#I need to squeeze ever last drop of information out of that scene that I possibly can | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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levi-my-beloved · 3 years ago

Note

I'd like to request a headcannon with Levi and fem reader where she has an invisible (physical) illness that only few in the scouts are privy to (Levi, reader, Erwin, and Hange probably). So she puts on a good front to her squad, but requires extra care behind the scenes.

Levi with a terminally ill s/o

Warnings: conditions based incredibly heavily off Huntington's disease, death, grief, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: anon this was such a sweet request ;^;. soft caring levi is best levi. as mentioned in the warnings, the reader's condition is heavily influenced by Huntington's Disease, so I thought it only appropriate to put the NHS overview to help spread awareness. All information is available on the NHS website, as well as how to help those with this condition.

You learned from a fairly young age; Life. Isn’t. Fair. It’s a fact you’ve grown up with. The diagnosis was too late to help your mother, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was no cure, and no way to stop the progression. You were aware of the 50% chance of inheritance, and honestly, with your luck, you didn’t hold out much hope. Life isn’t fair.

So you showed no surprise when spells of dizziness and occasional stumbling slowly introduced themselves into your day to day life. The small part of you that still held onto the hope of living a long life, despite your position within the Scouts, was brutally extinguished the day you forgot about a crucial training session with your squad. But you were stronger than this, and you wouldn’t let your illness stop you from being a good soldier, and an even better captain.

Only a few knew about your condition. Commander Erwin had been made aware the moment you joined the training corps, and he was more than willing to accommodate if ever you needed a break or a moment to yourself. Hange was possibly the most knowledgeable when it came to your illness. Their extensive research meant they were able to offer you as much assistance as you needed, despite you hating being babied. You hated needing anything. You’d never needed anything before, and just because you kept walking into tables and dropping pens or cups didn’t mean you had to be escorted everywhere. It was infuriating.

The last to find out, and possibly the hardest to cope with sometimes, was Levi. Your partner Levi. Your lover, Levi. You’d asked Erwin to keep it a secret. Begged and bargained with Hange to keep their mouth shut. You wanted to tell him yourself. You didn’t want him to find out through word of mouth, especially not from his two closest friends. But you wanted to tell him when you were ready. Whenever that would be.

But the man wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed a change in your demeanor. He’d noticed you looking forlorn. You were always present with him, but never there. He’d noticed your looks of hopelessness, your lack of interest in things that used to excite you. Levi knew you like the back of his hand. He loved you for god’s sake. Pair that with being incredibly perceptive and it wasn’t long until he sat you down on the edge of your shared bed one evening and asked you to tell him, truthfully, what was going on.

You fell silent, unable to maintain eye contact, knowing that if you did, he would easily piece together the truth himself. But his soft, concerned face could only be ignored and avoided for so long. And with his whispers of “Please, talk to me.” and “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.” you found yourself recounting the story of your mother’s death, and how her condition had been passed down to you.

“So… that’ll happen to you?” he asked quietly, keeping your hands held tightly within his, knuckles draining of colour as he squeezed your palms. Whether it was for your comfort or his own, he couldn’t tell. You still refused to meet his gaze, but the small nods of your head was enough to tell him everything.

“Yeah,” you responded a little bluntly, subtly shifting your head so you could somehow hide the tears in your eyes. Why hadn’t you told him sooner? Why didn’t you just bite the bullet and fucking tell him? In reality, you knew exactly why. You were scared. Not of your condition, you refused to be afraid of that, but you were scared of what he would think. What he would do. You knew he’d been hurt in the past. Knew he’d lost so many people close to him. Would he try to distance himself? Would he break up with you out of self preservation? You wouldn’t blame him. He has so many protective layers over his heart, and he willingly opened them up to let you in. Guilt twisted in your gut as you stood, fighting back the sudden urge to stumble forward. You weren’t about to hurt him further by making him end things with you. You could at least do him the favour of ending things yourself.

“It’s probably best if we uh– stop. Seeing each other, I mean. I don’t really know how… how long I have. It was something like eighteen years for my mother but uh, yeah I don’t really know if that’s set in stone or anything so–”

“Shut up.”

You blinked, whirling back to face him, wide, teary eyes struggling to focus on his hunched form. Taking a small step back, you fumbled to find something to say. Apologising seemed like a bad idea. You knew he didn’t want your remorse, he never did. But the moment you saw your reflection within Levi’s own tear sparkling eyes as he raised his head, was the moment you broke. You promised yourself you would never cry because of your situation. You refused to let it get the better of you like that. But people break their promises all the time, especially to themselves.

That was the first time you’d openly sobbed, Levi wasting no time in crossing the short distance you’d put between you and wrapping you in a tight, protective embrace. His own eyes squeezed shut as if to prevent his soul from shattering. Your muffled sorrow broke his heart, and he wished he could do more to help you. He would switch places with you in a heartbeat. He would take all your pain and terror for himself if he could. But he knew that was impossible. Knew that someday, he was inevitably going to lose you.

“If you think I would allow you to go through this alone you’re wrong. And if you think for one fucking second I’m going to let you go, you’re wrong. I don’t care if it’s one year, five years or eighteen years. We have the time we have. I want to spend it with you. Idiot.” you didn’t think you’d heard anything sweeter. Clutching onto his now tear-stained bed shirt, you nodded into the crook of his neck, where you’d made yourself safe. A small, stuffy chuckle escaped your slightly swollen lips at the heartfelt nickname, all your fears melting away along with your mental barriers.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I was just–”

“Nope. I don’t want to hear it. Just… just let me hold you for a minute,” you couldn’t quite see the way the tips of his ears burned slightly with the request. You couldn’t see how his cheeks tinted a rosy pink with the vulnerability. You just circled your arms around his waist, tightening your grip as he buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your freshly shampooed scent. “I love you. So much. No illness is ever going to change that. Ever.” you weren’t used to this Levi. Sure, he showed you affection behind closed doors. And of course he’d held you and told you he loved you, but you weren’t used to how raw this felt.

“Promise?” it felt almost childlike to ask, but you just needed reassurance. With so little constants in your life, you didn’t know what would happen if you lost him, both physically and emotionally. You didn’t know what you would do. A broad hand gently cupped the side of your neck, tilting your head up to look at him, blue hues flickering back and forth between your own widened pupils. A soft, understanding smile pulling at his lips.

“Promise.”

One word had never brought you so much comfort, and you were thankful he’d sat you down and made you talk to him. You wouldn’t have lasted long without telling him anyway.

Levi became a little more protective over you after that day. You didn’t mind. Honestly, you found it sort of sweet. Your squads would often train together, so he’d send you inquiring glances every now and then to make sure you were okay. You’d more often than not respond with a fond smile and a confident nod. Only a few times has he seen your smile falter, and excused himself from the conversation he was having with Erwin to briefly take you inside. Erwin’s gaze would be followed by a nod of approval as Levi guided you back into the barracks.

“Feeling?”

“Dizzy, lightheaded, and like I want to fucking stab Fredrik if he opens his stupid fucking mouth again,” you were never a particularly combative person, but your sudden irritability had been a surprising symptom Hange informed you of one day. You always thought your mother was just going through menopause, not that she was feeling the effects of her disease.

Levi told you to sit, planting a soft kiss to your forehead before disappearing off and returning with a glass of water. Taking a seat next to you, he carded his hand through your hair, making sure you took steady sips rather than large gulps. You’d found your dizziness was easier to manage when you didn’t inhale every last drop in a single knockback.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Better. Thank you,” you leaned against his shoulder, chest warming as his cheek rested against your forehead.

“Anytime, Brat,”

Overall, no matter what you were going through, and what you were feeling, Levi Ackerman would always be there. You dreaded the day you couldn’t speak his name properly. You dreaded the day you’d be bed ridden, unable to properly sit up or walk by yourself. But you knew he would be there for you in those times as well. He promised.

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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

Text

Reader x Rhys - Traitor.

hi! i was thinking a bat boi x reader where the reader ”betrays” them but the reader is doing it to save the night court (they don’t know that until later tho) and the reader is exiled from the night court before the inner circle realises the reader did it to save them <3 (you can pick the bat boi :) Reader is a double agent - originally from Autumn court. The reader has allied themselves with the Night court after Autumn and Hybern began working together. Reader still poses as an Autumn court informant to Beron.

This was a challenge for me, thank you for that!

They would be their own downfall. You knew they would do absolutely anything to protect Velaris and its citizens. Amren was the only one who seemed to be on your side regarding the risky method. Rhys outright refused. Which was why you had to pave the way to allow Beron's army in. Or, at least make them all think that was what you'd done. You spent weeks forging your plan, heart sinking with every tough decision to be made. Which buildings would be sacrificed, how to get the people of the city out without giving yourself away. Beron would be pissed off, but he wouldn't dare to actually march his army into Velaris. You had fed him enough information to make him hesitate at that idea. Plus, they were busy ruining the Summer court. But you doubted that the King of Hybern knew that. Beron liked to keep his soldiers tame and under his rule by allowing them free reign after battles. So you waited on your informants to get back to you to confirm. Like a spider waiting for it's trap to be set. If the king thought his own ally in the Autumn court had already sacked Velaris, he wouldn't make the stop there. He didn't want to ruin his own pride, wasting his first grand attack on a measly city that was already losing their battle. He would continue for the next city down the line that hadn't been trifled with yet. It was a risk and you knew it - playing the king's arrogance. So you covered all your bases, and you set fires. Got yourself the biggest Illusion spell you could find. A massive one that had cost you half your bank account for all the materials you needed to create it. Your lips trembled as you said the enchantment over the potion. You told yourself it would work. It had to. You packed your bag and tightened it on your back before you set off. Hurting Rhys would be the hardest part. You debated the plan all together because of the fracture it would cause. But you knew it was the only way to keep him safe from his need to protect his home. The city he built from the ground up. You tried to push those thoughts away until the day of your heist. Which seemed to come around much too soon. You led Rhys and Azriel far out of Velaris the hour before the potion was to be set off. You spun them a story of scouts watching from the south. You weren't even halfway to your destination when the screams started, a loud cracking sound ringing out over the land. The potions had worked. Your face went pale at Rhy's rage filled gaze. The hurt and devastation there. You didn't doubt the scene in the city looked much worse than you knew it to be. Rhys grabbed you by the wing and tugged you down forcefully. It was not what you were expecting, you thought his first move would be to use his power to make you paralyzed. You felt those claws lurking, but they seemed to hesitate. You spun, and were able to kick his hand off of you before you hit the ground with him. Azriel held him back, not understanding fully what you'd done. Az removed his hand once Rhys had filled him in, mentally speaking to his brother. A flash of shock and hurt lingered there even after Rhys told him. Shame built in your gut. You knew you weren't betraying them. You kept your shields up though, they had to think you would do such a thing. It would make the fight more believable to the king. It would force him away from Velaris. "Get out of this territory. Now. Do not come back." Rhys growled, watching the fake army invade his home. His chest heaved, those claws digging lightly at your shields. Perhaps he was afraid to go against someone he trained in the Daemati ways. You dared not open your mind to him. "Rhys I-" You began, stopping when he gave you the iciest glare you'd ever seen. His eyes were alight with rage. The trees seemed to quiver from the dark power that rushed to him. He pointed a finger at you, a curse. "Leave. Now." The command made your knees shake. Azriel looked away in shame. "There will be no second chances." He ground out. You could nearly hear his teeth clamping together. Holding himself back. You could hear Cassian calling orders far in the distance. Good, the scramble and panic would make the show more believable. The ships would be visible any second if your inside information was to be believed. Happiness for the safety of the city was your first reason for tears, the next was Fear. Fear settled in your gut, not moving no matter how much you re assured yourself. Not fear for Velaris, but for own alliances with any court. There would be a hit out for you, betraying Beron and the King and potentially Rhys depending how angry he would be about your Illusion spell. Those ships would surely be paying a visit to Beron after seeing his forces attacking without the order to do so. You backed away from Rhys slowly, like he was a wild animal. "Rhys, come on. We need to help." Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder to break him out of the rage filled trance. Rhy's last glance to you was something like death itself. You shuddered, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from telling him the truth. The fact he would believe that you would double cross him stung a bit. But you knew enough of the bad blood between Night and Autumn that you weren't incredibly offended. He shook his head ever so slightly. Disgust, before turning away. They took off together, quickly flying back to Velaris while the king's dark sails fired a few cannon shots into the docks, but kept sailing. Your hope soared at the sight of their departure. Watching those sails turn direction, then keep going. You could have cheered. Your plan wasn't done yet. You took off to Day court. The potions in your bag secure and ready. + When Rhys landed in his city the ground beneath him cracked. The Autumn court soldiers kept marching around him. Cassian joined him, assessing the threat that did not attack. Rhys reached out a mental hand to the area and found there was nothing to latch on to. Nothing to torment for information. Cassian was at a loss as well, and reached out a hand to a solider. Only for it to break and slide through his fingers like water. His blood ran cold. "Fuck." Rhys breathed, utterly still. They looked to each other, then Rhys blanched in horror - "I promised them death." He whispered, voice hoarse. Cassian's eyes went wide, and they shot into the air at the same time. + Overlooking Day court, you heard Rhys approaching before you saw him. "They're all going to die." You said, voice trembling. You watched the scene below as it unfolded. The ships docked one after another, terrible dark forces lurched into the city. Overwhelming the guards and front linemen. "I'm sorry." He said. "We can help. I can help. I'm sorry." He said again, shame washing over his face. "I owe you everything." Your heart soared at the words, despite the destruction below. "Can you get the Illyrians here to help?" You nodded toward the front that pushed through. The streets already stained with blood and littered with bodies from both sides. Rhys nodded, and nodded to Azriel behind him. The spy curled his shadows around himself and winnowed away, off to summon the Illyrians. Cassian had a wide grin on his face, and stretched his wings, ready to take flight down to the city and help. His siphons thrummed with anticipation. Rhys gave him a nod as well, and he took off. The screams and clash of steel below quieted, then roared back to life with another wave of Summer court forces hitting the enemy lines. Rhys sighed, his dark power curling around the hillside. "I am beyond words with you. I'm pissed, but I'm... awestruck." He took your hand without looking, running a thumb over apologetically. As if he was asking permission. You squeezed back, then gave him a soft smile. "Let's get to work." You dropped your bag to the ground and pulled out two more potions. You handed them to him, then pulled your blade from its sheathe. Rhys hummed in approval at the sight of your handiwork. He held up the dark liquid and admired it. "Remind me to give you a raise." He said, shaking the glass. You held his hand in place before he could shake it again. The sparkles from the enchanted sand inside swirled. "You're going to get me a new house. And a raise." You took the bottle from him, and winked. You leapt down the slope and into the air, flying faster when you heard his laugh gaining on you. A promise of violence against the King's army was laced with that laugh. An underlying darkness. You smiled wickedly and tossed your concoction to the ground far below. Setting your spellbound illusions free.

#rhys x reader #acotar fic #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand

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avnkin · 4 years ago

Text

Shake On It [ 2 ]

Author’s note: I was really in my harry feels whilst writing this so sorry about that lmao also I proofread this so many times and it still SUCKS ASS. I posted this entire thing earlier from my phone but tumblr deleted everything except the title so yeah I’m sorry if there aren’t italics and bolds on some of the words where they should be but i’m just to lazy to go through the entire thing and find them all again, maybe i’ll do it later but who knows. I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters they are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling. (not my gif)

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: There’s little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, he’ll do anything in his power to catch it.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader / Platonic!Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, foul language, asshole!draco and daddy issues lol

This is an AU so all the information doesn’t exactly line up with the HP storyline for example Voldemort hasn’t returned but still exists so little from Harry’s history changes but Dumbledore’s still alive.

After yours and Draco’s interaction the other night you’d strongly begun reconsidering his offer to accompany him to the ball, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought, I mean what’s the worst that could happen? So many things your anxiety was quick to answer, the most important one being that Harry and Ron would probably never speak to you again.

