#The beginnings of what could have been angst

[landopoet]

to you, always.

pairing brother's best friend lando x fewtrell!reader

synopsis in which you call lando. and he comes.

warnings 14.8k words of angst, secrecy and brother max.

author’s note heyhey, sorry that i've been gone for a while, life gets a bit hectic and busy at times but i've finally gotten around to finishing this wonderful fic! and i have more fics coming your way soon. hope you enjoy <3

You’re not sure why you’re at this party to begin with. 

Actually, screw that, you knew exactly why— your older brother, Max, made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you hanging around this specific crowd of people, and you had something to prove. You wanted to show him that you’re no longer the little sister he could push around, you wanted to finally be seen as grown, despite being younger than him.

It was cold outside Mason’s house. Your heels were off, your makeup’s smudged, the girl you came with ran off with some random guy neither of you knew, and you were left stranded in the cold night, somewhere with shitty connection. You tried to call an Uber, but the app won’t work without WiFi and you couldn’t be bothered to go back inside the party to ask for the password. 

Instead, you choose to flick through your contacts, maybe your drunk mind could find someone to drive you home. Mom? No, she’s most likely asleep. Max is an obvious no. You scroll past the random aunts, uncles, cousins, who all live scattered across the world. Then, something sets off in your mind and you find yourself reading Lando’s contact like it was the morning news.

You shut your phone off, sitting down on the curb. Lando. He told you once that he wasn’t your babysitter— like you were too loud, too much, always wanting to tag along with whatever he and your brother were doing. Still, your fingers put in your password and you click his contact again, this time not overthinking calling him.

Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t care, maybe it’s because you know he’ll come.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, raspy and tired. “Hello?”

“Lando,” you say, cautiously. 

You give him time to yell at you, to hang up, but he just stays in the silence, waiting for you to speak. “Hello? What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “I’m at Mason’s,” Lando scoffs on the other end. “Can you come get me?” 

Silence. You imagine him sitting on the edge of his bed, jaw tense, chest bare, those goddamn Jack & Jones boxers adorning his hips. Then, there’s movement. “It’s past one in the morning,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I can still read the time, thanks.” You roll your eyes annoyed. “I knew it’d be stupid to call you, you’re nothing but an arrogant—”

Lando cuts you off, a sharp order coming from his end of the call. “Text me the address.”

“Fuck, I can’t remember,” you drag a hand across your face, ignoring how the cold of the curb slowly seeps in past your short dress and branches out through your skin. “It’s the house in Cherry Hill, the one with the stupid flamingo statue in the front yard.”

“I know it,” he nods, though you can’t see it. “Wait there, don’t go back inside.”

Lando hung up the phone call and pushed a hand through his curls, agitated that he didn’t even hesitate to come get you. He should’ve told you to call someone else, let you sit in the mess you made, but he also knew Mason and parties like that. And how everyone’s eyes naturally gravitated towards you, like you owned every room you walked into. 

He knew what that type of confidence could do, he had seen it happen to you before. And he knows Max would have his head on the front of the Fewtrell residence if he knew Lando refused to help you when you were in need. Or maybe it was just because that irritating warmth in his chest made him crumble every time he was near you. 

It takes half an hour until Lando’s headlights beam on your face. The car slows right next to you. It’s matte black with a booming engine, the one your brother kept hyping up like it was God’s gift to car lovers. Lando leans over the center console to shove the door open. 

The door clicks behind you and seals you in. The cabin is dim, except for the soft glow of the dashboard that casts blue shadows over Lando’s face. His jaw is clenched with every chew of gum he takes as he backs out of Mason’s driveway with one hand on the back of your seat. You can feel the tension in the small space between you two and you feel it even more when Lando finally grazes his eyes over you.

“You’re barefoot.”

His voice is flat, emotionless. 

You look down at your legs, the only thing adding any sort of warmth to them were your thin stockings. “Heels hurt.” 

Lando noticed the way you curled up in the seat, trying your best to keep yourself warm. He rolls his eyes, reaches behind you to the backseat and drops a hoodie in your lap. “Put it on,” he mutters.

You should say something, maybe a snarky remark, but instead you slip it over your head. It smells like him— a mix of lavender detergent, gasoline and Lando’s cologne. It’s big enough that the sleeves fall past the palms of your hands and you curl your fingers in them. “Thanks.”

The car falls quiet for a long while, Lando’s fingers so tightly curled around the steering wheel that it looks like it’s about to snap under the force. You can tell he wants to say something, to yell at you about waking him up, that you’re just some stupid girl who doesn’t know when to stop.

Instead, he sighs and asks, “what the hell were you thinking?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious,” his voice is sharp, irritated. “There’s a reason Max didn’t want you at that party.”

“I can handle myself, Lando. It’s just a party.”

Lando lets out a humorless laugh. “Sitting on the curb, alone, with no ride home. You call that handling yourself?”

You don’t answer him anymore, instead continuing to look out the passenger seat window at the streetlights and houses blurring past. You’re not sure what it is, but something feels different about him— he’s not bantering as much, it’s almost like he’s actually worried. 

A few minutes pass before Lando briefly glances at you. “What happened?”

Your eyes glance at his green ones, blinking once before you turn your gaze back outside. You’ve just driven out of the neighbourhoods, so the stars became more evident due to the lack of houses and streetlights. 

“Did someone touch you?” He presses, voice edged with frustration. He continues to chew his gum, his jaw tensing with every bite. 

“Not really.”

Lando exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he’s debating whether to push. He doesn’t. Instead, he mutters, “you’re an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he shrugs. “Going to some fucker’s party just to prove something to Max. You think he’ll see you as grown just because you disobeyed him?”

You ball your hands into fists. “That’s not what I–”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, yes it is.” He cuts you off, agitated, annoyed, tired. “I’ve known you for years and you’ve been trying to prove yourself to Max since you were, like, twelve.”

You turn your whole body back towards the door, choosing to ignore Lando’s lecture. It’s almost two in the morning, the sky is at its darkest and you’re feeling too tired to argue with him. Still, he continues.

“News flash, acting reckless doesn’t make people respect you. It makes them worried.”

You stare at him, a tiny smirk on your face. “Are you saying… You were worried?”

Lando’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you totally did.” You let that tiny smirk turn into a full one, still looking at him. “This is huge. Lando Norris—”

He turns to face the driver's door window, biting back a small smile. “Don’t.”

“—worried about me?” 

He exhales through his nose again, running a hand through his curls, eyes still stuck on the road. “I knew I should’ve left you on the curb.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Lando’s eyes look at yours for a second. He can’t handle looking at you for longer, afraid his facade would fade under the weight of your gaze.

“Why’d you come? If I’m such an inconvenience.” 

His car comes to a silent stop in front of your house. His engine is still running, just so the heat would still circulate and warm your feet. “Because you called.” 

There’s no mocking tone to his voice, no bite. Just the raw truth, like a confession.

You glance at his lips, then back up at his eyes. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you.” He says it like it was obvious.

“You act like it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t hate you.”

You’re not sure what happened, why you suddenly felt so brave. You bite your bottom lip, leaning over the center console, softly grasping his chin so he looks at you. “Prove it.”

Lando’s breath stutters, just for a second. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbles into your mouth, already having pulled you in for a kiss. 

It’s not careful, it’s definitely not gentle— it’s like a flood. Like it’s something he’s been holding back for too long, something he can’t fight anymore. He kisses you urgently, lips warm and insistent, until your lips part just enough for his tongue to brush against yours, tentative at first, then deeper— demanding.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers pushing past your hair, angling your face the way he wants it. His other hand is still on the wheel, white-knuckled and tense, like he needs something to hold onto before he loses himself completely. 

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling around his collar, pulling him closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

Lando groans into your mouth, a low and frustrated sound, and then he’s undoing his seatbelt, undoing yours. The tension snaps, and next thing you know, he’s pulling you over the centre console and into his lap. His hands trail up your thighs, nesting right at the top of your hips as he continues to kiss you. 

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, you’re his best friend’s little sister, but god has he been waiting for this. Every time he looked at you for too long, he felt a burning heat in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Right now, he’s getting back all the times he wished he could kiss you, but knew he couldn’t. His hands grip you like he’s trying to memorise the feel of your skin under his fingertips.

Your hips softly grind against him as your hands come up to gently cup his jaw and you pull him in closer. Lando kisses you with hunger, chasing your lips as you pull away to catch your breath. You lean back against the steering wheel, careful as to not make a sound. Lando pushes himself up to kiss you again, but he fails to notice his foot on the gas and revs the engine as soon as his lips crash into yours again. 

Both of you freeze, eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. The streetlight casts a soft, golden glow on Lando as you study his face. And then both of you break out into laughter. 

“You think he heard that?” Lando asks when both of you finally calm down and you rest against his chest. 

You shake your head. “No, he’s a heavy sleeper. But I should probably go.”

Lando nods and helps you climb over the center console, eyes never leaving you. You turn back towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, before reaching for the handle and opening the door. Lando stays parked on the side of the road, just until you’re safely inside your house, and when he sees the door close behind you, his engine revs again as his car pulls away. 

You walk downstairs only to be met by the sound of slamming cupboards, you don’t even have to step into the kitchen to know Max is letting out whatever pent up rage he has on the poor wooden furniture. 

Max, as if he could feel your presence, turns around. His eyebrows are set low, eyes studying your face like he’s never seen it before. You just awkwardly weave past him to rummage through the fridge.

He leans back against the kitchen island, arms crossed and voice calm when he asks, “so how was the party you weren’t supposed to go to?”

You softly slam your forehead on one of the shelves in the fridge. “Fuck.” You rub the hurt skin as you turn around to face your brother. “It was fine.”

“Mhm,” he looks down at the ground briefly, before he looks back at you again. Max tries so hard to look intimidating every time he does this, but he just looks like a sad dad and it takes everything in you not to laugh. “And how’d you get home?”

“Well, nowadays we have these awesome things called cars, right?” You motion turning a wheel with your hands, sarcastically. “You kinda just sit in them and then turn the wheel to go different directions, it’s pretty cool.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stone-faced and frustrated. 

“Why does that matter? I’m home safely, aren’t I?” You turn back to the fridge and take out ingredients for a sandwich.

“It matters because I explicitly told you not to go and because I know you, and because I woke up to Lando’s car outside my window at two in the morning.”

You freeze. Shit.

Max narrowed his eyes. “So? Wanna explain that one?”

“I called him for a ride, that’s all.” You’re not even hungry but you’re making a sandwich anyway, just to give yourself something to do and just so you don’t break underneath the weight of your older brother’s intense gaze. 

Max stares at you, jaw clenched.  “Why him?”

You shrug, spreading the mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “I obviously couldn’t call you and everyone I trust was asleep. And because he actually came.”

“He’s not—” He cuts himself off and starts pacing like he needs to burn the frustration from his limbs. “He’s not the guy you call for help. He isn’t good for this sort of thing, for you.”

You pause your movement, raising a brow at him. “You think I can’t handle Lando?”

“I know you can,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. The point’s that he’s not a guy who gives a shit unless it benefits him in some way. He’s cocky, selfish, he was a dickhead to you for, like, as long as I’ve known him.”

You sigh, looking back to your sandwich. 

Max narrows his eyes at your hesitation. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on.”

“There’s not,” You say it fast, too fast, and you’re gripping the butterknife so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows still drawn together as he connects the dots. “You like him?”

“No.” Lie.

Max shakes his head, running a hand along his jaw as he scoffs like the mere idea of you having feelings for his best friend was some sort of betrayal. “For fucks sake. This is exactly what he does, he gets into your head.”

“People change.” You mumble, not daring to look up at your brother.

Max lets out a humorless chuckle. “Not Lando.” 

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Deep down you know he’s right— Lando’s not the type to do relationships. He doesn’t stick to just one girl, you’ve heard him talk to Max about at least four different girls within the same week. You knew it was so wrong, but last night felt so right.

“I swear to God if—” He takes a deep breath and calms his voice, though it’s still laced with aggression when he says, “if he touches you, if he so much as thinks you’re someone to be played with—”

“Max, nothing happened,” the lie slips past your lips so easily that it scares you. “He drove me home. That’s it.”

He gives you one last glance before picking up his car keys from the basket on the kitchen island and walking towards the front door. He opens it, and just before he leaves, he pokes his head out to look at you again. “I’ll be back late, there’s money on my desk for dinner. Make sure to eat and, for fucks sake, take off that fucking hoodie.”

The door slams shut and you pull the sleeves of Lando’s hoodie into your palms, rubbing them together as if it’ll bring you any sort of comfort. Instead it just makes you more worried— an angry Max is a force to be reckoned with and you pray to whoever’s above that Lando can handle it.

Lando can feel Max’s eyes burning into him, despite being under a car.

They’re in the garage, the scent of motor oil and gasoline lingering in the warm air. Max leans back against a workbench, energy drink in hand, while Lando lays on a mechanic creeper and keeps his hands busy or else he’d be fiddling with his fingers and that’s something Max always notices.

He pulls himself from under the car just enough to reach a hand out. “Wrench.”

Max drops it into his hand with added force. “So, you wanna tell me about last night?”

Lando pulls himself fully from under the car, but just as he tries to get up, he bumps his forehead against the undercarriage. “Fuck,” he rubs the hurt skin as he sits up. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lando.” Max’s jaw tightens. “My sister came home at two in the morning and I woke up to your car outside my house.” 

Lando exhales, getting up from the ground as he wipes his hands on the fabric hanging from his hips. He always worked shirtless with only a flannel tied around his waist and his work jeans on. “She called me for a ride, I picked her up.”

Max tilts his head, accusatory, before taking a sip of his drink. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Lando shrugs, trying his best to hide what he truly feels. He’s fucking terrified of Max, because he knows one wrong word could mean Max socking Lando right in the jaw, no hesitation. 

“She came home in your hoodie,” Max points out. 

Lando lays back down on the mechanic creeper after getting what he needed and goes back under the car. “She was cold,” he says, casually.

“You don’t just give people your hoodie.” 

Lando peeks his head out with a raised brow and a teasing smirk on his face. “What, you jealous or something?”

“You’re not funny.” Max glares at him, unamused.

The curly-haired man disappeared again, working on the suspension system of his older car. “You used to think I was hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, I used to think you weren’t a fucking problem, too.” Max hisses, again pacing the small space of Lando’s garage. “What are you doing, man?”

“What does it look like?” Lando pokes his head out again, confused, wrench in hand.

“It looks like you’re getting too close to my sister.”

Lando clenches his jaw, pulling himself back up from under the car, this time making sure not to hit his head. “I’m not.”

“I don’t buy it.” Max shrugs simply, anger, frustration and betrayal still radiating off of him.

Lando decides he’s done for the day and picks up his tools from the ground, walking over to his workbench. “She needed a ride home, so I drove her home. That’s all.”

Max studies him for a few seconds, trying to find something, anything, beneath the nonchalance that Lando was trying so hard to upkeep. Lando made sure there was nothing at surface level for Max to find.

Because if Max—if anyone— knew that something shifted in Lando that night, that something’s been shifting for way longer than Lando’s willing to admit, Max wouldn’t be standing here making civil conversation— he’d be throwing punches.

“It better fucking be all.” Max hisses again. “You keep your distance. She’s not some random girl you can mess with whenever you please.”

Lando’s stomach twists, like he didn’t already know you were more than just a girl. Lando couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than, “don’t worry, mate. She’s not my type.”

Max doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at Lando with a look that makes something inside Lando’s chest feel heavy, and walks away.

You’re peacefully scrolling on your phone, watching the newest internet drama, when you hear two knocks on your door, and then another one a few seconds later. You recognised it to be Lando’s knock, the same one he’d do on Max’s door to let him know it was him and not you at his door, back when Max did everything in his power not to spend time with you.

You get up from your bed, feeling how Lando’s hoodie falls down to your mid-thighs when you stand, and open the door. Your eyes widen when it is, in fact, Lando that’s knocking. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him inside your room, peeking your head out to check if anyone saw him. Thankfully, the coast is clear. 

“Are you crazy?” You shut the door behind yourself and turn to look at the curly-haired brunette in your room. “You could’ve got caught.”

Lando steps closer, hands finding their place on your waist while his lips make home at the cusp of your shoulder and neck. “Had to see you,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your skin.

Your breath shudders. “Max is downstairs.”

“He’s on a call, ordering food. I have maybe five minutes.”

You push him away, a questioning look on your face. “And you thought the best use of those five minutes was to sneak into my room?” 

Lando grins. “Obviously.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile as Lando leans in. “You’re insane,” you mumble against his lips. 

“I’m starting to think you like that about me.”

His hands trail up your thighs, under the hoodie—his hoodie—and up your bare belly. He’s trying to not rush you, to take time and explore this with you. It’s new, for the both of you, and Lando would hate himself if he ruined it just because he’s so eager to have you.

Your back is pressed against the door and you’re softly mumbling sweet nothings into Lando’s mouth when you hear footsteps nearing up the stairs. Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. Your eyes quickly scan over your room and you immediately shove Lando towards your closet door when you land your gaze on it. Once he’s all hidden, you quickly jump onto your bed, cover yourself with your blanket and try to act as casual as possible.

There’s a knock at your door and then Max peeks his head inside. “You good?”

“Yeah?” You lift your head, resting it against your palm as you lean on your elbow. “Why?”

Max does a quick once-over of your room. “Thought I heard voices.”

“Oh, it’s probably just my phone,” you pick it up from underneath you and wave it in the air. “Do you remember that one super annoying couple?”

Max leans against your doorframe, curious. “Yeah?” He studied the look on your face as you typed something into your phone. “Wait, no way. Did they break up?”

He’s now stepping into your room, sitting down at the foot of your bed as he patiently waits for you to show him. “Fucking finally,” Max laughs when the video ends. “I gotta tell Lando, we made a bet on how long they’ll last, and he lost.”

“Aw, Lando had faith in those two?” You tilt your head to the side, briefly glancing at the closet as you fail at holding back your giggle. “That’s unusual.”

“I know right? That guy barely has faith in anything.” Max gets back up and starts walking out of your room. “Oh, by the way, have you seen him?”

“Hm?” You glance back up from your phone. “Oh, Lando? Is he over?”

“Yeah, we’re watching the race downstairs.” 

“I didn’t know,” you shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”

Max looks at you with narrowed eyes, like he wants to ask something but doesn’t bother. “Alright. We ordered food, come down in 10 if you want some.”

“Cool, thanks.” You shout to him as he closes the door behind himself. You wait another ten seconds before quietly making your way to the closet.

Lando stood in the corner of it, arms folded, scowling. “You owe me for this,” he mutters.

You snort. “Apparently you owe Max, too.”

“Hey, in my defence, the guy talked to me about marrying her and I was rooting for him.” He steps out of the closet, hands immediately on you again.

You giggle, feeling him kiss your neck. “Next time, let’s not make out with my brother ten feet away.

Lando leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Next time, I’m locking the door.”

It’s been a long day at university and you were feeling tired.

What’s worse is that you had to go study for an upcoming test and couldn’t afford to skip another day, so you lazily stepped down the stairs at the front of the facility and heaved a sigh, looking down at your phone. Suddenly, it buzzed with a notification from someone you didn’t expect to hear from.

Lando: Look up.

You lift your eyes, confused, and that’s when you see his sleek, black car, him leaning against the side of it with a soft smile on his face when you see him. He opens his arms and you carefully run across the street to envelop him in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I could drive you home.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to walk.”

You playfully slap his arm and place your head back on his chest. “Thank you,” you mutter. 

The drive to your house is quiet, but not awkward. Lando can tell you’re tired from school and he softly places his hand on your thigh, kneading the skin to try and comfort you in the only way he knew how. You could tell he was trying his best to show his affection to you in ways he wasn’t used to– the other day, he called you late at night and asked how your day went, intently listening to every detail you told him. He memorised your coffee order from that time and bought you coffee, that’s now peacefully sitting on your desk, in your room, as you and Lando make out on your bed.

“When does Max get home?” Lando asks, hastily, between kisses to your exposed chest. 

Your fingers are palming the curls at the base of his neck as Lando leaves faint hickeys along your breast. “He said later tonight.”

Lando continues to trail kisses down your torso, pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants. He looks up at you without a word, but as if to ask if it’s okay for him to go further, to not hold back in fear of breaking you. You reach down and untie the drawstring of your pants, watching as Lando’s fingers gently hook underneath the waistband and pull your sweatpants down, fully off of your body. 

You feel bare, exposed, but it’s not intimidating like you thought it’d be. Lando was gentle with you, placing soft bites followed by tender kisses to your thighs, inching closer to where you needed him the most. Your hips buckled upwards, urging Lando to do something to help the ache between your legs.

Just as he’s hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pink underwear, you hear the front door open. Lando immediately rises to his feet and bolts across the hall to Max’s room, pretending that he was waiting for him there to begin with. You lift your head confused and hear Max climbing up the stairs. You manage to shut the door before he reaches it and you rest with your back against it. 

“You in there?” Max knocks once on your door and you hold your breath.

You quickly pick up whatever clothes you can find on your floor and tug them on before opening your bedroom door, face flushed. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s Lando’s car doing in the driveway?” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with suspicion riddled across his features. 

“Oh,” you swallow, harshly. “Uh, I don’t know. He’s in your room if you want to ask him yourself.”

Max gives you a narrow-eyed look, trying to notice anything odd about your appearance. He peeks his head into the crevice of your door and looks around your room, before walking away and you finally let out the breath you were holding, shutting the door behind yourself.

Meanwhile, Lando was sprawled out onto the couch in Max’s room, scrolling through his phone. When Max walked in, Lando sat up. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Go where?” Max furrows his brows and when Lando mimics a drinking action, Max remembers. “Fuck, the party.”

A few hours later, Lando found himself nursing a glass bottle of non-alcoholic beer on the couch in Lauren’s home.

Lauren was a mutual friend of yours too, so when Max offered you to join him and Lando, you happily agreed. Although, you didn’t account for how hard it’d be not to blab to Lauren about you and Lando’s newly found feelings. She’s telling you something about her current boyfriend, who you failed to find in the crowd, but pretended like you did. In reality, you were looking at Lando. You were admiring the way his black t-shirt hugged his skin tighter around his biceps, the way his curls poked out of his maroon cap and the way the lights from the other rooms cast a perfect shadow on his side-profile.

Meanwhile, he tried his best not to look at you, because Max was right across from him and turning his head would mean Max would follow suit. Instead, Lando watches the other people in the room. He makes the grave mistake of looking at this one girl, Madeline, twice within a few minutes and she took it as a sign to seat herself next to him.

“Hey,” she bites her bottom lip, holding back a smile. “Don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Madeline.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Lando gives her a faux smile and turns back to reading the label on his beer bottle. It seemed to be much more interesting to look at than the girl touching his arm. 

Madeline tilts her head with a laugh. “I won’t get to hear your name?” 

Lando briefly looks up at Max, who’s standing across the room and urging Lando to smoothly talk his way into Madeline’s pants. He rolls his eyes and looks away, again. “Lando,” he grumbles.

“Lando,” she repeats, seductive. “Nice name.” 

Lando gives her a side-eyed look. “…thanks?” 

She bites her bottom lip again, trying to lure him in, throwing the bait but Lando isn’t biting. He’s uninterested, because each time he looks at Madeline, his eyes drift to the girl standing in the room behind her— you. You’re talking to Lauren, laughing at something she said as you nurse your red solo cup. 

When Madeline leans in, so close to Lando’s ear that her breath fanning against his skin makes it erupt in goosebumps, he feels nauseous. “Wanna go upstairs? There’s a condom in the drawer with your name on it.”

By this point, Max has come close enough to hear the conversation and nudges Lando’s shoulder when he notices the hesitation. Lando looks up at his friend with a confused look. Max’s eyes flicker between Lando and Madeline when he says, “I’ll save your seat for you.”

Madeline smiles at Max’s attempt to help before softly hooking her finger under Lando’s chin and turning him to face her. “So?”

Lando snorts at the thought that just flashed in his mind. “Y’know, Max’s name is also on most condoms, why don’t you take him upstairs instead?”

Lando watches as Madeline grimaces, looking at the two guys before mumbling something incoherent and walking away. The curly-haired man’s eyes immediately fall to you, leaving Max under the impression that Lando’s watching Madeline walk away. 

When Lando looks back at Max, he’s met with a scowl. “What?” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands, ready to defend himself against Max’s judgement.

Max sits down on the coffee table in front of Lando, quoting something Lando had said months ago. “Oh, I’d tap that.” He puts on an accent that mimics Lando’s one, but in a way that’s clearly mocking his best friend’s words. 

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, not sure how to get himself out of this one. “That was ages ago.”

“Isn’t she, like, the epitome of your type?” Max recalls another thing Lando had said late at night in his garage. Lando had, in fact, said that Madeline was exactly his type, but that was back before he tapped into his feelings for you. 

Lando shrugs before he takes another swig of his beer. “Not anymore.”

Max gives him one last look, clearly confused by how Lando could reject Madeline, of all people. “You’re fucking weird, dude,” he says over the neck of his beer bottle and walks away to find something else to drink. 

It’s a few minutes before Lando decides that it’s safe to move from his seat, making a beeline to where he last saw you. The kitchen is empty of your presence, only the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air. He pulls out his phone to text you and just as he clicks on your contact, he hears familiar laughter coming from the next room. 

He finds you leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, still talking to the girl from before. Lauren locks eyes with Lando and nudges towards him with her chin while looking at you. “I’ll see you later,” she squeezes your elbow and walks away. 

You feel Lando’s touch on your skin before he even gets the chance to talk. It’s darker in this room, less people, higher chances of getting caught— but that’s what makes it more exciting. 

You turn around, back to the nearest wall as Lando leans against the doorframe, mimicking you just moments ago. He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging and drawing your attention. “Smooth move earlier,” you mutter with a little teasing glint in your eye. 

He huffed a laugh. “She was being persistent.”

“Thought she was your type?” You ask, trying to sound casual but it comes out more desperate than intended. Lando gave you a look, small smile and raised eyebrows, as he took a swig of his drink.

After a moment of him checking you out, he mutters, “not anymore.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him with a raised brow. “What’s your type then?”

Lando steps closer to you, hand immediately cupped against your jaw, fingers between your hair as he pulls you in. “I think we both know.” 

His breath fans over your face as he leans in to kiss you, his free hand placing the empty beer bottle on the fireplace next to you. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, someone slams the bathroom door and both of you jump at the sound. 

Both of you turn to look at the direction of the sound, only to be met with a guy stumbling out of the room. Lando drops his head as a laugh of relief leaves his lips. 

He looks around again, cautious, alert. Then, when his green eyes focus on your face again, his pupils dilate just the smallest bit, but you notice it. Lando nudges his head behind him, “meet me out back in ten?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip and he walks off, disappearing somewhere between the drunk crowd of people. 

The ten minutes before you sneak out to see Lando go by slower than anticipated. To pass the time, you decided to tour the house, as if you’ve never been there before— you loiter around the hallways, admiring everything picture and painting on the wall. 

“Oh, hey,” Max’s voice startles you just as you start looking for where the door to the backyard is. “Have you seen Lando?” 

“No?” You furrow your brows, trying to act as confused and offended as possible. “Why would I have seen him?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, if you see him, tell him to check his damn phone.” 

You watch your brother storm off, heading upstairs and when he’s out of your line of sight, you bolt towards the living room. You squeeze past the numerous people in your way and try your best to find the door to the backyard. 

When you finally step out into the night, the cold air hitting your arms as soon as you do, Lando’s leaning against the wall by the door, in the shadow. 

“You sure no one followed you?” Lando reaches out his hand and you take it, following him behind the side of the house. 

