#Waltz of four left feet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aikastales · 7 months ago

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i’m drunk, i love you (jk)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: with only a day before graduation, you make a promise that you will not only graduate from university, but also from your feelings for your best friend of seven years, jeon jungkook.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: film student!jungkook x med tech student!fem!oc (named sola)

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: heavy angst, unrequited love, jungkook as an isko agenda, set in the ph 🇵🇭

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: this story is fiction. it does not represent the members of bangtan or any of the idols here in real life. all resemblance to real life characters, institutions, associations, places, events, among others are either purely coincidence or depicted in a fictitious manner only. there’s really no warnings for this story other than it’s a self-indulgent fic to get me back to writing. the smut isn’t that severe. just kissing, nipple sucking, and grinding. this is based on the film, i’m drunk i love you, which i highly recommend you watch. i didn’t alter much of the plot & scenes bc i think they’re already great as it is, but i did tweak a bit here and there. i hope you enjoy! let me know what you think by reblogging/commenting. ♡

𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 5,784

You were never quite the believer in love at first sight, but what you felt that night was the closest thing to that feeling.

He was one of the freshmen performers during your orientation, singing Adam Levine’s Lost Stars. Like the entire audience, you were captivated by his heavenly vocals and charisma as he performed on stage with an acoustic guitar one of the seniors lent him. Not only that, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t bad looking either—quite the opposite, really.

However, after the orientation, you didn’t get to see much of the dark-haired handsome boy. You were studying at UP, the biggest state university in the country, and so your paths were bound not to cross. Until, your older cousin, who was a senior at that time, invited you to eat dinner with him and a couple of his buddies after seeing you strolling around campus alone. When you arrived at the eatery, you not only saw your cousin Yoongi’s friends—Yijeong and Woosung—you also spotted the boy who hadn’t left your mind since you saw him over four months ago at that time.

You sat across from him and you tried your best not to freak out as Yoongi introduced the both of you. Apparently, he had already known Jungkook because he was the younger stepbrother of his other friend, Namjoon. During the course of your dinner, you and Jungkook didn’t really talk much. But you would muster up the courage to ask him some basic questions such as his program, why he went to UP, if he joined any orgs yet, etcetera. Jungkook was polite enough to answer your inquiries.

He was a Film major. He went to UP because everyone in his family went to UP so it was the most obvious choice for him and he was a member of the Film society. In return, Jungkook asked the same set of questions. You were a pre-med student, Medical Technology, to be exact, and you went to UP because it was your dream school. You were also a member of the College of Arts and Sciences’ student council.

After your meal was finished, Yoongi entrusted your care to Jungkook as they were going to meet up with some of their friends and you were both living at campus dormitories anyway. So, you hopped into his old army green Toyota Rav4 and needless to say, the ride back to UP was awkward. So, to get rid of the awkward silence, you asked if you could play some music. He said sure and handed you the aux cord already connected to his stereo. Once you had the other end connected to your phone, you played one of your favorite songs—Waltz of Four Left Feet by Shirebound and Busking.

To your surprise, Jungkook also knew the song and just like that, the awkward silence was gone and you became inseparable ever since.

Music became the bridge that connected you and Jungkook. Whenever you would hangout, it was always your topic—your favorite artists, songs, original scores in films, best albums, underrated artists, overrated artists, the current state of music, everything. He also became your gig buddy—seeking out mainstream and indie artists you both liked and going to their live performances downtown bars, jam packed arenas and stadiums.

But your favorite would always be watching him perform. After his performance at the orientation, he naturally became one of the popular students at UP. He wasn’t popular like a celebrity or an influencer, but heads would turn whenever he walked around campus. Also, he still had the luxury of privacy on his side, but if you looked at the right places, you would find small accounts on social media dedicated to him. He didn’t care for the attention, though, and just went about his day as normally as possible.

His performance did land him some gigs here and there. You found it cute whenever he’d turn to you to ask if he should accept the invitation or not, and you would always tell him to do whatever he wanted. Most of the time, he accepted, especially if it was at Route 96, a historic venue for aspiring musicians.

It was here that he performed the first song he wrote by himself called Still With You. It was also during this performance that you began to see him in a different light—quite literally. He was performing with the bar lights off, only the lights on stage and the spotlight illuminated the entire establishment. When the spotlight on him turned purple, you felt a whole new admiration for your best friend. It wasn’t the “Oh god I’m so proud of my best friend” kind, rather it was the “Oh fuck I’m in love with my best friend” realization.

But like every other story where someone falls in love with their best friend, you kept your feelings hidden, hoping someday it would go away. However, you soon realized, once you fell in love with Jeon Jungkook, there was no going back. It was a rabbit hole.

The more you spent time with him, the more you fell in love with him and all of him—from the way he smiles to the sound of his laugh, how he would always annoy the shit out of you when you were supposed to be studying to how he would remember small things about you like your favorite snack at the vending machine, how you’d be the first to know his test results to how you’d be his first audience for the short film they needed to produce for that semester, how he would lend you his jacket when you ate bingsu because he knew you’d get cold easily to how he’d send you random memes he found funny out of the blue.

It was so easy to fall in love with Jeon Jungkook. Thus, everyone else did too. For seven years, you watched on the sidelines as he dated several girls and loved them how you wished he’d love you.

“In one day, you can finally lay your hands on Jungkook,” your best friend, Mingyu, teased as he took a sip from his beer.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, head resting on your palm, elbow propped on the wooden table in front of you, a bottle of beer in the other hand. You were bordering on getting tipsy now as you had been drinking since you arrived at La Union with Mingyu and Jungkook in the afternoon. You didn’t even know why you agreed to your best friend’s idea of going to the province for a music festival when you had your graduation—the very graduation that was seven years in the making—on Sunday.

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu,” you told the honey-skinned man across from you with a chuckle.

“What? Let this be your final test before finally graduating. Are you ready?” a lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face.

Under the orange light, Kim Mingyu was easily one of the most handsome men you ever laid your eyes on. He was also tall, well-mannered, smart, capable, had a stable job while being a med student, and the textbook definition of a walking green flag. In another life, you could imagine yourself falling for him instead of Jungkook. But in the current universe you were in, he was one of your trusted friends who had known about your crush on Jungkook since first year.

The waiter arrived to bring you your order of another bucket of Red Horse beer. Mingyu took a bottle from the silver bucket and opened it. “Happy horse for the happy whore,” he told you as he handed you the fresh bottle of beer. You gave him a middle finger. He laughed. “What? Am I not right?”

“You’re the whore,” you replied. “I saw you with that cute chinito by the beach earlier. What happened to Mino?”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex—or you believed was his ex. You never really know with Mingyu and relationships. He was the complete opposite of you. While you were a hopeless romantic at heart, he didn’t believe in love—or so he says.

“Seven years,” Mingyu mused, glancing towards the beach. “You didn’t stop falling in love with your best friend. Now, it looks like you don’t even plan to stop.”

You sucked your teeth, tracing the water around the bottle due to the ice with your fingers. “Do I just throw it away?” You weren’t sure if you were asking Mingyu or yourself. “We make a good pair.” You laughed to yourself.

“Except?” Mingyu pointed out the harsh reality.

“Except,” you took in a shaky breath. “He doesn’t love me back. Maybe.”

Mingyu sighed deeply, looking at his watch. “Time check: you still have your hopes up.”

“It’s still early,” you argued. “I still have two days. Just give me time.”

“Give me time?” Mingyu repeated, taking a sip from his beer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sola? The universe has given you all the time. But you did nothing.”

You groaned, throwing your head back as a realization hit you. “Fuck, Gyu, I just—I just realized. Is it right that we’re here? Was it the right decision to come here? My mom’s gonna be so mad once she finds out I’m in La Union.”

“It’s all you. You’re a raging masochist,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway. Let’s just play a game. Let’s enumerate all the things you did with Jungkook. Those are seven years worth of memories, Sola. Game?”

“Game.”

“What year did you first meet Jungkook?”

A smile immediately creeped up on your face. “2017.”

Mingyu waved his hand at you. “Wow! You can do math! But I just thought of something—instead of just general memories. Let’s make them specific. Let’s list down all the stupid things you did for Jungkook for seven years.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you let out a scoff, drinking your beer.

“What? Now you can’t remember?” he challenged.

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, you stupid bitch. Ask away.”

Mingyu grinned. “2018.”

You hummed before saying, “Jungkook was heartbroken that year. I was back at home and he was at UP. But I rushed into the city to be there for him. I remember because I was supposed to attend this baptism with my parents but I snuck out and got an earful from my mother the next day. I was completely hungover too because Jungkook and I went bar hopping the entire night.”

“Jesus Christ, Sola.”

“Don’t judge me. It was my decision, okay?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Okay. 2019.”

You stared at Mingyu, laughing as you recalled the memory. “2019. Me and Jungkook walked from UP to Aurora Boulevard just to tell me how Song Areum became his girlfriend.”

He shook his head. “2020.”

“2020—he was sick. I had an exam that day, but I quickly answered it so I could buy him his favorite, Tapsilog from Tapsi ni Vivian, before it ran out ‘cos it runs out quickly, right?” Mingyu nodded. You licked your lower lip then let out a small laugh. “But when I got to his dorm room, his roommate already told me Areum brought him to the university hospital. And I failed my exam ‘cos I didn’t answer the back part.”

“2021, go!”

“I loved him for four years now and counting. Is that good enough?”

“Okay. I’ll accept it. 2022?”

“2022—I’ve been in love with him for five fucking years already, fucking shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the alcohol in you boosting your confidence.

“Okay. We’re in the last year, girl. What about in 2023? What was the stupid thing you did for Jungkook last year?”

You gulped. “I’m two years delayed.”

Mingyu exhaled deeply. A moment of silence settled between the two of you. Then, she asked, “Sola, it all boils down to this: when will you end this?”

You sat up straight, taking a deep breath. “You mean when will I stop with my foolishness?” Mingyu nodded. You purse your lips. “Maybe when I’m done with UP. When I’m done with UP, I’ll graduate from everything—including him. Especially him.”

When you got back to your shared room with Jungkook and Mingyu, you were already tipsy. You almost fell face flat on the floor when you opened the door, feeling lightheaded, but luckily, your best friend was there to catch you.

“You’re drunk, Sola,” Jungkook chuckled deeply. You could smell his expensive cologne—the one you bought for him for his birthday last year and it brought a huge grin on your face, knowing he wore it. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine, Guk. I’m not that drunk. But I do need to sit down,” you said followed by a set of giggles as you let Jungkook walk you to the bed you shared with Mingyu, and then you threw yourself on it, back against the mattress, arms spread like an eagle.

Jungkook sat down beside you. “Are you still mad at me?”

The question seemed to sober you up instantly. The truth was—you could never stay mad at him. For anything. Sometimes, you’d think he could do the most painful and hurtful thing to you, deliberately, and you would still forgive him even if he wouldn’t apologize.

“I wasn’t mad. I was just… I just wished you would’ve told me the real reason why you wanted to come here,” you replied softly, biting your lower lip.

“Would you have come? If I told you I wanted to go here because my ex wanted to reconnect—would you have come?” Jungkook matched your tone, looking over his shoulder to look at you.

Instinctively, your eyes also darted towards his. The lights in the room were dim, only the lamp, the light coming beneath the bathroom door, and the moonlight outside illuminated the room. Jungkook looked especially beautiful in the dim light—long black wavy hair all messy from his habit of running his fingers through it, hooded eyes staring at you like he was memorizing every inch of you, the gentleness of his features made him look like an angel in this light.

But then you’d see his dozens of piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and lower lip; his tattooed arm and hand, and the way he looked sexy as hell with his thin white long sleeved, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and his white beach shorts that hugged his strong muscular thighs, and you’d realize he was more of a Greek god than an angel.

“I’ll go wherever you go,” you told him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know that.”

Jungkook lied down beside you and you felt your heartbeat racing. His tattooed arm was brushing against yours. His head was tilted, close to yours.

“Will you go with me to the moon?” he asked.

A small smile ghosted on your lips. “I will, Guk.”

“How about Saturn?”

“I’ll be with you there, too.”

“Law school?”

You turned your head to him. He was already looking at you. “Law school? Why?”

He brushed the hair on your face aside with his fingers, making you tense. But you kept your composure. “I passed UP LAE.”

“But,” you began. “What about film? I thought you didn’t wanna become a lawyer like your parents.”

Jungkook looked at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad. Being a lawyer. Besides, I like studying.”

“You’ve always wanted to become a director, though.”

“I’m not good enough for it,” Jungkook scoffed. “All my batchmates are already directing their films and showing them at festivals here and abroad—yet here I am. Still here.”

You turned on your side, propping your elbow to support your head as you looked at your best friend. It was rare for Jungkook to open up. Even to you. He was always someone who kept all his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. In the seven years you’d known him, it still felt like there was a wall around him that you never managed to climb on or punch through. For seven years, it felt like you simultaneously knew everything and nothing about your best friend.

“It’s not the end of the road, Jungkook. So what if they’re showing their films at festivals? You can do it too. At your own pace, in your own time,” you said. You wanted to reach for his face, to make him look at you, but you were scared. “You’re a great filmmaker, Guk. The best direk ever.”

He looked at you once again. “You’re drunk, Yu Sola. Go to sleep.”

He sat up, carrying your legs over the bed. You let out a groan. “I’m not drunk, Jeon Jungkook. Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, chuckling.

“You always cut the conversation when you’re beginning to open up. You always clamp up, Guk. I wish you didn’t do that. I’m your—,” you bit the inside of your lower lip. What right did I have to demand him to open up to me? “I’m your best friend.”

“I don’t clamp up. I just have nothing else to say,” your best friend replied with a shrug, fixing his hair as he looked in the mirror across from your bed. “Go to sleep. You’ll get a massive headache tomorrow. I’m just going to meet with Areum and her friends.”

Then, you blurted it out. It just happened. You didn’t even know how. You always had this grand idea in your mind to do it after the graduation ceremony, that way, you could immediately leave. That way, you didn’t have to see him all the time. You would have enough time to move on and move forward in your life.

But nothing in life truly went according to plan.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you confessed. Your heart felt heavy and you sat up, head hanging low as you picked on your nails. Tears were beginning to form in your eyes. “I’ve loved you for seven years now.”