“Y/N are you even listening to me?” Hermione’s voice snapped you out of your trance, her blurry hand waving in front of your face, you quickly began blinking in an attempt to bring your surroundings back into focus, “sorry” you then muttered sending her an apologetic smile before gesturing for her to continue with whatever she’d been talking about.

“As I was saying, I need a cute date for the ball, who do you think will annoy Ron the most?” you were about to answer when a voice from behind you beat you to it.

“Annoy who the most?”

You rolled your eyes having a pretty clear idea of who it was, you reluctantly turned around your eyes immediately locking onto Draco’s who stood there in all his glory a smug smile plastered onto his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me who invited you to this conversation?” you retorted before turning back to Hermione who had an amused grin on her face causing you to lightly kick her from underneath the table, you didn’t want Draco putting two and two together and realizing you’d talked about him with Hermione.

“I was just wondering if you’d changed your mind about going with me to the ball” Draco cajoled causing your eyes to widen realizing you still hadn’t told Hermione about the fact he’d asked you in the first place.

You sent Hermione an an ‘i’ll tell you later’ look before twisting your body to face Draco’s who now had his hands placed in his robe pockets, his self assurance radiating off of him despite the fact you’d rejected him only days before, the boy had clearly never been told ‘no’ his entire life.

“No and I won’t be, so run along” you stated before making a shooing gesture with your hand which only seemed to have the opposite effect you’d intended it too, since he began to take a few steps forward, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.

“Yes you will” he stated matter of factly and it took all self control you had not to smack him right across the face, who did he think he was?

“Is it really that hard to get it into that tiny little brain of yours that there are girls alive who don’t like you” you practically growled missing how Hermione’s attention had drifted away from the scene unfolding before her and to the two figures who had begun making their way towards you.

“Yes because there aren’t an-”

“Malfoy find someone else to bother can’t you see she’s not interested” Harry cut him off as him and Ron now fully came into view, the two of them standing tall behind Draco whose attention had now shifted from you to them.

“Oh look who it is, dumb and dumber” chortles could be heard from the Slytherin table at Draco’s words causing you to roll your eyes, it was pathetic how they would lick up every single thing he did.

“Offers still there Y/L/N” Draco turned to you before he slowly started to ascend back towards the Slytherin table where he was greeted with numerous pats on the back as he squeezed himself in between Crabbe and Goyle.

“What a slimy git” Ron huffed as he took the seat next to yours, immediately beginning to scoop all the food in view onto his plate.

“What did he want anyways?” Harry asked resting his elbows on the wooden house table as he sat down opposite you.

“He asked if I wanted to go to the ball with him” you feigned disgust as you shook your head, hoping he would drop the subject, you’d never been a good liar and if anyone could see through you it would surely be your best friend.

“Just tell him you’re going with me if he asks again, then he’ll leave you alone” Harry suggested, Ron nodding along with him as he stuffed a chicken wing into his mouth.

“Yeah- yeah ‘course thank you Harry” you scratched the back of your head cringing at the obvious hint of disappointment lingering in your words which thankfully no one but Hermione seemed to notice since she reached her hand out across the table and laid it gently atop of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You gave her a small smile before your eyes began dancing around the Great Hall somehow coming to a halt on Draco’s figure, he had his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he engaged in conversation with Blaise.

No one could say that Draco Malfoy wasn’t handsome, rude and a prat? Sure, but unattractive no. He was the only boy you’d ever seen who was able to pull of such a hair color and as your eyes travelled along his sharp jawline up to his chiseled cheekbones you felt the uncontrollable feeling of heat rush up to your face as his eyes met yours.

He sent you a wink before turning back around, you mirroring his actions the feeling of butterflies swarming your stomach slowly melting away as you pushed any remaining thoughts of him aside.

The ball was only a few days from now and you and Hermione had decided to take a trip down to Hogsmeade in an attempt to shop for dresses, not wanting to repeat what had happened last year when you both had made the mistake of trusting your parents with your attires, the dresses they’d choosen had arrived the same night as the ball and you had been forced to show up in matching bright pink gowns since it had been too late to go and buy new ones. You’d been the laughing stocks off the school for a couple months after that, never again.

You cringed at the memory that would surely be edged into your mind forever but as you pushed open the wooden door that led into Gladrags Wizardwear you found yourself entranced with all the beautiful dresses littered around the shop.

“Have you decided who you’re gonna go to the ball with?” Hermione hummed as her fingers trailed over a blue gown that hung along with hundreds of others at the front of the store.

“Yeah I think I’m just gonna go with Harry, I don’t want to risk my friendship with either him or Ron by going with Draco” you sighed not feeling the need to hide your disappointment in front of her.

“I get that but if you really do like Malfoy you should just ease Harry and Ron into the idea of you two being together” Hermione shrugged in response before removing the dress she’d been looking at from its hanger and placing it into her arms as you continued browsing.

“How am I supposed to do that you know how much they hate him” you sighed as you lightly dragged your hand over the multiple fabrics that hung on the clothing rag next to you.

“You could dance with him at the ball” Hermione suggested, you nodded silently in agreement before coming to an abrupt halt as a certain dress caught your eye. It was champagne colored and made out of silk with a thigh high split running down the side of it, not the type of dress you’d usually go for but nevertheless you carefully placed it into your arms deciding their was no harm in seeing how it looked on you.

“Who are you going with?” you changed the subject not feeling like talking about Draco anymore, it was really killing your mood.

“Hero Finnigan asked me” your eyes widened at Hermione’s words. Hero Finnigan was in the year above you and was quite the heartthrob around school, he’d been known for having a new girl underneath his arm every week and it seemed that this time around it was going to be Hermione, much to your surprise.

“Please tell me you said yes, if anyone’s going to make Ron jealous it’s definitely him” you assured her, looping your arm with hers as you continued skimming through the store.

“Of course I said yes, I’m not that daft” she shook her head before continuing, “I don’t know though I-I guess I was just hoping that in the end Ron would ask me, but apparently he’s going with Lavender” her nose scrunched up at the mere mention of her name as she let out a heavy sigh.

Your heart ached for your best friend as you put an arm around her shoulder giving her a tight side hug, a subtle way of letting her know you were there for her no matter what.

“Enough about that let’s go try on our dresses and we can tell each other what we think” Hermione was obviously trying to distract herself but you didn’t feel like pressing the subject any further so you only nodded in agreement as you started searching for the changing rooms, it was a surprisingly big shop compared to how small it had appeared from the outside.

Once you’d finally found them at the far end of the shop you both entered separate rooms, simultaneously pulling the curtains shut shielding you from the watchful eyes of the other customers, although there weren’t that many.

You took one last look at the dress letting your fingers wander down the silky fabric before carefully removing it from its hanger and slipping your legs in between the opening.

Once you got it on, you weren’t able to reach the zipper on the back, no matter how hard you tried so you stealthily peeked your head out behind the curtain and seeing no one you began to make your way towards Hermione’s changing room hoping she could be of some assistance.

“Need some help with that?” a voice stopped you dead in your tracks, swiftly turning to see Draco standing there, a mischievous smirk resting on his lips as he took a step closer to you.

“Are you stalking me or something?” you shook your head, furrowing your brows once you noticed how his eyes weren’t meeting yours, instead they were trailing up and down your body, devouring every inch of you.

“Eyes up here Malfoy” you teased which made him finally look up at you, but instead of replying with a snide comment of his own he threw the suit he’d been holding onto a clothing rag nearby and slowly began to stride towards you.

You weren’t able to get a word out as he tenderly placed his ring clad fingers on top of your bare shoulders scanning your face for approval witch you granted by carefully nodding your head taking in a deep breath as you felt him begin to slowly turn you around.

You shivered once the cold metal wrapped around his fingers began to run down your arms, his fingertips then gently dancing down the small of your back in a painfully teasing manner.

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy sigh as he took a step closer to you his lips ghosting over your ear as he began to pull the zipper upwards causing you to almost involuntarily lean into him. As soon as you did his scent consumed you, he smelled of expensive cologne and spearmint, even better than you could have ever imagined.

He stopped as the zip reached the bottom strands of your hair, he thought for a moment before he carefully wrapped his hand around your h/c locks, twisting them gently around his fingers before letting them fall over the side of your shoulder, the tips of his fingers ever so slightly running across the side of your neck as he moved them back down to where he’d stopped.

You gently tilted your head, closing your eyes in content once you felt his hot breath fan over your neck, you leaned your head back at the sensation resting it atop of Draco’s shoulder, shivering once you felt his lips ghost over the sweet spot just behind your ear, one of his arms finding your waist as the other continued to work its way up your back.

Once you heard the faint sound of the zipper click as it reached its closing you slowly opened your eyes feeling him take an impossible step closer to you, your behind now pressed into his front as he trailed his hands down to your hips.

“You clean up quite nice Y/L/N” he breathed out as he began running his hands up to your stomach before finally reaching your waist where they abruptly stopped so that he could turn you back around, you let out a gasp at the sudden forced movement your hands clinging onto his shoulders to prevent you from falling.

You opened your mouth but no words came out as you were consumed by the feeling of his fingers digging into your sides, his lips mere centimeters from yours you almost unknowingly began to lean in.

He mirrored your movements but just before your lips could meet someone cleared their throat from behind you causing you to jump away from him, frowning at the sudden loss of contact.

Once your eyes met Hermione’s you quickly cleared your throat acting as if nothing had (almost) happened, she raised an eyebrow obviously confused at the scene unfolding before her.

You turned back towards Draco who was looking at you almost expectantly, “I’m going with Harry to the ball” you suddenly felt the need to tell him, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea from the little moment you had just shared.

“Potter seriously?” Draco scoffed in return before making his way around you and Hermione, your eyes following his figure and as soon as he was completely out of sight you finally felt like you could breath again, staggering backwards into Hermione who quickly put her arms up to catch you.

“Oh I’m in trouble”

You’d decided to buy the dress you’d tried on in the store, even though every time you put it on you couldn’t shake away the feeling of Draco being pressed against you as his lips hovered dangerously close to your neck.... You shook your head in hopes that it would toss the memory out of your mind, you couldn’t be thinking about Draco right now, not when Harry was standing just outside the Gryffindor common room patiently waiting for you to get ready.

“Can you zip me up?” you turned your back to Hermione who quickly rushed to your side swiftly beginning to pull the zipper on the back of your dress upwards. As you closed your eyes you got momentary flashes off Draco’s ring clad fingers wrapped around your body and you tried with all your might to shake the tingling feeling you got away, but nothing seemed to be working.

“Okay do a little spin for me” you let out a laugh at Hermione’s words but nevertheless you began spinning around your dorm playfully, letting your hair fall across your shoulders as Hermione threw her head back in laughter.

“You look incredible” she complemented as you engulfed each other in tight hugs mentally preparing yourselves for the night ahead.

“Oh please, I’m nothing compared to you” you stated linking your arms together before the two of you began to make your way to your awaiting dates.

Once the door to the Gryffindor common room opened the first thing you saw was Harry engaged in conversation with Hero, you could tell by his uncomfortable shuffling that the exchange had been awkward causing you to let out a small giggle which captured the attention of the two boys.

Harry’s mouth hung open as he let his eyes wander all over you, from the thigh-high front split on the front of your dress to your flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair, he was speechless, if you two weren’t best friends he’d probably be tripping over his own two feet by now.

“Well this is certainly an upgrade from last year” Harry let out a teasing laugh as he bowed down to take your hand in his.

“Oh shut up” you feigned annoyance as you stood beside him, feeling goosebumps run up your arms as his hand came to rest on your lower back, leading the two of you towards the Great Hall.

“In all seriousness Y/N, you look amazing” Harry gushed as he pulled you into his side. An uncontrollable blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words as you let your head fall on his shoulder.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Potter” you teased, the two of you letting out simultaneous fits of laughter as you followed closely behind Hero and Hermione.

After a moment of silence Harry suddenly spoke out, “Ron was going to ask her you know” the two of you shared knowing glances at his words, it was so painfully obvious that your other two best friends were head over heels in love with each other but neither of them dared to make the first move, either to scared of being rejected or ruining their many years worth of friendship.

“Figures” you shrugged a comfortable silence overtaking you as you walked over to one of the many rows of couples stood in front of the entrance leading into the Great Hall.

As the doors begun to open you excitedly smiled up at Harry but before you were able to move forward another couple had harshly pushed their way in front of you and you were immediately able to identify the mob of platinum blond hair.

“Excuse me” you rolled your eyes causing the two of them to turn their heads towards you, you couldn’t hold in your scoff once you saw who he’d decided to bring, Pansy Parkinson of all the people in this bloody school.

“Don’t start anything Malfoy” Harry warned before either of them were able to get a word out, it looked like Pansy was going to throw a snide comment your way but stopped as soon as her eyes met Draco’s, she let out a huff before reluctantly turning back around.

“You look dashing” Draco complimented, you could feel Harry tense up beside you and you snaked an arm around his waist in an attempt to calm him down, the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

“Shouldn’t you be telling that to your date?” you retorted gesturing towards Pansy who seemed to be strangely quiet, usually she couldn’t keep her mouth shut no matter the circumstance, but you weren’t complaining.

Draco didn’t respond instead he just shrugged his shoulders before turning back around his arm slipping down towards Pansy’s lower back, you felt the inkling feeling of jealousy begin to form inside you but you forced yourself to push it away giving Harry’s bicep a reassuring squeeze knowing it had taken all his might not to hex Draco then and there.

As soon as Draco and Pansy had left you two be you quickly pulled Harry along with you into the hall so you wouldn’t get trampled by the entourage of students crowded behind you who were also squeezing their way through the double doors.

You intertwined your fingers with Harry’s as you took in your surroundings. It looked even better than last year, snow was falling from the starry black ceiling stopping just a few feet above you, mistletoe’s and every traditional Christmas decoration you could think of were littered all across the hall and instead of the usual house tables there were hundreds of smaller silver ones, each having it’s own floating candle above them.

Once you spotted a decent place to sit you tugged onto Harry’s arm gesturing for him to follow you towards the table your eyes were set on, somehow along the way you managed to spot Hermione and you threw your arm up gesturing for her hand Hero to come sit with you and Harry.

It wasn’t long until the chair beside you was being pulled from underneath the table and Hermione placed her self atop of it along with Hero, you happily greeted both of them but all joy inside you seemed to fade away once you noticed Ron and Lavender heading your way.

Oh please no

Ron placed a chaste kiss on Lavender’s cheek as he pointed towards your table.

Don’t sit here

Lavender eagerly began to nod following behind Ron as they inched closer and closer.

Anywhere but here

Despite your silent praying Ron was now pulling a chair out for Lavender before taking a seat himself and as soon as he did an awkward tension filled the air. You grabbed Hermione’s hand from underneath the table giving it a reassuring squeeze noticing how she’d tensed up once Lavender had bitterly greeted her.

“Whose this then?” Ron could be heard from the other end of the table, you rolled your eyes at his tone, how did Hermione not realize he was jealous hell even Hero seemed to notice it as his eyes uncomfortably shifted between Hermione’s angered expression and Ron’s annoyed one.

“Hero Finnigan, and you?” he reached his hand out over the table and for a split moment your eyes had widened thinking Ron was actually going to sit there and ignore him but thankfully the ginger haired boy reluctantly reached over the table and connected his hand with Hero’s.

“Ron, Ron Weasely”

“Weasely, eh? could have guessed, I’m good friends with your brothers” Hero attempted to make conversation but Ron didn’t seem all to keen on it only muttering a “whatever” underneath his breath causing you to kick him from underneath the table, you gave him a warning glance to which he replied by throwing a small ‘piss off’ in your direction.

