, longingly (trying not to be obvious about it, too)

before you finally relent and pull him down, standing on your tiptoes

To flick his forehead with all the strength in your fingers :)

‘’The fuck, Y/N.’’

''You are a fucking morron, Issei, and you hopefully know that.'' you sigh, pressing your lips against the point your fingers had hit against to sooth it

Avoiding your gaze - hiding his excited blush - he answered with a noncommitting grunt and a shrug

''you better win this game, and warm up my hands right after, you let them turn to popsicles while not doing your job for nearly two days only bc you were petty''

The smile that now curled his lips while nodding was genuine

not the sarcastic one or the teasing smirk he wore usually for everyone to see

a small, very pleased, and very happy smile, one he offered rarely and only to you

After the game - and having to watch other people ogle your nicely hugged curves even with you wearing his shirt and yelling his name for at least 2/3 of the time - he swept you off of your feet by openly and rather dramatically kissing you all Disney-like (earning some gagging noises from his friends) and asking you out in the same over-the-top kind of way

Don't worry though, he usually only gets frisky 1. when you two are alone

2. when you both decide to annoy the others (but that's more of a show and lots of unnecessary nicknames and sounds - honestly please have some decency children are watching) 

and 3. when he becomes insecure jealous

You know if it's the jealousy burning in him

he's attempting to not show it to you

Yet his grip on your waist is a smidge stronger, his slightly amused expression a bit too tight, too strained to be natural, and he's uncooperative…more than usual

This specific thing happened, just now

 ''Mattsun…'' you murmur, struggling to turn around in his vice-like grip. 

You tried to loosen his arms around your waist a few times while ranting about the mathematical problem and the upcoming test you had, hoping he would offer you his help. To no avail. He probably didn't really realize that he was squeezing you to death or tuning you out. This is why you resorted to wiggling around in his hold until you were finally facing your huffy boyfriend. One of your hands on his biceps and your other playing with the hair in his neck in hopes to calm him down a bit.

''Who spat in your breakfast this morning, you're usually not that grumpy,'' you continue softly, your tone between teasing and worry. Even though you and Hanamaki enjoy riling him up you both always make sure to stay inside a certain limit. Nothing you couldn't solve with an apology, sweet kisses, and genuine assurances that it was nothing more than a joke. In the end, he is the only person that causes your heart to beat faster. The one you like…love. You knew that you loved him for some time now, the desire to have a perfect moment to announce it is the only thing keeping you from saying it out loud.

The shrug you receive wouldn't do it though. Him tending to let it consume him until he snaps is not good. Not for him, and for the relationship of the both of you as well. ''Issei, come on,..'' you gently prod, ''…tell me. Stop living up to your name and talk to me,''

There were a lot of reactions you expected. Another huff maybe, his usual 'Nothing' or even the true reason for his behavior. What you did not expect though was his annoyed groan and him nearly growling at you. ''Y/N, fucking leave it. Stop sticking your nose into my business. Don't you get that I don't want to talk?!''

For a second your breath hitches. The annoyance…slight anger in his voice startling you. ''Jesus fucking Christ, fine,'' you curse - now irritated yourself. It caught him off-guard enough due to its rareness of you cussing out loud. At least enough to push against his chest and free yourself off of his hold, successfully stopping him from just hiding his face away in your neck. ''If that’s what you want, fine. I'm sorry for worrying about you, Matsukawa.'' you say provokingly before you let out a small sigh, ''I'll go to class, maybe Hajime is back from chasing the Captain and can actually help me with math…listens to me, to begin with. Not mope around to the point of ignoring me for some unknown reason.'' with that said you turn around on your heels and leave him standing.

You know he would eventually come around in the next few hours. You hope. Mattsun wasn't or rather isn't angry with you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been as close to you as he had been but his inability to merely talk with you about what was and is bothering him proves to be one of the few reasons that are able to drive you up the wall.

Mathematics being mathematics, the problem wasn't just simply explained within those ten minutes before class started.

If things were normal, you wouldn't be as bothered as you are right now though. Issei would find a way to get it into your pretty little head. He knew how to explain and what to transcribe for you to get the idea behind all those letters and lines scrawled between the numbers.

The problem is that you usually did this in the calmness of your rooms on the weekend. As it seems though, did most people get the problem from the get to go and the teacher decided to write the topical test in your afternoon class today instead of next week, so she could begin with the new thematic on Monday.

Alas, you're fucked.

Not only would you get the worst grade in your whole mathematical carrier but you also couldn't ask your boyfriend, and listen to his deep gentle yet teasing voice explaining stupid equations to you with him being so infuriatingly upset over whatever.

 To your luck, Iwaizumi offers to be your knight in shining armor in extreme times of need. (He tried to convince you to just go to Mattsun because ''He's head over heels for you, don't tell me a stupid fight holds you both back from being insufferable together, Y/N'' - ''We can't be fighting, when he doesn't talk or listen to me.''.) Sacrificing a free hour and his precious lunchtime sitting on the school's rooftop with you, he explains the procedure over and over again. 

After what felt like a whole notebook full of wrong exercises and another one with their corrected versions, the structure of the problem does finally make sense to you. Now cheerfully humming, you look over older tasks you didn't get before when he decides to speak up.

''Y/N?'' Iwaizumi asks, his voice completely calm and…soothing?

''Hmm…'' you hum letting him know that you're listening while correcting another exercise.

''Mattsun will relax once we won that game, okay? Don't be so hard on him.'' His words caught you off-guard, which leads you to look up, question mark clear on your face. ''It's against Akumahebi? The ones that provoked and insulted him so underhandedly last time? Hit all his nerves spot on?'' he adds questioning.

Lips forming a big 'O'. You remember today's opponents vividly.

Seijoh first played against them at the end of your second year, a few weeks after you and Mattsun had started talking with different intentions than throwing terrible pick up lines at each other. Foremost for shit and giggles but actually starting to have hope that the other might mean it.

They stood at the other side of the net and began with their unsportsmanlike strategy by haunting him. ''Imagine thinking someone so mediocre could be rightfully on the field next to players like your ace, could compete against someone like Iwaizumi Hajime.'' or ''The only reason you're on the field is your height, the first years will take over your spot sooner than you think. You are replaceable after all.''. There was no obvious reason for them to pick out Issei but they did. Hissing different things under their breath. You guessed that it's because he always looked so unbothered. As if nothing could wilt his stupidly attractive lopsided smirk.

Afterward, the four of you had a hard time convincing him that those snakes knew shit. That he was on the team for his skills, his amazing blocking, and strategical thinking ability, not his height. That he would be a regular until he left the volleyball club and that he was respected by all of his kouhais.

''Shit,…them? Really?'' you jut our your lower lip. ''He didn't tell me...but I also didn't ask.'' you admit guiltily. ''Well, then I have to cheer extra loud for Issei, I think.'' A triumphant smile stretches across your face, gripping the collar of your uniform with one and pulling up the collar of the jersey underneath with the other. Enough to see the Seijoh colors to come to light. You had stolen it out of your boyfriend's bag two days ago after he went to the bathroom and had hidden it in your desk drawer until today. You nearly forgot to put it on after you accidentally slept in this morning, so you kind of just threw it over your head while hoping to not fall over trying to get into your tights. ''I'm ready to scream at the top of my lungs for my favorite player,…'' you say before you at least partly bashful add ''…no offense. You are my second favorite star player, Haji.''

At that, Iwaizumi simply laughs and playfully pushes against your shoulder. 

Later that evening you found yourself wearing one of Issei's ridiculously large pullovers and sweatpants, sitting wrapped up in blankets on your couch in the living room. Your chest hurting from swallowed and choked up sobs. Even though your parents weren't home when you arrived and wouldn't be for the next two days, enjoying a long-planned short vacation, you didn't allow yourself to cry. A gory horror movie on-screen meant to distract you from your thoughts ends up being nothing more than background noises while wallowing in self-pity.

At one point, Oikawa and Iwaizumi stood at your door - even though you hoped that it would be a certain boy you loved - worried glances boring into your skull from the first second on, and never ceasing.

You didn't even know if your team won or lost. It wasn't like you asked them either.

All you cared for is Issei. Issei, who seemingly decided that he would stop caring for you.

___________________________________

Iwaizumi-senpai and Y/N-senpai would make an adorable couple, don't you think?

You leaving him to make true on your words intensified the insecurities that had just started to brood underneath the surface a few days ago. He couldn't help it, but he definitely would not share those silly thoughts with you.

Issei knew they were wrong. But that didn't stop them from invading the darkest corners of his brain.

You have to agree that Y/N-san and Iwaizumi-san seem really close.

Overhearing the first years giggling about his girlfriend and one of his best friends being a cute couple amplified all of it. Also…he realized just now…since when do you call Iwaizumi by his name? When did he allow you to call him Hajime?

''Have you seen him smile like that with another girl? I, for my part, haven't seen that smile off the court where he can do the thing he loves the most.'' 

 ''Oh, stop, Y/N-senpai has a boyfriend! Don't you know? I feel uncomfortable speculating about something like that.''

 '' 'Course, I know! I just say that, if I were in a relationship with someone, I'd want my boyfriend to be a bit more…relationship-y about it, you know? Like, yeah, they hold hands and they hug. But all they do besides this is banter meaninglessly…more like friends, not like a couple should behave! Iwaizumi-san, though, even without being as close to her bodily, gives off more intense boyfriend vibes than this other player.''

''His name is Matsuka-'' 

‘'And, Y/N-senpai calls him Hajime, I think she even said Haji once, isn't that cute?!''

''Stop it, stupid! You shouldn't be so loud with your words, you might spread something accidentally. And just because she gives them nicknames doesn't imply anything. I'm also giving you nicknames! And, she looks happy with Matsu-''

‘'Yeah yeah, but you don't like me like that. Anyway, just think about it! Would you really say no to someone like Iwaizumi-san though…? What I'd give for him to at least look at me like that. If I were Y/N-sa-''

''You aren't, can we go now, don’t wanna be late for class because of you again.''

 Iwaizumi did seem to feel extra relaxed around you. And you seemed to like his presence as well. 

What if those first years had a point?

For the second time that day, he growled.

No, there was nothing to doubt or think about. It wasn't unusual of you to use their names. You literally started calling Hanamaki 'Taka-chan' within 10 minutes of knowing each other. Making friends was easy for you, and that you and Iwaizumi were in the same class with Oikawa probably just strengthened your bond with each other to endure the Captain's antics.

Issei nodded to himself, decidedly ignoring the little whisper of doubt in the back of his mind for now.

''I am not jealous.'' The black-haired student repeated this sentence in his mind over and over again. His best friend wouldn't do such a thing as 'stealing you away', nor would you leave him like that. People should shut their mouths. Mind their own problems. And because of him definitely not being insecure jealous, there was nothing he had to tell you.

Around lunchtime, Matsukawa decided to make good on his words and apologize to you. He would explain that he just felt on edge due to the game against this specific team, you would forgive him and then things would be back to normal…hopefully. The problem was, that he couldn't find you. Not in your classroom nor with your friends, who didn't have any idea regarding your whereabouts as well.

The dark-haired blocker was about to send you a message to ask you to meet him before your last lesson and his volleyball practice when he hears your beautiful laugh coming from the staircase right in front of him. Pressing himself to the wall he watches you coming down from the school roof with Iwaizumi, jumping into his arms with a blinding smile and running off to your class a second later.

''Would you really say no to someone like Iwaizumi?  ~ Imagine thinking you could compete against someone like your ace.''

With the greasy, suffocating feeling of jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach, he storms off in the other direction.

 Right before warming up for the game in the afternoon, he heard you chatting with Hanamaki in front of the locker room while he was changing. And while the door opened - Kyoutani walking in and Oikawa leaving to fullfil his captain duties conscientiously - he looked at his strawberry haired friend and your back. For the split second he could see you, he realized just how much having you around all day means to him. His eyes wandered. Over your softly shining hair. Slowly outlining your in Seijoh-colours clad shoulders, down your arms to your elbow where they are bent to cross in front of your chest to hold your jacket and uniform pullover. Then down your back and-

With an annoyed huff, he found himself throwing his locker door in its lock, bending down to pull up his knee pads more aggressively than necessary. Ignoring the curious looks and whispers from his teammates he simply grunted out an Ok, when Makki came in telling him that you would be waiting for him.

__________________________

Issei 💗👁️👅👁️: go, I'm not coming to see ya', don't need ur encourgmnt or you now You: Mattsun, what's wrong, honestly, you're scaring me Issei 💗👁️👅👁️: sure You: come on, I wanna support and show who's my favorite player Issei 💗👁️👅👁️: hilarious, stay, go home, idc

__________________________

"Hey, Y/N-chan, what I meant to ask you earlier…why were you wearing Iwa-chan's shirt." Oikawa carefully questions, his perfectly shaped eyebrow shooting up to emphasize his words.

"I diD wHAT NOW?" - "She did what?!"

Without wasting a second you jump up from under your blanket mountain and sprint up the stairs to your room to look through your hamper.

There it was, that goddamn tricot. A 4 looking right back at you instead of a 3 or 2. It brought every process of thought to an halt.

"But I- 2 days- what, I got this- I was in-" you stop again, slowly turning your head to Iwaizumi, pointing at him. "Since when were you missing this?"

The ace immediately straightens up under your intense gaze. "Three days? No two? Since our last practice, I guess. Kyoutani and Yahaba had some…problems and fought it out in the locker room. But I…wasn't missing it! I thought that it might be in the laundry by accident.'' he answers hesitantly.

You blink. A few times. Nod. And then a loud laugh starts to bubble out of you, interchanging itself with heavy sobs, forcing you to fold into yourself  and hide your face in your hands.

With a worried expression, Oikawa kneels down beside you. ''Y/N-chan…are you okay?''

"He's so fucking dumb, Tooru, why do I even love him? And I am, too!" You hiccup pitifully. "Makki and he switch numbers from time to time, in case you haven't realized. They say it's because it doesn't really matter in the end, it’s fun to confuse others and the worst that could happen is that they forget to wash it before the other wears it,'' you add, a little laugh escapes your lips before your voice breaks in favor of a hiccup again. ''I guess they were about to do that again but with Mad Dog on the loose, the chaos was enough to mix up all the shirts on the bench completely. And since I stole this one secretly out of Issei's bag when he went to the bathroom and quickly hid it to surprise him today, I accidentally grabbed the wrong one instead of his without realizing it."

You gasp for air, your stuffed nose making it difficult to breathe properly. "And then you have to play against this team, out of all possibilities, it's them! So, of course, he's already fed up, and then I'm wearing Hajimes number who he already kind of feels inferior to on the court, where he's the ace and vice-captain first and not his best friend, due to this stupid fucks picking on his insecurities. Fuck!"

For a second you bury your head in your hands again. "No, you know what, fuck this. I don't need him to bury that shit in himself again, or to have stupid thoughts, or leave me because of it'' you furiously hiccup, standing up. ''I can go over, too, and put that behind us.''

 The first time you actually took a second to breathe and evaluate the situation, you had already rung the bell at the Matsukawa family house. Thrice. For good measure. (And so he knew that there's no way out, that you wouldn't leave.) After waiting for solid 5 minutes - knowing that he'd usually reach the door in under a minute, one if he had napped before, you glare at the window above. A strawberry pink colored patch of hair peek out from underneath.