And you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. Then, moments later, you felt your hands being taken away from your face. You lifted your head and saw Jungkook kneeling in front of you, holding your hands. He let one go to wipe away the tears on your face, to tuck your hair behind your ear.

And then, ever so slowly, Jungkook leaned in and kissed you softly. A tear rolled down your cheek. His lips were soft while yours were chapped and wet from your tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were still in shock. This was not the response you expected. Not even in your wildest dreams but it was happening.

Jungkook held your face, tilting his head as he continued to kiss you more—only this time with more need and passion. Your body reacted. You began to reciprocate his kisses, hands wrapping around his wrists. He tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash.

He pushed you onto the bed, one hand remaining on your face while the other held your waist. Your fingers curled the ends of his hair. You could feel his growing member on your stomach and feeling it was enough to make your cunt wet. His lips then traveled on your jaw, down to your neck. You were breathing heavily as he nibbled on your sensitive skin, making a soft moan escape your lips.

His hand made its way under your shirt and your breath hitched, causing Jungkook to lift his head from your neck, and look you in the eyes.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled, making your heart skip a beat. “Is it okay if I take this off now?”

“I—,” you were at a loss for words. Was this really happening? It seemed too good to be true. But it was happening and you wanted it more than anything else. “Okay. Yes, you can.”

Jungkook peeled your shirt off, exposing your naked chest. You didn’t wear bras; found it too much of a hassle and you always hated the feeling. Instead, you wore nipple tapes.

“What are these, Sola?” Jungkook asked with a chuckle, making your cheeks heat up.

“They’re nipple tapes, you dumb ass,” you replied, smacking his arm lightly.

“Okay. Do I just take them off, like, tape?”

He was adorably cute. “Yes, you just take them off like tape.”

And so he did just that. The coolness of the room and your arousal instantly perked your nipples. Jungkook took your breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them, making you arch your back ever so slightly. Then, he dipped his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth while remaining to massage the other.

The sensation was simply divine. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system, your feelings for your best friend, or just Jungkook in general that made you feel so good at that moment. Your hands traced the outline of his toned biceps through his thin polo.

You were so wet and when Jungkook began to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt, you felt another wave of wetness. You wanted him—all of him—and so you began to rock your hips against him, making him release a moan.

He lifted his head, staring at you with those doe eyes you have loved for seven years. “Are you sure?”

Those three words held so much. Once you crossed the line, there was no going back, and both of you knew that.

“I’m sure. I want this, Guk. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear to make love to you the whole night. Once both of you came, Jungkook laid beside you, chest heaving. For a while, the both of you lay in silence.

“Will you be here in the morning?” you asked, turning your head on the pillow to face him.

He did the same. “I will,” he promised. “Go to sleep now, Sola.”

But he wasn’t.

When you woke up the next day, the other side of the bed was empty. You sat up, burying your face in your hands. What the hell have I done? What the hell have we done?

You left the bed, entering the bathroom, and proceeding to take a shower. In there, you cried, because nothing was going to be the same after last night. You couldn’t blame it all on Jungkook either. You also made it happen. You desperately wished it was just a dream—another wet dream you had of your best friend—but the traces of his cum were still on your inner thigh.

It happened. There was no going back. Everything was going to be different now and most of all, you didn’t know if you still had your best friend.

When you finished showering and getting dressed, you made your way down to the beach. You had texted Mingyu while getting dressed and he told you he was there with the chinito you saw him with, Wonwoo. Arriving at the beach, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, about to text the honey-skinned med student when you saw Jungkook with Areum in the water, his strong arms that held you throughout the night, now wrapped around her waist. Fits of giggles escaped her lips as Jungkook wrestled with her in the water, a huge grin on his handsome face.

Your heart shattered.

You quickly looked away, a fresh set of tears forming in your eyes. As you were about to turn away, you heard Mingyu’s familiar voice which caused you to stop on your tracks.

“Sola, hey, there you—what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice was palpable. You felt his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him.

“I—I finally told him, Gyu,” you said, taking in a sharp shaky breath. “I finally told him.”

Mingyu didn’t ask for more details. He knew. He led you back to your room, promising Wonwoo to text him later. Once you were back, you just cried on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything and neither did you. He just let you be until the tears finally stopped.

“I’m sorry I pulled you away from Wonwoo. He seems like a nice guy,” you said after a while, voice raspy from all the crying.

“It’s fine. We’ll be seeing each other often anyway,” Mingyu shared.

You looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

Your friend nodded, laughing to himself. “You know, all those times I teased you about your being a hopeless romantic and believing in love—I think it’s backfiring on me now with Wonwoo.”

“You love him?” you asked.

“I don’t know, Sola. But I know what I feel for him is different,” he answered. “It’s terrifying. How quickly someone can change your perspective on something.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“What’s your plan now?” Mingyu asked.

You sighed deeply. “I think I’m going to head back. My graduation is tomorrow anyway. Do you mind booking the bus ride home?”

“I’m staying here, Sola. I—I want to be with Wonwoo more,” Mingyu confessed, smiling at you apologetically.

“Gyu…”

“Please be a friend to me now, Sola.”

You pressed your lips tightly. Then, you nodded. You wanted your friend to be happy.

“I’m gonna pack now,” you announced.

“Okay. Just text me if you need anything,” Mingyu gave you a hug and kiss on top of your head. “I want you to know I’m proud of you, Sola.”

Once Mingyu left, you began to pack. You didn’t bring a lot of clothes, but you were still biding your time. A part of you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay here and never graduate. But that illusion was quickly broken when you saw your mom’s contact flashing on your phone screen.

You sucked your teeth before answering, “Hi mom.”

“Sola? Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you been answering my texts? Your graduation is tomorrow. Everyone is looking forward to it!” she exclaimed frantically.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m in La Union with Jungkook and—,”

“What the hell are you doing in La Union?! You better get back instantly, Sola. I’m not kidding. If you don’t graduate now, I really don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s been seven years! Please let me graduate too.”

“I’m already packing and I’ll catch the bus home soon. I just—Mom, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time for the ceremony ‘cos—,”

Your phone was suddenly snatched from your grip. You looked up and saw Jungkook standing beside you.

“Hey tita, it’s Jungkook. Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll take her home. She’ll make it in time. Yes. We’ll be home before the ceremony, tita. Okay. Bye.”

He ended the call and sat down on the bed across from you, handing you your phone back. You grabbed it from him. “You don’t have to take me home.”

“I already promised tita I will,” he answered.

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, folding your shirt.

Silence. Jungkook was just staring at you the entire time as you folded your clothes and packed them inside your bag. Then, he said those two words.

“I’m sorry.”

You bit the inside of your lower lip. What was he exactly for? For having sex with you? For spending the night with you? For not feeling the same way as you? All of the above?

As if reading your thoughts, he added, “For everything.”

You nodded. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you told him. “It’s not your fault you don’t love me the same way.” But why did you kiss me? Why did you make love to me?

Jungkook lowered his head. You zipped your bag. “Let’s go. I still have a graduation to chase.”

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed when you saw Areum standing beside Jungkook’s car with her luggage and bag.

“I’ll drop Areum on the way,” Jungkook announced, grabbing her luggage and putting it at the back of his car.

You pressed your lips in a line. “Fine.” You stepped into the back passenger seat, quickly grabbing your phone and earphones from your bag, and plugging it in.

Lowering yourself on the seat, you rested your head against the window as Areum stepped into the passenger seat while Jungkook sat on the driver’s seat. You caught him glancing at you from the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you turned the volume up. Moments later, he began to drive.

You decided to sleep the entire ride. However, when you woke up, you immediately realized Jungkook wasn’t driving in your hometown. “Where are we?” you asked, taking one of your earphones off.

“I’m dropping Areum first,” Jungkook replied.

You frowned. “I’m the one chasing a graduation, remember?”

“Shh, just go back to sleep. Here,” he threw something at you—your favorite candy, Butterball, landing on your lap.

You grabbed it, tempted to eat it, but you threw it back at him and went back to sleep. By the time you woke up again, you were at Areum’s house. She turned to look at you, smiling.

She was really beautiful and kind. You began to feel guilty for hating her so much the entire time. “Congrats on your graduation, Sola. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Thanks Areum.”

After Jungkook walked her to her door, he came back to the car. “What are you doing there? Come here,” he said, patting the passenger seat.

“I’m fine here,” you replied.

“Sola, come on. Please? I drive better with you beside me.”

For the rest of the ride to your home, you sat beside Jungkook. Unlike before, where your car rides were filled with music and random conversations, tonight it was silent. You didn’t plug your phone into his stereo and you kept your eyes closed the whole time, listening to your music. Once in a while, Jungkook would try to make small talk, but you would only give him short replies, then went back to sleeping.

When you arrived at your family house, you stayed with Jungkook outside for a bit, both leaning against his car.

“It’s your graduation in four hours.”

“Are you not going to come to yours?”

“I don’t see the point,” Jungkook replied.

You nodded and pushed yourself off his car. “I’ll head inside. Thanks for the ride, Jungkook.”

He grabbed your arm before you entered the gate. You stared into his eyes. You couldn’t quite place what held them right now. Maybe you never really knew Jeon Jungkook after all this time.

“I’m sorry, Sola.”

“Why do you keep saying sorry? I told you—it’s not your fault and I’m fine. I’m over it now. See you around, Jungkook.”

You head back inside. Graduation was in four hours.

You wore a traditional Filipiniana dress, a pair of white heels that were already scraping the skin at the back of your feet, your mother’s pearls, and your sablay when your name was called. You came up on the stage with your excited mother, shook hands with your Dean, and finally grabbed your diploma. You always imagined graduation to be something so spectacular, but the moment you received the piece of paper that confirmed you had, indeed, graduated—you just felt the same.

After the ceremony, you went back to your house where almost all your relatives from your mother’s side were waiting for you. A tarpaulin with your graduation picture and the words, “Congratulations Yu Sola!” printed on it and hung outside your gate. You greeted everyone on your way, telling them thanks, before retreating in your room to change out of your dress and into more comfortable clothes.

While you were slipping on your shirt, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. When you grabbed it, you saw Jungkook’s message on the lockscreen.

Let’s go, it said.

You knew it meant one thing: a beer and butterball at Route 96. There was still a part of you that wanted to go because you always went when you received a message like that from Jungkook. It was always a yes when it came to him. But now that you confessed, something shifted, whether he admitted to it himself or not.

So, you put your phone in your pocket, and went down. But as you do so, you felt your phone vibrate again. You pulled it out of your pocket and Jungkook texted you another message.

Please? One for the road. I’m outside.

You bit your lower lip. Then, you made your way out. There, you saw Jungkook wearing his barong and sablay, leaning against his car like hours ago. He smiled as soon as he saw you come out.

“You still have it,” he pointed to your shirt.

You looked down on it and realized you had picked his shirt of all things. It wasn’t anything special; just something he bought at a boutique. But it meant a lot to you because he gave it to you after you spilled beer on your shirt years ago.

“You attended your ceremony?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. He nodded. “I thought you didn’t see the point.”

“I changed my mind.”

You wished you were just as quick in having a change of heart.

“One for the road?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “One for the road.”

“Shit, I forgot it’s Sunday. It’s closed,” Jungkook sighed, seeing the steel gate at Route 96.

“It’s fine. Let’s just go,” you told him, grabbing the beer he bought beforehand and making your way up to the bar. Jungkook followed behind.

You both leaned in the railing before you, beer in hands. Another silence.

You couldn’t believe this was the culmination of the seven years you spent loving Jeon Jungkook. You thought, after confessing, you would never speak again. He’d distance himself from you but here you were—having a beer with him at your favorite place in the world. You wished you knew what was going on in his mind right now. You wished you could dissect his mind and learn every thought he had ever since you confessed.

Because you never really knew Jeon Jungkook. You were just so in love with him and idealized who he was over the last seven years. Suddenly, all the stupid memories you shared with Mingyu flashed in your mind and made you laugh.

“What’s funny?” Jungkook asked, chuckling.

You shook your head, drinking your beer. “Nothing.”

He nudged your side. “Come on, share it.”

You took a deep breath and for the first time, you looked at Jeon Jungkook and saw him for who he was; not the man you have loved for the past seven years.

“I graduated, finally.”

↪˚ author’s note: if you want to donate to me via kofi or gcash <33 i would appreciate it a lot. thank you & see you in more fics later on.

↪˚ permanent taglist: @whoa-jo @kookieandjoonberries

#jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fics #bts x reader #bts x oc #bts fanfic #bts fics #jungkook filo au #bts filo au #jungkook smut

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months ago

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DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of them.)

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up.

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you?

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes.

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin.

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now.

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you.

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses.

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question.

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips.

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?”

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog.

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you…

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away.

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes.

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms.

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin.

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour.

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten.

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun.

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this?

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning.

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours.

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd.

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking.

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up.

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks.

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come.

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer.

here’s to another year together.)

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto x you #geto x y/n #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x y/n #shoko ieiri x you #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #sashisu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader

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softestqueeen · 3 months ago

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care for a dance?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer learns how to dance to teach you.

warnings: just pure fluff

wordcount: 764 words

a/n: this is just short and sweet! I’ve got the idea from @i-live-in-spite and just had to write it. I’m not 100% happy with it, but I had to get it out.

Spencer Reid knew how to do lots of things, theoretically. He could exactly tell you how to throw a ball perfectly for it to land in the net, at which angle you should throw it and from what position. He could tell you how to get checkmate in less than three moves across the checkered chess board, in this case he could even show you.

What he could also tell you, was how to dance a simple waltz. He couldn’t however demonstrate that, but he thinks he might want to learn how to.

“Spence, do you know how to dance?” his eyebrows shot up at the question.

“Uhm, I think you might have to be a bit more specific than that. There are thousands of dances in almost every culture, which all have different meanings. Are we talking about Salsa, flamenco, a waltz?” Spencer gave back. It was adorable to hear him ramble like that.

“Yeah, I meant more like a waltz or something simple. I really want to learn that for Rossi’s wedding and thought maybe you knew how to,” you explained further.

“I- Yes, I think I could do a waltz. It’s actually a remarkably simple dance that consists of the same few steps every time you do it. The music has a special beat and is written in a ¾ bar, as opposed to the usually used 4/4 bar. It is also most commonly danced to the song “the blue danube” by Strauss.”

“Well, if you’re that confident with it, how about you show me this weekend. We could practice it,” your smile was gentle as you slightly tilted your head. You didn’t want to miss any signs of discomfort in Spencer’s face.