Before you could begin to scold him for his rude behaviour Dumbledore’s voice tore throughout the Great Hall preventing you from doing so although you had a feeling that if it hadn’t had been him it probably would have been Harry.

“Welcome students to our annual Jingle Ball, may I say you all look wonderful tonight” Dumbledore gingerly smiled, his wand lightly pressed against the side of his neck as he gestured towards the numerous students all dressed in their finest attires.

“We’ll start the evening with a three course meal prepared by our lovely house elves” claps begun to sound around the Great Hall which you quickly joined in on, smiling brightly once you noticed the numerous elves clumsily standing up from their seats and waving at the students.

“Once you’ve finished eating a band will be preforming for us and I hope that you and your dates will be joining me and McGonagall on the dance floor” laughter sounded around the hall at the last part of his sentence but instead of joining in like you usually would you found yourself draining out all noise as your eyes met Draco’s.

He’d already been looking your way and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips as his icy grey eyes burned through yours, you felt like there was some type of force drawing you to him and you couldn’t do anything about it, even though your head was screaming at you that shouldn’t be developing feelings for someone as arrogant and cruel as Draco Malfoy your heart seemed to be having trouble following.

Once everyone had finished eating you were eager to get away from your table, somehow Hero and Ron had begun a full blown argument which you and Hermione had to quickly shut down by asking Lavender to take Ron somewhere else until he’d calm down, that boy could not control his temper if his life depended on it.

You’d managed to cheer Hermione up after the entire ordeal telling her that she should focus on herself for once and have fun, thankfully she’d listened and you couldn’t help the giddy expression overtaking your facial features as you watched her and Hero sway together on the dance floor.

“Care to dance M’ lady” Harry merrily bowed down in front of you reaching his hand out towards yours, you placed a hand on your chest in feigned surprise before gently laying your hand in Harry’s palm.

“Why, I would be delighted to” you attempted a posh accent unable to contain the giggle that fell past your lips as you let Harry lead you to the dance floor.

As soon as his arm had wrapped around your waist and the other intertwined with your hand another slow song began playing, most of the students were still digesting their food so their weren’t many on the dance floor, it was only you and Harry, Hero and Hermione and about six other couples.

You leaned your head on Harry’s chest letting him slowly sway you to the soothing melody of the song. “You know I love you right?” Harry mumbled as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

“I love you too, silly” you brightly smiled up at him, you both knew there weren’t harbored feelings for the other hidden behind those three words so you had no trouble voicing it to each other.

You tightly wrapped your arms around his waist continuing to slowly move around the dance floor. You knew how hard his life had been leading up to this point, losing his family, Sirius, and then Cedric he always had the inkling fear that one day he’d lose you or Ron or Hermione so you wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words and you knew you were saying everything you needed just by being there with him, it felt like hours that you’d stayed that way wrapped in each others arms but soon students begun to make their way to the dance floor so you and Harry decided to take a short break, heading hand in hand back towards your table.

Unbeknownst to you whilst you and Harry had been in your own world gently dancing with each other for all eyes to see, Draco had been enduring pure torture over at his table.

“I can’t believe she choose Potter over you”

“That’s gotta sting”

“How’s it feel being the second choice”

“Hope you’re ready to do my homework for the rest of the year”

Was all he had heard for the last hour as he’d watched you and Harry dance with one another. No matter the threats he threw their way and menacing looks they just wouldn’t stop, he felt as if his power of being crowned the Slytherin prince was slipping away from him, since in his world losing to someone like Harry Potter was as low as you could get.

Then and there Draco decided he wasn’t going to endure it anymore he was making his move tonight no matter the circumstance.

“You know Ginny’s been eyeing you all night” you wiggled your eyebrows nudging Harry’s shoulder who awkwardly began shifting in his seat as he mumbled a ‘really’ in response to which you nodded.

“Go ask her too dance!” you stood up so you could force him out of his seat along with you, you subtly pointed towards Ginny’s direction who had swiftly looked away as soon as her eyes had met Harry’s.

“But what about you?” Harry frowned realizing you didn’t have anyone to spend time with if he’d leave since both Hermione and Ron seemed to be preoccupied with their dates.

“Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine! now go” you ushered him forward giving him a reassuring thumbs up as he began to walk towards her.

“You’re quite the matchmaker aren’t you?” Hermione had suddenly walked up behind you and you both watched in amusement as Harry almost fell over twice before he was able to reach Ginny who had happily agreed to dance with him.

“Where’s Hero?” you asked as you turned to face Hermione eyes wandering around the hall in an attempt to spot her date, “oh he’s just gone to get us some drinks, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like” Hermione offered but you shook your head.

“No its okay honestly I’m fine” you assured her, you did not want to spend the evening third wheeling your best friend and her date.

Hermione began opening her mouth surely to convince you to join them but stopped once her eyes landed on something behind you or rather someone behind you.

“Care to dance?”

You swiftly turned around to see Draco with his hand reaching out towards you, you tried your best to contain the smile that was so desperately gnawing at the sides of your mouth as you turned back to Hermione who was giving you knowing smile.

“Find me if you need anything alright?” you eagerly nodded at her words only turning back to Draco once Hermione had fully vanished into the crowd.

“One dance, that’s it” you attempted to sound serious but it came off in a more teasing manner as you let your hand fall into Draco’s.

“Agreed”

As soon as you’d reached the middle of the dance floor, Draco’s arm had snaked around your waist pulling you into him whilst the other intertwined your fingers. You let out a giggle as he began twirling you around, gracefully catching you back in his arms as both his hands moved to rest on your lower back.

“You’re quite the dancer” you complimented, without a doubt boosting Draco’s already large ego, “I know” he had replied with a knowing smirk, twirling you around one last time before pulling you flush up against him your noses bumping together since you’d already been looking up at him. You’d held the eye contact for a minute as you brightly smiled at each other before you gently let your chin rest on his shoulder as he slowly began swaying you from side to side.

As your eyes began dancing over the students you didn’t think anything could burst your happy bubble until your eyes found Harry’s who had a look of disappointment edged onto his features as he pulled away from Ginny who had frowned at his sudden dismissal as she watched him begin to make his way out of the Great Hall.

You cleared your throat as you uncomfortably began shuffling away from Draco who gave you a look of confusion as he watched you pull your hand out of his and back away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do this” you muttered before hurriedly turning around and squeezing your way through the crowd of students all huddled together on the dance floor, most of them giving you annoyed glances as you pushed them out of the way but you didn’t care all you wanted to do was find Harry. You couldn’t imagine how he’d felt once he saw you his best friend, dancing with someone who’d made his life a living hell ever since the first year.

Once you’d exited the Great Hall you frantically began looking around the empty corridors in an attempt to find Harry who’d stormed out here only moments ago.

“Y/N!” you heard Draco call from behind you but you ignored him, picking up your pace once you heard his nearing footsteps echoing around the empty hallways.

“Y/N please wait” you felt him grab ahold of your wrist swiftly turning you back to face him, his grip only tightening as you began attempting to pull your hand away.

“No! You can’t treat my friends like shit and then expect me to give in on whatever the hell you’re trying to do” you finally managed to rip your hand out of his grasp as you turned back around but he quickly ran in front of you placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place.

“Listen I’m sorry alright, bloody hell I just- I can’t stop thinking about you I don’t know how to explain it but I think I might-” he cut himself off hesitating to speak his next words unsure of how you’d react since he didn’t want to return to his friends with yet another failed attempt.

“You think you might what?” you crossed your arms over your chest glaring up at him as you watched his mouth open and close again.

“Fancy you” he finally let out, your eyes widening as you let your hands fall down to your hips. You took a few steps back until you couldn’t move any further the tall walls of the castle preventing you from doing so.

“You what?” you barely whispered and Draco took that as his chance to walk towards you placing both his hands on the wall next to you.

As you looked back up at him he slowly started to remove one hand from the wall so he could place it onto your cheek and just like he’d done in the store, he began leaning in until his lips were barely hovering above yours, you so desperately wanted to close the gap between you but a part of you was screaming to push him away and never look back, but as your eyes met his once more you couldn’t bring yourself to do it your heart taking control as he pressed his lips against your own.

Your lips continued dancing with each other at a normal pace until he’d moved to deepen the kiss swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist so you were able to loop yours around his neck, he pushed you even tighter up against the wall causing you to let out a gasp allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You ran your fingers through his hair gently pulling on the strands on the back of his head before letting your head fall to the side as he began leaving kisses down your neck his hands trailing down your sides until they wrapped around your hips pulling you even further into him.

You gently blinked your eyes open as you pulled away from him, your lips undoubtedly swollen and your lipstick smeared but you didn’t care.

“No one can know about this, not until I talk to Harry” you breathed out leaning your forehead against his as you attempted to slow your heart rate by taking deep breaths in and out.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone” he lied, he’d gotten quite good at that after having to continuously lie to his father ever since he was a child, one particular incident that he would never forget was when he’d accidentally let one of the house elves go because he didn’t know that to free them they had to be granted an item of clothing and on a particularly cold night he saw no harm in granting the elf his jacket since it had been shivering beside him and when his father had barged into his room later in the night furious at his son’s stupidity Draco had lied and told him that the elf had tricked him into doing so and upon hearing this his father had tracked the elf down and casted the unforgivable curse onto him, after that Draco lied to his father about almost everything he did to ensure something like that would never happen again.

Amongst his peers he was powerful and feared but when it came to his father he was nothing, never good enough and always in the way. School was the only place he felt he was more than his father’s words so he knew that as soon as he would make his way into the Slytherin common room the first thing he was going to do was tell his friends that he’d done it, that you were slowly but surely beginning to fall for him, which put him right back on top.

TAGLIST:

@itzsoff @multiversegalaxygirl @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @awkwardnesshabitat @tiredplier @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @macheregrace @dobreesersei @voidmalfoy @lana-isabelle @fangirlyah @dracomalfoyswifey @lonely-kermit @mrsmyamalfoy @fuzzy-panda @sluthug @urbankaite2 @chickeebabe @classygirlything @dark-night-sky-99 @ranialih @pillowjj @im-a-stranger-thing @christinechickiee @imstillhere-butallislost @spencerreidisbootiful @hip-hopphile @justmesadgirl @gia-kerks @lilxnvm @kelly182001 @moonbug26 @gabiconstellation @sleepinmoonbean @mautand @oldschoolkiddo @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @dreams-in-blxck @stalker83005 @criesinlies @sxlted-carxrmel @moonjooniee @maskd-hearts @little-honey-bear @dobreesersei

Let me know in my inbox or asks if you’d liked to be added, much love <333

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy angst #draco lucius malfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #tom felton #tom felton imagine #hermione granger #ron weasley #slytherin #hufflepuff #gryffindor #ravenclaw #harry potter films

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Hue and Cry VII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), mentions of previous forced oral, abuse of power, these men ain't shit.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You face a reckoning for evading your lord.

Note: This wasn't planned but things just turned out this way because my go to is fuck the reader. Oop.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The nights only got harder. It didn't matter if Lord Barnes wanted to touch you or wanted you to touch him, even just laying beside him was torment. You hated what he'd done to you and what he'd made you do. You hated yourself more for how he made you feel.

You decided that day in the carriage during the rainstorm that you hated him. You hated Lord Barnes more than even Lord Rogers. At least the latter was honest in his lechery, he did not try to veil his true desires but Barnes spoke to you sweetly as he forced his needs upon you.

The night before you were due to reach the capital, you did not sleep. You couldn't in the bed next to Barnes. He wanted to be astride as he entered the city and so you were left to ride alone in the carriage. The sway soon had you across the bench in a deep slumber. It was the best sleep you had in weeks.

You only woke as a hammering came at the door and streaks of sunlight were let in as it opened. A footman called you out and helped you down the step into the dirt. You batted your sleepy eyes and marveled at the castle as it came clear. It was getting colder as the autumn wore on, bitter. It was the wrong season for a tournament.

As you trod through the beaten yard of the castle, Lord Barnes clapped off his right hand, the leather glove dusting, and approached you. He’s gaze strayed to Lord Rogers for a moment then back to you. He dropped his shoulders and scrunched his lips.

“I have an audience with the king,” he said glumly, “as much as I’d prefer you attend with me it has been brought to my attention that… the court might not be as accommodating to you as I am. Regardless, I might have a seat arranged for you at the feast and you were surely sit in the rows for the sparring.”

“I… my lord, I am only--”

“I told you,” he interjected, “you are not a maid anymore.”

You held your tongue as you wanted to spit at him. What were you? A courtesan? A whore? Was that better than emptying his pot? You dipped your head and pulled your cape snug, “my lord.”

“See her to my rooms,” Barnes directed the footman at your shoulder, “once the chests are unpacked, she is to be undisturbed. My guard will have the same orders.”

“Yes, my lord,” the footman bowed, “my lady.”

You looked at the footman and slowly followed him away from Barnes. You were eager to be away from him but not eager to be shown your new prison. You entered the castle and followed the torchlit corridors beside the footman.

“I’m not a lady,” you said at last, “I don’t want you to ever call me that again.”

“My apologies, my--” he stuttered, “the lord bid it.”

“He lies to himself and you,” you muttered, “I was born as you, likely lower. My own mother was a laundress and my father a stablehand. Cut from the finest, I am.”

The footman was quiet as he waved you ahead of him up the coiling stairwell. You regretted your harsh words but knew they could never be delivered to their true target. When you reached the chamber designated to your master, you stopped outside. Lester was already at his station by the lord’s doors.

“I am sorry,” you told the footman, “I was unkind. You do not deserve that.”

His lips curved slightly and he hid his amusement, “I know now you are like me,” he said softly, “the nobles, they don’t apologise.”

You chuckled darkly and left him. You passed the servants as they carried in trunks and opened them in a flurry of duty. You went to the bedroom and climbed up on the large feather mattress. That time you had to yourself, even surrounded by the chaos of your arrival, was a relief. You did not know how long you’d get away from Barnes.

🏰

You fell asleep again. This time, you weren’t floating in your dreams, driven wildly by the tides, but you were still, straight as a board in the ground as dirty sprinkled onto you. The cold earth warmed as the layers piled on you. Deeper, deeper, deeper until you couldn’t breathe.

You woke with a start and nearly screamed as a shadow loomed over you. Barnes sat beside you, his legs over the edge of the couch. He played with the lifeless fingers of his artificial hand. Your hood was on the pillow, crumpled and the folds of your dress were bunched awkwardly beneath your body.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he murmured, “just wanted to sit with you.”

“How long--”

“It is almost time for supper,” he said, “but the feast is not until the morrow. You might remain and rest some more.”

You didn’t move, just looked up at the canopy and laid there. You didn’t say anything more as you folded your arms over the stiff bodice.

“You should sleep… the journey was long. Tiring,” he continued.

You just blinked but didn’t close your eyes. The canopy was a rich green marked with gold. The stitches were woven in the shape of leaves and vines. You thought of the forest and those days you were so scared. You were much more terrified now.

“I wanted to say, and I should now since you are awake,” he began as he leaned on his elbow and his other arm fell limp and heavy, “what occurred with Rogers will not arise again. I made him a promise I regret and it was sorted.”

You held back a shudder as you thought of the salty tasted and the pungent scent of their arousal. You swallowed and hugged yourself tighter.

“If he attempts to reenact the scene, or more, you will inform me, and you have my leave to see that he does not,” Barnes said sternly, “you are still mine. I would not have you confused.”

You rolled onto your side so that your back was to him. He huffed and his hand fell onto your side. He squeezed and the bed shifted. He said your name and every muscle in your body went taut.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“I’m tired,” you said.

“I want no mistake. You--”

“I belong to you,” you sneered, “you want to use me, you want to own me, you want me to tell you I know I am nothing but the dirt beneath your boot. Let me assure you I am aware--”

“Do not speak to me as such,” he hissed.

You bit back your voice and heaved. You sucked in your cheeks and wriggled away from his reach. “It is understood, my lord. Now as you bid, I would sleep.”