''Alright, if that's what you want'' you grumble. Going over to the trellis and climbing up on it onto the small canopy before finalizing your unauthorized entry by narrowing your furious eyes at two unbelieving faces. Well…he should never have dared you to try to enter his room like this for a joke in the first place when you first became friends. Now, he would definitely not escape you.

''Open. Now. I will break this dumb window, if that's the only way to get you to talk to me, Issei.''

In the end, minutes of starring later, Hanamaki relents and opens the window. ''Thanks,'' you say sweetly before you chop at the strawberry haired boy's side. ''Y/N-chan, I thought we had something special,'' he wheezes, holding his side.

''We have a talk later, Makki, this was only for not opening the door now'' you say, promptly throwing him out of your boyfriend's room. Your voice seemed to sound scary enough for him to leave rather freely. Or at least it made clear that there was no space for buts. That this was a talk between Mattsun and You. Alone with your boyfriend, you turn around to face Matsukawa. To glare at him.

''What do yo-'' - ''Shut up, Issei. You're going to listen and talk to me right now without filter.'' you hiss. While he tried to keep his cool demeanor, the black-haired boy swung his legs off of the bed to sit properly and not slouch, wanting to listen to you. Wanting you to explain…probably.

''Issei, you morron, you deserve the hardest forehead flick in the history of forehead flicks! What were you thinking?! Why didn't you just tell me that it was them you had to play against today? I would have done everything for you to feel better. I would have been understanding of your mood because I know what they did, but no. You decide to be jealous instead? Of Hajime out of all people? Give me a statement and I will refute it within seconds, whatever you want. Come one, test me. And I dare you to shrug just once,...just once!, and I will - even though I lo-. I will freaking kick your dumb ass to the moon..''

A snort, unfairly attractive and so very Mattsun, leaves him. ''As if you could reach that hig-'' - ''Thin fucking ice, Matsukawa.'' 

With a sigh, he scratches the back of his neck. ''Why were you saying you want to 'support' your favorite player when you were wearing Iwa's shirt? I mean I can’t prescribe who you like, I guess, it’s your decision...but,...hah,...maybe don’t make it sound...I dont know.'' Issei asks straight away, watching the ground between you. 

''Because certain volleyball players I know like to change jersey numbers after practice. And because of Mad Dog-chan being on the hunt for Yahaba's head, a very specific already mentioned player took the wrong shirt with him, which ended with me accidentally stealing said wrong shirt.'' you vaguely answer, watching him tense up. ''Now it's my turn. Why are you so specifically bothered by it being Hajimes?''

 ''I…it's-'' looking up, he met your eyes already narrowing again. You expect him to say 'It's nothing'. No, it was important to say it now, even if it was embarrassing. ''I heard people talking,...saying that he'd be better for you than me. That…that you liking him that way is just a question of time. And while I was sure that that's not true…I asked myself…am I really what Y/N wants? Are you bothered by the way we are in public? Are we couple-y enough for you? I was on my way to apologize when I saw you both coming from the roof. You seemed so happy, so excited. I started to worry…that if he was to ask you out…would you truly choose me? Do I make you look and feel as happy as you seemed to be earlier with Iwa?''

 Him not meeting your eyes bothers you. How could he understand if he's not looking? You slowly walk over, giving him time to say stop or move away from you…but he doesn't. Standing between his legs you gently cup his cheeks and make him look up into your eyes. Make him see.

''Let's start somewhere…thank you for being open and honest with me. Okay, firstly, I was on the roof with him so he could explain math to me. I didn't want to sit in a classroom and let others hear how troubled I was by what seems to be one of the easiest mathematical equations in existence. And since I was occupying his lunch break, Haji at least wanted to have some quiet for eating if he sacrifices his time like that.'' you chuckle slightly before you meet his eyes again.

''Secondly,...Issei,'' you murmur now, caressing his cheeks gently. ''why would you believe things about our relationship coming from people that don't take part in it? Hm? They don't know us. They don't get to spend nap time with us, arcade and ramen dates, or movie nights. They don't see how you treat me away from curious eyes and ears. We aren't any less of a couple just because others have a different opinion on how couples should be to the public eye.'' you say, your undertone loving and warm. ''It's not Iwaizumi who I love. I have chosen you because you are the one. I love you.'' you emphasize the words. You never imagined the moment to be like that, but it feels right to come clean with the depth of your feelings now. His cheeks heating up in between your hands is an extra treat.

''I love you when you smile all lazily at me after sleeping. I love you when your voice drips with sarcasm and mischief. I love you when we argue over who has ultimately won the worst pick-up line contest - which is me by the way.'' you grin, shushing his protest by resting your thumb on his lips. ''I love you even when we fight. When you get jealous and grumpy. I love you even though you regularly tell Taka-chan how you'd sell me to Satan for a corn chip, just to mention this stupid bird meme. I love you to bits, you sweet but silly idiot, and I'd chose you all over again if I was to wake up in another parallel universe. Because I know, that you'll always treat me right. Because I'm sure that you feel this, too.''

While you were speaking, your boyfriend's arms slowly but steadily started to move past the last bit of resistance, wrapping them loosely around you and pulling you tighter with every said word.

''I mean it when I say that I get why you felt so uneasy today. However they do it, they manage to crawl under your skin. And that's human, Issei. To be overwhelmed, anxious, or insecure. But please, don't risk us falling apart by letting it eat away on you silently.'' You whisper.

''Y/N, I'm sorry…and I promise to try and talk when I feel bothered again. And-'' A surprised squeak leaves your lips at the sudden movement of your boyfriend. ‘’I love you, too.’’ Giggling, you look up to the dark-haired blocker, who is now towering over you, caging you in his arms. ''You look so irrestistable in my clothes, you should wear them more often.'' Issei continues, the smirk on his lips finally being close to the one he usually wore, eyeing you still wearing his way to big pants and sweatshirt. Then, Mattsun finally - Finally! - leans down to kiss you thoroughly, seemingly keen on making up for the wasted time. Nibbling on your lip, tasting and teasing you, eliciting sweet little sounds that sound oh so much like heaven. He had missed this the whole day.

Deciding to give the both of you a second to breathe, he leans back enough to study your now glowing expression. You lick your lips, watching a suddenly burning interest flaring up in his eyes due to the breathlessness in your voice. ''I have a proposition, you know.'' You begin, softly tracing his features with your pointer finger, smiling innocently. ''If you don't want people to doubt our closeness in this relationship…maybe you should show them just how good you make me feel when I have you all to myself, hm?'' You murmur with a seducing tone, watching him process your words, his slightly heated gaze not leaving yours.

Him diving right back in and whispering a litany of 'I love yous' was answer enough.

Bonus:

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list. 

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[adenei]

Day 4: January Word Challenge

A/N: This one is a Romione Half Blood Prince AU that is actually a follow up to “Why, are you scared of loving?” I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we are.

**********

Stars

It was later in the evening when Hermione found herself with Ron outside once more, watching the sun set over the pond. She put the day’s earlier conversation behind her, and was trying to enjoy the time with her best friend. It was hard to concentrate in his proximity. 

She’d sneak sideways glances at his features when he wasn’t looking. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the setting sunlight, and the contrast of his red hair against his pale, freckly skin. It was cruel how attractive he was. Hermione found herself thinking often about what it might feel like to feel the hard muscles of his body against hers, with his arms wrapped around her. She never thought she’d appreciate quidditch quite this way, but thank Godric for what it had added to his physique.

Hermione tried to shake herself out of those thoughts. You’re only making it worse. There’s no way someone like him could ever fall for someone like you. And yet, here they were, watching the night sky appear before them, ready to gaze at the stars that would soon shine down over the Burrow. Wasn’t that something that couples did?

“It’s nice out tonight, isn’t it? Not too hot, for once,” he said, breaking the silence around them.

“Yes, it is quite comfortable. Though, I’m worried that when night sets in I’ll be a bit chilled.” English weather had a knack for that.

Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll never understand how you can always be cold.” 

Hermione smiled as the last curve of sunlight slipped away, covering the Burrow in twilight. “It’s just how I’ve always been.”

“Well, it’s a good thing our school uniform makes us wear those robes everywhere. I’ve noticed the castle gets really drafty at night when we’re on rounds.”

“Yes, it does. I actually joked with Mum one summer about adding a fleece liner in one set to keep me warmer.”

“You and your muggle ways. Just use a warming charm,” Ron suggested.

“But then everyone would know I’m constantly cold if they walked by,” Hermione said. 

She wasn’t really sure why, but she felt like arguing with him. Not real arguing, of course, but in that playful banter that she’d come to crave from their friendship. 

“Why would that matter?” Ron asked inquisitively.

“It wouldn’t, but it’d be another reminder that I’ll no doubt be alone as everyone else in our year pairs off.”

Ron looked at her. “What makes you say that?”

Hermione gave him a slight shrug of her shoulders. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure what she meant. She was thinking about her dorm mates and the other students in their year starting relationships the previous year. She knew it wasn’t true, but some days she felt like she was the only one on her own, and was none the wiser on how to alleviate that particular issue.

“Just because Harry had a go with Cho for a bit, and Ginny seems to have blokes lined up to take her out doesn’t mean everyone’s getting together,” Ron said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows in question at him. “Since when are you suddenly okay with Ginny’s dating life?”

“ ‘M not, but I reckon I’ll get hexed far worse than any guy who comes onto her if I don’t leave it.”

“Smart choice.”

“May not say the same for you though,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Hermione wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. “Last I checked, I’m not your sibling, and I don’t think I need protecting.”

“Well, you are my best friend and I don’t want any bloke thinking he can take advantage of you.”

“Who’s to say I can’t handle myself?” Hermione felt her cheeks flush. This was not where she hoped the conversation would lead, but it’s what she got for playing with fire.

“I’m not saying that! You don’t know what the other guys- you know what? Nevermind. It’s not important,” Ron cut himself off.

“The other guys what, Ron? You can’t just cut off mid sentence like that.”

He gave her a look that clearly said, ‘did you just hear yourself?’ Okay, so she’d been guilty of doing that a lot over the years. She waited impatiently for him to answer, but when he did, it wasn’t what she was expecting.

“You know, we’ll probably see some shooting stars tonight.” He had changed the subject completely.

Hermione huffed as she lay quietly on her back, and took in a deep breath of the dewey air around them. She watched the sky as Ron laid down beside her. He was close, and she could feel the heat of his hand and arm against her own.

More and more stars appeared as the sky grew darker. It always amazed Hermione with how many they could see out in the country. It was so different from the city life she’d grown up in.

They must have been looking in the same spot at the same time, just as a faint flash darted across the sky. “Look, there! Did you see it? Shooting star, make a wish,” Ron said eagerly.

Hermione nodded as she smiled. His excitement was contagious. “Yes, I did.” She closed her eyes and made her wish. When she opened them she saw Ron had propped himself up on his elbows.

“So, what’d you wish for?” She could barely make out his lopsided grin from the faint glow of the lights in the house behind them as he asked the question.

“I can’t tell you that. Everyone knows if you share your wish it won’t come true,” Hermione laughed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“So, that means your wish is something that can happen?” Ron teased her. Her face fell slightly, and she could tell he regretted his words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just something my brothers would say to Ginny and I when we’d all come out here. It was just a way to get us to give away our wishes.”

“No, you’re right. Wishes are just that,” Hermione said with a sigh. “No one could ever want me anyways.” She figured that even if he didn’t share the same feelings for her, she could trust him with that piece of information. He was her best friend, after all.

“What?” Ron asked, his tone serious now.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. I just wished that I might get a boyfriend of my own this year. See what all the fuss is about.”

“That’s not impossible, though.” Ron said quietly.

Hermione gave a most ungirly like snort. “Have you looked at me lately? I’m not exactly Lavender and Parvati. Who in their right mind would choose me when I’ve got those two as my dorm mates?”

“Hermione, does this have anything to do with what we talked about earlier?”

“What do you mean?” There I go again, all but pouring my soul out to you and you completely change the subject by bringing up a different conversation, Hermione thought. 

“The whole scared of falling in love thing.”

“I’m not following, Ron,” Hermione was stifling back the scream of frustration she desperately wanted to let out. Could she ever get a straight answer out of him?

“Just what you said about not measuring up to the other girls, which I don’t think is true, by the way, and what you mentioned about being scared to fall for someone who doesn’t fancy you back.”

Hermione thought about what Ron had said. Maybe she didn’t give him enough credit. Those two things were definitely related. “I guess you’re right.”

“Well, I wouldn’t pass it off. You never know...the person you fancy might surprise you,” he said as he looked back up at the sky.

She was gaping at him. Did he know? Had she given herself away? The sheer panic was enough to make her want to jump up and run back into the house and avoid him for the rest of the night. Miraculously, though, she stayed rooted in her spot. And perhaps even more amazingly, she came up with a witty retort. 

“And how would I know if that person fancied me back?”

She heard him take a deep breath in and exhale slowly. “Well, for one, he’d enjoy spending time with you. Even if it meant giving up a whole beautiful afternoon to revise in the library.” 

Her mind was instantly thrown back to the week before O.W.L’s. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Ron had offered to go with her to the library to help her study. It was one of the few times he’d offered instead of being asked. Hermione felt her heart begin to beat faster in his chest as she waited for him to continue.

“He’d also make sure you weren’t overworking yourself because you have a tendency to do that, you know. Making sure you take breaks, actually show up and eat your meals. Oh, and even though you don’t need any more to do, he’d still help with the crazy groups you think up.” Ron grinned at her.

She had no doubt in her mind that he was referring to S.P.E.W. and the DA. “Anything else?”

“Well, I’ve been told that it’s fairly telling if a bloke gets a girl some fancy, personal gift for her birthday or Christmas. Might mean a bit more than, say, a planner.” His eyes averted her gaze at this last one, but she could hear the playful sincerity in his voice as she thought back to the bottle of perfume he’d given her for Christmas.

“Ron…” she said in almost a whisper. It was quiet, save for the rustling of the trees in the soft breeze and the occasional cricket in the field beyond. She was sure that he heard her.

“I’d say those are pretty good ideas of whether someone fancies you or not. You wouldn’t happen to have any tips for me, would you?”

Hermione stared at him. Her brain was past the point of mush and she couldn’t even begin to comprehend putting something so clever together without spilling her heart out to him. “Only one thing comes to mind,” she said softly.

“Yeah? Are you gonna share, or keep that secret to yourself?” Ron asked her.

Hermione closed her eyes and hoped what she was about to say wouldn’t backfire on her. “My suggestion would be to show her how you feel...because she feels the same way.”

Neither had realized that their faces had inched closer together throughout the entire conversation. Hermione glanced briefly down at Ron’s lips before she looked up and met his eyes with her own, bravely searching for any understanding reflecting back at her. Whatever her next thought was about to be, she’d never know as she felt Ron draw closer to her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips softly brushed her own.

That first encounter was tentative, but when Ron realized Hermione wasn’t pulling away, he leaned in again, more confident as he pressed his lips into hers. Hermione returned the kiss, though carefully trying to not come across as too eager. Gradually, they found a rhythm with the kiss, and neither wanted the moment to end.