“Oh, uhm, yeah that would be great! Saturday at 6 at mine? We could also get takeout,” he offered.

“Sounds good, I’ll see ya around, Spence!”

That was on Wednesday and now that Saturday is inching closer and closer he actually has to learn how to waltz. In theory it was easy, but the reality definitely looked different.

He was very glad that he has practiced before you came over. The amount of how often he tripped over his feet would have definitely gotten a laugh or two out of you, though.

Spencer was holding his hands out before him, his left arm stuck out curling around your imaginary palm, while his other hand was resting in the air at the approximate height of your waist. He tried to recall everything he knew about the basics, as well as the four YouTube tutorials he just watched.

Moving his foot forwards, he set it down before following with his other foot. He must have looked incredibly ridiculous while doing this alone, but for you, he’d do anything. Slowly, he continued the dance, his tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration.

The profilers’ eyes were practically glued to his feet. Once he tried it without looking, he immediately tripped over his feet and almost knocked over the lamp that was standing in his living room. He continued to practice though, his movements slowly getting more fluent. Deciding that he knew enough of the basics to teach you, he ended his training session.

A few hours later you knocked on his door. You were wearing relaxed clothing and carried a bag with your favourite takeout. Spencer gave you a smile before opening the door wider to let you in.

After removing your shoes, the two of you sat down in his kitchen to eat. Afterwards, you stood up, extended your hand, and asked, “Care for a dance?”

“Always,” he answered.

“But we can’t dance yet, I don’t know how to. Show me, please?”

And so, the two of you spent the next one and a half hours practicing. Spencer was the most patient person ever when repeating the steps over and over again. He guided you when you did your first attempts and was never mad at you for stepping on his feet.

“I think I got it now,” you said before getting in position again.

“You sure?” Spencer asked.

Only giving a hum in response, you put on the music again and start dancing. One foot forward, slightly tilted, then following with the other one. Repeat, repeat and repeat and you’ve got it.

You did it. You squealed in excitement before taking your hands out of his. Instead, excited, and not really thinking, you take Spencer’s face in your hands, lean forward, and press your lips to his.

Now, Spencer was definitely happy to have learned how to dance.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

requests open!

taglist:@silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@BigBananaa @i-live-in-spite

#x reader #love #reader insert #ao3 #fluff #no y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #romance #fanfiction

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strawberrysnoopy · 2 months ago

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ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Four of Four.

warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv, sex, pussy, balls, dick, yeah you get the gist.

(a/n): sike bitch you thought.

FINAL PART OF ACT ONE: THE PHOTOSHOOT.

Your husband was on the dining room floor, groaning in pain, with blood spattered across the kitchen tile from spitting the drips of blood that fell down his throat from his nose. Leon had fucked him up, hard and good. His nose was broken, he had a black eye, his lip was busted open like a button on a shirt, and he had some beginnings of a cauliflower ear. Jesus, Leon gets the damn job done. That must be why he's deployed all the time. "We should..." Leon pauses, wiping some blood from his own unbroken nose with a sniffle. "...take him to the emergency room. I fucked him up pretty good." You nod in agreement, placing your hands on your hips as if you're looking at some new problem that you found in your garden. Like some field mice have been getting into the blackberry bush again. Whatever. You've seen him in worse cases. I mean, there is that time where he tried to kick someone's ass for not playing pool the right way off of three obscenely large tall boy beers. You should've left him then, but now he's on your kitchen floor with his ass beat and his hot ass friend looking down on him. "We should. I think that'll be a good idea. Are you okay? Any impairments?" He shakes his head, loosely gesturing to the black eye that had begun forming, his eyelid peppered in tiny red spots and a smear of a maroon red near the tear duct. The kicker? He wore it so strongly too, like it hadn't bothered him at all, and let's be honest, it hadn't.

You near the front door of your house, pulling the noisy keys out of your pocket to unlock the door. Leon was behind you, hands awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans and tapping his feet. He looked out of place to be awkward. Black-eye clad with dried blood in the nooks and crannies of his skin. "Never realized how pretty your house was, sweetheart." There was a sudden flush in your cheeks at the nickname, not used to people calling you such names of endearment besides the photographers or shoot directors in a weak attempt to get you to pose correctly. You thank him quietly, unlocking the door and pushing through. You waltz over to the kitchen in a spent fashion, noticing little droplets of blood on your kitchen tile. You know you should be mad. A satisfied wife would be furious that someone had laid hands on her husband. You? You were giddy. Like someone had finally understood what a cunt your husband could be and did something besides laugh it off. You expected Leon to tell him to fuck off or make some snarky remark in defense of you, but telling you that he'd fuck you? God damn, it made your head spin. Yes, you've been replaying this thought in your head for the past few hours and the little flashes in your mind of Leon defiling your loyalty had your panties all twisted up. And he beat up your husband over some little thing like he had been waiting for his opportunity his entire life.

Capital H Hot.

You go through the rounds of patching him up, making silent conversation to ease that burning in the pit of your stomach. The conversation had been chock full of apologies from Leon, saying how he was sorry on saying he'd fuck you. "I'm sorry." He begins, and you raise your hand up to stop him from saying anything more.

Sorry? Why on god's green earth would Leon be sorry in saying he'd fuck you if your husband wasn't doing the job correctly? If anything, the statement had set your skin ablaze with salacity and your mind buzzing with impure thoughts of him fucking you against their marital beds. "Don't apologize." You spoke, eyes accidentally shown to be half-lidded, hiding it behind the "fact" you're looking down at the splat of blood on his cheek. "If that's what you truly mean, say it. It's not a crime to find someone attractive, the only thing wrong is if you act on it." His mouth is left open for a few beats before making the two parts of his jaw meet again. He couldn't tell if it was an admission that you had been feeling the same turmoil he'd been feeling. Those sleepless nights. Staring at the ceiling next to your spouse while they sleep, desiring what they cannot have in another bed. Your patience was pinching, the thirst through your thighs turning into a ticking time bomb, and to rephrase the previous points, your cunt was in unbearable need to get fucked. "Then I guess I want to fuck you." There was no dancing around it. No I'm attracted to you in a friendly "that's the way it is" type of way. Straight to the point. I want to take off my goddamn clothes and fuck you. I want to be intimate with you in the most perverse ways possible. You should slap him. You shouldn't have tended to his wounds. You shouldn't have let him into the comfort of your home.

But you did. Because you want the same thing as Leon. Sex. Not the cheap sex your spouses have been trying to give you for your entire relationship. Sex.

Your hand strays from his face, sucking in a breath when you wipe up the rest of the dried blood. He hopped off the counter, his finger subtly swiping against you hip to stave off that insatiable beast in him that wants to fuck you.

"Come to my room." You whisper, your chin barely brushing over your shoulder, clad in the bland cardigan you wore to keep yourself warm from the chilling night thus far. And you sound like you're inviting him for sex. And he doesn't want to fucking reject you.

"Is this okay?" You hold up an old college t-shirt to him, bringing the fabric closer to his still clothed chest. The shirt was one of your husband's from long ago. You had honestly thought about tossing out the shirt in a yard sale but never had the time or will to do so. "Should be." He pulls off his shirt in a languid motion, slipping the ratty tee over his head instead. Your eyes catch Leon's trail of hair, well groomed and cut down not too long ago judging based off of the short stubbly hairs on his abdomen. "Rude to stare, silly girl." You mumble out a quiet "sorry" to him while leaving the bedroom, presumably changing into your own pajamas. But before you can get two feet out the door, he's tugging on your wrist. "Stop." His voice is quiet, lustful with that slight demand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, wondering where he's suddenly getting the gall to tug on your wrist like this when he was just begging for forgiveness so much earlier. Your confusion unwrites itself on your face when he takes off your husband's shirt. He's shirtless again, the long scars and fading bruises and cuts from missions he's taken a few weeks prior visible on his skin. Your eyes don't fail you when they settle on the happy trail you were drooling over moments ago. "Why are you looking at me like that, hm?" He asks, moving closer by a smidge, you wouldn't have noticed if your senses weren't already heightened by the arousal you've been feeling since he first came over for dinner. Damn him, keeping you wound up like a clockwork toy and expecting you to prance over like some whore. "You're married. I'm married." He's getting closer, lips tracing towards your cheekbone and getting closer to your ear. "Honey, has anyone ever told you how wrong that is?" You swallow down so goddamn hard, your esophagus might as well have been torn to shreds. "Leon—" He interrupts you, pulling away from your cheek and letting his eyes flit over your body, tutting his tongue as if he's disappointed you're not naked already. "I'm not finished, sweetheart." "Do you know how torturous it is? Looking at you while you're married and you don't even have a fucking clue as to how bad I want to fuck you against every surface of the home you share with your husband? Even though I cannot have you? You're such a fucking tease, making me want you like some goddamn degenerated pervert." His lips tease the skin near your jaw, breathing in your essence like he was stealing it for himself. "And Ada. Oh, she's no fucking help. Treating me like I'm some whipped dog for her. Even when she's never there. She doesn't know I dream of you every time she's away."

You can't even speak. This was such a far cry from the Leon you knew. This was the same man who always had snarky comments and sarcastic one-liners that made you laugh, who respected you, who talked to you like you had known each other since birth. Then again, yearning is an insane drug and Leon's a loyal addict. "Say something before I go insane, sweetheart." He whispered, nudging your head to the side, allowing access to your pulse, rapidly beating under sweaty skin. You don't say anything. Your hands just weave themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer when he's brough into a passionate kiss. Your hands are about to reach for his belt when his phone buzzes. The first time, it's ignored in the heat of the moment. Maybe just some old friend asking to meet up later this weekend. You're in the middle of pulling the belt off, his hands greedily grabbing at your tits and ass when the phone buzzes again. "Need you." He whispered, biting your cheek like some wild animal. The buzzing of texts eventually turn into a consistent vibration of a phone call. Pulling out his phone, Leon realizes it's something he can't just ignore for some pussy. "We need to stop." You murmur back to him, trying to wean yourself off of kissing him. Stop, stop, stop. Even though you don't want to and the only thing you'd enjoy is having him bust your head in against the headboard while telling you how much he loves your pussy.

But he pulls away, stopping the kneading on your ass and your tits, much to his displeasure. For a minute, you're left panting and with the ever lingering feeling of his strong calloused hands all over your skin. You stare down at the emboldened caller ID. Ada. You rewet your eyes by blinking, eyes going dry by staring wide-eyed at his phone. Is he gonna answer that? You hope not. You want him to finish what he started and especially after all of those admissions of lust to you as well, there's no going back. He sighed, picking up the phone while you walked out of your own bedroom. You feel sick. You're supposed to love your husband but your pussy is fucking throbbing at the way another man's hands explore your body. His best friend, no less. He's supposed to be the strong and outspoken man yet he's on a leash for his wife who treats him like shit. And for the first time, you finally mutter a fuck you to Leon you mean with your full chest.

taglist: @heylesamis, @sweetserial, @iloveyousomuch1989, @galatict3a, @m1sery-busin3ss, @ssulfurr, @nic-stars, @g0rep1ty,@nomorekerkanymoranymor,

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leonscottkennedy #leon kennedy x oc #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #leon resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #re4 leon #re4 remake #re4r!leon kennedy x reader

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ladybirdswritings · 10 months ago

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Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara was never known to be a man wanting. He was beyond content with the power surging through him upon his multiversal throne. That is until he lays his hungry eyes upon you. Now, he will do whatever it takes just for the taste of you… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

Notes: I couldn’t stop myself from this hades and persephone-esque fic so I hope you enjoy!! SW&P is far lighter if you desire that <3

next chap

one

Morning is a sweet greeting to you, warm and incandescent to shine it’s rays upon soft skin. As it always is. Though you find it to be dreary on days like this, as it is the same as the day prior, and the day prior to that day. As if it is not sparkling gold but shadowing gray.

All the same repetitive waltz for you.

Yet to your unknowing mind, much would change within the quick hour. Change not in the way of little things but rather in the way that would make your toes curl and your eager hands grab your tresses so you might not trip upon them on your dash toward the tallest hills.

You would have run had you known what was to come.

Yet you didn’t; and so? Your morning was quite a bore.

Similar to a zombie are your sunken cheeks and coffee kissed eyes decorated with awful bags. Your toothbrush is made of oak as is your boar-bristled comb. You tend to your prettying before slipping away from the hustle and bustle of a lively home. Four sisters and two brothers you sport, and an overbearing woman you dare to call your mother.

You made routine of this. Sneaking away with the latest print picked up from the small shop next to the apothecary in town. Out the oak wood door and past the burnt toast and meat to cuddle yourself comfortably against your favored weeping willow by the bend.

Your only company is the ducklings these days, though you don’t mind them much. They are mostly quiet beyond the occasional quack.

Serenity became you as you lay there in the remnants of springtime’s shadow, willfully sprouted in peonies and lilac blossoms.

Your print is a work of Austen, an old and worn thing but one you’d found comfort in recently. It would be your fourth time revisiting.

Would… however.

“Oh heavens sakes! You must enjoy making your mother walk upon tousled soil, girl! Have you got half a mind!? I don’t presume so otherwise you’d avoid any possibility of me losing a leg!”

A whine like that of a carnaged cat rings out from behind the bend. In the grassy plains your mother struggles her way toward you. You stand to your feet in swift motion, but your wandering eye finds curiosity in an unfamiliar bloom. Its colors an odd pairing of red and blue unfurled toward the sun.

What an odd thing, you think.

The huffing and puffing snaps your attention center, and you nearly grumble in complaint as you hurry toward your mother.

“Mama I was just—”

“Oh save it. I see you slip out each morning, I know full well your disdain for the company of your own family… but I didn’t come here to admonish you, sweet girl. Quite the opposite in fact. I am here to ask a favor of you. It seems the cold air has made our chickens most unwilling to provide us with eggs. Won’t you go in town and gather some?”

Like the rainfall’s mist caught by breath of wind, your hopes and plans of reading in the bend till dawn have dissipated. Pursing your lips, you nod— not wanting to administer a guaranteed headache at wake of your protest.

In to town you’ll venture.

✧*̥˚ … *̥˚✧

The cobblestone is cracked underneath your boot, as it is dampened by springtime’s departured mist. You like the clicking sound, though it is most lonesome at this ungodly hour.