🏰

The only grace allowed you at the feast, rather denied you, was a seat with your lord. As much as Barnes would prefer to have you close he was still bound by the expectations of court. He didn't let on that you were merely a servant but you didn't think anyone could believe otherwise. For his vouching, you were sat among the lower lords and ladies.

You watched as wine was poured for you. You eyed the girl who kept her chin down as the filled the cups and thought of your own time in a similar duty. What did Barnes find so fascinating about you? You had only done what dozens others had done for him before. You couldn't figure you had an outstanding feature or manner that could explain his interest, it could only be your own poor luck.

You ate without tasting, without zeal, slowly as you brought fork to lip and dissolved into the chatter of strangers around you. All those seated at the long tables had a partner or some family with them. You were alone. Your parents were dead and all those you'd ever had a kindred tie to were far away.

"Uncle," a voice perked up across from you and drew your attention as you chewed the spiced rabbit meat, "if I made the lists, surely I can win!"

"My coin got you on those lists," the older man replied, "it is all formality. Should you gace a king or a duke, you would be remiss to claim victory."

"I am to lay down for their title?" The younger scoffed, "I am a man now and I have trained--"

"But you think like a boy," the other rebuked, "a runner up can take a fine purse still and if you feed the ego of a high borne man he will be more willing to show you favour."

You lowered your fork and looked at the two men as they argued. The elder`s hair was sprinkled with grey but the rest the same shade of reddish brown as the youth. You were heartened by their familial banter but saddened at your own solace. You dropped your hands to your lap and looked at your plate.

"Dear," the woman beside you touched your sleeve, "are you well?"

You turned to her startled and nodded. "Yes, my lady," you cleared your throat, "fine indeed."

She peered past you then shared a look with the older man across the table. She was not so grey as him. She smiled and withdrew her hand. "You are alone?"

"Only me, my lady," you answered.

"And overly polite," she chuckled, "a pity. A young girl sent to court without escort. What family could do such a thing? You must be frightened out of your wits."

"I will… persevere," you said.

"Ay but it is the nature of these events to be cordial. I am May Parker, my husband is a baron," she gestured to the older man across from you, "Benjamin, and my nephew, Peter, a viscount in his beloved father's stead," she smiled at the younger man, "and your name?"

You hadn't been told what to say in the circumstance. You hadn't thought of it and surely Barnes hadn't either. You would have to garnish the truth with enough lies to get by. You twined your fingers together. You offered your name, your truth, then conjured your lies as you spoke.

"My father is, er, was, a baron as well," you said, "I am his only child."

"Oh, you sweet thing, if you would be alone for this tournament, you might stay near to us. My nephew hasn't many peers of his age just yet, and my husband is much too weary to keep up with him."

You glanced around, the two men bowed their heads in greeting. You attempted a smile and thanked her.

"Our Peter will be competing in the joust and in the sword contest," she announced, "we did urge him to enter the bow and arrow but he finds it dull."

"Oh," you were uncertain how to address these people, to speak as if you were their equal, "I've never attended a tourney before."

"Best you stay close then," she squeezed your hand gently, "why look at all these people! Even that Duke from the north came, bless him, that one who did lose his arm in the campaigns."

You reached for your wine to hide your discomfort at the mention of him. All you had to do was pretend for the evening and you'd likely not see these people again. As friendly as they were, you couldn't stand to make friends only to lose them.

You listened for the rest of the courses as May and her family did much of the talking. There were moments you forgot your predicament, even that you were born a peasant, but when it returned to you, the food turned to a lump in your stomach and your heart clamoured.

You were roused from the waking dream only as the music plucked up and the plates were cleared by your own ilk. May chuckled and stood as her husband came around to her. She paused as the bodies flooded from the benches onto the boards. She touched your shoulder kindly, "if you would be in want of a partner, our Peter is rather graceful."

You looked to the younger Parker and he lit up. "Only if you like, miss."

"I… would say I am not so," you said evasively.

"It would not bother me, I trained with the old hound that slept in our barn, he slobbered quite heavily," he laughed, "but I would be indebted should you allow me the treat of a true partner."

"I suppose…" you looked to the high table where Barnes scowled at Lord Rogers, entirely unconcerned with you for the first time in a while. Perhaps this was a chance; lose yourself in the crowd and you might find the opening you needed. Or perhaps merely a respite from him at least, "I do warn you however, I would not know where to place my feet."

May and Benjamin swept away as Peter came around to you. He offered his arm and you mimicked the other ladies as you took it.

He lifted his shoulders proudly as he led you to the floor, "only step around my own and I will do my best not to trod on your slippers, lady." He turned you in time with the music, your arms hooked so that you faced in opposing direction, "follow me and do not worry so much. No one is watching us so closely."

You smiled, a real smile that time as the strings and flutes filled your chest. As this kind stranger patiently guided you around the boards. You raised your chin as you did your best to stay on the beat but nearly tripped as your eyes met another pair.

Lord Barnes glared down at you from the high table, the only lord remaining in his seat, and his hand gripped the stem of his goblet tightly. Even at the distance, you felt his chagrin. And as he stood, your sole met Peter's toe but he only snickered and righted you.

"You're doing fine, lady," he assured as he spun and switched arms, you let him lead you dumbly as you watched Barnes descend from the dais, "a natural."

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angelkurenai · 4 years ago

Text

So much for a surprise - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: So much for a surprise

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: I'd love a chris evans x reader one shot, where they're dating, and after the knives out movie, he's been spending a lot of time with his co-star Ana de Armas, and like in one specific interview she was getting very flirty and such with Chris, and touching his arm and stuff, and I'd just want to see how you'd interpret jealous!reader, and Chris reacting to that jealousy!!

Looking at your phone, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, you tried to suppress a sigh, though you couldn't help the roll of your eyes. Despite the amount of messages and notifications, and there were plenty for sure, none of them including your boyfriend.

You didn't want to hold it against him, after all you knew he was particularly busy these days what with all the interviews and promoting his newest movie. And despite all the games and laughs it could be, or at least it seemed to be to the rest of the world, you were an actress yourself and understood that it could be tiring, exhausting and on more than one occasions very nerve-wracking especially if one was already anxious about taking on a new role after years of being famous for another one. You understood because you had gone through all of that yourself, and you could have excused his lack of contact. You would have, really, if it wasn't for the fact that those interviews were no longer part of his job and a stressful one at that. No, if anything, they were obviously only an excuse now.

An excuse to not answer phone calls or messages, an excuse to spend less time at home, an excuse to make plans to go out with without you – oh you couldn't even remember the last time it had been just the two of you out for a simple drink – an excuse to pull further apart from you, an excuse fool around and be playful with another woman. It was that last part which brought a bitter taste in your mouth. If it was his friends, long-time ones or not, you wouldn't have paid so much attention to it but when he said that he was going out for the third time in a row with Ana and maybe some costar might tag along but he didn't know then there was only so much you could take.

You didn't doubt him, you would never doubt him or his fidelity to you, because you knew the kind of man you had beside you. After years of being together you how much he loved you, he made sure show it every chance he got and made sure you never forgot it, so you always trusted him even if he more often than not ended up surrounded by so many beautiful women at a time. But that didn't mean you could trust her, just like you couldn't blame her. Alright maybe you could andyou would if she ever tried anything with Chris, but the lingering touches or easy smiles and casually frequent glances were no reason for you to start anything or try to hold it against her. Not yet.

You could very easily hold it against him, though. For allowing all of it, but above all for allowing himself to be pulled away from you because of another woman. It wasn't your fault that you couldn't stop the pang in your chest. You weren't to blame for the way your heart squeezed, a bit painfully sometimes too. It was not on you that whenever he said, in that casual simple way that “Oh just going out with Ana.” as if she was his girlfriend of three years and not you, you felt your throat close up and your eyes burn with something akin to unshed tears. You refused to believe it was tears and you refused to believe that he was hurting you, that this situation was hurting you, when it could all easily be just in your head so instead you shrugged most of it off.

“Hey, we were-” the man started but paused when he saw the deep frown that had set on your face, the concern that slipped on his features was touching to say the least. Especially as he gave a small sign to his friends and approached you. Your friends as well and you tended to forget that lately just like you couldn't enjoy anything good that happened to you because of how things with Chris were but then again you had not shared much of it with him and when you didn't get to share your happiness with him it always tended to feel less true or real.

“Are you alright?” the hand on your shoulder along with the small squeeze and warmth it brought was comforting in a way you had almost forgotten you wanted but clearly more than needed, you realized.

“Just fine, don't worry about me. Going without any sleep for two days in a row kind of takes a toll on you, I guess.” you shrugged softly, slowly tucking your phone in your pocket; hoping even in the last couple seconds that there would be a message from your boyfriend.

“Are you trying to be reassuring now?” his eyebrows rose “Cause you're doing a really shitty job at it let me tell you. Hey remind me again who you've been taking acting lessons from at first? Hugh Jackman? Well it shows.”

“No, I swear I-” you couldn't help the giggle that left your lips, feeling light even for a few second “I am alright, really. A tad tired but only because I had so many scenes today. I recover fast and I have tomorrow off so all will be good. It's not anything I'm not used to.”

“I-” his small smile dropped in the end, worry showing through once more “Are you sure? Because I've seen you check your phone plenty of times in between breaks so I worried that- Well, something might've happened.”

“No, it's- Well, I expected some phone call or message from my boyfriend but apparently he's still busy with interviews, so I might just have to go ahead and meet him in person there. We might go out later... I think. We usually do every Friday so...” you trailed off and shrugged, not wanting to burden him with unnecessary worries and information despite how close you were lately.

“Oh well, in that case-” he nodded his head, glancing over his shoulder for a second before facing you again “It seems like you've already got plans with him then but uhm in case anything happens and you're off early or in the mood for drinks we know where we will be-”

“Oh but I'm not sure if I will have time to-” you said with slight worry and wide eyes.

“I know, I know.” he chuckled softly, quickly trying to calm you down “Just letting you know in case there's an off chance that it happens. We'll be waiting for you either way. I'll be waiting.”

You didn't dare say much to him after that, only gave him a shy smile and nod with a promise to at least try, and him that he was alright with anything, and watched him leave with the rest of your friends before you got in your own car to make your way to the studios where the interviews would be held. For the first time, probably in days if not weeks, you felt much lighter. Maybe it was good to see that you were wanted somewhere, in someone's company even though it wasn't your boyfriend's - despite your deepest hopes.

If only your good mood could last for longer than the whole 30 minutes of the ride, that would have been ideal. However, in the end, part of you wished that said interview was probably on the other side of the globe instead of so close to your filming location. Because as you walked into the studio, try as you might, you couldn't hold back the lump in your throat as you saw the scene in front of you.

“Don't know what that is but it sounds good!” Chris said with a grin on his face, soon followed by easy laughter from both him and Ana.

Ana's hand was in that very second on his arm, giving a small squeeze as they kept laughing together, until it slowly but surely started sliding down until her hand was holding his. The interview kept going and they both had smiles on, an occasional laugh escaping here and there. Her hand remained with his long enough for you to notice how he thumb was rubbing soothing circles one moment and playing with his fingers the next in a slow and easy manner that you knew he loved, you knew relaxed him even in the most stressful situations – especially during interviews which you knew he always needed – and that you knew... was your thing. Or at least so you thought.

And apparently you had been mistaken for at least three years now. You had been mistaken to think those warm comforting touches were just for the two of you to share and say things without having to verbally phrase them. You had been mistaken to think that the smile you saw on his face as he looked at Ana was saved just for you. You had been mistaken to believe that the way his face softened and his eyes focused with an unmistakable spark of interest were reserved just for you when you spoke to him about things you loved and not also her as she answered a question that very moment. You had been mistaken to think that the way his shoulder fell in relaxation, in easiness and comfort, as if coming back home for a long day, was reserved just for you and was something that came naturally. As naturally as the feeling of love which he so openly showed both with his actions and words whenever he saw you... or at least used to.

Come to think of it, many of the things you had been considering as important, as unique, for the two of you, were probably nothing more than maybe you getting sentimental or worse too attached. And, for sure you now realized, not happening lately much if not at all. But maybe that was to be expected when you were hardly spending any time together whatsoever. Maybe even not as meaningful... not as true?

But if that love, if those looks and touches and words, were not true then what else about your relationship was in the first place? What was real? What was unique? If he could so easily relax around her, flirt with her and accept her flirting back so easily, so openly then-

You shook your head and tore your eyes from the scene before you, effectively silencing their laughter in your head, even though it already sounded very far off. The unpleasant feeling was back, squeezing your heart, tightening your stomach in knots and making your eyes burn. The bad taste in your mouth, as your throat closed, was there too and you decided to bite on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying or doing anything you wouldn't like. Even the taste of blood was better, anything was better, really than the bitterness that came when you watched them interact like that.

You were above this, had always been especially with all the fans and female costars he had that got a bit more handsy and yes, you brushed most of it off. Most of it, when your blood wasn't boiling like it was right now because of how long this had gone on for.

Watching Chris making his way towards you, with his usually warm smile -even though you couldn't feel its sentiment at the moment -and a clear look of surprise on his face to see you there you felt that over the bitterness, you did feel mad. What you heard didn't help.

“Hey, Chris, don't forget about the meetup later yeah?” it was Ana and really you had nothing against her, not anymore, and not much more than your boyfriend.

Especially when he looked at her with a smile and nod “Sure thing I'll meet up with you there.”

“Honey, hey!” he breathed out and pecked your lips though you didn't even blink up at him, let alone smile “What a surprise, what are you doing here?”

“Surprise huh?” maybe you had originally planned it as that but now even the word made you huff angrily “Oh I'm not sure, maybe you would know better if you did check your phone once in a while. What the fuck is wrong with you, I called you so many times, Chris. Damn it I almost thought something happened. You always answer at least for a couple seconds, you always-” you stopped yourself immediately when you realized you were close to raising your voice and causing a scene which was the last thing you wanted.

Chris' eyes were somewhat wide and his smile had vanished. He considered your expression and stance for a few more seconds before he said in more serious voice “Maybe you'd like to talk in private then?”

Shaking your head, you huffed a humorless laugh but followed him as he took hold of your hand, linking your fingers and leading you away from the main set. No sooner were you alone than you pulled your hand from his grasp, not fact or angrily, only in a cold way without a single emotion on your face which you saw made his frown deepen.

“What's the matter baby?” he asked, voice low and somehow hoarse as he saw you wrap your arms around yourself and take a step back from him. A flush of hurt was visible in his eyes and you didn't like that it felt good to see it, but it was what it was.

“No first, let me ask you a question Chris.” you took a deep breath, trying to straighten your back “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday, why are you-”

“Oh so you do know, splendid! Then you haven't lost track of the date and you certainly haven't lost your phone or anything because you would have mentioned it when I brought it up. Which means you haven't been checking it or have checked, seen my calls, and didn't bother. Both of which, especially today, are equally bad. So, to sum it up-” you let out a shaky sigh “You don't give a damn about me anymore.”

“What?” he blinked in surprise “Where did that-”

“You know it's Friday and we always make plans for Friday night, always Chris. You make sure to text me about it first thing in the morning every single time. No matter where we are, even when we cannot be together, because we had promised. You had, Chris, because you knew. You knew how important it was to me to know even in the most simple way that my partner cares, you knew how much I needed that and I never asked for more never cared for more than just an hour out of your day, you knew better than anyone what I've gone through, and you promised Chris!” you pressed your fingers over your pursed lips when you realized you'd let yourself get carried away, raising your voice was not something you wanted. His eyes did widen this time and his eyebrows shot up.

You shook your head and made sure to wipe any sort of emotion from your face. Mostly caring to wipe out the proof of pain, that is, which you had been constantly feeling, because you were absolutely fine with him seeing the anger. If he managed to attribute it to your jealousy as well then you didn't care, you were beyond that now. If only it was as easy for the tears to be concealed.