Eventually, they did break apart, knowing that they should head inside before Mrs. Weasley came calling for them or sent someone out to stumble upon them. “We should head inside,” Ron said, as if someone needed to say what they were both thinking.

They stood up, and Ron reached out his hand and Hermione took it. She couldn’t help but smile as they walked back towards the house. Looks like wishes do come true, after all.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Miami Nights (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW.

Summary: While in Miami to celebrate their upcoming wedding, Ethan and Naomi sneak away from the festivities to have their own celebration.

A/N: Like all of my NSFW fics, this was 100% self indulgent and written with only me in mind. 

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. And if your tags do not work, I’m sorry, and blame Tumblr. ~v~ In a perfect world, Ethan Ramsey would be at home, on his couch, a good book in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. The last place he necessarily wants to be is in the crowded bar of a Miami hotel, sandwiched between a 21 year old girl and her friends, and some guy crying into his pint of beer.

The things Ethan does for love.

Coming to Miami was Naomi’s idea. She wanted a fun weekend away for their bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Miami was the only place she even considered going. What better way to celebrate their upcoming nuptials than to go to the city, specifically the hotel that started it all?

He hasn’t seen her all day, her friends kidnapping her as soon as their plane touched down. He misses her. They’ve been attached at the hip ever since they began dating, even more so after she moved into his condo, and being without her feels strange, even if it’s only for a night. And while he’s grown fond of Naomi’s merry band of misfits, spending the entire night with Bryce, Elijah, and Rafael requires more patience than he has.

He’s spent the entire day with them, and his capacity to be around other people has reached its limit. So while the guys were making plans of going to a strip club, Ethan left altogether, quietly slipping out of their room.

Ethan feels a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, the slight drawl of Naomi’s accent when she has to pronounce certain words. Once he’s turned around, all thoughts of what he could possibly say are gone.

After two years together, Naomi’s beauty shouldn’t stun him anymore, but she still manages to render him speechless.

“Wow,” is the word his brain finally settles on.

Forever the drama queen, Naomi twirls around so her fiancé can get a full look at the sparkly dress she’s wearing. “I take it you like the dress?”

“You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” Her eyes sweep over Ethan, taking him in. He’s not doing anything in particular, but his presence is still commanding and magnetic. “You look pretty handsome yourself. Now, do you care to tell me why you’re missing your bachelor party?”

“I didn’t want to go to a strip club,” Ethan says simply. “And Lahela kept referring to us in third person, calling us ‘The Boys’ all night. It was becoming tiresome, so I left.”

“You can’t leave your own bachelor party.”

“Says the woman who ditched her bachelorette party,” Ethan shoots back.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “I only left my bachelorette party because you texted me to meet you down here.”

“I was simply over the night,” he says with a shrug. “We did a bit of gambling, we went to a cigar lounge, we got dinner. That’s more than enough entertainment for me. The other guys will be fine for the rest of the night if I’m not there.”

“Well if you’re checking out for the night, so am I.”

“No, you can still enjoy the festivities with your friends.”

Naomi shrugs. “Kyra and Sienna went too hard on the tequila shots at the club, and they’re currently passed out. Aurora, Jackie, and I were just in their room talking.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Mostly hospital gossip, nothing major.” Naomi takes a step forward and wraps her arms around Ethan’s neck. “Take me to our room, we can order room service and have our own celebration.”

One of Ethan’s eyebrows raises at the command. His hand travels to his fiancée’s hip, squeezing roughly. “Oh yeah? What kind of celebration?”

“I don’t know,” Naomi says, playing coy. “But I’m sure you can come up with something, doctor.”

~v~

They manage to get to their floor in record time, after Ethan requests that a bottle of wine get sent up to their room, which is a miracle because they spend entirely too much time stumbling through the halls, stealing kisses and touching each other.

Because they got separated early in the day, Naomi didn’t get a chance to see the room she and Ethan would be staying in for the weekend. As soon as he slides the key card through the door and pushes it open, Naomi just knows.

It’s the same suite she and Ethan shared the first time they visited The Celestial. “Ethan, this is...wow.”

“I take it you’re surprised?”

“I’m more than surprised.”

Naomi wanders around the room, her fingers lightly touching all of the fixtures. The bedding is still the same, white and lavender, the room open and light. It even smells the same, and suddenly she’s transported back in time, 3 years ago.

Leaving Ethan where he’s standing, Naomi heads to the balcony, throwing open the sliding glass door. Everything is so still, weird for a city like Miami that’s constantly buzzing with energy. She doesn’t notice Ethan step out a minute later, a chilled bottle of merlot and two glasses in his hand.

He pops open the bottle and pours them both a glass, handing one to her. “Would you like to toast?”

“Sure.” Naomi raises her glass. “Here’s to us, our upcoming nuptials, and the best marriage the world has ever seen.”

“That’s a bold toast.” Ethan gently clinks his glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

Naomi takes a hearty sip, ignoring all of the tips a sommelier usually gives on how to drink, the fruitiness of the wine taking over. She watches as Ethan heads to the railing, his own glass less than full.

“I still can’t believe you managed to get this room,” she says, sighing wistfully, overlooking the ocean from her vantage point. “How did you pull it off?”

“Everyone has a price. I said money was no object, and when I told them it was a surprise for my fiancée, they were a bit more inclined to help.”

“Really?” Ethan hums and nods in response. 

“I told them the room has sentimental value to me,” he explains further. “It’s the room where I realized I was utterly helpless against your charms.”

“Ethan Ramsey, you’re truly a romantic at heart.”

He’ll never get used to hearing her praise him so openly. Ethan ducks his head down so Naomi can’t see the flush creeping up his neck at the compliment. “You bring out this romantic side of me.”

She goes to join him at the railing. He doesn’t say anything, but he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Butterflies bloom in her stomach at his words. It’s nice to know that their first trip to Miami means so much to him, because it was an absolute game changer for her.

“I remember everything about that night so vividly,” Naomi says, her voice almost a whisper.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Losing to Declan in that poker match, coming out here, sharing a bottle of pinot noir, and talking about Naveen and my dreams for the type of doctor I want to be. I remember it all.”

“And then we kissed,” Ethan adds.

“Oh yeah, we did kiss, huh? I can’t believe I almost forgot that.”

“Ha ha, Rookie.”

“You know I’m just kidding. Of course I remember that kiss. It was the start of quite the journey for us.” A pained look flashed across Ethan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I kissed you and then I immediately reneged. I started us on that ridiculous journey and wasted so much precious time because I didn’t want to admit that I was falling for you.”

“Hey.” Naomi grabs Ethan’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I love you, and look at where we are right now. We’re getting married next week, we’re starting the rest of our lives together. Yes, the journey took a bit longer than I had hoped, but I don’t think I’d change anything in our past. It’s led us to this moment right here.”

“How are you so much more...wise and articulate than me?”

Naomi shrugs. “It’s a gift. Not everyone is privileged to possess it.”

“You remember all of the broad strokes of that night in Miami, but I’m more fond of the tiny details.”

“Like what?”

“I remember your blue dress and how it matched my eyes,” he starts. “I remember the sweet smell of your perfume, jasmine. I remember your coconut shampoo. I remember the way your pupils dilated when you saw me step out of the shower.” Ethan pulls Naomi closer to him and one of his hands gently cups her face. “It’s the same look you gave me when you realized that I threw that poker game for Naveen’s benefit, one of pure awe.”

“Your skin was incredibly soft,” Ethan continues, his finger tracing a nonsensical pattern on her collarbone. “Like silk. And it still is. But you want to know my favorite memory of that night?”

“Wh-what?”

A hand underneath her chin, Ethan tilts Naomi’s head up, their lips dangerously close. If she moves just a hair closer, they’ll be kissing. She’s tempted to just take the plunge, but she’s frozen, trapped under a spell of his.

With that, Ethan’s mouth descends on hers, pulling Naomi into a kiss with a ferocity she wasn’t expecting. She melts into it immediately, moaning, her hand flying to the back of his neck, getting tangled in the hair at the nape. She can taste the wine of him, the sweet taste of cherries as tongue slips into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Ethan pulls away only to nip at the corner of her mouth. “That fucking moan of yours. The tiny little noise you make at the back of your throat whenever you’re aroused. It’s been playing in my head on a loop ever since.”

His beard scratches a path down Naomi’s neck and shoulder as he kisses her.

“You want to make that sound for me again?” Naomi nods frantically, desperate for whatever is about to come her way. “Good girl.”

Taking her hand, Ethan pulls her away from the railing. Instead of heading back into their suite, he presses her into the tall pillar next to them, barely giving her enough time to put down her wine glass. The exposed skin of her back collides into the pillar with a soft thud.

“Out here?” She asks with a squeak as Ethan tugs at her dress.

Ethan shrugs. “Why not?”

His lips are on her neck again in an instant, clouding her judgment and making it harder to respond. “Someone can–” she dissolved into a fit of moans at Ethan’s ministrations. “Someone can see us.”

“We’re thirty floors up,” Ethan deadpans. “And it’s pitch black out here, no one will see us.” He grabs her hips, pulling her flush against him, and Naomi gasps at how hard he is. “Now hearing you, that’s another story. You’re loud and I have every intention to make you scream.”

If he wasn’t holding onto her, Naomi is sure she would’ve fallen over at his words. Ethan’s cockiness is on full display, and arrogant Ethan was definitely one of her favorite versions of him.

Ethan pulls away, giving Naomi a bit of breathing room so she can properly think again. “Does that sound like a plan, Valentine? Me having my way with you right here on this balcony?”

“God, yes.” She ignores the way he smirks at her unbridled eagerness. Ethan has a healthy enough ego without her stroking it.

“Correct answer, Rookie.”

Ethan’s hand wraps around the silky material at the top of Naomi’s dress and yanks it down. Naomi hears the ripping of the material and her eyes fly open in shock at the cool Miami air hitting her exposed chest.

“We’re going to have to talk about the serious lack of respect you have for my clothing.”

“You told me you got this dress because someone you called a “Pictagram influencer” advertised it and had a coupon code making it 70% cheaper,” Ethan counters.

“Yes, the dress was cheap, but you have to stop ripping all of my clothes.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“With a new dress?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at his fiancée’s quip, but he ignores it. “Something better.” He kisses down her neck and chest, stopping to wrap his lips around her nipple, biting down gently.

It takes a second for Naomi to register that the source of the unladylike growl filling the air is her. She grips Ethan’s shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging through his shirt, and her head falls forward at the sensation.

“You’re always so responsive to me,” Ethan murmurs softly. His mouth descends on her other nipple, his tongue flattening over the pebbled bit of flesh. “And I don’t even have to do anything to you.”

“Well, can you do something to me?”

“You young people have no patience,” Ethan clicks his tongue teasingly. Slowly, he sinks down to his knees in front of Naomi, tugging her dress down with him. He’s already ripped it, there’s no use in exercising any more care. The sparkly dress pools at Naomi’s feet and she kicks it away.

“You old people move too slow–”

The words die on her throat as Ethan hooks a finger into the band of underwear and tugs them down at a frenzied pace. His calloused fingers dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise. She always calls him old, teasing him into accepting whatever challenge she’s thrown his way. “I’ll show you old, Rookie.”

Leaving her hip, one of Ethan’s hands travels to her knee, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He hooks her leg over his shoulder, giving him more leverage.

She can feel his breath, warm and tickling on the inside of her thigh, so close, yet so far away from where she actually needs him to be. Her hips fly forward, a silent plea for him to continue this little game they’re playing. Thankfully Ethan doesn’t tease her any further as his tongue flies out, licking at her folds.

Naomi inhales sharply and she nearly hikes up the wall at the sensation. “Oh, God.”

“You’re so wet for me, Naomi,” Ethan whispers against the overly sensitive flesh.

He dives back in, moaning against her and Naomi throws her head back at the vibration. “Always for you.”

She can tell by the way his blue eyes sparkle as they lock eyes that he’s smirking. But Naomi doesn’t have time to care about that because his lips wrap around her clit and he sucks hard. Naomi cards her fingers through his hair, tugging at him roughly, like she will die if he doesn’t keep his attention right where it is. 

It doesn’t last long though, and with ridiculous strength and skill, Ethan manages to grab her wrists in one hand, and keeps her hips planted against the pole with the other. Naomi receives the message loud and clear: he’s in control here, unequivocally.

Secure in the fact that she won’t be doing too much moving, Ethan doubles down, his tongue lapping at her. The familiar scratch of his beard against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh only makes her more delirious with lust.

Molten core levels of heat prick at every bit of her skin, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her stomach tightens and there’s a tingle at the base of her spine. She’s close and it’s not fair that he can make her come this quick, and she’s not sure if she hates it or loves it. “I’m gonna–”

“I know.”

Ethan pulls away slightly, but Naomi doesn’t get the chance to whine about it. In an instant, he’s slipped a finger inside of her, earning a groan. He is just so...relentless in his goal, and Naomi barely has a chance to breathe before she’s keening (something so dramatic and unlike her. Ethan will never let her live it down). Her orgasm is swift, crashing into her like a tidal wave, knocking her off kilter almost instantly. Ethan doesn’t back away, his mouth still on her, working her through the release.

Her entire body is buzzing, still wracked with aftershocks when Ethan finally stands up. His eyes are dark, no longer the ocean blue they usually are, now taking on something closer to the midnight sky, fully dilated and hooded. His mouth is wet, slick with...well her, and Naomi has never wanted to kiss him more.

“That was a promising start,” Ethan says. “But it’s just that: a start. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

A start? If Naomi had the energy to do so, she would laugh at him, but one look in Ethan’s eyes lets her know that he’s being serious. She gulps audibly. She’s a shaky puddle of goo right now, and that was only the beginning?

“Turn around, hands against the pillar,” Ethan commands.

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Naomi. Hands out, ass up.”

He’s using his commanding doctor voice on her, and she loves it. Naomi does what she’s told, palms flat against the pillar holding up the balcony.

She hears rustling from behind, and she’s sure he’s undressing. Now she’s extremely aware of their power imbalance: she’s stark naked, save for a pair of high heels, while he’s still fully dressed. It’s not fair. Shifting slightly, Naomi lifts a foot and shakes it, hoping to get the shoe off in one fell swoop.

She’s stopped short of her plan as a sharp smack is delivered to her ass. She’s unable to contain the expletive in her throat, a loud, “Fuck!” drifting into the Miami air.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan asks.

“Taking off these heels.”

He tsks at her, as if the answer isn’t good enough. “I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

The authoritative tone zips straight through her, and Naomi turns to face him, putting on her best doe eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Christ.” Naomi didn’t know it was possible, but Ethan’s eyes darken even further at the word. He doesn’t bother stripping out the rest of his clothes, just quickly undoing his belt and pushing his pants down until they pool at his ankles. Without warning, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Naomi’s back collides with his chest with a hard thud. “Kiss me.”

That’s not a command that needs repeating. Naomi tilts her head back in an attempt to kiss him, but their vast height difference and Ethan’s death grip on her make it a challenge. She just barely manages to capture the corner of his mouth before Ethan growls impatiently, and grabs her neck, forcing her head back to deepen the kiss.