The house cannot be run well with lack of your aid. Father left long ago and mother is just a dreadful housewife. The doctor blames her dissonance on the ailments within her mind’s confines though— she swears herself always to be whole and well.

Regardless, for the sake of your sisters— you help. Besides this, you owe it to her.

Your basket is made of weaved wicker and adorned with crimson cloth, at the end of the cobble is where life shines proud. A more lively gathering of townsfolk in search of early morning eggs to enjoy with their breakfast.

A single carriage, outdated as the things are, surges forward in an unstable command by a young man. He cannot be past twenty three, and his face is speckled with pale freckles. His hair is a burnt orange rasp.

The stallions are dark as midnight, sweat being huffed like chimney smoke from their nostrils. Dear god, the way he commands them is certain to ensure an accident.

You tuck the thought away in to the back of your mind to be focused upon your task. You’ll need no more than a dozen or perhaps three what with the vacuum cleaner your eldest brother refers to as his mouth.

Babblebrooke, it is where you’ve lived most your orphaned life. Surely some places have technology of picture books and magazines you skim through when you are awarded the rare chance but— you find yourself content with a place so simple.

You cannot imagine a life of loudness, no quiet space to tuck away and read. It’s a frightening thought.

The stand is nearby, only a few more passing steps and you’ll reach it. Your eyes are locked on the fresh berries, but you know full well you won’t have enough for them.

A bark startles you out of your trance, one excited and pointed. You jump at the sound and turn your head to find a cocker spaniel hound circling round and round to chase its own tail. You giggle at the sight, and its chestnut ears raise in alarm at the vibration.

Oh, it’s noticed you.

The little thing hobbles over excitedly, and you cannot help but bend on your knee to brush back its silken locks.

Beyond a canvas collar of pale pink lays a heart, engraved in molten silver the title: “Lyla.”

So she belongs to someone. Such a kind thing, they are to be a lucky companion indeed.

You smooth back the hair from her excited eyes before lifting to your feet again and continuing forward. She begins to follow you, but a movement in the alleyway shadows is a matter she finds far more pressing for her attention.

“Lyla…” you test in a whisper as you make your way behind a man hunched and gray— awaiting his eggs for breakfast.

Time seems agonizing and the line moves awfully slow, you peek behind the elder man to find annoyance laced in the eyes of the townsfolk. Blaire has taken a liking to the farm boy— it seems she’s busying herself with conversing nonsense with his mother rather than picking her fresh fruits for tart pastries.

You sigh, checking the time on your cracked, golden watch with impatience brewing at the soles of your boots. You sway on them, shifting your weight forward and back. No use just staring ahead.

Though it is quite loud, it doesn’t stop you from reaching in to your tote for “Jane Eyre.”

You find your favorite part, their first midnight meeting in the hallway. How romantic it is, you only wish that to be a possibility for you one day. You forbid yourself from joining the season of course but somewhere tucked away inside— you wonder how marvelous it would be for a broody and handsome thing to appear upon your doorstep with a bouquet the size of France.

You grin at the thought. Though it is swiftly interrupted by the quick patter of familiar paws.

“Woah! Easy!”

Your head snaps up at the gasps of those around you, and you are most horrified to see that the horses have reached the steep bend mere steps away. The ginger fool, they halt in warning and he kicks at them— slapping them with a russet pole. They comply, and the carriage loses control.

It creaks, hurling forward and disconnecting from its rusted shell. Tumbling at godspeed down the cobble and straight for little Lyla who lays mindlessly and happily on her back now.

Panic surges, and your eyes find worry in everyone’s features and yet no motive to act alongside it. Such cowardly men, allowing the poor thing to succumb to the bite of freak nature and cruel fate.

You won’t allow it. Though you feel frozen, the sharp and desperate shout of “Lyla!” from a phantom voice is enough to snap you back into the most horrible moment present.

“Christ!” You breathe, tossing Jane Eyre to the sapphire sky before surging forward. The carriage stalls on a pebble for a quick moment and it’s enough time for you to beat it by a mere step. You scoop the silly thing into your arms and as the wheel just grazes your skin— it is you now that is saved from immediate death.

A warm hand tugs at your wrist and you’re certain the brick wall has grown awfully large palms and fingers; for what you slam up against is hard and unpleasant.

You grunt, Lyla yelping in surprise where she is tucked up tightly against your chest.

Whistles and claps overtake the coward crowd and you sway upon your own boots as the wind itself makes you unsteady with its light graze. Firm palms steel you, grasping your shoulders tight to keep you together and well.

Your eyes venture on an upward path to find two crimson pupils imploring your features as if they are etched in stone and stored away in a beloved museum somewhere in Rome.

Brows pinched and quite bushy, eyes cold but curious, his reddened orbs search your face for what feels like a millennium. Fascinated.

Awed.

You blink, and the cry of the sweet creature in your arms breaks the trance you were entangled in. Lyla leaps from your arms and onto the cobble path— and you only huff and reach a weak arm toward her before the exhaustion of a skipped meal and your adrenaline fueled actions bring you to sit on the cobble ground.

He kneels beside you, the stranger. Yet you cannot find yourself mustering enough energy to truly examine his face. Just his eyes, rare things they are.

“She’ll be alright.” He whispers, hands still pleasantly upon your shoulders as if he fears you’ll topple over and shatter once he parts.

When you do lift your gaze however, stricken curious by the sickly silken sound of his voice, he’s gone.

“Thank y-”

The word croaks in your throat, and you can only wonder how it was possible… how quickly the phantom left you upon the cobble. The farm boy rushes over soon, much to the demise of poor Blaire. She stares on at the carriage and ginger man as if she wishes it was her nearly trampled.

He hands you fresh water and berries, and you wave his concern away and the crowd’s curiosity with a weak hand.

Your mind is only glued upon one thing.

The phantom.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @cybersry

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year ago

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Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve.

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.”

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left.

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America.

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you.

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again.

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real.

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job?

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.”

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes.

“On your six, Cap.”

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out.

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ.

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.”

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet.

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise.

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.”

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

“I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it.

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#shy anon #750+#ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #old dog new tricks #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america smut

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fayemouse · 2 months ago

Text

A mouse finds a dress.

A doll left it laying on their dresser after playing with its own doll.

They put it on, pulling the zipper up but knowing it won’t make it all the way to the top. Their shoulders too broad, their stomach too wide. The teeth purse and split.

Their arms fold across the neckline, holding it firm across their chest. It swishes past their feet, too tall for their frame. It kicks up powder and dust as they waltz with themselves, coating their fur in a fine layer of grayed pink.

They sneeze, a squeak and a huff that masks the opening of the door's latch. An involuntary flutter of their ears beats away the creaking rumble of the hinges. A witch, the doll’s witch, the mistress of the house they’re but squatters in and interlopers to rightfully peers down the bump of her nose at them.

Words with sound-forms too large for them to comprehend and a poorly-aimed slam just next to them freeze their muscles. Their claws grip into ersatz linen.

They’re off.

Scampering over jewelry boxes and necklaces, discarded receipts and forgotten notepaper, they run on all fours. Fear grips their heart and burns their lungs as they try to remember left or right, stop or go.

They hear a tear and know a hem has come loose. Their feet are no longer sure. Their legs flail into a metal tin with a bang.

Breath comes in gasps and wheezes, their skid-marks clear as day to them but too small for untrained eyes. Blanketed by shadows, a rest against the cool aluminum is a gift they savor.

It’s time. They must go a direction. The way doesn’t matter. They pull themselves forward with their free arm.

They never drop the dress. Not now, when they’re so close to absconding with it. Not now, as they share a moment with the doll’s doll. Not now, as they nearly reach being something more than just a skittering intruder to a better, more orderly, greater place.

The window: it’s still open a crack. The moment is right. They slip through.

The moonlight shows the damage. Slightly duller, no less elegant. Slightly torn, no less tight.

The disgust and fear of the witch -- protecting its dolls, protecting her home from an infestation -- still quickens their pulse. They’ll never try to return.

In their own nest, they mend and alter the dress. Cut and hem. Patch and seam. Let out and pinch in. It’s still the doll’s doll’s dress.

In their own nest, they follow motions they try so, so hard to understand. They practice dusting. They make themselves tea. They wiggle their whiskers and tut-tut a visiting ant. They treasure and hold so, so dear what they scavenged.

A mouse found a dress.

#mouseposting #empty spaces #hai evrywun #i didnt mean it to uh. be about that.#dolls with dolls #i wrote something happy! actually happy!#writing through it

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wol-fica · 1 year ago

Text

-𝔼𝕩𝕔𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 ℙ𝕋𝟚-

pairings - taracarpenter x fem!reader

summary - you and tara are inseparable, but one trip away from New York could change all of it…

warnings - angst, talk of injuries, implied smut

an - forgot to post this :/

part 1

——————————

1 Week Later

You were running, fast and out of breath to get out of the airport and home as soon as you could.

Four days after you landed in Montreal, you got a call from Sam telling you that another ghostface attack happened. Your heart dropped at the news, and you told her you would book the soonest flight possible.

Unfortunately, that flight would be three days later, and each hour of each day was grueling and terrifying. Your thoughts ran wild with Tara, if she was okay, what had happened, and why that fucker was back.

You hurried past the crowd of people by the door, spotting your uber nearby. You ran over to him, threw your belongings in the car, and practically yelled the address at him. Your leg bounced the whole way, nails being chewed on during the ride.

You sent Tara a text at some point, saying you were home and on the way to her, but you didn’t get a response. She didn’t even read the message, which had your heart beating way too fast.

Eventually you made it to the apartment complex, thanking your driver before throwing your bag over your shoulder and running inside. You went up four flights up stairs before reaching the Carpenter sisters door. Your fist met the wood, knocking light but fast.

Each second felt like a minute, which then felt like an hour. You rocked impatiently on your feet, until the door clicked and swung open. There stood Sam, looking weary and tired, but alive. She smiled weakly at you, reaching to pull you into a hug.

“Y/N.” She said, giving you a sisterly squeeze, “Welcome back.”

“Hey Sam.” You replied, pulling back to give her a quick check over, “You okay?”

“No, but I will be.” She patted your shoulder, “Come on in.”

You walked past her into the living room, setting your bag down on one of their chairs before turning back to her. She looked tired, worn and beaten down from her encounter with ghostface. There was a new scar on her shoulder, stitched up and bruised around the edges. It looked deep, like whoever had slashed her had a personal agenda against her.

You eyed her warily, unsure of what to comment on. She assumed your thoughts, and gestures to the scar on her shoulder.

“Had to take a souvenir with me, didn’t I?”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scold her, but the look on her face told you that she was being humorous. So you snorted, stifling your laugh to a giggle as she chuckled with you.

“Haaa…uhm…where’s Tara?” You asked after calming down, wiping your eyes.

“She’s out with Mindy and Chad, they wanted to get lunch.” Sam replied, moving past you and into the kitchen, “Are you hungry? I’m sure it was a long flight.”

Your stomach comically growled, causing Sam to smirk, “Uhh yeah, I could use some food.”

She nodded, going to the fridge to make something for you to eat. You planned on following her, until the jingle of keys caught your attention. Your head whipped around, just in time to see three very familiar faces waltz into the room. Mindy came in first, Chad followed after…with Tara tucked under his arm?

You saw her before she saw you, which gave you a chance to analyze her features. She looked almost the same as when you left, just a little more pale than normal but you brushed it off as blood loss. Her arm was in a blue sling, contrasting against the black jeans and white blouse she wore. She was laughing, gazing up at Chad with eyes that you wish she was looking at you with, and that pained your heart.

“Oh hey Y/N!” Mindy said, waving at you.

Tara’s eyes snapped to you, wide and surprised to see that you were standing in her apartment. Time seemed to slow as she moved, speedily walking around the couch and throwing herself into your arms. Your arms enveloped her, pulling her in for a tight hug, her face tucking under your chin and into your chest.

Her scent invaded your nose, but it wasn’t the smell you remembered of her. Sure, it was still her earthy soil fragrance, but it had now mixed in with a masculine cologne that made your stomach churn unpleasantly. You knew who it belonged to, but you didn’t wanna assume the worst.

Maybe they just got close?

Hopefully.

“Y-you’re home…” She cried into your chest, hugging your waist tightly, “You c-came back…”

You took her chin in your hand, tilting her face up to look at you. Tears had cascaded down her face, ruining her mascara but that wasn’t really the problem at the moment. You smiled at her, leaning down to brush your lips against hers. She pushed herself into you, bouncing up on her toes when her lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, passionate and sweet that had your heart thumping way too fast. Her lips were so delicious, plump, soft and all around irresistible. She leaned into you, chasing and huffing when you pulled back for air.

“I’m here.” You reassured her softly, kissing her forehead gently, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sobbed at your words, grateful to have you back in her arms. A whimper passed her lips when you hugged her closer, your hand accidentally brushing against her new found scar on her back. You cringed, moving your hand to her lower back instead.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, in which she hummed and squeezed you harder in response.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” She whispered into your ear, kissing the shell of it, “There’s a lot you don’t know…”

You smiled, pulling back to get a better look at her. Some hair had fallen into her face, so you gently tucked the locks behind her ear to see her features better. Tanned skin splashed with freckles, and beautiful brown eyes that had your knees buckling.

Your Tara.

“We need to catch you up on a lot.” Mindy said from across the room, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” You said, glancing around between all four of them, “I wish I was here to help.”

“Don’t belittle yourself like that.” Tara affirmed, pulling at your shirt to remove the wrinkles, “You couldn’t have known about anything.”

You sighed, giving a nod with a tight lipped smile. Your eyes trailed to Chad, locking a gaze with him. He was staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite pinpoint, a sort of narrowed unease look.

Jealousy.

“Hey man.” You said to him, catching his attention.

His face changed immediately, an award-winning smile on his face, “Hey Y/N/N.”

“Hey, your food is on the table.” Sam called from the room over, causing Mindy and Chad to start to move towards the door.

“We need to get back to our dorms.” Mindy said, giving you a smile and a wave, “See you in class!”

The door swung shut, and you subconsciously let out a sigh of relief. Chad was making you feel uncomfortable, and a small pit of sourness had formed in your stomach from seeing him so close to your girlfriend. You’re not sure if something had happened between them, or if the events of those two days had changed them, but there was a new spark there that you weren’t fond of.

“How was your retreat?” Tara asked after you sat down and she slid herself into your side, “Did you enjoy it?”