You looked at him, and despite your red-rimmed eyes, your voice was low and cold “You always made sure to call. For the past three years. You never missed a single day. Until today. But of course-” you laughed bitterly, your words laced with venom as you nearly glared at him “You already made plans with somebody else, didn't you honey?”

“What- No, I-” he shook his head, eyebrows knitted together and baby blue eyes glistening with sadness and, dare you say, guilt “That's not what it looks like. Really, if this is about it then I promise I- (Y/n), of course you're welcome!”

“Welcome where? Cause I don't feel welcome anywhere in your life, Chris, let alone around her. And no it's clearly not just about this, but how would you even know how you've been making me feel all this time when you're hardly ever around, Chris?” you hissed before looking away from him.

“Hardly ever around?” you didn't know if your words hurt him as much as angered him, based on the way his eyes darkened with anger “Given that you do the same job, I didn't think you'd just show up like this only to pick a fight over something you know I have little control over. These days are harder on me and you know it, you can't really blame me for that! I was doing interviews all day and in between breaks I was so tired I forgot to check even my own phone, I didn't know that's a crime now.”

“So you do think that that's really what I'm trying to say here huh? Wow.” you blinked several times “You think you're the only one having a hard time, Chris? You have no idea about how hard of a time I am having then. No idea how emotionally exhaustion this new role is or how tired I am all the time. No idea how despite all that, I still can't go to sleep lately. And insomnia doesn't even begin to cover it, because of the doubts and constant thinking that I do and you're not there Chris, during any of it. You have no idea about any of it but I mean, how could you? We barely even talk anymore and no!” you raise your hands to stop him “It is not because of this job, it is because of her that all this is happening.”

“H-her?” he frowned in confusion before you saw the realization set down on him and a small sigh escape his lips “Ana? Really, this is all about that? (Y/n), you were always above this, you've never had a jealous fit. We both know I'm just spending some time with a friend, there is nothing more to that. There could never be, how could you ever believe otherwise?”

“How?” you couldn't stop a scoff “Really? You ask how? Oh my gosh, Chris, she is flirting with you nonstop! I have seen the looks and touches and everything, you can't be that oblivious. No I refuse to believe it. For the love of, that was the exact way I acted around you at first! It's crystal clear that she likes you and flirts with you and asks you out all the time and you- you're encouraging this! Chris, you spent twice the time with her than with me and I clearly don't mean work. You're constantly out with her, you do nothing to stop it and even when you're supposed to do something for the two of us you- you go and put her first. And only on second thought, as if to do me a favor, you think to invite me over because oh poor her she'll spend our night all alone. Honestly-” you laughed humorlessly “I wonder who's really your girlfriend after all. Or better yet-” you paused, hesitating for only half a second because maybe you were too hurt and the part of you that was angry was easily controlling your words but you didn't hold it back.

What is the point in being your girlfriend in the first place?

You heard him take a sharp breath in, his eyes and face all showing unbelievable guilt and pain at your words as if it was finally downing him the extent of his mistake. But you didn't let yourself feel sorry even for a second and if he really deserved a taste of his own medicine he was going to get it.

“I didn't know I- I made you feel this way.” his voice was shaky and you could see the beginning of tears make his eyes glisten. You were probably too cruel but so was reality and everything you had been experiencing so when he took a step forward you took one backwards as well. “Honey-” he made to touch you but you shifted away and he didn't insist, although his hands were shaking and his eyes were wide, he forced himself to stay calm you “You know that... I- I love you more than anything.”

“Do I?”seeing the way his lips fell apart but he shook his head and tried to get it together.

“(Y/n), hear me out please.” his hands were shaking and he let out a trembling breath as he ran his fingers through his hair.

He finally got the courage to back up “You know that I love, that will never- it can never change, no matter what. I would never do something like that to you, certainly not knowingly. I'm not that kind of man, I would never be and even more so not to you! You know how important you are to me, goodness, I love you with all my heart! I've loved you for years, nothing can take it away. It breaks me to think I made you feel like this, hell to even realize you're jealous--” he scoffed angrily but you could see it was directed at nobody else but himself as he ran a hand down his face “It's not anywhere near flattering or funny or cute when I see you like this. I shouldn't have let it get this far, it's my fault you feel like this, I know, but I promise-”

“Promise?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper but somehow more effective than any screaming or jealousy fit you could throw as it made him stop on the instant, lips pressing shut “I think I've had enough of promises, Chris, don't you think?”

“Baby, I- I-” he frowned, not understanding how this had gotten so bad and maybe that was somehow comforting - certainly preferable to him encouraging her flirting knowingly or as a joke “I love you.”

“And I love you, but this-” you let out a shaky breath, shrugging numbly “It's not even jealousy, not anymore. Was it at first? Yes, yes it was. You're my boyfriend and you spent more time with her, out for drinks with Ana, out for a dinner with Ana and maybe some costar, interviews with Ana and talking in between breaks with Ana, letting Ana calm you down and comfort you when I-” you sighed “But as I said, not anymore. At this point... I don't have it in me to feel anything at all.”

“So-” you took hold of your things again “You can go ahead and have your fun and you don't have to feel sorry for me-” you hated how you sniffled but remained proud for how put together you still were “I hoped things were different but don't worry, I do know there is someone out there that at least wants my company, my presence in their life. I won't doubt that. I wished it was you but... what can you do?”

“Wh-what?” he breathed out shakily, his voice gruff as he slowly came to realize what you meant “What do you me-”

“Bye Chris, hope I'll see you... sometime within the next week, if you decide to show up at our place.” you gave him a tight-lipped smile before you rushed away.

He tried to reach out for you but you were faster, and him being still in shock and a mess of emotions, didn't have time to catch up with you. He stood in his place for a good few seconds, his heart hammering in his chest, eyes burning, lungs hurting and mind foggy. It didn't even register when he heard Ana speak to him, asking whether everything was alright, and him brushing her off with a small mumble before closing the door, maybe a bit too in her face but doesn't bring himself to care, and asking for some time alone. All the time he couldn't help but wonder how it all had gotten to this.

“Who...” he could only hear himself whisper with a deep frown, the thoughts running through his mind nowhere near pleasant as your words echoed again and again in his mind. He wanted to be even a bit angry, and maybe he was deep down underneath all this, but he couldn't fight the ache in his chest, the deep burn of jealousy which oh stung a lot, and ultimately the hurt than ran deep - even deeper when he realized that this was how he had made you feel - inevitably it brought a feeling of self-loathing as well.

But when he heard the small thud, of something falling, he realized it wasn't really a matter of who. He didn't even have the right to be angry at whoever was making you feel good, welcome and at ease; hell even if they made you feel wanted and desired, he had it coming and he even deserved it as much as he deserved the bitter taste in his mouth and jealousy in his heart. It was him who was at fault, him who had screwed up everything.

Looking down he saw the small object that had fallen from his pocket where he always kept it with him the past couple days, secured and safe away from eyes that could find it before it was the right time. He wanted to scoff bitterly at the thought, would he get the chance to find one after all?

“So much for a surprise huh?” he asks practically noone as he opens the box and takes the ring to toy with between his fingers.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #chris #chris evans #chris x reader #chris evans x reader #chris imagine #chris evans imagine #chris fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #chris one shot #chris evans one shot #ana de armas #x reader #jealousy #one-sided #fluff #angst

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: gun violence, hospitals, blood

A/N: besties, i-...just read the warnings (slight spoiler: the angst will be resolved)

Masterlist

Chapter 21

“How exciting is this! Last day of kindergarten today and then your seventh birthday party tomorrow!” you exclaimed, “My baby is growing up way too fast.”

You squeezed Jo tightly.

“Okay, I’m going to drop Jo off and then I’ll pick up the cake from the bakery, go grocery shopping, and get the decorations,” Spencer kissed you as he held up Jo’s backpack for her to slip her arms into.

“Don’t forget Mrs. Flynn’s gift. She had to put up with 20 rowdy kids for a whole year, the least we can do is give her some cookies and a gift card to Target,” you said.

“Got it,” Jo patted her backpack.

“Goodbye, my loves,” you gave both of them one last kiss before they exited the front door and you finished getting ready for work.

At the end of the day, Jo came marching out of the elementary school in the usual class line. You and Spencer came running up to her.

“There’s my big kindergarten graduate,” you bent down to hug her with Spencer following suit.

“I got a diploma,” she beamed, holding up the piece of paper with her name on it.

Josephine Y/L/N-Reid

Her officially updated birth certificate name.

“We need to frame this and put it up right next to Daddy’s PhDs,” you smiled.

“I think this occasion calls for a milkshake,” Spencer lifted up Jo.

“It most certainly does...and fries,” you agreed.

You had a row of picnic tables at the park all decorated with balloons, streamers, and dinosaur tablecloths. You and Spencer woke up extra early to make sure everything was ready for the time of the party.

You both had been repeatedly taking trips back and forth home to bring everything to the park that you needed. Jo’s friends from her class would be there as well as the BAU.

As people started to arrive, you handed out party hats to everyone. Derek attempted to sneak past you.

“Ah ah ah,” you held your arm out to stop him, “No hat, no entry.”

“Even Hotch is wearing one,” you pointed to Hotch sitting at a table with Jack, wearing a bright pink party hat.

“Fine. Gimme the green one,” Derek sighed.

Jo and her friends were having a blast. You ordered enough pizza to fill everyone up completely but luckily, the kids ran it off playing tag on the playground.

“Okay, cake everyone!” Spencer shouted to gather everyone around the central table as he began to light the candles.

Jo took the end seat with the biggest grin on her face and you stood behind her. Derek and Penelope had their phones out to record and take pictures.

Spencer picked the cake up and took a deep inhale, signaling that he was about to start singing, “Happy Birth-”

BANG. You didn’t even know what was happening. You quickly pulled Jo behind you, shielding her from whatever made that loud noise.

Then, you felt something warm seeping down your front. You looked down to see your white shirt quickly darkening into red.

Spencer dropped the cake on the ground, running over to you, “Y/N!”

You fell to the ground just as he caught you. You could hear the muffled sounds of screams, kids crying, and people running away.

“Hey, eyes on me! Eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be just fine,” Spencer was grappling at your torso to find where all the blood was coming from.

“Where’s Jo?” you panickedly asked.

“Penelope has her. Hotch called an ambulance, it’s on its way, baby. Just stay with me,” he pleaded.

“Spence, it hurts too much. I’m sorry,” you cried.

“No, Y/N, please. Jo needs you. I need you. I can’t do this without you,” he sobbed.

“You’re the best dad ever, Spence. I currently have a mug being shipped to the house that says so,” you feebly attempted to laugh, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Spencer whispered as the ambulance pulled up with its sirens wailing.

As you were being loaded into the stretcher, you caught a glimpse of Jo crying into Penelope’s shoulder.

“Spence, stay with Jo,” you whispered.

“What? No. I’m coming with you,” he said.

“She’s really scared, Spence.”

“Y/N, this is not up for debate. You were just shot. I’m not leaving you. Penelope will bring her to the hospital waiting room,” Spencer insisted, getting into the ambulance.

Everything went dark after that.

Spencer was nervously bouncing his leg up and down, blankly staring at the hospital floor. Everything around him was a monotonous hum.

“Reid...Reid...Reid!” Derek snapped him out of his trance, shaking his shoulder.

“Penelope is outside with Jo now and she’ll bring her in in a second but we need to get you cleaned up first,” Derek said, guiding Spencer to the bathroom.

Spencer looked down at his clothes. Whatever emotional state Jo was in right now would definitely not be eased by seeing her Daddy covered in Mommy’s blood. Derek helped wipe all the blood off Spencer and then handed him a spare pair of sweats from his go bag.

“W-What happened?” was the first thing that Spencer said as they returned to the waiting room and Derek texted Penelope that it was all clear.

“Hotch and Rossi are at the scene trying to figure that out now. We think the unsub was actually aiming for Jo but Y/N blocked the bullet,” Derek stated.

“Oh god,” Spencer put his face in his palms until he heard a familiar crying growing louder.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Jo wailed.

Penelope was also teary-eyed but Spencer could tell she was trying her best to hold it together for Jo’s sake. She transferred Jo into Spencer’s arms. Spencer tucked the little girl into his chest.

“Is Mommy okay?” she sobbed.

Spencer looked up at Derek and Penelope before looking back down at his daughter, “I don’t know, baby, but the doctors are taking real good care of her.”

Jo continued to cry into Spencer's chest for about a half an hour until she lost all of her energy and fell asleep. Spencer looked down at his daughter’s puffy red eyes. How could he possibly give her any more bad news on her birthday? You had to be okay. You were supposed to be the perfect little family. This was supposed to be his happy ending.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” a surgeon called out.

“Right here,” Spencer spoke softly and slowly stood in order to not wake Jo up.

Derek and Penelope stood right beside him.

“Ms. Y/L/N suffered a bullet wound to the gut. However, the surgery went well and she is expected to make a full recovery,” the surgeon announced.

“Oh thank god,” Spencer let out a huge exhale that he didn’t even know he was holding.

“She has lost a lot of blood so she’s not awake yet but you are welcome to wait with her if you would like. She should be up within the hour,” the surgeon informed Spencer.

Spencer nodded his head emphatically.

“Garcia and I are going to head back to the BAU to confer with the rest of the team. Text us with any updates,” Derek patted Spencer on his back.

“Right this way,” the surgeon guided Spencer to a room down the hall.

There you laid in a hospital bed, still managing to look beautiful after nearly dying and a multiple hour surgery.

He took the seat beside you, still cradling Jo in his arms.

About 20 minutes later, Spencer’s eyes snapped up to meet yours after he heard a little movement coming from the bed.

You opened your mouth slightly to speak but Spencer beat you to it.

“Marry me.”

“Am I alive?” you closed your eyes again, blinking really hard, and then opening them to still see the same scene in front of you.

“Yes, Y/N, you are luckily very much alive and I don’t want to spend another second not being married to the love of my life. I stupidly let you go once and I am not going to let that happen ever again. You and Jo are my whole entire life, there's nothing more I could possibly want. So, I am asking you…”

Spencer grabbed your hand and slipped the ring off your index finger, then he knelt with Jo still asleep in his arms, clinging to his neck, “...if you will do me the greatest honor of spending the rest of our lives together. Y/N, will you marry me?

“Yes,” you cried as he slipped the ring back on to your index finger.

“I promise I’ll get you another ring as soon as we’re out of here,” Spencer said.

“Shut up and kiss me, Spence,” you cupped his cheeks, pulling him towards you until your lips connected.

“Mommy?” you heard a meek voice ask from between you both.

“Hi baby. I’m so sorry I scared you like that,” you said.

Jo untangled herself from Spencer and wrapped her arms around your neck.

“It’s okay, Mommy, as long as you are okay.”

A/N: i got multiple crying headaches while writing and editing this chapter

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #cm fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds

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bellakitse · 4 years ago

Text

To Love is to Know You

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

When Carlos gets hurt on the job, his parents find out about the important parts of his life he’s been keeping from them, mainly the man he’s in love with.

Gabriel Reyes' POV

*there is accidental outing in this since this isn’t how Carlos planned on telling his parents.

6.3k

They’ve settled in for the night and are in the middle of watching a movie their son recommended when the phone rings.

“Carlos really likes this?” he questions skeptically as more blood goes spraying across the screen.

His wife chuckles at his tone even as she winces at the scream the protagonist lets out for the 100th time.

“He’s young, Gabriel. I don’t think we’re actually supposed to like what Carlitos likes,” she tells him as she leans across the couch, reaching for her phone. She turns to him with a smile as she shows him the caller ID. “Hablando del diablo,” she says fondly before pressing talk on their son calling.