It’s overwhelming and heady, and she’s so caught up in it, she doesn’t even realize his cock, hard and pulsing, is poised at the entrance until he plunges into her in one smooth thrust.

If he wanted her loud, he got what he asked for, because Naomi breaks their kiss in order to scream at the welcome intrusion. The air rushes from her lungs, and she can’t even begin to breathe again before Ethan pulls out and enters her again with just as much intensity as before.

She feels delirious, and she can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re 400 feet above solid ground, and one look down makes her head spin. Maybe it’s the fact that someone, somewhere in this hotel knows exactly what they’re doing. Maybe it’s the fact that every inch of her skin burns deliciously as Ethan has her stretched at full fucking capacity, and she has nowhere to run or hide. There’s no sheets she can pull, no pillows to muffle her moans, nothing she can grab onto to anchor herself to reality. She’s suspended in this moment, and she can’t do anything but simply take it as Ethan fucks into her like a madman.

The noises she’s making along with the sound of their skin slapping together is wildly obscene, and it only spurs Ethan on. Abandoning her throat, his hand travels down to her chest, his forefinger and thumb pinching her nipple, bringing the tiny nub to an almost painfully hard peak. He makes sure to give the same level of attention to the other nipple, torturing his fiancée until she’s whining unintelligibly.

His lips find her earlobe and he bites down. “Are you close again?”

“Yes,” Naomi answers.

Instead of speeding up, Ethan slows down, his thrusts slowing down to an agonizingly deep pace, fully pulling out of her and thrusting in again at a leisurely pace, the sole intent of driving her insane.

“Ethan,” she whines. She’s a shaking mess, unable to do much else besides cry out and occasionally moan his name. Her spine curves, back arching and her head falls against his shoulder. “Fuck! Ethan, please.”

“Please, what?”

Despite his teasing, Naomi can tell he’s just as desperate as she is. His breath is coming out in ragged and uneven pants, there’s a thin layer of sweat, slick and coating his chest, and she can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic against her back. He’s just as tortured as she is.

In a Hail Mary attempt to get what she wants, her inner muscles clench down on him, stopping him mid-thrust. Ethan’s knees buckle, the move unexpected and throwing him off-kilter.

“Shit, Naomi,” he manages to rasp out. “You don’t play fair.”

Being fair has no place in this, she plays to win, but she has no time to throw it back in his face as he presses into her clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her yelp.

If her last climax felt like getting slammed with a tidal wave, this one feels like floating down a river: languid and unrelenting, refusing to stop. It consumes her entire body, engulfing her in pleasure so white hot and intense, she’s sure stars are popping behind her eyelids as every bit of pleasure is wrung out of her body until there’s nothing left to give.

Ethan’s thrusts speed up again, messy and spasmodic, all rhythm gone. His hips snap against hers before she feels him coming, his entire body going rigid.

Thankfully, Ethan has enough energy left to pull them into a chair because Naomi was more than willing to simply collapse onto the concrete and stay there. She curls into his side, her face finding a spot in the crook of his neck.

They don’t speak for what feels like forever, both just trying to regulate their breathing and return back to normal.

Ethan breaks the comfortable silence, but Naomi barely realizes he’s talking before it’s too late to fully listen. She tilts her head back so they can lock eyes. “What?”

“I asked if you’re okay,” Ethan says.

“I can’t feel my legs,” is all Naomi manages to say. Ethan chuckles and reaches forward, slipping Naomi’s heels off, the relief pretty much instant.

“Better?”

“Much.” She sighs sleepily, her eyelids growing heavy. She burrows deeper into his side, Ethan’s body heat lulling her to sleep. “This was much better than staying in the girls’ room.”

“And it was much better than going to a strip club with your friends,” Ethan adds.

“You like them. They’re your friends too, don’t deny it.” Ethan doesn’t outright confirm or deny anything, which is all the confirmation Naomi needs. “Told you so.”

“How about a shower, Miss Know-It-All?” 

“Sounds great,” Naomi huffs, but she makes no effort to move.

“This is doing more for my ego than you’ll ever know.” Ethan is careful, extracting himself from Naomi’s grip in order to get up. He then hooks his arms underneath her, lifting her up bridal style to carry her back into their suite.

Naomi might as well be unconscious because she’s dead weight in his arms as he maneuvers his way to the en-suite. Thankfully the shower isn’t complicated and all Ethan has to do is turn a few knobs for it to turn on. He waits a few seconds to make sure the water is the perfect temperature, before pulling Naomi in with him.

They don’t spend too much time in the marble and glass box, as Ethan can see Naomi is probably seconds from passing out. The shower is over almost as quickly as it began. Both wrapped in large hotel robes, Ethan nudges Naomi back to the bedroom where she collapses face down onto their bed.

Once Ethan is in bed with her, Naomi rolls over, her face firmly planted on his chest. Upon making contact, Naomi sighs.

Ethan kisses the top of her head. “I can practically hear your thoughts. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Naomi assures him. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“It just feels...surreal, being back in Miami, being back in this room,” Naomi explains. “We’re getting married next weekend.”

Ethan lifts Naomi’s left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the moonlight. “It does feel surreal.”

“I think we should make it a tradition, coming out here.” Ethan looks down at her, a curious eyebrow raised. Naomi feels the need to explain herself, the words rushing out of her mouth. “It doesn’t have to be annual or anything, but I want this to be our special place.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ethan says. The next they come to Miami, she’s going to be his wife, and the thought spends a thrill down his spine.

“And we have to have sex on the balcony. It’s tradition now.”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”

“Of course not,” Naomi argues. “I’m in it for your money, too.” Ethan pinches her leg for the teasing, and she squirms away from him, laughing.

“When I die, I’m bequeathing all of my money to Jenner.”

“He’s a good boy, he’d share with me.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes and pulls Naomi in for another kiss. They don’t make it very far though, as the sound of a cell phone pierces through the air, making them spring apart.

“Yours or mine?” Ethan asks, eyes scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Naomi bends over and sees her cell phone on the floor by their bed, and not on the nightstand. 

Weird. She picks it up, and her eyes widen at the amount of texts she’s received in the past minute, the vibration so strong, it knocked the phone off of the table. “It’s mine.”

Bryce L: DUDE!!!

Bryce L: Where the duck r u?

Bryce L: ????????????????????????????????

Bryce L: Srsly not funny, did u run away from ur own bachelor party?

Bryce L: Pick up fone. Nay will murder us for losing u. 

Bryce L: But I will murder fist, 4 running away

Bryce L: Oh shut. Naomi, ignore this!!! 

Bryce L: JK, false alarm

Bryce L: Ethan is fine, picky promise!

Between the misspelled words and strings of emojis, Naomi can tell that her surgeon friend is completely drunk, but she manages to figure out what he’s saying. “So Bryce is having a meltdown because he lost you.” Taking the phone from Naomi’s hand, Ethan holds it up to his face, squinting as he reads. “And he thinks he was texting you, when he really just texted me.”

Ethan chuckles slightly, and mere seconds later, his own cell phone rings ‘Dr. Bryce Lahela’ flashing across the screen. “He’s figured it out, and he’s calling me now. Should I answer?”

“No. Let them have their Hangover moment.”

“Their what?”

“From The Hangover. The movie with Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zack Galifiniakis where they get totally shitfaced and lose their best friend a day before his wedding,” Naomi explains. Ethan just stares at her blankly. “Oh my gosh, you’ve never seen it?”

“How does this come as a shock to you, Rookie?”

“Well, we can't get married until you’ve seen the entire trilogy.”

That makes Ethan’s brows fly up. “There’s 3 of those movies that you want me to sit through?”

“God Grandpa, you’re so lame,” Naomi groans and her hand reaches out onto the nightstand, grabbing the remote control. She points to the large flatscreen tv in front of them. “Hopefully we can order movies on this. If not, I brought my laptop so–” Ethan plucks the remote from her hand, and tosses it to the edge of the king sized bed. It lands softly. “Hey!”

“I don’t care about some stupid movie.”

“It’s not stu–” He tugs at the knot holding her robe together until it falls open. “Ethan…”

“You have options, soon to be Missus Ramsey,” Ethan starts. He rolls over until he’s on top of Naomi, his arms bracing either side of her cage, caging her underneath him. “We can watch that movie, or we can pick up where we left off on the balcony. Which choice do you prefer?”

“The movie,” Naomi quips back with a smirk.

She laughs at her own joke and Ethan’s eyes darken mischievously, taking on the challenge. “Just for that, I’m going to guarantee that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

[buckyodinson]

A Date in History (Frankie Morales x Reader)

Summary: you and Frankie go on a date to a museum, and softness ensues

Word count: 2k

Warnings: FLUFF, softness all round, Frankie being a complete nerd in the museum, like just complete sweetheart Frankie Morales

A/N: I’ve spent all week doing research for my dissertation (which is about the importance of museums for children’s learning), so I’ve been reading a lot of articles about how great museums are! I, myself, am a massive museum nerd, and I go all the time to all the different museums in London, and after all my reading, I had a thought about how cute a museum date with Frankie would be, and then this happened! This is pure self-indulgence, and I hope you enjoy! And this photo just gives me Frankie vibes too so here!

There was a chill in the air of your bedroom when you awoke. The sunlight seeping through the curtains was warm on the little sliver of exposed skin it touched, but otherwise, the bedroom was pretty cold. You wrapped yourself further into the sheets and as you turned over, you were met with an empty bed. You frowned as you realised Frankie must have opened a window somewhere and that’s why you were so cold. You laid eyes on the clock on Frankie’s bedside table and groaned at it’s mocking numbers, reading a bright 8:03AM.

Too early to be awake on a Sunday when you had nothing to do.

You were roused from your staring match with the numbers by a low humming out in the hallway. Frankie soon appeared in the doorway holding two mugs, smiling warmly at you. His hair was sticking out all over the place and you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. If you had to be up this early, at least it was with him.

“Morning sweetheart.” he murmured as he carefully climbed into bed, waiting for you to sit up before he handed you your mug. He planted a ghost of a kiss on your lips as you took the mug from his grip. You wrapped your hands around the mug, sighing at it’s warmth, and you heard a rumble of a laugh bubble in Frankie’s chest as he watched you.

“It’s a Sunday, why are we awake so early?” the end of your question trailed off into a yawn and you gave Frankie a pointed look as if to say ‘see - it is too early’.

“Because we have plans.”

“We do?” you wracked your brain, staring down at the drink in your mug as you tried to remember what past-you had stupidly agreed to do on a Sunday morning.

“Well, not exactly. But I was hoping to take you out on a date today?” his sheepish smile warmed your heart more than the drink currently in your hands.

“A date?” you squinted your eyes and smiled into your drink.

“Yeah, if you’re up for it?”

“I’d go anywhere with you, Frankie. Even if it is early on a Sunday.” you shuffled closer to him and dropped your head on his shoulder, feeling his own head rest softly atop yours a few seconds later.

“So where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.” you swore you could hear the smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach. You felt young again, like when you and Frankie first got together, and you’d take the other for surprise dates whenever you could.

You chatted aimlessly in bed for a little while longer until you both finished your drinks, before taking a shower together and getting ready.

“Do I need to dress up or is it a casual place?” you called out to Frankie in the bathroom, as you mulled over two outfits you’d laid out on the bed.

“Wear whatever you want, sweetheart!”

“That doesn’t help!”

He chucked as he came into the room shirtless, wrapping his arms around you and dropping his chin to your shoulder. He studies the two outfits for a moment before pointing at the more casual one, “That’ll do.” He presses a kiss to your cheek and walks back to the bathroom to carry on getting ready.

Once you’re out of the house, you walk down the street to the local cafe you both love. It’s a sweet little family-run business, and you’re both friendly with the owners, who are always happy to see the pair of you. You have a nice little breakfast, with you still trying to get Frankie to tell you where he’s taking you. He just smiles as he shoves another forkful of pancakes into his mouth, chuckling softly at the glare you give him.

Once you’re back out on the street and walking around again, you try to make sense of the nonsensical direction Frankie is walking you around in as you chat.

“Where are you taking me?” you pout your lips and give him puppy-dog eyes.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t have anywhere in mind.” he gives you a boyish smile.

You give him a quizzical look and he carries on, “I just thought a day out would be fun. See where our feet take us. We can go back if you want to?”

“Of course not, Frankie. I’m very happy to carry on wandering around with you.” you lean up to press a kiss to his lips before you carry on walking the neighbourhood.

You stop quite often to take pictures of pretty things you notice, though you’re sure your camera roll is more selfies and candids of Frankie than the actual sights you saw. And if you looked at Frankie’s camera roll, you’d see a bunch of photos of you too.

Sometime in the early afternoon, you turn a corner into a much busier street than you’d experienced all day. When you followed the crowd, you came upon a museum. You gave each other a ‘why not?’ look before climbing the steps to the entrance.

And it turned out to be the best decision. Frankie had the biggest grin on his face as he took in all the fossils and skeletons that were on display as you walked through. He was more excited than the children who were running around the exhibits, and it brought the biggest smile to your face to see him so intrigued by everything. He’d read every little bit of information next to different objects, pointing at things he found particularly interesting.

You accumulated so many photos of him deep in thought as he looked over old fossils or with a beaming smile as he looked at some kind of reconstructed dinosaur skeleton. There were different interactive things in the exhibits - that you’re sure were aimed at children - that you took part in. You took selfies in some of the hats and period-accurate costumes there were to try on, giggling as you tried to keep straight faces to match the ones in the paintings.

You even sat and listened to a talk (again, mostly aimed at children) about how the excavation process works for digging up very fragile objects. The same wonder was still present on Frankie’s face, and it made your heart swell. He seemed so content to just stay in the museum all day, and you were more than happy to do the same, so long as you were with him.

As you explored more of the exhibits, holding Frankie’s hand tightly, all you could think about was how you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him. Yeah, getting dressed up for fancy dinners could be fun, but this was so much more you. Getting to walk around a museum and have fun all day perfectly encapsulated everything about you and Frankie. It’s the simple things in life.

Doing stuff like this for the rest of your life sounded perfect.

And evidently, the same thoughts were running through Frankie’s brain as you explored. As the evening approached, the crowds around the museum died down, and the exhibits got much quieter. Frankie grew a little quieter himself as you reached the space section of the museum, but you didn’t think too much of it, assuming he was starting to grow tired. There was a little planetarium room you assume is meant for small groups of school children to explore, and you and Frankie were the only people in there as you looked up at all the screens and projections. He let go of your hand briefly to point up at one of the constellations, and you laughed as he made a joke about it being inappropriately shaped.

But then you turned around to find Frankie down on one knee with a small box in his hands, and you gasped, tears already threatening to fall at the look of pure adoration on his face, which was only highlighted by the soft hues of the lights dancing in the room.

“I’ve known for the longest time that you were the one for me. The years I’ve spent with you have been the best of my life. Undoubtedly. I’ve done terrible things in the past, and I still don’t quite understand what you see in me,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, and you can hear the nerves in his voice as it falters slightly, “But I’m a better man because of you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and prove that I’m worthy of your love. So... Y/N, will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world - or I guess universe is more fitting right now?” he gestures to all the projections still playing around you, biting his lip as he waits for your reply.