You scoff, “you think I don’t know how to sneak around by now?”

He presses you against the wall, lips immediately on your neck. “Touche.”

The night envelops you two in a blanket of darkness, coolth and risk. Lando kisses down your neck to your shoulder, leaving mild hickeys that’ll go away in a few hours. When his lips find home on yours again, you let your fingers get lost in the curls at the nape of his neck and he pulls you in closer with a gentle hand on your jaw. 

There’s a rustling at the door to the backyard but neither of you are bothered enough to pause and check what it is. It’s only when Max’s voice cuts through the night that both of you halt your movements. “Oh, there you are.”

Lando turns to face Max, using his body to shield you from your brother while they talk. “Yeah? Kinda busy here, mate.”

“I was just gonna ask if you could get my sister home later, I’m going out with Mason for a few hours.” Max spins his house keys on his finger before throwing them towards Lando, and the curly-haired man in front of you catches it with no problem. “You can crash on the couch in my room if you want.”

“Alright, see you.” Lando says with an urgency in his voice that Max takes as a sign. Your brother winks at Lando before disappearing back inside the house. “Christ,” Lando rests his head on your shoulder as he takes a few breaths, adrenaline pumping through his veins at what could’ve gone so wrong so quickly.

“Did he see?” You ask, cautiously glaring over the corner of the house to check if Max was truly gone.

Lando pulled away, his face perfectly illuminated from the left side by the glowing porch light and fairy-lights that adorned the fence behind him. “I hope not or else I’m a dead man.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’d be a handsome corpse.” 

The walk back to your home is short, the cold night enveloping you in a secure sense of calm. 

Lando’s warm hand in yours kept you grounded, meanwhile the stars in the sky built your hope up. Your house comes into view and Lando swings the keys in his hand, whistling a tune only he knew the melody of. 

He unlocked the door and as soon as you heard it click shut, his lips were on yours. You barely made it up the stairs and into your bedroom, tumbling over each other and giggling at the mumbled curse words falling from his lips. 

Once in your room, Lando doesn’t bother to close the door. He’s too focused on how good his hands feel on your hips, how your soft whimpers vibrate in your throat before escaping through the space in your kiss and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. 

It all happens in a blur— one second you’re at your bedroom door, the next you’re laying with your back pressed against your mattress, Lando hovering above you, trailing kisses down your shoulder as he unzips the jacket he gave you and pulls it off your body. 

You’re exposed, nervous and unable to speak when Lando suckles on the skin atop your ribs. His lips burn into each crevice of your flesh, hands heating your hips as they envelop the skin, eyelids closed shut with fluttering eyelashes on his cheeks. 

Lando kisses you like he’s worshipping you— he’s gentle, cautious, exploring your body like it’s a temple and he’s blessed to be allowed to even look at you. 

His tongue runs along the space between your breasts, peppering kisses as he wraps them around your neck, trails them along your jaw until he reaches your lips. Lando kisses you with urgency, with hunger and deep-seated yearning that etched itself into your bones. 

You felt how badly he needed you, how large his hunger had grown, how intensely his craving for you radiated off of his tan skin. 

He’s sloppily kissing your lips, fingers inching closer to the waistband of your panties when he pulls away. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” you breathe against his lips, barely managing to get a word out before he’s tugging them off of you. 

Both of you are so enveloped in each other, so caught up in the moment, that neither of you notice him in the doorway. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Max’s voice trembles through the room. Lando pulls away from you, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in a gasp. The hands you had tangled in his curls were desperately trying to find something to cover your body with. You landed on the jacket Lando pulled off of you earlier. 

You’re too focused on not breaking into tears that you don’t notice how close Lando and Max are standing. 

“Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me you weren’t fucking my sister.” Max’s rageful tone lumbers a fire in his chest that’s only growing bigger with each second he watches the scene in front of him— you, pulling the jacket closer to yourself as you try to get decent and Lando standing shirtless in front of Max, lips puffy from kissing you. It makes Max’s blood boil. 

Lando runs a hand through his hair, taking a breath like he’s trying to come up with something to say— like there’s anything he could say that would make this better. “Max—“

“No, don’t say my fucking name like you haven’t crossed every boundary I’ve set.” Max pushes Lando’s chest.

You watch the fight unfold— Max’s eyes burning into Lando’s, betrayal, anger and hurt painted all over his face. Lando was standing calmly, alarmed but he kept it at bay. 

Lando doesn’t hold back. “I love her.”

The breath in your throat catches and tears prick your eyes as soon as the words leave his lips. Max freezes for a second, long enough for the words to land, hard and heavy. And then—

He swings. Hard.

The punch lands square on Lando’s jaw with a sickening crack. You gasp, standing to your feet almost immediately, but Lando barely stumbles— he wipes the blood from the corner from his mouth and stands upright, rolling his shoulders. 

“You think that makes it better?” Max says. “You think loving her gives you the right to sneak around like this? And you couldn’t come to me? Not a single fucking word.” 

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Lando’s breath is steady, voice sharp. “You never would’ve let me. I was trying to protect what we have.” 

“We?” Max huffs out a humorless laugh. “What about her? You think she needs some arrogant asshole sneaking her around like a fucking coward?” 

“I’m not a coward.” Lando exhales through his nose. “And I’d take a hundred more punches from you than hide this for another day.” 

Max’s fist twitches, like he’s going to hit Lando again, but he doesn’t. His eyes snap to you. “And you just let him? Him, of all fucking peop—“

“She didn’t let me do anything.” Lando cuts in, his tone harsher now that the blame shifted to you. “She chose me just like I chose her. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me, but leave her out of this.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

You’re standing, tears falling down your cheeks. Lando’s still bleeding down his chin, but he doesn’t care— all he cares about now is that Max doesn’t lash out on you for no reason. 

Max’s eyes flicker between the two of you. They’re filled with fury, betrayal, hurt. But mostly confusion. 

Lando reaches his hand out to you as he speaks again, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. But I won’t apologise for loving her.” 

His heart is pounding. He didn’t expect to confess to both the Fewtrell siblings in one night. 

Max just stares at him, jaw clenched so hard like it might snap. “Get out,” he finally said. Not shouting, not loud, just final.

Lando glances at you for permission, fear flashing across his face as if he was asking if this was it. You nod slowly, squeezing his hand three times— one for each word of i love you. “Just give me a moment, okay?” 

He nods, muttering a quiet okay and watches as you lead Max out of your room into the hallway.

 

And now it’s just the two of you. The Max Storm isn’t over, but it hangs above you like a calm thundercloud now. You knew he couldn’t be as upset with you as he pretended to be. 

You saw past his furrowed brows and deep inside, somewhere between his ribcage, was the same boy you grew alongside with, collecting rocks and sticks to make a mud cake. 

Max doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stands there, eyes closed, head resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Do you remember the treehouse?” You test the waters, standing across from him with your back against the wall. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Max sighs. “What about it?” 

“I used to hide out there when you were upset with me.” You admit. “All the heart carvings were me. But the stars on the floor of it were Lando.”

Max’s head snaps up, eyes reading your face. “What?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh a little. “He found me there when looking for you and I was crying. I was like, I dunno, thirteen or fourteen. He climbed up without a word, sat down next to me and started carving.” 

“Why is this relevant?” 

You sigh. “He’s not an arrogant asshole to me when we’re alone.”

“That’s not-“ Max drops his hands, his shoulders sinking. “You’re my sister. I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your best to keep your composure and to not crack under the weight of your brother’s anger. “I didn’t need you to protect me from him. He listens to me, he– he waits. He’s different, Max, and you just refuse to see it.”

Max runs both his hands down his face, turning his eyes towards the hallway— he can’t get himself to look at you. “Do you love him?”

You inhale sharply, the question catching you off guard. And then, softly, as if you’d crumble as soon as you said it: “Yes.”

That’s what breaks him. Not the intimacy, not the secrecy, but the quiet, unshakeable truth in your affirmation of the one thing he was always most scared of.

He nods once, not shaking the intimidating older brother demeanor, even though he knows you see right through it. “You’re serious about him.”

“I am.” You bite the inside of your cheek, anxiety coursing through your veins faster than the adrenaline of being caught by your brother, in bed with his best friend.

“And him?” Max nods his head towards the door, clenching his jaw at the indirect mention of Lando. “He better be serious about you, too, or else I swear to–”

“He is,” you finish before he can even start threatening Lando. “He’s more serious than I imagined. Maybe even more serious than me. You just– You have to give him a chance, Max.”

Your brother just stands there, a shell of himself compared to how excited he was earlier this evening, at Mason’s party. You worry this will affect your relationship, both with Lando and with Max, and you can’t help but break into a quiet cry. 

You use the sleeve to wipe away a tear off your jaw. “Do you… Do you hate me?”

Max’s shoulders immediately drop, his voice softer. “I could never hate you.”

You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

He lets out a sad laugh. “Yeah, didn’t expect to lose my best friend tonight.”

You immediately reach out to touch Max’s arm, about to open your mouth to try and better the situation between them, but before you can even mumble a word, Max is pulling away and walking down the stairs. “I need time. I’ll be at Mason’s.” He says as he steps down the last stair, and you stand at the top of them, listening.

The front door closes shut. There’s no slam, just a quiet close of the red, wooden door. It somehow breaks you more than if he had slammed it shut.

Lando waits patiently on your bed, using his T-shirt as a wipe, trying his best to get the drying blood off of his chin. When the door to your bedroom opens, his eyes immediately flash to you and he can tell it didn’t go well. 

Lando closes the distance between you two almost immediately, discarding his bloody shirt to the floor as his arms wrap around you, warm, like home. “Are you okay?” He murmurs against your hair.

You nod with your face still pressed against his chest, fingers curling around him and settling on being lazily draped on his waist. “I will be. Are you?”

His chest rises underneath you, the events of that night hanging heavy in the air around you. “Took a punch to the jaw from my best friend, so… Not exactly my best night. But you’re here with me, that’s all I need.” 

You pull away enough to look up at him, enough to notice the purpling bruise on his jaw and the split in his lip. Guilt coils itself deep inside your stomach. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes again. 

“Don’t,” he cups your jaw, thumb softly caressing your skin before he pulls you close again, his cheek resting against the crown of your head. “You don’t have to apologise, not for any of it.”

After a few deep breaths and another two minutes of just standing there, holding each other, you pull away. Lando’s heart breaks at the tear stains on your cheeks, but you ignore his sad expression and mutter, “let me clean you up.” 

Lando stands in front of you as you sit on the cupboard, next to the sink, his hands on either side of your spread legs as he stands between them. 

You’re dabbing a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic onto the cut on his lip. “Hold still,” you order him and he raises a brow. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You give him a look. “Not the time.”

“Okay,” you dab the cotton against his lip again and he winces in pain, but stays still. “Fuck, it stings.”

“Well, you did get punched.” You point out the obvious, shaking your head with disappointment. “You’re such an idiot.”

The irony of your words doesn’t get lost on Lando— he said the same thing to you months ago, when he drove you home from the party. 

“I know,” he shrugs. “Worth it though.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, a little bit in disbelief. “Getting punched by my brother is worth it?”

Lando puts his hands on your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “If it meant I get to be with you, I’d let him punch me a million times more.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you continue working on cleaning him up. “You’re lucky I haven’t punched you myself.” 

“Fair,” he grins and tries his best to hold as still as he can. His fingers dig into your skin as a way to keep himself at bay, and with the weight of his touch, you weren’t sure if he was holding back just because of the pain anymore. 

A moment passes— one in which Lando can’t stop looking at your focused face and you try your best not to get too flustered because of it. Your brain has been running a mile a minute since Max caught you and it only now had time to process what actually happened.

“You said you loved me.” You say, cautiously, like you’re scared he’ll tell you he didn’t mean it. That was your biggest worry at that moment— Lando just saying things, not knowing if he meant it. 

“Yeah,” he says it so casually, like his words were weightless. “I did.” 

You halt your movements, dropping your hands into your lap as you look anywhere but at him. “Did you mean it or was it something you said to calm Max down?” 

Lando laughs a little. “If I wanted to calm him down, I wouldn’t have said that.” 

You bite your bottom lip with anxiety and nod, “right.” 

He narrows his eyes, pushing his palms onto the counter as his head dips a bit to see you better. “I meant it,” he says after a moment. “It might’ve not been the ideal way to tell you, but it’s true.”

You place your head on his shoulder, still not looking up at him. The drawstring of his sweatpants gets pulled into your grasp as you fidget with it, not sure if you should ask this, but you do. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is soft, as if he was afraid of being heard. “It just kinda snuck up on me one day and hasn’t left me ever since.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to continue working on his lip. “Okay.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Lando tilts his head to the side, much like a small, confused puppy would. 

“It’s a lot to process,” you shrug, eyes so focused on his lips that you don’t notice his eyes so glued on your face. “I need a minute.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles, hands finding their place on your hips again. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you should probably not say that around Max anymore.”

Lando licks his lips with a laugh. “Duly noted. You gonna kiss me or keep playing nurse?”

You raise a brow, finally looking at him— his green eyes are no longer hinting at the sadness of the fight he had with Max and rather a glint of something brighter shines in them, something you’ve noticed only happens when he’s looking at you. 

“Let the lip heal first.” You kiss his cheek but Lando won’t settle for that. 

He cups your chin, softly yet firmly turning you to look at him. “Fuck the lip, I want to kiss my girl.” 

That’s when it comes. 

The moment you two had been dreaming of, yet every time it got close, something got in the way. Lando’s hands traveled from your hips to your jacket, unzipping it to reveal your bare body again. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled against your lips, ignoring the stinging of the cut on his bottom one. No amount of injury would keep him away from you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. The way he kissed you was addicting— with every passing second it felt like his lips became more of a lifeline for you, like if he were to pull away right now, you’d feel a part of you go missing. 

Your nails softly traced formless shapes in his scalp, sending shivers down his spine as his lips left hickeys beside the ones he had decorated you with earlier. 

His hands settle on your thighs, slowly inching closer and when he triggers a spot on your skin that was particularly sensitive to his touch, your knees try to close but hit his hips instead. He pulled you closer to the edge of the sink, his hold on you so careful like he might break you. 

His lips are still on your neck when he mutters, “wrap your legs around me.” 

You do as told, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he picks you up, carrying you across the hall to your bedroom. He lays you on the bed again— the door shut this time— wasting no time as he unties his sweatpants. 

You don’t notice him reach over to the drawer of your nightstand, taking out the condom he slipped in from his jacket right when Max came into your room. All hell would’ve broken loose if it had somehow fallen out of the jacket when you wore it. 

You feel him pressing against you and another second passes before you’re gasping at him pushing into you, filling you up. “I know,” he coos, lips softly peppering kisses down your jaw. “You can take it.”

Lando stills his hips for a second, not moving as you take time to adjust. The excitement and anticipation grows so big in your belly that it jolts your hips slightly upwards, making Lando groan at the feeling. 

“I’ll move a bit, yeah?” He looks into your eyes, pushing away the hair that fell messily onto your forehead. 

You nod your head and he pulls out. Immediately, you feel the need for more, for him. When Lando pushes his tip past your folds again, setting a slow rhythm, you whimper softly against his mouth. Lando can’t help but moan quietly, the feeling of your walls around his cock being better than he ever imagined. 

Those nights of his hand wrapped around his length, your name spilling from his lips as he came undone on his own chest were nothing like having you— a whimpering mess— underneath him. 

He speeds up just the smallest bit, adding more force to his thrusts, and rolls his hips anytime they make contact with yours. The sound of skin-on-skin contact and shy moans fills the room. 

Lando’s necklace dangles in your face and, for some odd reason, it turns you on even more. Your hips jut against his and you mutter, “faster.”

The sound of your voice when he’s thrusting into you made Lando come closer to the edge. He speeds up again, fingers digging so deeply into your hips that he was sure would leave a mark. 

You gasp at the feeling of him pulling your hips up towards him with every thrust, your eyes squeezed shut as your mouth parted, loud moans bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he kissed your jaw, softly biting down on the skin to earn more pretty sounds from you.

Every word you try to say gets drowned out by your moans or muted by Lando kissing you, and then you feel the pleasure build up so quickly that you’re unable to tell him when you come undone. Lando felt your walls pulse around him tighter and knew to keep the pace, thrusting into you as deeply as he could. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, eyes already looking at your closed ones. When your pupils meet his, you feel him reach down between your bodies and gently rub your clit. “Y’gonna cum on my cock, baby? Hm?”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando speeds up the tiniest amount, drilling into you with all he’s got as his right middle finger draws circles on your aching bud. And then, with a breathy moan, Lando feels you come undone. 

He thrusts a little more, reaching for his high with his lips pressed to your shoulder. You feel a warmth inside you before Lando stills. 

The next few minutes are of you two just laying in each other's embrace, not moving— aside from your fingers in Lando’s hair and his fingers drawing circles on your hips— and simply soaking in the calm after the storm.

It’s been two days since Max’s knuckles made friends with Lando’s jaw.

Mason found it quite funny— he never really liked Lando to begin with, so hearing that he fucked up in Max’s eyes made him that much more motivated to add fuel to the fire. He sat on the couch in his living room, watching as Max played some video game on the playstation. 

Another twenty minutes of uninterrupted gameplay passes before Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s so focused on the game that he doesn’t even check who’s calling, assumes it’s you, and presses the green button before putting the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Lando’s voice cuts through Max’s focus on the game. He immediately pauses it, rage building in his chest. 

Max takes a breath, trying to calm down before answering. “What do you want?” 

“I’m thinking of breaking up with her.” 

Max feels his heart drop to his heels. He’s what? 

On the other end of the call, Lando’s got his head in his hands as his phone lays atop his knee. He’s in his car, the already small space getting even smaller as his shallow exhales fill the air. 

He’s parked outside your house where, just five minutes ago, he left you peacefully sleeping.  

Over the last two days he had spent with you— all the slow dancing in the kitchen, the breaths bouncing off each other’s faces from being so close in the morning, the moments where his hands traversed your body like it was land unknown to anyone else but him— Lando realised that maybe he could do this forever. 

And that scared him. 

He’s always been a free man— going wherever he pleases whenever he wants, having no responsibility for anyone else other than himself— but now there’s you. 

Lando’s life feels like it’s split into two parts. The part before you seems free, fun, inviting yet gloomy. Like there’s an essential element of it that’s just missing, thus making his existence in that time seem like exactly that— existing. 

The part after you, though, that part is what’s so new yet scary to him. Rather than existing through his days, he lives them because of you. 

It’s a lot more domestic, this life— waking up in tangled sheets, making and burning pancakes in the morning as soft music spills from the speakers, sitting tangled on the couch as you read a book and Lando played a game on Max’s console. He’s not sure what happened for it to feel so wrong when everything was going so well. 

This morning, Lando watched you sleep. So serene, solemn and still. Your bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, soft snores lingering at the back of your throat every once in a while. 

He stayed like that— propped up on his elbow, eyes tracing over every inch of your face— until the weight in his chest felt like his ribs were breaking. 

As he was getting dressed, he questioned it. He loves you— hell, he’s loved you for years, but he was too stupid to realise it sooner— and he knows you’re the girl he wants, so why is he running?

He’s quietly making his way down the stairs when he realises that maybe Max was right. Max made it clear that Lando wasn’t the guy for you, that you deserve much better, and while Lando disagreed with it before, he feels like it’s true.

He spent the majority of his later teens and early adulthood with more women than he could count on one hand, not a single one of them made him question his feelings, because there weren’t any. 

But now, with you sleeping soundly upstairs and him standing by the open front door, Lando realises that maybe somewhere in the middle of your blooming relationship, he got too caught up in the delusion to face reality— you deserve someone who won’t walk out on you while you’re asleep. 

For the past five minutes, Lando sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want to call Max about this, but he was the only person in the world that Lando trusted and it was worth a shot. 

“You what?” Max’s voice rang in Lando’s ears. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“You were right, I– I’m not the guy for her.” Lando’s voice sounded so flat that it made Max worried, just the tiniest bit. “She deserves better.”

“Mate, if it’s about what I said, I’ll fucking get over it eventually.” Max is now pacing around Mason’s living room while the blond man just watches him, a glimmer of hope in his eye that Max failed to catch. “But her? She’ll never get over you, Lando.”

“You don’t know that, Max.”

Max inhales sharply, as if he was just about to spew a string of insults at Lando but chose to take the calmer approach. “I do know that, she’s so fucking in love with you that it makes me sick. Do you realise how much you walking out will fuck her up?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Lando’s starting his car now, still hesitant to turn the key. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“Since when do you decide that?” Max huffs a humorless laugh. “At least just talk to her, dude. I’ll get over you two dating but what I won’t forgive you for is walking out on both of us.” 

“Bye, Max.” Lando inhales a deep breath and before his best friend can speak again, he’s ending the call.

The smell of cinnamon, bananas and something burning hits Max’s nose the second he opens the front door to his house. He steps into the kitchen slowly, eyes scanning the mess— flour dusted across the countertops like snow, dishes cluttering the sink, you aggressively mixing something in a big, blue bowl. 

“What are you doing?” 

You halt your movements, turning around to Max with the fakest smile he’s ever seen from you. “Baking. Banana bread, you want some?” 

Max watches as you pull out the banana bread— that looks more like a chunk of coal— out of the oven. “Nah, I’ll pass.” 

He knew not to push, not to ask because, in reality, he shouldn’t even care. You betrayed him as much as Lando did, but you’re his little sister and Max would be damned if he let you set the house on fire with your baking. 

Max took a seat at one of the stools, eyes intently watching you. You never baked, not unless you were trying to occupy your mind by occupying your hands. 

“I talked to Lando,” he says casually, like he didn’t hate the guy. 

He notices the halt in your movements, the knife stilling in the burnt loaf. “Cool,” you shrug. 

“He said he’s ending things with you.” 

“And why do you think that is, Max?” You slam the knife down onto the counter with enough force to make Max jolt. “You got into his head.”

“I didn’t mean for him to take that shit seriously.” Your brother runs a hand down his face. “I was angry, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to leave you.” 

“You punched him, that’s not something to take lightly.” You say, a little quieter this time, a little more hurt. 

Max notices the silent glimmer of a plea in your eyes, like you’re asking him what you should do. “You should talk to him.” 

“And say what?” Your voice breaks as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, shoulders dropping. “He left me, Max, he le-“ 

A loud sob echoes in the kitchen and Max’s arms are around you immediately. He caresses your back, softly kissing your head as his arms squeeze you tighter. 

“He’s at the garage, probably hasn’t left all day.” He mutters. “I’m not telling you to go fix it, but if you want answers, that’s where you’ll get them.” 

Max watches your face as you pull away and wipe your tears with your sleeve. “Okay.” 

“Go, I’ll clean up your mess.” Max gives your shoulders a soft squeeze and turns to the lump of coal you called banana bread. 

Lando’s garage had always been his hideout. 

The lights were always on too late and, even from across the street, you could see a sliver of fluorescent glow bleeding out through the cracked garage door. 

You were parked at the end of his driveway. The air, thick and way too warm, smelled like motor oil and rubber, and it reminded you of simpler days— your legs dangling off the workbench while your boyfriend tinkered with something, grease smudging his fingers and face. 

The door was already cracked open, your favourite song quietly playing from the bluetooth speaker at the corner of the room. 

Lando was bent over the engine of one of the cars, back towards you, elbow deep in whatever he was messing with. He didn’t need to turn to know it was you who came in. 

“You left while I was sleeping.” Your voice shook the calmness of his garage— his sanctuary— and he felt it in his bones. “You left and didn’t say anything. You talked to Max instead of me.” 

Lando pulls his hands out of the engine bay and reaches for a nearby rag, wiping his fingers slowly and methodically, giving himself something to focus on before he breaks. 

“I didn’t know what to say.” He finally turns to face you, though his eyes stay glued to the ground. He catches a glimpse of your pink crocs and it makes him smile, just barely. 

“You knew what to say to the guy that punched you and not your girlfriend?” Your voice cracked with a quiet sob. “Do you know what it felt like to hear from my brother that you wanted to end things with me?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he draws in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry I disappeared, okay? I just- I didn’t know how to handle it. I needed space to think.” 

“About what?” You bit your bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “About whether or not I’m worth staying for?”

“No,” the word left his lips with urgency, eyes finally looking up at yours. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

The silence stretched, the music still playing from the corner of the room like it didn’t care that hearts broke in this room. 

Lando exhaled slowly. “I’m scared.” He didn’t wait for you to ask why. “I’ve never had a good thing like this, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up and ruin it.” 

“You won’t.”

He huffs a sigh of frustration. “You don’t know that.” 

You step a little closer, inching towards the wall Lando built up around himself,  a frail attempt to hide his feelings. Lando raises his eyes from the ground to— finally— look at your face. 

“I know that you’re trying,” your voice cuts through the sharp silence. “I know that I noticed all the things you did for me.”

“What?” Lando blinked. 

“I noticed,” you repeated. “You probably thought I didn’t, but I never mentioned it because I thought you’d stop doing them.” 

You reach out to take his hand, rough and warm, in yours. He didn’t pull away, just looked at you— sad, scared, waiting.

“I noticed how you remembered stupid details about me. I noticed how you’d text me when you couldn’t sleep and pretend it was about something random, when you were trying to subtly let me in. I noticed how you got quieter when overwhelmed, how you’d hold back things you wanted to say. I saw all of that. I see you, Lando.” 

Lando’s grasp on your hand tightened, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He looked up at you. Like your words were light he didn’t know he could stand in. 

“I tried,” he whispered, voice gentle and soft in the way he’d never spoken before— like every word he says drops to the ground with added weight. 

“I know you did,” you nod, eyes teary and locked into his face. “And I loved every bit of it. All the good and the bad. I wasn’t waiting for some perfect version of you, I just want you. The scared and the happy.” 

A silence stretched in the air. Then, he exhaled shakily and spoke again. 

“It’s like… The more I care, the worse I get at this. Like I’m holding something fragile and don’t know how to stop myself from dropping it.” 

“You’re not going to drop me. You don’t have to protect me from you. I choose you and I choose this.” 

He pulled his hand away gently, eyes focusing on anything  other than your face. His jaw clenched, voice low when he mumbled, “I think I need a break.” 

“A break?” 

“Not because I don’t love you,” he quickly added, looking at you with wide eyes before dropping his shoulders. “I do, God, I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it.” 

You don’t say anything— not a sound— tears falling from your eyes as you gave him a small, bittersweet smile.

Lando watched as you stepped closer, bringing your hands up to his cheeks. You pulled him in close enough to press your lips against the sweaty surface of his forehead, giving a gentle see you later, neither of you sure of when the later is. 

Then, you turned on your heel and stepped out into the night, leaving Lando in his sanctuary of motor oil and gasoline.

The next few weeks feel like they’re moving in slow motion. It’s cruel how grief stretches time.

You kept expecting to wake up one day and feel fine, but it didn’t work like that.

You still reached for your phone some mornings, typing out something before remembering you weren’t talking. The playlist he made for you kept playing on repeat in your earbuds, his hoodie adorned your torso, sleeves pulled over your hands so at least some part of him was still holding you.

You caught yourself looking for him in the small things— when you’d walk out of university, eyes flickering to see if his car was there; when you’d walk downstairs and half-hope he was playing a game with Max; when you’d hear a word or phrase he’d often use and whip your head around to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there.

It’s like living with a phantom limb– he wasn’t there, yet everything still remembered him.

Your best friends didn't push, Max didn’t mention him. But the silence— the kind that only fills the room after something’s broken and no one knows how to sweep it up— spoke for you.

In the meanwhile, Lando was coping in the only way he knew how.