“It was alright.” You shrugged, taking a large bite of the sandwich Sam made you, “Boring mostly.”

Tara hummed, leaning her head on your shoulder while your arm went around her to pull her into you.

“I’d ask how it was here while I was gone, but that seems inappropriate.” You joked, watching Sam to gauge if that was okay to say.

She seemed stoic for a second, but let out a light chuckle at your humor. Tara giggled as well, pinching your side as a punishment but she seemed to let it slide. You smiled, turning to press your lips to her hair before finishing your sandwich and standing up.

“Thank you for feeding me Sam.” You said, leaning over the sink to wash your plate.

“Of course, you look like you need it.” She replied, taking the washed plate and setting it on the drying mat, “You also look like you need sleep.”

You nodded, a comedic yawn coming through at her statement. Tara snorted from behind you, in which Sam shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Just a nap though, nothing heavy.” You muttered, stretching your arms, “Is the guest room open?”

“Yeah it’s-.”

“You can sleep in mine!” Tara interrupted, jumping up from her chair, “It’s more comfortable anyways.”

You shrugged, giving Sam a thankful smile before grabbing your things and heading to your girlfriends room. Tara hurried behind you, taking one of your bags with her non-injured arm. You pushed her door open, subconsciously sighing at the sight of it.

It was the same as when you left, still decorated like Tara begged you to do, still organized to perfection, and still smelling like the girl you loved.

Still her.

The touch of a hand on your back made you jump, your head turning to catch Tara’s brown eyes. She gazed at you lovingly, a gentle smile on her face as her hand moved to cup your cheek.

“I missed you.” She murmured, standing on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I missed you more.” You replied, deepening the kiss and pulling her into you.

She mumbled something incoherent against your lips and turned her head to the side, slotting herself against you. Her tongue prodded against your mouth, wishing to be let in so she could properly taste you. You complied, parting your lips so she could infiltrate you.

“Mmph.” You moaned, your hands squeezing her hips with a bruising grip, “Tara…”

She hummed, trying to push you towards the bed. You almost agreed, until a waft of men’s cologne hit your nose again. It made you hesitate, and Tara felt your body tense up under her hand.

She pulled back from you with a furrowed brow, “What’s wrong?”

You stared her down, blinking awkwardly and opening your mouth to speak. No words came, just pure silence as you stared at her. You wanted to ask about the cologne, you knew it belonged fo Chad and now you wanted to know what happened between them, but you also didn’t want to jeopardize your relationship just because you thought she was possibly doing something with him.

“Nothing I…I’m just tired.” You gave her a reassuring smile, but she saw right through you.

“No something’s wrong, you’ve been weird since you got home.” She said, frowning at you, “Tell me.”

You shrugged, not really keen on speaking your concerns. Tara’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling down into a small pout. She shoved you lightly, pushing you back to sit on the edge of her bed. Once you sat down, she planted herself right in your lap, a way to make sure you wouldn’t run off and away from her.

“What is it?” She asked softly, her eyes tender and full of love, “You know you can talk to me, baby.”

“Tara, you wouldn’t want me to.” You murmured, rubbing her hips with your thumbs.

“That is such bullshit and you know it.”

You sighed and caved in, leaning in to press your lips to her cheek before you spoke.

“Did something happen between you and Chad while I was gone?” You asked tentatively, watching her reaction.

Tara stiffened, eyebrows furrowing and eyes darting away from yours instantly. You knew you hit the mark, especially when her hand left your shoulder to nervously play with the necklace you bought her.

“Not something I’m proud of.” She mumbled, turning her head away from you, “Promise you won’t scream at me.”

“Yeah, of course.” You replied, massaging her thighs in an effort to calm her nerves.

She inhaled, reaching up to thread her fingers in your hair. Her nails softly scratched your scalp, almost making your eyes flutter shut if you weren’t so focused on what she was about to tell you.

“When we were at the theatre, trying to trap…ghostface.” Tara seethed, wincing at the lethal name, “Chad confessed to me.”

You stayed quiet, listening intently to what she had to say. Your thumbs rubbed on her thighs, coaxing her to tell you the rest. She took a deep breath, and sighed sadly before speaking.

“He kissed me, and I didn’t push him away.”

You tensed, your eyes narrowing. Your emotions rose dangerously, but you remained as calm as you could possibly be. The promise you made rang in your ears, and yelling at her wouldn’t help the cause anyways.

How could she kiss him? Why would he kiss her? Chad was well aware that you and Tara have been dating since the beginning of college, so what force compelled him to make a move on her when you were gone?

“I froze up, I didn’t know what to do.” Tara muttered sadly, reaching down to intertwin your fingers with hers, “His arms were around me, and I was so shocked that I just stood there and-”

You pulled her lips into yours, silencing her rambling immediately. She melted in your hold, hooking her arm around your neck to pull herself closer to you. Your arms slid around her waist, being well aware of her new injuries before hugging her gently.

“You’re okay.” You mumbled to her, pressing a comforting kiss to her neck, “I’m not mad.”

She sighed in relief, dropping her head to rest on your shoulder before her body started to shake from her tears falling freely.

“I never meant to do that to you.” She sniffled, her hand rubbing your back, “The only reason he is still here is because I never told Sam and I didn’t wanna be a dick towards him.”

“It’s alright, Tara.” You reassured, patting her butt, “Did you at least remind him that you aren’t interested?”

She giggled, giving you a gentle squeeze, “Of course I did.”

You hummed, falling backwards onto the bed with her still on top of you. She squealed in surprise, laughing when you rolled over and began to pepper her neck with little feather kisses. She reached up and cupped your cheek, pulling your attention to her. Her eyes trailed over your features, seemingly taking in your appearance so she could remember it.

“So beautiful.” Tara cooed, licking her lips before pulling you down into a kiss.

Your lips moved in sync, and your mind fired blank spots when her knee sneakily slid up between your legs.

A nap could wait.

————————————

taglist: @cartierdreamx@tundra1029@red1culous@vorsdany@andsoigotabutterfly@theafterofnevermore@yomomisgay@house-of-lovin@slvt4lanadelrey@thenextdawn@nepobaby08@dunohilly@somekindofpoet@alexkolax@cinffy23@pedrosprincess@amberfreemansburntface@myfturn

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solcarow · 1 year ago

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#waltz of four left feet by shirebound & busking u will forever b my no.1 yhk epilogue song o(~<#solar-talks

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fanficimagery · 1 year ago

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The Lost Girl

You just wanted to travel and forget all about the drama you left behind. You didn't expect to fall in with four boys who would become another family. Maybe more.

[Part Three of Three]

Author's Note: Y'all remember Elena's dress when she went to the party at the Mikaelson's? I think it was black and gold? Well anyway, that's what YN's dress is gonna be like except it's black and maroon. I'm totally unoriginal lol. The fight is totally anti-climatic and the end just… ends. I was so ready to end this. I'm sorry.

Words: 7.2K

The only good thing about your upcoming party is that Rebekah's completely taken over all the planning. She's recruited Elijah since he's the easiest to talk to between her brothers, leaving Klaus at the mansion with you and the boys. David and Dwayne love to hear about the history Klaus has seen, whereas Paul and Marko love hearing about all things chaotic and bloody.

You're all lounging around the sitting area as Klaus fills in your friends on the drama he caused when he first waltzed in Mystic Falls from his point of view when the front door opens and closes.

"YN. Gilbert."

"Uh oh. Someone's in trouble." Marko giggles.

You flip him off and then turn towards the archway where yet another blonde marches through. "Hello to you too, Caroline. It's rude not to knock, you know?"

She huffs. "Oh shut up. We've all tried ki-" She immediately shuts up herself, taking stock of the new faces in the room. But she's Caroline Forbes, so she rolls with it, easily lying. "We've all tried sabotaging each other multiple times. There's no need to knock between friends."

You and Klaus both smirk, but don't call her out on it.

"Whatever," she grumbles. "I just came over to demand why you didn't tell me you were planning a party?! You know I love planning parties."

"I don't even want this party, Care, but Paul and Marko are all about seeing what type of parties I had to attend when I was younger."

At her pout and look of indifference between your friends, you quickly introduce them to each other. All the boys politely greet her and she them, and it hardly takes her a moment to deduce who your boyfriend is.

"So you're the boyfriend?" Her eyes narrow at Dwayne. "Figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask.

"It means you have a type. Dark hair, broody looking…"

Klaus chuckles. "She's not wrong, love."

"You're both annoying," you deadpan. Then glancing back at Caroline, you ask, "Is that all you came over for? To demand why you're not part of the party planning committee?"

"Yes. And to see if you already have a dress all picked out."

"I do. Rebekah had a bunch of dresses delivered and I chose one. You want to see what's left on the rack?"

"Yes, please! I hate shopping last minute."

You grin and walk over to Caroline, hooking your arm with hers. "Let's go upstairs then." Looking at Klaus and the boys, you wink. "If there's trouble you want to get into before Elijah comes home, now is the time to do it. Caroline and I are long overdue for some girl talk."

"You heard her, boys, let's go." Klaus downs the rest of his drink before settling the tumbler aside and then standing up. Marko and Paul cheer, shoving at each other as Dwayne and David casually climb to their feet.

Everyone except Dwayne makes their way out and then he walks up to you. "Need anything?"

"No, I'm good, but thanks." He nods before leaning in to kiss your forehead, cheek, and finally your lips.

You're laughing as you shove him away, eyes twinkling. He returns your smile before nodding at Caroline and turning to go catch up with his brothers and Klaus.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Caroline gushes, "Oh my god, that was so adorable! Where did you even find him?!"

"In his hometown." You chuckle and then lead her towards the stairs so you can show her the dresses in your room. "I actually met Paul and Marko first, but when I met Dwayne.. it was like love at first sight." You smile as you remember meeting the dark haired vampire for the first time. "We kind of tortured everyone else with the 'will they or won't they' schtick, so it became public knowledge that we were both off limits."

"What changed?"

Getting bit by a werewolf, you mentally admit, but can't say that out loud. Not yet. So instead, you choose something that's easily believable because the scenario really did happen. "After missing a day of hanging out with them, some girls decided to move in. When I decided to surprise them one night, one girl was standing too close to Dwayne, so I walked right up to him and kissed him."

"You didn't!?"

"I did." You laugh. "And then Elijah and Klaus visited, informing me that Elena was getting impatient that I hadn't come back to Mystic Falls to make sure I was really okay."

"Oh so you'll let Klaus know where you now live, but not us?"

When you glance at Caroline, you notice she's not truly upset about it. "Yes because Klaus won't drag me back to Mystic Falls the moment something inconveniences Elena's life."

Your friend winces, but doesn't refute your words.

In your room, you walk to your closet while Caroline walks to the rack of dresses that's in the opposite corner. You grab the dress bag, pull it out and unzip it to show your friend. "Anyway, this is what I'm wearing." The strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline is maroon with a fitted bodice covered in black beads and black ribbons right beneath your bust. The skirt slightly flares out with an overlay of black tulle so the maroon still peeks out.

Caroline sighs. "This is so pretty. Is your boyfriend matching?"

You laugh as you zip the bag back up and put it away. "I'm pretty sure Elijah will get him a matching pocket square or something."

"So he's got Elijah's stamp of approval?"

"I think so."

"Sounds serious." She turns back to the rack, moving aside dress after dress. "Is he the reason you're staying where you're staying?"

"No. I was already planning on staying there. Dwayne was a surprise, but a welcomed one."

Caroline glances at you. "Ohhh, you're in deep. Look at that smile."

You purse your lips, having been smiling without knowing you were smiling. But seeing as she's already seen it, you give up and laugh. "Ugh, this is gonna sound stupid, but remember when I said seeing Dwayne was like love at first sight? Do you believe in that?"

Your friend freezes and then fully turns to face you. "Spill. Now."

You groan again and head over to your bed, dropping down on the edge. "When I first met Dwayne, it was no shock that I instantly found him attractive. What was a shock, however, is how jealous and protective I am of him. We haven't even known each that long to warrant such loyalty, but when Damon threatened Dwayne… Caroline, I saw red. I wanted to rip Damon's heart out right then and there."

"Hmm. That is weird. You've never been one to get worked up over a guy. You usually just shrug it off and move on."

"I know!"

"And how does Dwayne feel?"

"I'm assuming the same. Damon pinned me to the wall by my throat and Dwayne saw, and he was visibly shaking. I could see it took everything in him to hold himself back and then when I got back to the table, his hand gripped my thigh and didn't move until we stood up to leave."

"How insane would it be if it turned out that soulmates were real?" You laugh. "I'm serious! Ugh, you're so lucky. I wish I had someone who looked at me the way Dwayne looks at you."

"You do have someone who looks at you like that, but you refuse to entertain him because you're afraid of what everyone else will think."

Caroline frowns. "He hurt us. A lot."

"So did Damon, but that didn't stop Elena from jumping on his dick."

The blonde vampire grimaces. "I rather not think about that."

"Mhmm."

"Now will you help me choose a dress?"

Without even glancing at the rack, you say, "Go with the blue one that looks like mine, but has off the shoulder straps. You always look good in blue."

The day before your party, Rebekah had the ballroom completely transformed. You had happily stayed out of her way, listening to her bark orders from the comfort of your room. Dwayne and David took refuge with you, purposely not saying a word to their brothers as they wandered downstairs and got roped into lending a helping hand. And with Rebekah barking orders, Paul and Marko stayed in line.

Then the morning of your party, Rebekah had even taken it upon herself to have a buffet of breakfast ready for everyone. Marko practically salivated at the sight of the food, mentioning that they'd never eaten like kings and queens before. David then reminded him that they never had the appetite for human food quite like they have now after wrapping the bracelets around their wrists, and Marko conceded while stuffing his face with sausage and eggs.

You don't get to rest long after eating, Rebekah whisking you away to bathe and pamper before getting ready for the night. You end up in a bath with so many essential oils and salts that you nearly doze off, but Dwayne enters the bathroom and decides he wants to wash your hair.

Rebekah enters the bathroom when she hears you groan, only to huff and cross her arms over her chest. "Why are you two disgustingly adorable? Stop it right now."

With your head tilted back and Dwayne's fingers scratching against your scalp, you grin. "Shut up. If our positions were switched, you'd be smug as hell right now. Let me enjoy this."

"I'm honestly surprised he's not in there with you."