“Of course, Frankie.” you choke out a sob and nod your head frantically as he takes the beautifully dainty ring out of the box and slips it onto your finger. A perfect fit. He stands up and pulls you against him for the most bruising kiss you think you’ve ever shared. You pull away and berate him briefly for the ‘worthy’ comment in his proposal before pressing a kiss to his nose.

He pulls back, beaming, and lets out a deep breath, “Thank God.” he chuckles as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Were you nervous?” you smiled warmly up at him as he wiped the tears from your cheeks, and the action makes you realise there are tears in his own eyes too.

“Are you kidding me?! Of course I was, sweetheart. I was worried you’d say no.”

“Never in a million years could I say no to this face, Mr. Morales.” you scratch at his scruff and laugh at the groan that rumbles in the back of his throat.

“Lucky me.” he pulls you in for another kiss, pulling your body impossibly close again.

“Mrs. Morales. I like the sound of that.” you smirk as you pull back.

“Me too...” he holds a hand out for you to take as you start to walk out of the planetarium, “... me too.”

You’re walking down the corridor towards the exit when you hear someone shouting from behind you “Wait!! Please! Excuse me?!”

You both turn to see a young girl in a shirt with the museum logo jogging towards you with an envelope in her hand. She catches her breath as she stops in front of you, sheepishly holding the envelope out for you to take.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as creepy, but the planetarium is rigged up with cameras so we can take pictures of the kids that they can take home. And I was getting ready to power them all down when I saw you two in there. Once I realised what was happening, I managed to grab some pictures of you.” she smiled nervously as you opened the envelope.

You were floored at the photos inside. There was one of Frankie on his knee before you’d turned around. Then one of you once you saw him, the shock evident on your face. Then closer up shots of your faces. And you kissing. And finally, you pressed against each other with your foreheads connected, looking into one another’s eyes. All of them were stunning, due to the projections and soft hues of blue and purple of the planetarium.

You felt a new set of tears threatening to fall as you looked over them, “Thank you so much. These are beautiful.” you didn’t miss the way the younger girl relaxed at your words. You chatted with her briefly and she took your email address so she could send you digital copies of the photos too. You definitely gave her a hug before you and Frankie left too.

By the time you walked back home, they were sat waiting in your inbox, and you stuck the physical copies up on the wall of your living room before retiring to bed for the night.

It’d been a long day, but you definitely weren’t mad at Frankie for making you get up early on a Sunday anymore.

Masterlist

Permanent taglist: @castieltrash1 @fioccodineveautunnale @mrsparknuts @fleurdemiel145 @hp-marvel-starwars-kotlc

While you’re not on a taglist as such, I hope you don’t mind me tagging you @softpedropascal because I know you love some soft Frankie!

(please message or ask if you want to be added to or removed from a taglist!)

[hobidreams]

The Early Shift | Last Cup {M}

the last sip of coffee is always the most bittersweet.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, sprinkling of fluff words: 9.5k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, jealous/awkward yoongi, condomless sex, softness (ish), dirty talk, spanking, oral (f), hair pulling, the truth index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“H-Hyung?” The word is foreign on your tongue as you swivel, catch sight of Yoongi’s face. He’s gone ashen, stony as he barrels towards you two, abandoning the inventory checklist with a clatter onto the counter.

Yoongi’s hands dig into your wrist as he forces you behind him, taking your place instead right in front of Jiwon’s still smiling face. Except the grin is now somewhat plastered in place on his handsome lips. “Jiwon.”  Yoongi drops the familiar term, his eyes more combative than you’ve ever seen them. Combative, yet not with the fires of passion he usually turns on you. Instead, a chill so cold, so empty you hardly recognize it.

“Ahhh...” Jiwon exhales, covering his mouth with a broad palm, scratching the skin just beneath his lips with a groomed fingernail. “It’s been a while… I’m still your hyung, you know.”

“Bullshit.” Yoongi whips the word at him, but Jiwon doesn’t back away.

“I thought you hated the night shift.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Is that why you’re here then? To ruin something else for me behind my back?”

The tension is so weighty it settles in the pit of your stomach as you look from man to man, neither one offering any explanation. Deadlocked in a standoff of stares or glares depending on the man. Their only weapons are their words, which could cut just as deeply as any blade.

This isn’t good. Especially because there’s still a customer left in the store.

So you throw yourself into the fray. “Yoongi, what’s wrong?” You ask in what you hope is a calm voice. “How do you know Jiwon?”

The second Jiwon’s name comes out of your mouth, Yoongi jerks towards you. “I don’t. Nothing’s happening. He’s just leaving.”

“Yoongi, you can’t just kick out a customer.” You feel bad – Jiwon is starting to look like a kicked puppy with his lips drawn down, somber.

“Can and will.”

“Yoongi…” Jiwon clenches his coffee. “Listen—”

He’s cut off when a blare of familiar song whips through the café. “I KNOW, we don’t talk together!” Volume turned up to the max, the music reverberates off the walls themselves.

“Sorry!” The only customer squeaks, the ringtone obviously hers as she answers the call. “Hello?” She hurries out the door, leaving awkward silence in her wake.

You didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi’s scowl deepens further. It just had to be this song, the damn reminder of what he’s lost. The lines carved into his face are so hardened and painful you wish you could offer relief. Instead, you swallow that look and all its implications. Then something clicks in your brain.

“Wait, Yoongi...” You gesture to Jiwon, hands slightly shaking, “is he…”

Yoongi grunts, irritated that he can’t hide it any longer. “It’s your lucky day. Meet DJ Alex.” His voice is deadpan. “Or should I say, Do Jiwon.”

“Do… Jiwon.” You repeat in a whisper. “DJ.”

“Yup.”

Another silence, but this time it covers you in its heavy grasp. This Jiwon. This charming, handsome Jiwon that you almost asked out, imagined yourself possibly dating. This Jiwon that’s actually nothing but a thief.

Said man rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Yoongi, let me explain myself, please.”

With another scoff, Yoongi breaks the stare-off. He turns. His eyes find yours of all things and he just exhales as if it’s all too much. “Jiwon. Just… Just go.” He steps away from the counter, tensed fingers finding your wrist. He means to drag you both into the backroom. Running away from this mess like he always has.

But you’re not done yet.

Your mind is exploding with questions, with emotions bolstered by the absolute fatigue in Yoongi’s eyes. Why isn’t he defending himself? He so eagerly goes head to head with you but here? Here is where he loses his nerve? He’s just going to let Jiwon get away with it all without so much as a scolding? When Jiwon took his best chance away from him and his inspiration with it?

No. No damn way are you going to stand there and take that.

You jerk your hand free. Before Yoongi can grab you again, you storm back to the counter. “What the fuck, Jiwon?”

Some carnal part of you relishes the shock in Jiwon’s eyes when your voice whips at him, respectful honorifics dropped.

“What the actual fuck? You just come back here just to offer excuses about what you did?” Your finger jabs at the air over his chest. “If you want to call yourself his hyung, then you should make yourself fucking deserving of that name!” Your volume raises with every word you sucker punch at him. “But no, instead, you betrayed him! Just abandoned him!”

Jiwon’s mouth flaps but nothing comes out.

“How dare you come back into his life and remind him of all that? Of the shitty thing you did and are still enjoying now?” You’re on a roll, apparently. You didn’t even know you had it in you to defend Yoongi so vehemently when you usually spend your time doing the exact opposite. But the resignation in the way he bites his lip scrapes at your heart.

“Yoongi trusted you. You were his partner!” Jiwon shrivels with every syllable. “The only thing worse than a coward, which you are for dodging him, is a goddamn liar.”

You’re left slightly breathless at the end of your tirade, tense hands splayed across the bar You glare at Jiwon, but he refuses to meet your expression, your anger. Instead, he burns a hole in the counter for half a minute before he dares to looks up. Then his eyes flicker to Yoongi. You stiffen, ready for an explosion.

“…You’re right.” When Jiwon finally speaks, his voice has lost all flirtatious flair. It sounds small, pathetic. “I did a shitty thing. A shitty, selfish thing.”

What an ass—

Wait.

Wait, what?

“Y-Yeah!” You can’t quite hold on to the full amount of anger in your tone when he’s not feeding your fire. But having Yoongi in your peripheral vision keeps you from moving an inch. “Damn right it was shitty!”

“The producers, they just. Fuck.” Jiwon sighs, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, I know I can’t take back what I did. But. But Yoongi…” Your hands clench into fists, ready to counter whatever excuse he comes up with. Or his anger, which would be apt considering the venom you’ve thrown his way. “Yoongi, I’m sorry.”

You actually take a step back.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

This is… Not what you were expecting. And judging by the way Yoongi’s mouth just falls open, he hadn’t predicted it either. He just keeps blinking as if he figures he’ll wake up at any minute.

Jiwon stutters something unintelligible as he fishes in his jacket for a wallet. It’s much fumbling before he drops a white card onto the table, his name embossed on the front. “I-If you want, I can introduce you to some connections and we can get your music out there, Yoongi. Let me help you! Please.” He pushes the card across the counter. “Call me. Let me make up for this.”

Oh, hell no.

You take one look at the flimsy card stock and snatch it up. “He doesn’t need your pity!” You scrunch it up in your fist. Whip the paper ball towards the door. “Just get out!”

Finally, Jiwon gets the point. He gives Yoongi one last look (regret? sorrow? who the hell cares) before he whirls around. Even leaves his coffee behind in his haste. The chime goes off and now, you are left alone together.

You both stare out the door for a long minute, neither of you sure how to proceed. Eventually, your fingers stitch together, oddly flustered as you slowly turn to fully face Yoongi. He seems to have recovered from the initial jolt. He’s closed his flabbergasted mouth, opting for a thin-lipped glower instead. Except this one seems directed at you.

You feel like you should say something, but what? The tension nips at your mind, begging to be shattered. Needs to be, if you are going to move forward.

“Yoongi—”

He beats you to it. “You know what? I don’t need your pity either.” Then he disappears into the backroom, door slamming decisively shut.

He just leaves you standing there like a fish caught on a deadly hook, stuck with bleeding thoughts, hands numb, trembling. You weren’t expecting gratitude, no. Still, you didn’t think he would react like… this, either. Not when the other option was to let Jiwon go.

But you don’t see Yoongi again until an hour has passed. Those two lines, spat like poison, become the last words Yoongi says to you for the rest of the night as he stalks, still mute, to the OPEN sign. He whips it CLOSED precisely one second after the proper time and begins the mopping duties without even so much as a glance your way.

You can’t muster the courage to even try knocking on the wall he’s suddenly re-erected between you; all you can do is look down at the change you’re counting and try to not let it get to you.

You finish the evening in this same solitude. The cleaning gets done. The store is locked, shuttered. Eventually, you go your separate ways in the darkness without so much as a wave of acknowledge. Yoongi’s hands remain stuck in his pockets, closed off, while you pick at your nails in nervous habit as you walk away from him.

Tomorrow, Yoongi is back on his regular shift. Meanwhile, you still have two weeks of your night shift trade left to go. That means your paths don’t have any opportunity to cross.

And so, they simply don’t.

To your credit, you try your best not to think about Yoongi. But your mind just keeps playing that scene over and over again, determined to force you to analyze every word, every gesture. And that song is making a comeback on the radio, if only to serve no other purpose than to antagonize you.

Perfect. Just freakin’ perfect.

You make it all of a week.

“Hey Jungkook… Can I ask you something?”

“Always! Shoot.” Jungkook leans against the bar, letting his adorable, earnest smile shine through.

Here goes nothing. “H-Have you spoken to Yoongi at all?” You’re trying your best to keep your voice casual, not wanting to betray the hours of contemplation spent pondering whether or not you should be asking this question in the first place. Clearly, you’ve been real productive these past seven days.

Jungkook doesn’t look surprised at your query. Or maybe he just hides it well. Either way, he nods. “Not much. Just a little bit when our shifts overlap.” His huge eyes may look innocent, but there’s a gleam of mischief as he deliberately refuses to elaborate any further than that.

Brat. He’s not going to make this easy on you. “Is he… Is he okay?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No injuries. He hasn’t gotten into any fistfights.”

“Yah, you know what I mean.” You smack him on the arm.

He laughs, infuriatingly carefree. “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, he just looks normal, maybe a little tired. Then again, I only see him for like half an hour. Not a lot of time to have deep, soul-searching conversations.”

You don’t know what answer you were hoping for, but it still leaves you disappointed. “Hm.”

Hm, indeed. He looks fine, while you’ve been replaying last week over and over again in your mind like a broken record. Cool. That’s totally cool.

“So he hasn’t… talked or asked about me or anything?”

Hoseok, coming up from behind Jungkook, is the one to answer instead. “Well, actually.” It’s comical how your heart soars at that, leaping bounds and valleys from just two words. But you come crashing down when he ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Wait. Sorry, shit. I… can’t tell you.”

Your eyes narrow. “You can’t? So he has said something?”

Hoseok casts his gaze downward. “It’s really not for me to say.” He purposefully smooths out non-existent wrinkles on his apron.

Jungkook’s doe eyes turn on you. “Noona, have you tried just asking him yourself?”

…Kind of. The text you sent a few days, the careful ‘Hey, Yoongi, are you there?’ had gone woefully unanswered. You eventually had to archive the conversation altogether, to prevent your obsessive checking over whether or not he had replied. Altogether, a disaster.

“It’s… It’s fine. It’s whatever,” you end up muttering. Thankfully, the door sounds and you vehemently turn towards the new customer that’s just entered the shop, grateful for the distraction.

You know your coworkers are much too clever to believe your stammered words. But at least they’re kind enough not to probe any further.

It is on a Friday, the last night of your month-long shift swap, that reality smacks you in the face.

Reality is this: you will be forced to face Yoongi in three days, and things remain extremely awkward between you. He is still ignoring you. Not that you can really blame him, after these two weeks to contemplate that decisive moment. While you don’t regret what you said to Jiwon, you probably shouldn’t have stuck your nose into Yoongi’s issue and taken over for him. Should have respected his decision to back off, no matter how unjust.

Which means you should probably apologize.

Just one problem. You hate doing that. Especially to Yoongi.

But you were the one who committed the wrong, so you have to be the one to extend the olive branch. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, nothing like the lattes you prefer but more like a dark roast: rich, full, and awful. That’s how Yoongi had tasted too, his tongue sliding against yours so feverishly like a man possessed. You hadn’t minded the flavor then.

“Hobi, how do you apologize to someone?” You rest your hands on the top of the mop, then your cheek on top of that.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side, a cute “hm?” coming out of his heart-shaped mouth. “Depends on how bad the situation is, I think!”

“Pretty bad, I guess?”

He hums, as if he knows exactly what this is in reference to. Then he raises a finger in triumph, like he’s just discovered the secret to the universe. “Go with a gift! You can never go wrong with a present!”

Hm! You nod approvingly. That’s a perfect idea.

Thus, your Saturday becomes dedicated to making a gift for Yoongi.

Yes, making, because you can’t exactly afford expensive music equipment. You don’t think Yoongi would appreciate a bag of coffee beans from his place of employment. Somehow, a stuffed animal doesn’t seem to fit his aesthetic either; you also really don’t want to add to the clutter of his place. So, your genius mind has settled on creating a mixtape. A playlist full of songs you hope can express how sorry you are, and how you hope to move on from this.