He skipped hang outs with friends, ditched parties, just to work longer hours in his garage. Stayed until the heater shut off on its own and his hands were numb from the cold. He didn’t talk to anyone for those weeks. He just drowned himself in tasks— changing oil, fixing brakes, changing tires— anything that kept his hands busy and allowed his mind to work on autopilot. 

His phone remained quiet. Once or twice, he clicked on your contact just to see the photo of you two. Thought about sending a voice memo or a meme— something friendly, something you’d tease him for— but he always backed out at the last minute. 

Lando could hide in the garage all he wanted, but one thing remained true: he missed you like hell.

He missed the way you’d talk to him, like he wasn’t something broken. Missed how you’d be his escape from reality, much more than his garage ever was. Missed how easy it had started to feel, until he complicated it.

He kept seeing you everywhere or maybe he was just finding any excuse to take a moment to stop and think of you. He’d catch himself standing in the cereal aisle, staring at the brand you liked most. Or outside a bakery, reading the chalkboard sign that said banana bread in funky script, thinking of how he’d come downstairs in the morning to find you baking it.

Lando tried his best not to feel it— the regret, the grief, the overwhelming love.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found himself staring at his lockscreen, a picture of the two of you on it. You were asleep tucked into his side, so serene and peaceful that he couldn’t help but snap a picture. He did this on nights he couldn’t sleep.

It was already two in the morning and his mind was running wild, he could’ve sworn he hallucinated a message from you. He checked his phone again, seeing the message and just as he’s about to click on it, your contact pops up on his screen.

Lando doesn’t hesitate to answer, pressing the green button immediately. “Hello?”

On the other end, you’re locked in a bathroom at Mason’s house, mascara running down your cheeks, dress hitched way too high up your thighs. You didn’t anticipate this night to go so wrong when all you were trying to do is move on from wallowing at home.

The party, at some point, became too much. Too many people, too much noise, too many bodies brushing past you like you didn’t exist— except for the one who did notice you and in all the wrong ways. 

Mason caught you in the hallway, snaking an arm around your waist as he led you upstairs to his bedroom. You thought he was being nice, like he had been for the past few weeks. It was only when he started softly caressing your thighs, face inching closer to yours, that you realised his intentions. He didn’t stop, even when you were pushing and screaming at him to go away. 

You found a pause in his movements, kicked him somewhere that distracted him long enough for you to run out of the room and lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Your fingers trembled when you opened your phone.

There were people you could’ve called. People who would answer and help. But you didn’t want people, only him.

When the phone rang once, then twice, you started doubting your choice of calling him. But then, his voice cuts through the chaos in your mind and silences it all with just one word. 

His voice was rough with surprise, tired, laced with something so familiar yet so distant. 

You didn’t mean to cry again, but it spilled out of you without warning. “I— fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait— hey, no— what’s wrong?” Lando sat up in his bed, alarmed by the trembling of your voice. “Where are you?”

“At a party,” you mumbled, wiping your tears uselessly. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he answered, no hesitation. “I’m coming to get you, text me the address?”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I— I’m sorry.”

“Give me the address.” Lando says more sternly. You read it out and he repeated it back, like he was memorising it. “Stay there. You don’t have to explain a thing to me, just stay in that room and don’t open the door unless it’s me, okay?”

Then the line went dead.

You sunk to the floor, phone in your lap, arms around your knees. The minutes stretched painfully. Music blared, people walked by, someone knocked once but you told them to fuck off without even glancing at the door.

Then, barely ten minutes since the call ended, you hear a knock. Softer, rhythmic, familiar.

“It’s me,” he yelled over the music. You opened the door and there he was— messy haired, hoodie half-zipped, cheeks flushed like he ran the whole way there.

Lando saw your mascara-streaked face and something in him cracked open. He didn’t ask, not immediately. He just shut the door behind himself, reaching a hand out as if to ask for permission to touch you. And when he pulled you into him, arms shielding you, you let yourself break. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumbled into his, now tear and mascara stained, hoodie. “I shouldn’t have called you, it’s too soon, I’m–”

“Stop,” his voice was quiet, but firm. He took your face into his hands, guiding your eyes towards him. “You called, I came. I always will.”

“I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’re not. Not ever.”

Lando tucked you back into his chest again, hand on the back of your head like he’s anchoring you there. “Don’t worry about too soon or too late, I’m here for you. Doesn’t matter when or where.”

You nodded, inhaling shaky breaths until the ache in your chest became small enough to handle. Lando’s eyes traced your face when you pulled away, thumbs softly wiping the mascara from under your eyes. “Who did this to you?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to say anything. But Lando knew you. He knew how to read you, how to understand what you wanted to say even without words. “Mason?” A nod from you was all it took for Lando to mumble for you to stay there as he burst out the door.

The kitchen was buzzing— music hummed low, drinks were being poured, someone laughed too loudly over the sound of ice cracking in the glass. 

Lando stormed in like a force of nature, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched, a fury in his eyes no one had ever seen before, not even Max. 

Lando didn’t look around at the people in the small space. He moved straight to the kitchen counter, like a bloodhound drawn to the scent of something rotten. 

Mason was there, laughing, surrounded by people too excited for the shots being poured to notice the storm. But Max did. The second he saw Lando, he knew something was up. 

“Lando—“ Max’s callout was too late. Lando had already grabbed Mason by the collar and slammed him face-first into the marble. 

The music abruptly stopped, Mason’s yell echoing in the still air. “What the fuck?”

Lando pulled him back and threw him against the fridge with a bone-rattling bang, the bottle of vodka from Mason’s hands clattering to the ground and breaking at their feet. 

“You sick son of a bitch,” Lando snarled, pressing his forearm against Mason’s throat. “You don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?” 

Mason coughed, struggling. “What the fuck are you on about?”

By now, Max had shoved forward and tried to pry Lando off. “Hey, man—“

“You know exactly what,” Lando spat, eyes not once leaving Mason’s face. “You wanna tell Max what you did to his sister? Why she called me crying and couldn’t even say your name without breaking into a sob?”

Max froze. “What?” 

“She didn’t say no,” Mason tried to defend himself, wide eyed and panicked. “She didn’t say anything— She didn’t stop me.”

Lando punched him. Knuckles to cheekbone, sharp and brutal. Mason’s head whipped to the side with a force strong enough to bring him to the ground, blood already blooming from his lip. 

The whole room stood frozen. Lando hovered over the recovering Mason, before shoving him to the ground with his knee between Mason’s shoulder blades. 

“If I hear that you touched her again or even looked her way, you won’t be just bleeding.” Lando promises. 

Then he leaves, as quickly and quietly as he arrived. Mason’s left on the floor with a fuming Max while Lando finds his way back to you, knuckles bleeding and heart racing triple. 

The cold marble of your kitchen islands spreads coolth along your thighs, grounding you to the present, although your thoughts are elsewhere entirely. The kitchen light buzzing above you doesn’t help with the lingering headache from the party or the ghost of Mason’s hands still roaming your body.

You got home ten minutes ago. 

Lando stands beside you, the heat from his body bleeding into the silence like wildfire, even as he zones out into nothing. His eyes seem so far away, jaw clenched with uncontrollable fury.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you murmur, barely a whisper. He doesn’t answer, simply stretches out and closes his fist again, before tucking it into his pocket, like he can hide the violence and anger of tonight. 

He looked wrecked, not just from the fight, but from feeling— jaw clenched, lips tight, eyes narrowed in on the wooden floor. 

“I shouldn’t have called you,” you whispered. “It was selfish and too soon, and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Stop,” he said immediately, voice too gentle for how rough and broken he looked. He closed the distance between you, and like testing the waters, he placed a hand on the counter beside you. “Don’t ever apologise for needing me. I’ll always come when you call.”

The dam broke a little at that, tears pricking your eyes. Lando’s finger twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he could. So you reached for him first— fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. 

Lando melted around you instantly, arms winding around your waist, pulling you in, holding you against him like you were fragile and precious, and his. 

Neither of you moved for a long time. The house was silent, apart from your quiet gasps for air once in a while. Your heartbeat matched the steady thrum of his and you finally felt like everything was slowly becoming okay again. 

Eventually, Lando pulled away just enough to see your face, but kept you close enough for his fingers to still steadily warm your waist. “Can I clean this up?” He lifted his right hand, nudging his chin towards his knuckles. You nodded. 

He led you to the bathroom and sat against the bathtub’s edge, watching as you hastily looked for the first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, gently cleaning the dried up blood from his knuckles and skin. He hissed once the antiseptic touched an open wound. You didn’t apologise, just looked up and met his eyes, already watching you. “Why?”

Lando turned his head to the side with a questioning hum, “what?”

“You didn’t have to go that far,” you mutter, lowering your eyes to his hand again. “We could’ve just gone home.”

“I did have to,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You didn’t even think twice, you just went there and…” your voice was quiet, like you’re ashamed. 

“No,” he speaks again, “because it’s you.”

The quiet that settled in didn’t feel heavy anymore— it felt like home again. In the words Lando spoke and the tenderness of your fingers on his wounds, gentle and careful, both of you found your place again. Like two halves of one whole. You were the better half of him and he— of you.

The sun rose outside your bedroom window as Lando lay against your chest and you held him close, with a tight yet tender grip, like he’d disappear if you let go of him again.

“I’m glad you called me tonight,” Lando muttered, lips pressed to your bare chest. “I’m not sure how much longer I would have waited before talking to you again.”

“It was eating me alive,” you admit. “The not knowing whether this was it, whether you’d still want me whenever I saw you next. But I’m glad you do.”

“I always will,” the certainty in his voice, spoken like he knew what he’d feel for the rest of his life, made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for calling me, again.”

You look down at him, your smile soft and bittersweet.

“Thank you for coming, again.” 

“To you, always.”

[flowersforbucky]

you drew stars around my scars

bob reynolds x reader

summary: you show bob that he doesn’t need to be insecure about anything with you.

word count: 1k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, mentions of past drug use, descriptions of scars from drug use, insecurities, hurt/comfort, kissing and suggestiveness, implied smut, no use of y/n, some angst, fluff

author's note: i fully believe the sentry project would have gotten rid of any scars but i couldn't get this idea out of my head so.. just pretend with me.

please do not read this if any of the warnings could be triggering for you. you are responsible for your own media consumption, take care of yourself ♡

“Honey,” you breathe. He plants a trail of kisses from your jaw down to the pulse point of your throat, where he begins to bite and suckle.  

He knows that it's your weakness.  

Normally, you'd melt into it – let him take his time peppering you with love bites.  

But right now, you're seeking something else. He knows it, too. It's the reason he's trying his hardest to distract you.  

The second that your hands crept under his shirt and began easing the fabric up his back, he broke the heated kiss you’d been lost in, moving his lips to your throat, instead.  

And then to your collarbones, and then the peaks of your breasts, and your sternum, and so on – until he’s so far down your body that you have no choice but to let your hands fall away from where they’d been resting under his shirt.  

A blissful distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. 

“Honey,” you repeat when he gets to the waistband of your panties. He pauses before he can pull them down, looking up at you with an expression of hesitation and uncertainty.  

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, concern etched in his voice. “Do you want me to stop?”  

“Well, no,” you laugh. “I don’t. I just…”  

You trail off, looking up at the ceiling. You’d been planning how to go about this conversation in your head for days, but now that it’s actually time to string the words together to formulate what should be a relatively straight forward question, your brain is drawing blanks.  

“What is it?” He asks gently. He sits up on his knees, placing a comforting hand on your thigh. “You can talk to me.”  

There's a part of you that wants to drop it entirely. The last thing you want is to be embarrass him, or pressure him, but you also need him to know that you want to touch him, feel him, see him completely and fully.  

Mostly, you want to understand why.  

Why doesn’t he want you to take his shirt off? Why is he insistent on wearing long sleeves when it’s the middle of summer? Why is it that when he does take his shirt off during sex, it’s only at night when all of the lights are turned off? 

It hurts you to think that he may not see himself the way you see him. All you want is to assure him that he never has to hide any part of himself – not from you. 

“You know I love you, right?” You sit up, eye-level with him. His brows crease, in the endearing way they usually do when he’s confused or in deep thought. “All of you?”  

He drops his gaze, as if realizing the direction this conversation is heading. He nods. “Of course I do.”  

You place a handle beneath his chin, gently tilting his head back up so that he's looking you in the eye once more. “Can I see all of you, then?”  

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see me,” he murmurs. “I’m just afraid that you’ll look at me differently once you do.”  

“Bob,” you breathe, stroking the side of his face with your thumb. “There’s nothing in this world that could make me love you less. You’re perfect to me, no matter what.” 

He gives you a small, hesitant smile before he grabs the hem of his Henley and slowly pulls it over his head. At first, your eyes go to the muscles of his chest. You have caught glimpses of them and have felt them from beneath his clothing on many occasions, so you’re not surprised by the defined planes of his abdomen, but you still can’t help but ogle.  

As many times as you’ve tried to picture what he'd look like without the baggy shirts, you're now realizing that your imagination failed you.  

Then, he extends his arms. Your eyes follow his to his inner elbows, and that’s when you realize that his insecurity was never about his physique.  

You know what you’re looking at without him having to explain. Though it isn’t something he talks about often, his history with drug addiction is not a secret. You're still surprised to see the slightly raised, discolored lines in the bends of his arms, however. Mostly because you didn’t think it was possible for him to have scars anymore.  

There’s a couple on each arm, some more noticeable than others.  

“All of the others faded a long time ago,” he says meekly, staring down at the marks. “But these got infected, so they scarred worse. I had hoped that the serum they gave me in Malaysia would take care of them, but I guess it doesn’t really help older scars, ‘cause they’re still here.” 

You scoot closer to him, once again tilting his face to look up at you. He gulps, blinking quickly to keep unshed tears at bay. Leaning forward, you slate your lips over his. He kisses you back, practically sighing against your lips with relief.  

You pull his right arm to you, leaning down to press your lips to the more prominent of the two dark lines in a series of feather-light kisses. Bob’s posture relaxes, and you hear the faintest hum of contentment emanate from his chest. When you've kissed both scars, you move to his left arm and do the same.  

“I love you,” you whisper when you pull away. “I think you’re beautiful, Bob. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hide any part of yourself from me.”  

“I love you, too. More than you know.” He smiles, no longer looking ashamed or embarrassed. He maneuvers you back down against the mattress, hovering above you. There’s a playful look on his face as he smirks down at you, eyes roaming down your chest and to where his fingers once again toy with the band of your underwear.  

“Now that we have that conversation out of the way, maybe I could get back to what I was trying to do a few minutes ago? If that’s.. if that’s okay with you?”  

You snort a laugh, pushing away the locks of his hair that fall down over his face. "Of course."

******

thank you so much for reading!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[killishin]

— ♡ my pretty neighbour.

PART 01.

PAIRING: jason todd x witch! reader

CONTENT WARNING: afab reader, blood, violence, alcohol, mention of assaults, more to be added.

CATEGORY: shit ton of fluff and sfw, maybe angst?

SUMMARY: a witch trying her best to lay low and live her life, while being out of every gothams vigilante's radar. turns out red hood had been her neighbour all along. also they have cute little pets.

WC: 4k

A/N: another jason fic yep. i didn't really have a solid idea but i just really wanted to write something so.... enjoy!

fic masterlist. next.

dividers by @cursed-carmine

gotham is filled with all kinds of criminals, masterminds, lunatics, druglords— you name it. each has done such horrible deeds that it has scarred hearts and souls of every innocent, each has a certain level of craziness in them that requires insane amount of intellect to even catch them. and despite the vigilantes giving their utmost best, everyday having to push themselves to think better, be faster... criminals still hide in those dark alleys, unbound and free.

so you can't really blame the protectors of the city, as they like to call themselves, to be cautious of every activity that goes on in the city. they are understandably hostile to superheroes who try to help, a bit too hostile sometimes in your opinion, but maybe the massive workload makes them snippy.

being a witch and living in gotham is a bit tough therefore, you not only have to hide your powers from the normal people but also from the vigilantes. you do not want to be evicted out of the only city where you can afford the rent, that too without any dignity since witches are sort of still discriminated by the myths and fake stories. still, its understandable, mankind has always been afraid of what they can't control or understand.

you had been ridiculously meticulous in your choice of residence, not like you had much choice to begin with. but you had scouted out the area as best as you could to your needs, and upon confirming that there wasn't much vigilante sighting in the neighborhood, you had finally settled.

a barista's salary didn't really help much, but you didn't really have much needs. your only goal was to live a drama free, quiet life where you could experiment with your little spells (harmless ones.. of course) and, the most important, provide for your little gentleman, alfred, a cute little doberman (he's huge). that was your goal, the ideal life you chased— should chase. but often a heart's desire overwhelm the logic of mind.

you have a penchant for getting into trouble. having promised to never get involved in anything that might shed light upon your existence, you strayed from that promise more often than not. all for good deeds, mostly.

"this is the third time this month. i have got to practice some self control." you sigh as you nudge the body of the man on the ground, groaning and coughing up blood. your brows furrow in mild annoyance as you kick his thigh this time.

"i didn't even use a strong spell! come on you wuss!" you softly groaned to yourself before sighing as you looked away for a moment, scratching your brow with your nail. the blood wasn't a problem, to be honest you wouldn't give a crap if he died. he was assaulting a sweet old man, punching him to death— you just had to step in.

...maybe you stepped in too much. now his arm is twisting at an odd angle, you were supposed to teach him a simple lesson. just give him some scare that'll scar him for life. now he got a bonus broken arm.

you've left one too many mens like that lying and crying, and it'll only be a matter of time before they lead those pesky vigilantes to your doorstep.

you put on a spell that altered his memory of your face, in case he saw it, before turning around to be on your merry way. but cue gotham weather's shitty timing, it starts pouring hard.

"mother nature you're really teasing me today..." you murmured sarcastically to yourself, yet sauntering off unbothered, rain never bothered you much anyway. you just hate how the clothes get all damp and clingy, weighing down your body.

by the time you reach your place you're visibly drenched to the bone, humming some tune under your breath, totally not seeing the man walking ahead of you. and so consequently you bump into his back, eyes widening for a moment as you stepped back with an apology right on your tongue.

but they die on your lips when you see the most brilliant bluish green eyes glance back at you, bitter and hostile. but you've always had a weak spot for pretty things, and when the man turns fully, you note he is the most prettiest man you've ever laid your eyes on.

you're far too lost in admiring him that you fail to notice the slight shift in his demeanor. after all, jason was already in a wretched mood and the next second he turns around to see an absolutely drenched women staring back at him. he isn't that easily fazed, your skin glistens, the damp and dripping hair clinging to the side of your face, that makes you look gorgeous but he's seen gorgeous. your eyes though— they seem unreal. feel unreal. there's just something otherworldly about it— ethereal even. and he's not among those to be poetic.

you realise you've been staring for a second too long and the silence becomes awkward real quick, you blink and step back with a polite smile. "sorry. i uh— wasn't looking where i was going." his brow raised slightly at your politeness, seemingly even more sweet due to your low and honeyed voice.

"no problem." he murmured casually, his voice even more grumpy and rougher than usual, a tough night and patrol hasn't even started. he then turned around and ascended the stairs, and so did you, lagging behind by two steps. you couldn't make the pretty man uncomfortable after all.

but he noticed you following him floor after floor, stopping right when he did at his floor before your steps softly followed behind him again. when he reached his door he turned around, and found you looking back at him with the same confusion.

"...hi neighbour?" you jokingly whispered with a hesitant smile but he didn't.

"how long have you been living here?" that came out more as an interrogative question than a confused one and it made your brows raise in amusement. this one's got a feisty side.

"a few months. wasn't aware anyone lived there." you replied back coolly with a smile that bordered serene yet sultry. his eyes dropped down to it for a small second, narrowing slightly as if the smile irritated him. it indeed irritated him because of the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of it.

"I've lived here for more than a year. never seen you before." he retorted like he's insinuating an accusation and your lips pull to a slow grin.

"you're awfully stingy for a pretty neighbour." you remark, your nose scrunching up in fake disappointment as you unlock your door.

stingy?

"pretty? " he didn't know what of those words baffled him more, yet that was the one that had to come out of his mouth.

"and interrogative. are you in the gcpd or something?" you asked as you leaned your weight against your door which was slightly ajar.

"no. you're the one interrogating now." he scoffed quietly as he turned around, fetching his key out his pocket.

"seems like you don't know the difference between making conversation and interrogation." you lightly chuckle and thats when he realised its your voice thats the root of the irritation being caused in his already irritated mind. its irritatingly sweet and honeyed— addictive may be the right word.

"that's your version of making conversation?" he scowls as he opened his door and stepped inside while your grin widened, he finds your amusement at his expense really insulting.

"only with pretty, grumpy neighbours."

"and is that your way of flirting? cus its not effective."

"slow down, pretty boy. if you think this is flirting then clearly you haven't been properly flirted with before. how sad." if he can't handle your teasing, he'd be a downright mess when you actually flirt then. and those reddened embarrassed cheeks simply intensify the want to flirt with him.

he gives you one last scathing glare before shutting the door on your face. a chuckle quietly escapes your lips as you call out a loud "goodnight!" which you're probably sure he heard and frowned even more.

you step in your apartment and close the door, flicking on the candles with a swish of your hand. you could just switch on the lights but you secretly love the theatrics. a quick spell could dry you but a warm shower would probably help you more.

and it does help you, you're more relaxed and less tense. your muscles feels like mush just like your head. and yet, as you lay on your bed, your eyes are open wide and awake. you're a bit of an insomniac. its a bother and inconvenience but just like ever other nuisance in your life, you've gotten used to it.

just like always you get up, grab a grimoire and your reading glasses, learning a spell or two. it usually takes you more than an hour to understand and practice and most nights it ends up with something getting on fire or your own self. you suppose that's the fun part.

and again, like always, you get bored and lay back on your bed. this time the pretty neighbour occupies your mind, beauty aside, it is a question that you met him just today when he claims to have been living for a year. why didn't you bump into him before?

you hoped for no trouble, yet something tells you he'll make you be neck deep in one.

"again? " jason frowned as he dropped to the ground with a muted thump of his boots, not a noise at his landing, its like second nature to him.

"third this month." oracle spoke through the comms and jason crouched infront of the little blood that was splattered across the gritty pavement, the rain had washed off most of it yet some stayed, seeped into the earth like a taint.

"some random person reported it almost an hour ago and he was taken to get treated." oracle continued and jason scoffed sarcastically, "you're telling me the cops beat me to it? that's a first."

she simply rolled her eyes at that, "i checked his background. a typical small time thief, arrested quiet a few times for mugging and burglary."

he grunted as a response and looked around but nothing else was amiss. with a sigh he got up, "someone's doing our work here. unfortunately for us they're pretty good at it."

"not for long." Jason's brows furrowed a bit on reflex as bruce's voice came in, "they're bound to slip."

"they haven't for the last two month. maybe they might never." course he agreed with bruce, but where's the fun in agreeing?

"they will. and we have to catch them. they're a threat to the city—"

"times like these, wish i was deaf."

"what was that?"

Jason's not that worried about the mysterious person on the loose beating up criminals, he's sure they were probably in the act of committing a crime to deserve this. but bruce's worry has a point, they need to know who it is. not everyone's a protector. they may be saving right now, but is that all they're doing?

jason knows first-hand how times change, how fast people change. how deceiving time could be, how deceiving humans can be.

his mind is immediately pulled to you at that thought, someone who looks pretty harmless, eyes that are both innocent yet alluring like a siren's. you looked even more helpless and naive in your drenched form. yet all it took was for you to smile and that image shattered.

that smile was a warning in itself, an omen as if. innocence might be something of a past to you, your eyes held no fear, no apprehension. your smile was steady and dangerous, he's a man who has fought back death, rendered men almost lifeless with just his fist— and still his gut told him you were not to be taken lightly. harmless you might be, for now, but not innocent.

he returned back at his place at dawn, grunting and groaning at the sore muscles that ached here and there.

"at this point im gonna age faster than alfred." he murmured to himself with an almost pout. a quick shower and some television were supposed to really tire him out, but sleep escaped him. insomnia the trouble of yet another person.

and he doesn't really leave his place much, but today he felt like it. maybe a walk might help him. its still early so he doubts the streets to be that busy.

he really should have thought this through.

"hey pretty neighbour." he gave a deadpanned stare to that same amusing smile of yours.

"ooh you don't seem like a morning person." you pretend to frown, still locking your door before turning around with a wink, "i know you for less than twelve hours and we already have something in common. is this destiny's sign for something more? " you said dramatically, taking huge delight at his annoyance.

"no, but my headache's a perfect sign for nothing ever." he quietly snapped as he slammed his door shut a little too hard tugging on his hood over a bit before walking away.

"so you do have sarcasm." came your voice not too far behind him, but he knows you're not following him. he saw your clothes when he stepped out, formal and perfectly ironed for work. maybe it really was the rain that gave him the innocent illusion last night.

he sighed as he started descending the stairs, shaking his head as he immediately regretted his decision for this walk.

"you talk a lot." he called out and heard your quiet chuckle in response, "you talk too less." his steps became hurried and your grin simply widened.

"would you tell me your name if i ask you?" you asked him, your smile barely contained and he rolled his eyes, "think you already know the answer."

soon both of you stepped out on the pavement and you turned to face him with a teasing smile, "guess I'll just call you pretty neighbour then."

you waved at him goodbye before he could turn the other way, and yelled "bye pretty neighbour!" as loud as you could, making sure it'll turn heads.

his eyes widened for a moment before he glared at you in disbelief, then swiftly turned around to walk away from imminent embarrassment. maybe it was better if he never knew he had a neighbour next door, no matter how beautiful you are. he sighed to himself as your smile flashed in his mind, unfortunately you really were beautiful. damn you.

you loved your barista job, after all it involved brewing and you were, not to brag, quite the master at it. you kept your conversations with the customers at a minimal, there's no need to involve in idle chatter with them. your coworkers though are a bunch of sweethearts, mostly, so its never a headache working there.

but sometimes some assholes walk in, harassing the workers, some be rude to you about the order even when its made just like they want— but you do what you gotta do to survive.

when you're returning on your way back home, your mood's sour than usual. you don't have it in you to even smile. all anyone would want after a shitty day at job, is the damn bed. even if you can't sleep.

but, the world always tests you on your worst days.

you stop dead in your tracks just a few steps away from your unit, whose door is wide open by the way. your senses heightened and every spell on the tip of your tongue. you didn't have to worry about all your witchy things being stolen or affected since they're all safely locked in a cupboard bound by a spell, unseen by anyone other than you. your important things are also spell bound to your home so no thief can take them out of your apartment.

no, what you're worried about is alfred.

you peaked inside in your own home, the lights were on. you slowly pushed the door without making a sound, a little proud at the creaky door to not give you away today.

suddenly your eyes caught the top of someone's head peaking from behind your dining table— alfred's there too! your eyes widened and your brows furrowed into an angry glare.

"step the fuck away from alfred!" you extended your hand, about to cripple the hell out of whoever that is— but then you see your pretty neighbour straighten up fast and alfred perk up before rushing to you, all smiles and happy.

"woah woah chill— wait who??? " his initial shock subsided to one of pure confusion as he stood there with his hands raised.

ignoring him you crouched down to alfred's height, checking him for any injury because heaven knows if there is one, then that pretty neighbour might not leave the world very pretty—

"he's fine." he said as he slowly rounded the table before stopping short at the sight of your glare. it was... a change, different. he had the impression of you being as much of a nuisance as dick is, if not more. but right now all your eyes hold is hostility and distrust.