"And have your brothers glare at me throughout the party?" Dwayne asks. "No thanks."

"Fair." Rebekah continues to watch you with a fond smile on her face. "Well when you get out, Dwayne can help David wrangle his other brothers while you and I get ready in my room."

"Okay."

Dwayne finishes washing your hair before you stand, uncaring that your body is bare beneath the suds. He watches as you scrub your body down in the shower before grabbing a towel and handing it to you. Then after wringing out your hair and drying your body, you use the towel to wrap around your hair before taking the offered robe to drape around your body.

"Thank you." You reach up on the tips of your toes, giving him a chaste kiss. "Now it's your turn. I'll be with Rebekah and most likely won't see you until the start of the party."

"Mmm. Have fun." Dwayne kisses you once more and then pats you on the butt as you walk on by.

You're still smiling as you enter Rebekah's room, laughing when she's waiting for you with a champagne glass nearly filled to the brim. "Happy birthday, darling."

"Thank you, Rebekah." You accept the glass, clink it against the one she produces herself, and then proceed to down it in one go. "Now can I nap?"

"No."

You groan as Rebekah leads you to her vanity, making you sit.

. .

Rebekah starts on your hair first, making sure to detangle it and then spritz various hair products into it. She leaves out a couple of strands on either side of your head to frame your face and then loosely braids the rest of it to hang over your left shoulder. She sprays your hair again to make sure the hairdo holds, and then gets started on your makeup.

The make-up is kept mostly natural and nude, the only color being a hint of blush on your cheekbones, smokey black eyeshadow, and black eyeliner. Throughout the entire time, your phone was dinging with text messages from your family and friends, and you took the time to thank each of them.

Taking a break, Rebekah has sandwiches and fruit delivered to the room via Elijah, and it isn't long until Klaus shows up with presents with the rest of the boys trailing him. The Mikaelson's give you jewelry and money, a proper camera to capture the sights you see, and a brand-new laptop to edit and post the photos. You thank them profusely and even assure Dwayne, David, Paul, and Marko that you hadn't been expecting gifts from them so they can stop with the guilty expressions.

Then after kicking out the men from the room, you get started on Rebekah's hair and make-up. With her instruction, you get everything done pretty well.

When the time comes to finally step into your dress, you shamelessly drop your robe and step into a pair of panties. Rebekah holds your dress low for you and you step into it while she slides it up your body. Then after arranging your breasts to fill the cups, Rebekah zips you up.

Rebekah can only smile as she helps you don your newest necklace and bracelet, and then quickly dresses herself in a dress similar to yours, except the colors are black and gold. Plus, she dons a pair of black satin gloves as well.

"Well don't you two look beautiful."

You turn around to find Dwayne decked out in a suit with a maroon pocket square to match you. He has a few thin braids on one side of his head, only for all of his hair to be tied back in a stylish messy man-bun. "Holy shit." You look him up and down, licking and biting your bottom lip as you try to reign in your spiraling thoughts.

"Down girl," Rebekah muses, patting your shoulder. "It sounds like your guests are starting to arrive, so there's no use in messing up all the hard work I've done."

"Yeah, yeah. Get out." Rebekah laughs as you shoo her out of her own room, bidding Dwayne good luck as she passes him. He steps further into the room, and you readily accept him as he goes toe to toe with you. You lean up and kiss him. "You look handsome."

"It's all thanks to Elijah and Klaus. They really know how to style the riffraff."

You chuckle and kiss him once more. "So, how's it looking down there?"

"Marko and Paul are regretting the fancy suits, but David's keeping them well in line. And Klaus has already plied us with several blood bags each so we're not feeling peckish around your guests."

You sigh. "I think I should have indulged in a little blood myself. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

"Come on. It won't be that bad."

"Famous last words."

Dwayne smirks. "Let's go greet your guests."

Looping your arm around Dwayne's, you rely on him to get down the grand staircase. And by the time you make it to the main floor, Caroline is arriving on the arm of her mother.

"Caroline! Sheriff Forbes!" You greet them with smiles and kisses to the cheek. "I'm happy you two could make it."

"Likewise." Sheriff Forbes smiles before warily glancing around. "When I got the invitation, I wasn't aware if the party was legit or if the Mikaelson's were up to no good again."

"I can see why you would think that," you say. "But when it comes to me, the Mikaelson's are family."

"But Elena-"

"Mom." Caroline politely nudges her, shaking her head.

Sheriff Forbes closes her mouth and takes a breath. Then smiling sadly, she says, "You never forgave her for the… attack on you and Caroline," she says while glancing at Dwayne.

"Oh. I'm sorry!" You say. "Liz, this is Dwayne. My boyfriend." Sheriff Forbes and Dwayne smile at one another, shaking hands. "And I forgave my sister for that a long time ago," you assure her. "What I don't care for is the way she and Damon treat me or my friends whenever something doesn't go to their liking. They don't take others' feelings into consideration."

Sheriff Forbes smiles tightly, nodding. "Fair enough."

"Well, happy birthday!" Caroline chirps. "Now point us to the food so we can get out of your hair."

Laughing, you're about to tell Caroline where she and her mother can find the food when you spot Bonnie and your brother coming up behind them. "Uh, Dwayne will show you," you tell her. "He's gotta check on his brothers anyway and make sure Klaus isn't getting them in trouble."

And without missing a beat, Dwayne detaches himself from you and offers his arm to Liz as he dips his head in politeness. "Ladies, if you'll follow me."

Dwayne ends up with a Forbes woman on each arm and you smile as he leads them towards the food. Then turning back towards the door, your smile widens as you accept a hug from Bonnie. "Hey! Long time no see." Bonnie is stunning in her own black and silver dress, and Jeremy surprisingly fills out his suit. Then again, he's been rather buff ever since he became a hunter. "Jer, you're looking muscular. Kill anything lately?"

"Ha. Ha," he deadpans while hugging you. "And you look good as well. I didn't expect…"

"Yeah, yeah. You didn't expect me to be alive and thriving just because of the Mikaelson's and blah, blah, blah." Both Bonnie and Jeremy chuckle, and you nudge them towards the party.

More people show up- Tyler, Elena, Damon, Enzo, Alaric plus his date, and several other locals that you hadn't seen for a while. You greet each and every one, thanking them for showing up and wishing them a good time.

Rebekah pulls you away from the door when it seems like no one else is showing up, leading you towards the bottom of the staircase where her brothers are waiting. Both Mikaelson men smile as you approach, but Rebekah leads you a few steps further up the staircase before telling you to stay put before joining her brothers.

You're confused, but no one says anything. Dwayne and his brothers are lined up just across from the Mikaelson's, each of them holding a champagne flute. Elijah, being the more diplomatic Mikaelson, calls for everyone's attention. And as a crowd gathers, you're not very surprised when the hired help walks around with platters full of champagne flutes to pass out to everyone.

"Thank you, everyone, for attending on such short notice," Elijah says as the gathered guests fall quiet. "Miss Gilbert has been off traveling the world and seeing everything this life has to offer, so we weren't sure she would be back in time for her birthday. Luckily for us, she decided to visit with some new friends of hers."

Paul whoops and you shake your head at him, grinning.

"So let us raise our glasses," everyone follows Elijah's lead as he raises his glass in a toast, "and wish Miss Gilbert a very happy birthday and safe travels when she no doubt leaves us all behind again." Elijah, Klaus, and Rebekah turn, grinning. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Happy birthday!" The crowd then cheers.

You smile bashfully, nodding your thanks to those whose gazes you catch before walking down the stairs. Rebekah hugs you whereas her brothers kiss each of your cheeks, and then Dwayne takes hold of your arm while leading you to the main room.

Immediately, the humming and clapping of Hozier's Work Song fills the air, and Dwayne leads you to the center of the room before turning to face you. As he takes a step back and then bows at the waist, your eyes light up. "You dance?"

"Obviously. Don't you?" As you grab the skirt of your dress and curtsey, you can't help but laugh. "And besides, the birthday girl has to open her own party with the first dance."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a thing, but I'll take it." You and Dwayne step forward and then back, close to touching but not. He raises his hands, palms out, and you laugh some more as you hold your own palms just an inch from his as you walk in a circle. "Who told you about this dance?"

"Rebekah might have mentioned something about a pageant this little town holds and the dances forced upon you."

Dwayne then takes you in his arms and the two of you sway back and forth before he's gently pushing you out and then bringing you in on a twirl. The smile never leaves your face, not even when you can hear his brothers ribbing him.

Halfway through the dance, others join you. Dwayne's dancing skills make him that much more attractive to you and you let him know when you can't keep your lips to yourself.

The party goes on and you make your rounds while on Dwayne's arm. You introduce him to everyone you know, talk about the places you've been with some curious individuals, but refrain from mentioning where you met Dwayne in case others were listening in.

You eat and drink and dance some more, and all in all it's a good time.

Until it isn't.

Elena hadn't said much to you other than wish you a happy birthday, so you're resigned to hearing her out when she asks for a moment of your time when the party starts winding down.

She leads you to an empty room just down the hall and turns to face you with a frown. "So, you're leaving again?"

"What?"

"Elijah's speech. He said you were going to travel again."

"Oh. Maybe." You shrug. "I still need to find a house and set down roots before I start taking trips again."

"Your house is here!" She says, hurt lacing her tone. "Why are you so dead set on getting away from me?"

"Elena," you say softly. "I love you. I do! But I can't be here anymore. I'm so over the drama where you somehow manage to be ground zero for it all. I'm tired of being hounded by Damon for not jumping when he says jump and I'm just- I'm over it. You have your life and I have mine. You don't have to like it, but you will accept it."

Done with the conversation, you turn to rejoin the party, only for your sister's words to make you freeze. "Jenna would be so upset to see you so chummy with her murderer."

There's a gasp from the door and you realize the others have followed. Bonnie, Caroline, Damon, Stefan, Alaric, Dwayne, David, Paul, Marko, Rebekah, Klaus, and Elijah have all entered the room and you have no idea how you and Elena didn't sense the big group sooner.

The group from Mystic Falls knew how close you were to Jenna and how hurt you were over Klaus killing her, but they didn't know about Klaus' apology months later when you started having dinners with Elijah. It wasn't an easy apology to accept, but he promised to make it up to you for as long as you lived.

But not wanting to get into all that, you look at your sister and swing even lower than her. "Yeah? Well mom and dad would be even more upset to see you fucking your best friend's rapist." Elena gapes and her eyes fill with tears, and you roll your eyes. "Come now, Elena. Don't start the waterworks now. You wanna be Katherine 2.0, then be Katherine 2.0. If you're gonna be a bitch, then own it."

Your back suddenly hits the wall and you have a face full of an enraged vampire. "All right. That's enough."

"Damon!" Bonnie yells.

"What the fuck was that?" You hear Marko murmur, biting back a smirk at the fact that they're still playing human.

"That was a low blow, YN," Damon says, tightening his grip around your throat.

"Careful, Damon, your lap dog is showing," you muse. "This is between me and my sister."

"Yeah? Well, it becomes my business when you make her cry."

"Oh, how noble." You huff. "Now kindly take your hand off of me and leave. You're no longer welcomed here."

You hear a bit of a scuffle and look over Damon's shoulder to see David holding Dwayne back by the arm. You can see the rage in his eyes even as he attempts to keep his cool, and subtly shake your head.

Damon glances over his shoulder as well to see who you're looking at and turns back to face you with a smirk. "You're so quick to drop everyone in Mystic Falls, let's see if your newfound family will stick around after they find out that you're a monster."

Your expression hardens. "Damon, do-"

CRACK!

Damon has all of half a second of smug satisfaction as he watches your body collapse lifelessly to the floor before a heart stopping roar practically shakes the walls of the room. He whirls around, eyes wide, and braces himself for the truly monstrous individual advancing on him.

Dwayne's features have shifted, his features more sharpened and defined. His eyes are now yellow and red, and his fangs and claws have elongated in his rage. He grabs a stunned Damon by the shoulders before savagely sinking his fangs into Damon's neck and pulling free a chunk of flesh.

As Damon gurgles on his blood and Elena shrieks in horror, Stefan speeds at Dwayne to pull him off. Only then do David, Paul, and Marko fly at him and throw him across the room before making a wall in front of YN's body. Dwayne continues to attack Damon, snapping each and every bone in his body that he can to prevent the raven-haired vampire from fighting back.

Elena tries to intervene when it appears Damon can't defend himself, but Rebekah catches her by the arm. "Stay out of it. Damon made his bed, now it's time for him to lie in it."

Alaric pulls free a wooden stake to help his friend, but all it takes is Klaus tutting in his direction to give the history teacher pause.

Then having heard enough snarling and snapping bones, Elijah approaches Dwayne cautiously. "That's enough, Dwayne. I believe Mr. Salvatore has learned his lesson." Panting and heaving, Dwayne snarls one last time before kicking Damon so hard in the ribs that he sends him sliding across the floor towards his panicked brother. Dwayne then turns and his brothers part so he can make a beeline to YN's body. As he does, he sits on the floor to cradle her lifeless body in his arms. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should never touch a vampire's mate," Elijah says.

Everyone seems surprised, but it's Caroline who steps forward with a frown. "Mate? And vampire?" She asks incredulously. "What is going on, Elijah?"

"Dwayne, David, Marko, and Paul are vampires," he tells the room, ignoring Elena's whimpers as she tries to offer aid to Damon. "A different species, obviously, but vampires nonetheless. When Niklaus and I noticed some differences, I decided to do a little research after learning of how quickly Dwayne and YN became attached."

"And your research proved that our kind has mates?" Paul wonders. At Elijah's nod, he beams. "Fuck yeah! We totally called it after YN got bit by that werewolf."

"What werewolf?" Caroline's eyes widen in alarm.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. It's all been taken care of," Klaus assures her. Caroline huffs at him, but all it does is make him smirk.

"That's nice and all, but can I have a little help?" Elena grouses. "Damon's really hurt."

"Oh boo hoo," Rebekah deadpans. No one makes a move to help Elena except for Stefan and Alaric.

The three of them are doing their best to tend to Damon when Enzo enters the room. He takes a look at the Lost Boys before taking a look at his injured friend and then glances at the Mikaelson's. When his gaze finally lands on Caroline, he sighs. "I always miss the fun. What happened this time?"

"Damon's a bloody idiot, is what this is," Rebekah says instead. "He snapped a vampire mate's neck and said vampire didn't take too kindly to that."