There’s one surprise at the very end of the CD: a piece that’s self produced. It’s just two minutes of you, a shitty phone microphone, and some heartfelt rambling. Look, apologizing is hard, okay? You don’t think you have the gall to do it in person, so this is the next best thing.

The sun is just beginning to set when you reach Yoongi’s apartment, finished present in hand. You’re contemplating whether to knock or just leave the tiny bag you have on the handle. One of these options is easier than the other. But maybe you owe it to him to at least ensure it gets to him.

Your knocks go unanswered.

Eventually, you have to accept that he’s out, a fact that has relief pouring over you. You loop the bag straps around the door. He’ll get it whenever he reaches home, you suppose. And if he chooses to snap it in half without listening to it, well, that’s his prerogative too. You’ve done your part. You’ve been the bigger person.

You manage to get all the way back to your apartment without thinking of the package, blasting music from your headphones to drown out your thoughts. You eat your dinner, watch an episode of the latest KBS drama, water your plants. Hell, you even start actually doing the research for your paper due in three weeks. But throughout it all, you can’t shake the listlessness that sits beneath your skin like an unwanted visitor, ever so often poking you with a sharp stick.

You know too well why it’s there: your damn curiosity that won’t leave you alone.

You want desperately to know if your gift has been received, and how. Will he understand what you’re trying to say? Maybe you should have put your apology at the beginning instead of the end. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone with Super Junior’s Sorry Sorry, even though you needed something in the middle to break up the torrent of sappy songs. Oh god. The what ifs threaten to drive you stark wild for the utter lack of answers. (Though judging by your current state, perhaps they already have.)

“Uggggh, that’s it!” You announce to your succulent, desk chair clattering as you shove viciously to your feet. “I’m going to bed!”

With great, groaning creaks, the elevator doors open on the floor of Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi drags his exhausted body through them, reeking of smoke, stale cologne, and alcohol, courtesy of the bar he just left. His head is still a little fuzzy, but it’s not too bad. A nice haze. The walk here in the cool night air has already sobered him up some. He just needed to get out of the house. Needed to stop thinking for a while.

But the pressure lingering in his system had refused to budge even after the second shot, fifth drink in total, which was what finally prompted him to get his sorry ass back home. He’s desperate for something to relieve what’s been pent-up, the ugliness building and bubbling uncontrollably inside him these past weeks. Sex distracts him, usually. But a meaningless hookup… that would erase the memories of your pretty mouth on him, the heat of your body tangled up with his. He can’t bring himself to do that. Not that he can admit this, even in his own mind. So, he resigns himself to another night of his fist wrapped around his own length and a mediocre climax.

Yoongi sighs as he rounds the corner, digging in his pocket for his keys. Just as he pulls the ring out, he spots the conspicuous bag tied to his door. Who would be sending gifts like this? Jimin? No, his friend from college is currently out of town, he remembers. But nobody else would leave—he peers inside—a CD of all things, with his name scribbled upon it. This handwriting is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He grabs the bag and enters the darkness of his place. He drops his jacket on the couch, then makes his way to his computer. Slides the CD inside the console. Waits.

The first song is something indie, something sorrowful. Yoongi doesn’t recognize it but he gives it a listen. It’s not bad. But the next song is even slower, even sadder. Most definitely not his usual type of music, and for good reason. He cringes at the third piece.

The songs just keep coming, all playing off the same apologetic theme. Whoever put together this playlist has no idea what they’re doing, he thinks. The genres are all over the place, with no coherent flow like a proper mixtape should. They all just happen to contain the word ‘sorry’ in the title or lyrics. “The hell is this,” Yoongi mutters, laughing at the absurdity as he stands up halfway through, deciding to take a shower without even bothering to turn the music off.

Yoongi takes his time beneath the hot water – lets it wash away the grime of the night. It helps remove some of the buzz from his mind. By the time he steps out of the bathroom, he feels almost completely sober. He’s distracted with towelling off his hair; he doesn’t even notice that music is no longer playing until he hears speech.

“...eah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say...”

He freezes.

But that’s your voice.

The voice he hasn’t heard in weeks but could pick out of a crowd in a second. The voice that once hammered on his brain on a daily basis but now douses it in undeniable relief, comfort.

Yoongi is glad no one is around to witness him rushing to the desktop, hurriedly replaying the track that’s currently on. He plugs in his headphones, dragging them over his head even though his hair drips with water.

“Hey, Yoongi.” You sound so uncharacteristically quiet it makes his chest tight. “I-I know you’re trying to avoid me, and I don’t blame you.” He gnaws at his bottom lip as he listens to you explain your thoughts. Even though your tone wavers at certain moments, you just keep pressing on. It makes his chest feel inexplicably tight.

“Yeah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. I won’t interfere with your business again. And I won’t cross the professional lines between us anymore. I hope we can still work together. Okay. That’s, uh, all from me. Goodnight.”

Yoongi sits in the silence for all of three seconds before he hits the back button. Plays it again. Then again.

“God damn it!” He rips off the headphones, surges to his feet. “You’re so damn silly. It’s not your fault! How could any of this be your fault?”

But then whose is it?

Jiwon is the easiest culprit. But he’s apologized. He’s trying to move on, even trying to help Yoongi, even though that’s just salt in the wound. The only person still mired inside this self-made prison is Yoongi. He made his home in these concrete walls, punishing himself, thinking it was the easiest way out. Still bitter and trying to pretend like he can just stay angry forever because the only person it fucked up was himself.

But now it’s affecting you.

Hearing your voice like this, it’s all laid out for him. Reality and truth stab him in the gut, forcing him to finally acknowledge how he’s hurt you, the one person who has nothing to gain from helping him, yet continues to do so again and again.

Yoongi rubs at his temples, regret radiating through him in waves. He should have realized it earlier, if only he could have pulled his head out of his ass. Hearing this, hearing your voice with that undercurrent of worry is like a punch to the gut and to his mind, blasting out any residual hesitancy.

You don’t deserve to sit in this uncertainty and pain of misunderstanding any longer.

A text isn’t enough. Nor is a call. He needs to see you. He needs to see you right now and tell you face to face just how sorry he is. How grateful. And maybe he just wants to see your face, because he kind of misses the way you scold him.

Haphazardly dressed, Yoongi rushes out the door, almost forgetting his keys in his haste. His slides slap against the floor as he frantically dials Namjoon, hoping he’s awake to get the address he so desperately needs. He jams his finger into the elevator call button, silently willing it to come faster.

No more, Yoongi thinks. No more running away from the hard shit, from his feelings. This time, he’s running right towards his future.

The clock blinks 1:00AM when you check it next, still as wide awake as when you shuffled beneath your covers two whole hours ago.

Damn it. It’s a good thing you have tomorrow off, because there’s no way in hell you could wake up at the crack of dawn otherwise. Counting sheep has proven to be useless, especially after you get up to Sheep #482 (it’s a cute one. Okay. They’re all cute.) Doing math equations in your head usually gets you conked out pretty quickly from sheer monotony, but it’s also futile tonight. Your mind is much too alive, active, overactive to let you doze off.

Then you hear the knocking.

Well, it’s more like a clatter. The sound of something hard slamming against your door, followed by a few wimpy taps. Yikes. Are you going to get murdered?

You slip out of bed, pick up your baseball bat. Weapon in hand, you creep towards the entrance, forgetting you’re not even wearing any bottoms. You press silently to the thick wood, maneuver your eye over the peephole to see what crazy bastard is here at this hour.

What you see has you yanking the door open, the bat clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Y-Yoongi?!”

It feels like a lifetime since you’ve last seen him. You didn’t know how much you missed that stupid, irritating, attractive face until it’s in front of you. Doubled over and breathless, hair a wind-blown mess.

“How the hell did you get my address?”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi is panting so hard he can hardly breathe. You swear he’ll keel over in the next minute. You don’t look forward to cleaning his body off your carpet. “Namjoongaveittome.” That’s all he can get out before he takes another gulp of air, face red with strain.

“Jeez, come in so you don’t bother my neighbours with your dying.” You usher him in, watch him stumble to your couch as you flick on a lamp to cast a glow over the room. He’s wearing a plain tee and sweatpants, but it’s the slides on his feet that probably explain his current discomfort. In his hands, he clutches the same bag you left on his doorstep. You try not to think about the implications of that. “Why didn’t you drive or take the bus or something?”

“Bus broke down… halfway. Had to run…”

You shove a glass of water into his hands and he gulps at it. A few droplets leak from his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. Classy.

“Thanks,” he finally says as his heart seems to stop threatening to jump out of his chest from fatigue, then speeds up again for another reason entirely.

You stare at each other wordlessly for a few beats.

“What’re you doing here, Yoongi?” It comes out in a harsher tone than you’d intended but your heart beats a drum in your chest, a rude rhythm that is mirrored in the trembling of your fingers.

“I should be saying that to you!” Yoongi reacts to the perceived animosity in your voice, lifting the bag and shaking it. “What is this supposed to be, huh?”

You force yourself to focus on fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. Quelling the unease in your veins. “…Did you listen to it?”

“Yeah, I did.” Yoongi sets the cup on the coffee table with a smack. “First of all, you have awful taste. Secondly, this CD is completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.”

This squeak of a noise is accompanied by the sudden skydive of your heart, right towards the floor. At least that you can hide. But, against your will, disappointment and exhaustion create a cocktail of tears that prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over by the next second. No, no, no, you scold yourself but the lump swelling in your throat refuses to be swallowed down. You hate that more than anything, hate that it makes you look wimpy and weak.

When you turn your head, Yoongi catches sight of the glimmer of wet tears. “Oh, shit.” He throws the bag behind him. Scooting towards you, he puts a warm hand on your shoulder and his voice is right beside your ear and god damn it, why is he getting closer? But even you can hear the panic in his voice when he says, “no, no, oh god. I didn’t mean it like that.” He brushes your hair back to expose your downturned face. “Shit. Please don’t cry. Please.”

“I don’t want to cry either, Yoongi!” Your words sound waterlogged, but you force them out. Hope it’ll make him back off.

Instead his thumb comes beneath your eye to catch the stray tear that leaks out. He wipes it away as he murmurs your name so softly you can scarcely believe the noise came from his lips. “Look at me. Please.”

What can you do but obey? Min Yoongi will be the death of you, you swear it. That sentiment is doubled when you find his eyes and see nothing but sincerity in their darkness. He’s never studied you this way. It steals your breath, renders you in silent anticipation for what comes next.

“Look, I’m a fucking idiot.”

That actually makes you laugh, though it’s somewhat strangled as you wipe away the last of the tears. “Well, we both knew that. But why this time?”

“I… I shouldn’t have ignored you.” He drops his hand from your cheek. It sits against your bare thigh, the skin growing hot where you’re connected. “But I was scared. I felt ashamed and more than a little pissed off that you stood up to Jiwon when I couldn’t.” You say nothing. But that seems to make him even more jittery as he bursts out with, “E-Especially since you’re so god damn perfect all the time!”

“Perfect?” You repeat, bewildered as it couldn’t be further from the truth. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“You know… You just. You have your shit perfectly figured out! It just reminds me that I’m a mess.”

“No, I really don’t. Trust me.” Is that what he’s thought of you this whole time? No wonder he was so irritable. It’s almost laughable. “But Yoongi, why didn’t you confront Jiwon?”

He sighs at that, long and deep. “Just… After the whole incident, I had trouble writing. I had all this anger inside me. I didn’t know what to do with it. I wrote diss tracks but they all sounded unoriginal, whiny. Pop songs were the same. Generic and boring. I kept trying to write something better than ‘We Don’t Talk Together’. I was obsessed.” Yoongi is babbling faster, like a dam finally broken and flooding. You’re not afraid of the waters.

“It was easier for me. Easy to just blame everything on Jiwon, say it’s his fault the songs weren’t coming to me. So when he apologized…” He gives a laugh, but it’s a self-deprecating one. “I’ve spent the past weeks getting to this point, I guess. Of accepting that this shitty thing happened. I think I’m finally ready to move the fuck on. I hated that you made me confront that at the time, though.”

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, unable to resist the opportunity to poke at him. Hey, he made you cry. He deserves it.

“Uh huh.” Yoongi reaches behind his back to find the bag he threw momentarily aside. “So that’s why this CD is unnecessary. You don’t need to apologize to me.” He hands it to you. “Thank you. For helping me out. Even though I don’t deserve it.”

You set the bag on the table. “Of course, Yoongi. I wouldn’t just abandon you.”

“I know.” He actually smiles, eyes waning as your heart gives an extra loud thud.

The conversation peters out. You sit soaked in tension, unsure what the hell to do now. Especially because you’re hyperaware that his knee is right against yours and it feels like a million degrees, but neither of you are moving away. Your eyes are still locked to his, unfathomable and unyielding as you awkwardly hold wimpy grins. Even in this situation, your mind won’t stop running to inappropriate places, urging you to lean forward and kiss those pink lips.

But how does Yoongi feel?

“I, uh...” Yoongi gives a start as if he’s read your mind, but he doesn’t finish his thought.

“Anyway...” He hangs his head, cuts himself off again. “I was going to say...” Another trailing, unfinished sentence.

“You okay?” You murmur, his apparent nerves soothing your own.

“Agh, damn it. Okay. Here. Just – listen to this, okay?”

Yoongi whips out his phone, taps on the screen a few times before he places it on the table. Seconds later, music starts to play, a song you’ve never heard before. You tap your foot along to the opening synth, feeling the jazzy beat. Then a familiar voice comes on.

“Yoongi, is this you?!” You cry out, immediately reaching for the phone to turn the volume up.

Yoongi nods, saying nothing but his grin grows at how excited you are. You see the flash of gums, recognize it as the smile usually only reserved for customers. God, how your heart continues to flipflop at the sight.

You lean forward, trying to catch the fast-flowing rap. It’s poetic, weaves a story of a couple around the metaphor of a seesaw. A constant back and forth that ends in heartbreak, a dissolving that’s ultimately better for both parties in the end. When it ends, you instantly want to listen to it again – it’s that addicting.

“This is the song I wrote for the competition. I wanted to show you, since… Yeah.”

“Wow, it’s so good, Yoongi. I swear, you’re going to win.” You want to put this song in your music library and play it on repeat until you know every line. You play it again, listen silently as you really absorb the piece. “I really love the lyrics. And how it progresses. Also, how the singer leaves in the end, alone. I think too many songs out there promote the exact opposite message, even if it’s a shitty relationship, ya know?”

Yoongi nods, cheeks slightly flushed, but he looks so pleased. “Actually, this song,” his breath hitches, “I wrote it about you.”

“Me?”

At first, you’re flattered, beaming even. Then you remember the song’s contents.

“Umm... Wait...” You frown. He’s not saying... “You want to ‘put an end’ to us?” Hell, you didn’t even know there was an ‘us’ to be had!

“Ah, no!” Yoongi’s sleepy eyes blow wide, almost comically so with panic. “No. Definitely not.” His hands clench his knees tightly, as if to stop them from shaking. “I... wanna stop this ambiguous back and forth. This seesaw that we’re on. Of not being just coworkers but not really being anything more than that either.”