"i'll be the judge of that." you snapped at him before plastering a helpless smile for alfred who, suddenly, very surprising of him, trotted back to your neighbour. and you just stayed rooted to your position as your mind errored because what the fuck????

alfred barely ever lets anyone touch him. he had a difficult time when he was just a puppy in an abusive household. he only trusted two people, one is you and your best friend.

you look up at the neighbour with the same dumbfounded expression and for the first time he found it in himself to smile, it was a bit cocky but a smile nonetheless.

"you... what.. what did you do to him? and why the hell did you break into my apartment?" you questioned as you rose to your full height, regarding him suspiciously.

he gave you an unimpressed look at your immediate assumptions before sighing, "i was in my apartment when i heard him growling. loudly. then he started barking. turns out someone was lurking outside of your apartment."

"what?"

"yeah. he had already picked the lock actually, acted like he was opening the door and claimed that he lived there. if i hadn't met you last night, i might have been given him the benefit of doubt. when i confronted he said he was dating you. but i knew that was bullshit." he shrugged like it was no trouble.

you were a bit stunned. yes you thought of him pretty, maybe a nice man but you never expected him to be nice, you never expect anyone to be nice. the world had taught you time and time again that humanity is scarce and kindness is a luxury.

"oh." you murmured before lightly shaking your head, "oh that's— thank you. i- where's that man now?"

his lips slightly tugged up in amusement at your stunned look, feeling maybe a teensy bit of pride to wrong whatever misconception you had of him. "he lives two floors up actually. don't worry i made sure he will be kicked out."

"....thanks." you mumbled out before rubbing the side of your face, you hated being in the wrong, and awkward and embarrassing situations like this. how the hell did you miss an asshole like that? you thought you knew everyone from the apartment as a safety measure.

"i- um sorry i assumed and accused you." you took his words as final because alfred was literally sat near his feet. alfred's a great judge of character.

but this time he didn't scoff or smirk, instead there was a soft smile on his face. he understood your anger after all. "s alright. i understand i also have—"

you froze when you felt something brush by your feet, something very soft and— "meow."

you looked down and there it is, a very adorable, very extra soft siamese cat, who is now staring down alfred like he wronged all her ancestors.

you look up at him with raised brows and with a tired sigh he points at himself, confirming your assumption.

"sorry-"

"can i pet?" you asked softly, looking up at him with such hopeful eyes that all he could do was nod. you crouched down and approached the cat carefully, extending your hand. the cat inspected a little before rubbing against your hand.

"who's this beautiful little baby?" you mused, grinning wide as you scratched the cat.

"... miss pearl." he mumbled too quietly but you have good ears, and unlike how he expected you to laugh at that, you simply smiled in great approval.

upon remembering something his brows furrowed again, "um sorry what did you say his name was?" he pointed at alfred and you looked up at him with most proud smile. "alfred."

"huh." that's a really funny coincidence and a small laugh started spilling out his lips slowly. you looked up at him with furrowed brows, "what?"

"no. nothing. great name."

"are you making fun of him?"

"you really think i would?"

"...hm."

you got up finally and smiled at him, it didn't have that sultry undertone— just a smile.

"again, thank you." you said and he nodded suddenly finding his cat more interesting to look at, his ears reddening.

"uh your place. great aesthetic huh." he said, diverting the topic and you looked around. it didn't look that much like a typical witch's home, but there were too many candles everywhere that normally, normal people don't really have.

his eyes narrowed a bit as he smiled amusingly, he did find that... eccentric.

there was a beat of silence as you looked at candles at literally every flat surfaces.

"i just really like candles. they're scented." you said with the most convincing smile you could conjure up. he didn't buy it, but didn't question it either. gotham is filled with every sort of weird after all.

slave to your habit you still ran your eyes around your apartment, while he picked up miss pearl, but everything was at its place. you really gotta put a spell on the damn door now, the lock had already been weak.

he was almost in his unit before you called out behind him, "all this help and you still won't give me a proper introduction?" that teasing tone was back in your voice.

he sighed in exasperation as he turned around, but weirdly enough, to reasons unknown to him, his ears felt warm again.

"jason."

"jason.." you grinned wide and replied back with your name before winking at him. he simply gave a deadpanned stare before shutting his door.

he let pearl go from his arms, while staring off at a distance, his eyes a little hazy as his mind repeated the way you said his name. shaking his head he scoffed, you were nothing more than just a weird little neighbour.

come next morning he's about to head to bed when he heard a knock. his brows furrowed as he wondered who the hell is bothering him this early. but there was no one when he opened the door, nothing but a small little tin box on the floor with designs engraved on it.

he picked it up suspiciously before taking off the lid, in there were some... tea bags? there was also a note, in there was a little message written in neat words.

this helps with insomnia. its my personal favorite too. hope you do know how to brew some tea.

your pretty neighbour ;)

now he realises what exactly feels weird when he sees you, its his silly little heart.

reblogs are appreciated! :))

taglist: @deadbeatphobos @lettucel0ver @fixated29

[loveqnai]

Can you please write a military! Reader x f1 driver like she came back and surprises driver at the grand prix or something I would prefer Lando but you can write whoever is your favorite

we'll meet again | ln4

-the one with the emotional reunion

-pairing- lando norris x military!fem!reader

-use of y/n, slight angst, fluff.

-a/n- thank you sm for the request!! i love this idea sm! i hope i did it justice.

lando and you had been in a relationship for three years. the first two years were amazing. lando was an incredible boyfriend. you had been to some of his races, and his fans knew of you. alas, good things don't last forever.

you were in the military and had been deployed for the past 8 months. your relationship with lando turned into a long distance one. communication was sparse— you could manage only letters or scheduled calls. lando was constantly worried about your well-being, which reflected in his career as well. he had not been able to focus and everyone had noticed, yet no one held the courage to speak to him about it.

you had informed lando that you wouldn't be able to make it until the end of the season, which didn't ease lando's worries at all.

monaco grand prix. one of the most important grand prixs for lando. yet he was distracted.

"mate, you alright?" oscar asked his teammate, who seemed to be lost in his own world.

"hmm? yeah, yeah i'm fine." lando snapped out of his daze, prepping himself for the race which was about to begin in a few hours. oscar didn't believe him, but he didn't pester him further.

all lando wished was for you to magically appear in front of him and hug him tightly, let him know you're okay. lucky for him, his wish was about to come true.

you had been cleared earlier than you expected. overjoyed, you thought of calling lando and telling him immediately. but where's the fun in that? instead, you lied to him and said you wouldn't be able to make it until later.

you were in disguise (a cap and shades, really) as you entered the paddock. the mclaren team already knew of your arrival. they had helped you plan the surprise.

you were leaning against the wall, trying to be discreet and hidden from everyone, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. you turned and saw a glimpse of the papaya suit, your heart jumping to your throat. no way your surprise just got ruined.

"y/n?" but that wasn't lando's voice. you turned fully to face the person— it was oscar. lando's teammate.

"oh my god— i thought you were lando!" you laughed in relief.

"when did you get here? does lando not know?"

"nope, i'm surprising him." you smiled cheekily at the thought.

"i'm really happy for him. he's been moping all these months." oscar sighed. i nodded.

"he won't anymore."

after a while, you heard commotion. lando had arrived. he was talking to someone on the team.

"yeah— why is everyone so smiley today? like, i don't know, every person i walk past looks at me as if they know something i don't." you overheard him talk and snickered. you were having too much fun with this.

you had planned to surprise him before the race began, and you went with it.

as lando was walking and talking with someone, you snuck up on him.

"hey, can i have a picture?" you asked, trying hard not to laugh as you held out your phone to click one. lando leaned into the frame and for a second he didn't notice. only for a second.

"wait a minute—" he turned to look at you fully and his jaw fell. he cupped his mouth as he registered your presence.

"y/n?" he whispered and pulled you into a tight hug. you wrapped your arms around his body, soaking him in. god, you had missed him so much.

"holy shit— i can't, what?" he whispered in confusion, not letting go of you. you felt people taking pictures and videos and admiring you both, but you couldn't care less about them at the moment. the only person that mattered was lando. your lando.

he finally pulled away after a few minutes.

"you— you said you wouldn't be able to make it until the end of the season!" he said, cupping your cheeks. he couldn't believe you were right in front of him, safe and sound. tears of joy were brimming in his eyes. you felt your own running down your cheeks.

"well— i lied." you shrugged and laughed. the entire world had blurred for the both of you. no one existed in that moment, only you and your lover.

you leaned in and gave him a peck on his lips. he stared at you with so much awe and admiration, you could melt just from his soft gaze.

slowly, everything returned back to normal. the world came into being again. cheers and 'aw's could be heard. but lando could only stare at his world.

as if you were his good luck charm, lando won the race. after months of bad races, he finally won. the sun shined down on monaco, the mclaren team jumping with joy.

lando didn't wait for any interviews or meaningless 'congratulations'. he ran up to you and hugged you. you were ecstatic. you kissed his helmet where his lips were supposed to be and hugged him again, jumping as you do.

"this one is for you." you heard his voice through his helmet, and you couldn't help but cry again. after the race, lando took you back to his place.

he was telling you random stories about other drivers and you listened intently, your fingers running through his hair. his head was on top of your chest, his arms around your waist. you lay there in a comforting silence, which communicated everything words couldn't.

"how much longer till you go back?" he asked, his soft eyes looking at you.

"don't worry about that right now." you assure him.

"i can't help but worry, y/n. you're so important to me. when you leave it— it feels like you take a part of me with you. i'm constantly worried about your health, and i hate the fact that i can't even check up on you. i just wish i could be by your side at all times." he hugged you tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck. your heart broke when you felt wet tears on your neck.

"lando— look at me." you urged him. he finally looked up at you, tears staining his cheeks. his eyes were slightly swollen from the amount of times he had cried.

"i'm right here, okay? i'm right here with you. nothing will happen to me." you kissed him gently, as if he would break at the slightest discomfort.

"i know, it's just been so long since i saw you." he sighed. you smiled and kissed his cheek.

"you're glowing. you look so beautiful." he whispered as he pulled you onto his lap. you wrapped your hands around his neck.

"and you look as handsome as ever" you dragged your thumb along his lower lip, leaning in. your lips were almost touching.

"i missed you so fucking much. please don't leave yet." he whispered, staring at your lips.

"even if i do, we'll meet again." you closed the gap between his lips and yours, savouring the moment forever.

the end.

[98tsuki]

caleb / xia yizhou x reader. 849. angst. no evol au. i wanted to explore what it would be like if caleb had close relationship with someone who isn't mc and how his priorities between the two of them would affect a third party. :3 ׄ ׅ ⊹ ﹫ part two.

another tear slides down your cheek in frustration. another empty chair splinters your heart in two. another pitied look from the server marks five within the last month—five dates gone wrong somehow, and if you’re being honest, you’re not sure why you keep trying.

you thought this one would be it for you. they were nice, courteous, even, and laughed at your jokes and stories. they even seemed genuinely interested in you, if the kiss after your first hangout meant anything. it was just right, with the sun setting in the background.

you should have known, honestly. good things never lasted with you.

tipping the server and paying for the meal you picked at for the past hour or so, you stumble out of the restaurant with a ugly sob beginning to brew in your chest. shaking hands pull out your phone and dial the one constant you’ve had since disaster date number one, and like always, he picks up after the first ring.

“hello?”

you never knew how much warmth one word could bring.

sniffling quietly, your answering hi is enough to have his full attention, gentle shuffling on the other end meaning he’s at full alert. you don’t have to tell him much for him to already know, and before long, you hear keys and the sound of his door clicking shut.

“send me your pin. i’ll be there in a few.”

your thanks is shaky, ending the call before sending him your location, and sink against the stone stairs out front in defeat. you’ve long since put the embarrassment of having your best friend pick you up after each failed date behind you, but a tiny part of you can’t help but gnaw at the lingering shame. it was pathetic, wasn’t it? going on date after date only for them to dwindle to nothing each time without fail—either they stood you up or simply ghosted you after ‘not finding what they needed’.

(the date that buttered you up just to make their ex jealous stung the most.)

it hurt, more than anything. not being able to find someone that stuck. you suppose you’ll end your search after tonight, you reason, blinking back tears as you see a familiar car pull up. battered tennis shoes slowly stop in front of you, and when he squats, familiar violet eyes search yours with concern. never pity, not once, and you reach out for him without a second thought.

caleb helps you up once again. leading you to his car, he pulls the hem of your dress down over your legs once you’re settled in the passenger seat and drapes his jacket over your thighs. caring, is what your mother called him, looking out for you since you were kids, and you knew. you knew it better than anyone how much he cared.

too bad he already had someone, though. 

jealousy rears its ugly head once more, grinning sickly as your head falls to rest on the window. he settles in the driver’s seat and places a hand behind your seat to back out of the parking space—and effectively sends your heart into overdrive. you shouldn’t be feeling this way. you shouldn’t.

he’s the reason you’ve been going out on these dates, your inner voice helpfully supplies. you squash it and tear your gaze away from his side profile.

home is his apartment—your apartment, shared after your lease went up and everyone felt it made sense for you to move in with him—but tonight, it’s daunting. going back to shared mugs and blankets even though he doesn’t know why your dates keep ruining. he doesn’t know that it’s partly your fault, too.

they’re not him, that voice pipes up gleefully. you sniffle quietly and ignore it again.

instead of climbing out, he turns the engine off and turns to you, gaze searching. in all the years you’ve known him, it’s his silence that spurs you, unknowingly weighing on your shoulders like blanket. it makes you turn to him, dried mascara under your eyes, and you hold your breath.

waiting. hoping for something you know won’t happen.

he seems to hesitate, hand hovering in the space between you two, but his words are always left unsaid. and it really isn’t good for your health, to want something you can’t possibly have, proved blatantly so by his phone screen lighting up.

you watch his lips curve up at the sight and regret settles like a stone in your stomach. despite everything, despite trying your best to make him see you too, she would always be at the forefront of his mind. she would always be his first priority, the only one that could make his eyes soften with unabashed adoration the way you desperately wanted to.

“actually,” you voice croaks from the ache beginning to fester more rapidly than normal, and he looks up quickly. “can you drop me off at xavier’s?”

you chose not to see the way his face falls at your request. he nods once, silent, and put the car in drive again. another tear slides down your cheek.

[whisperedmeg]

ELEPHANT BONES ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x situationship!reader

summary: spencer loved someone once. and the bones of that love still live here — in the way he holds you, in the things he never says. this is what happens when you try to love someone haunted by the ghost of an elephant in the room.

genre: angst

w/c: 2.2k

tags/warnings: mentions of maeve, references to sex/a sexual relationship but nothing explicit, situationship/fwb, written with an afab reader in mind but I don’t think there’s actually any gendered language, depressed spencer, unhappy but open/ambiguous ending, tw for situationship forehead kisses (the evilest thing ever)

a/n: I know I know, there are approximately one zillion angst fics out there about post-maeve depressed spencer. do we really need another? nope. but I’ve never truly written angst without leaning hurt/comfort so I figured a tried & true theme would be a good place to start. plus I’m currently rewatching s8 and it inspired me, soooorrry! p.s. — my requests are open 🫡

It was always quiet between you and Spencer at the start of your nights together. That was part of the draw of this dynamic — something about the hush of his apartment at night, the way he brewed tea like it was a ritual, the comfort of knowing he’d sit close but not too close. You’d come to expect the silence, to find a kind of warmth in it. But lately, the quiet had started to ache.

This night was like any other with him on the surface. Unassuming. Minimal conversation, soft music humming in the background, a cup of tea shared on the couch. Eventually, inevitably, things would shift. A glance would last too long, your legs would brush, and he’d kiss you like it was the first time. Then you’d end up in his bed, skin against skin, tangled in sheets.

But it was never just sex. Not really.

The moment you looked up from the pages of your book, you felt it — that same ache that had begun to settle into the spaces between you and Spencer. It had always been there, quietly simmering beneath the surface.

He swore that this couldn’t become anything real. That he didn’t have room in his life for more. And yet in the dark, when he thought you were asleep, he would trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back. He’d press a kiss to your forehead with aching reverence. He’d run his fingers through your hair and twist it into messy braids. He’d hold you like he didn’t want morning to come.

In those moments, his actions let it slip — how much he felt, how much he feared. You just didn’t know what scared him more: loving you, or losing you.

You’d met him nearly six months ago at a small café near your apartment. He’d helped you pick up scattered papers when you’d accidentally knocked them off the table in a caffeine-deprived haze. It had started innocently enough — a shared laugh, a tentative friendship. But within a few weeks, that friendship blurred into late-night calls, lingering touches, and a relationship that was carefully unlabeled.

Spencer had made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, setting boundaries that had seemed reasonable at first, even though you’d felt something deeper brewing from the very start. You’d told yourself it was enough, that you could handle being close to him without truly having him.

But every time his eyes softened when he looked at you, every time his fingers brushed your arm with tenderness, your heart betrayed you, yearning for things he’d never promised.

Spencer was across the room now, standing near his bookshelf. His fingers traced the spine of an old, familiar volume — The Narrative of John Smith.

The copy with Maeve’s inscription inside.

He’d mentioned her once, in vague terms, during a late-night conversation that had turned unexpectedly quiet. You’d pieced the rest together on your own — through the way he hesitated around certain topics, the book on his shelf, the sorrow that clung to him when he thought no one was watching, the obituary you found online. Maeve was the elephant in the room — a quiet ghost he never spoke about, yet whose haunting presence seemed to shape everything he did.

You cleared your throat, the soft sound carrying across his living room. Spencer turned, startled, hand dropping from the shelf as though caught doing something forbidden.

“Hey,” he said softly, forcing a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you want some more tea?”

He’d already made your favorite — earl grey with a splash of vanilla. He always remembered exactly how you liked it, and each cup felt like proof that he cared, even if he’d never let himself admit it.

“I’m okay,” you said, setting your book aside. Spencer’s gaze followed your movements carefully, almost cautiously. You felt the distance between you more keenly than ever.

He crossed the room, sitting beside you, careful not to touch. But then he sighed softly, leaning in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours. Fleeting warmth. You remembered a night weeks ago, laughing softly as you lay tangled in sheets, how he’d pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingertips tracing idle patterns on your back as if mapping something precious. It had felt like more. So much more.

But there was one moment that never left you.

A month ago, you’d had a nightmare — vivid and shaking and breathless. You hadn’t meant to wake him, but the panic clawing at your chest had been too much to hide. Spencer had, without a word, pulled you into his arms. He’d cradled you like you were breakable, like you mattered, whispering things into your hair you pretended not to hear.

“You’re okay.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m here, baby.”

And then, softer:

“I can’t lose you too.”

You never asked him about it afterward, and he never brought it up. But you’d replayed those words every night since. Because for one fleeting moment, the fear and love in his voice wrapped around you like truth. Like maybe, deep down, he knew he wanted more.

You turned to him slightly, your knee brushing his. He looked at you then — really looked. There was something behind his eyes that made your breath catch: reverence, affection, maybe even longing. And then, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was soft. Thoughtful. The kind of kiss that asked nothing and gave everything. For a moment, you let yourself believe it meant something more. You felt your chest tighten as he pulled back, his gaze still on you.

But he didn’t look away. Even after the kiss ended, he kept watching you like he didn’t want the moment to leave. Like he couldn’t bear it if it did. His eyes flicked from your mouth to your eyes and back again, searching, waiting, almost afraid to speak. And for the briefest second, you could see it — everything he wasn’t saying. The ache. The need. The apology. The want.

You felt your pulse spike with something dangerous — hope.

He started to lean back in, and that’s when you asked.

“Spencer,” you said quietly, voice tight with a hesitation you’d held back for months. “What are we doing?”

He blinked, then gave a small, deflective smile. “I mean… we’re on the couch, drinking tea, kissing… hopefully about to have sex?”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even blink. You just looked at him, your gaze steady.

“No,” you said. “You know what I mean. What are we doing?”

His smile faded. His eyes lifted sharply to meet yours. There was a brief flicker of something raw that vanished almost instantly. He withdrew his hand, turning slightly away.

“You know what this is,” he said carefully, voice steady and calm. Too calm. “We agreed from the beginning—”

You cut him off, your heart hammering. “Yeah. We did. Trust me, I remember. No expectations. No feelings. Just… sex and comfort.”

He stayed silent, and you could see the tension creeping into his shoulders.

“But it stopped being just that months ago,” you said, your voice cracking. “Don’t pretend I’m the only one who felt that shift.”

He shook his head, quietly. “It hasn’t changed for me.”

You stared at him. “Bullshit. Then why did you start holding me after? Why do you kiss my forehead and call me baby? Why do you look at me like you—”

You stopped yourself, but the words were already there, hanging in the air between you.

“You don’t get to look at me like that and pretend this doesn’t matter,” you finished softly, the pain making your voice tremble. “You hold me like I’m precious and kiss me like you mean it and then act like I imagined the whole thing.”

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?” you pressed. “Because it feels pretty fucking simple to me.”

He closed his eyes briefly, drawing a measured breath. You saw it then — the weight he carried, the fear he never admitted.

“Is this about her?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer froze, eyes opening to stare blankly at the floor. The silence stretched painfully, each second deepening your ache.

You thought back to the time when the lines first started to blur when he’d brought you out onto his balcony late at night, sharing constellations through a telescope. You remembered how his fingers had wrapped around yours as he pointed out each star, his voice low and reverent, and how he’d paused, just once, to say your name like it was a lifeline. It had taken everything in you not to tell him you loved him then.

“Spencer,” you said again, gently but firmly. “Is this about Maeve?”

His shoulders slumped, and when he finally spoke, it was almost inaudible. “It’s always been about her.”

It wasn’t anger in his voice, or bitterness — just unbearable sadness. A sadness that had built walls around him, brick by brick, until even you couldn’t break through.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tears that suddenly blurred your vision. “I’m sorry you lost her. I really, really am. But Spencer, you think you’re protecting me by keeping me at a distance, when really, all it’s doing is hurting me more.”

He didn’t look at you. His voice was quiet, shaking slightly.

“Everyone I care about gets hurt. Or leaves. I can’t—” He broke off, shaking his head.

You waited, your chest tight, watching the way he folded into himself like he was trying to disappear.

“Spencer,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his cheek gently, turning him toward you. His eyes were glassy, haunted. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

“You say that now,” he whispered. “But something always happens. It’s not safe. Loving me — it’s never safe.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you said. “And pushing me away doesn’t make either of us hurt any less.”

He looked at you then, deep and lingering. There was a look of desperation in his eyes, like he was trying to memorize you in case this was the last time. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“Every time I get close to something good, I lose it. Or it breaks. Or it gets taken from me. And I don’t know how to stop believing that it’s me. That I’m the reason.”

You blinked against the sting in your eyes. “You’re not.”

“I don’t know how to be sure of that,” he said. “Not anymore.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already moving. Gently. Deliberately. Putting space between you like he always did.

You remembered other nights, quiet moments after intimacy, when he’d stared at you just like this — like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Now he rose from the couch, gaze lingering on you once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You rose too, heart heavy but no longer quiet.

“Why do you even keep doing this?” you asked, voice sharper now, raw with frustration. “Why do you keep calling me and wanting me here if you don’t actually want me?”

He flinched, just slightly. “Wanting you isn’t the problem.”

“You don’t get to keep me this close just to push me away whenever it scares you,” you said. “That’s not protecting me, Spencer. That’s control.”

His expression hardened. “Control? You think that’s what this is?”

“I think you don’t know what to do with something good when it’s handed to you,” you said, breath shaking. “You wrap it in fear masquerading as bubble wrap and then act like you’re doing everyone a favor by holding it at arm’s length. And you’re keeping me in your back pocket, expecting me to come over and hold you and fuck you anytime you call, all while refusing to actually let this be what it really is.”

Spencer stood frozen, breathing hard. His jaw clenched like he was swallowing everything he really wanted to say.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said finally.

“You’re right,” you replied, quieter now. “I don’t. Because you won’t let me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was worse — it was hollow, bottomless, the kind of silence you didn’t come back from.

You grabbed your coat and your keys, your heart splintering a little more with every step. He didn’t move. Didn’t try to stop you.

At the door, you paused.

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

He opened his mouth like he might beg you to stay, but the words never came.

So you left.

As you stepped out into the hallway, the weight of it all caught up to you. You walked slowly, like your body already missed the feel of his, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your chest ached with the echo of things he wouldn’t say. You thought about the way he kissed your forehead, the way his hands memorized your skin like a map. You had wanted so badly to believe those touches meant something. But even if they did, none of it mattered if he couldn’t say it out loud.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

—

The next three nights found you curled on your own couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying — and failing — to read. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Spencer, to the sadness in his voice, to the quiet way he’d looked at you like he wished things could be different.

Your phone buzzed beside you on the cushion, jolting you from your thoughts. Your heart leapt into your throat as you stared at the unopened message hovering there, bright and hopeful and terrifying all at once. Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertain.

You took a deep breath.

And then you made a choice.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

[milla-frenchy]

Damn, I'm speechless. Angst and bitterness are flirting with such hot moments, all wonderfully written 🤌👌

I loved every word of it. The way you express their feelings is so raw and vivid. I loved reading about their shared past. And this moment between them, wowwwww

Thank you so much for writing a fic with these prompts, it's perfect ❤️❤️❤️

Beautiful mood board, as always. I just love your aesthetic 😍😍

“You wanted to see me?” “Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him. He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp. You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

wow. I can only imagine how she feels 🥺🥺

“Do you want another drink?” You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly. “Be right back.” You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard. “Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.” “Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser. His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

The beauty and the cruelty of it all. After spending years with someone, wow!

Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high. “He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be. You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.” Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

This is so, so good

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear. “It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders. You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.” “And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.” For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.” Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?” You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

This hurts. But I understand her, so much. She knew him. She ran towards him, and he broke her heart. I would have done the same.

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?” “Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

Damn the angst is chef's kiss 👌🤌

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.” You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.” Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.” “Like what?” “So confident.” Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood. Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.” Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?” “Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips. You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

Ughhhhhhh they're playing with fire and I'm SO here for it 😍😍😍

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?” The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

OH MY GOD HOLY FUCK 🥵🥵🥵

And then, the smut. Oh wow. Criminally hot 🫠🫠🫠 I'm so in love with this man, damn...

The ending... I saw it coming, ofc. But still 💔💔💔

Such an amazing fic!! Thank you so much for sharing ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You've been estranged from your husband for years. When you finally track him down to make him sign the divorce papers, you get what you want and what you need - but it comes at a price.

Warnings: divorce | angst | alcohol consumption | masturbation (f) | fingering (f) | pussy pronouns | multiple orgasms | oral (f receiving) | (protected) p in v sex | some butt stuff 🤭 (but in a blink and you'll miss it kind of way) | to no one’s surprise there’s some stuff with hands and fingers too

Notes: Do you guys remember my 10k follower celebration I started about a year ago? I'm still working on all your prompts, I promise!! This one goes out to @milla-frenchy who requested "My tongue still remembers the way you taste.", "I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.", and "Don't make me jealous." with Javi P, so naturally I had to make this about estranged married people who have a lot of history. This is set during S3E6 ('Best Laid Plans') btw because I couldn't stop thinking about Curaçao (the pink shirt doesn't make an appearance though 😔). As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who not only came up with the divorce plot but also with the ending, and yet she still said this fic is one of her favorite things I've ever written like 🤯 and the truth is, I really really like it too 🤭

The heat is oppressive, even during the evenings and nights when the sun is taking a break. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, not even after the three years you now have been living on Curaçao. Your dress sticks to your back and your whole body sticks to the leather chair you’re sitting in, while your palms are slick with sweat. That, at least, you can’t blame on the heat.

You take a sip from your strong cocktail and resume your vigilant watch of the hotel lobby that you can make out perfectly through an open doorway. Despite the late hour, people are still checking in – old men with young women on their arms, families with children sleeping in strollers or in their mothers’ arms; young couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, even when the receptionist looks like she’s about to despair at the line forming behind them.