Enzo shrugs. "Fair enough. Now if you're all done in here, some of the humans heard the ruckus. Jeremy and I have been doing damage control, but some of these locals are too nosy for their own good."

"Thank you, Mr. St. John. My sister and I will take it from here." Elijah beckons Rebekah to join him and she grumbles about missing all the fun.

Enzo, now too invested to see any more drama go down, walks over to stand next to Caroline and Bonnie.

"So, you four are vampires?" Bonnie wonders when no one says anything. "How come we didn't know?"

"Because YN wanted it that way," David says.

"And you just do what she says? How long have you even known her?"

"Long enough," you grumble. Immediately you feel yourself being squeezed and you groan as your eyes flutter open. You're staring up at the ceiling and you realize you're on the floor. "Dwayne?" The head tucked into the side of your aching neck lifts, and you smile at the vampiric face of your boyfriend. Reaching up, you tap on the tip of one of his fangs. "You can put these away now. I'm fine."

"He snapped your neck," he grumbles.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Pity."

"YN!"

"What?" You whine. You attempt to sit up, letting Dwayne help you. Then glancing over at your sister, you have no fucks left to give her. "He snapped my neck. The way I see it, if he's still breathing, he got off easy."

"You could have told us your friends were different vampires."

"But then Damon wouldn't have gotten his ass kicked." Then glancing at those standing, you ask, "Did anyone record it?" Everyone with the exception of Stefan, Elena, Damon, and Alaric find your question funny. Dwayne stands and helps you to your feet, and you stretch a little with a groan. "But now you all see why I left, right? I refuse to live a life that Damon wants to control."

"But you'll live a life that the Mikaelson's control?" Elena huffs.

You stare at her, shaking your head. "When are you going to get over your hate for them? You all refuse to forgive the Mikaelson's, yet Damon somehow gets a free pass?" You ask.

"Damon didn't kill Jenna!"

"No, but he did kill the love of Enzo's life and then left Enzo to burn alive," you say. Then looking at Stefan, you say, "He killed Lexi. He's killed Ric, Jeremy, and even me a few times." Looking at Bonnie, you add, "He threatened Grams into using too much magic that led to her death and let's not forget everything he put Caroline through. So why the hell is Damon forgiven for all of that, but yet you're so appalled when I associate with Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah?"

No one has anything to say, and Elena can't even look at you. She's too busy making sure Damon is healing properly.

"She has a point," Enzo says, breaking the silence.

Glancing at him, you offer him a smile before looking at each of your friends. "I'm tired, hungry, and pissed off now, so the party's officially over. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

As you walk off, Dwayne takes hold of your hand. "Go up to the room. I'll grab some blood bags and liquor from the kitchen."

"Thank you." You squeeze his hand before letting go, grabbing the skirt of your dress and lifting it just a little so you can walk up the stairs without tripping.

. .

In the comfort and safety of your room, you strip out of your dress and run yourself a hot shower. The first thing you do is wash all the hair products out of your hair before scrubbing your face free of makeup, and then wash your body before standing under the rainfall of water. You sigh, reaching a hand up to rub at your sore neck.

The sound of the shower drowns out the outside noise, so you startle a little when you feel a hand land on your shoulder. Uncaring of your nudity, you turn around and are met with an equally nude Dwayne. He hands you a blood bag that's a little warm to the touch and you don't waste a moment. You grab the bag and immediately bring it up to your mouth, letting your fangs pierce the bag.

As you suck down your meal, you let Dwayne lead you a few steps back so he's standing under the rainfall of water as well. His hands gently cup your face, thumbs brushing the veins beneath your eyes that have slithered to the surface. Your eyes flutter open and you drop the bag when you're done with it.

Dwayne then leans down so his forehead is resting against yours, and his hands move down so his fingers gently probe around your neck. "I wanted to kill him," he quietly admits. "It took all my self-control to not rip his head from his body."

You huff a laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist. "As much as I wish you would have, it's best that you didn't. If anything happened to poor Damon, Elena and Stefan probably would have hounded us until the end of times."

"Then they would have met the same fate. You were dead at the time, but apparently we're mates and our instincts to protect each other are insane."

"Excuse me?" You pull back a bit, staring at Dwayne in disbelief. "Mates actually exist?"

"For my kind, yes. It's why I knew something was off that first day we were here and Damon had you pinned to the wall. It's also why I flew into a rage when he snapped your neck."

Mouth agape, you shut it with an audible click. A moment later, you shrug. "Well, that explains the rage I felt when Damon threatened your life. Normally I'd have laughed a threat like that off, but I got severely pissed off."

Dwayne chuckles. "This is going to be fun."

"For you, maybe. Protective instincts aren't the only instincts that rears its ugly head thanks to our apparent bond."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm possessive, dear mate." You smile up at him. "I noticed it the last time that one female tried gaining your attention, but it wasn't too bad of an urge to rip her head off. If she had touched you, however, I'm pretty sure it would have been game over for her." Dwayne slowly smirks and you slowly raise your arms so they're wrapped around his neck, and you hop up as you wrap your legs around his waist. "Now are you going to fuck your mate or just stand here under the water?"

"I wasn't sure you were up for anything after having your neck snapped," he says while reaching below you and grabbing hard length to notch at your entrance.

"For you? I'm always up for something." You slowly lower yourself on Dwayne's cock, head tilting back as your mouth opens in a silent moan. He grunts when you're fully seated and when you meet his smoldering gaze, you clench around him and cause him to grunt. "Now come on. Make me scream and embarrass my sister who is no doubt still trying to play victim downstairs."

Smirking, Dwayne places one hand on your ass as he walks over to the wall and then places his other hand on the wall for a bit of balance. "Hang on…"

Dwayne pulls out nearly all the way, and then a moment later he thrust back in. Hard. You moan, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, and then beam brightly at him. "Again."

The following morning, you have absolutely no shame when you and Dwayne enter the kitchen together. Everyone, with the exception of Elijah and Klaus, are all smirking at you.

"Well, well," Rebekah muses. "Look at you. I'm surprised you're not walking funny."

Paul and Marko immediately laugh, and Klaus looks quite appalled.

"Rebekah, please, can you not?" Elijah asks, already exasperated with where the morning conversation is clearly headed.

"Oh hush. We're all adults here."

You chuckle as you head towards the refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of orange juice to pour yourself a glass. "Who all got an earful besides those in this room?"

"Well Damon thinks you were faking it."

"Of course." Your eyes roll.

"Stefan looked like he had sucked on a sour lemon, Elena turned beet red as if she was some prude, and Caroline and Enzo couldn't help but be impressed."

You chuckle some more as you sip your juice and then make your way to the table where Dwayne is already seated. You help yourself to a few slices of bacon and pay no mind to Dwayne's brothers who are patiently waiting to tease you. Unfortunately for them, you're not bothered by it at all.

"So will you be leaving this afternoon?" Klaus asks in order to break the silence.

"Yes." When you glance at Rebekah, you smile at her pout. "But you guys will always be welcomed in Santa Carla and I'll do my best to visit every other month."

"You better."

"What about these bracelets?" Marko asks. "Are we supposed to give them back once we're back in Santa Carla or…?"

"The bracelets are a gift," Elijah says smoothly. "And as a token of our appreciation for being on your best behavior and abiding by the rules we set out, we will pay for a trip for all of you to wherever you want."

"We appreciate that," David says, "but we need to settle our claim on Santa Carla before we can take off again. And speaking of Santa Carla, how is our home?" He then asks Klaus.

Klaus shrugs. "My hybrids have dispatched a werewolf pack looking to make camp in your woods. Your territory is as you left it- dirty and nearly uninhabitable."

"Klaus." You shake your head in amusement at him. "I've made my decision."

"I'm well aware."

"Then don't be a dick."

"I said nearly." You chuckle as he smirks. "Now let us have a nice breakfast before you and your friends start to pack. The jet is being fueled as we speak."

. .

After a very talkative breakfast and barely half an hour of packing, you and the boys are on a private jet back to Santa Carla. You had immediately made a beeline for the singular bedroom at the back of the jet to go back to sleep, and Dwayne joined you for about an hour before rejoining his brothers.

You join them sometime later, taking the time to sip a drink as you listen to the boys brainstorm the perfect location for the trip you're all going to take once David's confident enough with his grasp on Santa Carla.

And it's only once you've stepped foot back in Santa Carla does your phone ping with a text message from Klaus. It's directions to a location and instructions to call him when you get there.

"What do you think it is?" Dwayne asks as he reads the message himself.

"I have no idea, but it's Klaus, so anything is possible."

You can see Paul and Marko are anxious to get back to their cave, but David wants everyone to stick together. So, after procuring- er, compelling- a car, you drive to the location Klaus had sent you.

Pulling up to the location that's still in Santa Carla, you're not surprised at its remote location, but you are surprised with the steel gate blocking a driveway and the steel fence that wraps all around the property. Off in the distance, up on a hill, there's quite the house sitting there.

"What the hell is this?" Paul asks, leaning forward between the seats.

"I have no idea." You pull out your phone and dial Klaus' number, still staring at the house in awe while holding the phone to your ear. When the line clicks over, you immediately ask, "What did you do?"

"Welcome home, love. The code to the gate is your birthday." You glance at the small box just outside the driver's side window and punch in the code. When the little red light turns green, the gates start to open. "Since there was no way you were going to leave Santa Carla, I figured that you could at least live in a proper home rather than that dark, dank cave your boys are apparently so fond of. Honestly, they needed to get out of there as well."

"Klaus… this is a lot," you utter in awe. You drive all the way up to the front steps and everyone hurriedly vacates the car to take a look around. "I can never repay something like this."

"Family doesn't repay family back. At least not ours."

"Klaus."

"I'm serious. It's done. Now since you're all vampires, I had a witch spell the house for you."

"How so?"

"No guest, whether they're supernatural or not, can enter your home without your permission. There was a little blood magic involved, so you'll have to invite your mate and friends in."

You walk up to the front door and enter the house with ease, smirking at Marko when he tries to enter behind you but can't. You quickly invite all four boys in and then turn to stare at the lavish home. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, truly… thank you."

"Think nothing of it. But if you truly want to repay me back, you can take Rebekah on your next trip. She truly is aggravating."

You laugh and nod before saying, "Yes. Of course. Anything."

"Mhm. Well, I'll let you and the boys get acquainted with your new home. Have fun. Don't murder too many people."

"We'll try." You end the call with Klaus and only then does the sound of Paul and Marko's excitement reach your ears. You feel pressure at your elbow and find Dwayne standing there, looking down on you. "It's ours."

"What?"

"It's ours. Klaus obviously didn't like the living conditions of the cave, so he bought us a house."

"Well… shit." You snort at his utterance. "It's been a long time since any of us have lived in a proper home."

"Hey! If this is our house, do we get to call dibs on a room?" You hear Paul shout from somewhere deep in the house.

"Dwayne and I get the master!" You shout back. "It's a free for all for the rest of you."

All of a sudden you hear footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor, followed by grunting and whining, and protests of David being unfair.

Smiling, you turn back towards Dwayne and grin. "So, I guess this is home?"

"Do you want it to be?"

You shrug. "Home is wherever you are. If you want to go back to the cave, then let's go back. But if you want to stay here, then we'll stay here."

Dwayne flashes you one of his rare smiles as he reaches for you, and tugs you close. "Well, I wouldn't want to piss off the big bad hybrid by taking his precious baby sister back to the dark, dank cave."

You laugh and quickly lean up on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss. "Then we'll stay." You kiss him again. "Now come on. Let's go break in our new bed."

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burntsaltsblog · 4 months ago

Text

tw: 🔫 violence, reader is *pew pewed* and receives stitches along with other medical care, mdni

Chapter Two

"I don't get it. Why are you guys letting him waltz back in like he never abandoned us for almost three fucking months? Am I the only one still pissed that he left us high and dry?"

"No," Hughie articulated with his nose in a comic book. "But what other choice do we have? Whether or not we want to admit it, we need Butcher. You've seen how discombobulated we've been without him."

"Well, I blame the discombobulation on the fact that we were panicking over his missing ass. Now that we know he's safe and sound, he can fuck off."

Hughie looked up at me knowingly from Adventures of Spider-Man: Radioactive. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, scratching the side of my neck. "We're better off without Butcher, in my opinion."

"I hate to break it to you, but I think you're outnumbered. MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko want him here, so for the time being, we're stuck with him."

I scowled, falling beside Hughie on his meager twin-sized bed. I'd been hiding out in his room all morning to avoid a certain 6'2" beared Brit.

"You're going to have to face him eventually, you know," Hughie said quietly, his comic book long forgotten.

"I already did. Last night."

"You mean when you refused to look at him, much less acknowledge his presence?"

"Yup. That's all Butcher's getting from me. I'm going to ignore him until Homelander is dead, and then I can move to Antarctica and forget I ever met the asshole."

"But I thought you hated the cold?" Hughie pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm trying to get as far away from Butcher as geographically possible, so I can't be picky. Besides, I heard they don't have Cockney accents there, so that's a huge plus for me."

"Fair enough. Can I come to visit your igloo?"

"Of course," I beamed at my friend. "You're welcome anytime. In fact, I'm going to build you a guest igloo, so-"

The door to Hughie's bedroom creaked open, disrupting our conversation.

"Monsieur Charcuter would like a word with all of us," Frenchie said, popping his head in.

"Great," I mumbled, agitated at having to face Butcher. I looked at Hughie, and he could see my displeasure.

He patted my shoulder as we walked out the door. "It'll be ok, Jo. Just keep your cool like you did last night."

"What, you think I'm going to blow up at him?" I asked, now whispering as we both took a seat on the couch. Frenchie was squeezed in the armchair with Kimiko while Butcher and MM stood around the coffee table, murmuring to each other lowly.

"I think it's plausible, yes."

I scowled at Hughie before crossing my arms and gluing my eyes to the floor as Butcher cleared his throat, garnering everyone's attention.

"Good news. I just got off the phone with Raynor, and we have a meetin' scheduled today at four-thirty."

"Location?" MM questioned.

"The parkin' lot of an old car factory. She wanted to meet someplace off the grid to avoid being spotted."

"That's awesome," Hughie said. "Maybe before we hand over the Compound V, we can use it to leverage our freedom, so we don't have to hide here anymore."