“Tell him I’m questioning his choices,” Gabriel jokes, pausing the movie as Andrea says hello with a smile. He watches as that smile quickly drops, his heart seizing in his throat as she lets out a gasp and a shaky ‘what?’ to whoever she’s speaking to. It’s obvious now that it’s not their boy.

He waits for her to end the call with a fearful ‘we’ll be there soon’ before she turns to him with tears in her eyes.

Even before she speaks, he knows, and his hands shake as they reach for hers.

“Carlitos got hurt at work,” she whispers, her face pale and frightened. “He got shot, and they are rushing him to the hospital.”

֎֎֎

The drive to the hospital is both short and the longest drive Gabriel Reyes has ever had behind the wheel. Next to him, Andrea grips the rosary his mama gave her after they got married. She doesn’t pray, though, and he thinks she’s too worried to remember any prayer at the moment.

“He’s going to be okay,” he tells her, his voice rougher than he would typically use with his sweetheart, but he can see her starting to spiral, and he needs her to focus on his voice and not on all the troubling thoughts he knows are running through her head at the moment. “Carlos is young and strong. He’s going to be fine, he –”

“Is our baby boy,” she whispers, looking at him with those big brown eyes, so like Carlos’ when he was little, looking at him to make everything okay.

“El va estar bien, amor,” he tells her softly, willing himself to believe it too.

He pulls into the hospital parking lot. They quickly exit the car, holding hands as they rush towards the doors and the front desk. He’s sure they both look a fright as they ask the girl behind the counter for information.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reyes,” calls out a tired voice to them, and when they turn around, they find a familiar-looking young man with brown hair and green eyes standing before them in an EMS uniform.

Gabriel is struck by his eyes. They’re wide, the worry in them plain to see, and it’s obvious he’s been crying by how pink and puffy they are.

“I’ve been waiting for you both; I didn’t want you to get lost,” he tells them, pointing to a door at the far end of the hall to the left. “We’re in there.”

“How’s Carlitos?” his wife asks at the same time as he says. “We’ve met you before.”

“Uh – yes – you have, sir. I’m TK,” he answers with a grimace. Gabriel knows it is the young man’s effort to smile but just can’t. “We met at the farmer’s market about nine months ago.”

TK turns to Andrea, his expression softening instantly. “They took Carlos to the back when we got here, ma’am, but we haven’t heard anything yet.”

“What happened?” he asks TK and is struck again by how expressive his eyes are. Gabriel sees pain, fear, frustration, and anger cross his face.

“We were answering a call to a disturbance; a man was threatening to set fire to his ex-bosses place and was holding them hostage inside. He was armed, so Carlos and the rest of APD went in first,” TK takes a pause, swallowing hard, and Gabriel is struck by how the young man is keeping it together when it’s undeniable that it’s difficult for him to do so. “Shots were exchanged, and the suspect was neutralized but not before he hit Carlos.”

“Where?” he asks, hoping against hope that his son was wearing his vest. TK’s face, scared and apologetic, tells him it doesn’t matter.

“T – the,” TK clears his throat, lifting a hand to run through his hair. Gabriel catches the slight shake of it. It’s not the only thing he spots on them. Though mostly clean, Gabriel notices specks of blood on them. Looking him over once more, he sees some on his uniform too. “The neck, sir.”

Andrea lets out a gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth to try and muffle the sound.

“You worked on him,” Gabriel realizes. He needs to focus on something other than the information they’ve just been given.

“Yes,” TK answers, biting down on his lip to the point that Gabriel wants to wince at how painful it looks. Given the redness of his mouth, the kid has probably been doing it a while now. “My Captain didn’t want it to be me – ” TK stops.

He takes a breath, collecting himself. “We stabilized him on the field and then brought him over. My Captain is here if you want to speak with her while we wait for the doctors.”

They follow the young man down the hall into a private room, and Gabriel is shocked to see how full it is with first responders, most still in uniform like TK. Everyone seems to turn to look at them when they walk in.

“These are Carlos’ parents,” TK explains to the crowd before turning to a tall woman with a sympathetic but no-nonsense look on her face. “Captain Vega, could you – ” he gestures towards them.

The Captain nods, standing from her seat to walk over to them. She has a bag with her that she hands over to TK.

“Nancy brought your stuff from your locker,” she says to the kid with a kind smile. She places her hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go change while I speak with Carlos’ parents.”

TK nods, looking relieved. “Yeah, Cap, thanks.” He turns towards them, looking like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. Instead, he gives them a small nod and walks away, leaving them with his Captain.

Gabriel focuses on her, reaching out to hold his wife’s hand as Captain Vega goes through the emergency in more detail. She’s compassionate but honest as she breaks down her assessment of Carlos’s injuries on the scene and their handling of it.

“TK is one of the finest medics I have ever worked with,” she tells them, with something akin to pride in her voice. “And it’s Carlos. He wasn’t about to lose him,” she continues softly, knowing. “We got him here, and they’ve had him in the back for the last hour. I’m sure they’ll come out and tell us something soon. All we can do now is wait, unfortunately.”

“And pray,” Andrea whispers thickly.

“Never a bad idea,” she says with a small, understanding smile. She looks away from them when someone calls her name, an older man in uniform walking towards them.

“Tommy, any word? Where’s TK?” he asks, rushed.

“Nothing yet,” she answers the man whose uniform says, Captain Strand. “And TK is changing. We didn’t want him to still be in the uniform that – “ she pauses, her eyes drifting to them.

“Right,” Captain Strand nods before his blue eyes turn towards them. Gabriel watches as he quickly recognizes who they are. “Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he questions, exhaling loudly when he answers him with a nod.

“Owen Strand, TK’s dad,” he says, extending his hand to Andrea first and then him. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry it can’t be under better circumstances.”

Gabriel cocks his head at the peculiar comment.

“You work with our son?” Andrea asks politely, probably trying to distract herself from the worry she’s feeling.

“Often,” Owen gives them an honest smile. “He’s one hell of a police officer, good instincts, good head on his shoulders, strong,” he tells them intentionally. “He’s going to come through this just fine.”

Gabriel appreciates the comment, if anything, because it makes Andrea smile for the first time since they heard the news.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Owen continues. “We’re going to be here a while,” he points towards three firefighters with the same 126 insignia he has on his clothes, and they quickly get up, giving them the space. “Maybe we can get you some coffee or tea?”

He shakes his head but nods towards Andrea. “Some tea might be good for your nerves, vieja.”

Andrea nods absently, and Owen turns his head towards the trio who gave them their seats. “Strickland, Marwani, Chavez – “

“On it, Cap,” says the young Latino whose chest tag says, Chavez. “We’ll get for everyone.”

Owen offers the kid a grateful smile. “Get TK a sandwich. I know he hasn’t eaten.”

“He might not want to,” says the other man in the group with a deliberate look.

“We’ll sit on him and force him if we have to,” answers the young woman in the headscarf with a glint in her eyes that tells him she’s not joking. Gabriel watches them leave the room.

“They’re good kids,” Owen comments, catching his gaze. “They care about Carlos very much,” he says with a soft laugh. “Probably because he’s always feeding them when they hang out at his place.”

Andrea smiles at the comment, but Gabriel finds it curious. He doesn’t find it strange that his son would be welcoming. Like his mother, Carlos has always strived to make everyone feel at home. He is just surprised that his son is so close with this particular firehouse and its members.

TK comes back into the room in a hoodie and sweats, looking around. Gabriel watches as his eyes land on them before moving over to his father. He watches as the kid’s shoulders drop at the sight of his dad and quickly makes his way over, almost plowing into him as Captain Strand stands with his arms open, circling them around his boy.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he hears him whisper into his son’s ear. “Carlos wouldn’t leave you, you know that.”

Gabriel takes a sharp breath at the words; he looks over at his wife, seeing that her eyes have gone wide as she stares at the father and son with a newfound gaze, and he knows she’s caught it too.

Before they can come to terms with what it might mean, a doctor in green-colored scrubs walks in with a manila folder in hand. “I’m looking for Officer Reyes’ family?” he questions, startling as everyone stands or looks over at him.

Gabriel is surprised himself but warmed by the idea that so many people care about his son. “Over here,” he calls the doctor over. “We’re his parents.”

The doctor nods in response, crossing the distance between them until he’s standing in front of them, TK and his father joining in. “We’ve stabilized your son enough to move him,” the doctor starts. “He’s in the O.R. now; we’re repairing the damage. He was lucky that the bullet didn’t hit his carotid artery.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Andrea rushes to ask, fear coloring her question.

“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am,” the doctor answers softly with a sympathetic look. “He’s holding strong and was brought in quickly.”

“When can we see him?” he asks, his heart dropping at the shake of the doctor’s head.

“It’s going to be a while,” he answers. “We’re not sure how long it will be in the O.R., and then in recovery, it’s going to be a couple of hours.”

Gabriel feels the room deflate around him at the answer and feels the same.

“For now, I need his next of kin to sign off on some waivers,” the doctor continues as he looks inside his folder, reading out of it. “Who is Tyler Kennedy Strand?” he asks, the question filling the room with sudden tension.

“Uhh – me,” TK stammers, his eyes going to him and Andrea awkwardly. “But his parents – “

The doctor cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Officer Reyes’ work forms have you as the one with the power of attorney over any medical decisions on his behalf. You are aware of this, yes?”

TK looks pained and uncomfortable, apologetic even as he looks at Andrea before nodding. “Yes,” he says softly. “Carlos and I spoke about it a few months ago.”

“Then I need you to come with me, Mr. Strand,” the doctor answers, his eyes shifting over to them as well. “It’s just a formality, you understand.”

TK nods again, gesturing for the doctor to go first, following him out of the room, leaving the rest of them in silence, and he and Andrea stunned.

“They’re involved,” he states, not sure to who, but he catches Captain Strand’s slight wince.

“TK will explain when he comes back in,” he assures them, though Gabriel isn’t sure what he would have to explain. It’s pretty obvious the kid is someone important enough to his son that he would leave him in charge of his care if anything happened to him, and he and his wife know nothing about him.

Andrea reaches for his hand. When he looks at her, he sees the same confusion and hurt in her eyes he’s feeling. He squeezes it reassuringly as they retake their seats, neither knowing what to say.

They stay like that, silently waiting for TK or the doctor to come back. Owen walks away from them, drifting towards the other Captain.

After a few minutes, the ones who walk in are the trio of firefighters the Captain sent out for a snack.

“Te de manzanilla,” Chavez says with a boyish smile as he hands the cup of tea to Andrea. “My Abuela says it’s good for nerves.”

Andrea takes it but doesn’t drink right away. “Thank you – um?”

“Oh! I’m Mateo,” he answers before pointing at the other two who are finishing handing out bottles of water and coffees. “That’s Paul and Marjan. We’re friends of Carlos,” he says with another friendly smile as they come over to them.

“Nice to meet you all,” Andrea answers, elbowing him in the side to do the same.

Gabriel checks out, his mind drifting while his wife picks up the slack and chats with the trio, exchanging small talk. He only tunes in when Mateo asks about their new filly.

“You know about Sally?” he questions, frowning, confused. He gets a few nods from all of them and smiles.

“Carlos showed us pictures of her the last time we were over at his and TK’s place for dinner.”

Gabriel can’t help the sharp breath he takes at the comment.

“They live together?” Andrea asks, shocked, her voice above a whisper.

“Oh,” Paul says softly, his eyes widening with realization at their lack of knowledge. He exchanges worried looks with the young woman Mateo called Marjan. Both open their mouth as if to speak and then stop at a loss for words. Luckily for them, TK walks back into the room, making his way towards them.

“Guys, could you give me a second with Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?” he asks politely but firmly.

“Yeah, of course, man,” Paul says quickly, while Marjan tugs on Mateo to stand, moving away. Paul starts to follow them, only to stop and look at TK, speaking again with an apologetic look on his face. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know – “

TK waves him off, a half a smile on his tired face. “Don’t worry about it, Paul.”

Paul gives him a nod, looks at them, and nods again before walking away.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” TK tells them softly, biting down on his lip for a moment before taking a breath, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll do my best to answer them. Should we find somewhere a little more private?”

He looks over at his wife and finds her studying TK with a curious eye. He’s not surprised. He’s more than curious himself about this man who is important enough in his son’s life to be making decisions of life and death for him and apparently living with him. “I think that might be best.”

TK nods mostly to himself, motioning for them to follow him.

He leads them out into the hallway and into another room that Gabriel realizes is the chapel.

“Is this okay?” TK questions nervously. “I don’t want to be disrespectful,” he gestures towards the altar.

“It’s fine, TK,” Andrea assures him.

They take a seat together towards the back of the room, TK sitting across from them.

Nobody says anything for a long moment. He sits watching TK as he taps his foot, and Andrea plays with her hands, struck by the similar nervous motions. He recognizes as TK looks at them with a worried wrinkle between his brow, he doesn’t know where to start, and Gabriel is struck by how young he looks like this. It reminds him of Carlos’ nervous habits growing up, so concerned with disappointing them.

“How long have you and our son been together?” he questions, ripping off the bandaid.

“We’ve been dating for over a year,” he answers honestly, wincing when Andrea lets out a shocked sound. “But we’ve known each other for over a year and a half. It took a while for us to get – us, right.”

“A year?” Andrea questions, surprised and more than a little sad. “He’s kept this from us for a year?”

“He didn’t mean to,” TK rushes to explain – to defend their son to them, Gabriel realizes. He stops looking nervous, and Gabriel can honestly feel the wave of protectiveness coming off the young man.

While the part of him that isn’t still shocked at this sudden news is pleased that Carlos has found someone obviously loyal to him, another part of him is at a loss at being someone this young man thinks he needs to protect his son from. It leaves an unpleasant feeling in his stomach he tries to push down before he reacts in a way that he’ll regret later.

“Then what did he mean?” he questions, trying to understand. “Because if you guys have been dating for a year, that means you two were together when we met you at the market, and he called you a friend from work.”

He feels bad as his words cause the kid to flinch, and a small cynical smile twists his lips upward for a second.

“Yeah, that caused a big fight between us,” he answers dryly. “Look, this is something you need to talk about with Carlos when he comes to. We both knew it was a long time coming, and trust me, he’s been working up the nerve to tell you both about us.”

“Why would he need to work up the nerve?” Andrea questions while Gabriel watches as TK’s eyes flash, his hands curling for a moment. He’s struck by the fleeting anger he sees there – at them.

“Because you’re both more traditional, and he didn’t want to rub your noses in our relationship,” he answers tightly, making Andrea gasp.

Gabriel feels his hackles raise at the resentment he hears in the words. “Hey now, you don’t get – “

“Carlos’ own words,” TK interrupts, his voice sharp enough to stop him. TK stops too, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I apologize,” he starts again, his voice calmer. “It’s not my place at all, and Carlos needs to be the one to explain this to you.”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with his wife, letting out a sigh when she gives him a serious look. He turns towards TK again, taking a calming breath of his own. “But he’s not here right now, and we’d like to understand.”

TK lets out a sigh, nodding at them after a moment. “You’re right,” he agrees quietly, running a hand through his hair. “I just really wish he was here, though,” he pauses, the pain and love in his eyes as he speaks striking a core with him. This man loves his son. That much is clear.

“Okay, first things first. Carlos loves you both so much,” he tells them reassuringly. “He speaks of both of you with so much respect and admiration. Please don’t doubt that for one second. He didn’t keep us a secret from you because he doesn’t love or respect you.”

“Then why?” Andrea asks, trying to understand.

TK presses his lips together, giving her a helpless shrug of his shoulder. “Because he was scared of upsetting you, of disturbing the tentative peace that the three of you have had since he rocked your world by telling you he was gay at 17, and then none of you ever spoke about it again. He didn’t want to disappoint you.”

By TK’s expression, Gabriel knows that he hasn’t just spoken with any malice, yet he still feels his words hit him like a punch.