You were like them once, you and Javi. Not that you would have been able to afford a place like this for your honeymoon. But you remember the feeling of being newly-weds, the way you couldn’t let each other out of sight, how it felt like you were the only two people in the world, and nothing else mattered. You despise them, all the young people who arrive. You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Wake up, it’s all a lie, leave right now and save yourselves the heartbreak. You don’t do it, of course. Instead, you take another sip of your cocktail, the cool glass moist with perspiration, and straighten the envelope that is lying on the table in front of you.

A man approaches you, asking if you need company. You touch your neck self-consciously, wishing there was a way to soothe your burning nerves. “I’m waiting for someone, I’m sorry,” you tell him with a sweet smile. You truly are sorry; any other night, you would have said yes, despite the cruel streak around his mouth. Loneliness doesn’t ask questions.

The man accepts your rejection with a shrug, but his eyes linger on you, even when he has retreated to the bar to order himself another beer. For the first time in an hour, you turn your attention away from that familiar doorway and watch as his thick fingers grab the bottleneck tightly. Heat rises into your cheeks and you shift in your chair, tired and frustrated and sore.

“Hi.”

Your head snaps back toward the doorway, but he’s already standing right in front of you. You knew this moment was coming, had two whole days to prepare for it, yet the sight of him makes you lose what little composure you had left as you sharply suck in air, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Javi goes on when you don’t acknowledge his greeting. “I – give me a minute.”

He too moves away toward the bar, then leans on it right next to the man and his already empty beer bottle. You use the moment to gain back some control, straighten your back, calm your nerves with another sip that turns into a gulp. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, his sudden appearance wasn’t supposed to rattle you so. But it’s been so long since you were in the same room together, so long since the thought of him didn’t feel like a knife being plunged into your heart, that you have completely forgotten how to be around him without it feeling like you’re dying.

He lets himself fall into the chair opposite yours, groaning with relief as he sinks into it. In his hand, he holds a glass of whiskey, neat, and in his expression he holds nothing but exhaustion.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him.

He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp.

You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

“It’s about these.” You pick up the envelope and open it. Your hands are steady after having practiced this moment over and over again. Now you’re supposed to say, “It’s only three signatures,” but he’s already holding out his hand, waiting for you to give him the papers.

It’s with a creased brow that he looks at them, eyes skimming from the header (“Divorce Agreement”) all the way down to the bottom where he has to place his first signature. You feel compelled to justify it, even after years of living apart and not being faithful to each other, but you hold your tongue. You owe him nothing, and he knows that.

Finally, he says, “And you’re sure about this?”

You laugh. “When was the last time we acted like husband and wife?”

“It’s not about that …,” he says slowly.

“I don’t care what this is about,” you snap, nerves frayed from the heat and the tension of the evening. “I’m not leaving until you sign these.” You rummage around in your bag, pull out a heavy, silver fountain pen, and hold it out to him.

He accepts it but doesn’t make any move to use it. “Beatriz tells me you live here now.”

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest. “I do,” you confirm.

“Do you like it?” Immediately after he’s said it, he pulls a grimace.

“You were never good at small talk.” There’s no malice in your voice, but you speak those words so softly you’re not sure he catches them. “No, I don’t,” you answer honestly. “I hate the heat and the tourists. But the money is good.”

He nods as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Then he places the pen and the papers on the low table between you. “Do you want another drink?”

You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly.

“Be right back.”

You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard.

“Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.”

“Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser.

His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

You know there is some truth in that, or at least you want there to be. Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high.

“He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be.

You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear.

“It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders.

You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.”

For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.”

Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?”

You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

Javi just sips on his whiskey, waiting for you to answer his question.

“I’m okay,” you say after brief consideration. “I got a promotion at work. And I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And how are you really?” Javi presses.

The smile vanishes from your face. “Lonely.”

He nods at the papers. “And you think that’ll change when I sign these?”

“The closure won’t hurt.”

“Neither will staying married if there isn’t anyone in the picture.”

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

“You’ll have to let me go eventually.” Your voice trembles slightly. “You can’t have your cake –”

“I know,” he interrupts you sharply. “But this,” a wave of his hand to encompass the two of you locked in your stand-off, “it reminds me of how good we were together.”

“We were,” you agree, “and I’d rather remember us that way than as the couple who dragged things out until they hated each other.”

“I could never hate you.” He says it quickly, and he doesn’t quite look at you.

You can’t make him that same promise in return. Right after he left, there was a time … hate might be too cruel of a word to describe what you felt then, but you cursed him every day for choosing his job over the perfect thing you two had. You would’ve gone anywhere in the world with him, just not straight to hell where all you could have done was sit at home and wait for that cautious knock at the door preceding the news that he had been killed. And he went anyway. You still can’t quite bring yourself to forgive him for that.

“You made your choice when you took that plane to Colombia.”

He looks at you, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, pupils blown wide by the darkness of the bar and the alcohol in his blood. “Come up to my room. Just for a little while. Just to talk.”

You shake your head. “Why do you think I asked you to meet here instead of at my apartment?” He shakes his head too, acting as if he has no idea how to answer that question. “Please, just sign the papers.”

“Why did you want to meet here?”

This man sitting opposite you used to be your husband. Legally speaking, he still is. And even though you haven’t seen him in years, you still feel that same old pull tugging you toward him. “I’m not setting foot in a room with a bed. And I don’t think I need to explain why.”

He laughs, something he so seldomly does. “We don’t need a bed for that.”

It’s loud now in the bar, and the ice in your cocktail has melted. What was supposed to be a quick meeting has eaten away your entire evening. You blink fast, and let your gaze wander across the bar. The man who approached you is gone.

“Come up to my room with me,” Javi tries again. “Just for one drink. Then I’ll sign your papers.”

He’s an asshole, and you have every reason to hate him, set your lawyer on him, but he knows you won’t do that. You know it too.

“One drink,” you say emphatically. “That’s it. And then I’m gone.”

He nods, his face serious. But there is a sparkle in his eyes as he stands, victorious. He straightens the papers and picks them up, hands you back your pen. You take it and stand too, straightening your dress.

“I should warn you though,” Javi says as he offers you his arm, “there’s a bed in my room.”

You shake your head, your shoulders tight with determination. No matter how charming he is, no matter how much he tries, you won’t let him in. It’s just one drink, and then you can finally put this marriage behind you.

Javi leads you to a large elevator that opens just as you approach it. An old couple steps out; he’s walking a few paces in front of her, not checking if she can keep up, while she hobbles after him, braced on a cane. At least you didn’t stay married to Javi long enough he started to resent you, you think as he crowds you into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.

He's standing too close to you – you can feel his hot skin right next to your own naked arm, making your heart do a little dance in your chest. It’s funny how the body remembers, and how much it craves things that are decidedly a bad idea. Javi shifts, and moves closer still, his eyes firmly fixed on the closed elevator doors. You’re alone, there’s no need for him to put on this little show, but it still feels like you’re being claimed.

Javi’s room feels small compared to the grand entrance hall and the broad hallways of the hotel. He opens the door and lets you in first, but he doesn’t turn on the ceiling light once you’re alone with him. Instead, he walks over to a desk in front of the window and switches on a small lamp.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the bed, neatly made by the hotel staff.

You think about pushing past him to sit in the upholstered chair that comes with the desk, but he lets himself sink into it, crossing one leg over the other. The bed it is, then.

While you try to find a comfortable position to sit in, one that lets Javi know you’re not here to play, he opens a small door in the desk, and the minibar hidden behind it. “Vodka or whiskey?” he asks.

“Vodka,” you answer without thinking about it.

He shoots you a surprised look but hands you a small bottle without questioning your choice.

You unscrew the bottle, the seal breaking with a satisfying sound. “What do you want to talk about?”

Javi places his bottle of whiskey on the desk. “Nothing, really. I’m just not done being in your company.”

You laugh and take a sip. It tastes cheap. “Well, we should talk about something.”

“Or we could just enjoy each other’s company.”

“You were never good at that,” you remind him. “Always answering calls, always jumping when your pager went off. There were times I thought you’d do anything just so you wouldn’t have to be in my company.”

“I did make it feel like that, didn’t I?”

You’re caught off-guard by this rare moment of reflection. “I’m enjoying this, you know. I don’t think we ever spent this much time together when we were married.”

“We still are,” Javi reminds you.

You take another sip of your tiny bottle. There isn’t much left now.

“Ah,” Javi makes, “but I haven’t even opened mine yet.”

It shouldn’t catch you by surprise, the way he reads you so well. “You keep changing the rules of the arrangement.” An hour ago, you would have crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. Now it’s a soft smile that accompanies your words.

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.”

You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.”

Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“So confident.”

Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood.

Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.”

Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?”

“Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips.

You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

He shakes his head, lowers his eyes to the floor. The light from the single lamp casts soft shadows across his face. Maybe you overstepped a line you didn’t know was there. Or maybe you should push him just a little bit further.

“Tell me, Javi,” you repeat.

He remains seated in his chair, the perfect image of composure, wound tighter than a coil. “I liked watching you,” he answers finally, eyes still downcast, “when you knew I wanted you.”

You stop breathing as the memories wash over you. You, wearing that pretty red dress, Javi’s pupils blown wide when he sees you. You, lying on the bed, naked, Javi standing at its foot, tearing off the well-pressed shirt he was in the middle of buttoning up. That one night you danced for him in that shabby motel room, your hips stiff, your arms always awkwardly in the way, but when he palmed himself through those tight jeans all the shame and embarrassment evaporated. You miss them, all those little moments. And you miss how Javi made you feel beautiful, worthy, desired. You miss that most of all.

You try to play it all off by taking that final sip of your bottle. “Yeah,” you agree, “I liked being wanted by you.” Your voice is steady. Right?

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?”

The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

Javi nods, as if you’ve just come to an understanding about who is going to pay for dinner. He reaches for his bottle of whiskey, opens it, empties it with one big drag. You watch his throat work as he swallows, think you see the flutter of a nervous heartbeat at the base of it. He runs his tongue over his lips, chasing the taste, before giving you the smallest of nods.

You kick off your sandals slowly, your heart thundering in your chest. The wooden floor of the hotel room is pleasantly cool beneath your feet when you place them there, chasing something solid. Because you feel like you’re floating, high on the way Javi’s arms flex as he balls his hands into tight fists. The air is so thick now you can barely breathe.

Your dress is long, a light cotton blend, and it feels soft between your fingers as you bunch up the fabric and pull it up toward your hips. Javi’s eyes shoot to your legs as more and more skin is exposed – calves, knees, thighs. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he clears his throat almost bashfully as a light giggle escapes you. Both these things do nothing to ease the tension.

You manage to take off your panties without the dress falling down your legs, and Javi’s eyes shoot to where you drop them to the floor. He licks his lips again, a sight to which your body responds with a throbbing sensation at the base of your spine. It’s impossible to stop your hand from shaking as you lightly touch your thigh; it’s impossible to deny how much it affects you when Javi shifts in his chair in eager anticipation either. You shift too, spreading your legs a little further, but leaving the fabric of your dress draped over your thighs as it is – there is no point in giving it all away at once.

You’re soaked. It catches you by surprise, more so than the familiar touch of your fingers, made unfamiliar by the way Javi is watching you, both fists pressed tightly against his thighs, as if he’s trying to control himself. Your mouth forms a surprised O, a gasp escaping from it, as the tip of your index finger brushes your clit and your hips jerk forward, desperate for more. Javi’s mouth falls open too, his chest heaves with deep pants, his eyes now glued to where your hand vanishes beneath the hem of your dress. You push yourself into your touch, your fingers drawing tight little circles over that swollen bundle of nerves, while you clench around nothing, desperate to be filled.

You didn’t expect your body would remember so well.

“I’m so wet,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.

Javi groans in response and shifts in his chair, but his fists remain firmly planted against his thighs. That won’t do. You spread your legs even further and lean back on one elbow while moving your hand lower. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers, and it brings a smile to your face, one that makes Javi bite down on his bottom lip. Hard. Normally, you like to work yourself up to accommodate a bigger stretch, but tonight, two fingers glide into you with ease, and you moan at the sensation, nothing bashful about the way you throw back your head. You pump them out, then back in, once, twice, before you add a third finger, burying them three knuckles deep. Your entire body is shaking with arousal.

Your eyes land back on Javi, whose chest is heaving. “Guess how many fingers I have inside of me,” you challenge, your voice unsteady. You pull them out slowly, teasingly, the sensation making your head spin.

“Shit,” Javi groans, and now you notice the bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. “Shit. I don’t know – two?”

“Three,” you correct him with a self-assured smile.

He breaks. One fist uncurls, and he palms himself, his hips jerking up into his touch. “Let me see her,” he rasps.

You’re not sure if you heard him correctly, but then he repeats the words with sharp command in his voice, that tone making you clench around your fingers. You fall back against the mattress and pull up your dress until it’s bunched against your stomach, leaving the bottom half of your body exposed. Javi’s chair creaks as if it’s about to break, but when you look at him, he has stopped touching himself. He has stopped breathing too as he takes in the sight before him, eyes impossibly dark.

You press the fingers of your free hand against your clit, and your hips jerk upwards, a movement that Javi’s hips mirror. What you can see of his chest is flushed in a deep, dark red, and the sight spurs you on. There is nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re pumping your fingers into yourself now, nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re rubbing your clit. Javi ruts his hips in desperate little circles, but you’re not sure he’s aware of it at all, too busy drinking in the sight of you sprawled on the bed, too far gone to care about what you’re doing. Everything tightens, and suddenly your toes are pressing down against the hard floor as you push your hips up into your hand, shoving your fingers impossibly deep. Your cunt clenches around them eagerly as you come with a deep, drawn-out moan of “Yesyesyes!”, eyes closed now, completely lost in the sensation of one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.

When you open your eyes, Javi is kneeling in front of you, unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. Everything still feels soft and hazy, so you don’t protest as he gently takes your wrist and pulls out your fingers. “She’s just as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers, his breath tickling your thigh.

You try to push your dress down to cover yourself, but he only tightens his hold on your wrist. “No, no, no.” He’s determined, the pleading from earlier having long since disappeared from his voice. “Can I taste you?” he asks.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want him to, but because this is so much more than that single drink you agreed to. You should tell him no, make him finally sign those papers and leave this godforsaken room that now smells of sex. But your body is still thrumming with arousal, and the way he’s kneeling between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you, makes it impossible to refuse him anything.

You nod.

You expect him to approach this cautiously, but he delves in like a man starved. You hiss from the overstimulation, but he strokes your thigh soothingly, and you let him lick a broad stripe from your opening all the way up to your clit. Both your moans, and the sounds of his wet tongue against your wet cunt – it’s lewd. It turns you on so much the way you clench around nothing is actually painful.

Javi pulls away, teases your folds with a curious, probing finger. His dark mustache glistens in the dim light as he looks up at you. “My tongue still remembers the way you taste,” he admits, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder, his biceps flexing with the movement. “Especially with your cum all over you.”

“God, Javi,” you groan and, unable to keep looking at him, you let yourself fall back into the mattress.

He kisses your clit, licks it, sucks it in between his lips. You squirm, but he holds you down tightly with both hands, making it clear who’s in charge. You inhale deeply, but there is no way you can hold on for much longer. When he moves lower, licks at the wetness he finds there, has the audacity to moan as if he’s tasting heaven, you break.

“Please, fuck me, Javi,” you groan, arm slung across your eyes so you don’t have to look at him.

He chuckles, and you can feel the sound vibrate all the way into your core. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fuck me?” he asks before rolling his tongue over your clit.

It presses all the air from your lungs. You raise your hips so your clit bumps against his nose. “You’re very confident for a man who just got hard from watching his ex-wife touch herself.”

With a growl, he lets go of you and your eyes fly open, worried you offended him. Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of him unbuckling his belt with shaking fingers before throwing his wallet down on the bed next to you. You think you hear him murmur, “You’re still my wife,” as he pushes down his jeans, but you could be mistaken because you’re busy pulling your dress over your head. Then you’re both naked, the air between you crackling with unspoken challenges.

Javi grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom. “Turn around,” he growls, before tearing the wrapper open with his teeth.

You’re too transfixed by the way he’s rolling it onto his thick length, hanging heavy between his thighs.

“Turn around,” he repeats sharply.

You snap to attention and do as you’re told. Lying flat on your stomach, breathing in the smell of the hotel’s detergent, you await the inevitable. The mattress beneath you dips as Javi climbs onto the bed behind you, pulling your hips up toward him. Then there’s a finger inside of you, and you flutter around it, eager for more. It’s replaced not by his cock but by his tongue, and you grab the duvet, pushing back with a loud moan. He curls it inside of you while spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and before long, you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Javi,” you warn.

He pulls out and runs his tongue upward to where he’s spreading you open. With a strangled moan, you press your face into the duvet and push against him, chasing the crest of the wave that’s building inside of you. But instead of giving you the release you so desperately crave, he pulls away.

“No man’s fucking you like me.” It isn’t territorial possessiveness. It’s not even a question. It’s just a simple statement.

He pushes down your hips, the force of being pressed into the mattress knocking the wind out of you. One hand he braces right next to your head, the other he uses to guide himself into you, spreading you open so much wider than your three fingers ever could. Then both his arms are caging you in, and the weight of his chest against your back holds you right in place where he wants you.

It's a deep groan and the way his hips stutter that pull you back from the edge. You kiss his hand, then his arm, eyes half closed as your body adjusts to him.

“No other pussy feels as good as yours,” he mumbles into the sudden quietness.

That confession hits you like a bullet right to the heart. “You need to forget about me.”

He swears, but you don’t quite catch the word. “I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.”

You wish it were true. You need it to be true, actually. Because when Javi starts moving, you know you’ll never want another man in your life. He has ruined everyone else for you. And it doesn’t matter where he wants to live or what kind of criminals he wants to chase down – you’re prepared to follow him wherever he might go.

“Shhh,” he makes, and strokes your hair. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

You clear your throat and lift your hips slightly, his cock sliding in impossibly deeper. He grunts at the sensation.

“Wait,” he says, then pulls out and flips you over with ease.

It’s exactly like it was on your wedding night, when he fucked you just like this, telling you to keep your eyes on him. Now your eyes widen at the memory as he pushes back into you, chest pressed against hot chest. Then two of his fingers are resting against your lips and before he even tries to pry them open, your jaw goes slack. He pushes them inside and your eyes flutter close in utter bliss.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “I remember how much you like sucking on these while I fuck you.”

He starts to pump into you, as both your hands close around his wrist to keep his hand in place. His fingers lightly press against your tongue, rich with the salty taste of sweat and arousal, and you massage them, sloppy, wet, eager moans vibrating in your throat.

He’s fucking into you now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing through the air around you. You’re dimly aware of slinging your legs around his hips to pull more of him into you, and of him kissing your neck, but you’re so fucked out of your mind you might be imagining these things. When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your eyes fly open in protest only to see him gaze at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.

His tongue finds his way in between your parted lips, and then you’re returning the kiss, chasing the sensation of coming home. He must feel it too because his hips are moving faster, and the entire bed is shaking beneath you. You moan, sounds that start low in your throat and come out high and breathless. They make him shudder against you.

Javi breaks the kiss first. “I want you to come for me.”

You nod eagerly and push a hand between your bodies, brushing against his stomach. God, there is so much of him waiting to be rediscovered.

As soon as your fingers find your clit, you give him a clipped, “Javi,” as a warning. It feels like you’ve been right there on the edge for hours, and now that you’re about to break, you’re no longer in control of anything. He bites down on his lip in concentration and then in bliss as you wrap your free hand around his biceps and dig your nails into his skin.

He stills, and groans, and gives you another three desperate thrusts, pulling you over the edge with him. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, makes you cry out with the force of it, and he leans down to reclaim your mouth while he empties himself, engulfed by your hungrily clenching cunt.

*******

Soft morning light tickles you awake. You stretch your aching muscles, then breathe in deeply. The scent surrounding you is unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same. Then you remember.

Javi!

Your eyes fly open. He’s not lying in bed next to you or getting dressed, and you also don’t hear the shower running in the bathroom. Maybe he went out to get breakfast. Maybe he got called into work. All you know is that you were so tired you didn’t hear him leave.

You sit up and roll your stiff shoulders. Sometime during the night, Javi must have draped the blanket over you. The blanket that still smells of sex. Your face heats up.

The empty whiskey bottle is standing on the small desk, right where Javi left it. If he went out to get breakfast, you should clean the desk so you’ll have a place to eat. If he got called into work, you should still tidy up – you don’t want the hotel staff to gossip about him.

As you approach the desk, you notice the divorce papers spread out on top of it. It seems silly how you came here last night in an attempt to make him sign them. You make to push them into a pile when you spot it – a neat signature on a line right next to yours. “No,” you whisper, but there’s the second one, and the third.

Right there on the line where it says “husband”, his signature flashes up at you: Javier Peña.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[juliettejwnewinesa]

HELLOOOO I HAVE AN ANGSTY REQUEST IF YOU'RE UP FOR ITTT

can you do like a scenario where the weak hero class boys take it too far in an argument?? pls i need angst and your stories are literally the bomb.com 🤗🤗

IF SO THEN THANK YOU SO MUCHHH I LOVE UR WRITING SM !!

🩶 Yeon Si-eun

He’s never been good with emotions. You knew that. But when you try to talk to him—really talk to him—about how distant he’s been lately, he snaps.

“If you need constant attention, then go find someone else. I don’t have time to babysit your feelings.”

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even flinch. That cold look in his eyes is worse than shouting. You stand frozen, blinking through the silence that follows. He doesn’t apologize. He just walks away. You don’t cry until he’s gone. And he doesn’t come back until the next day, standing outside your door with the same blank expression—but his hands won’t stop shaking.

🔥 Ahn Suho

You catch him after another brutal fight. He’s bruised, bleeding, and refuses to let you clean him up. You’re angry—furious—at how recklessly he throws himself into danger, and he finally explodes.

“Why do you even care? This isn’t your fight. You’re just someone I sleep next to, not someone I need.”

He doesn’t mean it. God, he doesn’t mean it. But your face crumples like he just slapped you. You step back, whispering, “Is that really all I am to you?” And he doesn’t answer. Because he’s scared of what the truth sounds like out loud.

💔 Beak Jin

You try to stop him from going after someone. You grab his wrist, beg him to think. But all he sees is red—and when you get in the way, he yells without thinking.

“You think you can control me? You’re just scared. You want me weak like you.”

You freeze. He realizes the words he’s just said—but it’s too late. You let go of his wrist like it’s burned you and turn your back before he can explain. He doesn’t chase you. For the first time, he’s too ashamed.

🧨 Go Hyun-tak

He's loud. He's explosive. But he's never hurt you. Until tonight.

You bring up something from the past—something he never wanted to talk about—and he lashes out.

“You always do this. You poke at old shit just to make me feel small. Is that what makes you feel better?”

You’re stunned, because all you wanted was honesty. Vulnerability. Instead, he made you the villain. He sees your expression fall and immediately softens, whispering, “Shit… Y/N, wait—” But the door shuts behind you before he can finish.

🕯️ Humin

He’s the most gentle. Always patient, always kind. Which is why it hurts more when he’s the one to cross the line.

The argument isn’t even big—it’s about him not telling you he got hurt. Again. But when you push too hard, he cracks.

“I don’t need you to fix me. I didn’t ask for your help. You just forced your way in.”

He regrets it instantly. You see it on his face. But you also feel your heart crack, because you wanted to be the person he could lean on. And now it just feels like you were never welcome to begin with.

[jkwrites-m]

Another Time (Epilogue)

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: soulmates, past life, thriller, smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: When Y/N and Jungkook begin sharing vivid dreams of each other, their connection feels too real to ignore. When tragedy from a past life begins bleeding into the present, they’re forced to unravel the mystery of love, betrayal, and fate.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, fluff, slight alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing. 

A/N: that’s it guys 😭😞 you will see them at least one more time but if you have any requests for them lmk! Thank you so much for reading 🫶🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

prev ♡

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The house still smelled faintly like paint and new wood.

Our first real place- not a rental, not a hand-me-down studio with leaky pipes and loud upstairs neighbors, but a home. One with a front porch and creaky floors and enough room for the life we were slowly building inside it.

Y/N called it ours from the first moment we stepped inside.

Now her shoes sat at the door. Her favorite mug waited in the sink. Her laugh had already soaked into the walls and that was enough to make it the most beautiful place I’d ever lived.

But tonight, the house was chaos.

The living room was cluttered with pizza boxes, empty soju bottles, and Taehyung’s loud-ass voice echoing from the TV.

“NO WAY,” he screamed. “NO WAY. I dodged that.”

“You absolutely didn’t,” Jimin muttered, tossing a chip into his mouth. “You walked straight into it.”

“It glitched. I swear to God, the screen lagged- Jungkook, back me up.”

I laughed and leaned forward from my spot on the floor. “Bro, I love you, but you got sniped so hard you turned into digital dust.”

“Fake friends,” Taehyung said, grabbing the soju bottle and dramatically pouring himself another shot. “Surrounded by traitors.”

Jimin and I clinked our bottles together.

“Cheers to that,” I said.

The game resumed, and the sounds of combat, explosions, and Taehyung’s over-the-top screaming filled the room. It felt good. Easy. Familiar in the way only years of friendship could make things.

And if you told me two years ago I’d be sitting here like this, laughing, drinking, playing games, with Jimin, of all people?

I would’ve laughed in your face.

But people change.

Sometimes for the worse. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes into someone entirely new.

And this version of Jimin?

He was good.

Kind. Quiet, but sharp. The kind of guy who showed up on moving day with an iced coffee for everyone and a playlist titled “Lift With Vibes.” He didn’t remember the life before, but maybe that was the point.

This life… was different.

This life was ours.

And as chaotic as this moment was, all I could think about was her.

Y/N.

Where she was right now- out with Nayeon, laughing over cocktails and dancing without shoes by midnight. Her cheeks flushed from too much sun earlier that afternoon, her eyes sparkling when she talked about getting matching kitchen towels like we were real adults.

I missed her.

Even after a year and a half of waking up beside her every single morning, I still missed her when she was gone. That ache never left.

And tonight, for the first time, it wasn’t just love blooming in my chest.

It was something more.

I took a deep breath, glanced at Taehyung and Jimin yelling at each other over who stole whose kill, and then I set my controller down.

“Hey,” I said.

They both looked up.

Jimin paused the game.

Taehyung blinked. “What’s up?”

I scratched the back of my neck and gave a small laugh. “I, uh… I’ve been thinking about something for a while.”

They both turned toward me fully now, sensing the shift in energy.

“Is it serious?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “It is.”

I reached into the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out the small black velvet box I’d been carrying around like a damn secret grenade for three weeks.

Taehyung’s eyes exploded.

“NO.”

I smiled.

“Yes.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped. “Wait- like, actual proposal?”

“Yeah,” I said, the word small but steady. “I want to ask Y/N to marry me.”

The room erupted.

Taehyung jumped to his feet. “YOU LEGEND. YOU ROMANTIC BASTARD.”

Jimin looked just as shocked but his smile was soft. “Wow. I mean… yeah. Yeah, of course you do.”

I held the ring box in my hands and popped it open.

Inside sat the ring I’d picked after months of second-guessing- a small, elegant solitaire oval diamond set on a simple gold band. No drama. No excess. Just… her. It felt like her.

“I’ve known I wanted to do this for a while,” I said. “It’s been two and a half years since I met her. Or… re-met her. But it feels like I’ve loved her for lifetimes.”