“...You want to be more?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as if you can scarcely believe it.

“Yes.” He exhales. “I want more. I want to be with you. Try things out with you. See where they go.” He drums his fingers against his leg. “You make me a better person. And I want to be there for you too.” His lips quirk up, not sure what expression to land on in his nervousness. “That is, uh, if you’ll have me.”

He’s adorable. So freaking cute. You never thought you would see Yoongi like this, and it’s just about the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You lean forward and press your lips to his in answer.

Yoongi is soft.

You feel him hesitate for all of a second before he’s kissing you back, really kissing you back with all of his might. It’s sloppy and your rhythm is all off, but the passion that radiates from him pours the sweetest honey into your system to douse you in heat. He scarcely breaks away to breathe as he tilts his head, searching for a better angle to move against your mouth, to reaffirm this is truly happening and not just some fever dream.

His arms wind around your frame, tugging you closer as if he can’t bear to have any space between you while his tongue traces the outline of your lips. You open for him instinctively, unable to refuse any of his silent requests to taste. You’ve both been denied for too long, but time has not made you forget the curve of his mouth, the nibbles he loves to inflict. His breath tickles your skin as you finally find your pace together. A wild beat you thought you’d lost forever but now roars back to life.

That’s why you’re practically scrambling into his lap, shoving him backwards on the couch in your urgency. Having him against you, tongue flicking against yours, wipes away all thoughts save for him and how incredible this feels, how he feels. It makes you greedy for more, especially more of the muted groans of need that you coax from his throat and swallow.

It’s only when you scrunch your fingers around the back of his neck and come away slightly damp that you finally pause. “Ew, you’re all sweaty,” you tease with a cheeky grin.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me, damn it.” There’s the Yoongi you know so well.

“Rude.”

“You like me rude.” Just to prove his point, he shifts his hips, grinds his bulge against your needy core. Separated only by thin layers of fabric, you can feel him so well you can’t help but get wetter from the mere promise of him.

“T-That’s a damn lie.” But you’re flustered, distracted by the desire surging through your veins at the danger in his tone. It’s all too easy for you two to bring out the sass in each other, but now it keeps you on your toes, thrill in your system.

“Oh? So you don’t want me to throw you onto the bed and spank you until you come?” He accents his filthy words with hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your jaw, down your neck. This feels right. So fucking right, he wouldn’t stop for the world. He guides your loose top away, sucking wetly at the skin he exposes. Promising much more in the way of dark violet marks, but not giving it just yet.

“Well, I-I’m not saying that...”

That makes him laugh as he digs both hands beneath your ass and hauls you into the air. “That’s what I thought.” Your legs wrap around his hips, arms around his back. Hold him like he’s yours.

Though it’s a short few steps from the couch to bed, Yoongi keeps his mouth on your skin as if he’s mapping – every bit as desperate to know your body as you do his. He runs his tongue along the curve of your shoulder, obeying his instinctual desire to test your tolerance with the occasional bite. He grins at your yelps. You repay him by tugging at his scruff of hair, nails scraping the skin.

When his leg knocks against the bedframe, you expect him to fling you onto the sheets as promised. Instead he bends, lets you tumble down softly before joining you on the mattress with one knee. Yoongi glows in the dim lamplight, fair skin glistening with lingering sweat as he tugs off his shirt. You’ve never seen anything sexier in your life as he crawls between your legs, forcing them to spread with the hands that slide up your thighs.

“You look like you want something,” he utters in a low tone, toying with the seam of your panties. They are unfortunately plain, but he drinks them in as if they’re made of gold. Touches them with none of that delicacy though, as he hooks fingers under the band and threatens to rip.

You shift your hips, needing friction but he just teases you, lets the cotton drag across your skin only for him to pull it infuriatingly back into place. “Are you going to give it to me if I say yes?”

“Maybe, if you’re a good girl.”

Oh god. You’ve never been called that in your life but when he growls it out in that languid, devil-may-care way, you think you might just be whipped. You’d thought Yoongi devastating before, but that was nothing compared to the intimacy dripping from his fingertips as he removes them from your panties, begins the torturous ascent up your waist. Your whines of protest melt into moans when he eases your top over your head, exposing your naked body to him for the first time.

“Oh, fuck.” Yoongi goes blank. He swears every ounce of blood in him rushes to his swollen cock at the sight of you laid out like this, ready and wanting for him. The fantasies he’s conjured in his mind are nothing, crude sketches of the masterpiece that is your body, your smile, you. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”

The honesty in those whispered, reverent words bolsters the flush creeping beneath your skin. It’s with a smile that you arch into his mouth when he wraps his lips around your nipple in a perfect fit. He sucks hard, noisy and lewd, forcing gasps that make you glad your apartment walls are somewhat thick. But when his tongue swivels amidst the bites he lavishes on your peak, you are reduced to whimpers in his hands. He’s an expert at combining pain with absolute pleasure until your mind is in utter shambles. Shattered even more so when his fingers find your neglected breast, his remaining free hand cupping greedy handfuls of your behind.

When you shift your knee to rub against the pronounced bulge in his sweats, he smacks his palm against your asscheek to a satisfying crack. “Patience is a virtue,” he warns, trailing his tongue to the valley between your breasts. Slathers wet heat on your skin, the curves of your chest even though you’re already burning up from his touch.

But you’re more than willing to play his game. You prove so when you grope his fabric-swaddled cock, massage until you hear the music of his hitched breaths. “I’m not trying to be virtuous.” Then you steal his smirk for your own use while you run fingers along the side of his shaft. His frenulum is sensitive as ever beneath your persistent hand; he bucks when you grind your thumb into the nerves.

“A-Ah!” You yelp when you feel the fresh sting, looking down to find that Yoongi has left his first love bite at the swell of your breast. It blooms in deep, sinful red. Damn if you don’t want him to leave five, ten, twenty more. You want that damnable mouth on you anywhere he can reach until you ache with the reminder of him.

“Thought I told you to be good.” He stares down his nose at you. The act is not nearly as intimidating as it had been in the backroom of the café, but still every bit as arousing. Especially when he pairs it with a sly finger trailing down your slit, the sensation frustratingly dulled by your soaked underwear.

It’s a miracle you can summon the strength to talk back. “Oops. My bad,” you reply in a voice that tells him you’re not sorry in the slightest. Goading Yoongi is a form of art that you have perfected.

Amused and more than a little turned on by your disobedience, he rocks back onto his knees. “On your stomach. Now.”

Oh, yes please. You obey without hesitation, pressing your chest to the warm sheets. You shiver when you feel his hands fit along your waist, as if testing his grip for later use. How hard would he squeeze as he fucks you? As he feeds you every hot inch of his erection, the skin taut and hard for want of your cunt? You tense your thighs in longing, not wanting to wait a second longer to feel him inside you.

But you don’t have a choice.

You lunge forward when the first smack lands on your ass. You cry out, face half-buried in the pillow as pleasure radiates from your burning cheek. Yet you’re still raising your hips for more. You love the pain, addicted to the visceral reaction it beckons from your body.

But your squeal gives Yoongi pause. “Is that too hard?” He asks, breath brushing across your skin.

You throw a coy glance backwards. “Never.”

Your answer is accepted with a second slap, a punishment that makes your body shudder further into your mattress. “My little slut,” Yoongi snarls, enjoying the way the possessive words feel on his tongue. “Bet you’re ruining those panties of yours.”

Smack. Fuck, you swear he’s leaving imprints of his palm behind. You wish you could see.

“Totally soaked.” You rock onto your elbows, push your sore ass into his palm. Hope you can convince him to lose control and just fill you up. “So ready for your cock, Yoongi...”

You don’t see how he squeezes his eyes together, biting back the surge of hormones; they bid him to throw all restraint away to sink into your heat. “Not just yet.” Your undies are tugged down, rendered useless and tossed somewhere onto the floor. Chills run through your spine as you’re bared for the second time tonight. He forces your hips up and before you can even breathe, licks a long stripe across your cunt.

“Oh, fuck.”

You cannot stand Min Yoongi and that devil’s tongue he curls around your clit. He drags the tip across your sensitive bead, understanding where you’re too sensitive and then deliberately stimulating that very spot to make your knees buck. Pleasure floods your body, makes your every limb white hot and weak, a mess for one man. You knew he was dangerous from the very start, but that never could have stopped you. Your body reflects just how hopelessly you’ve fallen, pushed to the brink of climax faster than you’ve ever been before.

“So fucking sweet.” His fingers dig dimples into your ass, spreading you wide so he can have his fill. His tongue glides along your curves, taking his time instead of being so focused on chasing climax as he had that first time. Now he’s hungry for knowledge, for intimacy he can only find with you as his landscape. And if he makes you cum a thousand times in the process of that quest, well. You’ll survive somehow.

When his tongue slips into your heat, you almost lose it. He thrusts it like he fucks: ruthlessly, flawlessly. As if you’re the only thing that matters right now, and his only desire in the world is to have you quivering on his lips. A wish he’s getting twofold.

“Close, so close, Yoongi, ah—”

“Yeah, I can feel it.” He sounds utterly entranced, the drawled words thick with longing. “Want you to cum around my tongue. Can you do that for me?” He poses the question as if you have a choice. As if you can do anything against the onslaught of bliss tangling themselves in your veins, demanding that you release.

All because of that accursed mouth that has you at its mercy, whether between the sheets or out. Too compelling for your weary nerves to resist when his hand whips across your skin and without warning, you’re cumming. Tears prick, rolling down your face as he spanks you again, this time even harder, and your climax becomes unbearable in bliss. You were not prepared for the tsunami it is, crashing onto you, sweeping you away.

“Yoongi!” The name is muffled by the pillow you stuff your face in, muscles screaming at you to stop tensing but you can’t, you goddamn can’t. Crest after crest of sensation radiate through you in time with the throbs of your sodden walls. You swear he grins against your pussy as you rock your hips like you’re in heat. Your skin is so sensitive it almost hurts but you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck me, Yoongi, please, god, I need your cock in me right fucking now.” Your voice is desperate and begging and any other time, you would be mortified but all you can think of now is how you need to be filled. To have every crevice of your throbbing pussy stuffed with Yoongi’s cock so he understands just what he’s done to you. Wrecked you, ruined you for anyone else.

“Oh fuck.” He was not expecting you to turn the tables but here you are, fucked out and still so needy for more. His sweatpants join your panties, cock springing free, the deep-red tip leaking from all it’s been denied. God, how he wants to fuck that pretty whine in your voice into moans.

“All of you, Yoongi. Wanna feel the stretch.” He’s taking too long; you’ve always been impatient.

Yoongi will never forget the sight of you spreading your own cheeks to show him, seduce him with how your cunt drips from anticipation. But it’s the look in your eyes, the affection mingled with the heat that has him plunging half of his cock into you in one stroke.

“So tight for me, h-huh? What a good girl,” Yoongi growls, trying his best not to cum instantly from the way you take him. Just swallow him with such ease, yet still squeeze him like a vice. He’s missed this pussy so much, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night. He’s finished himself countless nights to the memory but now you’re really here; now you cry for him in that tremulous tone that drives him wild.

One of Yoongi’s hands goes as promised on your waist, but the other weaves into your hair to grip at the roots. He doesn’t tug yet, testing your limits, careful to respect them. He’s rewarded with a moan as he bottoms out at the same time he gives his first light tug. Now every thick inch of cock is finally swathed in you, and you are filled to the brim, just like you craved.

“This okay?” He asks, massaging the crook of your perspiration-dotted back with his thumb.

“Mhm...” You slur it like you’re drunk but it’s just the moment, the pleasure forcing you into submission. You love the juxtaposition only Yoongi brings out for you, how he instinctually knows exactly what you seek.

“More?”

You rut into him, feel that friction kindle something indescribable, deeply carnal in your core. “Always.”

It is here that Yoongi realizes how gone he is for you.

You’re incredible. Fucking incredible. He tries to tell you this with every pump he sends into you. So damn hungry but still careful not to pull too hard on your locks even though he thinks you might like that, minx that you are. The gasps just continue to fall from his mouth as he just feels himself drown in you. You fit around him like you were made to take his cock and then some. He wants to give you everything. But first he’ll start with pleasure. Pleasure so intense you’ll forget even your own name.

You’re closer to that goal than he knows. You’re falling into the rough staccato rhythm he sets, bodies slamming together again and again until your mouth feels dry for all the moans you can’t staunch. It sends you soaring: the ache of his fist in your hair, the burn of the stretch that you know will stay with you for hours after. It’s all in service of the inevitable crash that will ruin you.

Yoongi’s thighs have started to burn with strain but he doesn’t dare stop, doesn’t think he could. Not when you’re both teetering on the cusp; ready to fall, not apart, but finally together.

“Y-Yoongi...!” On one particularly hard thrust, you rear up, back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest. He lets go of your hair to curl his arms around you, clutching you as he thrusts upwards to hit your core. You focus on the sole task of breathing. But you fail even that when his fingers find your clit, rough and imprecise in his animalistic movements. It’s still enough.

This is how you cum – speared and full and deliriously sated.

He can’t hold out any longer when you find your peak. His teeth scrape your shoulder, but you can only register pleasure as he grinds out his own orgasm against your ass. You feel him spill deeply inside; it feeds some innate need you didn’t even know you had. Reaching behind, you hold him close as he does you, heartbeats pulsing to the same beat as you let the noises speak for you.

When the high relents, you collapse onto your palms, practically faceplant into your pillow as the aftershocks shudder their way through you. It’s a good few moments before you can roll onto your side, to face Yoongi who has done the same on your right. You feel like a mess, but he looks at you as if he’s never seen anything more stunning in his life.

“I... Wow.”

“Yeah...”

For a minute, all you can do is grin at each other, silly smiles stretched wide across your kiss-bitten lips.

Eventually, Yoongi flips onto his back, chest still heaving. “That was actually meant to be gentler,” he mumbles, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “Since our first time was me getting carried away. And the second.”

“Looks like you just can’t help yourself around me, huh?” You tease, hoping you’ll make him blush, or hit you back with something equally sarcastic.

“Yeah. I really can’t.” He says it so honestly, you melt a little into the sheets.

You shuffle closer to him; he automatically raises his arm to let you in. “Stay over tonight, okay?” You say, kissing his bare chest as you cuddle in. Relish the fact you can just reach out and he’s there. Solid, warm, there. “Not like you have work tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He kicks the light covers up with a foot, pulls it over your body so you don’t feel the chill even though his body keeps you running hot. You hum as he runs his fingers down your back, rubbing at that sore spot just right. You fall into cozy silence, tracing the contours of his damp torso, running over the curves you couldn’t before.

“On Monday, I’m going to give Mina my two weeks notice.”

Whoa.

You shove up from Yoongi. Turning with utter surprise on your face, you cry, “What?” You unintentionally crush blankets in your fists. “Why?” When you’ve finally worked things out between you?

“As much as I want to stay, I’m… I’m going to try to produce full time.” His eyebrows furrow together. He sucks in a breath. “Being at the café took up all my spare time and while it was a good distraction after the whole thing, I... I don’t need it anymore. I’m going to chase after what I really want to do.” The relief that soaks his voice tells you he’s finally figured it out. “And I’m going to do it on my own. Without Jiwon. Without his help.”