“But – that’s,” he stumbles at a loss for words. “Carlos could never disappoint us,” he looks at Andrea to find her with tears in her eyes. “We love our son.”

TK gives him a smile; it’s kind and understanding. “I don’t doubt that,” he tells them, looking at Andrea. “He’s so easy to love, of course, you love him.”

“You love him,” Andrea says in awe, still crying, but it feels different than before, almost happy in the middle of the hurt.

TK’s eyes fill with tears; they spill over even as he gives them a bright smile. “More than I have ever loved anyone in my life, ma’am. He is everything to me.”

Gabriel hears how much he means it in his voice and instantly remembers something from earlier. “You worked on him at the scene,” he exhales over a dull ache in his chest at the thought. “Jesus Christ, kid, how did you – “

“The worst moment of my life,” TK whispers, losing his smile, his bottom lip trembling. “And life has thrown some curveballs my way,” he inhales deeply in an effort to control his emotions. “But I wasn’t about to lose him, not like that and not now. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I plan to spend mine with your son.”

Gabriel hears the conviction and the subtle threat he’s issuing them. He’s telling them he’s not going anywhere, and while a small part of him wants to be annoyed at the warning, Gabriel finds himself mostly impressed. He finds himself liking the kid despite the situation.

“You love him so much,” Andrea whispers, shaking her head to herself. Knowing his wife, she’s mourning the fact that they’ve missed out on seeing it. “And he loves you?”

TK nods quickly. “He never lets me doubt it, not for one single second,” he swallows before another smile takes over his face, soft and involuntary. “He’s wonderful.”

“I’m so sorry we’ve missed it,” she tells him, and Gabriel smiles to himself at how easy he can still read her. “It was never our intent to make Carlos feel like he couldn’t share with us his life. When he told us he was gay, yes, it was a surprise, but we never loved him less,” she frowns, letting out a soft breath. “We wanted him to feel like nothing had changed, and instead, we made him feel like he couldn’t talk to us.”

“But he can,” he continues for Andrea, hoping TK will understand.

Andrea nods in agreement. “He can,” she repeats. “We want to be part of the life he’s building with you.”

TK smiles. It’s wobbly but iridescent as it lights up the room. “He – we would like that very much,” he tells them, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to know you both. You need to tell him when he wakes up.”

Andrea looks fearful again as she turns from TK to him and back again. “What if – “

“No,” TK answers resolutely. He holds out his hand for Andrea, covering it when she places it in his. “Carlos is going to be fine. He’s not leaving us.”

Gabriel watches them hold each other’s hands, his wife taking comfort from the man in love with their son, and hopes, for all their sakes, that he will turn out to be right.

֎֎֎

The next three days are the longest of Gabriel’s life. After over seven hours of surgery and recovery, they’re allowed to see a sleeping Carlos.

If there was any doubt in his mind about TK’s feelings for his son, they’re wiped out the moment he sees him at his bedside. The way he takes his hand in his, holding it for dear life as he whispers in his ear that he loves him and that he’s there, that they all are.

They wait, hours and hours they wait for Carlos to wake up. The doctors tell them the surgery was successful, and now they just have to wait for Carlos’ body to recover enough for him to wake up. They’re not sure when that’ll be.

He walks into his son’s hospital room after taking a call from work to find TK alone with Carlos, his wife nowhere in sight.

“You know, sweetheart, if this is payback for the time I got shot and ended up in a coma, then message received,” TK talks to a sleeping Carlos, bringing his hand to his lips. “You can wake up now because I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You were shot?” he questions, raising an eyebrow, wondering exactly what these two have been through.

TK blinks up at him. He lowers Carlos’ hand but doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Before Carlos and I officially got together, it was a house disturbance gone wrong, an accident, but I got hit in the chest and ended up in an eight-day coma. Carlos had to sit through it, the eight worse days of his life, he likes to remind me,” he turns back to Carlos, his expression softening. “I really didn’t need to learn the hard way how this feels.”

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat. He takes the seat he’d been occupying next to Andrea, finding her purse still there.

“She went to the restroom and to get something to drink,” TK tells him. “I told her I would stay with Carlos.”

Gabriel nods in understanding, and the room goes quiet as neither says anything else. They both just watch Carlos, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes stray to TK —his focus on Carlos, the way he reaches out to touch his skin like he can’t bear letting him go for a moment for fear he’ll slip away. The last few days, he and Andrea have gotten to know the kid better, along with the rest of his crew.

Their love for each other and their love for Carlos is evident in every gesture and kind word they have to say about him. It still hurts him to know he and Andrea have missed so much. As he laid in bed holding his crying wife, more than a few tears slipped his own eyes at the lost time. Every day that passes, he promises to fix it when his son wakes up.

“You know, when he was around ten, he convinced his cousin to help him up the stallion at the farm,” he starts telling him, lost in the memory. “And this was a rough horse, even I didn’t ride him much, but he got on, and the thing, of course, sent him flying,” he shakes his head to himself. “He was knocked out maybe five minutes, but they were the longest five minutes of my life.”

“Was he okay?” TK questions, concerned even though it obviously turned out okay in the end.

“A fractured arm,” he answers, chuckling. “As soon as the cast was off, he was right back at it – this time bribing the horse with apples, carrots, and beetroots until he won him over. By the end, it would only let Carlos ride him. He was so smug about it, tipping his hat at us as he rode him.”

TK grins from ear to ear. “Tell me there are pictures of him in the hat.”

Gabriel stands, pulling out his wallet. He fishes out an old worn picture, passing it over to TK. He watches as the boy takes gentle care, running his index finger over the image as he smiles down at it.

“Damn, that’s cute,” he murmurs, handing back the picture after a moment longer. “You know, he won me over with patience too.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at the comment, waiting for him to continue.

“When he and I met, I wasn’t in a good place emotionally,” TK starts to tell him as he looks back at Carlos, reaching up to brush his hair back. “I’d gotten out of a relationship that left me messed up, and I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I hurt his feelings at the beginning, and honestly, he should have just cut his losses.”

He looks over at him. “But Carlos doesn’t give up on people, especially when they’re hurting, so he became my friend, someone I could trust with the not-so-great parts of me. He never judged. He just cared about me more, making sure I knew that I was worth the effort even when I wasn’t so sure of that myself,” he smiles as he retakes Carlos’ hand. “He loves me even when I don’t always love myself.”

“I’m sure you do the same for him,” Gabriel answers. Even with Carlos asleep, he’s seen enough to know the two of them genuinely love each other. Now he just wants his son to wake up so he can see it for real.

“I try,” TK answers. “He makes it easy.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive us?” he can’t help but ask, the question playing in his head the last few days as he learned more of the parts of his life Carlos felt the need to keep to himself for their comfort.

TK frowns as he looks at him, shaking his head slowly. “Carlos will tell you there is nothing to forgive. He doesn’t blame you.”

“He should, though,” he can’t help but argue, feeling frustrated, angry tears at the back of his throat. Fear clawing its way back after three days of waiting for his boy to open his eyes and wondering if it will ever happen. “He was 17, a kid, scared but brave as he told us his truth, and while we accepted it at that moment, we didn’t make sure he knew that it would always be okay with us. That’s on us. We should have done better.”

“Do better now, Gabriel,” TK says to him quietly, shrugging his shoulder when he looks at him, his expression nothing but kind. “Forgive yourself, because Carlos never blamed you to begin with, and do better now.”

“Are you always so wise, kid?” he asks, smiling when TK lets out a bark of laughter.

“That is the last word anyone who knows me would use to describe me,” he shakes his head, still giggling. “Usually, it’s stubborn or reckless. Carlos has been known to call me a brat quite a few times,” he says fondly as he looks down at the bed.

“Because you always get your way,” Carlos rasps out, eyes still closed.

Gabriel isn’t sure who’s gasp is louder, his or TK’s as they both stand to get closer.

“Carlos? Sweetheart?” TK asks, cautious but hopeful, and Gabriel holds his breath as he waits to see if Carlos is genuinely back with them.

It takes a minute, maybe two, maybe three, but slowly Carlos opens his eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK whispers, tears falling even as he smiles widely down at Carlos.

Gabriel watches as his son frowns as he tries to weakly reach up to touch TK’s face. TK helps him, lifting his hand and holding it against his cheek.

“Don’t – cry, Ty,” Carlos gets out slowly, brushing his thumb under TK’s eye, earning a wet laugh from him.

“I love you so much,” he says to him, and though he’s obviously tired and in pain, the smile Carlos gives TK is the brightest Gabriel has ever seen.

“Love you too, amor,” his son whispers back to his boyfriend, sounding just as hopelessly in love with him. It reminds Gabriel of him and Andrea, and he can’t help the small sound that escapes his throat.

“Dad – “ Carlos says softly, surprised as his eyes find him; they shift back to TK, concern coloring his expression.

“It’s okay, babe. I promise,” TK assures him with a smile as he gives his hand a squeeze.

“It is mijo,” Gabriel tells him, hoping to wipe away the slight fear he sees in his son’s eyes. He never wants to be the cause for that look again.

TK looks over to him, smiling at him reassuringly, and Gabriel remembers what he said to him moments before Carlos woke up. Forgive and be better.

“I’m gonna go find Andrea and a doctor,” TK declares, giving him a nod. He turns back to Carlos, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

TK steps away from Carlos, squeezing Gabriel’s arm as he walks by him before leaving the room, leaving him alone with his son.

Turning back to Carlos, he finds him still looking concerned as he stares at him, and that simply won’t do for him. He shifts over to where TK had been standing, now next to Carlos. “How do you feel?” he questions gently, getting a tiny shrug back.

“Tired,” Carlos gets out, his voice raspy. “Thirsty.”

“Oh! Of course,” Gabriel says quickly, turning to grab the pitcher of water on the bedside counter and a cup. Filling it, he turns back to Carlos, raising his bed a bit before bringing the straw to his lips. “Slowly, mijo.”

Carlos does as he asks, all the while looking at him. After he’s had his fill, Gabriel pulls the cup away, putting it back on the counter. He reaches out to his son, running a hand over his curls like he would do when he was a little boy.

“You scared the hell out of us, kid,” he whispers, swallowing hard as the last couple of days catch up to him. “We were so scared we were gonna lose you.”

Carlos leans into his touch. As he closes his eyes, a tear rolls down his cheek. “Sorry, pop.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Gabriel shakes his head. He takes Carlos’ hand. “These last few days have shown your mom and me how much of your life we have missed, and we’re so sorry.”

“Dad – “ Carlos tries. “I – “

“We messed up, Carlos,” he continues, needing to get it out. “We thought we were keeping things normal by not making a big deal out of you coming out, and instead, what we did was make you believe that you needed to keep parts of your life a secret for us to be comfortable. But our comfort isn’t the most important thing. Your happiness is, and as long as you’re happy, so are we.”

Carlos’ eyes fill with more tears, and Gabriel is struck by how young he seems as he looks up at him hopeful.

“We met your boyfriend,” Gabriel chuckles fondly. “I mean, obviously. He’s pretty special, Carlitos. You picked a good one.”

Carlos laughs. It’s wet from tears but joyful. “I picked the best one.”

Gabriel smiles at the pride he hears in his son’s voice. “We’d like to get to know him, son,” he says. It’s a hope and a request in one. “Your mom and I, we’d like to know him and you,” he swallows hard as his eyes burn. “We love you so much, but loving someone isn’t always knowing them. If it’s okay with you, we’d like a chance to fix that now.”

Carlos stares at him, mouth open, and there is the slightest tremble of his bottom lip.

“Carlitos.”

He and Carlos turn their heads to the door where Andrea and TK stand together. Carlos smiles at his mom, the smile growing when he notices that she’s holding hands with TK.

“Mami,” he says softly.

Andrea walks towards them, tugging TK along with her. Reaching the bed, she reaches out to touch his face. “Baby,” she whispers, shaking her head as she tries not to cry. “Please never scare us like this again.”

Carlos lets out an amused huff, closing his eyes for a second. “I’ll try, Ma.”

“Good,” Andrea grins at him, amused by his tone. “And you better be ready to be smothered for a while. TK and I have been making plans. We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

“We have a shifts chart,” TK teases him, sharing a grin with Andrea.

Gabriel watches with amusement as Carlos looks scared again, this time at the team he sees being created before his very eyes. He laughs, happy and relieved, when Carlos turns to him for support.

“I wouldn’t fight it, kid,” he warns him. “You know how your mother is, and your boyfriend seems just as bad; just accept it. They’re bonded. We all have.”

Carlos looks around at all three of them, the contentment he sees in his son’s expression, a blessing, and Gabriel knows it’s going to be okay. There is still a lot of time that he and Andrea will have to make up for. Conversations that will still need to be had.

But his son is alive; he’s safe, happy, and in love with a good man. He and Andrea haven’t missed it all, and they don’t plan to miss anything else when it comes to their boy ever again.

Carlos grins at him. “I think I’m okay with that, dad.”

Gabriel smiles back. He’s okay with it too.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #my writing

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becomewings · 4 years ago

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BTS Universe Timeline

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TIMELINE GUIDE

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers from all BU media

Revisions and additions will be made as necessary, so please visit the original post for the most up-to-date version (update log is included at bottom of post)

All names are provided as fully as known

Bracketed dates are inferred or calculated from references in the text

While the timeline is presented here as objectively as possible, I acknowledge that there is a level of subjectivity in choosing which information is significant enough for inclusion and in certain connections drawn between entries

Please inform me of any suspected errors; I will investigate and correct them

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

School Years: Together & Apart

- March Year 19 through 10 April Year 22 -

2 March Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Ten days after returning from the U.S., SeokJin and his father visit the principal’s office at his new school. SeokJin learns that he will start one grade lower due to the different education systems. SeokJin’s father grips his shoulder while the principal explains that school is a “dangerous place” that needs to be “tightly controlled.” He asks: “You know you have to keep me informed, right? You’ll be a good student, right?” SeokJin squeezes out a “yes” and his father lets go. Both ChangJun and the principal laugh. SeokJin looks down at their shining shoes, wondering from where the light is coming.

Note: SeokJin’s 25 June Year 19 entry in Notes 1 specifies that his father attended the same high school. JiMin’s 23 July Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals that, according to a comment he finds on an online news article, ChangJun and the principal were in school at the same time and fought with each other “as if it would only end when one of them dropped dead,” but they appeared to get along later due to politics.

3 March Year 19 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.1

On the first day of school at Songju Jeil High School, the Dean of Students berates the six latecomers lined up outside: SeokJin, NamJoon, HoSeok, JiMin, TaeHyung, and JungKook. YoonGi arrives even later. The Dean assigns them one month of community service as punishment. When he notices SeokJin, he clears his throat and says he is letting them off because it’s the first day: they must all assemble after classes to clean the annex, a classroom turned into a storage room. This room becomes their meeting place and hideout even after their punishment is finished.

Note: Their punishment for being late is referenced in JiMin’s 12 March Year 19 entry in Notes 1, when he escapes to the old classroom again and finds the others already there. He observes that it feels as though they’ve been “hanging out together forever.” The punishment scene is also similar to a moment in the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR. Although it includes a few extra students and cannot be confirmed as BU content, it does mirror the canonical detail of YoonGi arriving last.

28 May Year 19 Notes: Answer

In the classroom hideout, JungKook asks everyone what their dreams are because he has to write a paper about future hopes. SeokJin wants to become a good person, and YoonGi says it’s okay to have no dream. TaeHyung poses on a chair and says he’s going to be a superhero. HoSeok scolds him and adds that he wants to find his mom and live happily. JiMin asks him if he is unhappy now, and HoSeok pulls an exaggeratedly worried expression. “Is that how it works?” JiMin is flustered when HoSeok asks what his dream is and remembers that when he was in preschool he wanted to be president, but didn’t know what he wanted after that. Everyone looks at NamJoon, who shrugs and confesses that while he wants to say something nice, he doesn’t have a dream either and just wishes that his part-time job pays more. JungKook looks down at his assignment, divided into sections for “student” and “parent,” and wonders what he hopes to become. He can’t think of anything to write.