Taehyung dropped dramatically onto the couch beside me and pressed his hand to his chest. “I’m gonna cry. I hate you.”

“She saved me,” I continued, staring at the ring. “Not just from that past… but from myself. And I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jimin said with absolute certainty.

“I know,” I said, smiling a little. “But I want to make it special. I want it to feel like us. I just… don’t know how yet.”

Taehyung leaned forward. “Okay. Brainstorm time. Think- what have you guys done together that was meaningful?”

“We’ve done a lot,” I said. “Our whole relationship has been filled with second chances and slow days. We like quiet mornings. Thunderstorms. Long drives. But I don’t want to do something expected, you know?”

“Okay,” Jimin said, rubbing his chin. “How about somewhere symbolic?”

“Like where you had your first kiss,” Taehyung offered.

“Or,” Jimin added, “somewhere pretty? Like the beach at night. You know, under the stars. Keep it soft. Meaningful.”

I blinked.

That hit something in my chest.

The ocean.

The stars.

Something gentle.

“Past the horizon…”

She used to say that.

I looked at them, heart racing.

“That’s it.”

Taehyung perked up. “The beach?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, already seeing it. “There’s this little cove, not far from the city. We went there once, early on after knowing about the dreams, just the two of us. It was raining. We didn’t talk much. Just held each other and watched the waves crash. I remember thinking I could ask her to marry me right then and be happy.”

Jimin smiled. “Then that’s where you do it.”

“I’ll take her there,” I said, gripping the box tighter. “Right before sunset. I’ll pack a blanket and food and music. And when the stars come out…”

“You ask her,” Taehyung finished.

I nodded.

They both sat in silence for a second, smiling, knowing.

Jimin raised his soju bottle. “To forever.”

Taehyung followed. “To our boy Jungkook becoming husband material.”

I laughed and clinked my bottle to theirs.

“To the love of my life,” I said.

And I meant every single word.

═══════

My phone buzzed against the coffee table, lighting up with Y/N’s name and three pink heart emojis.

I glanced at Jimin, who was mid-rant about his new workout playlist.

“Hang on,” I said, grabbing the phone. “It’s her.”

He nodded, sipping his water.

I slid my thumb across the screen and brought it to my ear. “Hey, baby-”

“Jungkook,” Y/N slurred immediately, “I’m sooooo drunk.”

I blinked. “Oh… okay. Where are you?”

“At the bar,” she said, dragging out the word like it was made of syrup. “With Nayeon. She can’t walk.”

“Can you walk?”

“Debatable,” she muttered. “But I can yell. And I miss you. And I want you to come get me. Pleaaaase?”

I smiled and stood from the couch, already grabbing my keys.

“Send me the name of the bar.”

“I already did,” she said proudly, like it was a grand achievement.

Sure enough, a text pinged through: 

Y/N: Vemus Loumge. I lobe u. ❤️❤️

I chuckled. “I’m on my way.”

Jimin looked up. “Everything okay?”

“Y/N’s smashed. I’m going to pick her and Nayeon up.”

He stood, grabbing his hoodie. “I’ll come. Nayeon’s basically a wet noodle when she’s drunk.”

═══════

The ride to Venus Lounge took less than fifteen minutes. The moment we pulled up, I spotted Y/N and Nayeon outside, wobbling on the curb like two baby deer on ice.

Y/N saw me first and gasped, clutching Nayeon like they’d spotted a celebrity.

“LOOK,” she shouted. “MY BOYFRIEND IS HERE. He’s like, really hot.”

I stepped out of the car and waved. “Hey, babe.”

She ran- well, staggered toward me, arms flung wide.

“Jungkoooook,” she moaned, burying her face in my chest. “You smell like heaven and I missed your stupid face.”

I caught her easily, holding her steady. “Missed you too, drunkie.”

Behind her, Nayeon shouted, “I LIKE HIS FACE TOO.”

Jimin groaned and walked toward her. “Okay, let’s not yell in the street, beautiful.”

Nayeon blinked at him like he’d just descended from the heavens. “Are you a Greek god?”

“Only on weekends,” Jimin muttered, guiding her to the passenger seat.

Y/N wrapped herself around me like a koala as I walked her to the car.

“I love you sooooo much,” she whispered against my neck. “You’re my moon. And my sun. And my… abs.”

I snorted. “You’re a mess.”

“You like this mess.”

She wasn’t wrong.

═══════

By the time we got home, Nayeon was asleep on Jimin’s shoulder in the backseat.

Jimin carefully lifted her out. “I’ll take her back to mine”.

“Good luck,” I said, laughing.

I carried Y/N inside, nodding a goodnight before disappearing into the hallway.

Taehyung passed us in the hall on the way to his room, clutching a bowl of popcorn and mumbling something about a documentary on mushroom consciousness. I didn’t even question it.

Y/N clung to me like a vine as we reached the bedroom.

She kicked off her heels with an exaggerated sigh and threw herself onto the bed. “This bed,” she groaned, “is made of clouds.”

I helped her sit up. “Let’s get you changed.”

She grinned mischievously. “You wanna undress me, Jeon?”

I laughed. “Not like this, baby. You’re three sojus and two cosmos deep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just told Taehyung you invented clouds.”

“…I might have.”

I grabbed one of my old hoodies and helped her into it, guiding her arms through the sleeves while she giggled.

When she flopped backward into the pillows, I pulled the blanket over her and knelt by the side of the bed.

Her hand reached out for mine.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, blinking slowly.

“So are you,” I whispered.

“I wanna marry you,” she added. “Like, maybe not right now. But, like, soon. Like… a lot.”

I smiled, my heart cracking open all over again.

“I want that too.”

She blinked again, slower now.

Her hand tightened slightly around mine.

“Don’t ever leave,” she whispered.

“Never,” I said, brushing my lips across her forehead.

“I love you forever, Jungkook.”

“I love you forever too.”

Within seconds, she was asleep.

And I just watched her- her face soft and peaceful, her breathing slow and even, the way her fingers still clutched mine even in sleep.

I climbed into bed beside her, pulled her into my arms, and pressed my lips to her hair.

And with all the love I had inside me, I whispered into the quiet:

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

═══════

The morning sun was already pouring through the windows when I opened the curtains, casting gold across the hardwood floors. It was one of those days where the sky looked too blue to be real, no clouds, no haze, just the kind of May day that begged you to live inside it.

Y/N shuffled into the kitchen behind me, still in one of my oversized shirts, hair a little wild, sleep still clinging to her.

She yawned. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because it’s perfect out,” I said, pouring us both iced coffee. “And I want to take you somewhere.”

She squinted at me over the rim of her cup. “It’s barely 10 AM.”

“Exactly,” I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “We’ve got the whole day. Come on. Let’s make the most of it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re being suspicious.”

“I’m being romantic.”

“That’s what suspicious people say.”

I grinned. “Trust me, babe.”

She rolled her eyes but I saw the blush creep into her cheeks anyway.

═══════

The beach was quieter than usual, which made it even better.

We parked near the cliffside and walked the familiar winding trail down to the shore. I carried a tote bag full of snacks, towels, a speaker, and a small blanket. Y/N brought sunscreen and her camera — always her camera.

When we reached the sand, she stopped and looked out over the ocean.

It shimmered under the morning light, waves lapping gently against the shore, seabirds wheeling through the air. The salty breeze swept through her hair, and for a second, she didn’t move. She just stood there, breathing it in.

“I forgot how peaceful it is here,” she said softly.

“We came here early on, remember?” I said, stepping beside her. “Right after we found each other again.”

She nodded slowly. “It was raining. You held me the whole time.”

“I almost proposed that night,” I said before I could stop myself.

She looked at me, surprised. “You did?”

I shrugged. “I was scared. Not of you — just… of getting it wrong. Of doing it too soon.”

She reached for my hand. “You’ve never gotten anything wrong with me.”

I squeezed her fingers. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I did bring chips and SPF this time.”

She laughed. “Then you’ve definitely grown.”

═══════

We picked a quiet spot on the far side of the cove — near some rocks and a wind-bent pine tree — and laid out the blanket.

She stretched out on her stomach with her sunglasses on, flipping through her phone, while I set up music and cracked open a drink.

The sun felt good. Easy. Like it was blessing us.

I laid beside her and propped my head on my elbow. “You know,” I said, voice low, “if you keep laying there like that, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”

She turned her head toward me, amused. “We’re in public, Jungkook.”

“So? There’s no one around.”

“Except for the seagull watching us very judgmentally.”

I glanced over. “He’s just jealous of my view.”

She laughed again and turned her face toward the sun. “You are so dramatic.”

“I’m obsessed,” I said honestly. “With you.”

She rolled her eyes — but the pink on her cheeks gave her away.

I reached over and gently tugged on the string of her bikini top. “You know I still can’t believe you’re mine, right?”

She smirked. “You say that like I didn’t chase you in another life.”

“True. You always find me.”

“And I always will.”

My heart squeezed a little at that.

She didn’t even know how close those words were to what I was planning.

But today wasn’t for heavy emotions. Today was light.

I rolled onto my back and watched the sky with my arm behind my head. “I think we should move to the beach full time.”

Y/N snorted. “You’d last two weeks.”

“I’d last a month.”

“You’d miss your record player and your black wardrobe.”

I chuckled. “Fine. Beach adjacent, then.”

She turned her head toward me, smiling. “Compromise. That’s how I know you’re serious about me.”

I looked at her, sun-kissed and glowing, and said, “I’ve only ever been serious about you.”

She leaned over and kissed me, soft and warm.

═══════

The music played low in the background. The waves kept rolling. And the sun kept climbing, like the universe was holding the moment in place just for us.

The sun was starting its slow descent behind the sea.

Y/N and I had spent the whole afternoon stretched out on the blanket, fingers lazily tangled, our conversations drifting from silly to serious and back again. We napped. We laughed. We shared bites of slightly sandy fruit and drank too-warm lemonade.

And now, she rested with her head in my lap, humming along to the playlist I made just for us — soft acoustic, nothing fancy. The kind of songs that sounded like Sunday mornings and second chances.

I watched her eyelashes flutter as she closed her eyes again. The way the light kissed the curve of her cheekbone. The way her skin glowed, not from makeup, but from being loved. From being happy.

She didn’t know yet.

That there was a ring zipped inside my jacket pocket.

That my heart had been knocking against my ribs since we parked.

That every smile she gave me today brought me closer to the edge of a moment I’d dreamed about for lifetimes.

“Are you cold?” I asked, brushing her hair from her face.

“Nope.” Her voice was sleepy. “I could stay here forever.”

I smiled. “Good. That’s the plan.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she grinned. “That sounded suspiciously romantic.”

“Suspicious is my middle name.”

“I thought it was ‘muscle pig.’”

“…Touché.”

She laughed and shifted slightly to sit up, yawning as she looked toward the horizon.

Golden hour had officially arrived.

The sky blushed in pastels, oranges melting into pinks. The water reflected it all, every ripple catching fire with the light. The wind picked up just enough to carry her scent — sunscreen and the ocean and something so purely her I almost forgot how to breathe.

It was time.

But God — I was shaking.

My fingers kept brushing the edge of the ring box in my pocket like a secret I was too afraid to say out loud.

“Hey,” I said softly.

She turned toward me.

I reached into the tote and pulled out her camera.

“You forgot to take pictures today,” I said.

She blinked, then laughed. “Oh my God. I totally did.”

“I figured you’d want at least one.”

She took it, brushing sand from the strap. “How do I always forget when we’re together?”

“Because we’re too busy living.”

She smiled again, lifting the camera to her face, snapping a few quick photos of the sea.

Then — without warning — she turned it on me.

I flinched. “What are you doing?”

“Catching you in your natural habitat,” she said teasingly. “Brooding by the ocean.”

I tried to glare but ended up laughing instead.

“Okay, one of us,” she said, setting the timer.

She placed the camera on a rock nearby, then came to sit in front of me, straddling my legs, her arms looped around my shoulders.

“Smile,” she whispered.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

I just looked at her.

And I felt it — the weight of every life we’d touched, every time we lost and found each other again. The way the universe had broken us and rebuilt us just to lead us here.

“Jungkook?” she asked, her smile fading slightly.

I reached for her hands.

“I have to tell you something.”

Her brows furrowed, concerned.

I cleared my throat. My heart was pounding.

“I’ve had a lot of lifetimes with you,” I began. “But none of them felt as real as this one.”

Her lips parted, but she stayed quiet.

“I’ve known love. Deep love. Dream-love. Painful love. The kind that makes your chest ache for years. I’ve watched you die in front of me. I’ve begged the sky to bring you back. I’ve talked to ghosts, wandered through time, been reborn just to find you again.”

She was completely still now, her eyes wide.

“And every time, every version of us… you were it. You were the one thing I never stopped looking for.”

I took a shaky breath and reached into my pocket.

Her eyes followed the motion.

Her hands trembled in mine.

I held up the ring.

A small, perfect oval diamond — simple, just like her.

She gasped. Her whole body tensed.

“But this life?” I whispered. “This is the one I want to keep. This is the one I want to wake up in forever. With you. With your messy hair and your bad puns and your cold feet under the blankets.”

She let out a breathy laugh through her tears.

“I want every ordinary day with you. Grocery runs. Netflix. Burned pancakes. I want your worst days and your tired days and your scared days. Because I’ll take all of you, forever, if you’ll have me.”

Tears slid down her cheeks now. She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

So I asked — simply, honestly, everything in me exposed.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

She nodded faster now, her face crumbling into the softest smile I’d ever seen.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes. A million times yes.”

I slid the ring onto her finger, and she threw herself into my arms, kissing me over and over— our tears mingling, our breath catching, our hearts finally at rest.

And when she pulled back, grinning like the world had just handed her the moon, she said:

“I’ve been waiting lifetimes to hear you ask me that.”

I kissed her again.

And this time, we both smiled for the camera.

═══════

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MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/06/2025

[dollcait]

⠀♡ .. you dread the day war across kingdoms break out, imagining your beloved knight, caitlyn, caught in the middle of crossfires. the weight of responsibility lay on the crown of your head, piling up with distressing thoughts of potential harm harboring to your people and to the love of your life. you just needed to see her again.

𐔌♫ྀི princess!r x knight!cait. mentions of war & blood. feminine reader. angst ? ς꒰ ˊ˘ ˁ ⑅ ꒱ა | art cr: kurosvg1

you woke up in cold sweat, breaths heavy. the pale moonlight seeped through the sheer curtains of your room. the night seemed to drag on for longer, not going by any faster for anyone else left awake by the waning moon. the reoccurring nightmare never seemed to fade away, only adding to your long list of worries. the ache in your chest only seemed to worsen with the repetitive scene unfolding before your eyes each time you tried to sleep.

it's been weeks since you last saw your knight, training beside an army of other loyal wards of your kingdom, in anticipation of a war to come. she caught sight of you, peeking through the castle's large unglazed windows with a frown on your lips, hands clasped together on your front. she only registered you a nod before focusing back on the rough preparation, the sound of metal armors and sharp swords clanking, echoing in the morning's warm air.

your parents, ruler of your kingdom, never approved of your affair—claiming to throw you off your heir if they ever saw you near her again. heartbroken, you complied—but they never knew of the nights the two of you spent together afterwards, with your head resting on caitlyn's broad shoulder, standing on the balcony, a sense of tranquility lingering between you. no words needed to be exchanged to declare your love for the other.

after yet another restless night without her, you decided to get some fresh air, grabbing a warm coat as cover. with quiet tiptoes and a wary gaze, you successfully snuck past a line of sleeping guards slumped loosely against the wall, leaving the castle halls unsupervised.

finally reaching your destination—the rooftop where time seemed to pause—you exhale a breath of relief.

not until a surprise shook you to your core.

a metal armor-clad hand firmly gripped your waist, pulling you to the side. you put up a struggle, looking up only to realize it was your knight staring down at you with a hardened gaze, and perhaps a suppressed chuckle rumbling in her chest.

“sorry. i know this is abrupt." she mumbled lowly into your ear, her posh accent raspy. her eyes warily scanned the surroundings. caitlyn saw you just a week ago—but seven days was too long for the impatient woman. if anyone spotted your coupling, it'd surely be over for the both of you before war even started.

despite fear gnawing your heart with fear of the days ahead, you were the light that illuminated her soul, the only warmth she sought that tugged her heart. your love knew no bounds, and no restriction could ever break it.

“you nearly gave me a heart attack, you lunatic!" you whisper-shout, scolding her with a light swat on her arm, channeling your momentary surprise. the rangling of the steel in result of your hit might've gained a few guards' attention, but neither of you move. not an inch.

“ah," she laughed lightly, hands quickly finding a place to rest on your hip. caitlyn was quite comfortable around you—her fingers beginning to gently trace circles on the fabric of your nightslip as she kept you close to her. "i'm certain you're not truly angry with me." she teased, her breath hot and sweet against your skin. that's all it took with her to have you swooning.

though, her eyebrows furrowed together when she noticed the look on your face; worry clouding your expression, and your notable silence.

“..please tell me what's bothering you, princess. i would never wish to cause you distress." she muttered in worry, pulling you closer, if it was even humanly possible.

you kept quiet, a rush of thoughts reeling in your head. should you tell her your worries? the nightmares of seeing her bathed in blood and war-torn? the pressure set on you by your expectant parents? a sigh left your lips, feeling deeply defeated.

“i.. i couldn't stop thinking about you, caitlyn." you admit with flushed cheeks, of worry and embarrassment.

the knight seemed still for a second, caught off-guard. then, her expression softened. “..is this about us? i assure you, my love, no one suspects u—"

“no, caitlyn. it's the war i'm talking about. i can't bear to lose you. i'm terrified." you bluntly cut her words off, the distress evident in the tone of your voice as you spoke.

“i understand your fear, my love," caitlyn replied, her voice steady yet resolute. "the threats we are facing are real, and the dangers are great. but i promise you, i will do everything in my power to return to you safely." the knight added, thumb brushing against your hand's skin before she brought it to her lips, leaning in to kiss your knuckles.

“but the future is unforeseen." you added somberly.

"there's no guarantee in life, let alone in times of war. but your love fuels my strength—i shall come back to you whole." the knight's voice was filled with determination, an oath held in her blue eyes. "i will not fight just for us, but for our kingdom. please, have your faith in me."

the world seemed to pause, her slender hand cupping the side of your face. the look in her glistening blue eyes told you everything—her devotion will never falter. tears run down your cheeks as her lips crashed against yours, sealing the promise only known between the two of you.

a/n: just a little something before we move out tmr ! see you in a week angels🐇🪽 um this counts as hurt)comfort right.. i just realized after posting T_T

[littleslaywrites]

working it out | emily prentiss x jennifer jareau

nsfw, mdni

summary: the missing scene of how emily and jj “made up” in 18x05.

word count: 2.7k

cw: smut, slight angst at the beginning, fingering, oral sex, scissoring, heavy implication that jj and emily hooked up in paris, a few cme spoilers, short scenes from 18x05 needed for context are included for anyone who doesn't watch cme but still wants to read

“Emily and I are friends. We worked it out. And when we landed in Cleveland–”

“Wait. How did you two work it out?”

“It’s not important.” 

“It might be.”

“It really isn’t.”

In truth, JJ didn’t want to tell Dr. Ochoa for another reason. It was important. Maybe. She thinks it was important. It sure felt important. 

Anyway, she didn’t tell her because it was too much to get into. Dr. Ochoa may know about Voit, the most recent cases, and her husband dying. But there’s a lot she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about the twenty years of maybe something more than friendship, the glances that lingered a second too long, the brushes of each other’s hands that felt like a shock of electricity. 

And she sure doesn’t know about Paris. Nobody knows about Paris. Nobody but JJ and Emily.

But that’s not what this is about. Paris was a goodbye, a way to show Emily how much she’d miss her while she was away. But this? This was different. Not a goodbye, but a greeting of the person she could become. 

And they never talked about Paris when Emily got back. She had a feeling that they’d be talking about time one again. And again and again.

“JJ, come with me,” Emily said when JJ mentioned talking to the unsub that day. Furrowing her brow, she follows Emily into her office. She shuts the door behind her, leaving the two standing in the middle of the room.

“Absolutely not,” Emily says sternly.

“Emily, you can’t just–”

“I said no. You’re not ready, end of the story,” Emily says, and walks out of the office, leaving JJ to watch as she leaves. 

JJ almost calls out her name, but decides against it. Instead, she comes up with a plan. While the team talks in the conference room, JJ walks to the jet, closing herself in the small bathroom. She waits until she hears Emily’s voice to come out. 

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you,” JJ says, hiding her hands in the sleeve of her sweater. 

“Can you guys give us a second?”

The team gets off the jet, avoiding looking at the two women. JJ approaches Emily, hardly meeting her eyes.

“Okay, make your case,” Emily says with a small shake of her head. “Why are you coming?”

“Because I have to.”

“I need more than that.”

“Emily,” JJ says, in that charged way she saves for occasions like this, “you told me to prioritize myself, and that’s what I’m doing. I am prioritizing myself and I need to get back to work. Okay? I need it.”

Emily sighs, considering it for a second, before she relents, telling the team to get on the jet. The whole team, including JJ.

What JJ could do is tell Dr. Ochoa that the moment on the jet was their way of making up. But she knew Ochoa would say that it’s not an adequate way to make up. It would also be a lie.

Because the truth is that they didn’t make up until that night, when Emily knocked on the door of her hotel room. 

JJ was already in her pajamas, hair tied up from her earlier shower. It almost startled her to hear the two knocks, but the pattern was familiar, the same knock Emily always used to show it was her. She sighs, throwing the case file she’d been studying on the desk beside the bed. 

She opens the door, waiting for Emily to speak.

“May I come in?”

JJ nods, stepping to the side. She closes the door, crossing her arms as she waits for Emily to explain her visit. 

Clasping her hands in front of her, she sighs, meeting JJ’s gaze. “We have to talk about it.”

JJ purses her lips, looking down at her feet. “Look–”

“No, JJ, you have to think about yourself. This isn’t good for you.”

“And how would you know? You don’t understand how I feel, you could never–”

She freezes when Emily reaches out and grabs her arm.

They meet each other’s gaze, and there’s that feeling again, the same one that’s been chasing them for almost two decades now. JJ takes in a quick breath. If the room weren’t so silent, Emily wouldn’t have heard it. But she did.

Emily breaks the silence. “I know I can’t understand how you feel. But I want to.”

“You don’t want to, Emily. And I don’t want you to understand. Just let me do what I need to do.”

“Yes, I do,” Emily says firmly. “I’ve been your best friend for twenty years now. Can you just stop bottling it all up this one time?”

“Bottling it up?”

“Yes. You’re hiding from your feelings, just like you always do.”

“Oh, really? Like when?”

“I can think of a few times. Should we start with Paris?”

“Don’t, Emily.”

“I will, and I am. Because for twenty years now–”

“Stop,” JJ says, loud enough to actually make Emily listen. “Please, don’t do this right now.”

“Then when? Because you had an excuse for a while, but Will is gone, and you can’t keep running from this.”

“Don’t talk about him.” JJ pushes her hair back, pacing the room. “That’s not what this is about.”

“This is what it’s always been about. And you know that as well as I do.” 

JJ huffs, tilting her head to the side. She has nothing to say to that, because she knows Emily is right. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she says as she approaches Emily again, standing closer than before. 

“We’re talking about it. It has to happen.”

JJ looks right in her eyes. “No, Emily. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Oh.”

They stand frozen in place, waiting for the other to make the first first. JJ’s the one to step forward, and JJ’s hands instantly go to her face, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. 

In Paris, it was quick, the passion of a moment on their kisses. But this is slow, the passion of the last two decades all bursting at the seams. 

Time seems to stop for them, at least until Emily has to pull back to take a breath. She rests her head on JJ’s forehead, placing her hands on her lower back. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily says.

“What?”

“About how we’ve been treating you. How I’ve been treating you. I shouldn’t have told you what to do like that.”

JJ nods. 

“Can you forgive me?” 

“I can,” JJ says, “and I can think of one way that you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

JJ’s grin says it without words. Emily grins back, going back in for another kiss. 

With a giggle, JJ pulls her over to the bed by her belt. In that moment, she’s glad Emily is still wearing her work clothes for an easy way to get her on the mattress— even if she’s sure it’d be pretty easy even if she didn’t have a way to physically pull her over. They both fall on the bed facing each other, legs tangling as they deepen the kiss. 

JJ rolls over so she’s straddling Emily’s lap. She quickly makes work of unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off to reveal her bra. She greedily takes in the view, biting her bottom lip as her fingers trace the edge of her bra. 

She takes it off, reverently trailing her hands over Emily’s tits. It’s unusual to see Emily speechless, but all her words are gone as JJ trails her hands from her breasts to the waist of her pants, taking her belt off. 

She runs her thumb along the skin just above the waistband, inadvertently teasing Emily. 

“Are you just going to stare, or are you going to take them off?”

Her comment has a small laugh leaving JJ’s lips, but she doesn’t argue, simply sliding her pants and underwear down her legs.

Again, JJ takes the time to just look at her. She didn’t have time to just look in Paris, but now she does. She has all the time in the world. 

Emily sits up, taking JJ’s oversized shirt off. JJ lets her, but then pushes her back to the bed. “You first. I’ve waited long enough to have you.”

Emily smiles, letting JJ push her down. “Whatever you say.”

JJ trails kisses from her collarbone until she reaches her hip bone. She kneels on the edge of the bed, hooking one of Emily’s legs around her waist. 

Her index finger goes to Emily’s core, slowly gathering down the wetness that’s starting to pool. 

“Pretty,” JJ murmurs. 

Emily writhes beneath her touches. She knows JJ doesn’t mean to tease, but she can’t help but want more as JJ explores her body. 

“JJ, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, finally pushing two fingers into Emily. 

Emily’s jaw drops, producing a low moan. A small smile plays on JJ’s face when she hears the sound, thrusting her fingers deeper. 

She leans down, giving her clit a tentative lick. When Emily moans again, JJ takes that as encouragement to keep it up. 

She lays on her stomach between Emily’s legs, trying to balance the motion of her tongue and her fingers. 

She’ll get more practice, Emily thinks, hoping this isn’t a one time thing. And from JJ’s enthusiasm, she’s pretty sure it won’t be. 

As Emily starts to wriggle her hips, JJ starts to have a harder time finding the balance between her mouth and hands. She decides to just work with her fingers, figuring she’s done it on herself enough times to transfer her skills to the other woman. JJ pulls back, just using her hands so she can completely focus. She studies Emily’s face, memorizing the spots that have her moaning the loudest. 

Her fingers find the spongy spot inside Emily, and she curls them. 

“Right there,” Emily says, hips bucking. 

“Here?” JJ curls her fingers again.

The motion makes Emily cry out, wrapping her other leg around JJ’s hips. JJ lets out a breath, smiling as she feels the clenching around her fingers. 

“Gonna come,” Emily whispers out. Usually she lasts longer, but something about finally getting JJ between her legs has her already on the edge. 

“Then come,” JJ says, working her fingers slightly faster. 

As usual, Emily can’t resist her words, falling over the edge. 

JJ is nothing short of mesmerized, watching intently as Emily’s core flutters around her fingers. She doesn’t even realize it when Emily starts whimpering from the overstimulation of being filled, at least until Emily grips her wrist to stop her. 

JJ takes the hint, hands coming to either side of Emily’s shoulders as she leans down for a kiss. Emily’s hands take her hair out of the messy bun before finding a home around her waist. 

She pushes JJ up so she’s on her knees, hovering. Emily slides her pants down, then guides her to hover over her face. 

“Sit,” Emily commands.