"One thing at a time, lad," Butcher instructed. "And speakin' of the Compound V, which one of ya' cunts has it?"

Wordlessly, I pulled the small vile out of my pocket and placed it on the coffee table for everyone to see.

"Seriously, Hughie?" MM chided. "You gave it the junkie?"

I glared at him, insulted, as Hughie quickly defended his actions. "What? She's the lightest sleeper, so I figured she'd be the hardest to steal it from."

"And I'm not a junkie," I cut in. "I'm perfectly sober."

"Yes, but will you still be in roughly six hours? We all know where you go every night."

Anger flared in my belly, and I rose to my feet, ready to fight, before Hughie pulled me back down. "Ignore him," he advised in a hushed tone.

Butcher raised his hands, deciding to intervene. "Oi, twats, knock it off. We have more important things to discuss than Jo's love of a good bump." He paused briefly before continuing. "And while I have you lot here, there's a few things I'd like to get off me chest."

The room was quiet, giving Butcher the floor.

"I've been a proper cunt these past few months with me runnin' off and all. And I know I owe ya' an explanation, but I can't give one. I just need ya' to trust me that it was for a good fuckin' reason, and I wasn't off having a good wank somewhere."

I huffed out a breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Hughie.

"What I'm tryin' to say," Butcher's voice grew softer, gentler even. "Is that m'sorry. I left without so much as a word, and you deserve better than that."

Without meaning to, I looked up and was taken aback by Butcher's contrite expression that was aimed only at me. His dark eyes roamed my face, and I squirmed in my seat, having gotten out of the habit of being under his intense gaze.

"Good girl," Butcher praised as he eased two of his thick fingers into my slick pussy.

"Please," I whimpered as my eyes glistened with need.

"S'ok, love. I've gotcha. After I've stretched out your pretty cunt for my cock, I'm gonna fuck ya' like the needy pup you are."

I audibly swallowed as I refocused my eyes on the scene in front of me. My pulse raced, and my clothes scratched against my feverish skin as I forced myself to ignore the explicit images replaying in my head.

It was clear that Butcher was expecting a verbal acceptance of his apology. But, I merely shifted my gaze to study my damaged cuticles instead, as if nothing had ever happened.

I heard Butcher sigh before MM cleared the awkward air by saying, "Look, man, we're glad you're back, and it'd be great if you could restrain yourself from being a dick and leaving again until we have Homlander in a grave along with the other son of a bitch supes."

Butcher agreed before he dismissed us, stating that we had to meet upstairs in the pawn shop at four o'clock sharp to leave for the meeting with Raynor.

༺༻

"Are you sure this is the right place?" MM asked, unconvinced, as he drove our broken-down van into the neglected parking lot. The cement had deep cracks, allowing weeds and dandelions to pop through. Up ahead, an old car factory could be seen, decorated in distasteful graphite and broken widows.

"Positive," Butcher confirmed from the passenger seat. "Found the place myself and knew it was a perfect area to meet Raynor."

MM parked the van between two barely visible yellow lines. "You couldn't have found a less sketchy spot?"

"Well, I was gonna suggest your mum's cunt, but I figured you'd prefer someplace more private."

A string of curses could be heard from MM, but we were all distracted by the sleek, back SUV that pulled up directly beside us.

"Right, show time," Butcher announced before quickly slapping a hand over MM's shoulder, holding him back from exiting the vehicle. "You let me do all the talkin', yeah? I know how to handle Raynor."

MM was silent as he deliberated Butcher's command before pointing a finger in his boss's face. "You better not fuck this up."

"You’ve got no faith in me," Butcher exclaimed as a faux look of hurt crossed over his face.

"For good reason," MM muttered, finally having permission from Butcher to get out.

The rest of us followed suit as we piled out of the back of the van. I rounded the side of it just in time to see Butcher greet Raynor with his arms wide open. "Susan, how lovely to see you."

"Yeah, yeah," Raynor rolled her eyes, getting down to business. "Do you have a sample of the unconfirmed drug?"

"You look more beautiful than that last time I saw ya'," Butcher continued as if he didn't hear a word she'd said, cockily tilting his head from side to side.

"Billy, I don't have all day," Raynor pressed, unamused.

Butcher waited a beat before sighing, lowering his head in defeat. "Alright, fine. You're much nicer when you're sloshed."

Raynor's glare was heated, but Butcher didn't seem to notice as he fished through the pockets of his trench coat. "It's here in me, uh, pocket somewhere," he murmured more to himself than anyone else. "Aha! Here we go," Butcher finally announced, proudly handing over the clear vial. "One order of Compound V, just like I promised."

Raynor held the sample of blue liquid up to the light, studying it. "If I come to find out that this is fucking Koolaid, or some other concoction mixed up to deceive me, I will hand you over to the government before you even have the chance to piss for the last time. Do you understand?"

Butcher pressed a hand against his heart as he stared at Raynor with wide eyes. "Do you not trust me, Susan? I thought we was past all that, love."

"Billy, tell me that you understand," Raynor said, not breaking her eye contact with Butcher.

I watched as Butcher clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. To this day, Butcher was dreadful at heeding anyone's warnings. It was a personality trait embedded deep within his soul.

"Oh, I understand," he whispered darkly. I understand perfectly." It sounded something way too close to a threat, but Raynor seemed satisfied.

"Wonderful," she said. "I'll take this sample down to the labs and have my guys run some tests."

Butcher nodded before folding his hands together. "In the meantime, Susan, I believe we deserve some compensation for being so heroic as to nick the Compound V from Vought's lab and place it into your competent hands."

I hid my chuckle as I shook my head. It was Annie who had been so brave as to grab the sample. But, of course, Butcher had no problem with taking credit.

"What do you want?" Raynor asked, crossing her arms, already suspecting the worst.

"Just a little immunity so we can walk down the bleedin' street without our heads gettin' fuckin' blown off," Butcher answered casually before pulling MM forward. "And Marvin here would like to see his daughter. But I know that shouldn't be too difficult for a woman as powerful as yourself."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Susan admonished him. "If I were at all influential, Homelander would be dead, or at least detained, and we wouldn't be faced with this fucking dumpster fire-"

In reality, it all happened in the blink of an eye, but in my head, it stretched for an eternity, never ceasing.

Susan Raynor's head exploded, leaving her neck bared and bloodied as the remaining parts of her body crumpled to the ground. Shock wracked my system before I leaped into action, grabbing my gun from where it was tucked in my boot.

Bullets flew around our heads as Billy billowed, "Get in the bloody van!"

Our bodies clashed with each other as we hastily dashed to the van while Hughie screamed at an impressive volume. I turned my head frantically, looking for the shooters and source of violence, but much to my confusion, I saw nothing but an empty parking lot.

Just as I jumped into the back of the van, hot on MM's heels, a searing, hot pain erupted in my stomach. "Fuck," I hissed, immediately placing my hands on my abdomen where it burned. I peered down and watched in horror as blood seeped between my fingers.

Butcher bounded in behind me and slammed the double doors shut, all while angrily shouting at Frenchie, who was sitting in the driver's seat with Kimiko next to him. "Drive! Fuckin' drive!"

Frenchie swore sharply in his native tongue, throwing the dilapidated automobile into drive before slamming his foot on the gas, throwing us all around as he sped out of the parking lot and away from the invisible enemy.

As my body lurched forward, my knees gave out, and they slammed into the dirty floor. Blood now covered both my hands, trailing down my wrists as I curled in on myself.

"You good?" MM asked, placing a hand on my shoulder as he assessed my weakened form. "Oh, shit," he exclaimed when his eyes landed on the blood.

I was vaguely aware of Butcher as he joined MM and hovered over me, wanting to see what the issue was. But I didn't hear his yell of alarm as the world around me began to spin.

"I think I'm going to pass out," I mumbled.

"No, no. Whatever you do, Jo, do not pass out," MM warned as he began rifling through the makeshift first aid kit stored in the back of the van. "Keep her awake," he called over his shoulder to Butcher.

"Ok, love, c'mere." Butcher instructed, settling beside me on the ground and pulling me towards him so my back rested against his chest, holding me steady.

I whined at the sudden movement, and he instantly apologized, "M'sorry, doll. Didn't mean to hurt ya'."

"It burns," I whimpered as Butcher replaced my hands with his, putting pressure where the bullet was buried in my skin.

"I know, I know," he whispered, grazing his lips against the side of my temple. "But, dontcha worry. MM is gonna get the little bugger outta ya', and then you'll be right as rain."

"How much longer till we get back to base?" MM yelled up to Frenchie, who was ignoring every speed limit as he drove us home.

"At least an hour," he replied.

"Fuck, we don't have time," MM said, looking at Butcher. "I have to take the bullet out now and sew her up, or she's going to bleed out before we get back to the safe house."

Blood now caked Butcher's hands, the entirety of my shirt, and most of my pants. My vision blurred as my head fell back against Butcher's shoulder, lacking the energy I once had.

"Do what ya' have to do," he said.

MM nodded before turning back to his first aid kit, determined as he pulled a lighter, forceps, and a needle out.

"No," I cried, squirming in Butcher's hold when I saw the needle. "Please, I don't want it."

"Shh, s'ok," Butcher said, attempting to soothe me.

"No, I don't want it," I said again, with more emphasis in my hazy state as I struggled in his lap.

MM brought his supplies over and held up a hand to calm me. "I've done this a million times on the field. I can assure you that I know what I'm doing."

I shook my head relentlessly, increasing my dizziness. MM looked at Butcher helplessly, and Butcher replied to his unasked question.

"She doesn't like needles or any sort of sharp object. S'like a phobia or something," Butcher said gruffly.

"Look," MM offered, trying to reason with me. "If I could stitch you up with a butterfly or a fucking golden retriever puppy, I would. But a needle is our only option, kid. I'm sorry."

My eyes welled, and fat tears rolled down my cheeks. MM regarded me with genuine sympathy. "I'll make it as painless as I can. I promise."

MM looked back at Butcher for the signal to start, and I felt Butcher's chin brush against the top of my head as he nodded, granting MM his approval to begin the procedure.

MM made quick work of running a pair of scissors up my shirt before the sodden fabric fell away from my body, leaving my torso and chest in nothing but my black bra. He examined the wound before turning back to his supplies and retrieving a scalpel.

"The wound is too small, so I can't visually locate the bullet. That means I have to make an incision to increase the width so I can dig it out."

I let out a horse cry when I realized there was something else I was going to have to endure. I looked at Hughie, silently pleading for help. But he just peered back at me, concerned and full of compassion, as he crouched behind MM, assisting him.

MM flicked the lighter to life and held the scalpel directly in the flame, waiting for an allotted amount of time before he deemed the small knife sterile.

Carefully, he hovered over me, aiming the scalpel at the small hole in my belly. As I watched the sharp object come closer, I flailed in Butcher's arms, desperate to flee from his stronghold.

"Hold her still," MM instructed as the scalpel pierced my skin. I shrieked loudly as my tears came quicker. Butcher's hands tightened around me, but my much smaller ones reached forward as I tried to bat the scalpel away as it sank deeper into my flesh, cutting me open.

"Damn it, Butcher. Hold her fucking hands. She's going to cause me to slice her fucking liver, and I won't be able to fix that," MM vexed, pushing my hands away and their meager attempt to stop his assault on my stomach.

Butcher took hold of my wrists and pinned them to my chest. But all that did was make me sob louder as I continued to move about in his lap.

MM withdrew the scalpel as he sank back on his heels and looked up at Butcher. "You're going to have to calm her down. Or this will never work."

"I don't want it," I cried, but it fell on deaf ears as both men gazed at each other like I wasn't even there.

Butcher sighed before he turned his head, and I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear. "C'mon, love. You've gotta be brave."

"No." I shook my head as I agonizingly eyed MM as he brought the scalpel back to rest against my bloodied flesh.

"Oi, none of that now," Butcher rebuked me gently. "You can do it. I know ya' can."

His fingers traced my wrists, still pinned to my chest, as he tried to distract me from MM, who was dipping the scalpel back into my mauled abdomen.

Blubbered pleas fell from my lips as Butcher bowed his head to whisper, "You're safe," he said, swiping a finger under my eyes to collect my tears. "MM isn't trying to hurt you, doll; he's helping ya'."

I turned my head to look up at Butcher, and his brows creased as he saw my face screwed up in anguish. "It's gonna be over before you know it, sweetheart. And then I'm gonna to take care of ya'."

I whined, bucking up into his hand that cupped my bare, sopping cunt.

"Such a needy little thing you are. Already drippin’ down your luscious thighs," Butcher smirked. "But, dontcha worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of ya"."

Lost in the memory of Butcher and our heated night, I barely heard the clink of the bullet as MM dropped it in a small tin dish.

I hiccuped as I slumped against Butcher's broad chest, exhausted from fighting and blood loss. My eyelids drooped close, so I didn't even see MM retrieve the needle, mirroring his earlier actions and holding it in the flames of the lighter.

Butcher ran a hand over my forehead, carefully pulling back my hair that had stuck to my sweaty skin. "That's it, pretty girl," he praised, planting a kiss at the base of my neck. "You're doing so good for me. Just a little bit longer."

Butcher eased his girthy length into my wet entrance. I hissed at the sheer size of him as I felt my walls trying to accommodate his fat cock.

"You're doing so good for me, pretty girl. Just a little bit more."

He placed a hand across my lower stomach, gently massaging the tense muscles as he bottomed out. His heavy balls lay against my splayed cheeks, and I sighed at the feeling of being so full.

"All done," MM declared, placing a simple bandage over my stitches before promising me that he'd wrap me up properly once we got back to base.

"You did it," Butcher praised as his grip on my wrists slackened, and he gently placed my hands in my lap. "S'all over, love."

My eyes remained closed as I mumbled, "I'm tired." The fatigue was too much to ignore this time.

I felt the soft material of Butcher's trench coat slide over my upper body, covering me. The gesture made the wing of a butterfly flap to life somewhere deep in my stomach.

"S'ok, darling. You just sleep," Butcher softly insisted as he eased a hand under my knees, cradling me against his body. He slowly stood to his feet when the van stopped in front of the pawn shop and murmured to me that we were home.

I heard him quietly thank Hughie for holding one of the double doors open as he stepped out and began carrying me into our safe house. My head rested in the crook of Butcher's neck, and I inhaled his familiar scent of whiskey, mint, and soap. It comforted me as the sway of his strides rocked me to sleep.

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