“Oh, Yoongi...” Your heart floods with nervous excitement. You are not really a fan of change, but this is different. This is a step in the direction he was always too afraid to take. You flop back beside him, let him eagerly draw you back into his arms. “I’ll support you as much as I can. I know you can do it, babe.”

“Babe?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t like it?”

“Mmn. Like it... more than I thought I would.” His voice is practically a mumble by the end as he hides embarrassment with a nuzzle into your head.

You’re grinning as the most welcome thought strikes. “Hey, maybe whoever replaces you will finally be on time!”

Yoongi smirks. “Unfortunately, your boyfriend may sometimes still be a little late.”

You tap his cute nose, his squishy cheeks. “Oh, is that what you are now?”

“Yup.” He proceeds to bury his face into your hair, pressing kisses and inhaling the scent he doesn’t think he’ll ever get his fill of. “You’re stuck with me.”

You chuckle as you snuggle further into his warm embrace. it just feels right to be here somehow. Ironic, that ‘here’ is pressed up against the man who can get under your skin like no other. Maybe you’re a masochist, but you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

Lying here, listening to him slip into slumber, the apprehensive energy in you just melts away despite the feeling that you’re about to embark on a journey that you’re sure will be anything but easy. But as long as you’re with him... You smile. Then you let the anxious thoughts go, finally surrendering to the sleep that his steady rise-and-fall brings.

Turns out, Min Yoongi isn’t the absolute worst after all.

a/n: yeah, i know, who still makes CDs in 2019? :p but sending over a Spotify playlist isn’t nearly as romantic. hehe. thank you for sticking with me until the end of my first series. i learnt so much through writing it and had a ton of fun! please let me know what you think of the ending, yeah? ;) i hope you all enjoyed TES ♡

huge, enourmous thank you to my betas: @hoseoksdior, @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @bigtiddiejoon! 💖 this fic would not have come through without their efforts!!

special shoutout to MISS ARI @flowerymoonlight who hyped me TF up & had to survive the snippets i sent her at 2 in the morning. ily babe, you have a special place in my heart ALWAYS.

p.s. you can find more minis of this couple on my masterlist!

[rosecoloredwriting]

Hi there! I wanted to request some headcannons! Of our good bois bakugou, izuku and Todoroki ( or if it's only one character the Izuku definitely)

They're pro heroes and Reader is one too. She's making her debut. Or rather this is her defining moment. She's fighting so hard, only she can take down this villain and she does...and just getting our bois reaction of being so proud of her as they help her to medical?

Sorry if its too specific!

 That’s My Boo!

A/N: Please excuse the fact I took so fuckin long to post this. I will be honest here and say i forgot I had this account. I havent been on tumblr at all for the past few weeks so I hope you enjoy this anon. Sorry for the wait.

Summary: When the main 3′s s/o kicks ass 

Pairings: Izuku Midoriya x GN!Reader, Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Reader, Shoto Todoroki x GN!Reader

Izuku Midoriya

At your agency, you met Midoriya, someone with who you clicked well easily

Always being partnered up when the time arises it was fun working with him

Only problem is that he overshadowed you

You don't hold anything against the guy but everyone would only give him credit for both of the work you guys did together

You gained your place as a hero but no one seems to notice you

It's so bad that even izuku noticed and feels sorry for

The challenge arises when Izuku isn’t around to take down the villain

Stuck in the agency building filling out paperwork, you did patrol alone this time

Just your luck a villain makes a ruckus 

On your hands you had to deal with one of the biggest fights you've had to do

As the sidekicks did their best to evacuate the area you fought the big boss

Trying your best to keep minimum damage and keeping the civilians safe news camera started to flood the area

With deku always stuck somewhere else it was a bit odd

But thrilling nonetheless 

Everyone screams weather in fear, support, or excitement they were all watching 

Nerve racking but also confidence boosting

In complete control of your quirk you fought the villain

With ever single bow the villain weakening and seeing how much more he will loose

The villain having enough aimed a fatal blow at you but you countered

The attack not only returning back to him but doubling with your force

In a second he was down as silence hit until an uproar of screams by the crowd

Pushed from the blow but not so fatally hurt your were blown across

Opening your eyes as you lay in the rubble you open your eyes to see curls of green

Izuku arriving at the scene and holy shit he had a waterfall in each eye

Did not let you go and did not let the nurses touch you

“You know Midorya that you don’t have to do this”

“No, I have too! I'm sorry for not being there to help you!”

“It’s not your fault that they gave you that pile of paperwork to do out of short notice.” Only fuming more like a mother as he tends to your wounds. Softly gripping your wounded hand wrapping it up in bandages. 

“You were amazing out there!” 

“I was nothing you probably could have beaten the villain way quicker than me.”

“Doing anything with you makes me wanna work harder.” The tips of your ears heat up slightly at his comment. Looking away embarrassed you hear Midorya make a small squeak. Embarrassed he turns red and wraps his arms around his head. “I mean who wouldn’t you're really hardworking are great at what you do!” Laughing nervously he tries to avoid your gaze. Reaching out for his hand you clasp yours over his. 

“Then why don’t we go out and celebrate this victory with dinner?”

“Together? Like alone?” You hum in response as he turns an even brighter red. With a big breath, he finally looks at you in the eyes. A blush still evident on his cheeks “That sounds amazing.”

Katsuki Bakugo

He was on his day off as you went to the agency

Using his day to the fullest he spends the day mindlessly watching t.v

Shutting his brain off to chill himself from the strain of his job

Until he switches to the news channel

There you are bloodied and bruised attacking the shit out of the villain

Tensing up he's on the edge of his seat watching you defeat the villain

As everyone watching is in awe

Watching as you take down the villain that everyone was having so much trouble trying to stop

Quickly grabbing his phone and keys he speeds off to the scene

Watching the live feed on his phone

you were favorited among a niche group of people but rn everyone finally kept their eyes on you, a moment where everyone watches you

Speeding off katsuki gets in his car trying his best to reach the scene and watch your well being

When getting to the scene he sees the glorious moment of you standing over the defeated villain as everyone erupts into screams

Everyone chanting your name and being the one to shine amongst the other heroes

A feeling of admiration and love for you spilling out of his heart

The next few moments blur past you before you in the hospital

When I tell you this man broke so many traffic laws for you I mean it

Lucky you were not severely injured and could be taken home

He busted into your hospital with a nurse trying to stop him as you and the nurse tending to you jump

Luckily you were not severely injured and could be taken home

Let's just say Katsuki was pissed and did not let you do anything when you made it home

He was on your beck and call but like he’ll ever admit it

[demigodlunar]

Scars - Chapter 3

Wow, people have already read this sooo fast! Thanks so much, I appreciate it :D

_____________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 - Take Over With Grace

“Mr. Grace?”

Jason was jerked out of his fantasies of being a normal child- for about the millionth time- when he heard his last name being tossed out carelessly in the large crowd.

He shielded his eyes from the camera’s flash setting and the just the sight of the showy clothes of the countless paparazzi and media that were here for the interview.

“Mr. Grace, what do you have to say about the shares in the stock market for Olympic Inc. going down last week?”, one of the nameless news reporters asked, arousing another round of nods and agreement.

And once again, Jason sighed in relief that the question wasn’t directed towards him. He was Mr. Grace, yes.

But not to the public. To the public, Jason was just a secretary or student intern that happened to be at the interview. No one important. His father, Zeus Grace, was the one that was being bombarded by questions.

Jason could hear his father's loud and commanding voice over the racket of the others, answering the question with a calm, precise tone and reassuring words. He gulped, being reminded once again that this could- would- be him soon.

The annoying little voice in the back of his head whispered again, you’re almost 18. Almost time to take over the company.

Jason tried to keep the headache at bay. He hated the fact that soon, he wouldn’t be a normal 18-year-old boy without a care in the world. After he graduated from high school next year, Jason’s father wouldn’t even bother sending him to college. He would take over Olympic Inc. the moment he threw his square graduation cap in the air.

Jason could remember a distinct memory from when his parents were still talking to each other.

~~~~~~~~~~

8-year-old Jason Grace peeked out from behind the door to stare into the living room, where his parents were yelling at full volume, not even caring to lock the door or try to reduce their voices to not scare the children.

“He’s just 8 years old,” his mother, Beryl Grace, screamed, “A child! You can’t bring him into all your business and politics, I won’t allow it!”

“He’s my child, so I will decide whether I start teaching him how to take over the company when he’s older, and introduce him to the press.”, Zeus yelled back with just as much vigor.

“Your child! YOUR CHILD!” Beryl screeched, “He’s my child too! You already told the world about Thalia and now she can’t even leave the house without the media asking her if she’s going to take over the company!”

Jason winced at his mother’s voice, not even understanding what they were so upset about. If they could just talk it out, maybe they could come to an understanding.

“Thalia will not be taking over the company,” Zeus argued, taking on a defensive tone, “I vowed only my first-born son would be the head. Besides, Thalia wouldn’t want to take over. Once I tell the media that Jason will be the new CEO, they will get off her case.”

“And then what about Jason? Then they start stalking him? AT 8?” Beryl yelled, screaming a string of words that almost made Jason’s ears bleed afterward.

“Fine,” Zeus said, deadly calm, “Until Jason is legally an adult, we will keep him hidden from the public. I will still teach him what he needs to know, but he can be seen as a normal boy at least until then. Then, he will take over the company.”

Jason stood there, trying to figure out what “take over the company” and “new CEO” meant. Now, Jason was a smart boy, but this seemed to stump him. Would he become like Daddy? Working all the time and wearing those tight looking suits and ties?

Ew.

Jason didn’t want to do that, that seemed boring.

He turned his attention back to his parents in the living room, and they had calmed down excessively. He tuned into the conversation to hear what they were saying.

“... you take Thalia and I will take Jason,” Zeus said, holding his hand out to Beryl.

She stared at it for a couple of seconds before grabbing it and shaking it briskly, “Deal, but they have to be able to meet. They love each other, you know.”

Zeus sighed, “Of course, every Saturday and Sunday?”

Beryl nodded and she started walking to the door that Jason was hiding behind. Jason jumped back as she pushed it open and walked up to Thalia’s room.

The next hour was a blur and all he remembered was Thalia crying and yelling that she didn’t want to go, and that made Jason cry too. He didn’t like to see his sister cry, she was really good to him. After they both calmed down, Jason learned a new word.

Divorce. It rolled off his tongue but in a bad way. When your parents left and lived in different houses.

Well, Jason thought, At least I will get to see them still.

But living with his dad was something that Jason never got used to.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jason was startled out of the memory when a finger snapped under his nose three times in quick succession. He looked up bewildered at the snapper. Thalia grinned down at him and put her arm around him.

“Hey, little bro! Spacing out again I see.”

Jason rolled his eyes but smiled fondly, “You're only one year older. Besides, I was just thinking of when I have to take over the company.”

Thalia’s easy smile disappeared, and she frowned, “I still can’t believe that dad is giving you no choice at all. I mean, you're wasting your life on something that will never make you happy.”

Jason sighed, every time that this topic was brought up Thalia made the same argument. He tugged at his tie, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“Just let it go, Thals.”

Thalia huffed but didn’t add any more fuel to the conversation. Then, she smiled widely. Jason almost tripped from the sudden change of attitude.

“I just remembered! I gotta go, little bro, Piper is having brunch at her place today,” she said while wiggling her eyebrows in a weird way.

Jason felt heat rush to his cheeks when his sister mentioned Piper Mclean. He could remember the first time he saw her.

It was in the hallway during their freshman year. He saw her stand up to Drew Tanaka when she was bullying some poor boy who looked at her wrong or something. When she yelled at Drew and embarrassed her in front of the whole hallway, Jason felt like he’d been shot.

If it wasn’t enough that Piper was a kind-hearted, brave person, she was also painfully beautiful. Even when she cut her hair, and wore baggy clothes, she was still extremely gorgeous. She also never noticed him.

It was safe to say that he had a very big crush on her.

“R-really?” he stammered, blushing, and wishing he never told Thalia about his crush in the first place because she found a reason to make fun of him for it all the time.

Thalia smirked and whipped out her phone and went to her messaging app, bringing up Piper’s contact.

Thalia wanted to introduce Jason to Piper to help him with his hopeless crush, but he’d voted against it. As painful as it was, he couldn’t be introduced as Thalia’s brother, because that would mean explaining their complicated family tree, including Percy (who Jason hasn’t heard from in years) and the fact that he would be a CEO of a famous company in a little over two years.

Jason brought his attention back to Thalia’s phone, where she was texting Piper. Their conversation was pretty casual.

(AN: Thalia, Piper)

Today - 11:34 AM

hey Pipes

hey Thals

wassup

nothing much, you?

i’m here with my brother at one of my dad’s interview things

Jason almost shrieked, but that wouldn’t be very manly of him. Instead, he shook Thalia’s shoulder forcefully.

“THALIA!” he winced as his voice squeaked.

“What?” Thalia frowned at him.

He stared at her, and sudden realization dawned on her as Piper’s reply came.

you have a brother?

“Oh shoot, oh shoot, oh shoot!” Thalia yelped, juggling her phone like it was on fire, “Oh my gods, what do I say? Should I say I was lying?”

“Yeah, because she’ll definitely believe it if you say ‘oh I was just kidding, sometimes I imagine I have a brother!’ She would think you’re crazy!” Jason deadpanned.

Thalia glared at him, and then she sighed resignedly, “Well, she knows now, and she’s one of my good friends, so I may as well just tell her the truth.”

Jason didn’t like that idea, but Thalia was already texting Piper again. He looked at the screen to see the conversation again.

yeah

EXCUSE ME, but how come you’ve never told me about him?

never came up

fine, you win, for now. show me a pic?

And in the next second, Thalia found a picture of Jason laughing at a joke that Hazel made, and sent it.

Jason made a mad grab for her phone, but it was too late. Oh no, he looked so dorky in that picture.

“Chill it bro, you look fine,” Thalia said, her eyes still on the screen.

Then, her face looked like she’d hit a gold mine, and she pushed the screen in front of Jason’s face.

oh, that cute boy you sit with at lunch sometimes? He’s really good looking.

Jason almost dropped the phone, and stood there rooted to the ground as Thalia cackled in the background.

Piper. Piper Mclean. Thought he, Jason Grace, was good looking?!?!? Jason felt like he might die.

Thalia wheezed as her laughing fits started subsiding, “Oh-oh my gods. Th-that was amazing!”

Then she typed a reply to Piper.

yes, he is, and he’s also here looking at our conversation.

Thalia erupted into another bout of laughter, and Jason waited for Piper to respond. But she didn’t.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Jason’s watch beeped, and he remembered that he was supposed to be heading to Hazel and Nico’s apartment to hang out. He waved goodbye to Thalia (who was still laughing like a lunatic) and made his way back to the apartments where his cousins lived.

Gods, he needed to clear his head before he went brain dead, and spending time with family, other than his dad, helped with that.

My, oh my, this was gonna be an eventful year. _____________________________________________________________

Hehe, there's some Jiper for ya. Poor Jason, being stifled like that... I can relate :(

-Blossom ;)