“Are you sure? I—“ 

“JJ, I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

JJ laughs softly, eliciting a laugh from Emily. They both spend a few moments laughing, just savoring the moment, before Emily grips her hips, squeezing the soft flesh. 

JJ knows what she means, and sits down slowly, placing her hands over Emily’s. They lace their fingers together, JJ gripping her hands tighter when Emily’s mouth makes contact with her core. 

She lets out a small whimper, eyes rolling back. Emily’s tongue pushes into her, causing her to squeeze her thighs around Emily’s head. Emily can’t complain. Even if she suffocated, she’d die a happy woman. 

Emily only brings herself to unlace her fingers when JJ’s hips start to roll, grasping them to keep her in place. She can feel the muscles in JJ’s thighs flexing whenever her tongue brushes against her clit. She hums into JJ’s pussy, causing another whimper from the blonde. 

It’s clear to JJ that Emily’s had far more experience doing this than she does. Not that JJ minds, which is made obvious from the way her hand reaches to grip the hair of the girl beneath her. And she’s far from insecure about her inexperience. They’ve known each other too long to be shy around each other. Besides, she’s more than happy to volunteer for more lessons with Emily. 

After a few minutes of switching between circling her tongue around her clit and pressing it inside her heat, she hears JJ’s whimpers turn into moans. As her hips start to rock faster, more than her grip can stop, she knows she’s close. 

Her tongue works harder over her folds, coaxing her into her release. JJ grips the headboard, leaning forward as she comes. 

It’s a better view than Emily could’ve imagined even in her wildest dreams: JJ eyes are closed, mouth open as she cries out, leaning over Emily just so her breasts are right in her eye line. 

Emily moans into her, making JJ produce another whine. She rolls off of her, leaning back against the headboard. 

“You’re good at that,” JJ says through ragged breaths. 

Emily laughs softly, sitting up beside her. She leans in for another kiss. It starts softer, simply a gesture of appreciation for the pleasure, but it quickly turns heated again. 

Emily pushes JJ down on her back, and pulls one of her legs up. She leans back onto her elbows, slotting one leg beneath JJ’s as the other hooks around her thigh so their cores are pressed against each other. 

JJ sucks in a breath, hands gripping the sheets as she mindlessly starts to rut her hips against Emily’s. 

Emily moves with more purpose, rolling her hips so her pussy rubs against JJ’s. She can feel the wetness dripping down her thighs, and she doesn’t know if it’s hers or the blonde’s. Most likely, it’s a mix of both.

JJ’s back arches, displaying her tits perfectly for Emily’s view. Emily groans, planting the foot of her bent leg on the mattress so she has more leverage to rub against JJ. 

“God, Em.”

“I know,” Emily breathes out. 

JJ moves even faster, driven by the need for pleasure. Emily’s practiced motion goes out the window, matching JJ’s chase for release. 

They both lose themselves in their pleasure, rutting against each other with nothing on their minds but each other. Through it all, their heads keep looking up, searching for the other’s eyes. The room echoes with moans and cries of each other’s names. 

Eventually, JJ falls over the edge, collapsing from her elbows onto her back. The pulsing of her heat against Emily’s core has Emily following after her. 

Both women lay on their backs, legs still tangled as they try to catch their breaths. 

The first to recover is Emily, and she crawls over to JJ, lying beside her. JJ instantly rests her head on her chest, wrapping her legs around Emily’s thigh.

“Wow,” JJ says quietly. 

“Wow is right,” Emily says as she wraps JJ into a tight hug. 

“Would you ever… want to do that again?”

Emily smiles softly. “Very much so.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“I know.”

“Do you think… I’m betraying Will?”

“No. I think he’d want you to be happy. He got to make you happy for eighteen years. Now it’s my turn to take over. He would want someone to take care of you, knowing how our job is.”

JJ looks up at her, their eyes meeting for what must be the hundredth time that night. “Do you really think that?”

“I do. You deserve to be happy. You've lost too many people in your life to not have someone who stays. I want to be that person.” She pauses for a moment. “And I think you’ve loved me for too long to keep pretending you don’t.”

JJ goes silent, more than aware that her words are right. 

They lay in silence for a moment, content in the afterglow and heat that begins to fade as the moment goes on. 

“Have I made it up to you?”

JJ lets out a laugh. “Of course you have,” she says, snuggling impossibly closer. “And I’m going to hold you to this method the next time you have to make something up to me.”

“Please do.”

author's note: guys my first jemily fic omg! i'm delusionally convinced the are soft launching jemily and they'll be together by next season. anyway this was super fun to write so if anyone has any more jemily requests (or other characters) pls send them in 🫶

[mercurysmaelstrom]

The Stench of Red

pairing: Remmick x POC Reader

summary: “No amount of tears you spill is gon’ wash away the shit you chose to do.” He reached for your wrist, bringing your hand to your face. “And that smell? It ain’t goin’ away either.”

or…

Grief-stricken, your guilt manifests a punishment that only you can smell. Eventually, you find that Remmick can smell it too.

or…

You sleep with Remmick to distract yourself from your guilt, and he lets you.

part 2/2 of Swan Song

contains: vamp!reader, southern gothic themes, child death, angst, murder, grief, loneliness, alcohol-abuse, blood, smut 18+ (AFAB reader, finger sucking, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, piv sex), not very dialogue heavy, modern au.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: You don’t need to have read part 1 of this series. You might miss some light context clues, emphasis on ‘light’, particularly in the beginning, but you wouldn’t be missing anything crazy.

The flame burned solemnly before you.

And beyond the fire escaped the rancid smell of burning flesh.

It had been nine months since the speakeasy-massacre. Nine months since you started journeying with Remmick, following where the music led you as if it were a trail of scent, marking the fingers and throats that produced each song you’d heard with red handprints. With every blood-splatter that tainted each instrument came rebirthed musicians, lively, yet hollow. And the fire that had raced around them as they played dissipated once you and Remmick sunk your teeth into their necks, siphoning the life that lived in the tunes they played.

It had been four months since the boy was turned.

The young boy whose voice sirened in you and your supposed band of vampires. The boy from a church that sat in the middle of nowhere whom you’d decided was best to keep away from. However, that didn’t stop the pink-faced fiddler out of Arizona from greedily snatching the child’s little body, stealing him away from everything he knew, ridding him of ever being able to sit on a porch with his wrinkled brown skin and gray hair, watching his grandchildren giggle as they ran around on the grass barefoot.

From then on you decided the child needed a guide while he was here; someone to trust; an adult to teach him how to discern between right and wrong. But he was a growing boy. A hungry one at that.

Eventually no one in the pack, not even you, could help satiate him, and no amount of hypocritical moral lessons were going to appease the endless pit of his appetite.

Thus, you made it your job to put him down.

Remmick didn’t intervene. As a result, no one else intervened in the boy’s rampant chase for food, no method to his undeserved madness. They didn’t intervene when you found a pistol from the front desk of an abandoned motel, and they didn’t intervene when you told them what you were going to do with it.

And so, the flame burned solemnly before you.

And beyond the fire escaped the rancid smell of burning flesh belonging to the boy who had often tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with a youthful curiosity in his eyes.

The oboist from Utah placed a gentle hand on your shoulder from behind. “Don’t linger for too long,” she said.

Were those words of her own or Remmick’s?

Even after spending months on the road attempting to learn each unique personality of every individual you and the eldest had collected, distinguishing between who they were underneath his control never became easier.

Once she walked off, only you and Remmick remained outside on the desert floor, standing on opposite ends of the child-sized pyre a large distance away from the motel everyone else grouped in.

The translucent blood on your hands stunk, and in spite of how “clean” the boy’s murder was, gazing into the fire hadn’t tempered the rotten smell in any way. Yet you continued to watch, presently feeling the same ache you reminded yourself not to ignore.

From across the flame, Remmick’s eyes trained on you, occasionally glancing at the pulverizing body laid between yourselves.

You sensed it; it wasn’t new, being the subject of his stare. It felt like the heat of a spotlight radiating on your face when you performed on stage, and at times it made it difficult to see anyone beyond the ray.

But it didn’t feel that way now. The only spotlight that mattered was the one you casted on the burning child.

Eventually, four weeks had passed, and the stink remained. Then another four months had passed, and the stink still remained.

Making use of the hive’s eyes and ears when he wasn’t close enough to use his own, Remmick watched as you sunk into the misty smell of the boy’s flesh, the stink subsequently clotting into what resembled spoiled milk.

Through the eyes of the oboist from Utah, he noticed the empty spot beside you when everyone would crowd around the bonfire, singing and playing before the sun rose back up, your hand thoughtlessly tapping or reaching out for a vacant presence—your fingers curling in when the only thing you touched was the air; through the ears of the mandolinist from Tennessee, he heard you throw freshly emptied bottles of beer against the back of the motel, the glass shattering agonizingly as you yelled out profanities when you thought everyone was gone searching for more bodies to take; through the ears of the saxophonist from Missouri, he heard you from the motel room next door, drunkenly sobbing about a stink that would never go away, no matter how much you washed your hands; crying that you couldn’t dare touch your keyboard out of fear that the blood on your fingers would stain the plastic keys.

Perhaps that was what made it easy—letting Remmick crawl inside you. Perhaps it was why your arm eagerly wrapped behind his neck after he knocked on the door of your motel room, pulling him into your alcohol-reeked mouth before he could explain why he showed up in the first place.

Rapidly, you welcomed him in, the tepid darkness overtaking your bodies like a shadowed hand reaching out to grab the both of you, dragging you away from the red, flickering neon sign that aimlessly managed to illuminate the wasteland where the motel lonesomely lived on. When the door shut, the light outside narrowed into a red slit between the closed, white curtains, accompanying the one candle lit on your nightstand—the red and orange glowing together just enough to see the pieces of each of your anatomies that solely carried weight in this moment.

Remmick’s lips had served its purpose for now, trailing from your jaw, to your neck, to your breasts, then to your belly before opening up your legs, locking his arms around your thighs in order to pull you in close to his warm mouth, flattening his even warmer tongue, licking and sucking with the guidance of your voice.

Your pussy coated his mouth, your juices a temporary, but sufficient replacement for blood this particular night, the muffled moans from his throat easing you closer to ecstasy; a distraction you hadn’t given to yourself in too long.

Whimpering, you stared at the dark ceiling, the red light from outside softly permeating the flat surface above you. When you lowered your gaze, you found Remmick’s face between your legs, his eyes already laid thick on you; his eyes emulating the wicked glow of ember that haunted you for the past few months in the midst of the very darkness that you chose to bide in when the door—blue luminescence peaking through the slits of its four sides—was right in front of you, unlocked and ready to be opened.

You sighed, stretching a hand to Remmick’s head, tugging at his dark hair as he sucked your clit. “Shit,” you moaned as your head dropped back onto the pillow, the rhythm of your cunt grinding against his face, edging you closer to climax.

Once you did, you had no use for him anymore.

You wouldn’t even say his name as you came. Instead, you rolled off to the other side of the bed, gradually coming back down from your high, yanking the sheets back up your body to hide away what he had just seen seconds ago.

Nonetheless, he didn’t protest. He laid on your bed for half-an-hour, staring at the side of your face before shutting his eyes for a moment or two, opening them up again when he decided that he needed to leave.

In between the next time he stepped foot into your room, your inebriated frustration ensued. Again, the saxophonist next door heard you in the bathroom as you wailed about the rotten smell of your hands while you ran them under the tap water—the scarlet prints that only you could see sinisterly coagulating into gloves that were impossible to remove.

Soon you came to notice the odor alleviating when Remmick returned to your doorstep in his vest, stains of faded red seeped onto the white fabric that you tore off a minute later.

The elder’s presence didn’t make the smell disappear. The smell of rotting flesh always lingered, only now hiding under the thick aroma of sex.

His hands slithered along your body, the presumed wedding band worn on his left hand coolly dragging along the side of your thigh as you rode his cock, your hand wrapped around his neck and the other planted beside his face.

“Yeah…yeah…fuck…yeah…” he moaned, looking at you with the inner corners of his brows crinkled, his mouth hanging open at the feel of you around him. As you moved, selfishly only trying to guide yourself to an orgasm—his body simply a toy you bit your lip for—Remmick decided to grasp the sides of your hips, thrusting up into you at an angle that made him pound even deeper into your slick walls.

You yelped at the sudden action, but you welcomed it, promptly placing your hands on his knees.

As he moved in and out of you, you reached down for your nub before Remmick pushed you on your back, sweeping away your hand and replacing it with his own, rubbing your swollen clit.

“How’s that, darlin’?” He grunted, his eyes roaming all over your skin, the writhing of your body fueling his movement.

You mumbled incoherent sentences, letting out, “Shit, yeah, that…that feels good.”

Even after he came first, he continued to fuck you, his cum flooding your pussy while his hips stuttered from the overstimulation, though he enjoyed seeing you dazed below him, your spine arching and your breasts rising as you whimpered, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” as you came, your toes curling, your lips crying his name out for the first time.

The two of you laid breathless, tangled in the sheets of the bed you rarely made, Remmick’s head laid on your chest, his softened cock remaining inside of you. Your fingers lazily played in his hair, hovering down to the gold chain around his neck, fiddling with the jewelry until he raised his head.

Removing your hand from his neck, he brought it to his lips.

With your palm between your faces, the smell of sex began to wane, the wretched stink making its way up your nostrils. This time, Remmick could see the expression in your face firsthand—the look of disgust and shame that re-entered the depths of your being.

Softly, he planted kisses on your wrist, your palm, and your fingers, never averting his gaze from you.

Like that, the blood on your hands started to ink his mouth, covering his lips and tongue the way your slick did two weeks before. He proceeded keeping his mouth on your reeking hand, sucking the blood he seemed to notice from each of your fingers.

While the blood never actually left your hand, nor did the smell, there was an unusual comfort in seeing him take some of it for himself.

When he finished, he pressed his lips onto yours, his tongue entering your mouth, the bitter tang of red shared between the two of you until he pushed himself off of your body, pulling his dick out of you, cum oozing out after him.

Once you both cleaned up, Remmick left you alone again.

This time, however, you didn’t think you wanted that.

A week had passed, and even though the smell continued to cling onto you, you recognized the stink wasn’t as pungent. You wondered if the eldest returned, taking your fingers into the heat of his mouth just enough, that maybe you’d be rid of the smell.

When the sun set and the moon rose, the hive circled around another bonfire, singing and dancing until you saw your incorporeal families. To your expectations, they never appeared, even as the hive grew.

During the bonfire, the emptiness sitting on your right felt less apparent as you peered at the embers floating from the fire to the stars, your stare slowly traveling back down to the banjoist across from you who also happened to be gazing up at the night sky, his fingers plucking the strings of his instrument and his bloody mouth singing in an accent that had not matched the one he regularly spoke in—a phenomenon you never questioned.

When he hadn’t seen what he wanted, his head dropped to the fire, his eyes glossed with an emptiness that mirrored the vacant presence by your side. Beyond the flame, he was able to find you sitting across from him without an instrument, your fingers still reluctant to mark the piano.

The following night, Remmick found his way back in your bed, laying on his side with his head leaning on his hand, his other one tracing your clavicle.

“I can’t just forget what happened,” you told Remmick.

Just minutes before, you had his wrists above his head, fucking him until he came with your name leaving his mouth, desperate to feel your skin. But for once, he enjoyed being absolved of all control, allowing your hands to hold him down despite carrying an ancient strength in his body that effortlessly surpassed your own.

His calloused finger paused at your sternum. “So you’re…choosin’ to sit in your own guilt.”

You turned your head to the ceiling. “Someone has to.”

“And that makes you, what? Better than the rest of us?”

You blinked, your brows twitching. “That’s not what I’m saying,” you said, shifting to your side, the man’s hand falling off of you.

“No, what I’m hearin’ is that you think your guilt is gon’ purify you somehow,” the elder accused you. “You ain’t different from us.” From me.

“I’m not the one who used Arizona—” you hadn’t bothered to learn the fiddler’s name—“to bite the kid. You killed him the minute you got your teeth on him.”

Remmick scoffed. “Oh, ‘cause I was the one who held a gun to that baby’s head?”

Your mouth shut.

“I told you once, and I’mma tell you again: we’re the same,” he reminded you. “No amount of tears you spill is gon’ wash away the shit you chose to do.” He reached for your wrist, bringing your hand to your face. “And that smell? It ain’t goin’ away either.”

You furrowed your brows, failing to pull away from his grip.

“Hell, that stink was there way before I showed up,” Remmick continued. “Just…every now and then, you’ll get a reminder.”

There wasn’t room for denial anymore, but rather than kicking it out, you told Remmick to leave instead. You told him you were tired and hungry; that once he left, you’d go out to find something to eat. But you remained in your room, the red neon sign sneaking inside, the slit dragging across your chest as it rose and fell.

A fortnight passed by—Remmick hadn’t returned.

The stink also hadn’t dwindled, but this time around, you didn’t lament. You didn’t lick the salt that slid down to the corner of your lip either. You simply washed your hands, staring at the blood that poured down the sink, but never completely left your skin. Then you raised your head to the blemished mirror, finding only the graffitied tile wall behind you.

When you curled back into your bed, you lifted your fingers to your nose, sniffing the burning boy…sniffing the corpses of the folks at the speakeasy—your frenzied mind too far gone that most of those who died that night stayed dead, never hopping back up on their feet. With each inhale, you dug into each layer of people you’d killed or turned, remembering how they smelled and tasted, but never being able to recall their faces, or their names.

What mattered, you began to understand, was their flesh disembodied from their souls. Frankly, that’s what made your consumption easier.

You laid in your filth for another hour before gathering yourself, leaving to find Remmick’s room, craving the smell your glistening bodies mustered up together while the moon was out. Hesitantly, you knocked on his door, scrutinizing the faded teal paint that peeled off the aged wood.

Seconds later your ears perked at the sound of his footsteps reaching the portal, opening the barrier standing between the two of you.

Before you could say anything, he reached for your fingers, pulling you inside the darkness of his den.

When you stepped in, he cradled your face; up close, you could see the crusted blood on the sides of his mouth. He had just eaten. So closer you moved, finding his leftovers with your tongue, stealing some for yourself before taking his mouth completely.

With your lips attached to his, you walked forward until the back of his legs hit the bed enough for his bottom to land on the mattress. Standing above him, he gazed up at you; you could see the embers in his eyes again as he watched you ease down to your knees, undoing the trousers that trapped in his stiff cock. Once you slipped the waistband of his underwear down, it sprung out, and hungrily your hand molded around him, lightly, but firmly squeezing.

Remmick bit his lower lip when you found the tip of his member, rubbing your thumb around the slit where pre-cum leaked. Quickly, you spat on your hand, combining both fluids to jerk him off, dragging your hand up and down all the way to the base of his cock. Then as he watched you pump slowly then fast, interchanging between the two speeds, you used your other hand to push against his chest, leaning him back until he landed on his elbows. Soon his eyes rolled back, his head almost hitting the mattress when he felt your hot mouth close on the tip of his dick.

“Yeah,” he rasped out. “That feels nice, baby.”

When you took him in deeper, his cock pulsing, Remmick’s back finally hit the mattress as he hissed.

You enjoyed hearing him repeat your name. You liked the indecision of his hand, unsure whether to cup the side of your face or sit on top of your head, pushing you further into him despite being inside you.

Soon his pelvis trembled when he came, and as you drank him in, he groaned, “Fuck,” before letting out a salacious sigh that shot straight to your cunt.

Not long after, he was inside you again.

Your hands gripped the bed frame as you bounced on his cock, Remmick’s hand on your waist, his other squeezing your breast, and his lips clasped on the other, sucking thirstily. Eventually, he released your tit from his mouth, leaning his head back against the headboard, taking in the dim sight of you while continuing to cup your breast, flicking and twisting your nipple.

Dropping your gaze from the ceiling down to the utterly vulgar look on his face, you removed your grip from the mahogany wood, taking a hold of his stubbled chin, rubbing the tip of your thumb across his bottom lip. More than willing, he parted his mouth, letting your thumb slip inside.

As he sucked, he removed his hand from your breast, taking hold of your forearm to guide himself along your digits, enveloping not just one, but two or even three into his salivating mouth, never peering away from you.

The burning feeling beneath your belly only grew as you moved with him, your bodies finding a natural rhythm once both his hands found your ass, helping you maneuver yourself up and down his dick. Remembering the sight and feel of him slurping in your blood-coated fingers that only the two of you could see, smell, and taste, you inched closer to the edge.

Enjoying the feel of you moving up and down his cock and the repetitions of, “Rem…Remmick,” that slipped from your tongue, he inched closer to the edge too, encouraging you with his own moans, muttering, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You huffed out.

“Yeah. Like seein’ you…on top of me.”

For the first time, you both came together, your bodies stuttering as you held each other close, his nose deep in the crook of your neck—your mouth close to his ear, your breathless whimpers making him thrust into you two, or three, or four more times, allowing your body to milk him until there was nothing left.

You remained where you were, getting a hold of his ear with your teeth, gently biting on the cartilage before trailing your lips to his cheekbone, then to his lips. Tenderly, you kissed him, feeling his hand snake to the nape of your neck, caressing his thumb behind your ear while his tongue explored your mouth, tasting the cum you had drunk earlier.

That night, no one left each other.

You didn’t gather your clothes and rush back to your room, which you would have done weeks ago. And Remmick never told you to leave. Instead, he brushed the back of his hand along on your cheek as you laid on your back and he laid on his side, chuckling at something funny you said.

Nevertheless, the stench lingered, trailing its way to your nose without fail. And Remmick couldn’t fight the smile on his face when he recognized that you had finally welcomed it.

[mickyschumacher]

[NO, I'M NOT IN LOVE!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: no matter what you do, you just can't seem to get pedri out of your system. and neither can he. or in which after a year of playing cat and mouse, it all comes down to the final blow.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, angst, maybe suggestive if you squint?, avoidant reader who can't emotionally regulate herself, in theory love at first sight (but not really bc i hate the trope ngl), love confessions // proof-read-ish!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: pedro 'pedri' gonzález x f1 driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.3k+

𝐀/𝐍: ugh i'm always thinking about pedri x f1 driver!fem!reader so i had to write about it! AND YES another avoidant reader bc why not?

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Pedri and you were good at this.

The game of cat and mouse.

A year... that's how long you had been playing it.

A year since Pedri had laid eyes on you and instantly knew that you weren't going to be good for him.

Pedri had told everyone. He wasn't going to date. No girlfriend. No set ups. No hook-ups. Just football. That's all he wanted. But perhaps, he had spoken to soon.

You weren't particularly anyone. Only just the most coveted driver in Formula 2 heading over to the big leagues the following year.

It was Spain, round six. You were leading a championship as a rookie that had just won another in the previous rankings. You were only talking to Isack and Paul, trying to pass time before practice started.

That's when Pepe, your closest friend, had loudly greeted you a few metres down the paddock. Behind him, unbeknownst to you was some of Barça's star players. He was giving them a 'tour' since they knew so little about the sport.

You remembered turning as Pepe introduced all of you and you had met Pedri's eyes. The stare was maybe a few seconds too long. But it told you what you both needed to know.

There was a connection. One you thought was too dangerous to explore. One he knew went against everything he said he wanted to do.

You tried to ignore it. Ignore the way you and him got along so easily that it even had Isack raising a brow at you. You tried to stay clear of Pedri. You knew it'd be better to not start something at all. It saved you the pain... the distraction.

But nothing was going according your plan. You had won in Spain (that you had somewhat planned for) and hours later were having dinner with Pepe, Isack, Paul and the whole mob of footballers you had met that day. He had followed you on Instagram that night and you had fought your very being to not to do the same.

But then you stayed in Spain. It was the moment of your undoing. Exploring the unfamiliar place, having some Spanish hot chocolate in the afternoon when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

It was Pedri and an offer to give you a tour of his home country.

How could you ever say no?

And that's how it all started. The longing smiles, the brush of your hands, the good morning texts, the good luck voice messages, the lingering touch on your waist, his flushed cheeks, the evenings where you made dinner with his family, and the days where he took your mother out on a date.

But you were friends.

"Just friends."

That what you said every time someone asked. "I'm single," was your answer to every interview.

Because you were.

Because whatever you and Pedri had... it couldn't possibly go beyond it.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Every championship... you had won every championship you had come across. A part of you knew you couldn't do the same when you got to Formula One. It would be harder. Especially given the piece of shit car you had.

But a part of you was selfish. If you couldn't at least get a podium than what on earth had you worked for the past years? To those who said you couldn't do it... how were you going to prove them wrong?

It was easier said than done.

This whole thing with Pedri was beginning to terrify you. Your feelings... it was getting too much. You couldn't process when the "good luck" calls had turned into "please come out of that car and back to me." Nor when he pleaded for you to attend his matches.

He cared.

And it scared the shit out of you.

This was what you were avoiding. Feeling too much. You had been denying it for months now. But when you stood on those podiums and looked down, a part of you wished you would see his face in midst of the crowd.

You weren't good at this type of thing. The feeling... the caring... the loving. You had never been good at it. It was why you hated it so much.

But Pedri... he was as in tune with his emotions as he was with the ball. He felt everything like an open book. He was a family man down to his very core. He cherished everyone in his life and now you were part of that too.

If there was one thing you knew how to do, it was creating distance. So that when you looked at yourself one last time in your driver's room, you reminded yourself what exactly you were here for.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Pedri knew this would happen. Pepe had told him a few months into well... whatever this was.

You were avoidant. You didn't trust easily. You didn't like being vulnerable. You didn't like investing too much of yourself into something in the case you'd get hurt.

But Pedri also knew it was different when you were with him. He could see you. Really see you.

The secrets you told him, the natural smiles you gave him, when you reluctantly told him what was bothering you and could see your shoulders relax, or when you remembered all the small things about him... even when you told him you didn't have that emotional capacity, it was because you cared.

To be honest it had become so normal in the past couple of months, he had forgotten all about it.

But just when things were going great, you had withdrawn. No texts, leaving him on read, making up excuses to not see him, engaging in only small talk...

You were retreating.

And God, he hated it.

Two months. Pedri hadn't seen you in two months. The conversation between the both of you had been scarce. It even had everyone online wondering what was going on. Because for them it wasn't a matter of if you got together, it was a matter of when.

The last time you talked was a couple days ago, three weeks since the previous message. This year's football season had finished for him and you had congratulated him briefly.

You had strayed away from some of the most important moments of his life and it killed him. So Pedri decided he was going to do something about it.

When you returned from a late evening debrief to your hotel, exhausted with the pressure of potential pole in Spain, you thought you were seeing things at your door. Maybe you were dreaming. Because there was no way in hell, Pedri was leaning on your door.

Pedri blinked, immediately leaning up as he registered you in his brain. "Cariño," he breathed out, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

You swallowed nervously, wishing you weren't aware of the shivers that had travelled down your spine. He was real.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Pedri," you returned, cautiously walked towards him. You pursed your lips. "What are you– uh, what are you going here?"

"You're racing," he simply commented with a small shrug, noticing the flicker of surprise and guilt flashing through those pretty eyes of yours.

You stayed quiet after giving a curt nod. "And in front of my hotel room?" You asked moments later.

Pedri looked away from you momentarily, seemingly gathering up the words he needed to say. He breathed in slowly, eyes reverting back to you. His hands fell out of his hoodie, dangling at the sides, clenching because he didn't really no what else to do. "I think... I think we have to talk about this."

You weren't sure if your slightly widened eyes and the small tip of your brows made your surprise obvious. If it did, Pedri didn't show it.

"I... I'm not sure what you're talking about," you mumbled, keeping a good distance from him as you swiped your keycard on the lock. Pressing down on the door handle, you wondered if you should've made more of an effort to stop Pedri from following after you.