12 June Year 19 — The Sea Notes 1

YoonGi’s entry:

All seven boys cut school and decide to go to the sea. They have little money between them, so they must walk to the train station. As they leave, YoonGi almost bumps into JiMin and realizes that he is standing frozen with a trembling face. JiMin stares at a sign that reads “2.1km to Grass Flower Arboretum.” YoonGi flatly tells him that it’s too hot to go to the arboretum. He has an “instinctive feeling” that they should avoid it. He observes that JiMin walks away like a little kid, head bent and shoulders hunched.

JungKook’s entry:

The boys arrive at the beach. They hang around under a torn parasol until HoSeok holds up a discovery on his phone: a large rock that is supposed to grant your dream if you stand atop it and shout your dream out to the sea. TaeHyung encourages them to go. While they grumble in the heat on the long trek, JungKook reflects on how he had recently asked the others what their dreams were. (See 28 May Year 19.) None of them really have a dream to pursue.

YoonGi tells JungKook to stop biting his nails or else they’ll become like his. Then he asks JungKook what his dream is. Having never thought about it, JungKook doesn’t know. He hesitates and then asks what a dream is. HoSeok rattles off a few definitions from his phone. YoonGi questions, “How can something that you want to achieve most in your life and something that is unlikely to come true both be called a dream? … Don’t ever try to have a dream.” JungKook asks why. At his glance, YoonGi stops biting his nails and puts his hands in his pockets. “Because it’s tough having one.” JungKook is curious about why YoonGi bites his nails but doesn’t ask. He recalls that it has been a habit since his childhood to hurt himself. He remembers cutting his finger on a knife badly enough that his mom took him to the hospital, but she didn’t take care of him after they went home. His wound healed slowly because he kept pressing it; the pain helped him feel awake. Even now, he sometimes feels hollow.

TaeHyung asks how much longer they have to walk. HoSeok is puzzled, saying they should be close. They gaze around the empty, pebbled beach. JiMin sighs and reads aloud from an article on his phone. A resort will be built on this beach, and the construction company blew up the rock. They notice the cordoned off construction zone. They try to reassure each other to remain positive, but they all feel the disappointment of walking all that way for nothing. JungKook notices YoonGi biting his nails again and tries to stop him, but he is interrupted by a loud drilling noise. JungKook looks past him at the sea and all that remains of the dream-granting rock, the pebbles under their feet. “Is the world tough for you, too?” he asks, but YoonGi can’t hear him. JungKook screams again. “Do you want to give up on this world, too?” HoSeok and TaeHyung laugh at their mimed conversation. They all look out to the sea and shout their dreams. The drilling is so loud that they can’t hear each other. JungKook cannot even hear his own dream. When the noise stops, they cut off abruptly and laugh. SeokJin suggests that they take a photo. He sets the timer and runs to join their row, the sea behind them. They walk back to the train station. JungKook asks if he can keep the photo. SeokJin writes “June 12” on the back and gives it to him, telling him that his dream will come true. JungKook asks if SeokJin knows what he shouted to the sea, and SeokJin merely taps his shoulder and strides ahead.

BTS Universe Story : The Boy on the Threshold, ep.3

JungKook’s memory of the beach trip follows a similar structure to the scene in Notes 1, plus a notable addition. After they fail to find the dream-granting boulder, JungKook climbs up on the pier railing. He thinks: “I’ve always liked walking on the edge of walls or on top of lines. Focusing on centering my gravity means that I don’t really think of anything else, and the boundary—not quite a part of either place—always felt like where I should be.” Someone grabs his arm while he precariously balances. YoonGi tells him not to do that, and JungKook assures him that he won’t fall.

“YoonGi would often grab my arm when I walked on railings. The others would look after me, too, after seeing him do that. I liked their helping hands. It felt like they were telling me that I should go to them. That this wasn’t my place. Maybe their hands were why I walked on the railings.”

25 June Year 19 Notes 1 (SJ)

Alone in the classroom hideout, SeokJin finds a plant by the window. He takes pictures with his phone but doesn’t think they capture what the human eye sees. He notices that “HoSeok’s plant” is scribbled on the floor beneath the pot and then realizes that the window sills, walls, and ceiling are covered with graffiti and drawings, messages left behind by the students who once passed through that room. He wonders if there were past teachers who used violence and endless tests or students like him who ratted out their friends to the principal. Since his father also attended that high school, SeokJin looks for his name on the walls and finds it with a phrase written underneath: “Everything started from here.”

Note: TaeHyung, JiMin, NamJoon, and YoonGi discover several other familiar names near Kim ChangJun (SeokJin’s father) on the classroom wall in TaeHyung’s 23 July Year 22 entry from 7’s album Notes and the extended version in Notes 2.

30 August Year 19 Notes: Her

JiMin plays in HoSeok’s shadow while he is on the phone, reflecting on how HoSeok has accompanied him on the two-hour walk home since the beginning of the school semester. JiMin eventually realized that HoSeok didn’t live in the same direction but never questioned him, simply hoping that their time walking together would stretch the day out a little longer. HoSeok finishes on the phone and chases after him while the cicadas sing and their ice creams melt. Suddenly, JiMin is afraid, wondering how many of these days are left.

20 March Year 20 Notes 1 (TH)

TaeHyung sneaks up on NamJoon in the hallway by their classroom hideout. He stops when he hears SeokJin’s voice inside, apparently informing the principal about how TaeHyung and YoonGi had ditched school and got in a fight over the past few days. SeokJin throws open the door, phone in hand, and looks flustered to see NamJoon standing there. TaeHyung hides in a corner and is shocked to hear NamJoon assure him, “It’s OK. There must’ve been a good reason.” HoSeok and JiMin find TaeHyung in the hallway, and HoSeok pulls him into the classroom. NamJoon beams at TaeHyung as though nothing strange has happened. Believing that NamJoon “must have his reasons” because he is more intelligent and mature, TaeHyung decides not to tell anyone about the conversation he overheard.

15 May Year 20 Notes 1 (NJ)

NamJoon visits the classroom hideout on his last day of school. Two weeks prior, his family decided that they needed to move due to complications with his father’s health and their overdue rent. NamJoon tries to write a message on a piece of paper. He scribbles “I must survive” before the pencil lead snaps. He crumples the paper and writes in the dust on the window instead.

“No farewell message would be enough to let the others know how I felt. At the same time, no farewell message was needed to make myself understood. ‘See you again.’ It was a wish, rather than a promise.”

Note: “I must survive” is a recurring message tied to NamJoon in the BU MVs. See also 17 December Year 21.

7 June Year 20 Notes: Persona

TaeHyung’s two month old puppy Dubu slips out of the leash and disappears while he is distracted on his phone. TaeHyung runs around the neighborhood looking for him, first angry at the puppy and then blaming himself. When Dubu returns on his own, TaeHyung is filled with the unfamiliar feeling that he is someone who can be relied on.

11 June Year 20 BTS Universe Story: The Boy on the Threshold, ep.5 Everyone’s Place

In the classroom hideout, JungKook listens to YoonGi playing the piano. The sound of the music makes him feel as if YoonGi understands how he feels and is trying to console him. The Dean of Students forces the door open, demanding why they are there. He berates and slaps JungKook, knocking him to the floor. YoonGi steps between them and shoves the teacher’s shoulder. The dean warns him that he had better be prepared for the consequences of putting his hands on a teacher and then leaves. Despite his throbbing cheek, JungKook smiles because it is the first time someone has protected him, and the feeling of getting closer to YoonGi makes him giddy. For the next two weeks, YoonGi does not come to school.

25 June Year 20 Notes 1

JungKook’s entry:

JungKook tries to play the piano in the classroom hideout, unable to make it sound like YoonGi did. He reflects on the rumor that YoonGi was expelled after the events of 11 June and wonders if YoonGi would still be here playing the piano if JungKook had not been there that day when the teacher appeared.

YoonGi’s entry:

Breathing hard, YoonGi arrives at his bedroom, removes a half-burned piano key from an envelope in his desk drawer, and throws it into the trash can. He remembers a day four years ago when he returned to their burned down home and found a skeleton of the piano where his mother’s room used to stand. He noticed several piano keys on the ground and took one of them, wondering what note it was and how many times her fingers touched it. In the present, YoonGi thinks how unbearable living under his father’s rule is and recalls what happened that day: he is officially expelled from school. He picks up the piano key again and hurls it out the window.

“I couldn’t hear the piano key hit the ground. Now I’d never know what note it made. It’d never make a sound again. I’d never play the piano again.”

17 July Year 20 Notes 1 (SJ)

At the end of the last school day before summer vacation, SeokJin tries to leave quickly but is hailed by HoSeok and JiMin. No one knows that he was pressured by the principal and revealed their hideout, which led to JungKook and YoonGi being discovered (11 June) and the latter’s expulsion (25 June). HoSeok wishes SeokJin a good vacation and to keep in touch, but he can’t reply.

“My first day at this school crossed my mind as I passed through the school gate. We were all late and got punished. But we were together, so we could laugh together. I had ruined all those memories we shared.”

Note: Variations of the sentiment “we can laugh when we’re together” recur throughout BU.

15 September Year 20 Notes 1 (HS)

In the hospital emergency room, HoSeok wants to explain how JiMin had a seizure at the bus stop to his mother, Sim SeonMi. When the doctors wheel JiMin’s bed out, HoSeok begins to follow until SeonMi thanks him and touches his shoulder. He feels like she has drawn a line between them that he cannot cross. He falls to the floor, and when he looks up, JiMin’s bed is gone.

Note: The name of JiMin’s mother is specified in his BTS Universe Story arc, Stopped Time. JiMin’s 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1 reflects that he blacked out at the bus stop after seeing the window of the Grass Flower Arboretum shuttle bus open. His 12 August Year 22 entry in Notes 2 reveals the real cause of JiMin’s seizure at the bus stop: he sees the boy that he left behind at the arboretum warehouse on 6 April Year 11. Though the boy’s empty eyes no longer speak to JiMin, this chance encounter awakens his memories of that day.

28 September Year 20 Notes: Her and Smeraldo Books Twitter

JiMin, heavily medicated, has lost track of how long he has been back in the hospital. But he considers this a special day because he lies to the doctor for the first time about not remembering anything.

Note: He is lying about not remembering what triggered his seizure at the bus stop on 15 September and/or what happened at the Grass Flower Arboretum when he was a kid (see Notes 2 comments above). This lie is also referenced in his 11 May Year 22 entry in Notes 1.

30 September Year 20 Notes 1 (JK)

A teacher hits JungKook with an attendance book when he refuses to admit that he still visits the classroom hideout, reminding him of when YoonGi was beaten. Later, JungKook stands outside the room and imagines that the others are waiting for him on the other side. He opens the door to only find HoSeok, clearing out what remains of their belongings. HoSeok walks him out, and JungKook realizes that those days are gone and will never come again.

25 February Year 21 Notes: Her (HS)

HoSeok watches himself dance in the mirror. He has danced since he was around twelve and discovered an ecstasy that came from inside himself. Outside of the mirror, HoSeok is a person who collapses everywhere and takes medicine he doesn’t need, who smiles even when he hates it and isn’t happy. But when he dances, he truly becomes himself, casting away all that weighs him down and feeling that he can become happy.

2 May Year 21 Notes: Persona (JK)

Biking along the Yangjicheon riverbank, JungKook thinks about how his friends left him one by one and that no one at home or in the world smiles at him anymore. He stops in the shadows under a bridge. Nobody comes to this kind of ruined place, and maybe that is the reason no one comes to him either. He feels most comfortable alone in the complete darkness where no one will look for him and wants the moment to never end.

9 August Year 21 Notes: Persona (SJ)

SeokJin walks along a Los Angeles beach and photographs the ocean. It has been a year since he fled Songju and moved to his mother’s family’s home, where he grew up as a child. He doesn’t photograph people anymore and didn’t bring any photos from high school with him, afraid to remember who he was at that time or to wonder about how his friends are doing and whether they still think of him.

17 December Year 21 Notes 1 (NJ)

This lengthy entry details events that transpired since the autumn of Year 20 when NamJoon’s family moved to the village, framed by moments on 17 December itself as NamJoon leaves on his own. His family chooses this village because it has a nearby hospital for his ailing father and employers who will hire someone without a high school diploma. NamJoon serves as a delivery boy for an eatery, competing for work with the other local boys. They grow a strange sense of solidarity, and he privately dubs one of them “TaeHyung,” even though the boy’s discontent, outward behavior is more akin to YoonGi’s. (Quotation marks added to the name here for clarity.) Competition slackens when snow falls in winter. NamJoon and “TaeHyung” are the only ones poor enough to risk the road up to the mountain town’s rest area when orders are phoned to the village below. On an afternoon forecast to have heavy snowfall, the restaurant owner dismisses “TaeHyung” due to his bruised face and gives the deliveries to NamJoon. The old delivery scooter fishtails on NamJoon’s third trip down the mountain, throwing him off. More anxious about the scratched scooter than his cut ankle and aching body, NamJoon finally gets it to restart and returns to the eatery. “TaeHyung,” who has been hanging around this whole time, approaches and asks for a favor. Before he can answer, NamJoon receives a call from his mother relaying that his father went outside alone and fell, requiring a trip to the hospital. NamJoon understands that his father was only trying to keep his dignity but is still frustrated because he can’t earn any more much-needed money this day. He hands “TaeHyung” the keys and leaves to take his father to the hospital.

The next day, NamJoon learns that “TaeHyung” was in a fatal accident during one of the deliveries up the mountain. The police officer blames him for being a poor driver and not wearing a helmet. NamJoon does not speak up that he has never seen the helmet the owner now has placed out on the counter. He visits the scene of the accident, thinking that the white outline on the road could be his if he was the one to make the next delivery—just as it could be his family mourning in the village instead of “TaeHyung’s” mother. On a later trip carrying his father home from the bus stop, NamJoon pretends not to hear his father’s frail voice over the noise of barking dogs. A week after that, NamJoon is making steady deliveries up the mountain. During what is ultimately his last delivery, he speaks with a stranger at the rest area, who cautions him to take care. “Do you know what’s really dangerous? Calcium chloride and wet leaves, not the snow itself,” the stranger blurts as NamJoon departs. NamJoon drives carefully back, not looking at the scene of the accident. This is not out of safety, as he tries to convince himself, but guilt: guilt for surviving, for his relief of being the one alive, for not defending “TaeHyung’s” driving skills. He also wonders if he is “a hypocrite pretending to have a guilty conscience.” Because he scattered wet leaves and sprinkled calcium chloride to prevent the road from icing over where he fell that afternoon, believing that he would be making the next delivery. If he did not do both those things, would “TaeHyung” be alive?

Mind and body numb, NamJoon makes it home from the delivery detached from the world around him. The barking dogs snap him out of the daze, and he remembers his father’s words that he pretended not to hear and dwelled on daily despite trying not to think about them: “Go, NamJoon. You must survive.” The next morning (17 December), NamJoon sneaks away to the bus stop. He is running away from his family’s misfortunes, from his own resignation to his fate, from poverty. The bus is scheduled to arrive in Songju in a few hours—the city he left with no notice and is returning to once more with the same. NamJoon wonders if his old friends still live there and how they are doing. On the frosted window, he writes with his finger: “I must survive.”

Note: The village boy’s real name is JongHun according to NamJoon’s 12 June Year 22 entry in Notes 2, which also reveals that he visited JongHun’s home to give his condolences before he left town.

1 February Year 22 Notes: 7 (SJ)

Summoned by his father without explanation, SeokJin flies back to Korea from Los Angeles. Although he has addresses in both LA and Songju, neither place feels like his home.

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Posted May 5, 2021

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