Pedri chewed on his lip, closing the door behind him and watching you take your shoes off before doing the same. "Come on..." he breathed, "I mean... how long are we going to do this?"

"Do what?" You queried, taking a seat on the armchair near your bed quietly.

The tick of Pedri's jaw told you enough about his frustration.

"Pretend," Pedri stated, standing before you. "Pretend that we don't feeling anything for each other. That we shouldn't be together."

You eyed his disheveled hair and his flushed cheeks he usually got from expending too much energy. He had probably just come from the gym. Training when Flick had probably given them the day off because he didn't know how to do anything else.

The feeling was familiar.

"Because we shouldn't," you simply retorted, looking at him briefly enough to catch the surprise in his eyes. "You play. I race. We don't feel anything for each other. End of story."

Pedri stayed silent for a second, processing your words before a laugh fell from his lips. His eyes narrowed. "That's such bullshit," he dispelled.

You raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You don't feel anything? Is that what you felt that night at the pool?" He asked, stepping closer to you.

Your eyes stilled, skin warming at the memory.

For once, you and Pedri had an off day. A rare one given by Flick that had matched your schedule. When he had offered for you to stop by and take a dip in his pool, you thought why not?

You had spent an hour or so in the water. Gliding on the surface as Pedri recited some of his favourite memories to you, telling you how much Fer, his brother, wished to see you race any time soon, or how he wanted to show you the flowers in Tegueste, where he grew up.

It didn't take too long before you initiated a water fight. And while you were competitive, Pedri was never one to lose. Before you knew it, he was barely millimetres away from you, arms hung around your waist, your back to his chest as he threatened to you throw you in the water.

"I give up, I'm sorry!" You shouted, eyes shut tight to prevent any water from coming in while you could feel Pedri's chest rumble with laughter.

Pedri grinned, turning you around to face him, hands still not letting go of you. The silence between you was enchanting. You could hear his breath while he stared at you, eyes momentarily flicking to your lips.

He took a few steps in the water, closing you towards the wall of the pool. He watched you pull your lip between your teeth as he lifted you up, resting you on the edge.

Pedri's eyes were glued to the rivets of water cascading down your body. The way your wet hair clung to you. Your skin, covered in all the right places, glowing. The uneven rhythm of your chest falling and rising.

"Joder," Pedri swore under his breath, stomach churning and head bending down as his lips skimmed past the top of your inner thigh and to your knee. Slowly, he waded back into the water, eyeing you painfully from afar.

You blinked, still feeling the tingle of his actions down your body. You breathed out slowly. "That doesn't matter."

"But it does," Pedri responded almost instantly, squatting down to look up at you. Taking your hand in his, he tilted his head. "It matters to me. And I know it matters to you. This is right. You felt it when we first met. We're meant to be together," he rasped.

Your eyes shook. Your throat hurt. You pursed your lips, slipping your hand out of his grasp. A part of you wished he stopped talking. You stood from the chair, exhaling nervously. "Pedri... I... I think you should leave."

Pedri sighed, standing up. He stayed, grabbing your arm gently. "I mean I don't get it. What is it? Are you–are you afraid you can't show me your love? Or that you care enough? I... I don't really understand but I promise I see it. I feel it. I feel your care."

Your eyes widened in shock. Taking a step back, you swallowed hard. He had hit the nail on it's head. How? How had he done that? How did he just see you?

"I've had enough of these games," Pedri murmured, tugging you closer. "Because I can't pretend that you don't affect me. I thought I could. But I should've known when I saw your eyes that day," he chuckled softly.

"I like you," he continued, "I'm probably way past that. But I see my future. I look at it all the time and there is not one without you. Whatever you feel, we'll work through it together. But I can't let you go on and pretend that you don't. Because it'll destroy you as much as it'll destroy me."

You weren't sure when the first tear fell. Somewhere around the third or fourth, Pedri had collected it with his thumb. Your cheeks flushed with annoyance and embarrassment. "I'm sorry," you murmured quietly. "I've been an asshole."

Pedri only smiled, holding your face, rubbing away any remaining tears. "Did you know it's been a year since we met?"

"You're not making me feel any better here," you mumbled, gently caressing his arm as you leaned into his touch.

Pedri chuckled slightly, hoping you didn't hear his small sniffle. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he looked at you and smiled. "Te quiero. Para siempre," he confessed. I love you. Forever.

You could feel the tension in your shoulders slowly disappear. You breathed slowly, taking in Pedri's face and committing this moment to your memory. You whispered, barely a centimetre away from his lips. "I love you too. Always."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[dekariosclan]

Ok, on the topic of family! How would Gale react to a member of his family disapproving of Tav? Even going so far as to be openly hostile and antagonistic? What if a member of Tav’s family treated him that way?

Anon, this is an excellent question but I must confess—in my own ridiculously cheerful & angst-free hcs I like to picture the Dekarios clan as being just as warm, funny, accepting & sweet as Gale is!

Which means I can picture Tav officially meeting everyone for the first time at their wedding reception, and:

“HELLO! :D I’m Gale of Waterdeep’s—oops, ah-ha!—Gale Dekario’s Aunt! Forgive me, I’m usually better at introductions.” *proceeds to give Tav a suffocatingly tight hug*

and

“HELLO! :D I’m Gale’s Uncle! Looks like you two have been caught wed handed! AHahaha! *slapping knee, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes* ahh, we Dekarioses do so enjoy a good pun.” *proceeds to shake Tav’s hand vigorously*

And so on.

HOWEVER, as we all know, a family rarely shares the same kindness, good values, and excellent taste in puns amongst all its members, which is unfortunate.

So in the event that Gale had, let’s say, an Uncle that was decidedly unpleasant company (for example, taken to wearing tunics embroidered with ‘GORTASH FOR ARCHDUKE’, going off about how wizards should only marry other wizards, and talking constantly about Making Faerun Magical Again) I think Gale would do everything in his power to ensure that his beloved would never meet this individual to begin with.

Though I’m sure he would still tell Tav about them: “I begged Mother to let me turn him into a newt. Sadly, she forbade me.” Tav: *laughing gently* “Well, I can understand her not wanting to allow a young child to start polymorphing adults!” “Dearest, I made that request last week.”

Now, if it were someone unpleasant on Tav’s side of the family? Perhaps someone who dislikes wizards in general? I think Gale would be much more willing to try and tolerate this person, not only for his beloved’s sake, but also because he’d be sure he could win them over with his charms. I mean, this is the man who is always certain he’s thisss close to winning over Minthara, no matter how sharp her criticism is! Surely another clever pun will do it…

I do hope, though, that Tav would immediately shut down any hostility and give the boot (literally, if Tav is a fighter) to any family member that dared be mean to Gale. Because Gale deserves to have someone love him fiercely enough to stand up for him, even against their own family.

And, well, in my Tav’s case? If a family member really went too far? Tav would be totally fine with Gale turning them into a newt.

[dreamgirlbny]

but i know through mine, you were looking in yours.

characters: ellie williams x reader (barely), abby anderson x reader (exes).

content: college!au, angst one-shot, no smut. toxic relationships implied!!

notes: this is just a little something i wrote super quick, didn’t even really proofread. it’s just sad to be honest, but i was feeling a bit of soft ellie with angst. hope you enjoy <3

you shouldn’t have left the house tonight.

you should’ve been in bed already.

and you should have studied for your test in the morning.

but instead, it’s 3 AM, and the only lesbian bar in your small college town was turning the lights on and cutting the music off.

you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

what a cliché. that wasn’t really true, either, since nothing else was open, and the diners issued a city-wide statement that the party couldn’t be taken to them anymore.

calling a car was useless at this hour, all the rates were tripled and waiting for one was about as long as walking home.

so, walking it was. once again, leaving alone.

you’d tell yourself it’s by choice, but really, you knew what it was. the “lesbian circle” reputation precedes itself in a school as small as this.

you’d pretend walking past the pairs along the curb, all eagerly waiting for their cabs, wouldn’t bring a small pang to your chest; the whispers and hushed giggles, floating along with the wind, making its way past you in the form of paper-cuts.

and the ones that weren’t paired up, well, they wouldn’t look at you. not while you were looking, at least. you were sure you could stand in front of someone, waving your arms, doing pirouettes, and they’d still pretend not to see you.

all because of her.

three weeks broken up now and you still couldn’t get a rebound hookup; not even with the girls who were jumping at the opportunity to get in your panties at the beginning of it all.

no one wanted to mess with “anderson’s girl.”

that’s all you’d ever been known as, the past year and a half. and at first, you loved it. loved being advertised to everyone as the girlfriend of your school’s star athlete, the wet dream of every woman on campus; even the straight ones.

you loved it because you’d never been somebody before. at least not the way you got used to with her.

but somewhere along the way, it became too much. some days, looking in the mirror, you’d hardly recall your own name. visiting home, you could feel exactly at which point in the conversation you lost someone: right about at the fifteenth mention of her name.

for the past three weeks, you’ve heard nothing but secondhand whispers that she swears you’ll come back to her. she always was so self-assured, so unrelentingly confident that everything would always work in her favor. she didn’t even cry during your breakup.

but no one seemed to see how ridiculously self-centered she was, except for you. not that it was anyone’s fault, she was extremely charismatic, perfect from the outside. in fact, no one could understand how someone would be as stupid as to leave the pride and joy of jackson state; surely there must be something wrong with you.

so either way, they wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.

after about five blocks of walking, your boots were getting a bit uncomfortable. while leaning against a lamppost, deciding to take them off entirely, you could smell a faint trail of smoke coming from behind you.

you looked up across the street, one boot in hand, and saw someone on a bus stop bench holding a cigarette.

and she…looked back at you?

you circled around until you ended up in your same spot, looking to see if there was anyone next to you. there wasn’t. there wasn’t a single soul, a single car, or a single open store around, she really was looking at you.

her head cocked to the side, eyebrow raising as an amused smile played on her lips.

“chasing your tail?” she spoke. she didn’t have to shout, the narrow street and dead of the night carrying her words over to you clearly.

“just surprised someone would talk to me.” you answered, planted in your spot, still holding your single boot.

she didn’t respond, but her eyes never left yours. instead, she held up her pack of cigarettes, gesturing towards you. after a beat of silence she laughed.

“i don’t bite.”

a small smile broke on your face, feeling a very faint, but familiar, swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

“what if i do?”

you heard a deep hum from her as she crossed her arms in thought, looking as if she genuinely pondered your question. then she shrugged.

“a little bite never hurt me.” a lazy smile stretched across her face, cigarette hanging between it.

it was your turn to laugh now, looking around to see if it still was as dead as it sounded. you bit back a grin before shrugging your shoulders back at her. taking off your second boot, you made your way to the bus bench through the empty road.

as you approached, she stood up from her spot, and you finally got a proper look at her face as she came under a light. you slowed in your tracks, butterflies in your stomach fading into something darker.

you felt a bit shy now, taking a cigarette from the pack she extended out to you with a slight tremble to your hand. holding it up to your lips, she cupped a hand over her zippo and brought it up to light it for you.

you took a long puff, studying her green eyes that didn’t want to seem to leave yours, and when you exhaled you couldn’t help the nervous laughter that bubbled up with it.

“what’s funny?” her eyes softened with something sweet, words dragging out lazily with a hint of curiosity.

you shook your head looking away from her, dropping your boots on the ground and taking a seat on the bench.

“nothing, really.”

she sat down next to you after stomping out her cigarette, hands curling around the edge of the bench.

she didn’t speak and neither did you. but you found yourselves looking up at the stars, or what was visible of the stars, at least. it was the most comforting silence you ever sat in. the occasional car would zoom by, but mostly, the only sound to be heard was the buzzing of the lights, crickets in the distance, faint white noise of the night.

you didn’t speak until you finished your cigarette.

“do you go to school here?”

a quiet snort of a laugh came from her, “yeah, i do.”

“i’ve never seen you around,“ you rushed out, almost apologetically.

“i’m not offended.” she replied, tone soft.

“okay.” you gave her a quick glance, and when you saw that hint of a smile on her face, you looked away satisfied you hadn’t upset her.

you knew what it was like to be overlooked.

a breeze chilled past you, making you shiver ever so slightly, and before you knew it, there was a jacket being slung around your shoulders.

your hands came up to hold it in place, cheeks heating up to a warm pink as you mumbled out a small ‘thank you’.

she smiled at you, shaking her head softly.

“don’t worry about it.”

you turned away, back to the stars.

after another beat of silence, she slowly started naming some of them, and you looked at her with amusement in your eyes.

“do you like astronomy?” you asked.

“i love space in general.” she answered sheepishly.

you nodded slowly, lips curling with a flirt of a smirk.

“well, tell me more.”

she huffed out a laugh, head jutting to the side and fingers fidgeting as she sat thinking of something.

or so, you thought she was thinking; she was actually holding herself back. once she started talking, it’s like she couldn’t stop, and you were sure if someone ever quizzed you on the apollo 11 now you could give them essay-length answers.

you listened to her in awe the entire time, admiring the way her eyes sparkled as she talked, giggling at the corny space jokes she sprinkled in to her story-telling.

it wasn’t until the conversation was over that you even realized you didn’t know her name.

“i didn’t ask your name.” you shook your head in disbelief, still beaming from the conversation.

her expression faltered as she studied your face for a minute, then reached out her hand.

“ellie.”

you shook her hand a bit awkwardly, opening your mouth to reply with your name, but she stopped you.

“i know it.” her words came out reassuringly, eyes shifting between yours with a familiar sadness you’d never seen in anyone else’s before.

your face dropped in confusion, eyebrows furrowed, hand still interlocked with hers. you searched your mind for a memory of ever meeting her, every little nook and cranny for even a glimpse of her on campus, but nothing. you were sure nobody had known your name unless you introduced yourself, or even if they had, it became replaced in their brains with your earned title since dating your ex-girlfriend.

but then, for a split second, you recognized her.

recognized something in her eyes that flashed a reel of memories across them; a very vague, grainy set of them, like the ones of watching an old silent movie on a random day when you were five years old that for some reason stuck with you.

recognized the same uncertainty in the emotions that swam in her eyes, the same waver of confidence at how the reels played out to her again, almost as if she didn’t want to believe how clear everything had been all along.

recognized the emptiness that dared to fill her again, that loss of identity that lingered behind it all.

you became so lost in her eyes, you were only brought back when her thumb swiped a tear from your cheek.

your face felt hot with tears, heart pattering inside your ribcage. you opened your mouth to say something, but she just shook her head with a quiet plea on her face, as if she already knew what you’d ask.

as if asking it out loud would make her relive something she wasn’t sure she could survive.

you turned your head back to the sky, trying to regain control of your breathing that you didn’t even notice you lost, but her gaze lingered on you for a bit longer.

eventually, she joined you once again in star gazing.

“don’t go back to her.”

she hummed out, words so soft you’d barely hear them if it wasn’t so quiet, so breathless you’d think she was talking to herself.

you gave yourself a slight nod, keeping your eyes on one particular star that burned brighter than the others.

your hand inched closer to hers on the bench, moving on its own until it was on top of the other.

but there weren’t any sparks behind it.

she reached up her fingers through yours, giving the best form of a squeeze as she could from the position.

you sighed to yourself, feeling the tears well up in your eyes this time.

“yeah, i won’t.”

[tttt06]

Bad Fight

Black Reader x Enhypen

Requests are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ Enhypen getting into bad fights with S/O

Part 2 tmrw has smut!!!

Warning~ No smut, angst, arguments, stress, depression, yelling

Word Count~ 2.5k

Heeseung

Fights with Heeseung were often. He has a habit of getting busy and never talking to you about it. He likes to bottle things up.

It was a day you had been practicing all day. Being the leader of your own group was taking a toll on you. Heeseung was coming home late, and you knew that, but you really needed him.

You weren't surprised that he was gone until 1 AM. You were already asleep in your bed by the time he came home. You had a schedule at 4 AM tomorrow. Filming your next comeback MV.

You felt your bed dip, and you stirred awake. The rush of rapid thoughts came flying to your head. You pushed them aside, "Hi, baby."

Heeseung grunted and cuddled you close. Your body relaxed in his embrace. You tried to talk to him. "Today was hard."

Heeseung mumbled, "Yeah?"

"Mhm. The girls got into an argument, and it made practice so much harder."

Heeseung softly hummed. You could tell he wasn't listening. "Hey, you listening?"

There was silence and a long sigh from his nose. "No, not really, Y/N. I'm tired." You asked, "Do you wanna rant about it?"

Heeseung turned his back to you and said, "Maybe another time."

You sat there, feeling shut out. "Hee?"

He didn't answer. 

You huffed while getting out of bed. You were gonna sleep on Sunoo's floor. You didn't want to sleep next to Heeseung. As he watched you grab your things, Heeseung asked, "Where are you going?"

You sharply said, "I'm going to Sunoo's room. At least he'd actually listen to me."

Heeseung was at his feet in a second, "What? No, you're not."

You nodded in a matter-of-fact tone. "Uh, yes. I am."

Heeseung grabbed your wrist, "You're not sleeping with another guy. I'm right here."

You laughed, "Heeseung. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've been ignoring my texts and me, not coming over, and blowing off my problems. You treat me like shit. When I'm stressed, I don't do that shit to you."

Heeseung said with a rough tone, "I'm busy."

You smiled with disbelief, "Too busy for me?"

When he didn't answer, you were about to storm out. Heeseung reached, "Wait."

You shook your head, "I think we should break up."

Heeseung stuttered, his eyes widening. "What?" You nodded, "You heard me. I don't have time for this shit. I'm going home."

Heeseung ran to the door and locked it. He said, "Let's talk this out." You laughed, "Now you wanna fucking talk? I talked to you earlier, and you blew me off!"

Heeseung said, "You need space to think, and we can talk when we're both relaxed."

You shouted, "WE'RE OVER!"

You slammed his apartment door.

Jay

Jay was probably the biggest crashout you've ever met. His patience for people is at zero. 

As much as he's confrontational and argumentative, you two seem to have slipped past your problems.

One significant problem was that you felt lonely in the relationship. Jay was nurturing and careful in the beginning, but now he treats you like you're not there.

It led to a fight at his guitar practice. 

He was in the music room for practice, and you were stopping by to drop Jungwon's dance shoes off. He said he'd forgotten them at the dorm and asked if you could bring them on your way to work.

You wanted to see what your boyfriend was doing on the way.

You opened the door to see him strumming a four-chord. "Jay bear?"

He looked up to see your cute face, "Oh. Hi, honey."

He sounded so... far. Like he was mentally checked out when he saw you. NO excitement, no, 'HEY! I MISSED YOU!'

Nothing.

You sat down, and Jay asked, "What're you doing here?"

The tension was thick. You said, "I wanted to see you. It's been a couple days."

Jay said, "A couple days? You getting clingy now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"What?"

Jay laughed, "I was kidding." You stared at him for over a minute. Jay asked, "Why are you looking at me like I just hurt you."

You took a deep breath, "You are hurting me. Where have you been? What have you been doing? Are you avoiding me?"

Jay just stares at you like you're crazy. "What the hell? Y/N? You interrupt my time and start coming at me. I don't really wanna talk to you right now."

You huffed and threw the bag at him. "Fucking fine. Don't come over, don't call me, don't text me, I don't wanna see your face."

You stormed out of the room, half expecting Jay to chase you. He didn't.

Jake

Ou, Jake had some explaining to do. He was on tour, and you were at home missing him. Only to see a viral edit of him kissing a fan. 

Not even a peck. Full make out.

Your heart was pounding as you dialed his number.

The call went through on the second ring. "Hey, baby."

His raspy Australian voice came through the phone. It only heightened your anger. "Why are you making out with fans?"

His side went silent. You said, "Answer me?! I get you have to act single, but to this extent? How do I know you didn't have sex with someone to 'seem single.' At this rate, I should be getting checked for anything. I can't trust you."

Jake said, "Baby."

You shook your head, "No. Don't baby me. I'm seriously pissed off. I don't want to be with you anymore. This is the shit you pulled on me. It's disgusting."

Jake whimpered, "Let me explain."

You said, "I don't really wanna hear how your tongue ended up down her throat."

You were about to hang up, but Jake yelled, "So what?! You're just gonna break up with me?! Over some video, you won't let me explain?! This is why it fucking sucks to be with you. You're cold-hearted."

You said, "Cold hearted?! YOU KISSED ANOTHER GIRL! THERE'S NO FORGIVING FOR THAT."

Jake said, "Just drop it. I don't give a shit anymore."

You laughed as tears streamed down your face, "You don't care about us? Not surprising. Obviously, you didn't care about us when you kissed her."

Jake took a deep breath, "Y/N, I'll talk to you when we get home. I do agree we shouldn't talk for a few days."

You yelled, "Why? So you can cheat some more. I'd rather let you be free to..."

You couldn't even let the words out. You were sobbing now. Jake was your first everything. It felt like a different kind of betrayal.

"How could you think I'd have sex with anyone else."

You said, "You were kissing her!"

Jake said, "I wasn't!"

You hung up on him. 

If he was going to cheat, at least be honest about it.

Sunghoon

He's the worst. When it comes to what he says, he has no filter.

He embarrassed you in front of your co-workers. He told them you weren't fit to be his wife. Everyone stared at you for something to say.

You had nothing to say.

You were in so much shock. How could Sunghoon ever say that about you?

After the DEAD quiet drive home, you walked straight into the shower. You wanted to avoid Hoon at all costs. You locked the bathroom door and showered in peace.

You started crying because you think this is your last straw.

He wasn't thinking about marrying you? Then what was he here for? Was he taking your relationship seriously? You don't even know anymore.

You opened the door, eyes red and puffy. Your shower cap was over your eyebrows.

You said, "Sunghoon, I really hated what you said today."

He looked at you, confused about why you were crying and why you weren't wearing your shower cap properly. 

When it fell over your eyes, you threw it on the ground. Hoon's lip twitched as he asked, "What did I say?"

You said, "How could you not know!? Am I not fit for marriage? What? You never planning on marrying me?"

Sunghoon was stern, "Seriously? You're crying over that? Geez, sometimes I really hate how sensitive you are."

You froze. That actually hit a nerve. You've expressed in the past that you are insecure about how often you show your emotions. You told Sunghoon to never judge you for it.

He's saying shit without thinking.

"Sunghoon. Get out."

He stood up instantly. He's never heard you talk like that before.

He was walking out when he realized that he might've pissed you off for real. 

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, "No. Just go away."

You slammed the door after him.

Sunoo

You've had a stressful work week. Sunoo knew it was because when he'd come over, you were sleeping. He woke you up when the door opened. You had a pile of work documents surrounding you.

"Hi, baby." You said while rubbing your eyes. He smiled, "Have you eaten? Showered? relaxed?"

You scooted on the couch to check the coffee table full of more documents. Sunoo sat next to you and rubbed your back. You said, "Not right now."

You reached for a page and started reading. Sunoo said, "I love you, but you really need to take care of yourself."

You shook your head, "I don't have time. I'm the team leader, and they're relying on me."

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, "You can't always think of your team. You need to put yourself first sometimes."

You cut him off, "I am taking care of myself. Doing my job leads to my bills paying for another month."

Sunoo said, "You know I'm always open to helping with your bills if it's that serious."

You furrowed your eyebrows and shot up, "No, Sunoo."

You caught yourself about to start yelling, but you rubbed your nose bridge. Sunoo grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you closer, "I'll run you a shower, and we're gonna have a serious talk."

That's what you did. Sunoo showered with you. You two sat on the bed, and Sunoo took a deep breath.

"I think we need a break from each other."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What?"

Sunoo smiled, "Just a week or so. You're stressed out right now, and every time I talk to you, I seem to piss you off. I don't really wanna be around you anymore."

You started to tear up. Sunoo words cut through your heart.

"You don't wanna be around me?" Your voice cracked, and Sunoo gently pressed his hand to your cheek.

Your face was hot.

"Don't cry, please. It's only a week. You need to figure yourself out."

You said, "What if we have the break, and it doesn't work."

Sunoo said sadly, "We'd have to break up. I-... If I don't crash out on you when I get stressed, I expect the same back."

And with that, Sunoo stood up. "I'm sorry to drop this on you like this. I wanted to avoid this conversation, but after today, I don't think we can stay like this. You're not even taking care of yourself."

You cried, "Because I'm stressed! I can't just give up. This job is my livelihood!"

Sunoo looked at you as you got riled up, "So is mine, and I handle it peacefully."

Jungwon

What could an argument possibly be about? Commitment issues. It wasn't on Jungwon's end. It was yours. You weren't cheating, HELL NO. It was his patterns.

Jungwon was loyal, kept his promises, and treated you like a queen.

That was the problem. You weren't used to that. You were in unhealthy relationships. It was better to detach and not really commit because you always knew they wouldn't change.

If you told Jungwon something you didn't like about him, he'd change it.

It was a problem.

It was a date. You were eating at this expensive restaurant. The steak was huge, and you both shared it. Jungwon was joking around, "My girl-best friend is pregnant already. It's crazy to think I'll be an uncle."

You smiled as you played with your food. You knew what was coming, and you tried to brace yourself. After three attempts to change the subject, you were still talking about pregnancy.

Jungwon asked the bomb, "When we have kids, how many do you want?"

You looked up at him, and the world froze.

"Huh?"

Jungwon asked again, "How many kids do you want?"

You avoided, "I'd never thought that far." Jungwon tilted his head, "You want kids, right?"

The silence was loud, "A kid sounds scary."

He quirked his eyebrow and asked, "Okay, what about marriage?"

You laughed, "Let's not talk about all of this now."

Jungwon said, "I think we should talk about this. We're clearly not on the same page."

You said, "Wonnie, I don't wanna talk about this."

Jungwon said, "You don't wanna get married to me...? Is that it?"

Your eyes widened, "I don't wanna get married in general... it's too much to think about."

Jungwon looked at you like you were stupid, "When were you planning on telling me that?"

You said, "I'd figure we wouldn't be together by now."

Jungwon froze. He nodded slowly as he turned to the waiter and asked for the check.

Jungwon drove you home, and he didn't text you back.

Something about him leaving you hurt more than usual. You cried that night. You're not usually the type to cry over a guy. Jungwon felt like someone special.

Ni-ki

Another day of wanting your boyfriend, another day of him playing video games. 

Ni-ki was yelling, "You suck literal ASS! God, I hope you drown!"

He was usually the type to say crazy shit like that in the game. The problem was his girlfriend was sitting on his bed, without panties on, and watching YouTube on his phone.

He didn't bat an eye.

Ni-ki was too busy shooting people.

He didn't stop, either. He'd play until 4 AM. He was crazy like that.

You huffed and stomped over to him. He turned around and said, "Lemme finish this battle."

You said, "Yeah, fine. Go ahead."

He heard your tone. The sarcasm and anger. He said in the mic, "I'll catch you guys later. I've got trouble with the wife."

He exited the game and asked, "What did I do wrong? Did I forget to take the trash out?"

You stepped back, "Look at me."

He started at your plush brown thighs. His eyes trailed to your face, and he asked, "What's the matter."

You said, "I've been sitting on your bed with no underwear on for the past 2 hours! Here, you are playing the game. Do you think the game is sexy?! That game ain't giving you kids and oral!"

Ni-ki's eyes widened, "Baby, be quiet."

You started grabbing your things in a huff, "Don't tell me to be quiet! I'm going home!"

You pulled on his pants and grabbed your purse. You stomped out of his room, and Ni-ki followed closely. "Fuck you, Ni-ki."

You stormed out as Ni-ki was left with himself, and Heeseung walked out of his dorm room. "Kids and oral? Ni-ki?"

Ni-ki turned around, and his eyes were red, "What the hell, hyung?!"

Heeseung reluctantly hugged him.